“I am your Lightweaver,” Azár said. “That is all I need to be.”
He considered her face, marveling at her pride. Azár had remained by his side after Meiran’s betrayal. She’d tended him when he was at his most vulnerable, helped him find his way back to himself. In so many ways, she’d proven her loyalty. In all the world, she was the one person he knew he could trust.
He should be able to feel something for her. Anything. Conjure some scrap of emotion. But he couldn’t.
The fear subsided. It was replaced by anger: anger at Meiran. He hadn’t deserved what Meiran had done to him. She’d robbed him of everything he had, all that he was, everything he had ever been. Left him hollow and ugly inside.
“You should marry me,” Azár said.
Her words knocked the wind out of him.
He couldn’t move. He felt dizzy. Stricken. He went stiff, gazing unblinking into her face. She looked wild, beautiful. Terrifying.
“Why?” he gasped. He couldn’t understand. “Why would you wish to marry a demon?”
She scoffed. “You were not always a demon. Once, you were a man.”
“I’m not that man anymore.” He scowled. “The truth is, I don’t know what I am.”
She raised her chin, defiant. “I know what you are, Darien Lauchlin; it was I who summoned you … and now you must do as I ask. That is the rule, is it not?” Her smile was mischievous.
But Darien shook his head. “You only get one request. One. And you’ve used it up already. I’m pledged to deliver your people. That’s the end of it.”
Azár raised her eyebrows, a confident smirk on her face. “And how are you going to deliver my people if they refuse to follow you?”
Darien frowned, suddenly concerned. He didn’t know where she was heading with this. It was a new direction. Azár could be unpredictable, but she was always honest.
“I have the Tanisar corps behind me,” he reminded her.
Azár shrugged, standing, and paced away a few steps. Then she turned back to face him. The cotton skirt she was wearing rippled around her knees. “You will need more than just the Tanisars. You must have the support of all the tribes of the Khazahar. But they will never follow you—not without blood ties to the clans. If you marry me, then my clan would claim your blood as their blood. It has been done before.”
At last, Darien understood what she was trying to do. She was trying to help him achieve the goals she’d set out for him. Azár had sought to motivate him emotionally. But when that failed, she’d resorted to winning him over with logic.
He stood up, shaking his head. “I can’t give you what you want, Azár.”
She chortled at his words. Her eyes traced over him, moving down his body. All the way to his feet.
“Always so arrogant. What makes you think you have any idea what I want?”
Darien could only guess. The woman never ceased to confound him; every time he thought he had her figured out, she delighted in proving him wrong. It was a favorite game of hers.
He said, “I assume you’d want a husband who has the capacity to love you back?”
Azár spread her hands. “Love is not important. What I desire is a husband I can trust. And I trust you.”
Darien stared into her eyes, probing her intent. He had to make certain she felt as little for him as he did for her. In Azár’s brown eyes, he found only sincerity.
“I’ll think on it,” he said at last.
She smiled, pausing as she turned away. “Think on it well. The future of the Khazahar rides on your decision. We need you to be more than just a Sentinel. We need you to be an overlord.”
Darien sent his horse away from the lightfields at a trot, guiding the red stallion with the pressure of his legs. He gave a quick glance back over his shoulder, wanting one last sight of Azár. But the darkness fell like a shroud around him, cutting off all sight of her. He turned back to the road ahead, concentrating on the rhythmic sound of hoofbeats.
Sayeed rode at his side on a mare that was the same delicate breed as Darien’s own mount. Both horses were of similar color, without one mark of white despoiling their red coats. Darien rode without a saddle, just a richly embroidered blanket beneath him. Blue tassels swayed from his horse’s bridle, which jingled with the sound of tinkling beads.
Sayeed said, “Your Lightweaver does not seem happy.”
Darien shrugged. “She wants to marry me.” He didn’t know why. It was all so confusing. He reached a hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Sayeed’s look of speculation.
The Zakai officer grunted, a small grin forming on his lips. “May you have more luck with this woman than you had with the last.”
Darien clamped his lips closed to hold back the retort he wanted to let fly. The old anger flared. He closed his eyes against images of Meiran. Meiran, the mother of his child. The woman who’d wanted him dead. His chest still tightened every time he thought about her.
“I am sorry,” Sayeed said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You didn’t offend.”
Darien rode in silence, listening to the hypnotic rhythm of hoofbeats. He cleared his mind, throwing a shield up between himself and the violent energies of the vortex that closed over them. It was a long ride back to Tokashi Palace from the lightfields. Already, he missed the golden warmth of Azár’s magelight. And he missed her company, he had to admit.
Sayeed said, “I am indeed sorry. May the gods bless your union, and may the both of you know happiness.”
Darien glared at him. “I haven’t decided yet.”
A long gap of silence passed with only the constant jingle of tack. Darien felt foolish; he hadn’t meant to snap at the officer. Like Azár, Sayeed had been nothing but loyal. He was Darien’s staunchest supporter, his closest friend. He deserved better treatment.
“She says the tribes of the Khazahar will not follow me,” Darien said. “Not without blood ties to the clans. Is she right?”
Sitting up straighter on his horse, Sayeed appeared to be considering. At last he shrugged. “Your Lightweaver is correct. The Tanisars are bound by oath and duty to follow you. But the tribes care only about blood-bond.”
“What is blood-bond?” Darien had never heard of the term. Whatever it was, it sounded ominous.
Sayeed explained, “All the kinfolk of a tribe share the same common blood. It flows through all their veins, every last person. ‘The blood of the son is the blood of the father,’ it is said. Blood-bond is what binds a people together in obligation and duty.”
Darien considered Sayeed’s words, his mind mulling over the ramifications. The concept was altogether foreign to him. The politics of the Rhen had nothing to do with blood or kinship. Alliances and feudal allegiance went much further in inspiring loyalty. And though Sayeed’s concept of blood-bond explained a lot, it still didn’t account for everything. A marriage to Azár might bind him by blood to a single tribe, but he failed to see how that would advance his cause much. The other tribes would have no obligation to follow him.
“I don’t understand. The Prime Warden proclaimed me Overlord of the Khazahar. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
Sayeed spread his hands. “Zavier Renquist pronounced you overlord, but that title is all but empty unless you can unite the Khazahar behind you.”
Darien frowned. “Would the tribes follow a man of foreign blood?”
“No.”
He rode in silence, ruminating on the information. Overhead, sinister clouds raced across the ever-black sky. In the distance, the jagged spikes of a mountain range stood backlit by flickering cloud-light. It was damn cold. The kind of cold that seeped under the skin, burrowing all the way to the bone. It seemed years since he’d last felt sunlight on his skin.
A thought occurred to him. “One of my ancestors was Omeyan. Could I claim that as my clan?”
Sayeed flashed him a startled look. “There are no Omeyans left in all the world. The Omeyan Jenn perished during the time of Desecration.”
>
Darien shrugged; it was just a thought. “It’s a distant relation,” he admitted.
“Very distant.” Sayeed maintained a stiff look of concern. “And yet … if you can prove your lineage…” His face brightened. “Can you name all of your ancestors, all the way back to this ancient Omeyan?”
Darien thought about it. At last he nodded. “Aye. I think I can. The lineage of my family is well-known to me.”
Indeed, he had been made to memorize his entire pedigree, both his father’s side and his mother’s. Both bloodlines figured prominently in the history of Aerysius. His father’s line had produced several Prime Wardens and many famous Sentinels. His mother’s ancestors had been just as esteemed, her line extending back even further into the records.
“You must write down your family’s lineage and present it to the elders. Only then might your claim be considered.” Sayeed looked at Darien with a pensive expression. “Never has a perished tribe been restored to us. I truly hope this thing can be done. It would be a great blessing to all the clans. When we arrive back at the palace, I will make arrangements.”
“I’d be grateful.” Darien smiled his appreciation. He’d come to lean heavily on Sayeed in the months since his arrival at Tokashi Palace. He’d let the man into his confidence, closer than anyone.
Anyone but Azár.
They rode in silence across the darkness of the wastes, clouds surging toward them from the bleak horizon. Hours passed with only the clip-clop of hoofbeats to mark the slow passage of time. Eventually a long lake appeared in front of them, its water’s dark and opaque. Darien gazed into the lake’s black depths. Somewhere down there, beneath the waters, lay the ruins of ancient Vintgar and the Circle of Convergence it contained, now drowned beneath the lake.
They crossed a long bridge, arriving finally at an enormous fortress pressed up against the hillside. Tokashi Palace was like a continuation of the mountain itself, towers spiking like teeth into the air, looming over the dark valley and the lake. The lights from hundreds of windows made the fortress gleam like a night sky full of stars. The two men rode through the arching gate into the courtyard, drawing their horses up as soldiers bowed and backed away, pressing their bodies up against the walls.
Darien acknowledged the Tanisars with a stiff nod as he dismounted. He swept his gaze around the courtyard, wary. Even after all the months he’d spent at the palace, the behavior of these people still made him tense. The soldiers stood still like statues along the walls, unflinching. Even the servants seemed frozen in their positions, heads bowed, hands clasped. There was no sound in the courtyard, not even the rustle of fabric. It was the totality of silence that unsettled him most.
Darien looked around, sweeping his gaze over dozens of men who had sworn to serve him with their lives. Or with their deaths. He took note of their conduct with solemn respect. He had never known a better fighting force. Certainly, nothing in the Rhen could equal the discipline of the Tanisars.
He set out across the courtyard with Sayeed, leading his mount into the depths of the fortress. Servants bowed and backed away from his approach, lowering their gaze respectfully. Darien walked past each of them without acknowledgement. He was used to the treatment now. At first, just walking the corridors had been difficult for him. He had never felt so self-conscious. It was surprising what one could grow accustomed to.
Looking ahead, he saw a small group of officials clustered in front of the entrance to the Residence, awaiting his arrival. They formed a small clot outside the grilled gate that separated his living space from the rest of the fortress. The men turned toward him, forming a line and bowing in unison.
“Blessings upon you, Darien Nach’tier, if I could have just a moment of your time?”
“Ranu kadreesh, Lord, five minutes is all I need!”
“Overlord, I have just one question!”
“Back away!” Sayeed bellowed, startling the horses.
The officials bowed and scrambled aside to clear a path to the doorway. Fear radiated from their bodies, so sharp he could almost smell it. They hated him; he could see it in their eyes. But they were too terrified to do anything about it.
“I’ll meet with all of you after domadh,” Darien assured them, raising his hand.
The doors to the Residence swept open before them. Darien led his stallion into the corridor beyond, Sayeed following with his own mount as the grilled doors were bolted behind.
Inside the Residence, the character of the fortress changed drastically. They moved through a wide hallway illuminated by gilt lanterns. The walls and floor were tiled in sprawling geometric patterns of red and blue, broken by draped folds of colored cloth. Scalloped columns lined the passage, wrapped with scrolling inlay. Darien moved under the warm light of countless lanterns, pausing at the first wide doorway they came to. There, he offered his horse to a servant waiting at the entrance.
The boy took the stallion’s reins, conspicuously avoiding eye contact. Another took the reins of Sayeed’s mount. Darien waited for the Zakai officer to retrieve their packs and then turned toward his own bedchamber, just across the corridor from the stable.
He lingered as Sayeed opened the door and entered first, taking his time about inspecting the interior of the room. Only when the officer gave a nod did Darien enter behind him. The chamber was large, an enormous canopied bed the focal point of the room. There was also a hearth recessed into an alcove on the far wall. Only a few items of furniture were scattered about: two wooden chairs and a small writing desk. Silken fabric hung from the walls and the bed’s canopy, echoing the colorful patterns of the rugs.
From the corner of the room emerged a living shadow that approached with gleaming eyes. Darien smiled, moving forward to greet his pet. He’d left the demon-hound behind intentionally; the horses didn’t care for the scent of damnation. He ran his hand through the beast’s thick fur, tugging one ear affectionately. The thanacryst purred at the attention, managing to seem both dreadful and content.
“Will that be all, Lord?” Sayeed still lingered in the doorway, his face expectant.
Darien turned toward him with a nod. “That’s all, Sayeed. Thank you for your company.”
The officer bowed and backed away, pulling the door closed behind him.
Darien stared at the door for a long moment before turning away. He gave the thanacryst one last scratch, then moved to the writing desk in the corner. He slouched down into the chair, drawing in a deep breath. He smelled of horse. It was a scent he was rather fond of. It mingled nostalgically with the fragrant incense that permeated the chamber.
With a whimsical smile, Darien picked up an elam from the desk, a writing instrument made from a hollow reed, its tip carved to a tapering point. He held the elam in his left hand, pausing a moment in reflection. Then he unstoppered a pot of ink that smelled of soot, giving it a quick stir before dipping the tip of the elam.
At the top of a page, he inscribed his own name in bold calligraphy. Below, he wrote the names of both his mother and his father. Upon second thought, he crossed out his father’s name. He was descended from the Omeyans on his mother’s side; his father’s lineage was not important in this context. Under his mother’s name he wrote out his maternal grandfather’s name and title. He kept scribing, one name after another, moving slowly down the parchment as the tapers on the desk burned lower. About halfway through the list he paused, using a blade to sharpen the dulling tip of the elam.
Minutes passed. At last, Darien finally scribed the last name of his lineage:
Braden son of Marthax
Omeyan Clan of the Dur ul-Jenn
Darien gazed at his ancestor’s name for a long moment. Then he set the elam down on the writing desk, stoppering the ink pot.
He rose then, strolling toward an ornate chest pushed up against the wall. There, he knelt and lifted the lid. He stared into the depths of the chest for a moment before finally removing the first item that caught his eye. Holding it up, Darien felt his face burn with a
nger as he gazed down at the silver pendant that had once been Meiran’s. He squeezed his fingers closed around it. Reluctantly, Darien placed the necklace back in the chest. Then he withdrew the other items left behind by Quinlan Reis.
He stood up, holding the Omeyan warbelt in one hand and a scroll of parchment in the other. Quin had left both items behind in Qul. Darien unrolled the scroll, his eyes scanning quickly over the page.
This belt is yours by rights. It belonged to your ancestor, Braden son of Marthax, Warlord of the Omeyan Clan of the Dur ul-Jenn. It is the last of its kind in the world, just as you and I are the last of our kind. Wear it with pride in memory of my brother.
–Quin
Darien stared down at the worn leather in his hands, his eyes roving over the golden buckle that depicted the image of a horse bent backwards at an impossible angle. The belt itself was decorated with many hooks and thongs, from which an assortment of implements could be hung.
Before, he had lacked the conviction to put it on.
Now, Darien lowered the scroll and drew the belt around his waist, fastening it securely with the gold buckle. He stared down at himself, at the black wrap he wore about his hips tied with gold tassels. The warbelt complemented the wrap, adding a martial quality to the ensemble. Rubbing the weeks’ worth of stubble on his chin, Darien wondered if any of his old friends would recognize him if they saw him. He didn’t think he looked much like a man of the Rhen any longer. He’d been away too long.
His eyes found the demon-hound slumbering in a corner by the hearth. He made his way to the bed, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. He let the soft fabric fall to the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward.
The thanacryst startled awake, raising its head. A low, menacing growl rumbled deep in its throat. The hound’s green eyes narrowed to slits, its attention rapt upon the door.
Darien looked up, his body stiffening.
There was no knock. The door burst open, admitting Sayeed. Darien opened his mouth, but then he saw the look on the officer’s face.
Darkrise Page 2
