“Rot your eyes, you churlish scab,” he said to Selt with sudden and inspired rage. “Geart, throw this mutt in the river!”
“Yes, Lord,” I replied with a deep bow, seized Selt by the arm, and hefted him off his seat.
“Hey, hold—”
I snapped my hands around his throat. “Wet or dead, your choice.”
The days of practice had served Captain Horace and the rest well. None of them so much as batted a lash. Selt, though, was quite affected by the treatment. He began to tremble and cry. Furstundish the Senior looked at him with concern.
“What’s the problem there, Captain?” Barok shouted. “You want to taste the river as well?”
I let Selt go, and he leaned heavily onto the small table. Barok frothed another moment before he dropped the act and moved to comfort the man.
He asked, “Was Prince Rahan a brutal master? I’d not known him.”
“All those who rule here are wicked,” he replied. He was still trembling, and two large tears spattered upon the table. “The violence and arrogance cascaded down from them. Serving the Yentif was a life of constant fear. Any man could be destroyed in a moment for no reason at all. Misery is their sport, and Bessradi is a city built upon their spectacle of gruesome acts. I dread to think of the lives lived by the slaves that populate the Warrens.”
Barok gave Selt his chair, and the man sat down. The prince asked, “How will we unmake this place?”
“Huh?” I said before I understood that they of course meant to replace Bessradi with Urnedi. No one there had a good answer for him. Fire, starvation, sickness, and war only killed off the weak. Zoviya’s capital was as fit as ever.
Selt tapped on the list of their motions.
“We are not going to get to call a vote on anything,” Barok said and dropped into a chair. “Must Bessradi go the same way the Hessier destroyed Edonia’s capital? All its people murdered and its buildings and roads dismantled?”
The Chaukai cheered this. Barok did not, and I was no more eager than Selt, Ryat, or Avin. Bessradi had raised us—horrible bitch that she was.
The Shadow’s icy whispers pricked my ear then, and I imagined a magic that would engulf the city in iron-melting flames. I shook it off and said, “The Shadow is strong here. Already He is whispering to me. I love Bessradi, but she may have to go.”
Barok slowly nodded. Selt collected up their many pages. It was time for all of us to find some rest.
One of the sailors flung himself down the gangway as if pursued by Sikhek himself.
“Lord Prince, you must come up at once,” he said. “Your alsman has been arrested.”
We followed him up, but I was not sure at first where to look. Our ships were tied on, the wharf was quiet, and the dark river deserted.
“There,” Soma said and pointed us to the far bank and the lamp-lit carriageway that wrapped around the Chancellery. The drawbridge that connected the Chancellery to the Treasury Keep was down, and a column of mounted bailiffs was crossing the bridge. A man in royal blue upon a stout Fell Pony was in their midst.
So much for Vall’s Hemari escort.
“That’s Parsatayn,” Selt said, and I spotted him at once. His horse trailed the column. He was sheathed in gold brocaded white silk that caught the light of the lantern boxes. He’d shaved his head and looked quite—
“He is Hessier,” I said and grabbed Barok by the arm. “Everyone below.”
Parsatayn stopped his horse and looked straight at us.
Soma reached for the pouch at her waist, Horace reached for his bow, and Ryat began to draw in the darkness for a song. I did nothing as the Shadow dangled promises of power.
Their efforts were in vain. Parsatayn’s magic fell upon us. Terror, shame, and the icy teeth of a thousand starved eels tore at us. The only earthly feeling left to me was from the hand I had wrapped around Barok’s forearm. The rest was frozen and numb. I squeezed his arm as though I hung from it above the icy maw of hell.
Parsatayn’s power was like nothing I’d felt—something so much greater than all the Hessier I’d faced.
A voice reached out from the darkness. ‘He is one of my loyal Ashmari,’ the Shadow said. ‘Join him—join us, my perfect son. It is time for you to feast upon the Vesteal. Feast upon them all.’
The Shadow stood above me and offered me His hand—offered me the power of Barok’s blood.
Without it we were lost. The murderous darkness was an ocean of frozen ash. I could not breathe.
All of us would die.
“Forgive me,” I whispered to my prince.
draw blood man
Barok’s blood leached from his arm and soaked my fingers. I tasted the pure power of the Shadow, and my body reveled in the icy touch.
‘Welcome, my son. Welcome.’
I could feel it. My soul was His—all its threads given up to him. He had hold of me, and there would be no escape this time.
I clenched my jaw. I did not need my soul. He could have it. I would not consume Barok’s flesh. My soul He could have, but not my will.
“You can rot, Father,” I replied. “You will have me, but not today.”
I reached straight up and knocked away Parsatayn’s gnashing snarl of darkness. I drew in the power of Bessradi and aimed it across the river.
draw mercury
My song struck him, and he toppled from his horse. I sang it a second and a third time, but both missed him somehow. An iron shell of blackness cloaked him. My song’s noun could not be heard by the Spirit of the Earth inside that shell. My song failed.
Parsatayn stumbled up and reached out with a song of his own. I could not catch the words. The air about us began to glow brightly, and I felt the heat of the sun.
I did as he had done, only faster and better. I reached out across the dark blanket of the tortured city and sucked it all in. The utter blackness gathered around me was delicious—cold as death and perfect. The nouns of Parsatayn’s song failed, and I reached out toward him again.
“Obey me,” I said to him and began to steal the darkness from him.
He struggled to hold his defenses together, but I was stronger. He climbed back atop his horse and fled east alone. He disappeared from view and I lost track of him. I could not detect him as I could other Hessier. The Ashmari were somehow different.
The rest began to find their feet.
I closed my eyes so as not to see Barok’s flesh and struggled to let go of the darkness. I wanted to drink the prince’s blood. I wanted the Shadow to be free.
I held still but could manage nothing more. I considered taking my own life before His whisper could overcome me.
It became easier then, and I searched for the person who was drawing the dark power from me. There was no one. It was Bessradi that saved me. The streets, buildings, and even the river gathered in the darkness like a sponge. The city was greedy for His touch. I held still and let the city steal it all back from me.
Barok asked, “What happened? Did you kill him?”
“No. He is hurt, perhaps, but he got away—we barely got away as well. He is an Ashmari, and he is as Dekay described. I cannot sense him like other Hessier.”
Avin asked, “Do we flee the city?”
“Now?” Barok asked. “We cannot leave now. Soma—your magic—could it kill Parsatayn?”
“I don’t think I could get hold of him—not in Bessradi. In the yew, maybe. But not here,” she said. She was looking at me. She could tell what I had done. She reached out and touched my arm.
“I am sorry, Soma,” I said to her.
“What is it?” Barok asked but he figured out the rest. He said to me, “You let the Shadow back in.”
“I had no choice,” I said. “I could not fight Parsatayn without embracing the Shadow. I am His now. I am as much a threat to you as Parsatayn. The Shadow would have me eat your flesh and sing a magic that would consume the city.”
“Can you hold the Shadow and Parsatayn at bay?”
“Parsa
tayn fled. I am stronger than he is. He will not come near you while I am close. Attend your meeting. Make it worth it.”
Selt seized Barok’s arm. “Parsatayn won’t be able to attend the meeting with Geart threatening him. He will not be able to vote or enforce the voting of the provinces he controls. Bendent will have a free hand.”
The importance of this was somehow profound enough for Barok that he leapt toward me and hugged me with joy.
“Good man, Geart. Well done. Well done.”
His bright and youthful smile was a fantastic reward.
76
Arilas Barok Yentif
The Dawn of the 1st
The morning sun cleared the horizon while we watched the arilas ride up the river road to the Chancellery, one after the other. Hemari by the troop lined the route. Parsatayn did not appear, and it was time for us to move.
It was with reluctance that I climbed into the longboat with Selt, Geart, Avin, Ryat, and the trio of guards I was allowed. Geart, Horace, and the other two Chaukai healers were all in Hessier plate. Ryat looked ready to face Parsatayn by himself. Soma and Furstundish the Senior were ready to dive across the river after us. As we went, however, the width of the river and the reception that awaited us stole the feeling of confidence and comfort our admiral inspired.
The Hemari brigade on the far bank was remarkably loud and quite animated by our approach. It wasn’t until they saw the royal green of my dalmatic and I presented my seal that they put away their swords and took a knee.
The commanding general of the Hemari 1st was on station. He came down himself to greet me. He was a Bellion, I learned from his overly formal introduction, so I kept my hand close to my sword. He made a show of inspecting my seal and escorted me up personally.
“Excellent, my lord. Your father will be very pleased,” Sonsol Bellion said. “My men and I have been worried for our heads since your alsman arrived without you. He was arrested, I am sorry to tell you. Parsatayn is assembling a force to retrieve you. I’m glad it’s all for nothing. Who are these with you? You will only be allowed three guards inside.”
“Reeve Sestar bears Chancellery credentials. He will be standing in as my alsman until a new one is appointed. This is Avinda Dooma, Chief Prelate of Enhedu, and his juniors Geart Goib and Ryat Kahrados. All three are assigned to my royal person as healers. I trust you will allow them.”
“Clever, Lord, clever. Your reeve, I can allow. Your healers will have to wait in the foyer. I hope you will find this satisfactory?”
“Quite,” I said and turned the topic. “All is well in Bessradi, I trust?”
“Well enough, lord,” he said and started us toward the Chancellery stairs. A troop of Hemari stood before each column of the stone box, and trumpeters lined the pennant-stand balcony above. My pennant went up while we walked. The general was obliged to continue the conversation. “A small slave revolt in Aderan had the women and old men worrying. I am surprised that the Serm showed up this season. It is a weak man who cannot control his slaves.”
“The revolt didn’t spread into the Kaaryon, I trust?”
“Briefly. Just briefly.”
“Is that why the 3rd moved to Bessradi?”
“No. No, not at all. Chancellor Parsatayn has assured the Exaltier that his bailiffs dealt with the escaped slaves long ago.”
Every general is a born liar. Part of me hoped that this slave revolt was Dia’s doing.
“Any new word on what happened to Prince Evand?”
“No. No word,” he said with the same tone and trotted up the stairs to avoid any further discussion and preceded us into the carpeted and oak-paneled foyer. The wide rectangle of open space was crowded with all manner of noblemen, officers, and nolumari. A number of them tried to greet General Bellion, but the old veteran bid me a quick farewell and exited before being forced to return their hellos or continue his conversation with me. The room was not so eager to greet me, and we claimed one of the unoccupied benches along the west wall.
I tapped Geart’s metal elbow. “Any sign of Parsatayn?”
“None.”
“I’d almost prefer a straight up fight.” I said, and Geart nodded his agreement. It was too much to hope that Parsatayn would stride in or stay hidden, but I let those thoughts fall. Icy air swirled around Geart. He was ready for anything.
Trumpets outside began to blast away, and the crashing notes danced with my heart. The Council was in session. I wanted to be inside the chamber, and I began to pace. Selt waved me to sit. I took a few more turns before I managed it. The rest of the crowd in the foyer slowly settled in. They were a forlorn lot—hopeless petitioners or those who had been summoned by the Council, same as I. There was little chance that any of them would be called. They all stared at us with a mix of curiosity and ire. I could not help overhearing their chatter. Many mumbled about Parsatayn’s absence—some nefarious trick assuredly. It was also suspected that my business would consume the Chancellery’s day—Yentif. These men were petty and as wretched as the princes I’d grown up with—vicious and self-serving.
“Captain Horace,” I said, “could you and your men walk a circuit of the foyer please. Be sure to point at a few of the more petulant-looking of these toads and look back at me from time to time.”
“You wouldn’t,” Selt said, and Horace looked at me questioningly.
“My father used to do it,” I said. “He would have his guards walk the throne room and randomly murder a few noblemen.”
“With pleasure, my lord,” Horace said without another thought about it, and the trio shouldered their long poleaxes and started around the room. Horace’s grim enthusiasm was not missed by the crowd. All the chatter ceased, and the clatter of armor became the only sound. The Hemari in the corners bristled, and one man after another leapt back as Horace pointed at him and looked my way. I shook my head no each time, until one man scoffed. I tilted my head at him and Horace leveled his poleaxe at the man’s heart. The nobleman stumbled back onto a nearby bench and found an expression of appropriate meekness. I waved Horace on.
The rest of the crowd was spared my inspection when the grand doors to the Chancellery were flung open and a resplendent domo strode in and called with a booming voice, “Prince Barok Yentif, Arilas of Enhedu, will present himself for the Council’s inspection.”
“First on the docket?” I asked Selt as he grabbed his letter case and an oversized satchel I had not previously seen. We hurried across, and Horace and his men fell in behind me. Geart, Ryat, and Avin stayed where they were. Geart was at attention with his poleaxe upon his shoulder. No one would be bothering them.
We stepped inside, and the cool air of the massive chamber broke across our faces. We entered the round pit, and the domo delivered us to the railed riser in the very center of the space. The walls of the pit were twice my height, and upon the terraced risers above were two rings of broad desks—the domos and scribes farther back, the arilas close in. The arilas were organized around the circle such that each of their provinces were more or less where you would find them around a map of the Kaaryon. The name of each province was also carved in the priest’s language upon the face of each desk. The north side of the chamber was barren except for the Chairman’s tall podium with Trace’s place to its left and Thanin’s to the right. Bendent Yentif stood behind the podium with his hand raised in a plea for silence. The rest of the room murmured and shuffled through stacks of pages, with the notable exception of General Oklas of Trace, who had his eyes fixed upon the frantic men behind the desk bearing Enhedu’s name.
Bendent gave up his gesture, rapped his gavel, and said, “The Council has voted to restore Enhedu’s vote to its arilas. Please ascend, Arilas Barok Yentif to your place upon this Council. The floor is yours.”
Selt gasped for me. The shock of the sudden move by Bendent left me frozen in place, and my reeve had to tug me through opened doors and up the sweeping circle of stairs. I’d been prepared to explain my tax rolls, defend the land contracts I�
�d so widely used, and call upon Avin to demonstrate that law and religion ruled Enhedu. Parsatayn’s absence had allowed Bendent to jam through the vote, and in moments I would be behind Enhedu’s desk and would have the floor.
“Take this,” Selt insisted and jammed into my hands the list of motions we’d plotted all those many days to bring to the floor. The chance to present one was upon me.
“Which?” I asked him. I read down the list, but we had debated that point to death. I searched for the carefully crafted wording of our favorite.
“All of them,” was all Selt had time to say before we reached the top of the stairs, stepped through the broad doors there, and out onto the densely patterned red carpet of the Council chamber. I was not left to wonder what Selt meant by this. Our careful plotting had included one wild contingency. I stomped my way across.
Parsatayn’s panicked men passed us going the opposite direction. Their hasty collections of vellum shed the occasional sheet as Hemari marched them out like executioners. Parts of the room vibrated as they disappeared. The north and south were pleased by the Chancellor’s defeat. Those east and west were not.
I took my place behind Enhedu’s desk and focused upon the list of motions.
All of them.
I suppressed a smile and bowed to the chairman and the membership. I counted and recounted the votes the key motion was likely to get—the one that would allow all the rest. I could not predict how two of the arilas would vote. The risk was enormous.
The room waited.
I sensed Selt warming up to kick me.
I cleared my throat and made the leap. “Chairman, fellow arilas, major domo, and all the fine gentlemen gathered here, I thank you. As you know, it is customary for a new arilas to take the floor, and I do thank the chairman for this opportunity to address you. It is also the sad custom that such speeches be as long as the list of Yentif princes and very nearly as useless.”
The line earned a laugh, and Bendent began to smile. His expression died though when I stepped out from behind the desk as though I meant to keep on speaking—or worse, propose a motion for a vote.
Tanayon Born Page 4
