Heartland

by Lucy Hounsom

  The tides of battle were turning in the rebels’ favour. A group of people, masked like vigilantes, were scything their way through the Sartyans, picking apart their phalanx one soldier at a time. In the midst of them strode a man, similarly masked; It looked as though he was directing them. Char clutched at his wound, his own blood slicking his fingers, scanning the street for a path clear enough for the horses.

  ‘Char!’ someone called. ‘Gods, is that you?’

  Frowning, Char turned towards the voice and saw the vigilantes approaching. All were heavily armed and dressed in nondescript clothes. Their leader held a curved blade, spattered with what, presumably, was Sartyan blood. ‘It is,’ the man declared and he ripped off his mask.

  The world’s gone mad. ‘Iarl Rogan?’ Char said, astonished. What was he doing here? The iarl wore a face he’d never seen before: adamant, alive.

  ‘I will be soon,’ Rogan replied enigmatically. His eyes flickered past Char to fix on Kyndra. The Starborn self-consciously raised a hand to cover the glowing mark on her cheek. ‘Ségin hoped you’d come,’ he said with a tight smile, ‘though Char is quite the surprise.’

  ‘Are you Ségin’s –’ Kyndra stopped, shook her head. ‘How do you know who I am?’

  ‘Why don’t we go and wash off this blood?’ Rogan said. ‘I’ve a proposition to put to you.’

  26

  Cymenza, Acre

  Kyndra

  When Rogan joined them in the parlour of his home deep in the iarls’ affluent district, he looked a different person. An oliveskinned man in his middle years, he’d swapped his plain clothes for a light tunic with gold brocade. Clean shoes replaced his bloodstained boots. Kyndra eyed the polished table and the ordered cupboards that lined the walls behind him. There was a strange stove-like apparatus with a flat top and four circular metal plates. It carried a faint layer of dust. She guessed it might have been something powered by ambertrix, the strange energy that was once the source of Sartya’s strength.

  ‘Who is he?’ she’d asked Char as they’d followed Rogan through the smoky streets. ‘Do you trust him?’

  ‘Gods, no,’ Char had answered, frowning. ‘I thought I knew him … I want to know what he’s doing here, how he’s involved in all of this.’

  ‘He seemed pleased enough to see you.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean we’re friends. Rogan pretends to be a loyal imperial citizen, but he’s always had one foot in the underworld.’ Char paused. ‘I just didn’t know how deep.’

  So this was Ségin’s Cymenza contact. Now Kyndra sat, uncomfortable in the heat of a fire, and wondered what exactly Ségin had said about her. A fat man sweated over the flames, hanging a pail full of water to warm. ‘Will there be anything more?’ he asked somewhat bitterly and Rogan shook his head.

  ‘How’s the Hozener shaping up?’ Char asked when the man had gone.

  The iarl shrugged. ‘Didn’t mean to buy him. Just wanted to give Genge a hand with the bidding. How is he, by the way?’

  ‘Dead,’ Char said shortly.

  Rogan’s face stilled. ‘I am sorry to hear it,’ he said. ‘We’ve many ken-years between us. I considered him more a friend than a business associate.’

  Char grunted and his expression grew a little cooler. Kyndra wondered what he was thinking. ‘Who was Genge?’ she asked.

  Rogan raised an eyebrow. ‘Char hasn’t spoken of the slave master?’ He looked back at the young man.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ Nediah said, a wrinkle creasing his brow. ‘How exactly do you two know each other?’

  The sudden silence was uncomfortable. Char and Rogan exchanged a glance. Kyndra guessed that they’d never expected to encounter each other outside their usual dealings. Eventually Rogan said, ‘My business frequently takes me to the Beaches. It’s the only place one can obtain certain … goods.’

  ‘By “goods” you mean slaves,’ Irilin said, her face darkening.

  ‘Among other things,’ the iarl answered, holding her gaze. ‘Do not be too quick to judge, young woman.’

  ‘Are you planning on telling me what’s going on?’ Char said loudly in an obvious attempt to change the subject. ‘We reach Cymenza to find a full-blown riot in progress, almost get killed by Sartyans, and then I find you in the middle of it all, dressed as some vigilante of the streets.’

  Rogan narrowed his eyes. ‘You have an unfortunate habit of asking dangerous questions, Char. I don’t doubt it’ll get you killed one day.’

  Kyndra glanced out of the window. The iarl’s manor sat high on a hill above the city. She could see the fires that ravaged the trade district, burning bright and hot in the twilight. ‘Aren’t you worried the fires will spread here?’ she asked.

  The iarl smiled. ‘They burn only what they’re supposed to.’

  ‘Did you orchestrate this?’ Char demanded.

  ‘Another dangerous question. You could say I’m one of the pieces.’ Rogan studied each of them in turn. ‘The players are far higher up. Cymenza is under their control now.’

  ‘And who are these players?’

  Rogan shook his head. ‘Come now, Char, don’t force me to kill you.’

  Kait, Kyndra noticed, had been watching the exchange closely, her hands curled tight around the arms of the chair. ‘Are you with the Defiant?’ she asked.

  The iarl barked a laugh. ‘Tools, but they have their uses. Their agents in Cymenza were happy enough to start a riot. I suspect they’re also happy to take the credit for ousting the Sartyans, though they couldn’t have done it without my help.’

  Kyndra opened her mouth, but Nediah asked the question before she could. ‘How many people do you have working for you?’

  ‘More than the Sartyans had stationed here. Cymenza has a history of kowtowing to authority and the empire grew complacent. They pull more soldiers out of the city every year.’

  ‘The Davaratch will come down hard,’ Char said. ‘He’ll send the Fist. Whoever your mysterious players are, they won’t hold the city for long.’

  ‘The last I heard, the Fist had suffered losses of its own.’ Rogan looked at Kyndra. ‘Isn’t that right, Starborn?’

  She felt a ripple of disquiet. ‘What did Ségin tell you?’

  ‘Some associates of mine are very keen to make your acquaintance,’ Rogan said without answering, ‘particularly after the uncompromising way you dealt with Hagdon’s forces.’

  Kyndra thrust down the memory of Sigel. ‘That’s not something I ever intended,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Intended or not, it certainly drew attention.’

  ‘The wrong kind.’

  ‘That depends on whether you help us,’ Rogan said. ‘Would you hear me out?’

  ‘Who is “us”?’

  ‘I can’t give you names, you understand.’ His face was serious. ‘Not until I know you won’t betray us. But we call ourselves the Republic of Acre. We aim to break up the empire, restore independence to all territories.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of this Republic,’ Char said suspiciously.

  Rogan looked briefly irritated. ‘Of course you haven’t. Why do you think we still exist?’ The iarl returned his gaze to Kyndra. ‘We’re not without power, or influence. We’ve agents in every major city in northern Acre, including the imperial court. We even count disaffected Sartyans among our number.’

  She frowned. ‘What about the Defiant? You say they’re tools, but aren’t their goals the same as yours?’

  ‘The Defiant are a front,’ Rogan said. ‘A front we’ve hidden behind for many years. They were created to deflect attention away from us. Their raids on outlying garrisons, their attacks on the prison wagons in order to recruit aberrations – inflammatory tactics designed to capture and hold the interest of imperial spies.’

  ‘There was a spy planted among the Defiant.’ Kyndra felt a pang of regret as she thought of Tava. ‘If they have access to Defiant secrets, how come they haven’t rooted you out?’

  Rogan folded his arms. ‘Because only the leaders o
f each cell know that they work for us. And each is given a different contact. We knew Iresonté would get her claws into the Defiant. It’s part of their purpose.’ He smiled thinly. ‘It leaves us free to work.’

  Just as Kyndra was wondering what the others made of this, Nediah leaned forward. ‘What does your Republic propose to offer Kyndra?’

  ‘An alliance,’ Rogan said without preamble. ‘That’s what you seek for Rairam, no?’

  Kyndra stared at him. ‘Is that what Ségin told you?’

  ‘Amongst other things. He has a rather high opinion of you.’

  ‘He and his people are safe, then?’

  Rogan nodded and a knot inside Kyndra loosened. She’d managed to save some lives for all those she’d taken.

  ‘And what are the terms of this alliance?’ Nediah asked, green eyes sharp on Rogan’s face. Kyndra watched the Wielder closely, remembering his earlier horror at the punishment meted out by the Sartyans. If there was an alliance to be made, it seemed he was predisposed to find Rogan’s preferable.

  ‘What it comes down to is this. You help us bring Sartyan rule to an end and we guarantee peace for Rairam.’

  ‘That seems awfully convenient,’ Kyndra said, though her heart had begun to beat faster at the possibilities. ‘I know nothing about you, or whether these claims of power and influence are true. Why shouldn’t I make overtures to Sartya instead?’

  Rogan’s expression soured. ‘You’d be a fool to try. War and conquest is the lifeblood of Sartya. The empire will never treat Rairam as an allied power.’

  ‘And where does Khronosta stand in all of this?’ Medavle asked suddenly.

  ‘Ah.’ Rogan sighed. ‘The honest answer is – we don’t know. For the moment, they seem to hate Sartya as much as we do and they’ve inadvertently helped us by taking out the few ambertrix technicians left in Thabarat.’

  ‘But what do they want? What’s their overarching goal?’

  ‘If it’s to seize power, they’ll have us to contend with,’ Rogan said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Otherwise, I couldn’t say.’

  Kyndra glanced at Char and found him looking at her. Perhaps they were thinking the same – how exactly would the Kala help the Khronostians seize power? Could one man really make a difference?

  ‘If you’re open to my proposal,’ Rogan said, ‘I’ll introduce you to some contacts of mine. We can discuss what you’ll bring to the Republic –’ here, his eyes flickered over the Wielders – ‘and what the Republic might then do for you.’

  It’s better than nothing, Kyndra told herself. You came here to make an alliance and he’s offering you one. Should she trust him? Char didn’t, but then Char had history with this man – he’d thought him someone else entirely. Kyndra glanced at the others. Medavle’s expression was neutral, but that light still burned behind his eyes. Kait would agree to the alliance – she’d argued vehemently in favour of the Defiant, after all. Nediah was more cautious, but Kyndra could tell he was giving Rogan’s offer serious thought.

  ‘I’ll leave you to talk it over,’ Rogan said, breaking into her musing. He rose. ‘And I’ll have refreshments sent in. Please make yourselves at home.’

  ‘It’s all a bit precipitous,’ Irilin said when the iarl had gone. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Precipitous or not, he’s handed you your answer on a plate,’ Kait said predictably. She was taking Rogan at his word and had propped her feet comfortably on the table in front of her. ‘We could do far worse than ally with the organization behind the Defiant.’

  ‘We don’t know enough about it,’ Kyndra argued. ‘This Republic’s an unknown quantity, even more so than Sartya. At least we’ve had some experience of the empire.’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly a good experience,’ Nediah said. ‘I know you had hopes of Hagdon. But even if the general had been willing to listen to you, he was just one man and subject to the emperor.’ He sighed, loosening the ties at his neck in the heat. ‘And everything we’ve heard about the Davaratch has been bad. He and his empire are, by all accounts, monstrous.’

  ‘We will be involving ourselves in a war either way,’ Medavle said. The temperature didn’t seem to affect him. He stood with arms folded, leaning against the wall. ‘If you ally with Sartya, they’ll expect you to fight for them. If you ally with the Defiant, and this Republic, they’ll expect you to fight for them. If you don’t ally with either, you have no insurance against an invasion of Rairam.’ His gaze was characteristically penetrating. ‘A hard choice, but better than none at all.’

  *

  They discussed it for an hour until Kait – after announcing that she’d given her opinion – threw up her hands and left to get some air in the adjoining garden. A moment later, Nediah followed her. Kyndra frowned after them, feeling like she was betraying Brégenne by not saying something. It’s none of your business really, she reminded herself. But she’d seen the way Nediah looked at Brégenne, how he blushed whenever she touched him. And Kyndra remembered Brégenne’s face on the night Nediah left for the Deep – she’d wept, believing she’d never see him again.

  Kyndra felt a ripple of anger at Kait. The Nerian woman had history with Nediah, she knew that, but they’d all heard their argument in Skar. Kait had left Nediah to become one of Kierik’s people. She’d made her choice. What was Nediah doing then, encouraging her?

  ‘Brégenne must have received the envoi by now,’ Irilin said, as if she’d pulled the image of the Wielder right out of Kyndra’s head. Her voice was very quiet. ‘Gareth will have heard about Shika.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kyndra said, equally quietly.

  ‘I wish I could talk to him,’ Irilin whispered, ‘but I wouldn’t know what to say. What is there to say?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Kyndra felt utterly helpless. Shika’s name kept bringing back that awful day, the wails of the wraiths, their hatred, Medavle’s belief that they were remnants of the slaughtered Yadin. She thought she’d experienced terrible things in Naris, what with the tests and the Madness that destroyed Wielders’ minds … but it was nothing compared to the brutal reality of Acre.

  ‘My tunic needs mending,’ Irilin said. Her face was carefully blank, but Kyndra suspected she was holding back tears. ‘I think I’ll take it outside.’ While they’d been talking, Medavle had disappeared too and Kyndra was left alone with Char.

  He was dipping a finger into the water that had been warmed over the fire, presumably testing the temperature. Then, with a quick glance around, he shrugged out of his shirt.

  Flushing, Kyndra jumped up to go, but – ‘Stay if you want,’ Char said, bundling it up and dunking it in the water. ‘You’ve seen me bleed. You know I’m all wrong.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ she said, perching hesitantly on the edge of a table. He glanced at her and she blushed harder, wondering why she’d spoken.

  ‘I remember –’ he wrung the shirt out – ‘what you said to me.’

  Nediah had healed the sword slash, but blood still fanned across Char’s ribs and over his stomach. He dabbed it and the shirt came away black. Kyndra knew she was staring, but she couldn’t seem to stop. As the blood came off, she could see the strange shadow-shade of his skin, the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, no doubt built up through years of training with those sticks of his.

  Char glanced up, bloodstained rag in hand, and met her gaze. ‘You said I wasn’t human.’

  Kyndra remembered the force she’d felt coiled beneath his skin. It was the second time she’d sensed it – before, Char had refused to talk about it. ‘Nediah told us … when he healed you.’

  ‘What else did he tell you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  Char was silent. If he asked, she would tell him what she’d sensed: a great force inside him like wings unfolding to catch wind, a rushing, unstoppable roar. But he wouldn’t ask. They shared the same pride.

  ‘There is a rage,’ he said, dropping the sodden shirt. ‘Sometimes it comes without warning. Every time it’s stronge
r.’ He turned to dress in the spare clothes Rogan had loaned him and Kyndra looked away.

  ‘How long has it troubled you?’

  ‘“Troubled me”?’ He snorted. ‘You make it sound like an illness.’

  ‘It isn’t?’

  ‘Three years,’ Char said. He came to lean against a table across from her. Where Kyndra suspected she’d look quite ridiculous in them, the borrowed clothes suited him. He wore a shirt rolled up to the elbows under a tunic, long and dusty as the dunes, loose trousers that narrowed at the ankle and sturdy boots. The strange sticks he used as weapons hung from scabbards attached to his belt. A plain headscarf held the hair off his forehead, trailing ends pushed back over his shoulder.

  There was something exotic, even handsome about him, but then she noticed the tattoos on his forearms and wondered at the things he had seen and done. How had he found himself in such a life?

  Char seemed to reach some silent decision. He pushed himself off the table and came to stand a little closer. ‘I haven’t said thank you,’ he said awkwardly, ‘for stopping it.’ His yellow eyes were intense on her face.

  ‘I didn’t –’ It emerged as a croak and Kyndra coughed. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘That’s twice you stopped it from getting free. Nothing else can.’ A shadow passed over his face. ‘It almost consumed me back there in the street. It’s never been so strong.’

  ‘I saw what you did to the soldier,’ she said.

  Char swallowed. ‘It’s happened before. The first time I didn’t kill anyone, but today …’

  A breeze from the open door blew hair into her eyes and Kyndra raised a hand to brush it back. Char caught her fingers and brought her hand close to his face, as if it were some strange object worthy of study. Her heart skipped; his skin still felt unnaturally warm. He turned her wrist and there was Hagal emblazoned across it, clearer after she’d used it on the wraiths. ‘What is this one?’ he asked.