The Ouroboros Cycle, Book Three: A Long-Awaited Treachery

by G. D. Falksen

“I have an idea,” she said to Judith. “Help me.”

  “Whatever it is, hurry,” Marie told them. “If I am to die today, I will do it fighting, not stuck atop a decorative candleholder.”

  “Or course,” Varanus said. After all, it was an attitude with which she personally agreed.

  At Varanus’s direction, she and Judith tipped the candelabrum onto its side. Marie sighed in irritation at the ignominy of it, but she did not complain. Bracing her foot against Marie’s shoulder, Varanus gave the candelabrum a heave, and together she and Judith tore it from Marie’s back.

  Throughout the ordeal, Marie did not make a sound, which unnerved Varanus considerably.

  When it was done, Judith helped Marie to stand. Marie rolled her shoulder and winced ever so slightly.

  “That was uncomfortable,” she remarked.

  “So I would imagine,” Varanus said.

  The three of them turned and saw Thoros emerge from the stairway, sword in hand.

  “I think we are in for a fight,” Judith said, her voice quivering ever so slightly. As one of the scholars, she was unaccustomed to violence.

  “No,” Marie corrected, “I am in for a fight. Neither of you is old enough to face him.” She glanced at Varanus and held out her hand. “Sword.”

  Varanus made a displeased noise and hesitated. She had no wish to be disarmed, not at such a time. But finally, she acquiesced and handed her sword to Marie.

  “You can always get another one, liebchen,” Korbinian reminded her, as he reclined on one of the tables. “If the world has gone mad and everyone is killing one another, there shall be no shortage of swords to be had, surely.”

  “Now,” Marie said to them, as she stepped into Thoros’s path, “I think it would be best if you left. Get out of the castle if you can. If you cannot, then hide. And may God be with you.”

  With that, Marie raised her sword and charged forward to meet Thoros as he ran at them, grinning gleefully, his own sword upraised. Varanus hesitated a moment more before good sense took her, and she fled with Judith into the depths of the castle.

  Chapter Sixteen

  •

  At Zawditu’s instruction, Luka led the Council members along a meandering path through the castle, bypassing any areas that could be used to stage an ambush. There was no way of knowing whom Margaret had recruited, and they could not afford to be reckless. Along they way they ran across groups of soldiers and scholars. At first none of them seemed any the wiser as to what was happening, but soon the Shashavani they encountered were panicked, fleeing from violence that had begun to break out all across the castle. It seemed that the conspirators had arranged for their coup to take place everywhere at once.

  Anyone who proved peaceful was absorbed into the band; any who attempted violence or were in the midst of violently subduing others were immediately subdued themselves. Luka felt misgivings about being surrounded by men and women who might be in league with Margaret, but Zawditu was adamant: while their first duty was the safety of the Council, they were also responsible for the protection of the Order’s civilians. Zawditu would not allow the one duty to undermine the other.

  Along the way, their numbers had fluctuated. They had been separated from Marie of Toulouse in fighting near the armory and from Reza of Samarkand as they passed close to the Great Hall, which the conspirators seemed determined to occupy. Both were presumed dead. In addition, some two-dozen survivors had either been killed or lost in the confusion.

  Luka marched at the head of the column with Zawditu, who refused every one of Luka’s suggestions that she travel in the middle of the group with the Council members. Luka had not expected anything else, but he would have failed in his duty had he not suggested it. Still, the general of the Shashavani would not, it seemed, stand anywhere but at the head of her troops.

  As they approached the gate leading to the western courtyard, Luka saw five guardsmen in armor and bearing muskets who barred their way. The guards quickly raised their weapons and took aim at the company bearing down upon them, but they hesitated at the sight of Zawditu.

  “Hold!” Zawditu shouted. With Luka and Seteney beside her, she approached with a hand raised. “To whom are you loyal?”

  The guards seemed surprised at the question, and their sergeant took a step forward in reply, bowing his head.

  “To you, Strategos,” he replied, “and to the Eristavi.” He looked at the crowd again, his expression one of astonishment. “My Lady, what is happening?”

  “A matter that shall be explained in time,” Zawditu told him. “If you are loyal, throw down your arms and surrender to me. Now.”

  The sergeant hesitated a moment but quickly nodded and motioned to his troops. “Do as the Strategos says.”

  Still confused, the guards nevertheless began to disarm, placing their muskets on the ground and unbuckling their sword belts. All save one, who, after a moment of uncertainty, shouldered his weapon and leveled it at Zawditu.

  “For the Winter King!” he cried just before he fired.

  It was Seteney who reacted the fastest. As the guardsman raised his weapon, she drew her revolver and fired it twice, shooting the man in the chest. He jerked from the force of the bullets as they burst through his mail, and his shot went off-target, slicing past Zawditu’s temple and leaving a shallow graze in its wake.

  A moment later, Luka charged forward and grabbed the guardsman, slamming him into the wall. He gave the traitor a few solid blows to be sure the man was down and left him to bleed out on the floor.

  “How are you, Strategos?” Luka asked, returning to Zawditu.

  Blood was trickling down the side of Zawditu’s face from her wound, but she seemed more irritated than pained. Though the sight of the injury worried Luka, it was probably one of the least serious wounds Zawditu had ever suffered.

  “Well enough that you should not bother me with such questions,” Zawditu replied, though the corner of her mouth showed the hint of a smile at Luka’s concern.

  The sergeant of the guards took a step toward them, his face pale at what had just happened. At his movement, both Luka and Seteney turned on him and readied their weapons.

  “Strategos,” the sergeant said, “I swear to you I had no knowledge of this. We are loyal, I promise you!”

  “Of course you are,” Zawditu said. “Were you traitors, you all would have shot at me as well, and I suspect one at least would have inconvenienced me with a proper wound.” She took a moment to study each of the soldiers and nodded. “Pick up your arms and your new prisoner. We are departing and you are coming with us.”

  “Yes, Strategos!” the sergeant answered, relieved at her reply. He and one of the other guards grabbed the traitor and hauled him up from the ground. “On your feet, dog!” he shouted at the man.

  Zawditu raised her hand and motioned for the group to follow her.

  “Onward!” she shouted. “And my soldiers: keep a wary eye.”

  “Yes, Strategos!” they all shouted.

  Zawditu led them out into the courtyard, flanked by Luka and Seteney. In the distance they heard the sound of gunfire, but Luka could not clearly place where it came from. The air was cold and dry, and it was almost painful to breathe. Snow covered the ground, but it was pale and bloodless. The fighting had not yet reached that part of the castle, and Luka was thankful for it.

  Many of the Living hesitated at the doorway, fearful of the sunlight. Those young enough to be hurt by it concealed themselves as best they could beneath their clothes. In a show of kindness, those in the Shadow and the Living who no longer feared the sun, stripped off their coats and outer robes and gave them to their comrades.

  Suddenly, a party of Shashavani came through the passage from an adjoining court, all armed and many armored. At their head was a member of the Living dressed in scholar’s clothes but carrying one of Luka’s Maxim guns, which she quick
ly turned toward them. They were all covered in blood, and several were wounded as well. Again, many of the Living were huddled together, shrouded against the touch of the sun.

  “Identify yourselves!” the scholar shouted as her warrior companions took aim.

  “Fools!” Luka answered. “Do you not recognize your own Strategos?”

  Several of the soldiers began to lower their weapons in realization, while others seemed unsure. But the scholars—the woman armed with the Maxim gun and the robed academics behind her—still seemed doubtful, even fearful.

  “The Master-At-Arms sought our blood! Why should it be different with the General?”

  This caused a commotion among the crowd, and someone began shoving her way forward through the scholars, shouting:

  “Because she is the Strategos!”

  It was Mata Kaur, armed for war and drenched in blood. As she pushed past the Living scholar, she placed a hand on the Maxim gun’s barrel and forced the weapon down.

  “If anyone is loyal, she is loyal,” Mata Kaur said firmly. “And I would rather die than suspect her of treason.”

  Zawditu smiled and motioned for Luka and the others to lower their weapons. She walked toward Mata Kaur, who met her midway across the courtyard and saluted with her sword. Zawditu nodded in reply, visibly pleased by the reunion with her aide-de-camp, and the two of them motioned for their parties to converge in the courtyard.

  “Come along,” Luka told the soldiers around him. “Let’s be quick about it.”

  The two groups slowly approached one another, suspicious at first, but soon the tension dwindled as friends and comrades began to recognize each other and embraced one another with relief. Luka quickly joined Zawditu and Mata Kaur, followed by Seteney and the surviving members of the Council.

  “Are you well, Strategos?” Mata Kaur asked as Luka arrived alongside them.

  Zawditu wiped blood from her temple and replied, “Nothing I cannot manage. Though we have many wounded. It has been a bad day.” There was a pause and she asked, “And you? Any injured?”

  “Several,” Mata Kaur answered. Indeed, from the way she carried her left arm—and from the blood tricking from beneath her sleeve—Luka saw that she was among them. “We must find healers, and quickly.”

  “We will go to the town across the river,” Zawditu said. “We can fortify our position, tend the wounded, feed the hungry, and plan what is to be done next. Spread the word.”

  This had been addressed to Luka as well as to Mata Kaur, and they both nodded.

  “Yes, Strategos,” came the mutual reply.

  There was a pause as Mata Kaur relayed the new plan to the soldiers beside her before she turned back to Zawditu and asked:

  “What if there are other loyalists still inside?”

  “I am certain that there are,” Zawditu replied. She kept her expression calm and her tone matter-of-fact, but Luka could sense her anger at the prospect of abandoning them. “But we have with us a great mob already. Let us get them to safety and see what can be done.”

  As the command was spread throughout the crowd, Zawditu, Luka, and Mata Kaur began marching toward the outer gate, flanked by soldiers who stood ready in case the conspiracy had turned the outer guards as well.

  “What of the Council?” Mata Kaur asked as they walked, blood from her wounded arm trickling onto the snow. “I see only four.”

  Zawditu grimaced and answered, “Sister Marie and Brother Reza were lost in the escape. I do not know their fate.”

  “And the others, Strategos?” Mata Kaur’s tone was dark, as if she already suspected the truth but found it too horrible to assume.

  “Margaret of the Hebrides, Thoros of Yerevan, Caroline of Burgundy, and Iese of Kartli are all traitors to the House of Shashava,” Zawditu said grimly. “It was they who engineered this madness, who directed our brethren to slaughter their own. And they shall be punished for it.”

  Mata Kaur nodded, her own expression as grim as Zawditu’s. “Fairfax has turned against us,” she said. “We skirmished near the conservatory and I saw her directing the troops sent against us.”

  “Boris of Moskva as well,” said Luka. The betrayal of his old friend still made him hot with rage. “I suspect it was through him that Fairfax and her soldiers were turned.”

  “No doubt,” agreed Zawditu.

  “Strategos,” said Mata Kaur, “I was twice attacked by assassins among those I sought to rescue. One of them....” She tried to move her left arm to signify the injury, and the difficulty of it made her point just as clearly.

  “Myself as well,” Zawditu replied. “Only once, thankfully, to no effect.”

  Luka coughed a little as Zawditu continued to dismiss her own injuries.

  “How are we....” Mata Kaur quickly lowered her voice to a whisper, though it was a whisper loud of enough to include Luka. “How are we to trust our own people?”

  “Leave that to me,” Zawditu said.

  * * * *

  They made for the town directly across the river from the castle, arriving with such haste and in such condition that the townsfolk rushed from their houses to see what was happening. It was not common for groups of Shashavani to walk among mortals except in grave circumstances. One or two visiting the elders or scholars of the village was one thing, but a veritable army of soldiers and refugees was cause for astonishment, or even fear.

  The town was well chosen. Aside from its closeness, it was also the largest settlement in the valley, arguably a small city, with stone walls and fortifications and many towers. During warmer months, traders from the other villages would converge there to sell their wares, and it was from here that the valley’s merchants would venture down from the mountains to trade with the outside world. This was also the seat of the mortal government where the elders of the valley would meet to discuss matters of importance, which were then sent as petitions to the castle.

  Zawditu left Luka in charge of overseeing things while she and Mata Kaur went to explain their situation to the town elders. Though he disliked being dismissed from Zawditu’s company, Luka attended to his task with all diligence, directing the soldiers to assemble in the town square to take stock of their arms and condition. The wounded were sent to be seen by the town healers, aided by the twelve doctors counted among the ranks of the rescued scholars. By the time Zawditu and Mata Kaur returned, the chaotic mob had been set into some sort of order. Zawditu was pleased enough to give Luka a smile of approval, which he rather enjoyed receiving.

  Once the wounded had been tended, Zawditu ordered every able-bodied Shashavani to join her in the square in the shadow of an overhanging roof that shielded the Living from daylight. She reported that the town elders had upheld their oath of loyalty to the Shashavani and would stand firm behind the Council until the matter of insurrection had been dealt with. But though this news was pleasing, Luka noticed uncertainty in the eyes of the townsfolk. It was only a small step from insurrection to civil war. While none of the valley people had seen the great war of Basileios’s rebellion, they knew the stories. Violence within the House of Shashava might easily fall upon them as well.

  But Zawditu reported only the good news, wisely keeping the spirits of the survivors high for the present time. Then, after confirming that she and the Army stood fully behind Philippa and the other loyalist Council members, her expression became grimmer and she said:

  “And now, let us address the matter all of us are thinking about, but none of us wishes to say. The House of Shashava has been disrupted by rebellion not by chance but through willful conspiracy to overthrow the Eristavi, her advisors, and the very Laws of Shashava.”

  There were a few gasps of horror at this suggestion, but most of the Shashavani were silent. They already knew as much or had guessed it.

  “There is,” Zawditu continued, “the possibility that some among us have entered into this con
spiracy and may be waiting to carry out some other act of treachery. We all know this, and many of you may already suspect your neighbors of plots and schemes.” She paused. “But it will do us no good to panic in this manner nor to let our imaginations run wild with the suspicion that our neighbors and friends may be plotting against us. I expect every one of you to remain calm and rational during this time of trial.”

  Luka glanced at the Council members who sat behind Zawditu, watching both her and the crowd. The snow had begun falling again, though only lightly. A dusting of it now covered their heads and their clothes, but as was often the case with the Living, they showed no sign of noticing. They had all recovered from the injuries with the typical speed of the Shashavani, even Philippa, once Margaret’s sword had been removed from her heart.

  In the square, Zawditu continued:

  “If there are any among you who have joined this conspiracy, who have pledged their loyalty to Margaret the Hebridean, the so-called ‘Winter King’, mark me now. The Laws of Shashava speak to us of mercy, and I intend to show that mercy now. If you have committed no crime save to join in this plot, I hereby absolve you of your treason. You shall not be punished for it.”

  This statement brought murmurs of shock from the assembled Shashavani, and the Council members began to exchange looks and mutter to one another. Rusudan and Xasan both began to stand and exclaim in protest, interrupting Zawditu. But just as quickly, and with some unspoken accord, Lakshmi placed her hands on their shoulders and forced them to sit while Philippa stood instead. Zawditu turned to look at them.

  “Does the Council wish to comment on the matter?” Zawditu asked.

  “The Council agrees with and confirms your judgment, Strategos,” Philippa said, smiling slightly and bowing her head. “Mercy is just, and division will do us more harm than good.”

  “Thank you, Sister Philippa,” Zawditu said. She turned back to the crowd and explained her decision. “We have already suffered much at the hands of this conspiracy. I will not see this Winter King sow chaos and discord among us as well. So I say again, if there are any among you whose crime of treason is no greater than to plot and scheme, I absolve you of it now. Rejoin your sisters and brothers, and do not stray from the path of wisdom again.