The Vastness

by Hausladen, Blake;

  It was a silent procession. The Savdi-Nuar said nothing as they marched and the ghosts they controlled made none of the usual noises of the unhappy dead. All that could be heard was the low crackles of flame as the ghosts’ collective heat lit the wet brush.

  The evening came, and the day’s heat left us, but not the warmth of the ghosts or the glow of the angry mountains on the horizon. The exhausted Savdi-Nuar had slept in shifts and got us moving again as soon as they could see their feet.

  Mika gave orders as we reached the Crimson Valley and the army turned. As we approached, a stench clawed into my nose.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “What is what?” Maison asked.

  “That smell. What is that?”

  “You have seen it done countless times. You have never smelt it? We are smelting the last of the ready ore. A bigger batch than usual, but the smell is always the same.”

  Being amongst the living was overrated.

  She did not comment further, we rode on, and up a path carved along the right side of the narrowing valley. The Savdi-Nuar had been busy since last I’d visited. The maze of walled terraces had been reinforced with a bed of iron stakes and false walls. They were not obstacles that would slow a human army, but that was not what we were facing.

  “Go with him,” Mika said and tapped my elbow like I was a tardy schoolboy.

  I remembered a woman in Enhedu that had spoken to me the same way. It galled me. But there was something about it that satisfied. A better result perhaps? Mika and Fana were not the only two, either. Soma, Dia, and that Havishon girl who engineered the defeat of Hemari and Hurdu.

  A thousand years ago there were no such women—a hundred years ago, the same. What had changed that women of all kinds were emerging out of Zoviya and acquainting themselves with real power? Had I done it? I’d created the Sermod, and they in turn built places like Dagoda and their seminaries all over Zoviya. Were all the emerging women from that class? No. Soma, Fana, and Mika were not of their number. Perhaps they always existed, and I’d not noticed? The provinces, I suppose, could always have been populated by capable women who were now emerging as those regions achieved primacy.

  Perhaps it was easy—

  “Sikhek?” Mika said. “This way.”

  I had come to a halt and the ghosts were stacking up behind us. Mika took the reins of my horse and led us up through the sandstone wall. The vista beyond was green and lush. Pasture of grass sloped away from the manmade ridge the wall stood upon, and down to a reservoir as wide as the Bessradi River. On the far side wide terraces of bountiful fields reached up in a cone, the face of each a battlement of thick stone. Each wall included several gates, mostly false with the tunnels behind them dead ends lined with spikes and murder holes. We crossed a long bridge and rode up through the terraces, meandering back and forth across the cone. The Savdi-Nuar divided the ghosts into groups as we moved up through the gates and filled each deep trench before each rising face of terrace.

  Geart would need a billion Hessier to take my valley.

  We reached the sixth and final terrace, and the half moon of the palace became discernible from the red walls of the valley. It was not built to impress. Its bricks were the same reddish-tan stone as the stark face of the bald mountain sides and could only be understood as a structure from up close.

  Inside the front hall we found men working on long tables. Upon each was a well-organized collection of cranks, gears, and other bits of machinery.

  “A new type of crossbow?”

  Maison replied, “We’d been preparing for an attack by the Hurdu since Lord Vall’s death. The Chaukai would not sell us their longbows, so we’ve made a better crossbow.”

  “They look slow.”

  “They are, but they will pierce Hurdu plate at 300 paces. A caribou skull or hip will shatter at twice that range. Sit down, dear Minister, there is much here for you to learn.”

  “Fascinating,” I said and sat down to examine one of the mechanisms. “Bring up some mercury while I take a look at these.”

  I’d had a plan for that day, but lost the thought as the work of my Savdi-Nuar drew me in.

  65

  Queen Dia Vesteal

  Shiema Yentif

  “Eat,” Shiema Yentif said through the gap in the wagon’s canvas cover.

  I woke long enough to take the offered bowls. It was the most she had said to us in the eight days since we’d come into her care upon the battered pier in Pashwarmuth. Burhn and others she would sell as laborers were held in the wagon behind ours.

  The wagons had stopped again. Mud from the churning wheels had splattered the road clothes she’d changed into and her crown of hair was wrapped tight in patterned gray cloth. No Yentif blue or Urmandish yellow silk could be found anywhere upon the wagon train or its drivers. She paced toward a group beside the lead wagons. They kissed her hands and discussed the poor condition of the road.

  Ghemma rolled over gingerly so as not to disturb the children tucked inside my wrap. “What has delayed us this time?”

  I handed her a bowl while I sipped mine. “The men in Doctrice who maintain this road are going to end up in the soup.”

  Ghemma carefully sucked down the top layer of the broth. The unknown bits at the bottom went over the side with a quick flick. She saw how much I’d had of mine and did the same with my bowl.

  “Fucking sutlers,” she said.

  “Hush. Shiema and hers are far better than what chases us. We are moving faster than the beasts stuck in the swamps behind us. Sleep, eat, and be ready. Tell the rest the same if you can.”

  I’d told it to her before, and would have to tell her again. We were not sure who else had survived or been brought along. Our view was confined to the narrow view through the front flap of the heavy wagon’s thick canvas cover. Most times this includes only the ass end of the horses tied to the back of the wagon in front of ours. We didn’t know where we were going or what Shiema intended to do with us. If Dagoda still stood, I expected her to sell us there on her way to whatever friendly estate she could park her family while there was trouble in Berm. She’d asked us no questions either after laying eyes on the Hessier caribou. They scooped us up off the docks, loaded their wagons, and started west up the tithe road.

  “Dia,” Ghemma said. “I am nothing compared to the children. You must get away.”

  “Away to where? Rest, and be ready for later. You risk Shiema’s knife chatting away like you are. You’re a Dagoda girl, act the part. We will see them all burn soon enough.”

  She glared out at the hazy swamp and then laid her head upon my shoulder and fell asleep. I ate and worried about her. Too many things had happened upon that dock, and we’d dared not speak about a single moment of it.

  The settler fixed the bad patch of road, and the jostle of their ugly wagons banged her awake.

  “I’d almost rather walk,” I said and tried to shift without waking the children.

  “I can take them,” Ghemma said, but without any conviction.

  Clea fussed, and I coaxed her to my breast. Cavim napped undisturbed beside her. Ghemma fell back asleep despite the jostling.

  That night we stopped upon a ridge, and Burhn appeared before us with a cloth and began to wash our hands, as if he’d been a servant his whole life. He found a festering splinter in my palm and worked it free. I would have protested, but knew better. Shiema’s kin were watching.

  “Feet,” he said and clapped his hands at us.

  Ghemma struggled to act beaten. Burhn worked to remove a dozen seemingly nasty splinters from her feet despite both being perfect. He managed to keep his face flat and departed after without saying a word.

  Ghemma tucked her well-rubbed feet back under her skirt and the rest of the day proved easy for her to endure.

  When I woke next, Ghemma was walking beside the trundling wagon, the children sound asleep in her arms despite the baying of the mules and men that woken me.

  The view had not change
d. The swamp reached out in all directions, and a blanket of gray clouds hid the sun. The air did not move, and the misshaped wheels groaned upon the narrow road of tossed gravel.

  Behind us, we could hear the distant baying of the beasts stuck in the mud. If even one of them had been smart enough to follow the meandering road they have overtaken us days earlier. They come straight at us instead and ducked themselves into one bog after another.

  More and more people joined us on the road and they packed tighter and tighter around the wagons.

  Shiema kept her head up as the steam of additional refugees flowed up out of Berm. She stayed as quiet as sutlers, lake folk, and tundra walkers poured into the hills.

  The world was coming apart, but for her it had already ended. Her home and all her powers were gone. As the days wore on she slumped. Her men were next, marching along without swagger.

  The sky behind us looked as cold and unfriendly as any other Bermish afternoon, but there also was that dark creeping feeling. Hessier beasts and thralls by the thousands would come for us.

  What wine they had was passed to keep away the terror, and we were subjected to an endless litany of Bermish complaints and over-told tales. One man began to brag that he’d seen a Havishon royal escape worse along that road. Ghemma told him to shut his mouth.

  “It is true, beautiful,” he said, and I regretted that she given him the interaction he craved. “Hurdu and Hemari were after him. Ten thousand they were, in their armor and led by princes. He and his rogues avoided the lot and escaped north without a scratch.”

  I scoffed and he gave me a piteous look.

  “It is true. I saw their captain with my own eyes. Sahin Ludoq was his name. You must know the tale.”

  “Sahin?” I asked. “What? Start over?”

  “Well, this is the spot where he escaped, actually—a trail through the swamps known only to the sutlers and occasional traveler beset by our enemies. Do not be dismayed by this festering green path one moment longer, dear beauties. We’ll emerge into the Halberdon and these beasts behind us will sink into the swamps, same as the Hurdu did. See that one there? A rusting metal shoulder stuck fast into the mire.”

  “Enough talk,” Shiema yelled.

  Not knowing the rest of Sahin’s story was maddening, but the route we were taking could have only one destination.

  “She’s going to sell us to Dagoda.”

  “I’ll die first.”

  “Quiet down. I’m from Dagoda, too, and don’t go acting all surprised to learn it. Once we are Dagoda, we have options. Here we have none.”

  She settled but not much. “Were you there before or after Matron Indra?”

  “I survived her. She didn’t survive me.”

  “What? You set the fire?”

  “Those that answer to me did, yes. I need you ready. Can you keep Burhn from doing anything stupid?”

  “I … I’ll try.”

  “Do better than try. We want to end up at Dagoda. Get okay with it.”

  We slept and we ate. We stayed still as a statue those two days up through the belly of that fetid swamp and made not one sound as we started through the Halberdon toward Dagoda.

  Ghemma went green the morning we made the turn onto the pristine cobblestone that meandered through the school’s horseshoe valley. The rest of the sutlers and their wagons had melted into the hills leaving Shiema and her wagon to conduct their business at the school without any undue alarm. It was as though nothing had changed. War, famine, and terrible magics had done nothing to upset the trade that made me.

  Shiema was quick. We were on the steps and presented for inspection before the horses could be rested. Ghemma soldiered though, and with one stabbing glance got Burhn to settle back into the wagon.

  The girl made to inspect us commented at length about my size. She was new to the task, and the girls watching us from the stair were few in number and lacking in quality. Dagoda was a shadow of what it had been.

  “What are you bringing me Shiema?” the matron said despite her poor position. “No one will want something so plump. How many kids have crawled through this one?”

  “You forget what will come north when Yarik draws the lake people into the fray. She’s a Bermish treasure. Who was born on a glacier and raised a son and a daughter upon the tundra. Rare. Rare indeed. You can bury the children now or keep them as proof of her fertility, but it is best to let the man who buys her do it.”

  They fell to haggling over price. Shiema had the advantage over the upstart Sermod and even got her to take Burhn off her hands. The three of us were left on the steps, children in my arms when Shiema got her wagons moving.

  “What is this move of yours?” Ghemma asked.

  I said nothing and waited for the Sermod to take my arm.

  “She robbed you,” I said.

  She slapped me hard and I almost fell.

  “Matron Indra would not have bought us.”

  She made to strike me again but halted. “How do you know that name?”

  “We are both graduates of Dagoda. Prince Barok was my patron. Grand Prelate Sataj was hers. The children are Barok’s, and this man she sold you is an acolyte of the Priests’ Home. She would have asked more for us but the negotiation was for show. She was here to get a look at how few men you have. She has 2,000 Bermish sutlers in the hills south of here and will have you naked and in chains by sundown.”

  “Liar, what fiction. You’re not from Dagoda. Prove it.”

  “There is a stone that rolled down off graveyard hill. It killed a man the day they moved it. I can also tell you about the affair your predecessors had and their child in Alsonbrey.”

  “You’re, Dia,” she said and then quickly steeled herself. “I’ll not take you to Rahan.”

  “No. You will take me to Yarik.”

  66

  King Evand Grano

  The Spring’s Correspondence

  57th of Spring, 1197

  Evand,

  Bessradi and I miss you, brother, though it is with a heavy heart I write to you. The mistakes made by Avin and those with him cannot be excused. Please accept my apologies and hear me when I say that your success in Alsonelm is more than Barok and I had hoped for. The conceit we practiced to encourage your brief departure from our side is documented here. We needed Alsonelm and the nobles who longed for their slaves to be destabilized by your rebellion until our move against their currency could be affected. Those who hold gold remain loyal to Yarik. Those with silver to us. There are far more who rely upon the latter, as you know, and now is the time for us to press our advantage.

  Without Emilia I am unable to attack, but attack I must to secure my claim. Your stroke in Alsonelm allows me the chance to deal Yarik a hard blow with perfect knowledge of his forces.

  Proceed south to Courfel, send maps of Yarik’s position, and prepare your army to strike him from the north as I cross to his south. Do this and the Kaaryon will owe its existence again to its noble Hemari. Do this and I will call you their Marshall and give you command of all Hemari everywhere.

  When I have received word of your commitment to attack, I will advance and together we shall end this war.

  Your brother always, Rahan Yentif

  60th of Spring, 1197

  Soma,

  The first time our lives intersected was the day Akal-Taks from Aneth raced through the streets of Bessradi. I had been lingering there in hiding, lost after the slaughter of my division. The sight of the horses saved me that day and inspired me to stand alone against an officer corps that had sold the bluecoats to Yarik for fistfuls of Urmandish gold. Only the sacrifice of others saved me from my folly and preserved the men necessary for us to win that bloody day.

  Not much has changed. I control Alsonelm, its archives and garrison, but all my success remains due to those that give every piece of their person, industry, and metal to my cause.

  I imagine you that same day the Akal-Tak raced by, daring the deep sea to take you down, and in your darkes
t moments of self doubt being preserved by a crew willing to throw themselves into death’s jaws with nothing but your name to cure their mortal terror.

  My daughter Emilia sitting next to me has accused me of being terribly Yentif—wordy, being the point of her accusation.

  Returning to the matter, I write regarding your present condition. Emilia, in addition to being a keen critic, can see your souls and the terrible avalanche of Hessier bears down upon you.

  Come west. Escape Geart with every being you can and take shelter in Alsonelm.

  The man bearing this letter is one of those we owe everything to. Trust this man, and tell him how I may repay all the blood spilled in my name.

  This last I add, though Emilia is certain you know it already. The Savdi-Nuar hold Sikhek’s strings and they will betray you. Kill them if you are able and leave no living man or beast behind you. Their designs are laid against us all.

  Evand Grano, King of the Kaaryon

  67

  Goddess Emilia Grano

  Enemies

  The ship that led the armada of refugees downriver was one of the big one, its sails impossibly tall. Behind it, the river was clogged with so many boats and barges it was a struggle to keep a count of the people they contained.

  Wayland stood with my parents and me when we gathered to meet their Admiral and Queen upon the visitor’s dock. He’d told us about the dusty, salty road that the wounded people of the east had suffered because of Sikhek’s cruelty, and the pyres built of broken ships and broken bodies that added black scratches of smoke to a sky already gray with ash.

  The only thing that rivaled the tales of their misery was the story of how Evand, Hooak, and the peoples Thanin and Alsonelm had worked to be ready to receive them. Evand’s Hemari raiding parties ventured halfway to Courfel and Alsonbrey in their efforts to secure enough grain for those starving people, and thirty healers waited their turn to sit with me and sing to their wounds.