We Lie with Death

by Devin Madson

  An icy fear settled in my stomach.

  “How many?”

  Nuru asked and received an answer. “A hundred,” she said.

  I pointed at them. “Tell them they must seek Emperor Gideon’s permission to have these here. They must be taken to the manor. Now.”

  The message was relayed. They argued. Nuru reminded them they were guests of the emperor, and eventually the servant acquiesced. Wringing his hands, he took the non-believing guard with him and led the mule back toward the manor. Nuru took a few steps after them, in a hurry to leave, but I looked at Nods who once more touched the pendant at his collarbone.

  “Ask him if he is well versed in the faith of the One True God.”

  “Captain—”

  “This would be a lot faster if you stopped complaining and just did as I asked, Nuru. We will go in a moment. Ask him the question.”

  She did so, tangling her long fingers together. The man lived up to the name I had given him and nodded.

  “Ask him if he knows anything about Dom Villius.”

  Again Nuru asked. Again the man nodded.

  “Does he know why they called him Veld?”

  Another nod.

  “Tell him I am… curious about the faith. Ask him if I might meet him later to learn more about it.”

  “But are—?”

  “Just ask,” I snapped, worry fraying me at the edges like a worn-out saddle cloth.

  She did. Again he nodded, albeit more slowly. Then he spoke the first words to pass his lips and glanced at me only to look away as his soft voice rumbled on. At last he stopped and Nuru cleared her throat. “He says to know the faith one must be humble and prostrate oneself before God. He says he is not a very good teacher, to learn at the feet of Dom Villius would be the greater privilege, but if you wish to learn he will do his best to set your feet upon the right path.”

  “I have plenty of things I wish to learn from Dom Villius, but his faith isn’t one of them. Thank him, and tell him I will seek him out tonight so we can talk more.”

  Nuru did as I asked, and finally I let her drag me back toward the manor, though only after extracting a hasty promise that she’d join me later to translate.

  Gideon’s meeting with the pilgrims was short. Leo Villius was already there when I arrived, smiling as he accepted the reverence of each traveller in turn. They all looked overawed to see him, to kiss his hand, to touch the hem of his shapeless robe, crawling on the floor like grovelling worms while he blessed them all. Even Lord Nishi prostrated himself upon the floor, confusing me all the more. He sounded old and looked young, appeared pompous yet belittled himself before a Chiltaen in the plainest of robes.

  Gideon watched it all from the padded chair he used as a throne, his face impassive. Grace Bahain was present as always, bent low beside his emperor whispering words for his ears alone. Nishi might have brought a hundred holy books, but Bahain had brought a hundred ships and the loyalty of many soldiers. Whatever his intentions ultimately were, avarice and a hunger for power were easier to work with than faith.

  I tried to dispel my uneasiness but it only tightened when Leo glanced my way, a beatific smile turning his lips.

  “Majesty,” I said, cutting off whatever Grace Bahain was saying. “You need to send these people away.”

  Gideon’s brows lifted in surprise. “Send them away, Captain? Why?”

  It all made so much sense in my head, but when I tried to explain my words tripped over one another on their way to my tongue. “Look at them!” I managed and, lowering my voice, added, “Dom Villius is dangerous enough without giving him allies. Did you see the books Lord Nishi brought with him? This is exactly how the Tempachi sent their missionaries into our herds, surely the Torin experienced this?”

  “You will be glad to know Grace Bahain agrees with you,” Gideon said, leaning toward me. “He would very much like me to send them all away.” He looked up through his lashes, something mischievous in the quirk of his lips. “Because he can’t control them. And this… Lord Nishi… Apparently, he and his father avoided the Imperial Court. The whole Nishi family are fervent believers in Leo Villius’s god, something about their lands being in close proximity to the Chiltaen border. Most of the Kisians call him Lord Salt, at least I think that’s what the word means. Some of the translations are a bit strange.”

  “Lord Salt? The sort of salt that goes on meat or heads?”

  “Meat, I believe. I think salt mining has made him one of the richest men in Kisia. If I comprehend Bahain correctly, the man lends money to people on the understanding they will give it back when they have money of their own. With extra as thanks.”

  The words made little sense, but the subtle hint of a thrill in Gideon’s voice twisted my stomach. He had said we needed to keep Leo Villius because he was the only bargaining tool the Kisians had no control over. Now here was a source of money not connected to Grace Bahain, which meant Gideon would not send them away whatever my fears.

  He must have guessed some of my thoughts, for he went on: “While it’s important to think of Kisia as a herd in here”—he pressed his fist to his heart, then pointed at his head—“it is too big to be a herd in here. We can’t expect farmers to give us their whole crop when we cannot feed and shelter their families. A portion of it has always been paid to the emperor, but what little comes in will not keep an army fed and supplied, will not feed our people and our horses, will not ensure we have enough lantern oil and parchment, enough arrows and meat and tea and wine and silk. And if they are not paid the servants will not clean and the cooks will not cook, and—”

  Gideon broke off as Lord Nishi approached.

  “Your Majesty.” He bowed, not just a bow of acknowledgement but total obeisance with his forehead lowered to the floor. There he stayed until commanded to rise.

  And while Lord Nishi bowed to the first Levanti emperor, Leo stood at the back of the room, his pendant gleaming in the light. He had worn the same necklace on his last body, and I wondered if his god sent him back with one already in place. A chain of servitude, perhaps, rather than a gift.

  As I stared at him, he stared at me, and the lump of cold fear in my stomach returned, or perhaps had never gone away.

  One day, when Gideon no longer needs you, I will kill you, Leo Villius, I promised in the silence of my head. I will kill you as many times as I have to and in as many different ways as it takes until you don’t come back.

  At the other end of the room, Leo just smiled.

  By the time the audience broke up, I had envisioned six different ways I could kill Leo Villius. Most were far from subtle, ranging from slitting his throat when I next passed him in the passage to picking him off with my bow, but it would be better to poison him. So easy to imagine him face down at a table, his tea bowl smashed and froth drying at the corners of his pale lips from a dose of redcap.

  I imagined the scene all the way to the kitchens to join my Swords for the evening meal. The rowdy chatter died as I entered, leaving salutes and murmurs of “Evening, Captain” to circle the firelit room. Hazy clouds of smoke and steam hovered around the ceiling, yet the scene beneath looked so like a campfire gathering that I smiled. They were not all Jaroven, but they were all Levanti. Here around this table we ate and drank as one, and even the strangeness of the food and the wine could not steal the fierce joy from my heart.

  As I slid onto a bench their talk resumed. I let the noise wash over me, grateful for a place where I recognised everyone’s words and didn’t have to put up with Leo’s existence. My stomach rumbled and I reached for the wine jug, catching sight of Jass en’Occha a few seats away. He had stopped eating to watch me.

  “Captain,” he said, perhaps hoping I wouldn’t notice he’d been staring. “Thank you again for the opportunity to protect Emperor Gideon. Keka says—” The young man looked momentarily confused because says was never the right word for a man who could not talk. Jass decided to stick with it anyway. “He says you’ll need more Swords though,
especially since you lost one today. So if I can recommend—”

  “Lost a—?”

  I hunted Keka along the table. He was already watching with his sharp gaze and nudged Loklan, who hastily swallowed a mouthful of wine with a wince. “Ptapha left, Captain,” he said, not quite looking at me.

  “Left?”

  The table quietened. Loklan shrugged. “Deserted.”

  “Fuck,” I said, and seeing so many firelit faces turned my way I added, “When?”

  “Not sure. Baln saw him this morning.”

  I looked along the table. “No one asked the sentries? They aren’t meant to open the gate without a captain’s say-so.”

  “I asked,” Loklan said. “But they said it was only opened for those pilgrims this afternoon.”

  “Then someone is lying.”

  There was desultory movement up and down the table, a shifting of spoons in bowls and bums on benches. When no one answered I let a few more curse words hiss between my teeth. “Change doesn’t happen in a blink. Empires aren’t built in a day. This was always going to be hard in the beginning.”

  Muttered agreement met this, but the previous good cheer was lost and, whatever my stomach might say about it later, had taken my appetite with it. Leaving my bowl empty, I sipped my wine and waited for conversation to return. I wanted to leave, but a captain had responsibilities.

  “Loklan,” I said, swirling the last glittering mouthful of wine in my bowl. “How are the horses?”

  “Fine, Captain,” my horse master said. “They need more exercise than they can get in the yard, but I’ve been taking them out as much as I can. A few of their hooves have started splitting too.”

  “So, actually not fine at all.”

  He murmured something that might have been an apology. Young he was, but he was more attentive about his duties than any horse master I’d yet had, so I asked, “What can be done?”

  “I think the problem is the damp weather. They are used to dry, hard ground to wear down their hooves, so all this rain and mud is making them soft.” His eyes widened and he seemed to quiver in his seat as the thrill of his art overtook him. “Munn thinks it is the change in diet, but I’ve never heard of this happening anywhere on the plains before. I think… I think it’s why the Kisians and the Chiltaens shoe their horses. There might be other ways, but I’ve been trying to talk to one of their horse masters and he seems keen enough to teach me. If I could just understand what he was saying.”

  “I’ll ask Gi—His Majesty if you can have Oshar or Matsimelar tomorrow. You need to tell him these things too. We are nothing without our horses.”

  Loklan grimaced. “Yes, Captain.”

  Conversations once more lapped around us like a tide. “And our supplies? How are we for food? Water? Redcap?”

  “All good, Captain. The water from the well here is good, and hay and oats come regularly. Some of the herds got low on redcap so we’ve had to share it around, but we’ve enough so long as all our horses don’t suddenly get sick. And honestly, Captain, if that happens, I think we have bigger problems than a redcap shortage.”

  Murmured agreement met this, though at the end of the table Jass en’Occha remained silent. He was watching me, either waiting for me to kick him out or thinking, as I had been trying not to, that a second romp in the straw wouldn’t be so bad.

  Time to escape. I got up, mumbling something about walking a circuit of the yard, and left the room.

  It was cold and wet outside the manor, the drenching rain cutting diagonally through the last of the hazy grey light. The few people in the yard huddled beneath their storm cloaks. I had left mine inside and I was too restless to go back for it. It was an hour until I was due to meet Nuru at the building set aside for the pilgrims, so I walked slow laps in the sheeting rain. I met no one as it grew steadily darker and darker until I could barely see my feet. I gave up. Without Nuru, I wouldn’t be able to understand everything Nods said, but better to make a start in the dry than wait for her in the rain.

  Lord Nishi had been invited to dine with the emperor, so unafraid of meeting him, I pounded on the door and waited, booted feet sinking into the mud. No one answered and I hammered harder. Still nothing, but the door was not locked and swung easily when I lifted the latch. Lantern light spilled onto my muddy boots.

  “It’s Captain Dishiva e’Jaroven,” I said, taking a few steps into the silent building butted up against the walls. “Commander of the Imperial Guard. Is anyone here?”

  No one answered. I walked in, stepping heavily to herald my presence. Mud from my boots splattered onto the clean floor. “Hello?”

  Lantern light glowed through the screens of a nearby door, accompanied by a deep, all-absorbing silence. I slid it open, meeting the scene beyond with a hastily swallowed cry. It was exactly as I had imagined it down to the shattered teapot, the spilt tea shining on the wood, and the dried foam at the corners of pale lips.

  But it was meant to be Leo, not Nods. The poor man looked as though he had been taking tea by himself and failed to notice the slightly odd taste of redcap on the rim. Or if he had, there hadn’t been time to do anything about it. Twitching spasms, frothing mouth, then dead before he’d taken more than a half-dozen breaths. A quick kindness for injured horses. Not for people.

  Yet wherever he was, I was sure Leo Villius would be smiling.

  10. RAH

  The castle stood upon the edge of a cliff, more like a great stone spire than a palace. It owned the same winged roofs and curling decorations as the palace in Mei’lian, but here they had been carved whole from a monolith. In Levanti, syan was the name of a tiny flower that bloomed in patches across the steppe, so I had expected something beautiful, not a stark, grim fortress. Even the city lying in the castle’s shadow looked to be little more than a rockfall tumbling toward the ocean.

  Empress Miko did not stop to admire the view but continued toward the city gates with the same unwavering focus she’d had since the loss of her guard. It had been all we could do to make her stop and rest each night, for the sake of the horses if nothing else.

  “We should stop here,” Tor said as the walls grew closer. Narrow rays of sunlight gilded the castle from behind. “She can finish the journey on her own.”

  He had argued all the way. She was not our empress. My duty was to my own people. This was a waste of time and if we weren’t careful would get us killed. He was not wrong, yet guilt spurred me on. If I had drawn her sword. If I had fought. If I had stood up to my own people, then her companion might still be alive and she would not need our protection. But I had not and he was dead. Now I would see his task through and get her to safety. My conscience demanded it of me, not just my honour.

  Tor knew this, so rather than repeat myself, I said, “I will not leave without Jinso,” and followed the empress through the lingering drizzle.

  Rain had trailed us all the way. It had soaked into everything, into the short stubble of my hair, my clothes, into my very skin. Even my saddle seemed to squelch. I had begun to think longingly of the dry, parched summers back home, when even the air needed a drink. In the dry, my clothes did not rub my skin raw.

  The gates of Syan stood open and people were coming and going as though there had been no war. Even the farmers in their muddy fields followed our progress with curiosity, not fear, more interested in the lone Kisian woman we rode with. It seemed whatever destruction we had wrought at the hands of our Chiltaen masters, none of it had touched these lands.

  Tor had thought the empress wary of coming to this place, yet there was no sign of anything amiss. No soldiers awaited us inside the gates, only more staring eyes that shifted from me to Tor to Empress Miko, whispers rising.

  Syan looked to be a large city, but only a small portion of it lay squeezed between the outer wall and the castle, the rest tumbling down the slope to a waterfront thick with ships. I caught glimpses of it between buildings as Empress Miko made her way along narrow streets, the air full of a salty tang and the s
creech of seabirds.

  “We should leave,” Tor said again, urging his horse alongside mine as the castle gates appeared ahead. “We can take Jinso and she can walk the rest of the way. We need to get back to our people now, not risk trouble by going farther.”

  “Would you cut all the way through a neck only to leave the last threads of skin attached?”

  “No, but—”

  “You ought to take every tenet of our honour code as seriously. She saved my life, we owe her this much.”

  The castle gates loomed, the interminable rain having darkened the wood until it looked almost black. “I do take them seriously, but I am worried,” Tor said, not looking at me as he spoke. “I fear we may not be as welcome here as she is.”

  “No, but they have no reason to harm us for protecting their empress. All we need to do is see her to safety, get some supplies, then we can be on our way. If you wish, you may turn back now and I will meet you outside the gates when the task is done.”

  Tor did not argue, but neither did he turn back. The clop of his horse’s hooves on the road kept pace with mine until at last the empress stopped outside the gates.

  Someone shouted down to her, and stiff-backed upon Jinso she called back, chin lifted and pride sounding in every word. I remained a length back and Tor slunk behind me, yet still the sentry upon the walls pointed to us and spoke again. She lifted her chin even higher, but whatever she had said to the second challenge seemed enough, for another did not come.

  A few minutes passed. The horses were restless, but Empress Miko just sat and waited until the castle gates opened. And without checking we would follow, she rode Jinso through.