The Complete Season 1

by Michael Underwood

  Kris took a long, burdened breath. Ojo saw the hurt and regret in the youth’s eyes. They said, “I’m sorry about what I said, the things I did. But we can fix this.”

  Ojo’s ears were working perfectly well. Kris spoke in the same trade language they’d used to speak to each other since the day Kris arrived on Twaa-Fei.

  But Ojo did not hear Kris. The words were lost in a labyrinth of sorrow and self-loathing and inebriation.

  The fallen warder simply looked down at their cup and drank.

  When he looked up sometime later, Kris was gone.

  •••

  A half hour after that, Kris’s words finally made their way through the labyrinth. The seed of meaning took root, and understanding bloomed.

  In the distance, past the whirling storm that had swallowed his life, he saw the barest glint of hope.

  And he would not find it here, wallowing.

  A moment later the server arrived with another plate of meat.

  “Thank you,” Ojo said. “Water, please. And bread.”

  Chapter 8

  Adechike

  The communion pool flashed, but Adechike was still reading. He pulled out one of the earlier documents and cross-referenced the dates and the names.

  The guildmasters might not change their minds, but he would ensure that they had all the information correct. They might divert some energy to propaganda campaigns against Mertika. In that way, at least, Quloo and Rumika would be collaborating, not fighting.

  Assuming that the Elders didn’t override Kris the way the Guilds had Ojo.

  The flash came again. Adechike took a long breath, arranged the documents so that he could walk through them easily, and then he grabbed his sword.

  “Greetings, Guildmasters,” he said as the image resolved. This time, Guildmaster Izebry was absent. Which probably meant that something important was happening with the fleet. Yet more reason to get the truth out, to plead for peace.

  Guildmaster Nenge said, “Greetings, Warder. I trust you are prepared to receive orders?” A veiled threat that meant: Are you ready to follow orders?

  “Yes, Guildmasters. But first, I must apologize, because there is information you will want to hear, and it may impact these orders, so I would request that we discuss it first.”

  Guildmaster Nenge crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes. “What is it?

  He told them. The short version, but he repeated Xan’s account word for word, as well as citing the supporting evidence, the comments from the other warders. He needed them to see that this was more than one friend vouching for another even though their nations were at war.

  Which was, on its face, a very strange thing. Not something Adechike thought he would ever have to worry about.

  “And you received this information from the Rumikan?” Nenge asked.

  “The sailor Xan relayed this account from within a Circle of Banished Lies.”

  Nenge shook her head. “None of this solves Quloo’s aerstone problem, young warder. So why should it change our course of action?”

  Instead of throwing the truth in their faces or pleading with them, Adechike told them what they wanted to hear. Framed everything in terms of advantage.

  “It gives us a new way to attack Mertika. One that does not require that we commit more soldiers, but instead lets our scribes and spies strike at our enemy. The more this information gets out, the more pressure we can exert. The more likely it is that Tsukisen will speak out against the empire. The more that revolutionary forces in Mertikan colonies will be able to recruit dissatisfied subjects. This report can turn public sentiment against Mertika. And if we can force them to withdraw and fight their internal squabbles, we will be able to do what we must to save Quloo.”

  Guildmaster Amewezie nodded. “Well said, Warder. Send everything to us, and my people will put it to work.” Amewezie was the master of the Scribe’s Guild. Which in Quloo, included spies and propagandists. War was Quloo’s business now, with every one of its industries turned to the nation’s survival.

  “Now, here are your orders,” Guildmaster Amewezie said.

  He was to cut off all private contact with Kris and anyone from Rumika. He could only speak to them in Circle meetings or in front of the guildmasters. He was to clear all voting intentions with the guildmasters.

  “Of course,” he said to the order. “But I do note that doing so may undermine the perception of my usefulness as a warder to the other nations, so I will endeavor to conceal this policy with other matters to ensure that we are not perceived to be weak. If I’m seen as a pawn, I will not be able to be as much use to Quloo.”

  “Wisely spoken,” Amewezie said. But the order remains. We trust your cunning.”

  Guildmaster Edokwe added, “And we will be sending new staff to support you so that you may have a fresh start and clean break from your predecessor. This will of course include a new junior warder to support you.”

  Adechike’s mind filled in the unspoken addendum: and to replace you if need be.

  He would wear the blindfold they handed him. He would walk the tightrope. And he would make it to the other side.

  Because if he failed, the puppet they’d send to replace him would only make things worse.

  But first he needed to speak to Ojo.

  Chapter 9

  Ojo

  Flatbreads were a gift from the gods.

  Several jugs of water and a large meal later, Ojo had his wits back. The pain medication still pushed at the edges, slowing his mind. But slow and precise was worse than slow and sloppy.

  And it was far easier to stay sharp with company. Especially Shun. Today they wore their hair down, braided, with wire-wrapped gemstones woven throughout, playing off their purple eye shadow and dyed goatee.

  Between them, a pot steeped for their next cups of tea. A half dozen plates of sweets and finger food were spread across the table. Ojo could barely think about eating more, but Shun’s presence was like a safety net. So many of his best memories of Twaa-Fei were memories of speaking over meals shared and mugs of tea poured for friends here at the Autumn Leaf.

  “Things were already very bad, but when the leadership won’t listen to its warders? Quloo is sinking, six of the seven major nations are at war, and the guildmasters are using abominations to steal entire islands. What can I do? A broken man with one good arm, cut off from his people.”

  “There is a great deal you can do, Ojo. Especially now. Even while you’ve served Quloo, you’ve done well to be a force for balance; you’ve respected the traditions of Twaa-Fei and its people. If you go home, they’ll take you off the board entirely. You were a warder to one nation, but if you want, now you can fight on behalf of all peoples. Even those without a nation.”

  Ojo stopped and looked at Shun. To many, they were a background figure, even as bold and changing as they presented themself with clothes, makeup, jewelry, and their body language. Even Ojo at times had thought of Shun as a functionary, almost an analogue to Yochno. The person that facilitates, a helper in other people’s agendas.

  The same way he’d treated the people of Twaa-Fei when he’d first arrived. The same way the Mertikans treated everyone not their status superior.

  The point of the Circle was to work as equals. Even when opposed. To build together, make a common space. The Circle should make room to imagine more, to see the nuance. To create possibility.

  Steam rose from the pot, the tea ready to be poured. “Let’s say I wanted to do this,” Ojo said. “What would it look like? I have no power. My resources are Quloo’s resources.”

  Shun poured the first round of tea, an old Zenatan tradition. This pot’s worth would be taken outside and poured out on the street, another old Zenatan tradition honoring the past and serving as a reminder that the best things took time and repetition.

  Functionally, it meant that they avoided the bitter taste of the strong black tea, but the tradition was touching. “You have connections up and down the islands. Do you think that
the guildmasters of the High Skies will let Adechike keep your staff? That they won’t be cut off with the same blade that traced the sigil of your dismissal? Anyone cast out can find a home here. I’ve been doing what I can to keep things stable on Twaa-Fei, especially since the start of the war. And I am far from alone. I have friends here and beyond, and we are in agreement that this war must end before it consumes us all. If you would join us, then gather your staff. Bring them here in ones and twos. We’ll get them integrated into our network. I’ll get you set up with housing wherever you like, though I cannot recommend the ambassadorial level.”

  “Of course. If I continue to move in those circles, the High Skies will hear of it. And I do not want to interfere with Adechike. He has enough weight on his shoulders.”

  “Of course. And you’ll be able to help him. And Kris, and the others,” Shun said.

  “So what do we do first?” Ojo asked.

  “First, we drink this cup of tea, and we talk about whatever else you want to talk about. Then, when you’re healed, body and soul, we will get to work.”

  Chapter 10

  Kris

  Kris sat in the private chambers of the Warders’ Circle, head in hands. Before them, the Rumikan ceremonial sword lay on the table alone. The other six spaces and seats were empty, leaving Kris as alone as they’d ever been. Without real allies, real leverage, or anything resembling hope.

  They’d laid out the evidence, and hours later there were no responses to their request to reconvene and discuss.

  It seemed that even the ream of evidence Michiko had gathered was not enough when each nation had its own reasons to dismiss it. They could demand sanctions, but what good would sanctioning their ostensible ally do if Quloo brushed off the evidence? The only way things would change was if Adechike were able to convince the High Skies faction to turn on Mertika while leaving Rumika be.

  Footsteps approached and Kris sat up, wiping away the tears of despair.

  Adechike. Kris stood to greet their friend and now-peer. “What did the guildmasters say?”

  The lack of warmth in his eyes told Kris what they needed to know. “They won’t call off their ships.” Adechike approached and stood by his seat on the Circle. “I’m sorry. But they did tell me this. If Rumika shares the method of aerstone refinement, perhaps they would call off the ships, return home to use this knowledge to save our people.”

  “The method is the only card we have to play. If I give it to you, especially if the information passes through Twaa-Fei, we have nothing left. Quloo’s forces could take more islands and use the method, turn Rumika’s islands into a battlefield, our rich lands stained and sullied by the blood spilled between Quloo and the empire. If Quloo were to withdraw, join my effort to censure Mertika, seek reparations for the trade fleet, then we could work up an armistice—”

  “I do not know these High Skies guildmasters well, not nearly as well as Ojo knows Guildmaster Chigozie. But I know that they will not pull the ships back for anything less than the method.”

  “So nothing changes?” Kris asked.

  “No. This evidence changes the winds against Mertika. We can beat them back, take the method if you’re not able to give it, and then we’ll have what we need from Rumika. My people are looking for a way to survive. Not to conquer.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help you convince the guildmasters?” Kris asked. It was a reach, but worth asking. If they were to be friends even as their countries were enemies, then it could not hurt.

  “Get the others to believe. Especially Vania. And, of course, if you could get concessions from Rumika, even an official admission of guilt, that could change the conversation.”

  “I can’t convince them if they won’t come to meetings. With Tsukisen’s seat absent, we need Cassia and at least one of the imperial warders to do anything.”

  “My duty is here. I will not go without a fight.” Takeshi stood tall in the doorway, hand on his sword, hair back and up, not down and mussed. As he walked, the slump began to return, but he still looked more the warder than he had when Kris had arrived. “Without the Circle, this war could make mist-fiend chum of all of us. I came here to serve Ikaro. I will not abandon that duty.”

  “Nor I,” Cassia added, filling the doorway. “The war goes on, but we can do good here.”

  Takeshi and Cassia took their spots, and the four assembled warders sat. Four seats. Four blades. They had a quorum, even if three seats lay empty. It would be enough.

  “I suppose that’s everyone,” Kris said.

  “Hardly,” Bellona said, striding into the room. “Mertika helped found this Circle, and Mertika’s voice will not be absent while business is being done.”

  Kris wanted to throw her obstructionism back in her face. To lash out, to challenge, to have her censured from speaking until Mertika addressed the charges they’d laid out. But it was easier to trap an opponent once they’d committed to their strike.

  Instead, Kris put on a diplomatic smile, trying to remember lessons learned from Alyx, but also Ojo, who had shown Kris that politeness and propriety could be weapons as impressive as swords or bladecraft. “Thank you for joining us, Warder Avitus.

  “Warders, shall we begin?”

  Chapter 11

  Michiko

  The trade ship The Emerald Knife cut through the sky, chasing the setting sun. Carrying a light load and guided by a skilled bladecrafter navigator, the ship was making excellent time. They were on track to arrive in Kakute late the following night.

  Michiko stood at the stern, wind whipping her unbraided hair around like the sails. She was no longer a warder, no longer a servant, and no longer did she need to wear her hair as a good Mertikan should. Her great-aunt had worn her hair loose or in simple braids, in the style of their ancestors.

  The Emerald Knife was a Kakute merchant sloop. Captain Yamada no Ishi was an old friend of the Silver Sparrow’s captain and a fellow supporter of the late Golden Lord.

  The killing of the Golden Lord was a defeat for the rebellion, but it had also turned him into a martyr. And when Michiko revealed herself as his heir, she would rally the people, give them a new figure to invest in, a way to see the traditions of Kakute upheld. She would become a symbol again, but this time she would be a symbol of resistance, a symbol of tradition, and a symbol of individuality, rather than a symbol of compliance, of servitude, of cultural annihilation.

  The empire had made her a puppet. A yes-woman. Lavinia had bullied and battered her for months. Michiko had smiled and nodded along to Bellona’s subtle derision and outright harassment. She’d taken it and turned inward. Time after time.

  But all of that was done now. She’d served alongside them, learned how they played the game of diplomacy, the sigils they kept back for the most pivotal of duels.

  And now she would turn all of that against them.

  Michiko had set off on her journey to Twaa-Fei alone but arrived with a new friend. She’d left that friend in Twaa-Fei as she returned, but she hoped not to arrive alone. If she was able to do what she’d planned, she’d be the opposite of alone. Crammed into safe houses, sleeping in barns alongside fellow revolutionaries, moving under the cover of night and taking meetings by candlelight with farmers and washerwomen in hushed tones.

  A revolution was, by necessity, a collaboration. But instead of niceties and negotiations, her tools here would be secrecy, logistics, propaganda.

  Perhaps it was not so different, after all.

  She drew her sword, watched the fading lights play across the polished blade in reds and pinks and oranges, like steel aflame.

  The Golden Lord’s escape had lit a spark in Kakute, and now Michiko returned home to become the flame that would ignite the revolution.

  Kakute will be free once more, she thought. Even if I have to cut Mertika from the sky.

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from Tremontaine Season 1.

  Episode 1: Arrivals

  by Ellen Kushner

  In the highest room of their splendid family townhouse on the highest part of the Hill, Diane, Duchess Tremontaine, sat in a window seat and surveyed her city.

  Below the sweeping lawns of Tremontaine House the river roiled under the dull grey skies of a windy, rainy day. Across the river, prosperous houses sent up trails of smoke from their many chimneys. But beyond them, in the older part of the city, only some of the ancient buildings of the University bore these flags of prosperity. Many students went cold for their learning. But for a clever man not born to land or riches, what else was there?

  Diane smiled. Her husband the duke loved the University. He believed in clever men, and he had some pretensions to learning, as his extensive library testified. He served on the University’s Board of Governors, and was happier there than in the halls of the Council of Lords. She didn’t object. It gave him something to occupy his mind, while she occupied hers with weightier matters.

  She clutched the sheaf of papers in her hand and craned her slender neck, looking down the river past the Council buildings to the docks, where every day she hoped for her salvation.