Blades of the Old Empire (33 page)

It was getting dark when Kyth returned from the horse pasture to the Cha’ori camp. He paused at the edge, looking for Kara, but she was nowhere to be seen. As he was about to move deeper into the circle of tents, someone stepped out of the shadows and blocked his path.

It was Dagmara. Her dark, strong face was calm, but her amber eyes gleamed in the light of the rising moon.

“Come with me,” she said.

Intrigued, Kyth followed her to a smaller tent set aside from the main camp. She raised the door curtain and led him inside.

Two figures sat on the pillows around a small table in the center of the tent. One was Ayalla, her living dress covering her just below the shoulders, leaving her arms and the top of her breasts bare. When Kyth walked in, her dark blue eyes lit up with interest that made him feel uneasy. He looked away to her table companion.

It was Egey Bashi. Or, Kyth thought it was.

He stared.

“What happened to your face?” he demanded, so surprised he forgot to be polite.

Egey Bashi glanced at Ayalla.

“You might want to ask your foster brother about it some day,” he said.

Alder?
Kyth’s eyebrows rose as he turned to the Forest Woman. She responded with an absentminded smile, the air of detachment around her cautioning against further questions. Kyth sat down, keeping clear of her spider dress.

They sipped dark, tart tea from small cups – a Cha’ori ritual that always preceded any serious conversation.

“Our enemies are stronger than we imagined,” Dagmara finally said. “We were meant to hold this council days ago. But things got out of hand. We were fortunate that the major forces to be accounted for in our lands could be gathered here for this council.” She ran her eyes around her table guests and turned to Kyth. “Why don’t you begin, Prince Kythar? Tell us what the King has to offer.”

Kyth slowly reached up and took off Dagmara’s medallion hanging around his neck. He laid it out on the table for them to see, a black stone disk with an amber inlay in the shape of an eye.

“When I last traveled with your hort and you aided me,” Kyth said, “you told me that this medallion would make any Cha’ori give anything to me. Including their lives.”

Her gaze hovered over the medallion; her expression softened as she raised her eyes back to his face.

“I came to call it in,” Kyth went on. “We need you, Dagmara. We need the Cha’ori back on the High Council.”

She shook her head. “When our alliance with your kingdom was broken hundreds of years ago, it was not meant to be restored. We will never obey your rules. Our children cannot be tested by your church.”

“This law is about to change,” Kyth said. “And it can only happen if we all stand for it. This is your chance to do something about it, Dagmara. The Cha’ori seat on the council is still there. All you need is to take it. Don’t you want the feud between our people to end?”

She shook her head again, her expression so distant that Kyth felt a shiver run down his spine. Did he make this trip, did everyone risk their lives for him in vain?

“You know it’s important, Dagmara,” he persuaded. “You’re a Foreteller. You know more than I do.”

She straightened out.

“Don’t presume to tell me about my gift,” she said. “You cannot possibly know anything about it, Shandorian royal.”

Kyth sat back, suddenly sensing something he almost missed before. There was a strain in her that was so unlike her usual calm composure. It was as if she was not telling him something important, and this lack of exchange made their conversation go the wrong way. He looked searchingly into her eyes, but her gaze became stern as she looked back at him.

“You are right,” Kyth said at length. “I can’t presume to tell you about your gift. But back when we traveled with your hort, you believed I was important enough to make a difference some day.”

She hesitated. “You
are
important. And this may, or may not be the day when you make a difference. My gift told me nothing about this.”

Something about the way she said it made Kyth wonder. He searched for her gaze, but she looked away.

“Is there something wrong with your gift?” he asked quietly.

The silence in the tent suddenly seemed too loud. Dagmara looked at him in pain, as if he had struck her. There was also wonder in the depths of her amber gaze.

In the stillness, the rustle of Ayalla’s living dress became audible. The Forest Woman spoke, her voice deep and caressing like a whisper.

“It’s the Dark Order. It’s affecting your power of foretelling. It will affect everyone’s power if you allow them to do what they are set out to do. Kyth is the only one whose power can grow into a force to resist them.” Her deep eyes rested on Kyth with an unsettling expression, as if she was trying to probe into his soul. He paused, unsure what to say.

“You should listen to this boy, Dagmara,” the Forest Mother went on. “He may be much too young to bring wisdom, but what he says is true. It’s not about your quarrel with kings long dead, nor about the priests and their petty laws that are long due for a change. This is about the new enemy we all have, the one that none of you can conquer on your own. If you don’t unite, the Dark Order will destroy you.”

“What do you know about the Dark Order, Ayalla?” Egey Bashi asked carefully.

She gave him a long look. “They saw your book, didn’t they?”

The Keeper stared at her, dumbfounded. “How do you know about that?”

Her eyes became darker, shadows moving in their depths.

“They learned things from it they’re not supposed to know. They wanted to use Kyth as a key to unlock that knowledge. You must resist them at all cost. But you, who call yourselves Keepers, won’t be able to do it on your own. The enemy’s too strong. And they’re getting stronger.” She turned to Dagmara. Her gaze became piercing.

“Your gift may be weak at the moment, Grassland Woman,” she said, “but I know it had already told you enough about this boy’s ability and how important it is. His gift, Ghaz Alim, as your priests call it, is the only thing that can save you. All of you. If he offers you an alliance, you should follow him without question.”

They all were staring at her now. The tent suddenly seemed brighter, the flame of a single candle in the center of the table rising taller in the still air.

“What do you know about my gift?” Kyth asked slowly.

Ayalla smiled. “It’s for you to discover. I cannot teach you how to use it. My gift is different from yours.”

“But you know something about it, don’t you? Why don’t you tell me?”

She held his gaze. “I know what you know. You can resist their power to command. You can use the forces around you to fill you with strength beyond anyone’s control. You can command the elements, and protect others from the enemy’s power. Your gift doesn’t end there, Kyth, but this should be enough for a start, shouldn’t it?”

Kyth thought about it. She was right. But somehow when he actually used his Ghaz Alim, it didn’t seem quite so impressive. He could be a decent fighter when he used the wind, but he couldn’t maintain this ability for long. He could resist the Kaddim’s power and protect one person from their control, but he never really tried to split this protection to affect more people. As for commanding the elements…

He suddenly remembered the wave that reached down to the bottom of the river when he and Mai were drowning and brought them back ashore, far upstream from where they were supposed to be. He hesitated.

“It sounds more impressive than it is,” he said truthfully. “I can only do these things on a very small scale. Because of that, I can’t really make my power, whatever it is, a bargaining chip to forge an alliance. It would be wrong to give anyone this false hope. I want the Cha’ori to join us, but not because they believe that my gift could protect them from anything.”

Ayalla shook her head. “So noble. So foolish. You should be able to realize that if you can do these things on a small scale, all you need is to expand the boundary of your mind. It’s only a matter of time. But if you insist on doing this your way, there is only one other thing the Forest Mother can do for you. I will follow you to the Crown City and take a seat on your council.”

Everyone stared.

“You?” Kyth asked in disbelief.

She returned his gaze calmly.

“There was a seat on this council once,” she said, “for an emissary from the Forestlands. It’s time to get it restored.”

“That was more than a thousand years ago,” Egey Bashi protested. “In the days of the old empire. I don’t think that–”

Ayalla’s look cut him off. “It was
my
seat. I held it, and now I will go back to reclaim it. Changes are coming. It’s time for the Forestlands to return. If the Dark Order takes over, the Forest will suffer. I will not be able to protect my children.” Her gaze became sad. She lowered her eyes and sat back. There was silence as everyone stared at her.

Kyth knew that she was very old. But to think that a thousand years ago, in the days of the old empire, Ayalla had a seat on the High Council…

He cleared his throat.

“It may not be my place to speak for everyone,” he said, “but I think it is a great idea. I believe that your alliance, Lady Ayalla, will be invaluable.”

She smiled. “They are children, too busy with their petty quarrels to pay attention to the important things. I will be glad to have your support, Prince Kythar, and that of others, but you don’t need to worry. No one in that council chamber will challenge my claim.”

She sat back, the spiders of her dress rearranging themselves in a turmoil that made Kyth blush. He saw Egey Bashi hastily look away. The Magister’s transformation was striking. Without his scar, he looked like a completely different man, younger and stronger than before.

Ayalla reached down to push the last couple of spiders into their places, with the absentminded gesture of a woman smoothing out a fold of her dress. Then she sat up and ran a glance around the room, fixing her eyes on Dagmara.

“What do you say, Grassland Woman?” she asked. “You and I go back hundreds of years. I know, gift or not, you are capable of making the right choice. Will you go with me and Prince Kythar to the Crown City?”

Dagmara sat up straight.

“If the Forest Mother herself is asking me to go, I cannot possibly stay behind. We invited you here for a council, Ayalla, and I will follow your lead. The enemy is too powerful to face on our own. And you are right, Kyth. Some day this feud between our people has to stop.”

“There’s one more thing,” Egey Bashi put in. “As I learned today, King Evan and Mother Keeper are prisoners in Castle Illitand. Before any of the things you mention can be done, they must be rescued.”

Dagmara frowned. “If your King can be held prisoner by one of his vassals, what power does he really have?”

“He’s not held by one of his vassals,” Egey Bashi said, “His imprisonment has been cleverly arranged by the Kaddim Brothers of the Dark Order. They also hold the Duke of Illitand himself, as well as the Princess of Shayil Yara.”

Kyth looked at him in shock. He heard bits of it from Ellah in the short time they had to catch up on all the events, but he never realized things were this bad.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

Egey Bashi shrugged. “I see only one way. We must go to Castle Illitand without delay and break them out.”

Ayalla nodded. “We must not delay. My children will take everyone across the water. They will also make a path through the forest, straight to Illitand Hall.”

Evan had been avoiding the room where Han was killed. Even though the castle servants spent long hours and what seemed like barrels of water scrubbing the floor clean, he still imagined he could sense the tart smell of blood every time he walked into the chamber. He knew it wasn’t possible, but the smell in his mind simply wouldn’t go away.

The only alternative that allowed him to stay as far as possible from the place was the company of the Keepers, whose incessant ability to discuss the details of their order seemed admirable under the circumstances. It was as if there was nothing more important than to make an immediate decision on how many members of the Inner Circle should be allowed to vote on promoting new initiates, or whether the distribution of the founder substances, whatever they were, should be restricted only to the scholars. Getting into these detailed discussions that could last for hours, Odara Sul and Mother Keeper seemed to become oblivious to their imprisonment, as if the only thing keeping them away from their Order was the fact that they couldn’t come to an agreement on these important matters.

Evan wished he could have something like that to occupy his mind. He tried to think past the situation he was in, but despite all his efforts, he couldn’t escape the feeling of helplessness that had became more prominent as the days went by. At times he was actually starting to doubt if they were ever going to get out of the castle alive. Daemur’s promise that Evan would rot in these walls seemed to be coming true, even if not yet in the literal sense.

The Majat were around him all the time. While Lothar seemed to be doing an adequate job as their leader, Evan couldn’t help sensing the general atmosphere of defeat that prevailed in the small enclosure of their imprisonment. It was disheartening to watch.

Days came and went without bringing much variation in daily routine until Evan stopped counting them anymore. From a corner window with a limited view of the castle’s front entrance, he watched the impressive funeral procession that had set out to the Majat Guild to escort Han’s body, led by Daemur Illitand’s own nephew from the lesser house Ilmareil. The golden embroidery of the cover draping over the casket weighted down the thick wheels of the funeral cart, pulled by a magnificent train of eight snow-white horses. The guards of Lord Ilmareil’s suite wore white plumes in sign of mourning, and the young noble himself had his head bare, a waterfall of auburn hair cascading down his shoulders.

Evan didn’t envy the Duke the position he had got himself into. He doubted that even such a lavish display was going to impress the Majat Guildmaster enough to forget the incident, but he couldn’t blame Daemur for trying.

Watching out of the window, Evan could also see Kaddim Tolos, who stood beside Daemur watching the procession take off and followed the Duke inside with the air of a man in control. Nobody bothered the King for many days after, except the servants who brought food, changed linens, and took care of the daily chores. They all looked alike, silent men dressed in green tunics with sparse yellow trim, meant to represent the Illitand gold without the expense, their faces bearing fish-like expressions of silent obedience. After a while Evan stopped noticing them.

One day, when Evan was making his way to the Keepers’ quarters for his daily lesson in the affairs of the Outer Circle, he heard footsteps and metal clanking outside. The doors flung open, letting in Kaddim Tolos with twelve hooded men close on his heels.

The Majat surrounded the King in a protective ring and drew their swords, but Evan saw hesitation on their faces that echoed in his own heart. They all knew how useless they were against the frightening power commanded by this slim, yellow-eyed man.

The Kaddim came within twenty paces of Evan and stopped. Despite the dramatic entrance, he seemed in no hurry to start the conversation, surveying the King and his sparse suite with a cold expression.

“I trust you find your accommodations comfortable, Your Majesty?” he asked at length.

Evan held a pause, measuring the man up and down with a cold gaze. “Where’s Lord Daemur?”

Tolos spread his hands. “I thought you didn’t want to speak to him again, Your Majesty.”

“True. But given the choice, I’d rather speak to him than to you.”

The Kaddim smiled. “I thought you might feel that way. This is why I’m not here to talk. I came to take you with me, so that you can speak to my brothers instead. Kaddim Nimos, Haghos, and Farros have just arrived in the castle, and they all are eager to meet you, Sire.”

Evan stood up straight. Having more Kaddim Brothers around wasn’t welcome news.

“I have no knowledge of the men you are speaking about,” he said. “But it seems that if they’re as eager to meet me as you say, they would have had no trouble coming here. These chambers have become less private than a city tavern on a busy night. Everyone feels free to come and go as they please.”

“Except you,” Tolos pointed out with just a touch of smugness. “And Mother Keeper.”

“What is it you really want?” Evan asked. “You can’t keep us here forever, you know.”

“Nor do I intend to, Majesty. I was only waiting for my brothers to get here. And now, we are planning a council. Yours and Lord Daemur’s presence would make the highlight of it. Mother Keeper and Tanad Eli Faruh are also invited, of course.”

He nodded and two of his men brushed past, flinging open the door to the Keepers’ quarters without ceremony.

“I’m not coming,” Evan said. “I’m certain you and your brothers can hold your little council without me.”

Tolos smiled. “And how do you propose to resist us, Your Majesty?”

Evan glanced at the Majat, tense and ready with swords in hand. He knew they would fight for him to the death. He also knew they would lose.

“Stand down your men, Jeih Lothar,” he said. “There’s no use in fighting when you don’t have a chance.”

The Majat looked at him with hesitation.

“It’s an order.” Evan raised his voice just a tone higher, so that it rang clearly through the hall.

“The Majat don’t obey the King, Your Majesty,” Lothar responded. “Regardless of your orders, it’s our duty to our Guild to protect you with our lives.” His gaze was firm, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“The Pentade would serve me better by staying alive.
Not
by getting themselves killed and leaving me entirely without protection. Didn’t they teach you that in your training, Jeih?”

Lothar kept Evan’s gaze a moment longer, then stepped back and lowered his sword. The rest of the Majat followed.

“A wise decision, Your Majesty,” Tolos said. “Your guards may stay here and wait for your return. It won’t be long if you cooperate.”

Mother Keeper appeared from the inner chambers, escorted by two robed men. She was wearing her Keeper’s garb, a white cloak with an embroidery of a lock and key on the left shoulder. Its hood was thrown back, revealing smoothly arranged hair. As she stepped out of the chambers, she met Evan’s gaze and gave him an encouraging nod.

Tolos led the way through the numerous castle corridors with the look of a man who knew his way well. As they walked, Evan strained to remember the hallways and passages, familiar to him from his childhood visits to Illitand Hall. From the looks of it they were headed for the large audience chamber downstairs, which members of the Illitand family fondly referred to as the throne room. As he walked, Evan did his best not to show excitement at leaving behind the enclosure of his involuntary dwelling.

Tolos’s men flung open the large double doors and led the way inside. A small circle of chairs was set in the middle of the giant room. Most of them were occupied. The pale and disheveled Daemur Illitand sat in his chair with the look of a man past caring what was going on around him. Tanad Eli Faruh on his left was dressed as richly and colorfully as always, but his dark Olivian skin had a grayish tint, and the circles under his eyes were definitely darker than the rest of his face.

Evan looked further, to the other participants in the gathering. Seated across Daemur were three men, whose draping robes and the cold, creeping quality of their gazes were eerily similar to Tolos’s. Evan’s skin prickled as he walked toward them, careful to keep his face calm.

He approached the indicated chair and lowered onto the hard wooden seat, watching Tolos unhurriedly take a place next to the man whose dark eyes didn’t seem to have any irises, making his sharp-featured face look almost inhuman. Next to him sat a thin man with a tonsured head and speckled brown-and-gray eyes, and another, with thin hair and bird-like features. Evan stared.

“Reverend Haghos?”

The man’s thin lips twitched. “
Kaddim
Haghos, Your Majesty.”

Evan could only gape as the man calmly introduced his companions. “Kaddim Nimos, Sire. And, over here, Kaddim Farros.”

Evan forced himself to relax under the heavy stares of the Kaddim Brothers. He felt too tired to be surprised. If the former reverend of the Church chose to ally himself with the Kaddim, there seemed nothing more to be said.

“Now,” Tolos said, “since we’re all gathered here, my lords and ladies, it’s time to discuss our plans. Kaddim Nimos?” He turned to the man with dark irisless eyes.

“Our plan is very simple, my lords and ladies,” Nimos said. “We want to restore the old Shandorian Empire.”

In the pause that followed everyone looked at him in disbelief.

Evan recovered first. “You
can’t
be serious.”

Nimos’s dark eyes bore into him with feverish intensity. “Oh, but I am, Your Majesty.”

“You are talking about vast territories, inhabited by people so different that they would never–”

“I’m talking about everyone on our side of the Eastern Mountain Range.” Nimos glanced at his companions. “The old empire stretched from the Ridges all the way to the Southern Marshes – a peaceful union, where everyone coexisted in harmony, under one rule.”

“Peaceful?” Evan began, and bit his lip. There was no need for a political argument. He was certain the preposterous suggestion to restore the bloody rule of the raging maniacs that called themselves emperors did not come from ignorance.

Nimos shrugged. “It’s understandable that Your Majesty would feel somewhat emotional about our plan. But a good emperor–”

Evan smiled. “I can see we’re finally coming to the point. Who do you have in mind?”

Nimos held a pause, running his eyes around the entranced group. “A highly worthy man, I can assure you, Sire.”

“You mean, one of your brothers?”

Nimos gave Evan a pitiful look. “Your vision is so limited, if I may be so bold. Our true master is the only one worthy of ruling the empire. We’re here as his emissaries, no more.”

It seemed that the room had become darker as he said these words. Evan felt a chill pass over the stone floor and resisted the urge to pull his cloak tighter around himself.

He remembered a strange sign burned into the shoulder of the man they’d captured in the castle courtyard, after the attack on Kyth back in Tadar. The sign of Ghaz Kadan. When these men referred to their master, could they really mean…?

Evan took a breath. “This is insane. You can’t mean your master, as in Ghaz Ka–”

“
Silence!
” Tolos rose up from his seat. “Don’t speak the sacred name in vain!”

Evan receded back into his chair. “If your plans are as grand as all this, why play this charade and go to such lengths to gather us all here?”

“Simple,” Nimos said. “The old empire has been divided into the kingdoms of Tandar and Shayil Yara, as well as the Bengaw Province, the Order of Keepers, the Wanderer people, and the Majat Guild. These are all independent forces not to be ignored, but only the two kingdoms and the Order of Keepers by now constitute real power. We gathered you here so that you could sign a treaty indicating your voluntary decision to join the empire.”

Evan smiled. “Lord Daemur and I speak for Tandar,” he said. “But whatever the Tanad signs for Shayil Yara couldn’t be held as a true document. He’s an ambassador, no more.”

Nimos nodded. “Of course. The signature has to come from Princess Aljbeda. We know that the Tanad advises Her Highness, so we took the liberty of bringing him here to ensure her cooperation.”

“But the Princess is only five years old! She can’t be held accountable!”

“She is the heiress to the Southern Throne. As such, her word means a lot. She is five, true, but I assure Your Majesty that she realizes the responsibility. Her cooperation would mean as much as yours.”

Evan hesitated. It was true. Ridiculous as it was, if Princess Aljbeda signed the document it would be binding under the circumstances. Even her mother, Queen Rajmella of Shayil Yara, wouldn’t be able to annul it without risking a war.

“Where’s the Princess?” he asked slowly.

Nimos smiled. “Don’t be concerned, Your Majesty. The Princess is safely in our care. Her ladies in waiting have been most gracious in allowing us to set our own guard around Her Highness. In fact, despite the late hour, the Princess will be brought here as soon as we are ready. I’d like to remind you that her wellbeing is not only the Tanad’s, but your responsibility to your southern sovereign. If Her Highness were to suffer an unfortunate incident in your kingdom, Queen Rajmella would be quite unlikely to ever forgive you. Personally, I’d hate to see a war started over something as small as this.”

There was another long pause.

Evan took a deep breath, steadying his voice. “You know very well that none of us would ever sign such a document. If this is your worst threat–”

“It isn’t,” Nimos said calmly. “We can do better. Consider this, Your Majesty. If you don’t sign this document, none of you will ever leave this chamber alive.”

Evan ran his eyes around the pale faces of his companions. They were alone here, with more than a dozen deadly warriors and four men who possessed the power to control people’s minds.

“You’ll never get away with it,” he said quietly.

Nimos smiled. “And who do you think would oppose us, Sire?”

“How about the Majat? You’ve discounted them from your treaty, but it seems to me they’re a considerable force that could bring you down.”

Nimos waved his hands in a dismissive gesture.

“Your information is outdated,” he said. “The Majat are formidable warriors, but without their skill they are just as helpless as anyone. Their best are the Diamonds, and I’m told you had a chance to see how easy they are to deal with. In fact, there are only twelve Diamonds that are currently in top shape for active assignments, and by our reckoning three of them should be dead by now. Including, I might say, your former Pentade leader.”