Veiled Empire (12 page)

Voren remained silent, his attention now rapt.
My goal is freedom. But my plan?
He had no idea where to start.

“You would need allies,” continued Kael. “And you would have to know their strengths and weaknesses. Same with your enemies.”

The trail brightened ahead. They were coming to the end of the maze.

“From a position of powerlessness, it’s best to make your adversary underestimate you. At least at first. Until it’s too late.”

They passed beneath another archway of shrubbery, emerging into a red-stone courtyard on the far side of the gardens.

“And one of the best strategies is to turn your enemy’s own assets against them.”

Kael, voice lowered now to a whisper, added at last, “And even if you don’t think you can win, you might as well bring as many of the bastards down with you as you can.”

Voren nodded. “Thank you, Kael. I appreciate the advice, and . . . your discretion.”

Kael shrugged.

Voren, however, smiled. He had an ally now, which was a far greater victory than he could have hoped for in so short a time. Now, he had a chance to change things. Change that would be of
his
choosing, not anyone else’s.

He cast his gaze up at the palace once more. This time, he felt no dread. He only wondered which of the mierothi would be most susceptible to manipulation.

J
ASSIDE
DRAGGED
HER
feet across the rocky floor of the tunnel, the echo of her steps amplified by the too-close walls and ceiling. A score of people scuffled along nearby, a mix of shepherds, bandits, and converted Imperial soldiers. No one spoke. Conversation was prohibited while on scout duty, which was the reason she had volunteered for every shift she could these past ten days of flight.

Absolute darkness held them in its embrace. Even for her it was suffocating. To combat it, the group huddled within her sphere of influence, wherein she gifted each person with night vision. While they kept their physical senses alert, she maintained forward wards capable of detecting danger in any form.

The empire didn’t know about this network of caves. Thank God Slick Ren and Derthon had, else the Imperial army—which closed in soon after Mevon arrived—would have trapped and slaughtered them all. The revolution wasn’t quite ready to deal with a threat of that magnitude.

Two casters normally accompanied each lead element, but Jasside worked alone. She did the job a pair usually struggled with, and still had enough mental capacity to send back periodic reports through commune, distract herself by mapping the tunnels, and keep prepared a few nasty spells for any shadow beasts or darkwisps they came across. She’d already put that last to use on a dozen occasions.

The stench of long-unwashed bodies mingled with the ever-present fungal aroma of the caves. Jasside reached to a chain around her neck and brought a box the size of an infant’s fist to her nose. She inhaled deeply. A strong floral scent filled her nose. She released the trinket, letting it jangle against a string of others attached to the necklace. She had made them all herself. Jasside cherished its return, for it had been taken from her when she was captured.

By Mevon.

No. Don’t think about him. Just stop.

But she couldn’t.

Jasside replayed the scene in her mind, over and over, watching the daggers fly from Mevon’s hands. Watching one sink into Brefand’s chest. Watching his body fall, already dead.

Brother, forgive me. I was too late. I should have been faster. I’m sorry. So, so sorry. . .

But she’d done what was asked of her. Completed her mission. The outcome was everything Gilshamed had wanted. He and Yandumar had been pleased with her performance. She was
useful
. The weeks of maintaining her façade, all while facing her half brother’s killer, had drained her, body and spirit alike. But it had all been worth the pain.

Right?

Someone tapped her on the shoulder.

She jumped, barely managing to suppress a squeak. It was only Orbrahn, her replacement. She had to stifle a spike of envy at the sight of his face. She had never seen him pushed to his limits but had heard tell that he was strong. Very strong. Stronger than some daeloth, if the rumors could be believed, though she didn’t see how that was possible. He had, apparently, been a crucial factor in several battles already.

Well, you’re not the only one who can prove their worth.

He gave her a wry smile, saying nothing, and shooed her away. Jasside forced out a stoic grin in return. She slowed, encompassed by a shuffle of humanity as the scout patrol exchanged personnel. She felt Orbrahn energize and let her own spells diminish.

Most marched backwards through the tunnel, eager to find friends and family. Jasside simply stood still. Both groups soon passed out of the range of her senses, and she exhaled loudly, glad for the peace and isolation.

Her thoughts again drifted to her half brother, and she struggled to hold back the tears.

Loud footsteps rang out behind her, coming nearer.

Jasside turned to face the interloper, turning her sorrow into annoyance. She energized a moment, then recast night vision on herself. Her breath caught as she saw who approached. He was the last person she wanted to see.

“There you are,” Mevon said. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

His voice conveyed familiarity, even friendliness. Such tones she had only heard him use with his captains, and rarely at that.

She pivoted and began tramping forward. Stiffly, she said, “Is there some way I can be of service, Hardohl?”

Mevon chuckled. His long strides carried him to her side, and he had to shorten his steps after that to keep pace with her. “No need for that, Jasside. Call me Mevon.”

Jasside entertained the notion, briefly, of running. But she knew she couldn’t escape him that way. She slowed her steps instead. “Very well.”

“And no,” he said, “there’s nothing I need from you. You’ve done so much for me already.”

“Glad I could be of use.”
Please just go away.

Mevon shook his head. “I still can’t believe you would put yourself at such risk.”

She gritted her teeth. “The payoff was deemed worthy.”

“Oh, aye. But what you had to endure? What you had to sacrifice?” He grunted. It seemed . . . respectful.

She fought down the rising bubble of mixed sorrow and hate. She’d kept her mask on for so long around him, letting it slip only rarely, and briefly. She hadn’t the energy to resurrect it now.
Why can’t you take a hint?

And yet, he didn’t; he went on, oblivious. “I’ve been in battle countless times, but I always had a plan. Was always certain of victory. You? You entered knowing you would fail, and that your only hope of survival was thin and rested squarely on my shoulders.

“That takes courage. The kind I’ve never seen before.”

Jasside stopped breathing. She looked up at him. His face seemed sincere. She exhaled slowly but could think of nothing to say. She didn’t trust her voice just now anyway.

She pressed her lips together, hoping it looked like a smile, and nodded. Mevon appeared to take it as affirmation.

Scorch you, Mevon!
She wanted to let herself hate him, but could already feel the fire of her fury starting to ebb. It was easy to hate a monster. Even one cajoled into being an ally. Why couldn’t he have stayed as he was? Why, now, did he have to start showing a little humanity?

They marched along for several marks in silence. How they must have appeared as young lovers out for a stroll. How much that thought disgusted her.

“I have a proposition for you,” Mevon said after a time.

“Yes?”

“When you disabled me with that spell, it was the first time you used it?”

Jasside shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve had someone to practice it on.”

“You do now.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“We’ll likely run into mierothi at some point. They may know the spell. I’d like to see if there’s any way to defeat it, or at least find a way to lessen the impact of its effects.”

“I see.”
So, I’m to be used by you still.
She sighed. It was for the good of the revolution. She could put her feelings aside for that. Again. If she had to.

“Also,” Mevon said, “there’s a good chance we’ll end up fighting other Hardohl. You might be glad of the practice. It could prove invaluable.”

Her mouth went dry. She hadn’t thought of that.
He
had. And now that the idea was in her head, she could see the advantages. She could get better, faster, even learn how to hold it longer. Maybe next time, her failure wouldn’t lead to a loved one’s death.

Twice was enough. I can’t survive a third such lesson.

“Yes,” she said at last. “A fine idea. When should we start?”

“Soon. According to Slick Ren, we’ll be out of these tunnels in a few days. Times will be busy when we emerge.”

“Has Gilshamed revealed his plans?”

“Not yet. He’d better do it soon, though. I don’t like being left in the dark.”

Nor I.

He turned to go, appearing troubled. She thought to call to him, give him some encouragement.
Don’t be a fool, Jasside.
Perhaps she didn’t hate him with as much passion as she had a toll ago—he had reached out to her, after all—but she wasn’t about to lie to herself.

Mevon had yet to earn her forgiveness. And Jasside, most certainly, was not ready to give it.

T
HE
CAVES
HAD
become dim again. Gilshamed energized fully and conjured a score of tiny suns, casting them to the roof of the tunnel. They spread in both directions. One remained directly overhead, illuminating those marching nearby. The dying sun faded before the brilliance of the new, for it had been cast three tolls ago, long forgotten by Gilshamed. He only became aware of the need for replacements because he was looking for someone and had been having trouble making out faces.

Now, he could see clearly.

Yandumar marched just ahead, chatting with Slick Ren. The majority of his time seemed to be spent either in her presence or in his son’s. The man smiled. Never stopped, in fact. Gilshamed had given him his space, knowing that he himself would have trouble focusing on someone else’s needs at such a time.

But it had been long enough. Now, Gilshamed needed answers.

He strode to the pair. He did not try to mask his approach, nor his demeanor. Yandumar met his eyes at a dozen paces and cut off his banter with Slick Ren. She turned, eying Gilshamed with scorn.

Gilshamed matched their strides. “A fine evening to you, Elrenia. May I have a word with Yandumar in private?”

She smiled, puckering the faint scar under her right eye. “Of course, Gilshamed.” She made to step past him.

She stopped and whipped a hand towards his throat. It came up short. The distance between was occupied by the tip of a dagger.

“But call me that again, I’ll take a strip of your hide from navel to neck.”

Gilshamed swallowed. Nodded.

“Evening, then.” Slick Ren dashed off.

Gilshamed glared a moment after her departing form. “I can see the appeal, Yan, but is she truly worth the risk?”

Yandumar laughed. “I don’t know, Gil. She’s wearing my resolve down. It might just be a matter of time. Ha!”

Gilshamed flashed a grin he knew looked halfhearted. Yandumar seemed to pick up his mood quick enough. “Alas, that’s not why I came to talk to you.”

“I know.”

Gilshamed studied Yandumar’s face, and said, “Ragremos Remembers?”

Yandumar twitched.

“Why did you not tell me sooner about this?”

“The time wasn’t right.”

“How so?”

Yandumar ran fingers through his beard. “It’s complicated.”

Gilshamed scoffed. “Complicated, I can handle.”
Something out of my control, however. . .

“You know what my people did way back?”

Gilshamed nodded. The nation of Ragremos, a warrior society, invaded its neighbors in a blitz campaign, achieving almost total victory in a few weeks, which was far too quickly for valynkar arbiters to step in and stop them. The only remaining resistance was a small group of tribesmen, harrying Ragremon forces in the swamplands. Accounts varied, but it was said the Ragremons drove the tribes into the deep swamps, lands untamed and unmapped, thinking them as good as defeated.

History, of course, proved otherwise.

When the tribe reemerged months later, decimated to only half again a thousand, they were transformed, and wielding a new, dark sorcery with wild potency.

The mierothi had begun their rise.

It did not stop there. The armies of Ragremos capitulated before them, electing servitude over annihilation, and became the core of the mierothi military machine. For half a century, their entire nation served as their most elite warriors, the strong right arm to mierothi sorcery.

“Yes,” Gilshamed said at last. “I remember well your people’s ferocity in combat. And . . . that you were pledged to the other side.”

“And so, our words.”

Of course.
“What do they mean?”

“After your kind were banished, the rest of the continent fell easily. The mierothi began a . . . consolidation.”

“Which is?”

“They moved people around. Mixed ’em up. Outlawed the mention of nations and peoples. In only a few generations, the past was buried. That was their final victory.”

“But?”

“But they left us alone. Let us stay unified as a people. We’d served them so long, and so faithfully, I guess they figured they had nothing to worry about.

“But they were wrong. Well . . .
will
be wrong. Someday.”

Ah. The fog begins to lift.
“I presume that there is a vow in place?’

Yandumar nodded.

“And that, once invoked, your entire nation will rise up to correct the mistakes of your ancestors?”

He nodded again.

Gilshamed smiled. “Well, what reason not to share something like that? Such allies to our cause will surely tip the balance in our favor.”