by Devin Madson
“With all due respect to your former position, you have no standing here either, exiled horse whisperer Ezma e’Topi.”
I ought not to have said it, but her words filled me with silent rage made worse by weakness. I could not get up and walk, let alone fight, but I would be damned if I would let this woman, condemned by every whisperer on the plains, question my loyalty.
“Just so, Rah e’Torin. Just so.” Ezma smiled, and without giving me even the smallest bit of satisfaction, she took food from her plate and ate, paying me no further heed. Levanti remained gathered around her, hanging on every word she wasn’t saying. Beside me, Tor went reluctantly back to his book.
From beyond the firelight, a Levanti approached with a plate of food. “Honour to you,” she said, setting it down beside me and holding a prolonged salute. She walked away before I could reply, but she was replaced a moment later by another. A second plate of food, a longer salute. “Honour to you,” he said, and was gone.
Tor stared at his book with the determination of one refusing to comment. Ezma watched yet another approach, her features stern.
She had said some of my former Swordherd were present, yet I wasn’t prepared for the sight of Amun carrying a plate toward me. Amun, who had refused to fight for the Chiltaens. Amun, who had been left behind and thought dead.
“Honour to you, Captain,” he said, saluting as he set the plate down. Before I could think what to say, he walked away.
Across the fire, I met Ezma’s gaze, a flash of something so like hate in her expression that it startled me. I had done nothing. Said nothing. Yet this horse whisperer, who ought not to care for such things, was angry at the respect being shown me.
“What are you reading?” I demanded of Tor, anything to remove myself from the uncomfortable scene that was brewing.
“It’s the Chiltaen holy book.” He held up the cover. “Dishiva gave it to me to translate, and it’s fucking hard because I don’t know all the words, and some of it seems to be literal and some of it is just made-up nonsense.”
“Dishiva gave it to you? Why?”
“She didn’t exactly say, but Dom Villius killed Matsi because he didn’t want any Levanti to read it, so it must be important.”
I hunted his face for a lie. “Dom Villius killed Matsi? You mean Matsimelar?”
“Redcap poison painted on the book’s cover.” He looked up. “Oh, I forgot you liked Leo. I guess your record as a bad judge of character continues.”
“It wasn’t him I liked,” I said, though it was a lie. “He was going to set us free. Going to let us go home.” I glanced at the still form of Whisperer Ezma just beyond the dancing flames. It was almost dark now, her features lit more by the fire than the day’s light. The distant hum of chatter around us ought to have been relaxing, a reminder of home, but Tor’s words had left me cold. Even the breeze swirling past had more bite.
“This sentence makes no sense,” Tor said with a frustrated growl. “What is chasine? It’s not ‘enemy,’ it’s not ‘friend,’ it’s not ‘soldier.’ They taught us all those words. Normally I can get at least a sense of meaning from the rest of the sentence, but this could be anything. Someone or something stabs him in the back.”
“Empress,” Whisperer Ezma said.
“What?” Tor realised who he was talking to. “Pardon, I mean, what did you say, Whisperer?”
“The word you are wondering about.” Half her face seemed to be engulfed in flames for how brightly it lit her. “It’s ‘empress.’ Veld is stabbed in the back by an empress. Although it’s not the best translation.”
“You know what’s in this book?” Tor sounded shocked.
“I’ve been here a while, young Tor, so yes, I know what’s in that book. And what it’s really meant to say.” She got up as she spoke and strode toward one of the nearby huts. She returned carrying another book. At first I thought it must be her whisperer’s notebook, but as she drew close, the firelight danced upon a dark blue cover. Levanti notebooks were always undyed, made to be functional and sturdy in the ever-changing conditions of the plains.
Without a word, she held out the book to Tor, and having looked a question up into her face, he took it and flipped through the pages.
“But this…” Tor began and stopped, staring at the words. Still standing over him, Ezma watched with a gaze all too like a hungry animal, her eyes alight. “This is the same book. Or almost the same. But it’s in Tempachi.”
He looked up and she nodded. “It is. I got that from a travelling merchant some years ago. The Chiltaens like everyone to believe they’re the centre of the world, that the faith of the One True God originated here, their priesthood the ones through whom God communicates, but in truth they are some of the most recent converts. This book is older than the one you have and truer to the original.”
“And we can read it.” A note of excitement entered Tor’s voice as he hunted the right page. “Ah! Here.” He muttered, running his finger along a line of text. “‘And the woman both god and leader did thrust a blade into his back’! I see, ‘god and leader,’ like a Kisian emperor or empress.” He looked up. “I have to tell Dishiva. If I leave now, I could catch up with Captain Yitti. Yes, that’s the best, I’ll—”
“No.”
Ezma’s calm words were made of steel.
“No, Whisperer?”
“No,” she repeated. “It is not our place to interfere with such things.”
“But if I don’t warn her—”
“This is one of the points upon which both the religion of the One True God and the tenets of whisperers agree. It is not our place to interfere with the fates. We must watch and record and guide when asked for guidance, but never interfere. Never change the course of history.”
“Even when it means people may die?”
“Even when it means people may die, yes, young Tor. You have a lot to learn, and I am glad to have you under my eye while you do.” She held out her hand. Tor hesitated, but gave back the Tempachi copy. “You are a good soul, Tor. Perhaps we will make a whisperer of you yet. Now, I think Rah is in need of proper rest. Why don’t you help him to one of the huts so he may sleep away from all our bustle and noise.”
Tor stood, saluted. “Yes, honoured Whisperer, I will, but Dishiva begged me to let her know if—”
“No.” Her smile vanished. “Dishiva e’Jaroven must be left to follow her path without our interference. There are many things you do not understand, but I am your whisperer and I advise you not to make any attempt to communicate the contents of this book to anyone in connection with Dishiva.” She set her hands behind her back, moving her book out of sight. “One of the others can help Rah to shelter. If you’re already struggling with difficult thoughts, it’s best to keep you away from corrupting influences.”
“Corrupting—”
“Derkka!” She spoke sharply, many Levanti turning to stare. Her apprentice approached with quick long strides. “Rah e’Torin needs to rest,” she said as he saluted his willingness to serve. “Help him to one of the huts. Tor is going to help me with my evening rounds.”
“Yes, Whisperer.”
Ezma made to leave, but looked down at me, caught to the ground by my injuries. “You have no place here, Rah e’Torin,” she said, her low tone chilling bones I had thought could get no colder. “No position or honour. For the sake of my people, I will make sure it stays that way.”
5. MIKO
Two days without rain in the storm season was unusual, three a rarity. Four seemed like a gift from the gods, and while I sat in the dark with my bow across my knees, I thanked them in silent prayer. All around me, soldiers shuffled and sniffed and cleared their throats, waiting for the night to grow old.
“It’s almost time, Your Majesty,” General Rushin whispered, his outline all I could see in the low light. “Are you sure you wish to remain?”
“I am, General.”
“As you wish. I feel I would not be doing my duty if I didn’t at least mentio
n the dangerous nature of the mission and how unnecessary—”
“So I have been informed many times. Thank you, General.”
The man bowed and moved away toward the stairs, leaving me to smother my fears with a reminder that it was another Emperor Kin these men wanted, not an aloof Otako. If anyone with the loyalty of the army could take and hold the throne, then it was the loyalty of the soldiers I needed, not just their generals.
Jie’s words echoed in my mind, words that haunted me in every quiet moment. “No child can lead Kisia in battle. No child can rule in a time of war. But tell me, sister, how many times have you been told you cannot rule because you were born a girl?”
All to prove a woman could do it too.
I squeezed the bow’s upper limb, the wood squeaking in my sweaty grip. I turned, catching General Ryoji in the corner of my eye, looking his old self in his imperial uniform. His return had not gone as well with the southern generals as I had wished, and had his position given him any real military power they would have rejected him outright, however much I favoured him.
The drunken merriment two floors up was growing wild. What had started as talk and laughter punctuated by footsteps had transformed into shouts and song, screeches and shrieks of mirth, and thuds as men fell over their own feet. I’d only had that much to drink once, when Ambassador Goro retired to take the position of Lord Chancellor. Tanaka and Edo and I had been sent away after the official dinner, but Tanaka had hidden a bottle in the knot of his sash. I could not recall much else, only that the laughter had been followed by a whole day of being sick and a week of lectures from our tutors.
I made my way across the cellar to the foot of the stairs where General Rushin stood with one of his commanders, a man whose name I could not recall but whose thick eyebrows were impossible to forget. “Are you ready, General?” I said, able to look him straight in the eye without having to incline my head. I suspected anyone who measured us would find me taller by an inch.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. “I judge it to be about time.”
A chink of light shone beneath the door at the top of the stairs. “I will go up first.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” he said, nodding stiffly to General Ryoji as he joined us. The general nodded back, and tapping my quiver, I passed General Rushin and started up the stairs. No one called after me, and with my heart thudding hard I gripped my bow and climbed on, leaving the sounds of adjusting armour and clinking weapons behind. A pair of soldiers stood watch in the upper cellar, shafts of light falling through the floor to stripe crates and barrels and sacks and an old table hacked up for firewood. The revelry overhead easily drowned the noise of soldiers preparing to kill below.
“Majesty,” the soldiers whispered, and nodded to General Ryoji behind me.
“May the gods speed my arrows and good fortune keep you both,” I said to the soldiers, and made for the second stairs, stomach churning and Ryoji in tow. I had not let myself think about what could go wrong, but now that I stood at the base of the stairs, panic flared and my feet stuck to the floor. Overhead someone stomped the beat of a lewd song.
I could change my mind. I could send Ryoji up first. I could decide the plan worked best without me and maybe it would, but I had received oaths from men who had not wanted to give them, and if I did not find a way to make them want to follow me, I would soon have no army and no allies. Again. I had to lead.
So there, in that close space filled with the smell of wine and sick and sawdust, of reeds and mud and smoke, I let go a long breath and thought of what Rah would do. What needed to be done, always, whatever the cost. Perhaps if he was still alive somewhere, he might one day approve of this night’s work.
I set my foot on the bottom step. Then the next. And the next. Halfway up, I drew an arrow and nocked it, keeping my bow low at my side and my breath even. Another step. A crash sounded overhead. A laugh. Someone shouted for more wine while another bellowed out the first line of “Itikata’s Triumph.”
The next step creaked beneath my foot, but the noise above drowned all. Another step and I could reach the door, its latch a worn, rusting thing barely keeping the door closed, let alone locked. The landlord was an old sailor, his job to keep His Grace of Syan’s sailors happy whenever their ships docked at the Tzitzi Knot. He probably had no fear of common thieves.
Reaching around me, Ryoji thumbed the latch and the door opened a few inches, sending light spilling up his sleeve. I nudged the door the rest of the way, bracing for a shout, but the celebrations went on. The stairs emerged behind the bar, no more than half a dozen paces from the bottom of the next stairs leading up to the overnight rooms. They were not brightly lit and no one was expecting an attack, two facts upon which we had based the whole operation. Yet as I made to step out, footsteps sounded atop the upper stairs and a sailor bearing the Bahain sigil appeared, his arm around a young woman in a thin, brightly coloured robe tied with the black sash of a night worker. He had been laughing, but his smile died at sight of us. I drew and loosed without thought, and before my arrow had made half the distance, Ryoji was already moving. Like a wolf he sprinted low, covering the distance between stairways in a bound. My arrow hit the sailor’s throat, blood spurting, and no sooner had the woman drawn breath to scream than Ryoji’s blade punched into her throat. He caught her as she fell forward, lowering her down to die beside the fallen sailor.
It had taken mere seconds. Around us celebrations went on, but there was no retreating now. Holding my bow in line with my body, I took the four paces across the floor from the top of one flight of stairs to the bottom of the next, and not a single person kneeling around the tables drinking and dicing paid me any heed. I was but a shadow in the corner of their hazy awareness.
“She did not need to die,” I hissed as I crouched next to the general. “Can we try not to kill—”
“Yes, she did.”
He spoke so harshly I was taken aback. My hand froze in the act of drawing another arrow.
“You had not prepared a second arrow and her scream would have alerted everyone to our position.” A grim smile flickered across his face. “As the commander of your Imperial Guard I cannot hesitate when it comes to your safety.”
He was right and I hated it, as much as I hated the strange feeling that he was two different men. There was the Ryoji I’d grown up with, more teacher than soldier, a mild man of the imperial court and my mother’s lover—never a cold-blooded killer. The night of Mother’s coup he had shown another side, and here it was again. It ought to have been comforting that he would kill to protect me, but the feeling I didn’t really know him gnawed at my confidence.
Thrusting the doubts away, I drew an arrow and nocked, briefly considered my choice of target, and loosed through the railings. My aim was good, but my choice was poor. I ought to have started with someone on their own, have sowed confusion before panic, but instead I chose the biggest, brashest looking man in the room, standing atop a central table singing the “Triumph” at the top of his lungs. The arrow dug deep into his throat, cutting the song off mid-note. He gasped, pawing at the shaft, and every single member of his carousing audience turned, dozens of bleary eyes finding me in the shadows.
“Shit.” I nocked and loosed another into the closest sailor. It pierced his neck but not his throat, and as shouts rose, Ryoji slipped behind me to guard the bottom of the stairs, short blade in hand. “Shit, shit!” I nocked and drew and loosed as fast as I could, my arrows sailing into a mass of angry drunks rather than panicking ones. Weapons were pulled from belts and bags and no one was running for the door. Every single one was coming for me.
I could not look, could only focus on my bow and listen to the grunts and gasps and meaty thuds that told me Ryoji was alive and fighting. Two minutes, I had told General Rushin. Two minutes to sow discord and panic as a lone archer in the shadows. It had not seemed long enough, but now every second was a second too long.
With Ryoji guarding the stairs, some sailors ru
shed straight at the railings and tried to climb, and had they not been the worse for drink they might have succeeded. But they were too slow, and I had spent too many dull mornings practicing while a servant counted how long it took me to empty the arrow barrel.
A guttural cry drew my gaze. Ryoji had his blade through a tall man’s eye and had drawn a dagger to stick in another’s gut. He did not wait even a breath, just pulled them both out, kicking the one with the opened guts in the knee.
Steps thudded along the upper passage. Two men appeared, but drew out of sight as my first arrow hit the wooden beam. I nocked another as they charged, sending it through the front one’s eye as he clattered toward me, all spitting rage. The force threw him back and his companion tripped, tumbling to meet an arrow nocked and loosed at very short range.
At the bottom of the stairs, Ryoji was no longer alone. Soldiers—my soldiers—were streaming through the cellar door, filling the room with a full symphony of blood and pain and death as bodies fell. I half drew another arrow before letting the string slacken. I couldn’t risk hitting my own men.
Beside me, Ryoji let go a held breath, and in silence we stood watching the bloody end of Bahain’s sailors. One minute celebrating, then you’re dead on the floor, bleeding out in a pile of vomit and spilled wine.
A portrait of Emperor Kin hung on the far wall, watching. As the farthest port upriver any warship or trade galleon could go without smashing its hull to pieces, the Tzitzi Knot had long been a watering hole for the Imperial Fleet. He had built it, and would only have hated me all the more for tearing it down.
First lesson in battle is not to dither at the opening. Move a piece before your enemy moves it for you.
“Check all the upstairs rooms as well as the ones on this level,” I said, pulling myself back to the present as the last of the sailors hit the floor. “Any who got out will have run straight into General Moto, but some might be hiding. Check, double check, and prepare to burn the place.”
