Soulsworn (3 page)

A
List and a Box

A
idah forced herself to watch Lomin and Aran prod at the bodies under the light of torches that cast long shadows. Lomin punctuated the inspection with a kick to the torso of Derega’s corpse. They searched the men and the saddlebags. When finished, they gathered the horses that had returned after the slaughter and led them to the stables.

She found it difficult to come to terms with Derega’s betrayal. Had she and Kesta not saved him and Lomin, among other dregs, from lives on the Smear’s streets? Lives that would’ve seen them dead? And in exchange for that gift, this is how they repay us. She scowled at Derega’s body. If she was outside she might have spit on him.

Lips quivering as the news the man had brought bore down on her, she rubbed at her eyes, determined not to cry. Unbidden tears streamed down her cheeks. She repeatedly saw Kesta’s smiling face, heard Gaston’s witty responses. She pictured her son riding one of his horses or delving into his books on Kasandar’s noble houses. She wished to have their favorite meals cooked for them—pumpkin pie for Gaston and yellowtail eel for Kesta—or to spend one last night in Kesta’s arms, inhaling his scent. All of that was gone now, would never be. What am I to do now?

As much as Kesta had warned her of the possibility that he might not survive Succession Day, the reality proved too hard to accept, a nightmare from which she would not wake. To lose Gaston also was doubly painful. It was as if someone had reached into her chest and wrenched out her heart. Derega had to be mistaken. He had to be. It had been a vile trick by him to get her to surrender. Yes, that was it.

“Mother,” Nerisse said, voice soft as she stepped in close to lean on Aidah’s shoulder, “do you believe they’re dead?”

“I-I don’t know, but Clara said they were telling the truth, and, and—” Aidah’s voice failed at Nerisse’s choked cry.

“Why? Why?” Sobs wracked Nerisse’s chest.

“It was the Dominion’s will.” The words felt hollow. I’ve always followed the Word. Why would the deities curse my family like this? Eyes burning, Aidah stroked her daughter’s hair. The motion stopped her from shaking, soothed a bit of her sorrow. “We must be strong,” she whispered. “There’s still Clara, you, and I. We’ll make the best of it. If your father is gone, that is what he would want. Your brother too.” She lost track of how long she held Nerisse before finally leading her to the bed to lay next to Clara.

After Nerisse fell asleep Aidah gathered herself and headed downstairs. For her children she would try to be a pillar. Kesta’s instructions rang in her head as she met Lomin and Aran on the first floor near the basement door. “You two could easily choose to be like Derega. Why haven’t you?” Her gaze settled on Lomin.

“My birth mother gave me up on the Day of Accolades, like so many of the Smear’s dregs,” Lomin said, “or so I’ve been told, but I can’t even remember the woman. In my eyes she never existed. However, I know what the Smear is like. In the king’s service I’ve walked through the squalor and the shit, spent days in the filth, hunted criminals among its ramshackle buildings and snaking alleys.

“I’ve seen what the dregs do to those too weak to defend themselves … the rapes, the murders … the memory of them still turn my stomach. When the wisemen picked me on the Day of Accolades, and your husband took me into his service later, they both played a part to save me from such a fate.”

“A lot of good that did to stop Derega in the end,” Aidah said.

Lomin shrugged. “Unlike Derega, coin doesn’t move me. As a King’s Blade I’ve but one purpose, one task, a task for which I was trained, and that is to fulfill the needs of my keepers. Without Count Rostlin I might be off in some war or dead on Succession Day, but he saw fit to trust me with your lives. Being a Blade is who I am, all I know, and I serve at your whim now that your husband is gone.”

Aidah nodded, at the same time wondering if Lomin would feel the same if he knew the Order’s full role in the atrocities he mentioned, if he knew of the people they planted within the Smear to commit those acts, to sow discord and suffering, to make parents give up their children in hopes of a better life. Derega was proof that he might think differently.

Dismissing the thought, she turned to Aran. “And you?” When Aran had first come to be in her husband’s employ she wanted no part of the man. It was possible to get the measure of a person by looking into their eyes. Aran gave no one that chance. His eyes were shifty, those of a man with something to hide. Years as a loyal servant had slowly changed her opinion.

“Been hunted before, m’lady.” As usual Aran did not meet her gaze. “Wasn’t a good feeling. Was a member of the Red Beggars when the King’s Blades came for me for robbing a merchant. Lost my brothers when they caught us in the Smear.” He shot a glance Lomin’s way. “Was only Hazline’s will that they decided to flay the skin from my back rather than kill me. Even if the thought of robbing you had crossed my mind, and I got away for a while, wisemen have a knack for finding out things when you don’t want them to. I learned that the hard way. It’s a lesson I’d rather not be taught again.

“Besides, what’s a man like me to do? If I wasn’t here, all that’s left for me would be the Smear, and I’ve had enough of that sewer for a lifetime. I always said the only good that’s come of the Smear is the Day of Accolades.” He nodded toward Lomin. “Gives a dreg the chance to be more than a thief or a cutthroat, to live to see a decent age. But since I’m too old for the wisemen to choose me, that’s out of the question. With you, I have a chance to be something more than I’ve been. I’ll take that. And to be honest, in your service there’s always coin, a warm bed, and hot food. A man could do worse. Much worse.”

Both men seemed sincere. As much as she might rather do things a different way, she understood the lack of choice. She had to extend a modicum of trust to these two. If Kesta and Gaston were dead, the remnants of her family would not survive any other way. “Thank you for your honesty and loyalty. I will ask you to do the Rostlin family one more service, for which you will be paid well.”

“How well?” Aran arched a brow.

“A gold round … each,” she said. Their brows climbed their foreheads. Lomin’s mouth opened then closed.

“That’s …” Aran began, frowning, head shifting from side to side, “Hells’ Angels, that’s ten thousand silver bits. Men like us could work the rest of their lives and not see half that much.”

“I could have a family, start a farm, or buy a fishing boat,” Lomin whispered, seemingly lost in thought.

“No one pays that much for a simple task,” Aran said, eyes narrowed. “What’s the job? I might have been a rogue once, but even then I had limits. Never killed an innocent, a child, or raped anyone. Not about to start now.”

Aidah looked from one man to the other. They watched her intently. This was the risky part. What if they change their minds and wish to rob and kill me instead? What choice do you have? She willed herself to carry on. “All I ask is that you escort us and two wagons to Melanil. I have family there who can help me. Some will be refugees like myself, but at least they’re family.”

Time and again Kesta had mentioned Melanil as the one place she could find safety should Succession Day go wrong. His rivals would find it difficult to touch her there, if their intention was to be rid of her and the children. Kesta had secreted away enough riches that she could find some semblance of a life. In Melanil she could wait for him again or receive true confirmation of his death. She steeled herself against the stab in her chest brought about by the thought of the latter. Have faith. Derega was lying. The Dominion has stood by you always. They will do so now. The pain eased.

“That’s all?” Lomin asked.

“Yes.”

The two men looked at each other. Aran shrugged.

Lomin was stroking the scar on his throat. “I want to say yes, but suppose Derega has told others?”

“A better question is what kind of things did Kesta have sent here that would make Derega want to kill for them, betray his calling?” Aran asked. “And then there’s your daughter.” He left the rest unsaid.

“Precious stones, gold, coins, rare paintings, and a few other baubles,” Aidah answered. “As for Clara, I’ll seek help at Garangal’s chantry.” She recalled the last week before she left, when Kesta had shown her the nondescript wooden chest. Inside was another box of grey iron. ‘Only if your lives are in danger should you give this to Nerisse. I’ve discussed it with her. She will know what to do.’

“A fortune, then,” Aran said, nodding.

“We’ll have to hire a few more men when we reach Garangal,” Lomin said. “In case Derega didn’t know to keep his mouth shut about all this.”

“Or if whomever takes Antelen Hill decides the Rostlin family is better off dead,” Aran added.

“Do what you must.” Aidah let out a relieved breath at the men’s agreement. “You two will see to the particulars of their pay.”

“Yes, Lady Rostlin,” they said as one.

“Another thing.” She paused, thinking. “I’m Lady Guerin from a minor house in Kasandar, and like so many other nobles, I’m headed to Melanil until the fighting dies out.” The men nodded. “Now that’s decided, let me show you what you will be packing tonight.”

She unlocked the basement door, had Aran light the torches on the walls, and led them down into the storeroom. The place smelled of mold and age, and the dust made her sneeze half a dozen times. Lomin lit the other lanterns along a short hall with a door at the end. She led them inside.

Shadows capered as the storeroom’s contents became visible. Lomin gawked. A whistle escaped Aran’s lips. The room was larger than the mansion above, filled with neat rows of everything from furniture to paintings to clothes, each piece worth a small fortune. After Lomin lit the lamps along the walls, Aidah went to a nearby table, picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and on a piece of paper she scratched out a list of things without having to peer around the room.

“We can pack this up tonight.” Lomin perused the list. “But I advise against traveling before first light. The noise of the wagons would certainly draw the unsavory types.”

“I’d rather leave as soon as possible,” Aidah argued.

“If I were a wagering man,” Lomin said, “I’d bet we’re in the safest place for now. If anyone should come during the night, they’ll think twice after seeing those corpses outside.”

The assessment made sense. “Fine, but we leave at dawn.”

“Sure thing, Lady Guerin,” Aran said. She scowled at him, and he shrugged. “Just getting a feel for the new name.”

Lomin nodded to the bony man. “You empty the wagons in the stables while I stack the goods down here. We might have to work through the night to get this done.” Aran grumbled something about a big strapping Blade getting to do the easy work before he headed back through the storeroom. When the armsman was gone, Lomin walked to the door, peered out, and then turned to Aidah. “There’s something you must see.” He produced a sheet of paper from inside his cloak.

“What is it?”

“Look for yourself.” He handed it to her.

Aidah’s eyes widened as she read the words, the neatness of the handwriting suggesting an educated person had composed them. It was a list. A list of nobles wanted by King Ainslen. Beside each name was their worth in coin. For her and the children, the king would pay a gold monarch. Each. Neither the names of Gaston nor Kesta were present. She tried to think of the omission as a good sign, even if her heart hinted at the opposite.

“I found it on Derega,” Lomin said. “And while I trust Aran for the most part, that’s ten times what you offered us. I don’t have a price, but I can’t speak for him. You might not feel it now, but eventually a part of you will crave vengeance for all this. Nothing short of a war could bring you that. Such an undertaking is well beyond our capability. Might as well wish for the Dominion to leave the Heavens and speak to us. My advice, if you wish it, is to seek sanctuary with the Order when we arrive in Garangal. That should keep you safe when we head to the Chanting City.”

The man’s words washed over Aidah. “Leave me, and speak of this to no one.” When he left, Aidah sat on a dusty chair with the list in her hand. On it were several other members of her family, the same ones she intended to meet in Melanil. Their names were crossed out. She envisioned them, chased and cut down by Derega like a hound during the hunt. Her body shook.

After she gathered herself, Aidah crossed the room to a table upon which sat the wooden box Kesta had treated with reverence. Despite the metal container inside, it wasn’t heavy. Soon, she would talk with Nerisse about its contents. She cradled the box under her arm and carried it upstairs. Having it in her possession brought a surge of hope. Kesta had another like it. If he partook of what lay inside he might still be alive. She clung to that thought.

D
enial

A
idah covered Clara with a fur-lined coat and piled two thick blankets atop her. For the first time since the events at the estate the girl was resting peacefully. A feat in itself with the way the wagon rattled, wheels bouncing on rutted ground. Added to the jarring ride were the brays and reek of the byagas that pulled them. Lomin’s shouts could be heard amid the din as he urged the beasts on, cracking his whip.

Four days had passed since that night, but it could’ve been yesterday, such was the clarity with which Aidah recalled it. Clara had regained her color, but she ate sparingly. She also hadn’t spoken much and spent the majority of the day and night in spurts of fitful sleep, waking abruptly to scream for her father or brother. The one good sign was Lomin’s report that Clara’s nimbus was growing stronger.

Nerisse kept to the wagon’s rear, huddled in her coat, staring out the slit of an opening. She, too, had said little since they abandoned the estate. Whenever they stopped she took to practicing with the short sword Kesta had given her so long ago when he began her training.

The trip so far had been a grueling one, spent without much rest from dawn until night. Nightmares plagues what little sleep Aidah found. Most of them were of Ainslen’s bounty hunters chasing them down. She saw the children die on several occasions, and each time she woke sweaty and frantic.

Along the way they encountered numerous refugees from Kasandar. Most were Kasinians, a few bearing the olive skin of nobles, but many more with the sandalwood complexion of poor folk. Thelusians stood head and shoulders above everyone else, skin so dark it shone. A few slant-eyed Marishmen were sprinkled in among the crowds, most on foot. Aidah avoided those of obvious noble standing but sent Lomin to speak to the commoners. She hoped for any small word of Kesta and Gaston. Any rumor that they lived. He returned with the same story every time.

Kesta was dead, Antelen Hill ransacked, part of the mansion burned. Those known to be of the Rostlin family line had been put to the sword. Rumor had it that the attack was Ainslen’s doing.

According to one person, Gaston’s supposed death was even more of a mystery but was part of the reason for the suspicion cast on the new king. His body had been found on Mandrigal Hill during a battle begun by the Consortium at Ainslen’s auction.
Why would Gaston be at Ainslen’s mansion?
She asked herself the question daily. It made her doubt the tale. However, logic pointed to a ploy by the new king to be rid of her husband, the one man who might prove a threat to his fledgling rule.

How do I tell Clara and Nerisse we’re all that’s left of the family? That their uncles, aunts, and cousins are dead? No. We’re not the last. This is one big conspiracy. Say the right words to the right ears and one could make anything become truth.
That was one strategy employed in Far’an Senjin. She’d used it herself on occasion to build support for her husband.

Every day Aidah found herself in tears, despite her insistence that her loved ones still lived, often without realizing she was crying. Grief stole upon her no matter what she did to occupy her mind. To chase away the gruesome images her mind conjured of Kesta and Gaston, she remembered them at the last dinner they had together, laughing and reminiscing about old times. The memory brought a slight smile before another onset of sorrow wiped it away.

“Lady Guerin,” Lomin called from up front. The wagon drew to a halt.

“Yes?”

“We’re almost there.”

Sighing, Aidah pulled on her coat and stood. She worked her way through the collection of belongings and past the furs that covered the opening at the front of the wagon. Despite the midday sun the chill air nipped at her as the onset of winter had begun in earnest. She climbed onto the bench beside Lomin, nose scrunched up at the byagas’ pungent odor.

Lomin held the reins to the animals loosely in one hand. Maned heads easily the size of a bull’s body, the two sand-colored byagas nuzzled at each other, brays rattling in their throats. The eldest of the two stamped one of the small tree trunks it had for legs. “Easy, girls,” Lomin said, “we’ll be there soon enough.”

Ahead, a gentle incline led down as the Empire Road split barren fields tilled and waiting for winter to pass. Hardy brown grass clung to the slopes of rolling hills. The road disappeared among the stone edifices and tiled roofs of Garangal, the first of the large towns beyond the Whetstone Mountains.

To either side of their wagons rose the last rocky formations of Domon Pass. Aidah was grateful to be gone from the place. Nights surrounded by crags and slopes mired in shadow had conjured images of bandits descending on their group. Such fears, coupled with the growing cold, made her relish the idea of safety, a warm bath, and a proper meal. Days spent eating dried mutton and beef or roasted rabbit had worn on her. She wasn’t made for the road. Her place was in a manse with servants at her beck and call. The Ten Heavens knew she longed for her old life.

“It’s best if you’re up here so we can get past that.” The Blade nodded down toward a line of wagons, many not the oversized affair that hers was, and quite a few drawn by oxen or horses. People crowded the Empire Road, a byproduct of the unrest throughout Kasinia.

She scanned the travelers. “There.” Aidah pointed. “Follow them.” Soldiers led several coaches and wagons toward the town. She recognized a few of the banners flown by the retainers riding with those coaches: minor nobles from Kasandar who had supported the late king.

Lomin nodded across to Aran, who drove the other wagon. With a flap of his reins Lomin set the byagas in motion. The beasts lumbered forward and before long they were on their way at a steady gait. The two men had kept to themselves during the trip. They avoided Clara completely, and Aran had developed a habit of drawing the Star of the Dominion too often for Aidah’s liking.

They skirted the thick of the crowd as best they could, Aidah trying to pick up on any news from Kasandar among the din. She heard more pleas and prayers than she did much else.

“Hail, friend,” Lomin called out to a disheveled, balding man in mismatched boots, “how fares Kasandar?” The man grimaced. “There’s coin in it for you.” Lomin rolled a silver bit between his fingers. Greed lit the commoner’s eyes. Lomin tossed him the coin.

The bald man caught the coin and then bit it. He gave an appreciative nod. “Thanks, friend.”

“And my news?”

“Still fighting in the streets between the dregs and the King’s Blades and those strange Farlanders brought in by Ainslen.” The man spat to the side at the mention of the invaders from across the eastern seas. “Heard Ainslen slaughtered Jemare right in the Golden Spires’ throne room. Damned nobles and their Game of Souls.” He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “The Consortium’s men have been sneaking into the city ever since Succession Day, stirring things up.”

“These Farlanders, what are they like?” Lomin asked.

The man glanced around and licked his lips before stepping in closer. “Some are calling them Dracodar, said they been seen with scales and the like. And their melds, they’re stronger than any Blade’s. The worst of them have these weapons, these sticks that shoot fire.”

“Have you actually seen any with scales?”

The commoner shook his head. “No, but they’re strange all the same. Not normal. One group of them don’t grow past a man’s stomach. The other lot’s the opposite, giants, bigger than any Thelusian, skin like bronze and just as hard. Then there’s the ones who wear robes all the time. Reminds me of the Order.” He hugged himself and rubbed at his arms. “Gives me the bleeding chills, they do.”

“You said the guilds have risen against them. Any in particular?”

“Mostly the Red Beggars and the Shipmen, but there’s been sightings of the others. All but the Shaded Snakes. They wear the king’s colors now.”

“The Hills,” Lomin asked, “any of them changed hands?”

“None yet, but they will.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“Cause Counts Melinden, Cardinton, and Adelfried have fled. Porinil, Rostlin, and Doran are dead.”

Aidah’s gut clenched. She gripped the edge of the bench until her hands shook. It took everything she had not to cry out.

“Thanks, friend.” Lomin flapped the reins. “Sorry, m’lady, but I wanted you to hear for yourself.” He eyed her as if he wanted to say more before he gave a slight shake of his head.

Chest heaving, Aidah took long, slow breaths. The news-carrier was a commoner. What would he know of the nobility’s affairs? She dismissed the man from her mind and looked up in time to see a blue-uniformed officer approach.

She offered a nod and a smile, keeping her head up and back straight as was to be expected of a noble. Lomin did the talking. The officer had a disinterested look until Lomin produced a few silver rounds. A smile appeared then, and a bow. The officer escorted them into Garangal proper.

After a few hours spent on overcrowded and garbage-strewn streets with a reek to match, they finally located an inn with room to spare as the dying sun painted the sky and clouds in burnt orange. Of course she had to pay almost twenty times the normal rates, but all she cared for was her children’s safety.

Clara remained asleep, and days and nights on the road appeared to have worn on Nerisse, who flopped down on the mattress and was snoring before long. Aidah had to admit that although the bed was not quite as thick or soft as those to which she’d grown accustomed, it felt sublime. She wanted to lie on it and sleep for an entire day, but she had things to do. Sleep could wait.

She called for a serving girl and soon was wolfing down a meal of steamed yellowtail eel, pumpkin pie, and drinking a sweet Darshanese vintage. She might have preferred something stronger, perhaps the burning sensation of mesqa, but she would soon require the full use of her faculties. Again the price was exorbitant, but she paid without complaint. To feel even a semblance of comfort was worth the cost. As she ate, she decided on the best approach to use for the wisemen. When she finished she asked Lomin to take her to the chantry.

People still crowded the streets, taking refuge where they could in corners and alleys and setting up bonfires against the cold. An abundance of torch-bearing nightwatchmen patrolled, but even they could only do so much. On more than one occasion she saw a person or family accosted by thieves or cutthroats. Lomin had already hired two more men, and with them at her side the miscreants offered their group no more than a threatening look before moving on to easier targets.

The Order of the Dominion’s chantry was a four-story brick building in Garangal’s main plaza. Soldiers in the king’s red and gold surcoats, emblazoned with a hand surrounded by a blue-white glow, guarded the roads leading to the square. Lomin announced her as Lady Guerin.

A man in a captain’s uniform stepped forward, lantern held high, and took a look at them. His gaze roved over Aidah before it settled on Lomin. “Don’t I know you?” Recognition lit his features a moment later, and he added, “You’re Lomin the Suicidal Blade. Sorry to keep you, sir.” He snapped to attention and ushered them on.

“Well, at least my damned name is good for something,” Lomin said as they walked to the chantry.

Upon arrival, Lomin pulled on a rope outside the big double oak doors. A bell gonged. Above the entrance hung the ten-pointed Star of Dominion, done in chased bronze, a line connecting each point to the other to give ten sides. At its center was a circle. A slat in the door slid aside, a golden stream of light piercing the alcove’s shadows. A face appeared. The slat closed a moment later, and the door creaked open to illuminate the entire entrance.

A wiseman in the Order’s red and blue robes stood in the doorway, his bald head identifying him as an Initiate. Aidah frowned. The man’s features were quite soft and round, thin eyebrows perched high on his forehead to go with raised cheekbones. “How may the Order be of service at this late hour.”

Aidah suppressed a gasp at the musical voice. The Initiate was a woman. She knew of only four wisewomen: two High Priestesses and two Elders. “I’m Lady Guerin,” she managed amid her surprise. “As a Kasinian noble I seek refuge and counsel as offered by the Order.”

The wisewoman stepped aside and beckoned her in. “Enter. Sanctuary can only be granted by this chantry’s Curate, as is set by the Order’s Precepts, recognized as law across the Empire. Such is the will and the Word of the Dominion.” She bowed her head for a moment before she added, “Your men must wait outside.”

“We’ll be right here, m’lady,” Lomin said.

Aidah nodded and followed the wisewoman inside. Upon entering the building Aidah felt the tightness in her shoulders dissipate. She’d been worried for so long, terrified in fact, ever since they fled Kasandar, and now she had a sense of safety. A sigh escaped her lips as she inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of incense. The low susurrus of prayers filled her with hope as they passed down a series of lamplit halls.

The Initiate led her to a stone arch engraved with likenesses of the Dominion’s ten deities. Beyond was a large Prayer Hall filled with pews. Not many occupied the seats, and those who did had their heads bowed.

“Curate Montere will be with you shortly.” The woman dipped her head and left.

Confident for the first time in months, Aidah entered the hall and took a place at a bench. The people within were all nobles. At the room’s head stood a dais with the statues that represented each of the Gods and Goddesses. She bowed to them in turn, stopping at Hazline to thank the God of Fate and his Thirty-two Winds for bringing her to safety. To him she offered the most praise. Off to one side a wiseman chanted a prayer, reading from the Word of the Dominion.

“Lady Guerin?” said a deep, solemn voice behind her.

She finished her prayer, made the Star on her forehead, and turned to face the speaker. The man had a Curate’s black sash draped across his robes from right shoulder to left waist. His skin was the color of mahogany, eyes a bright brown, and a singular ivory piercing adorned his nose. She couldn’t quite place his race and guessed he might be a Farish Islander.