The Complete Season 1

by Michael Underwood

  The arrival of the matoke gave him a good reason to break off. This wasn’t the Autumn Leaf, where he could be assured of discretion, and the steamed, mashed bananas were an excellent diversion. Discussing trade would mean discussing aerstone, and there was no need to weigh Adechike down with Chigozie’s ominous predictions. Not yet—and if Ojo’s hopes came to pass, not ever. “But come,” he said, serving Adechike a heaping mound of matoke. “There will be time enough for politics later. Tell me instead of home.”

  Chapter 3

  Kris

  Kris took the steps leading up to the council two and three at a time, as if a sigil were powering their legs.

  During the journey to Twaa-Fei, they had imagined the process of becoming the first Rumikan warder. In those dreams, it began the day after their arrival, and ended at most a couple of days after that—even Kris wasn’t quite so confident as to think they could fight six duels in a day and come out the other side intact. But everyone knew what they’d come for, so why wait?

  The reality was more than a little different. Kris couldn’t even begin the process of challenge until they’d had a chance to meet with Yochno, and the seneschal was a difficult man to get hold of. His secretaries claimed it was because of this business with the Golden Lord’s capture and execution.

  That memory still turned Kris’s stomach. Not what the Mertikans had done—that was no surprise. But Michiko and Kensuke just stood there and let it happen. They hadn’t even tried to defend the prisoner. They’d left that to Ojo and Taro, like it didn’t matter.

  Kris refused to think about it too much, at least for today. Yochno had finally invited Kris to visit the council, which meant things were about to move forward at last.

  They arrived outside Yochno’s door only a little out of breath, and that mostly from excitement. The secretary who received Kris did not look excited at all. “Please have a seat,” the man said, but Kris was too impatient to sit. They paced, tail-skirt flicking each time they pivoted to retrace their steps, until—after an excruciating interval—Yochno emerged.

  “Ah, Seru Denn. I apologize for keeping you waiting. Will you walk with me? I can show you the council grounds while we talk.”

  “I’d happily fight a duel while we talk, if it meant I could get started,” Kris said fervently.

  Yochno bowed them toward the door. The seneschal’s offices were in a separate building from the main chambers, with an expanse of garden in between. Some of the plants were familiar, like hibiscus and stained-glass palms, but others clearly came from the cooler climates of lower islands. Kris gestured at the beds and said, “Neutrality and harmony even in your landscaping, huh? I wonder how the gardeners keep them all thriving together.” They grinned. “There’s probably a metaphor in that.”

  “I was under the impression you had come here to discuss the Warders’ Circle, not the gardens.” Yochno didn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “It has been many years since a new warder was added to the council. Long before my time, of course.”

  Kris had gotten an earful back on Rumika, when the contests began to pick the bladecrafter their people would send as their representative. “That was Vania, right? Did you have to order in a new table, to make room for the extra sword?”

  Yochno’s lips tightened slightly. “I have spent the last several days reviewing the procedures. The addition of a new warder requires majority support from the existing Circle, which formerly meant three of five. As there are now six warders, with the addition of Vania, you will need four to gain your seat.”

  “Four out of six. Got it. I am very good at basic arithmetic.”

  The man had no sense of humor. “Support may take two forms. One is that the warder may speak up in your favor when it comes time to vote. The other—”

  “The other is that I beat them outright in a bladecraft duel.” Kris began ticking off the current warders on their fingers. “From what I hear, the Ikaran guy is better at craft than blade, so he shouldn’t be a problem. The Kakutan warder is past his prime. Ojo—sorry, Warder Kante—already likes me, so I know I’ve got his support. That means I just need to beat one more warder and I’m in.” Holding up six fingers, they grinned and waggled the set. “But I’m aiming for all six.”

  It was pure bravado. They’d seen Lavinia fight; they’d seen her take down Taro and Ojo together. Still, everyone had a weakness. Kris just needed to find hers.

  Yochno didn’t respond to bravado any more than he did to jokes. “You do realize that if your challenge fails, it may be as long as a decade before Rumika is permitted to try again.”

  Kris’s feeling of good humor dimmed as if the Mists had risen from the depths to shroud it. “Seneschal,” they said coolly, “you may think my sense of humor is inappropriate. But don’t let it fool you into thinking I came here on a lark. I know the stakes—and I aim to win.”

  This got no more reaction than the jokes had. “Then may luck favor you in that goal,” Yochno said. “Now, let me tell you about the Gauntlet rituals.”

  Chapter 4

  Michiko

  When Michiko returned to the Kakutan embassy after her morning run, she found a message waiting from Bellona, summoning her to the Mertikan embassy.

  She should have felt pleased. Bellona’s summons was evidence that the Mertikans saw value in her skills; those who failed to impress them simply got ignored until the first opportunity to replace them with someone more effective. But it grated that Bellona didn’t come to the Kakutan embassy. She just sent a messenger and a note saying, I have a task for you.

  A month ago it wouldn’t have bothered her. And that bothered her, too.

  Michiko stopped in the street outside the immaculate, geometrical gardens of the embassy and tugged her Mertikan-style tunic straight, then pinned her drape in more precise folds at her shoulder, as if that would clear her thoughts of the Golden Lord. Her divided instincts could agree on this much, at least: walking in with her inner conflict so clear on her face was a bad idea.

  It was a good thing she’d taken that moment, because Bellona began talking before the reception room door had even closed behind Michiko. “There you are. I don’t know about you, but I am tired of waiting.”

  Her posture announced that impatience as much as her words did, but Michiko had no clue as to the cause. “Waiting for what?”

  “For my chance.” Bellona began to pace, hands locked behind her back in military fashion. “Lavinia thinks I ought to be satisfied with what I have right now. She even said it to me the other day: ‘After a few lifetimes at this level, maybe you’ll be ready to move on.’ But I don’t intend to wait lifetimes. I got where I am right now because I achieved great things in my previous incarnation, and I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t do the same thing again this time.”

  So Michiko was to be a tool in Bellona’s grand plan. Part of her welcomed the certainty that brought, while the rest of her chafed. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Two things. You will see my end of it soon enough. For your part—have you spent much time with Ojo Kante?”

  “A little,” Michiko said cautiously. “He’s been very helpful in orienting me around Twaa-Fei, but I didn’t want to upset Lavinia by becoming too friendly with him.”

  Bellona sniffed. “As if any Mertikan would need the help of a man whose island is sinking because of his people’s mistakes. No, you were quite right. What about Kris Denn?”

  So now I count as Mertikan. Bellona was a true Mertikan, native to the island that formed the core of the empire. The rest of them only counted when the true Mertikans wanted them to. “What do you actually want to know?”

  The bluntness pulled Bellona up short. After a moment, though, her stiff posture relaxed. “Quite right—let’s not waste time. I’ve heard that Ojo is cozying up to that Rumikan upstart. I thought he would wait until after the Gauntlet; what use is there in trying to court someone who might not even have a seat at the table? But we can’t let those two become allies. And t
hen I remembered that you got to know Kris on the journey here. I want you to go to them and find out what’s happening with them and Quloo. And if it is an alliance, I want you to warn them off.”

  An alliance would make sense. When Quloo stopped mining aerstone to protect their island, it had limited the power of their fleet. If they started importing more from Rumika, they would once again pose the single biggest threat to Mertika in the sky. “Warn them off how?”

  Bellona stared at her, annoyed. “I don’t know,” she said, biting each word off. “Figuring that out is your job, not mine. Now get moving—I have my own work to do.”

  •••

  Finding Kris wasn’t difficult. If they weren’t in the visitors’ quarters, there was only one other likely place.

  Even though Ojo had invited her to visit the Quloi embassy at any time, she half expected the staff to tell her that Warder Kante was occupied and she should leave a note for him. After all, if he was planning an alliance with Rumika, he wouldn’t want a Mertikan subject poking around. But to her surprise, one of the clerks escorted her immediately to the practice ground, where Ojo was training his new junior.

  Michiko got just inside the threshold and stopped, so abruptly that the door swung into her back and sent her lurching another step forward.

  Yes, Ojo was overseeing Adechike’s training—against Kris.

  The Rumikan was floating around Adechike, each step gliding a short distance above the ground before touching down again. Judging by Kris’s grin, they’d done that as a deliberate, taunting response to Adechike’s rooted stance. Adechike didn’t seem bothered, though; he simply pivoted as Kris circled, matched Quloi blades held at the ready.

  “You know I’ll be on you the moment you try to draw a sigil,” Kris said.

  Adechike shrugged. “I’ll wait. Your Aerstone Stance can’t last forever.”

  “Nope,” Kris agreed cheerfully. “Which is why I’m going to do this.”

  They kicked off hard from the ground, flying high enough to arc up over Adechike’s head. You shouldn’t have warned him, Michiko thought as Adechike lunged forward—not to hit Kris, but to dodge the threat now soaring overhead. It bought him enough time to draw a sigil Michiko didn’t recognize. Then Kris was on the ground again, their previous sigil exhausted, and Adechike waded in, twin blades whirling. Either it had been a sigil of speed, or he was faster than his stocky frame would suggest.

  But Kris was faster. Their style was more Island-derived than anything else, but far more mobile than Michiko was used to seeing, borrowing some of the footwork from the True Way favored in Mertika. They surged in and out of Adechike’s reach, and it was clear that Kris’s unpredictable movements were dominating Adechike’s timing, as they scored touch after touch on their opponent. If this had been a real duel, Kris would have ended it a dozen times already.

  Michiko was so occupied trying to work out how Kris blended those two styles that she missed the moment the tempo of the bout changed. One moment Kris was dancing in and out of measure, fending off Adechike’s two blades with their one; the next, they were sprawled on the floor.

  Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Kris was supposed to become the new Rumikan warder. They would have to duel all the senior warders for the position. And Kris had just been defeated by Ojo’s junior.

  A crow of laughter echoed from the room’s high ceiling. “That was amazing!” Kris said. They kipped up in one acrobatic spring. “Ojo’s the only bladecrafter I’ve seen with enough focus to do that—carving a sigil with one hand while attacking with the other!”

  “Ojo taught me,” Adechike said, with a wide smile at his senior. Ojo looked proud enough to burst. “It’s useful, isn’t it? Your opponent thinks you’re too busy to try anything.”

  “And then wham, you yank their feet right out from under them! What was that, the Hawk’s Claw? Or whatever you call it in Quloo. Would you show me again?”

  Michiko’s knees felt like they were going to give out. She braced herself against the railing that edged the walkway around the room’s top rim, while Adechike obligingly repeated his feat, dumping Kris a second time.

  How could they stand the humiliation?

  But it was obvious Kris didn’t see their defeat as humiliation. It was just . . . an opportunity to learn. And Adechike went along without a quibble, talking avidly about the Quloi style while Ojo noticed Michiko at the top of the room and came up the broad stairs to greet her.

  “Junior Warder Oda,” he said, his easy smile fading into solemnity. “I haven’t had the chance to speak with you since the—recent events. I wanted to offer my condolences on the death of the Golden Lord.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “He was an escaped criminal who violated the terms of his surrender.”

  “And he was the last independent ruler of Kakute.”

  “Who led his nation into disaster. Condolences are not necessary, Warder Kante. Now that Kakute is shed of his weight, we may move forward at last.” She’d mouthed those phrases often enough lately that they came out without a hitch. But inwardly she still flinched at demeaning her ancestors—even the ancestor she hadn’t known about until after he died.

  This is why Mertikans sneer at our birthright. I should not be beholden to the dead.

  Ojo frowned, but before he could say anything, Adechike and Kris joined them on the walkway, sweat-soaked and laughing. “You should try fighting this guy, Michiko!” Kris said. “Warder Kante, if you’re the one who taught him how to do that, I’ll really need to watch out for you in the Gauntlet!”

  Ojo clapped them on the back, looking indulgent. “Oh, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about there. Would you like to use the baths here, rather than walking all the way back to your quarters? Junior Warder Oda, my apologies; Kris and I have made an appointment for lunch. But I can spare you some time this afternoon, if you’d like.”

  Of course—he assumed she’d come to the embassy for him. Michiko had prepared an excuse, and scrambled to remember it. “No, it’s nothing important. I only wanted to ask what incense shop you recommend, down on the middle island.”

  “For general purposes, Dobry’s, on the Street of Bees. But if you need something for your ancestor rituals, I’d suggest Ryojiku.” His expression remained pleasant, but he was watching her closely.

  Michiko smiled at him. “No, this is just to sweeten the air. I will visit Dobry’s, thank you.”

  Chapter 5

  Kris

  “Welcome to the Autumn Leaf,” Ojo said, sweeping his arms wide.

  Kris inhaled deeply, enjoying the rich mix of tea and pipe smoke. The room was unlike anything they knew from Rumika, with round common tables set low to the ground instead of long trestles with benches on either side. The layered carpets almost vanished beneath the patrons and the cushions they leaned on. Some of those people were dressed in the straight-legged trousers of Ikaro or long Herroki coats, but quite a lot of them wore the eclectic mix that passed for Twaan fashion. It had the feel of a favorite local haunt.

  “I’ve barely left the top island since I arrived,” they admitted. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  “Thank me after you’ve sampled their tea. But first, you have to meet Shun.” Ojo led Kris to a counter on the far side of the room, which guarded a wall full of labeled tins. Kris hadn’t realized so many varieties of tea existed in all the sky.

  “Ojo!” Someone swept into view. Middle-aged, with bold eye makeup and the jeweled hairpins Kris had seen on Twaan noblewomen, but a shadow of unshaven beard challenged that image. Kris grinned in pleasant surprise. They weren’t Rumikan, and weren’t playing with gender in the same way a Rumikan would, but it made Kris feel at home anyway.

  After greeting the newcomer with cheek kisses, Ojo said, “Kris, I’d like you to meet Shun, owner of this place and the greatest tea master in all of Twaa-Fei. Shun, I would introduce Kris—but why pretend you don’t already know who they are?”

  “All of Twaa-Fei is talki
ng about you, Seru Denn,” Shun said, making an elegant movement that somehow suggested both a bow and a curtsy. “Especially after word spread about the manak attack. I don’t suppose you could oblige me by publicly losing a duel or two? I want more lucrative odds before I place my bet on you passing the Gauntlet.”

  Startled, Kris said, “I thought Twaa-Fei and its people were neutral.”

  Shun’s laugh was an arpeggio through their full range. “Officially neutral, yes. But you’ll find that people here take a very active interest in the doings of the council.” They turned to Ojo without missing a beat and said, “I imagine you’ll want a private booth today?”

  “If there’s one available.”

  “For you, always. Follow me.” Shun paused long enough to collect a tin from a high shelf, then led them past a large, open-sided chamber to a room divided into smaller alcoves. Kris and Ojo settled onto the cushions in one of those alcoves while Shun opened the tin, releasing a beautifully spicy aroma. “This is Ojo’s favorite tea. If you like it as well, I’ll make sure to have more of it brought up from stores for the party.”

  “Party?” Kris looked to Ojo for clarification, but he only shook his head.

  Shun laid one finger over their painted lips, smiling faintly. “Oh, of course—you won’t have received your invitation yet. Please forget I said anything. Your server will be here soon.”

  And then they were gone, drawing the curtain shut behind them. Ojo grinned. “Shun does that. Sometimes I think there isn’t a single piece of gossip that doesn’t reach their ears—or at least they’d like you to think so. But don’t worry about speaking freely, so long as you’re in a private booth. Shun and their people will protect your secrets.”

  “And you believe that?” Kris asked skeptically.

  “Without question. I’ve known Shun for years, and they’ve never betrayed my trust. If you need a message passed discreetly, or someone found, or an unofficial bodyguard for yourself or another person . . . this is the place to come.”