Siege of Rage and Ruin

by Django Wexler

  “Tori?” Garo’s voice. He peers around the corner, catches sight of me, and hurries over. “I heard Naga wanted to see you. Are you okay?”

  “For now.” I look past him to make sure he’s alone, and lower my voice. “He asked me to convince Isoka to surrender.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He lets out a breath. “If you do what he wants, he’ll let you stay here. My father will see to it, I promise. You’ll be safe.”

  “I know.” I give Garo a wan smile. “You’ve been so kind to me. I feel…”

  “Please.” Garo steps closer, hesitantly, and when I don’t back away he folds me in his arms. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

  I feel guilty, I finish to myself, because you’ve done your best, and I’m going to turn away. In another life, maybe, we could have made it work—the nobleman and the street girl, like something from a romantic play. But not here. Not with blood spilled in the streets. Not with everything I’ve done.

  Garo would stay here, with his father and his comfortable life, telling himself he was supporting everything our rebellion had wanted. Maybe they’d manage to get the draft quotas lowered by half a percent, or prosecute some of the corruption in the Ward Guard. And Naga will get his war with Jyashtan. Poor bastards who can’t afford a bribe will be shipped off to die in the fleet. And mage-blood commoners like Isoka and me will keep getting dragged away by the Immortals.

  “I know what I need to do,” I tell him. “I’m just scared, is all.”

  “You’re strong enough.” Garo hugs me a little tighter. “I know you are.”

  * * *

  The Emperor is waiting for me the next morning. I had a feeling he would be. This time he’s turned his chair around and placed another one beside it with a stack of books between them, ready for a debate. He’s grinning broadly.

  “I found a few more examples to consider,” he says, patting the tomes. “The question of whether inaction can be viewed as a true course in and of itself, rather than a default—”

  “Avyn.”

  He blinks. “Yes?”

  “Listen to me very carefully.”

  The Emperor straightens up in his chair. “All right.”

  “If you don’t help me, right now, then Kuon Naga is going to have me tortured to death.”

  It’s not precisely a lie. More like a strong probability. I certainly don’t think that Isoka is likely to turn over Soliton, whatever I say to her. And in the end I can’t bring myself to sing Naga’s tune. Which means Kadi will get her chance.

  “He—what?” Avyn shakes his head. “He can’t.”

  “He can. Of course he can. What do you think he does with people when they disappear?”

  The Emperor draws himself up. “I’m not a child. I know that the realities of governing can be unpleasant. But you’re a guest of the palace. He wouldn’t just—”

  “I’m only a guest of the palace because he thought that was the best way to get me to play along,” I say. “He doesn’t know I’ve been sharing a library with the Emperor.”

  “But—”

  I watch his face, his eyes darting as he looks for a way out. I feel a pang of sympathy for him, this young man who takes his responsibility so seriously. He knows, as he said, that the realities of governing can be unpleasant. But they’re supposed to happen out there, beyond the walls, to faceless people he can imagine but never meet.

  After a long moment, he slumps back in his chair.

  “What am I supposed to do?” he says. “Order Naga to arrest himself?” He shakes his head. “Replace him as chief of the Immortals, perhaps. If there was someone else—”

  “It won’t work,” I tell him. “You know that. The Immortals are loyal to Naga.” Naga’s not so foolish that he’d have it any other way. “If we had more time, there might be some way to undermine him, but—”

  “Then what?”

  “What I told you before. You have to help me sneak out of the palace.”

  “If they find us…”

  “They’ll kill me,” I say, matter-of-factly. “And I imagine Naga will find a way to keep you from wandering.”

  “He’s had me confined to my rooms before,” Avyn whispers. “For months. Told everyone I was ill. I nearly went mad.”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” I say. “But I don’t have any other choices.”

  “No.” He takes a deep breath. “You don’t, do you?”

  There’s a pause, silence balanced on the edge of a knife. Then he stands up, squaring his shoulders.

  “Follow me.”

  11

  ISOKA

  “You have everything you need?” Meroe says.

  I touch my collar, where the piece of Soliton conduit hangs on a cord beneath my shirt. It still pulses reassuringly with Eddica energy. “Got it.”

  “And you’ll be careful.” It’s not a question, not a suggestion, just a statement of fact.

  “Of course,” I tell her. “You, too. Your part may be more dangerous than mine, you know.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” Meroe says, running her hands through the curls of her hair. She ties it back with a knotted cord, then leans forward to kiss me. “But I’ll be careful, too.”

  Zarun, Jack, and Giniva are waiting for me outside, along with a dozen Blues. Zarun looks better fed and in considerably better humor. Jack’s purple hair is starting to show black at the roots. Giniva still walks with a slight limp, but otherwise seems recovered from the disastrous first attempt to distribute food. Since then, Hasaka and Jakibsa have organized a more careful dispersal of Kosura’s gifts, with plenty of warning and heavy guard. For now, the square in front of rebel headquarters is empty again, though Kosura warns me her stores won’t last long.

  Hopefully we’ll take care of that today, too. The audacity of what we’re trying to pull still takes my breath away. It’s like walking a tightrope. Just keep moving and don’t look down.

  “Have Naga’s messengers arrived yet?” I ask the nearest Blue.

  She looks into the distance for a moment, then nods. “They have approached the wall carrying a flag of truce. As instructed, they have not been fired on.”

  “Tell the local commander we’ll be there soon, and to keep his eyes on them.” I turn to the others. “Everyone still sure you want to be a part of this?”

  “You’re going to need backup in case something goes wrong,” Zarun says. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Likewise,” Jack agrees. “And Curious Jack has always wanted to see the Imperial Palace.”

  I glance at Giniva, who nods. “One of us needs to be there,” she says. “And the opportunity to observe Naga up close might be useful.”

  “Fair enough.” I had to ask. “Let’s get moving, then.”

  It’s a long hike up the military highway, between the abandoned ward walls of the Sixth and Eighth, tramping steadily uphill toward the front line—the east-west wall dividing those districts from the Second and Third Wards. As I’d observed the night we arrived, most civilians have already evacuated the area, crowding into the “safer” wards farther south. It must have gotten worse since the fall of the Fourth Ward. We see almost no one as we move north.

  Eventually, the wall comes into sight. I used to make this trip to visit Tori by carriage, and I never quite realized how long it is on foot. Or maybe I’m just getting soft. A large squad of Red Sashes comes out, commanded by a nervous sergeant who encourages us to hurry to the wall.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask her.

  “Not yet,” she mutters. “But I don’t like having Imperials so close, and neither do the rest. There are a lot of itchy trigger fingers.”

  Let’s not get my little sister killed with your itchy rotting fingers. I restrain myself and just hurry along. The ward walls are high and strong here, to protect the wealthy at the city’s height from the rotscum below. Now they’ve been awkwardly turned to the opposite purpose, wooden hoardings and mantlets providing cover where the original designers had
n’t intended any. Red Sashes with crossbows are everywhere, staring down at the no-man’s-land that extends from the base of the wall to the edge of bowshot.

  The big gates are closed, but a team has already lifted the bar out of the way. A score of spearmen stand by, ready to block the gap if the Imperials try a sudden rush. Paranoia. I approve. I give the sergeant a nod, and she shouts orders. Four men haul the gates open, and everyone holds their breath.

  On the other side of the wall is the Imperial truce party. Four soldiers in Ward Guard uniforms, one of them holding a white flag. Some ways back, I see a line of militia spearmen, waiting in case something goes wrong.

  I find myself smiling, in spite of it all. I recognize the tension in the air, the moment of standoff, when no one is certain if all the poised violence is going to come rushing out or stay bottled up. When I was boss of the Sixteenth Ward, this was the moment after I’d kicked in someone’s door, and they had to decide whether to pay up or take their chances with a blade. A surprising number went the latter route, even once the bodies started to pile up. I suppose anyone who thinks they can cheat the underworld of its cut is by definition a hopeless optimist.

  Today, of course, I’m hoping things don’t get violent. But I put on the same cocky smile I wore back in the old days as I stride out to meet Naga’s embassy. It can’t hurt to put them on edge. We pass through the gate, and it begins grinding shut behind us.

  “Gelmei Isoka?” the Ward Guard officer calls.

  “That’s me,” I say.

  “We have instructions to take you to meet Master Naga,” the man says. His eyes roam uncertainly over the people behind me. “I wasn’t aware you were bringing an … escort.”

  “I wouldn’t want Master Naga to get the impression that I trust him,” I say.

  “We’ve brought a carriage,” the officer says, “but some of you are going to have to walk.”

  “We’ll all walk.” No way am I letting them put me in a wooden box heading who-knows-where. “Lead the way.”

  The man frowns. “As you say. Follow me, please.”

  We walk farther up the hill, following the boundary between the Second and Third Wards. The houses around us get grander as we ascend, set back from the streets amidst their lawns and gardens, peaked roofs rising over protective screens of pine and willow trees. Big circular stones marked with family crests start to appear, denoting the minor nobility, who share this tier of the city with those poorer in blood but better endowed with gold. The four Ward Guard lead the way, still carrying the white flag, while the troop of militia fall in behind us. They keep a good distance back, giving us a wide berth.

  “This looks more like the Empire you see in paintings and woodcuts,” Zarun says, approvingly. “Why do some of the houses have silver birds on the roofs?”

  “They’re falcons. Supposed to bring good luck.” I shrug.

  “From a pre-Blessed tradition of honoring local spirits!” Jack puts in. When we both look at her, she only shrugs. “What? Jack reads a bit in her spare time.”

  Soon enough, we come to the next ward wall, even larger than the last. This one blocks off the First Ward, and I’m not surprised to see it fully manned by well-equipped soldiers. Our guide has to yell explanations for some time before the gates reluctantly open, and the road beyond is lined with neatly turned out crossbowmen.

  Here the houses, big as they must be, are invisible. The military highway drives straight through what might as well be a park, endless gardens separated by hedges, decorative fences, and neat little streams. Bridges arch over, cleverly wrought in the shape of leaping fish, and elegant lean-tos provide shady alcoves. Somewhere at the end of the long driveways, vast mansions lurk, visible only in snatches behind screens of trees. But every turnoff has a crest stone now, and the families are the most prestigious in the Empire. No merchants here, and no one who doesn’t know the name of their great-great-grandfather.

  The slope gets steeper as we climb. I can look over my shoulder and see the top of the ward wall behind and below us, and past that the city spreading out like a warren, stretching down until it meets the thin sparkling line of the sea. I’m sweating freely now, and everyone but Jack is breathing hard.

  Finally, we reach another gate, this one in a lower, red-painted wall crowned with fantastic carved beasts, picked out with gold leaf. The Imperial Palace hasn’t been a real fortress for centuries, and its defenses are symbolic. But there are guards everywhere, soldiers of the palace regiment with halberds and long tunics embroidered with more gold. More ominous are a pair of dark, armored shapes with their faces hidden behind chain-veils, waiting beside the arched gateway that leads onto the palace grounds. Immortals. I feel myself tense, and work to keep up my cocky smile.

  The palace itself sprawls behind its walls, huge and ancient. It’s not tall, only a single story in most places, but from here we can get only a sense of its vastness—the walls extend in both directions, sweeping out to take in an area bigger that the Second and Third Wards combined, and the whole of it is occupied by this single complex. The Palace is a city unto itself, with roads, stables, dormitories for servants, and of course the endless gardens and apartments of its denizens. Tucked away at its edges are the offices of the civil servants who do the actual work of running the Empire.

  So I’m told, anyway. All that’s obvious now, beyond the gateway, is a broad, circular drive, covered in raked gravel, with paths leading off it in all directions. Directly ahead is a platform, roofed but open at the front, with a curtain at the back. Somewhere for the Emperor or other high officials to stand, I presume, while greeting visitors or reviewing troops. For now, it’s empty.

  “Wait here,” one of the Immortals tells us, a woman with a harsh rasp of a voice. She and her partner vanish, though there are still easily forty palace guardsmen scattered around the yard.

  I glance over my shoulder again. The whole city is visible, down to the burned-out harbor. I can even see the ships of the Imperial Navy, sleek and shark-like, triangular sails furled as they row back and forth across the bay.

  Thank the Blessed for good weather. I close my eyes for a moment. And a little luck wouldn’t go amiss, either …

  TORI

  Avyn leads me to the back of the library. There’s no dust—the palace servants would never allow that—but this section has the feel of a place undisturbed for decades. The Emperor goes to the end of an aisle and touches part of the decorative molding. It shifts with a click, and a small door swings out smoothly.

  “These passages lead all over,” he says. “But I don’t know if I can get you out of the palace entirely.”

  “Just getting me out of the wing should do it,” I tell him. “I think.”

  I’ve been putting my attention into my Kindre senses, pushing back slowly and carefully against the Immortal whose power is blanketing mine. Over the past few days, I’ve found that while Naga is right about defense being easier than offense, that works both ways—by pressing outward, I can clear a space where I think my minder won’t be able to keep track of my movements. They shouldn’t even be aware I’m doing it. And if I can get far enough away, I can break out entirely. With access to my power, escaping the palace should be simple enough. I hope.

  “I’ll take you as far as I can.” He grimaces. “The problem is the passages don’t connect. We’ll have to get past a few guards.”

  “How do you normally do it?”

  He raises a hand, and shadows stream toward him, flowing around his feet like water. They rise up in front of him, a shifting screen of darkness that fades out, leaving him hidden from view.

  “Xenos.” His voice comes from nowhere for a moment, and then the shadows swirl away. “My Well. A fairly weak form of it, I’m told, but it suffices.”

  “Can you cover both of us?”

  “I’ve never tried, but I think so. At least for a while.” He takes a deep breath. “We’ll find out.”

  He looks nervous. I remind myself that while it’s my l
ife literally on the line here, Avyn is still taking a serious risk—if Naga discovers his ability to move around the palace, he could lose his only vestige of freedom. I give him an encouraging nod, most of my concentration on keeping up the subtle pressure that hides me from the watcher’s mental view.

  We duck to pass through the low doorway, and he closes the door behind us. The corridor is narrow, plain, and thick with dust—no servants have been cleaning here. It intersects another identical corridor in a four-way junction, and I would have no idea how to proceed, but the Emperor moves with confidence. We leave footprints behind us, and a swirl of disturbed dust in our wake.

  At times, only the thickness of a plaster wall separates the hidden corridor from the inhabited rooms and halls of the palace, and we can hear everything, muffled as though through a thick curtain. I keep my steps careful and quiet. This place is an eavesdropper’s dream—I catch snatches of conversation, scrapes and clangs of laundry basins and kitchens, the soft grunts and moans of a couple rutting in some quiet back room. I flush slightly, but Avyn pads onward in silence. No doubt he’s heard everything the palace has to offer.

  Before long we come to a dead end with a door—obvious from this side, but presumably concealed on the other. Avyn steps up and puts his eye to a peephole, then nods at me.

  “Ready? We need to move quickly and quietly.”

  “Ready.”

  He thumbs the latch, and the door swings open. We emerge into an empty hallway. It’s unfamiliar to me, so it must be outside the Pear Wing, but I still feel the pressure in my mind. Not far enough away yet.

  The Emperor raises his hand, and shadows swirl around us. When they settle, it’s like being draped with thick, dark gauze—I can see, but only dimly. Avyn lets out a low grunt with the effort, then shakes his head and takes my hand. We start walking.

  Around the corner is a corridor junction, with four palace guards standing by. They’re only yards away, and my breath catches in my throat, but Avyn moves at a slow, steady pace and I follow. Keeping up the Kindre pressure is starting to wear on me, and I can feel a headache building. The temptation to move faster is strong, but I stay behind Avyn, and eventually we’re past and into another empty corridor. He lets the shadows drop away with a gasp, leaning on the wall.