by Lucy Hounsom
She hadn’t seen her parents since the night of the Breaking when Brégenne had saved Jarand’s life. Months had passed since then, months when they’d had no news of her. What if they thought she was dead? Maybe it’s better they do, her own voice whispered coldly. If they could see what you’ve become …
Kyndra wrenched herself back to the present. From the little she’d seen of Acre, it was a chaotic place. Sartya, the Defiant, Khronosta … she didn’t know enough about any of them, their goals or motivations.
‘What do you know of Khronosta?’ she asked Ségin now.
The rebel leader raised his eyebrows at the question. ‘Very little. I’m surprised you’ve even heard the name.’
Kyndra remembered the conversation she’d eavesdropped on between General Hagdon and Iresonté. ‘We heard it discussed in the Sartyan camp. An attack that failed …’
Ségin’s eyes narrowed. ‘That explains Hagdon’s presence,’ he said. ‘If the Davaratch received reports of Khronosta in the area … well, he’s far more determined to get rid of the Khronostians than he is us.’
‘I saw the general talking to a woman,’ Kyndra said, letting her curiosity win out. ‘She had some kind of bird on her armour.’
‘A greathawk. One of the stealth force,’ Ségin said. ‘It sounds like a raid. The emperor doesn’t get many opportunities to attack the temple. The Khronostians are not like us – with permanent bases of operations. Whenever they’re threatened, their power allows them to move the whole temple and all its people to a safer location. It makes them exceedingly hard to track.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Hagdon must have received excellent information to plan a raid.’
‘What power do these Khronostians have?’ Nediah asked curiously.
Ségin gave him a narrow look. ‘They can control time. At least to some extent. That’s about all we know.’
Before Kyndra could voice her incredulity, Medavle glanced up sharply from the map. ‘They travel through time? Is that how they move this temple of theirs?’
‘Here my sources fail me,’ Ségin admitted. ‘We don’t know the half of their abilities or exactly how they work, but they’ve evaded Sartya for two decades.’ Kyndra saw frustration in the set of his shoulders. ‘They would be our natural allies, if only they trusted us. In the last five years, the Davaratch has stepped up his campaign to hunt them down, but the Khronostians only seem to grow stronger.’ He smiled thinly. ‘They’ve assassinated many high-profile members of the emperor’s court.’
‘So they’re warriors?’ Medavle asked.
‘There’s a subsect in Khronosta called the dualakat. Assassins might be a better name for them. They’re swift as falcons and deceptive as a desert mirage. You won’t know you’re dead until you hit the ground.’
‘And how many of them are there?’
Ségin raised an eyebrow. ‘I doubt even the stealth force has such information. Just think what we could do with their aid,’ he added passionately, clenching a fist. ‘We have the numbers, the networks, and they have the means. Together we could crush Sartya.’ He sighed. ‘Or the dragons. They’d have made fearsome allies.’
Kyndra blinked. ‘The Lleu-yelin?’ All the stories came back to her, the wild people of the mountains, their dragon wings spread to catch the wind. She’d half thought them a myth. ‘They’re … real?’
‘The Lleu-yelin are a children’s story,’ Kait said from her place against the wall.
‘They might as well be,’ Ségin agreed. ‘No one’s seen them for twenty years.’
‘Why?’ Kyndra asked, her heart beating faster with the thought. ‘Where did they go?’
‘No one knows. They were always aloof.’ Ségin shrugged. ‘They might not have helped us anyway.’
‘Why does the emperor see Khronosta as a greater threat than the Defiant?’ Medavle asked after a moment, that glitter of interest still in his eyes.
‘I expect because he blames them for the empire’s loss of ambertrix. It grows scarcer year by year.’
‘What is ambertrix?’ Kyndra said, frustrated at her ignorance. ‘How could Sartya have kept it a secret?’ She looked at Medavle. ‘They used it to bring down Solinaris.’
‘Because it’s a secret that could destroy them,’ Ségin said. ‘I’ve spent enough lives trying to ferret it out. What goes on in Thabarat is a mystery to everyone but the emperor and his technicians. But when the last of the ambertrix is gone and the Sartyan Fist’s weapons are useless, we will strike. Until then we recruit, we train, we grow strong, we survive.’
As if to punctuate his statement, a woman at the chamber entrance called, ‘Ségin!’ and the rebel leader turned on his heel. ‘I am needed elsewhere,’ he said firmly. ‘We will talk again.’ Ignoring Kyndra’s attempt to speak, he shrugged his hide mantle up onto his shoulders and headed for the door, scooping up a trio of guards as he went.
Kyndra looked at Medavle and Nediah. ‘What do you make of him?’ she asked quietly.
‘I think he’s a man to seize opportunity with both hands,’ the Yadin said, touching the flute on his belt. Kyndra eyed it with new respect, remembering the great staff Medavle had wielded against the Sartyans. ‘Ségin may have sheltered us,’ he added, ‘but I doubt he made the decision out of charity.’
‘He hasn’t spoken of our leaving,’ Nediah admitted with an uneasy glance at the rebels still in the chamber. Kyndra wondered if they had been deliberately posted there by Ségin. ‘He hasn’t asked after our plans at all.’
‘I’m glad he hasn’t,’ Kyndra said, keeping her voice low, ‘because –’ she took a deep breath – ‘we need to meet the emperor.’
They stared at her. Medavle’s black eyes were as piercing as the day she’d first seen them watching her from the crowd in Brenwym. ‘You don’t think it’s a good idea?’ she asked, beginning to doubt it herself. What if this Davaratch was as bad as his namesake? The part of her that was Kierik – Kierik’s memories, she corrected hurriedly – railed at her. Sartya was birthed in war. It cannot understand peace.
‘You may be right,’ Nediah said finally. ‘We came to secure peace for Mariar. That must be our first priority. As long as the empire is in power, it’s to them we must take our terms.’
Surprised, Kyndra’s heart lifted. To know that Nediah agreed … suddenly her plan didn’t seem so naive.
‘You take a risk,’ Medavle said in his deep voice. ‘A crumbling empire can be far more dangerous than a secure one. It seems as if Sartya is the only thing stopping Acre from slipping into chaos. If the empire falls – a force that’s kept control for more than five hundred years – the vacuum created might spark a whole new war.’
‘You believe we should ally with Sartya’s enemies instead?’
The Yadin hesitated then shook his head. ‘I would like to know more about Khronosta. But in the meantime …’ With a sweeping glance that took in the rough-hewn chamber and the rebels that were dotted around, he said, ‘I don’t trust Ségin. You’d be foolish to throw your lot in with his without greater assurance of his support. We have no idea of the Defiant’s numbers.’
‘The Defiant helped us,’ Kait said, coming nearer. ‘Their cause seems a just one to me.’
‘A response I’d expect from one of the Nerian,’ Medavle said with a curl of his lip. ‘The Defiant are rebels, idealists holed up in the ground, fighting a war they’re unlikely to win. It’s no wonder you wish to join them.’
‘Ségin,’ Kyndra said firmly, hoping to head off the brewing scene, ‘thinks that this Davaratch is as evil as the first. What if the emperor won’t even consider a truce?’
‘Our perspective of the empire is skewed in favour of the Defiant,’ Nediah said, albeit a little grudgingly, ‘and by the fact that our only experience of Sartya was as their prisoners. They thought they’d captured rebels, after all.’ He always gave others the benefit of the doubt; right or wrong, it was one of the things Kyndra liked about him. ‘We owe it to Naris – and Mariar – to at least make overtures before setti
ng ourselves up as their enemy. It would be foolish to follow the pattern of the past unless Sartya gives us cause to do so.’
‘What about the aberrations?’ Kyndra asked, determined to consider the argument from every side. ‘Ségin claims they’re imprisoned. That doesn’t exactly speak well of the empire.’
‘Perhaps Sartya has never forgotten that Solinaris resisted imperial control,’ Medavle said. ‘If these aberrations exhibit the same powers as Wielders, they’re unlikely to be given the chance to prove themselves as anything other than enemies.’
Nediah gave her a brief, reassuring smile. ‘Don’t doubt yourself, Kyndra. If Brégenne were here, she’d say we have to explore every avenue. And we don’t have the authority to declare war on any power in Acre. If diplomacy fails …’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t,’ Kyndra finished. If war came to Mariar, the blame would lie on her shoulders. She was the one who’d brought Acre back, who’d reunited the two lands. It was up to her to protect her home.
A small movement caught her eye: Tava. She’d forgotten him, standing obscured in the alcove. Dread raised the hairs on her arms. How much had he heard? He and his sister owed the Defiant their lives – if he knew Kyndra was entertaining the idea of a truce with the empire, he’d go straight to Ségin. She watched him carefully, but Tava didn’t look alarmed or outraged. If anything, he looked like someone who had seen more of the world’s ugliness than was right or fair. That makes two of us, she thought.
They spent the afternoon poring over the maps until Kyndra felt she had at least a basic grasp of Acrean geography. Kait kept up a steady stream of objections throughout, arguing for staying with the Defiant, helping to build a proper resistance with Wielder support. ‘Lord Kierik gave his sanity in the battle against the empire,’ she said. ‘The Nerian would gladly join any rebel movement in his name.’
Nediah gave her a disgusted look. ‘Why can’t you see that Kierik was a murderer? A man prepared to commit any crime, any atrocity to achieve his ends. He was mad long before the fall of Solinaris.’ Medavle pressed his lips together; the only sign he gave of his agreement.
Kait advanced on Nediah and the two spots of colour that were always in her cheeks grew brighter. ‘Lord Kierik was the only one strong enough to do what had to be done. I was glad to carry his banner; glad of the day we rose to show Naris the truth. We would have shown all of Mariar.’
‘I watched you murder helpless people,’ Nediah said in a low, hard voice. ‘Don’t pretend you and the Defiant share a common cause.’
‘I waited fifteen years in the dark,’ Kait said fiercely. ‘I gave up fifteen years of my life to live as an outcast, reviled, forgotten.’ She paused and then said in a softer voice, ‘You could have come with me. I wanted you to come with me.’
Nediah’s face was as pale as Kait’s was flushed. For a moment it seemed he couldn’t speak. ‘You chose to give up those years, Kait. You exiled yourself.’
‘I couldn’t live under the Council any longer,’ she replied, and Kyndra had seen that desperation in her eyes before. ‘Not after they … I couldn’t let them think they’d won.’
‘They did win, Kait,’ Nediah said quietly.
The flush in Kait’s cheeks deepened. ‘No,’ she said in a small voice.
Nediah seemed older in the dim, flickering light of the torches. ‘And you’re wrong,’ he murmured, turning away. ‘You were never forgotten.’
Kait stared at him, tears standing in her eyes, but before she could speak, Ségin returned to the chamber in a whirl of leather, his face white and a dozen rebels at his back. ‘He’s here,’ he said, a choked mixture of fear and rage in his voice. ‘Hagdon. You’ve brought the Fist down on us.’
13
The Beaches, Acre
Char
Out in the desert. Alone. Injured. Waiting to be picked off by mysha. It was a litany of the hopeless and it filled Char’s mind with thoughts of death.
He’d put some distance between himself and the walls of Na Sung Aro – depending on how much they’d been paid, his pursuers might decide to check the spot where he’d jumped, thinking to find him huddled there, too frightened to venture onto the dunes. There’d be a bloodbath either way. Beaten to death or eaten to death. Char grinned humourlessly.
The wound on his arm kept him unwelcome company. It was a throbbing ache which his head soon began to echo, making it hard to think. The blood had finally stopped slowly seeping through the headscarf and had stained it black. A wave of faintness overcame him and he stopped walking, pulling in deep breaths. If he passed out now, chances were he wouldn’t wake up again.
He was ill, he knew that. The fever would take him even if the mysha didn’t. Perhaps he should have ignored Ma’s warning and gone with the Khronostians after all. Char pushed the doubts aside – he couldn’t afford to be distracted out here. The gentle, starlit waves of the dunes were deceptively beautiful and the moon was shining upon the sands. Though a bright night wouldn’t do him any favours, the mysha hunted by body heat and his raised temperature would look like a small sun to them.
For now, the desert remained silent and Char began to walk again. If he could make it until morning, he might stand a chance. But his feverish brain couldn’t remember how far the Baioran frontier was. It could be several days away and although he had a bit of food and water, the mysha would surely find him before then. He shivered in the chill air, swivelling his head from side to side, convinced the sand dogs were watching him, yellow-eyed and hungry in the darkness.
Char opened his eyes. He was lying sprawled under the sun and he blinked, confused. Hadn’t it just been night? His last memory was of trudging through moonlit sand and thinking about the mysha. But how did he come to be here? He felt a chill even as his body sweated in the heat. He must have passed out and lain here unconscious for hours. That he was still alive was beyond miraculous – perhaps the Khronostians were right and he did have some mysterious power.
The fever was worse today. His head throbbed, his limbs felt heavy, weak, and he found himself gulping down the water he’d brought from Na Sung Aro. Char knew he ought to ration it, but could not stop. There wasn’t much left when he was done. He didn’t have the strength to chastise himself, not when he was merely putting off the inevitable. He chewed on some tough pancake, but found it hard to swallow. Everything was an effort and the wound on his arm –
Char looked at it. The gash was still puffy and red, but for the moment it was closed. The crusted scarf was gone and so was the black blood that had dried on his skin. Someone had washed it off. Or something. Heart beating faster, he slowly turned his head to look around, but saw only empty sands and a haze to the south that could be the smoke of Na Sung Aro. As far as he knew, only mysha lived out here.
Standing up proved easier said than done. Char’s legs trembled under his weight, his head spun and he fell back twice before succeeding. He needed shelter, another headscarf to keep out the sun. He had neither. The kali sticks hung at his hips, useless weight he would be better off without, but he couldn’t bring himself to discard them. Ma had given them to him and though he barely had the strength to stand, he wouldn’t throw his last relic of her away.
He hoped she’d escaped the dualakat. She must have. Prodigy, they’d called her … did that mean she had grown up in Khronosta? His Ma? Once, Char might have scoffed at the idea, but he remembered Ma’s face, the tears in her eyes, and knew them for truth. Khronosta was Ma’s demon … the demon she’d been running from all these years. Why had she left? If he was the Kala, why had she chosen to hide him, to betray her people? None of it made sense. He wished he could talk to her.
Perhaps if he turned around, went back to Na Sung Aro, he’d find her. Perhaps she’d already be gone. Even in the Black Bazaar, questions would be asked about Genge’s death. No, Char decided, he’d follow their original plan – escape to the border with Baior, head west to the Heartland. It couldn’t be much further. But a terrible lethargy was spreading throug
h him.
He was going to die out here.
Time must have passed, for the sun left a blazing trail as it crawled slug-like into the west. Dusk brought a welcome relief from the heat, but the temperature fell too quickly and Char began to shiver. His water was gone and although he knew he must eat, he couldn’t summon the strength to gnaw at the toughened fare. His knees finally buckled just as the first star appeared in the sky.
This was it, then. He lay in the dim light, the sand still warm beneath him, and waited to die. The pain in his arm was spreading throughout his body and it was the only thing keeping him conscious. Char felt the sand of the desert against his cheek and thought of the life he had lived with Ma and Genge and the other slavers, turning a profit at the expense of another’s freedom. Dying alone in this inhospitable place was a fitting end for him. Where were all those people whose own fragile lives had passed through his hands? He’d watched without mercy, without saying a thing, while Genge chained them up and sold them off like so much meat. He could have helped. He should have helped.
Freedom was an illusion, he’d always told himself. But out in this unprincipled wild, the cold words brought no comfort. They seemed arrogant – no, ignorant – spoken by a boy who hid behind his cowardice.
His parched throat managed a tiny gasp at the thought of the emptiness that awaited him, that sure oblivion he travelled to. His life might be worthless, but it was his and he wanted it. Using reserves he didn’t know he had, Char pushed himself up onto his elbows.
That’s when he saw the eyes – several pairs of eyes, yellow, unblinking, as they slunk towards him out of the gloom. There were perhaps six of them, more than enough to finish the job. Dogs, he thought almost hysterically, they call them dogs. The mysha were more like wolves, big wolves, all muscle and sinew. They’d come to well above waist height if he stood up. He could smell their sandy coats, all heat and dust, and their breath steamed gently as the temperature dropped. They padded up, near-silent, and they circled him and Char could only huddle there and wait for the teeth, which would show him no more mercy than he’d shown the slaves.
