We Lie with Death

by Devin Madson

  “He doesn’t know you’re doing this?” I’d had no time to wonder why it was Sett releasing me, but whatever his reason, his expression owned no kindness.

  “There’s food upstairs so you can eat before you go,” he said. “And I’ve packed your saddlebags. Jinso is waiting in the yard.”

  Jinso. I had hardly let myself hope I would see him again, let alone be allowed to ride free, but anger overtook relief on its way to my lips. “You’re smuggling me out of the city like an embarrassment.”

  “You could say that, yes.”

  “While Gideon isn’t here to stop you.”

  He left a beat of silence, before asking, “Can you walk again? Food isn’t much farther.”

  It seemed asking about Gideon was not allowed.

  The inner palace had changed. Once bright and filled with dead soldiers, it lay blanketed now in silence and shadows, turning its finely carved pillars into twisted creatures that lurked in every corner. Light bloomed behind paper screens and whispers met the scuff of our steps, but we saw no living soul.

  Sett led me to a small chamber on the ground floor where a pair of lanterns fought back the night. A spread of dishes covered a low table, but my gaze was drawn to a bowl of shimmering liquid, and not caring if it was water or wine, I poured it into my mouth. It burned my throat like a ball of fire and I dropped the bowl, coughing.

  “Kisian wine,” Sett said over my coughs. “I think they make it from rice. Or maybe millet. There’s tea too, but don’t drink it so fast. It’s served hot.”

  “Why?” I managed, my voice even more strained than before.

  “I don’t know. When I find one that understands me, I’ll ask.”

  “Is there water?”

  Sett examined the table. “Doesn’t look like it. They aren’t keen on water. They think it’s dirty, and maybe it is here, I don’t know.” He shrugged, before adding in a sullen tone: “They don’t cook the whole animal either, at least not in the palace. Instead they”—he waved his hand at the table—“slice it up and ignore all the best parts. I saw one feeding liver to the dogs.”

  Hunger and nausea warred in my stomach as I chose the most recognisable hunk of meat and bit into it. It was heavily spiced and drowned in a strange sauce, but hunger won and I crammed the rest into my mouth followed by another piece, and another. The sudden ingress of food made my stomach ache, but hunger kept me eating until I had filled its every corner.

  While I ate and drank, trying not to slop the food down my already stained and stinking clothes, Sett stood by the door like a sentry. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stood with his arms folded staring at nothing, a notch cut between his brows.

  Once my hunger had been crushed, nausea flared and I crossed my still-shaking arms over my gut. The sickly-sweet smell of the strange food clogged my nose and I sat back, hoping my stomach wouldn’t reject it.

  Only when the nausea had subsided a little did I say, “You’re not really going to let me leave, are you?”

  “You don’t think so? You think I had Jinso saddled for someone else?”

  I grunted and got slowly to my feet, still clutching my stomach. “You’re really smuggling me out of the city in the middle of the night so no one sees me leave? What do you want people to think? That I’m dead? That you killed me?”

  “I don’t want people to think of you at all. You’ve caused too much trouble, Rah. Now it’s time you listened. Leave Gideon alone. Leave Yitti alone. They’ve made their choices, as have the rest of the Swords who want a new home and a better life.”

  “We already have a home.”

  “Then go fight for it!”

  Silence hung amid the shadowed screens, a silence choked with dust and spiced food and the lingering scent of incense. I could taste the ghosts of another’s life on every breath, an ever-present reminder of how far I was from the plains.

  I eyed Sett. “Do I get my sword back?”

  “And your knives if you want them. If you want a replacement for the sword you dropped in Tian, you’ll have to put up with a Kisian blade. Hardly a matched pair, but it’s all we have.”

  I wanted a Kisian sword as little as I wanted to eat their food, live on their land, or conquer their cities, but I nodded and a strained smile spread Sett’s lips. “Come, we’ll get you some fresh clothes.”

  We met no one on the way out, the inner palace like an empty tomb. The bodies might be gone, but broken screens and railings remained, and many doors were little more than apertures choked with tangled nests of wood and paper.

  Stepping in through another door, Sett swung his lantern before him, revealing not an orderly room but a mess of weapons piled by type amid a sea of cloth and leather and chainmail vests.

  “Most of it’s too small, but with a few cuts in the right places it’s wearable,” Sett said, sitting the lantern on a ransacked chest and picking up some green silk. “The Imperial Army uniforms weren’t too bad, but most of those have gone.”

  I didn’t want to wear Kisian clothes, but my own leathers had seen more filth than I cared to think about. I had worn them into battle many times, and the cooling blood of many severed heads had dribbled down my knees. Here, despite the disorder, everything was clean and crisp.

  Sett tossed me the silk robe and its threads caught on my rough skin as it slipped through my fingers. I let it fall, pooling on the floor like the shimmering green waters of Hemet Bay.

  Once more Sett stood silent as I made my way around the room, sorting through the scattered garments. The breeches I chose were too tight, the tunic too long, the leather undercoat too thin, and the cloak too heavy. I needed clothes, but it all cut into my flesh in the wrong places and made my skin itch, and the closeness of the collar around my throat was like a choking hand. So many layers would boil one alive beneath the Levanti sun, but if the Kisian rains were half as bad as the Chiltaens believed then I’d be glad of them. The dreaded rains. If the Chiltaens had been less afraid of a little water, they might have noticed the coup brewing beneath their noses. Or not. I hadn’t.

  I spread my arms, inviting Sett’s approval. “Well? How do I look?”

  “Ridiculous. But clean. Now come on, it’ll be dawn soon.”

  Having grabbed a replacement blade and bundled my own clothes into a bag, I once more followed Sett out into the inner palace’s silent shadows.

  “Where is everyone?” I said, having to walk quickly to keep up.

  “It’s the middle of the night. Where do you think they are?”

  He stepped into the entry hall. Sett was a tall man, yet he shrank as the great height of the palace spire stretched away above him. His last words rose to the moonlit heights, and his steps echoed as he crossed toward the open doors. No, not open. Broken. The Chiltaens had smashed the main doors like so many others, leaving Leo to stride through as though they had been opened by the hand of his god.

  A stab of guilt silenced further questions. I had sworn to protect him and failed. Just as I had sworn to protect my Swords. And my herd.

  Sett stepped through the broken doors. Shallow stairs met us beyond, and but for the smothering night I might have been walking along the colonnade behind Leo once again.

  “What happened to Leo’s body?”

  Sett didn’t turn. “I don’t know.”

  “How do you not know?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  He sped up, striding along a colonnade choked with the scent of rotting flowers crushed beneath our feet. Beyond the tangle of vines the gardens spread away, while above the outer palace a shock of lightning lit the night sky. Inside had been airless and oppressive, but this was worse. Heat pressed in like a heavy hand, its damp touch sending sweat dripping down my forehead.

  By the time Sett reached the outer palace I had to jog to catch up, an ache twinging my knees. “Sett—”

  “Just walk, Rah, I have no more answers for you.”

  Thunder rumbled as he hurried beneath a great arch.

  “Where ar
e the First Swords?”

  Sett walked on, outstripping my cramping gait by half a length each step, leaving me to scramble after him along dark passages and through twisting courtyards. His urgency made his lantern swing sickeningly, its handle creaking as light rocked to and fro upon the walls. Not that Sett seemed to need it. He knew the way. Leo had known the way too.

  I tightened my hold on the sack of dirty clothes and caught up. “Sett, tell me the truth,” I said. “What is going on?”

  “Nothing. Look, just as I promised.” He gestured as we stepped once more into the night, the rush of his feet descending the outer stairs like the clatter of a rockfall.

  Jinso waited in the courtyard, Tor e’Torin holding his reins. With Commander Brutus dead, the young man was as free as the rest of us, yet dark rings hung beneath his eyes and he stood tense.

  “You were just supposed to give the instructions, not stay,” Sett said as he approached. “I need you inside to help with the messages. That scribe doesn’t understand half the words I say.”

  “Sorry, Captain,” the young man said, pressing his fists together in salute. “I didn’t wish to leave Captain Rah’s horse alone with the weather so wild. He might have fretted.”

  Sett grunted. “It’s not ‘Captain’ Rah anymore.”

  I set my forehead to Jinso’s neck and tangled my fingers in his well-brushed mane, pretending not to hear the words that cut to my soul. Not a captain. The strange food in my stomach churned, bringing back the nausea.

  In silence I checked Jinso over, more through habit than fear he had been poorly tended. Sett stood waiting, his scowl unchanged with each glance I risked his way. Tor remained too, shifting foot to foot. He licked his lips and pressed them into a smile when he found me watching, but the smile didn’t even convince his lips, let alone his eyes.

  Thunder rumbled—distant, but threatening. The clouds crowding to blot out the stars made some sense of the Chiltaen fear.

  My sword and knives had been stashed in one of the saddlebags—Kisian saddlebags I noted—and though I wondered what had happened to my own, I could not force the question out. It seemed to congeal inside my mouth, glued by the creeping sense that something was very wrong.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I said, thrusting my sack of armour into one of the saddlebags and patting Jinso’s neck.

  Sett laughed, the humourless sound sending a shiver through my skin. “Get on your horse, boy.”

  I risked another glance at Tor, but the saddleboy stared at the stones. A fork of lightning lit his untidy length of black hair.

  “All right,” I said, and saluted him as I would Gideon. “May Nassus guide your steps and watch over your soul.”

  He barely seemed to hear me.

  My legs twinged as I climbed onto Jinso’s back, but whatever weakness my body owned became nothing in that moment—for I was a rider once more, Jinso’s strength inflating my soul. With his reins in hand I could sit tall and proud despite weakness and doubt, despite guilt and fear and pain. In the saddle I was a Levanti.

  “Ride north,” Sett said then, the restless clop of Jinso’s hooves waking him from his trance. “And don’t stop until you reach the Ribbon. When you get back—”

  “I’m not going back,” I said. “Not yet. Not until I’ve seen Gideon.”

  An animal’s wounded snarl tore from Sett’s lips and he gripped Jinso’s bridle. “Don’t you ever fucking listen, Rah? Go! Get out of here.”

  “Not without at least saying goodbye. He’s on a path I can’t follow, but I cannot walk away without seeing him. Without…”

  Sett leaned in close, pressing my leg to Jinso’s side. “It’s too late for that, Rah. I told you he would need you and you failed him. Failed all of us. I will not let you do it again.”

  “Failed him?” The words cut into my heart. “I tried to save him. To save us all. I—” I bit down a howl as pain tore up my leg like lightning, mimicking the burning trails of fire crazing the night sky. The handle of a hoof pick peeped between Sett’s scarred fingers, its hook piercing my thigh.

  “Consider this your last warning,” he said. “Leave. Now. He doesn’t want to see you.”

  I tightened my grip upon Jinso’s reins until my hands hurt, but it made no difference to the pain swelling in my leg. “Then he can tell me that himself,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Sett dragged the hook across my skin, tearing flesh. I wanted to cry out, to sob like a child and retch my pain upon the stones, but I pressed my lips closed and breathed slowly. Beneath me Jinso tried to step sideways and I fought to keep him still, to keep the pick from being ripped free.

  “Leave this place,” Sett said, spitting the words like an angry snake. “You wanted to know where the rest of the First Swords are. Where the Second Swords are? They are all on the walls, waiting to fill your back with arrows if you don’t listen to me. So for the first time in your life, Rah, listen. Ride north. Ride fast. And don’t look back.”

  He yanked the pick out and I gasped. The courtyard spun. Hot blood soaked my pants and dribbled down my leg, and smelling it, Jinso backed. Before I could calm him, a slap to his rear sent him plunging forward. His hooves clattered across the courtyard and all I could do was hold tight or fall.

  The gates passed in a blur as we picked up speed, the effort of clinging on with my legs growing more painful with every stride. I was losing blood fast. The wound needed to be bound, needed to be sewn, but I had none of Yitti’s skill and he… How many of my Swords wanted me dead?

  Ride fast. And don’t look back.

  Mei’lian passed in a haze of flickering lights and shadows. Unlike the palace the city was still alive and people leapt aside, cries mingling with the clatter of racing hooves.

  The road from the palace to the northern gate was straight and broad, and Jinso followed it toward the brewing storm, lightning mirroring the spears of pain flaring behind my eyes. I flew past burned-out shells of once great buildings, past fountains and shrines and piles of the dead, past barricades and great trees that grew amid it all like hands reaching to the sky. Ahead the walls of Mei’lian emerged from the night, their gates gaping open.

  Jinso didn’t slow. Blood was pooling in my boot and I needed to bind my leg, but lights flickered atop the wall and I could not stop. Not yet. To die for duty was honourable. To be killed in the saddle by my own blood was not.

  Head down, mane whipping, Jinso plunged through the cracked gates and into the night. Darkness swallowed us, but we kept on without slowing. Every thud of hoof upon road seemed to burst more blood from my wound, but I gritted my teeth in anticipation of arrows. My back tingled, sure the silent death would hit at any moment. Dread turned to hope with every racing step along the moonlit road, until at last I dared to look back. A line of flickering torches lit the top of the wall like watching eyes—the watching eyes of every Levanti I had led to this cursed place. Every Levanti I ought to be taking home.

  “Let’s start with not bleeding to death and—”

  Everything spun as I turned back. The road tilted, and unable to hold on longer, I fell head first to meet it.

  2. DISHIVA

  Itaghai tossed his head as I brushed a day’s worth of tangles from his mane. He didn’t like having it done, so I took my time, easing each knot with care. It was as good a reason as any to keep an emperor waiting.

  Other Levanti filled the stable yard, most sitting with their horses or talking in small groups. No one had approached me all evening, not even my Swords. No one quite knew what to say now the first flush of victory was over. We had won. We had taken the city. We had slaughtered our enemies, those vile men who had beaten and starved us, but… doubts crept in as triumph ebbed. Winning had not made everything go back to the way it had been; it had only made things stranger.

  “I don’t think they like us,” came a voice from the next stall. Stalls. Little houses for horses as though they were not used to the rain upon their heads.

  “Th
at’s all right because I don’t like them much,” was the murmured reply. “When is your exile up?”

  “Half a cycle, you?”

  “About the same.”

  Further questions went unasked, but I doubted loyalty to our herd master was the only reason. Fear had bitten many tongues of late.

  “Captain Dishiva e’Jaroven?”

  I turned, brush caught in Itaghai’s mane. A broad-shouldered Levanti stood in the doorway, the bulk of his arms more than making up for what he lacked in height. He was not one of my Swords, nor one I recognised, but with so many of us gathered in one place that was no longer surprising. “Yes?”

  “Herd—Emperor Gideon wishes to speak to you.”

  “I know he does, but horses do not brush themselves.”

  The man leant against the door frame quite at his ease, the folding of his arms further bulging his muscles. “No, but they also don’t get mad if you keep them waiting.”

  I sighed. “The rest of your mane will have to wait,” I said, resting my hand upon Itaghai’s neck. “But don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily. It’s not decent to keep clumps of dry blood and knots, you know.”

  The Levanti grinned, a smile that made him look as youthful as an untested saddleboy. “Oh, I don’t know, he looks quite rakish,” he said, but when I turned it was me he eyed appreciatively.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jass en’Occha, Captain,” he said, and pressed his fists into a salute.

  “Are you busy, Jass en’Occha?”

  His brows lifted toward the short pelt of his overgrown hair, and a corner of his lips twitched. “A captain of the Jaroven has need of me?”

  I threw him the brush. “His name is Itaghai and he bites if you pull too hard. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Itaghai?”

  I rolled my eyes. “My mother liked collecting stories from travellers and used to tell me one about Itaghai the Dragon almost every night when I was a child. It’s not that strange.”

  Jass laughed, a carefree sound for which I envied him. “If you say so, Captain.”