Requiem (37 page)

And I’ve missed them.

She looked at the men. “I’ll do this,” she said, “but not with all of you staring at me.”

Tertius nodded and stood first. “Of course.”

The others stood as well.

She unstopped the phial and touched her lips to it, tentatively tasting the sweet, thick syrup it contained. Tipping her head back, she swallowed it down.

Tertius leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “Good dreaming, Winteria. I will see you shortly.” Then, the old man hurried out of the room.

Hebda and Charles each inclined their heads to her as they also moved through the door, and when she was alone with the metal man, she went over to him and stretched out on the blankets beside him. Already sleep pulled at her eyes, and she felt the heaviness settling into her bones and brain.

Taking Isaak’s warm metal hand into her own, Winteria bat Mardic squeezed it tightly, closed her eyes, and let herself tip forward into the river of his dreams.

Chapter

19

Vlad Li Tam

The streets of Ahm’s Glory slowly emptied as the sunset painted the sky in purple and mauve, and Vlad Li Tam watched the crowds dwindling from the shadows of an alley near the Courtyard of Imminent Grace. He’d spent several days in the city now, mostly in the basement of a house near the banking district. Their arrival, buried beneath bolts of silk in the back of a merchant’s wagon, had been entirely without incident despite the strong military presence.

And until today, Vlad had contented himself with maps and notes and bits of information gathered by his Knives, Som Li Tam and the others bringing him whatever he needed and answering whatever questions he had. All the while, he’d kept the staff nearby but was glad not to need it. Still, he felt the effects of it in the aching of his bones and the blood he passed in his urine and occasionally from his nose. The headaches had subsided, at least, but he felt one coming on now.

The staff tingled in his hand and he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of it. Then, he opened them and looked across the courtyard. It was a wide, paved area with a fountain in the center and palm trees lining it. At the eastern end stood the massive Temple of the Daughters of Ahm, its golden statue of the Wizard King perched above it with arms outstretched to save. North of that, the military headquarters sat somber and dark, plain against the backdrop of the other buildings around it. And to the west, the high-walled Imperial Palace waited, its golden gates closed now, though Vlad had it on good authority that they’d been kept open during daylight hours until recently.

Since my daughter’s arrival,
he thought.
Or maybe mine.

Because Vlad had no doubt they knew by now that he was here. He doubted they knew why, though he supposed that their magisters might have found some way to counter the staff’s power over Colonel Tarviz and Sister-Mother Drusilla. But it didn’t matter. He was here and had no intention of being found until he chose it.

He squeezed the staff again and smiled even as he watched a platoon of soldiers march across the courtyard, thorn rifles held to their shoulders. Beside him, Som Li Tam shifted.

“I think we should return,” his nephew said.

Vlad glanced at him before looking back to the soldiers. “Soon.”

He’d seen the major points upon his map in the course of a day, the staff masking him as his nephew escorted him about the city. They’d taken lunch near the docks, watching fresh-faced soldiers loading onto transport ships no doubt aimed at the Named Lands. Then, they’d spent the afternoon making their way through the market district and into the outskirts of the city where the Magisters of the Knowledge of the Faithful had situated their quiet, white-marble halls. And now, they closed out the day here, where Vlad knew with certainty his work must begin.

Tonight.

His eyes went to the statue and he measured it, weighing it in his mind. It seemed as good a place to start as anywhere. The massive form of the benevolent Wizard King dominated the cityscape and would certainly catch everyone’s attention.

Movement in the courtyard caught his eye—a figure that moved differently than the others—and he tracked it.
Show me,
he willed the staff, and he felt the change in his eyesight with a wave of vertigo and a twisting knife in his temple. It was a robed figure, moving quickly in a measured, careful step that spoke of more comfort in the forest than the city.

That one is out of place here.
Vlad watched him make his way across the courtyard, changing course ever so slightly to avoid the handful of soldiers that moved to and fro. More than that, this one avoided everything. And all the while, his head moved from building to building as he reconnoitered. Vlad looked to his nephew. “Is that one of ours?”

Som Li Tam squinted at the distance. “No,” he said.

Vlad watched the man look away just as a small group of young women dressed in acolyte’s robes moved past him. “I want him followed.”

“I will see to it.”

He nodded and waited while Som signed to one of the younger Knives who waited nearby to escort them back to their makeshift headquarters. She moved out into the courtyard, a wrapped package in her hands. After a count of twenty, another followed.

“And now,” Vlad said, “we go.”

They slipped out of the alley and made their way onto the wide avenue that marked the edge of the courtyard. Vlad took the lead, letting Som fall in behind him as they turned east. He held the staff at his side as he went, willing it to bend the eyes of others over and around them. Vlad did not know exactly what they saw—an old man out for a walk with his son, perhaps—but it mattered little to him.

As long as they do not see me until I wish to be seen.

When they reached the edge of the temple, they paused in the shadows beneath the trees, and he craned his neck upward. The last of the light gave the gold a bloody tint, and he smiled at it.

Then, three times, he tapped the staff upon the pavement and shook it out over the avenue. A globe of silver the size of a small egg dripped from the staff’s tip to puddle on the paving stone. Vlad looked around, then dropped to his hands and knees. He gently blew upon the puddle, and when his breath touched it, it balled up and started to slowly, erratically, move toward the temple.

He climbed slowly to his feet and watched the silver sphere roll to the wall, flatten against it, and begin its slow climb upward. As it climbed, he felt the power flowing out of him, replaced with a hollow weariness and a sharp pain behind his eyes that made him wince. “We’re finished here,” he said.

They took the meandering path around the courtyard, and when they reached the far end, he looked back to the statue. As the last of the light shone upon it, he willed distance to his eyesight again and watched the silver lines emerge on the statue’s legs, torso, face, and arms. The lines took the shape of scars—the very scars of kin-healing that Vlad himself bore upon his body—and then those scars became wounds.

He turned away from the statue then and let his nephew lead them along the Whymer Maze of alleys and streets that would take him home to a bed he suddenly, desperately craved.

Behind him, the statue of Ahm Y’Zir began to bleed. But he did not need to see the hundred tiny rivers of red that trickled down the legs, over the base they stood upon, or the hundred crimson raindrops that fell upon the temple’s roof beneath those outstretched, saving hands. He knew they were there.

And he also knew that soon, the others would know it, too, and so his first message would be delivered to Ahm Y’Zir.

“Now,” Vlad Li Tam said in a quiet voice, “it is
my
turn to heal the world.”

And with his Knives and his staff at hand, he knew beyond doubting that this particular kin-healing would not go unfinished.

Rudolfo

The morning air felt cool upon his skin as Rudolfo stretched by the door of his villa. The last of the stars pulsed in a sky that moved from dark to gray, and a light breeze ruffled the trees that lined the street.

He stretched, feeling too many days of saddle and desk in the way his joints popped and his muscles pulled. He’d noticed over the last several months—maybe even over the last two years—the bulge at his middle and the ease with which he became winded. He didn’t have his own wardrobe to measure against, but he knew he’d gained weight before he left the forest, and try as he might, the duties of a deskbound leader and the stresses of his life had started him down a path that shamed him. Most of his life, he’d eaten as he wanted, but he’d also been active. He’d danced the knives and run the forests with his men, and he’d played at other dances in the darkened rooms of his Nine Forest Manors with the women he’d kept company. He was fit and lean and strong. But the weight of war and the stresses of his new life had taken their toll, and he knew he’d become soft.

When General Yazmeera had suggested the afternoon before that perhaps he might consider joining her for her morning run, he’d heard the subtext beneath her invitation and knew he could not refuse.

So he stretched now in the predawn light, dressed in doeskin moccasins, light cotton trousers, and a loose-fitting short-sleeved shirt. Ire Li Tam watched him, the amusement only slightly visible in her eyes as he cursed and tried to reach his toes.

“Good morning, Rudolfo.” The general’s voice was almost cheery, and it rang out in the quiet morning.

He looked up as she ran in place, her own aide a respectful distance behind. She was dressed similarly, though she still carried her knives. “I think,” he said, “it may still be night.”

She chuckled. “Only to those without something to wake up for.”

He forced a smile, and when she set off at an easy run, he fell in beside her even as Ire Li Tam fell in behind him.

They ran quietly for a time, their feet slapping the cobblestones as they slipped past houses lit and unlit as the city of Merrique slowly woke around them. At one point, Rudolfo heard the cry of a small child and at another, the barking of a distant, frenzied dog. And at the edge of town, he smelled fresh baking sweet bread that made his stomach growl.

He broke sweat as they left the city and heard the work of his lungs as he gulped the morning air. Yazmeera noticed and slowed her pace, and he resented it but did not resist.

Once they were surrounded by the flat farmlands, she slowed even further. “The Letters of Sister Alouise tell us that our bodies are the knives of the gods,” she said, her voice even and her breath steady. “That we must keep them sharp and ready that we might make our marks—
their
marks, even—upon the world.”

“I’ve read that in one of the gospels.” Rudolfo’s own voice was more of a pant. “I see the wisdom of it.” But it was half of an honest answer. More accurately, he saw the foolishness of not taking better care of himself at a time when he needed every resource possible to determine his best path.

She slowed even further and looked at him. “You’ve continued in your studies?”

“Of course,” he said. He’d made a point of adding an hour or two of reading to his days. The general had provided him with five slender volumes, crisp and new. And those same five books were finding their way into more and more hands throughout the Named Lands. He’d seen crates of them in the quartermaster’s warehouse while checking in on how the supply chain was preparing for the upcoming Council. “I’ve read some of them three times now.”

Her smile was wide and genuine. “It pleases me to hear this, Rudolfo.”

He met her eyes only briefly, looking back to the road they ran. Rudolfo brought his own smile forward. “I’ve been taught all my years that change is the path life takes,” he said. “I will not pretend to say this change is easy or that I fully understand it.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath. “But it is inevitable.”

She stopped, and he stopped, too. Ahead of them, a wooden bridge spanned a flat, wide river that marked the border of Merrique County. “You truly are your father’s son,” she said.

Rudolfo felt the words like a knife twisted in his lung and hoped that the despair did not show on his face. He had no reply for her words, and it was all he could do not to flinch when her hand fell upon his shoulder, firm and warm.

“I have something to discuss with you,” she said. “I think perhaps this is a good time for it.” At his nod, she turned to the Blood Guard who escorted them. “Give us some space,” she said. “We’re going to rest for a bit. And talk.”

He welcomed the break, his clothes wet from sweat and his legs sore from the few leagues they’d covered. He followed her as she left the road along a narrow path through the tall grass.

“I often pause here to meditate and pray,” she told him as they approached the riverbank. When she sat in the grass, he did the same. “It centers me. And you have beautiful country here.”

Rudolfo nodded and watched the river. The sun was barely up, the pink still in the sky. And already, the temperature climbed. “I prefer the forest,” he said.

She smiled. “You’ll be able to live wherever you wish once we’ve settled the peace. Your office does not require a central location. And you will have ministries to support you throughout the region—constabulary and internal intelligence—regardless of where you reside.” Her smile faded. “But we
do
expect resistance, Rudolfo, regardless of next week’s Council. There are those in the Named Lands who hate everything we stand for. So if you do choose to leave the Isle, you will be expected to accept a Blood Guard escort to assist your Gypsy Scouts in protecting our chancellor and his family.”

Rudolfo glanced at her. “My scouts are formidable.”

She inclined her head. “As are
mine,
Lord Chancellor.”

He offered a weak smile and looked past her, to where the two women stood at a distance, their heads constantly turning to take in the surroundings even as their hands lingered near the knives they wore on their belts. He’d seen the Blood Guard fight. And the single prisoner he’d taken had resisted even their darkest tactics, giving them nothing useful before he executed her. “They are indeed formidable,” he said, returning her nod.