by Unknown
They wanted something in the Tower of Nicokator, Caina realized. And in order to claim it, they needed the Emperor.
She felt the Emperor's ring, resting on its chain beneath her collar.
Perhaps the Red Hands and the Ar-Rioghath didn't need the Emperor. Perhaps they only needed his ring. If so, was it Caina's duty to take the ring from the Imperial Citadel?
But if the Ar-Rioghath didn't know that the Emperor had hidden the ring, and wouldn't kill the old man until he gave up its location...
Caina made up her mind.
"Lord Ambassador," said Caina. "Remain here. You should be safe enough, for the time being."
Zanakha blinked. "But where are you going?"
"To find the Emperor," said Caina.
"That is madness," hissed Zanakha. "You cannot possibly prevail against the Ar-Rioghath!"
"Who said anything about prevailing?" said Caina. "I need only to get the Emperor away from him."
She left, Lucan following.
* * * *
Red Hands guarded the Tower of Nicokator.
The Tower sat at the corner of the Citadel's inner wall, the mountains' dark mass rising above it. A score of men and women in servants' clothing stood before the Tower's doors, daggers and swords in hand. Despite the darkness, they waited without torches, no doubt to preserve their night vision.
Whatever the Ar-Rioghath sought within the Tower, he did not want his followers to see it.
"Too many to fight," murmured Lucan, peering around the wall. "What do you think? Scale the Citadel wall?"
"No," said Caina. "It would take too long. There's another way. A secret passage, to the chamber at the Tower's top."
"A secret passage?" said Lucan. "Truly?"
"Nicokator was paranoid," said Caina. She led Lucan to a guardhouse built into the Citadel's inner wall. The room was empty, save for a trestle table and a massive fireplace. Caina pushed a stone in the hearth, and the back of the fireplace swung open, revealing a set of narrow stone stairs climbing into the wall.
"Actually," said Lucan, lighting a lamp, "I read that Nicokator enjoyed the company of mistresses, and built this passage to conceal his movements from his Empress."
Caina shrugged. "Wouldn't that make a man paranoid?"
The passage spiraled its way up through the walls of Nicokator's Tower. At last it ended in another narrow stone doorway, opening into a circular balcony that overlooked the domed chamber at the Tower's crown.
An enraged voice echoed off the walls. Caina crept to the marble railing and peered through the balustrade.
An intricate mosaic, a map of the Empire, covered the floor. Dozens of stone statues, similar to the ones scattered through the Citadel, stood in niches in the walls, dominated by a large statue of Nicokator holding a goblet. Light came from dozens of sputtering candles in bronze candelabras.
Emperor Alexius himself lay slumped against Nicokator's statue, breathing hard, blood trickling down his face. A white-haired man stood over him, dressed in an ornate crimson robe. The Ar-Rioghath, Caina assumed.
"Where is it, fool?" said the Ar-Rioghath, and he struck Alexius across the face.
The blow bounced Alexius's head off the statue, but he coughed out a laugh. "I don't have it. Surely you must have realized that by now."
The Ar-Rioghath turned. Despite his white hair, he had the face of a man of twenty. Save for eyes like ancient shards of ice, cold and hard with the blood of a thousand victims. Zanakha claimed that the Ar-Rioghath had lived for centuries, sustained by necromantic sorcery.
Looking at those eyes, Caina believed it.
"Do you think me a fool, dog?" said the Ar-Rioghath, turning back to the Emperor. "The Red Hands reined supreme in the Empire, until your miserable ancestors banished us. I know about the Stone, how it has been passed from Emperor to Emperor since the days of Nicokator himself. I know its power. And I know that it is never far from the Emperor's hand."
"Nevertheless," said Alexius, lifting his hands. No rings adorned his fingers. "I do not have it."
The Ar-Rioghath kicked the old man in the stomach.
Caina nodded to Lucan. He lifted his crossbow and pushed a silver-headed bolt into the weapon.
"Let me make this plain for you," said the Ar-Rioghath, drawing a sword from his belt. "You shall tell me where the Stone is, or you are going to suffer. Your Imperial Guards and Ghosts are slain, your Citadel is mine. No one is coming to help you. And I know how to make you suffer. I once kept a man alive for a year and a day, screaming until his mind snapped."
"And you'll do that to me, I suppose," said Alexius.
"No," said the Ar-Rioghath. "But you'll wish that I had."
He lifted the sword.
Lucan slid the bolt back, the crossbow clicking, and took aim.
The Ar-Rioghath hesitated. He must have heard the click. He turned to look at the balcony just as Lucan squeezed the trigger.
The silver-tipped bolt slammed into the Ar-Rioghath's chest. The assassin chief stumbled, ancient eyes wide in surprise, smoke rising from the wound. Caina came to her feet, a throwing knife in hand, and flung it. It was a long throw, but throwing downward, she could hardly miss, and the blade buried itself in the Ar-Rioghath's stomach.
For a moment she thought they had him.
Then the Ar-Rioghath moved.
The Speaker had been fast. The Ar-Rioghath moved like a bolt of lightning. He sprang into the air, robes billowing behind him like bloody wings, his sword burning with green flame. He landed upon the balcony, blade coming down like a blazing thunderbolt, and Lucan just scrambled out of the way in time. The Ar-Rioghath slashed at him, and Lucan parried with the crossbow.
The weapon rotted at the touch of the green flames. The wood disintegrated into worm-eaten splinters, while the steel dissolved into rusted chunks. Lucan drew his sword and backed away, waiting for the next attack.
But the Ar-Rioghath did not move.
"You look familiar," he said. "A scion of House Maraeus, no? I may have killed your great-grandfather." His cold eyes shifted to Caina. "And a Ghost, too! One of the Emperor's little shadows. There are no Ghosts in Anub-Kha, my dear." He pulled the crossbow bolt from his chest, the wound beginning to vanish. "Shall I tell you what we do with the Ghosts?"
"I can guess," said Caina.
The Ar-Rioghath laughed, high and mocking. "Such devotion you inspire in your servants, Alexius! This one...this one is ready to die for you," the cold eyes turned towards Lucan, "and this one...well, he is willing to die for her, if not for you. So I will kill him in front of her, and then kill her in front of you."
"Countess," said the Emperor, voice tired. "You should have fled."
The Ar-Rioghath turned and drove at Lucan, his sword a blur of emerald flame. Lucan backed away, managing to parry the attacks, but only just. And every hit spread a finger of rust through Lucan's blade.
Caina flung one knife, and then another, the blades sinking into the Ar-Rioghath's back. The Ar-Rioghath turned, annoyed, which was the opening Caina had wanted. She ducked under his sword's green fire and drove her silver dagger into his stomach, and then again into his chest. The wounds smoked and charred, the dagger's handle growing painfully hot beneath her fingers.
But the Ar-Rioghath did not appear pained, as the Speaker had. He didn't even look annoyed.
He merely flicked a finger.
Caina felt a crackling tingle of arcane power, and then invisible force threw her back from the Ar-Rioghath. She crashed into the railing and almost tumbled over, but managed to catch a grip, the smoking dagger still in her grasp.
And with a sinking feeling, she realized that they could not kill the Ar-Rioghath.
He was toying with them. With his sorcery-enhanced strength and speed, he could have killed both Caina and Lucan in the space of a few heartbeats. He wanted to make her watch Lucan die, to make the Emperor watch her die.
Then rage drowned her fear, her mouth settling in a hard line.
She would m
ake the Ar-Rioghath wish that he had killed them.
Her hand slipped into her pocket, drawing out the tiny clay sphere of bloodblight, and she slid it into her mouth, tucking it between her teeth and cheek. Even as she did, Lucan's sword exploded into rusty shards, and he fell hard to the floor. The Ar-Rioghath stood over him, the point of his burning sword over Lucan's throat.
"Are you watching, Ghost?" said the Ar-Rioghath. "This man was ready to die to save you. And who am I to deny his will?"
He drew back the sword for the final blow.
"Wait!" shouted Caina, reaching into her collar.
She pulled out the Emperor's ring, its massive sapphire flickering in the candlelight.
The Ar-Rioghath stared at her, Lucan forgotten.
"The Stone," he murmured.
"Countess!" shouted Alexius. "Flee at once! That is a command, Countess!"
"This is what you want, isn't it?" said Caina, ignoring the Emperor. "All that blood and death, just for this ring? Fine. Here it is. Take it and go."
"So," said Ar-Rioghath. "That was what you did with the Stone, Alexius. You sent it to your most trusted servant, expecting her to flee. Except she came to save your wretched life. All the sweeter. The Stone's power is mine...and your servant's life, as well. Such loyalty should be rewarded, no? So, I think I'll kill her in front of you."
He beckoned, and invisible force lifted Caina into the air. She floated across the floor, towards the Ar-Rioghath. He smiled and took the Emperor's ring from her hand, then seized her wrist in an iron grip when she raised the silver dagger to stab.
"So valiant," he murmured, stroking her cheek with his free hand. "Such strength will serve me well. It is mine, now. As is your very life."
He leaned forward, and kissed her hard upon the lips.
And ecstasy exploded through Caina. Green flame flashed before her eyes, and she felt warmth spreading through her limbs, filling her with bliss. She heard Lucan and the Emperor shouting, but did not care. Little wonder that Imperial Guard had not struggled in the Speaker's grasp. Caina longed to lose herself in the ecstasy, to let herself drown in the bliss.
Instead, she pressed closer against the Ar-Rioghath, and spat the clay sphere into his mouth.
The Ar-Rioghath jerked away from her, and the intoxicating warmth vanished from Caina. She slammed her forehead into his jaw, heard the clay sphere shatter against his teeth.
"What is this?" said the Ar-Rioghath, amused. "Some trick? Do..."
His eyes bulged.
He began to choke.
And black foam bubbled around his nostrils.
Caina plunged the silver dagger to its hilt in his throat, and the Ar-Rioghath fell, choking and gagging. His vast reserve of stolen life energy could fight off the wounds from the silver dagger, and it could heal the damage from the bloodblight, but not both at once. The Ar-Rioghath struggled to rise, to cast a spell, but could not.
Even immortal life-drinking assassins needed to breathe.
Caina plucked the ring from his trembling fingers.
"You shouldn't have tried to steal that," she said.
He fell against the marble floor, and aged before Caina's eyes. One moment he was a youth of twenty. The next, a man of fifty. The moment after that, an ancient of a hundred years. And then nothing remained of the Ar-Rioghath but a crumbling skeleton draped in an ornate crimson robe.
The stolen life energies had forsaken him.
"Countess," said Lucan, gazing in horrified wonder at the Ar-Rioghath's remains. "What did you do to him?"
"The bloodblight we took from Roebel," said Caina. "I made him swallow it."
He gaped at her. "You actually put bloodblight in your mouth?"
Caina shrugged, retrieved the silver dagger from the Ar-Rioghath's bones, and headed for the stairs. "It was still in that clay sphere at the time."
She hurried to the Emperor's side.
"You actually killed him?" said Alexius, astonished.
Caina shrugged. "He was overconfident. That happens to men who rely overmuch upon sorcery."
"The ring," said Alexius. "You have it?"
She handed him the ring, helped him to his feet.
"Why did he want it so badly?" said Lucan.
"Because the Stone at its heart has power," said the Emperor. "It was fashioned long ago, by mighty wizards in the dawn of the Empire. The Imperial Citadel has arcane defenses that are rarely used, elemental spirits bound into the very stones themselves. The Stone is the key to releasing them..."
He stopped, looked at the doors. Caina heard the rattle of boots upon the steps.
"The other Red Hands," she said. "They must have sensed the Ar-Rioghath's death."
Her hands curled into fists. She had outwitted and killed the Ar-Rioghath, but his followers would cut them down anyway. They were trapped, with no escape.
Alexius turned towards the statue of Nicokator and slipped the ring upon his finger. He raked his fingers across the blood on his forehead and shook them over the statue's chalice. The crimson droplets rolled down the bowl's sides.
Caina frowned. "What..."
The ring's Stone glowed with azure light.
The Emperor threw back his head and screamed in pain, falling to his knees. The blue light on his finger flared brighter, seeming to seep through his veins.
"My lord," said Caina, grabbing his shoulder as Alexius's head bowed.
The chamber's doors burst open, and the Red Hands charged into the tower, brandishing swords. Caina saw five men with the red tattoos and leather armor of the Speakers. She and Lucan had barely been able to kill one. They could not possibly face five.
The blue light in the ring flared once more.
And the statues came to life.
Azure fire blazed in their lifeless eyes, and stone became as supple as flesh. The statues leapt from their pedestals and charged into the assassins, killing with silent power. The Red Hands had daggers, and poison, and combat skills honed under the tutelage of their Speakers.
All of which proved useless against the statues.
The fight was over in a matter of moments.
Alexius got to his feet, his face gray and haggard. He looked ten years older.
"Why didn't you do that from the beginning?" said Lucan.
"Because," said Caina, "the Ar-Rioghath would have taken the ring from you, and claimed the defenses for himself."
The Emperor closed his eyes and nodded.
"And the strain of using it almost killed you," said Caina, "didn't it?"
Alexius smiled. "You were willing to die to save your Emperor, Countess. Should not an Emperor be willing to die to save his people?"
* * * *
Later Caina and Lucan stood on the Citadel's outer wall, watching the sun rise.
The animated statues had stormed through the Citadel, slaughtering every last Red Hand. The surviving cohorts of the Imperial Guard forced their way into the Citadel, rescuing the survivors and forming a constant guard around the Emperor.
It was over.
"That's twice more you've saved my life now," said Lucan.
"Oh?" said Caina.
"Roebel would have poisoned me," said Lucan, "and the Ar-Rioghath would have skewered me, if you hadn't been so clever."
"Your life was only at risk," said Caina, looking away, "because of me. Roebel was trying to poison me. You were just in the way." She looked at him. "You...should go, Lucan. Before you do get killed."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"You know," said Lucan, "you were right."
Caina blinked. "About what?"
"The wine," said Lucan. "I was trying to steal a kiss. Or more. If you were willing."
"I know," said Caina.
"But the Ar-Rioghath kissed you," said Lucan, "and look what happened to him."
Caina lifted an eyebrow. "If you are bold enough to remain in my company, my lord Lucan, then perhaps you should be bold enough to risk a kiss."
And as it happened, he wa
s.
Hallah Iron-Thighs and the Dancing Djinn
by K.D. Wentworth
It's very difficult to be impractical if you're a swordswoman. Unfortunately, the same is not necessarily true for a sorcerer. At least dealing with his mistakes can provide gainful employment.
K.D. Wentworth got her start in 1988 by winning in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest and has since sold more than eighty pieces of short fiction to such markets as F&SF, Hitchcock's, Realms of Fantasy, Weird Tales, Witch Way to the Mall, and Return to the Twilight Zone. Four of her stories have been Nebula Award Finalists for Short Fiction. Currently, she has eight novels in print, the most recent being The Course of Empire and Crucible of Empire, both written with Eric Flint and published by Baen. She serves as Coordinating Judge for the Writers of the Future Contest and edits their annual anthology. She lives in Tulsa with her husband, a Siberian "Hussy," and a baby alligator masquerading as an Akita puppy. She is currently working on another new novel with Flint. For more information, visit her website at www.kdwentworth.com
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That winter morning in Alowey, my sister-in-arms, Gerta Derschnitzel, and I, Hallah Iron-Thighs, had to tighten our sword belts another notch. While this was rather flattering to the figure, the effect was lost beneath chain mail, and it plays hell in the stamina department. I doubt we could have run more than ten miles at that point and would have arrived at our destination unable to slay so much as a gnat.
We sat across from each other at a warped table in the Stinking Goat Taverna, inundated in the aroma of spilled ale, our tankards woefully upside down and empty, and finally admitted it: business had been wretched lately and we lacked the funds to pay our yearly Amazon Sisterhood Dues. Even if we'd had an offer of employment, we were currently unlicensed, which made us no better than the scruffy bandits who haunted the mountain passes.
Unfortunately, the timid serving maid would no longer venture into the common area. Gerta had threatened to slit her throat if she didn't bring us more ale, hardly conducive to quality service, even if we'd had a copper or two, which we did not.
