Knight Exiled: The Shackled Verities (Book Three)

by Tammy Salyer

  As if her thoughts made it so, the serving woman she’d given the package to arrived in the war room. She remained at the doorway, just a figure on the fringe of Symvalline’s limited view.

  “What is it?” Tuzhazu said without looking up.

  “Archon Tuzhazu, the healer from Vinnr has given me something to deliver to you.”

  He raised his head then. “Well bring it to me.”

  The woman hurried forward, never meeting his eyes, and placed the small paper-wrapped bundle into his waiting palm.

  “What is it?” he inquired.

  “She said it’s a sample of what you requested, to be given to you and only to you.”

  “Go.” He waved her away. As she retreated, Tuzhazu lowered the package to the edge of the model table, then took a step back.

  His eyes remained fixed on the bundle, and Symvalline’s hopes for its effectiveness dwindled. Of course he’d be suspicious, she castigated herself. It was a fool’s dream.

  After a moment, the Archon looked up toward the corner to her right. She couldn’t see into that space, but now realized she’d been wrong about Tuzhazu being alone when he said:

  “Come here.”

  The sibilant sound that could only be the voice of one of the Deathless, a sound she’d come to loathe, blew to her ears. The person, if it could still be called such, to whom it belonged became visible a moment later as he approached Tuzhazu.

  Symvalline recognized him. The one called Toranzu.

  “Kaneas,” Tuzhazu directed, referring to him by what she’d learned was a rank, “open this package.”

  Symvalline bit down on her tongue, holding back a shout that he should not, that the package was not meant for him! But all would be lost if she gave herself away. She couldn’t help Isemay if she were caught again. So, though her entire being railed against the suffering she knew was coming, she had to strangle her desire to save the soldier from what was in store, despite that fact that he didn’t deserve it. He was merely a pawn in Tuzhazu’s game.

  Toranzu grasped the bundle. With it held before his waist, he pulled the short twine bow. As it came free, the package emitted a subdued hiss followed by a small puff of brown smoke. Before anyone could so much as blink, it exploded in the soldier’s hands, a flash of colorless fire erupting and spreading hot metal shavings that she’d painstakingly carved from nails and the fire-prodding tools of the hearth. They spread mostly upward, straight into the Deathless’s eyes.

  He let out a shriek and dropped the remnants of the bomb. Reeling, he screamed and screamed, his fingers clawing at his eyes and face, which gushed strange ichor blood.

  Tuzhazu watched him expressionlessly. From her vantage, Symvalline saw small pinpricks of blood, colored red, on his bare forearms where shrapnel had pierced him, but the wounds were minor. The bomb was the best she could manage with her limited tools and knowledge of this world’s chemistry, and while it packed a punch at close range, its most damaging effectiveness went only a foot or two. Tuzhazu looked as if he didn’t even feel the punctures.

  The Deathless had fallen to his knees, still grasping his face, but his screams had thinned to gravelly moans. Tuzhazu paced to a chair on the other side of the table from Symvalline’s hiding place and picked up the carryall pouch he usually wore at his waist. He reached inside and withdrew—to her increasing horror—one of her klinkí stones.

  “You’re no good to me blind, Kaneas,” she heard him say, then he sent the stone through the soldier’s forehead, leaving clean holes of identical size into and out of his head.

  The Deathless Guard crumbled, his last sound an abbreviated gasp. Her klinkí stone found its way back to Tuzhazu’s palm, and he leaned over and polished the liquid matter from it using the dead soldier’s shirt, then returned it to the carryall.

  The entire time, his expression remained unchanged, emotionless. Symvalline felt a pressure rising from her guts to her gorge, but she didn’t know if it was rage or sorrow. If she let it out, would she scream or cry? She couldn’t afford to find out. She told herself to hold it in, turn it into a fire she would one day use to scorch Tuzhazu to cinders with.

  “Archon,” a man’s voice near the main entrance called, and even from behind the parchment map, Symvalline could see the shock in his face.

  Tuzhazu looked up quickly, and for a moment, she thought she finally saw something shift in his face. It was just a flash, there and gone. But for that moment, he had looked…guilty.

  “What?” he growled, his face impassive again.

  “Archon…I…” The speaker was obviously grappling with the hideous sight that lay before Tuzhazu.

  “It was a mercy, Kaneas. He would have died anyway. Now what are you disturbing me for?”

  The soldier tore his eyes from the corpse and said, “The starpath has opened once more.”

  Tuzhazu covered the distance to the doorway in five long, fast strides, stopping only when he was practically touching the soldier’s face with his own. “What has come through?”

  The man took a step back. “Nothing, so far as we can tell. An urzidae squad was sent there immediately, but we haven’t found anyone or anything in Thallorn Valley.”

  Tuzhazu’s hand gripped the material of the soldier’s shirt tightly enough to tear seams. “Something must have come through. Someone. Why can’t you find them? Who is it?”

  His voice grew lower with each word, but somehow more threatening. Symvalline wanted to help the obviously terrified messenger, yet she was as riveted to the news as Tuzhazu.

  “We have not stopped our search, Archon. We will not.”

  “No. You won’t. When did it happen?”

  “Before dawn today. I flew from the gate as fast as possible.”

  Tuzhazu released him and stepped back to the labyrinth model. He eyed it closely, as if in search of the answers the messenger could not give. The room stilled, the messenger seeming to sense silence was required. Tuzhazu suddenly grasped the Fenestros he’d left inside the maze, raised his fist, and slammed it down on the model.

  His end of the structure shattered as if it had been dropped from a tower, the painted wood it was made of splintering and cracking and flying in pieces around the table. The destruction shouldn’t have been so thorough, but Symvalline sensed the Fenestros had given his fist unnatural strength.

  This act of violence seemed to calm him, and he turned back to the messenger. “I want guards positioned in Thallorn Valley itself, ten, no twenty of them, half on urzidae mounts. Not in the fortress, Kaneas, in the valley. I want someone there at all times.”

  “Yes, Archon.”

  “If a single Zhallah is seen coming from the Churss, I want to be notified immediately. I don’t care if you or any other messenger kills themselves flying back with the news. Any news. I must know of anything that happens near the starpath immediately.”

  “Yes, Archon. There is something else I must tell you.”

  Tuzhazu whirled, his teeth flashing as if he might tear into the messenger with them. “What is it?”

  “I was flagged down by a supply wagon coming back from the gates and told to give you this news. It seems they’ve captured the other Vinnric.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Close one that time,” Salukis whispered as he peeked through a small gap in his wings. They were furled tightly around and over the top of him and Isemay, where they crouched with their backs pressed hard against the granite wall of the labyrinth.

  “He’s gone?” she whispered back.

  “He was moving fast toward the gate. Maybe a messenger. We’re all clear.” His voice reminded her of her own when she was lying to other kids in the Conservatum about the severity of trouble they were about to get in. But she’d put her trust in him, and now, a day and half inside the daunting labyrinth, trailing a wagon and the two Minothians who directed it, she had to admit he’d been right so far.

  It had been almost absurdly easy to enter the rock maze. Fewer than three or four Minothian g
uards had stood watch at the Aktoktos gatehouse, and they’d simply slipped past them when they weren’t looking. After all, there was no reason to expect the Zhallahs should want to leave their Churss sanctuary for an ill-advised tromp to the heart of their enemy’s kingdom.

  The gate itself was as wide as the main road in Asteryss and half as high as Aster Keep, built to be both solid and intimidating. Made of who could tell how much timber that must have been felled and brought down from somewhere deeper in the mountains, the gate was so large it could only have been opened by harnessing dozens of beasts of burden to pull it. A smaller doorway was set into the base of one of the two towers flanking the gate, which was where she supposed the Minothians and their urzidae exited when they raided the Zhallahs.

  The mountains rose steeply to the left and right of the gate’s watchtowers, making the prospect of a single person attempting to scale them daunting, much less any kind of militant force.

  Of course, for those who could fly, this was of no concern—except for the sentries scouting the tower tops, but Salukis had spent hours observing them and knew their patterns well enough to time a breach. Clutching her close, he’d covered them with his wings as they’d half clambered, half flown along the cliff face by the right tower when the sentries weren’t watching. Once past it, they’d remained concealed on a tiny ledge above the primary branch leading to the gatehouse below until a wagon had started its journey toward Minoth. From there, they’d mostly walked along the ground, trailing the wagon outside the range of sight or sound and using Salukis’s wings for cover. When they came to a branch and weren’t sure which way the wagon had traveled, Salukis would risk flying over the maze until he spotted them, then come back to her and show her which direction to go to catch up. That way, she would remember only the exact path to Minoth, making the transcription to parchment easier when they returned to Maerria.

  His hands were on her shoulders, holding her tightly against him, and with the danger of the Minothian overhead gone, she suddenly became aware of their weight. His fingers were long and narrow, perfectly suited for the instrument he played, or for brushing along her cheeks. He hadn’t released her yet, despite the Minothian’s absence, and she was getting hot—though his wings didn’t look like they’d hold so much warmth inside them.

  It’s not his wings and you know it.

  “Um, Salukis, should we go now?”

  His hands dropped from her shoulders like stones, as if he’d just been caught stealing honeybread from a platter. His wings opened wide, and he took a deep breath of the stiflingly close labyrinth air the same time she did. They stepped apart nearly in sync, like magnets pushing away from each other.

  Her face was flushed, and knowing it made her flush deeper. Determined not to look at him and give away what she’d been thinking, she busied herself with tightening the straps on her shoulder pack and started back down the path. After a moment, his footsteps followed, and she was again in the shade of his extended wings.

  Their packs were light, holding only the essentials. Dense and hardened rounds of grains and seeds made up the bulk of their food, and water gourds they’d filled while crossing the Thallorn, two each, would be enough to keep them sustained for at least three thirsty days. They hoped to find more water en route, as they were certain wells had to exist within the labyrinth for the slower supply wagons. If needs be, though, Salukis was prepared to take side trips to the nearby mountains in search of it. Long-sleeved short tunics, hats, and a single cloak to share while sleeping made up the rest. So far, they’d only napped briefly, one at a time while the other stood watch, and Isemay tried not to think about what it would be like to share the confines beneath the cloak with him. She knew they needed to be conservative with their gear and so hadn’t argued against the idea of bringing only one.

  They were wearing whatever other small sundries they’d chosen to bring, along with their boots, Salukis’s light and flexible and made of a thick and tightly woven grass, hers the same well-worn leather boots she’d had on when everything had gone awry in Vinnr the day her father had met Balavad. She’d still been wearing the off-white tunic and headscarf and black leggings she’d arrived in, but Mura had given her a long sheath of a nondescript grayish color to don instead, the better to blend in with the labyrinth’s dark walls.

  She still felt as visible as a scab on an infant’s nose, though.

  As they trekked on with Salukis’s wings extended over them like a personal cloud, Isemay said quietly, “I’ve never felt more exposed in my life.”

  They walked close together, and his voice carried directly to her ears. It was melodious and smooth like some of the notes he played on his flute, and the sound of it made her wish they’d met under different circumstances. “I know. Me either. It’s partly because of the Equifulcrum. The heavens feel so close, like they’re watching us.”

  She glanced at him and saw him peering overhead. Kahros, Znopho, and Maiztos, visible even this far down under the labyrinth’s towering walls, were limned by the light of the midday sky, their colors a hazy pastel blue, yellow-white, and red. They were closer to each other than ever, and it didn’t take any imagination now to see how they would align.

  “When is it?” she asked.

  “Four days from now. The alignment will come at dusk, if I’m not mistaken.”

  She fell quiet again, listening to the slowly rolling wheels of the empty wagon they followed, still some distance ahead. One benefit of the maze was how sound carried, making the task of tracking their “rabbit” easier.

  So many marvels in this unique world, she thought as they walked. For a moment, she got lost in a daydream of what it would be like to live here. She appreciated the stalwart and organized stone city of Asteryss, the neat streets, the tidy markets, the way the solid and sure walls of Aster Keep and the unyielding heights of Vigil Tower loomed like ancient guardians at either end of the city. It was home, and so much of it was different from anything she’d seen in Arc Rheunos, but not particularly better.

  The realms shared many features: a vast sky, wind, mountains, animals and plants. But the city of Asteryss itself was nothing like Maerria, and she suspected the other cities of Vinnr’s three kingdoms were as different from Maerria and Minoth as she was from Salukis.

  The generousness and kindness of the people—at least of the Zhallahs—along with their enchanting music and close-knit, warm community stood out most to Isemay. Their peacability, which extended even to lesser creatures, was almost foreign to her, having been raised in a world where factions were always divided, communities fought almost as if it were sport, and weapons, carried by everyone who’d raised her, were meant to kill not maim. The Zhallahs revered life, so much so that they didn’t eat other creatures, and even had the ability to share it through their fascinating trait of tendering.

  Next to the routine and dullness of the Conservatum and ever-present undertow of strife in Ivoryss, there really was little to compare. They’d welcomed her and made her feel at home, even though Maerria and the Churss were anything but. Thinking of this sent a twinge of guilt through her, bringing her back to an awareness of the labyrinth. Archon Deespora had forbidden the activity she and Salukis now undertook, for the good of Maerria. She knew that inciting the Minothians’ anger would not bring anything worthwhile to the Zhallahs, yet Isemay and Salukis were doing something sure to bring it about if they were caught. Who was she to disregard the simple rules of someone who had taken her in and saved her life? Of someone who was the same as a Knight in her realm? Such blatant disregard at home would have gotten her dismissed from the Conservatum, permanently, and she would never be allowed to be a Knight. Every action has consequences, she could hear her mum saying in her head. Even good ones.

  “Salukis,” she whispered, “what will happen if we’re caught?”

  She didn’t miss the way he hesitated before answering. “We’ll be taken to Minoth, at the least.”

  “No, I mean to the Zhallahs. What will the M
inothians do if they learn what we’re up to?” And my mum? Will they harm her to punish me? Are we doing the right thing? I wish it wasn’t so hard to know.

  She wished her da and mum were here, and all of the Knights. They always seemed so sure, never doubting their choices and decisions. She could think of no weakness in her parents. She’d always wanted to be like them, strong, wise, certain. But she found herself feeling as if she was none of those things. For all her show at being brave, she was frightened. And worse, she was filled with doubts that kept increasing with each step they took.

  “Do you want to go back, Isemay?” His voice was calm, and to her great relief, there was no hint of reproach or scorn in it.

  Of course I want to go back! her mind yelled. But did she?

  She shook her head. “I mostly just don’t want to feel this scared anymore.”

  He wrapped a hand around her back and draped it over her shoulder in a gesture that was meant to be chummy but was so much more at the moment. “I know. I’ve never been this far into the maze before, or this close to Minoth. But it can’t be more than a day at most to the end, and then we’ll be in the clear. It won’t take nearly as long to get back. Plus, we’ve barely seen any scouts. I think…I think we’re going to be fine.” His arm tightened around her for a moment, then dropped. “You really are amazing for doing this, you know.”

  She flashed him a strained but grateful smile. “You’re not too bad either.”

  He grinned back, and she found herself sharing his optimism. They would get through this endless, winding maze, and they would rescue her mum and the other Zhallahs. They were so close.