by Devin Madson
An open strip of sun-speared grass met us on the other side, across which a pair of horses cantered from yet another gate set into yet another wall. Here again Tor hissed his warning, but I did not answer. The empress had not slowed. She sat tall in Jinso’s saddle and urged him on at a confident pace, facing down the incoming riders.
The welcome party slowed, their horses kicking up mud as they came to a halt halfway between the castle’s inner and outer walls. Empress Miko did the same, Jinso’s height leaving her staring down at the heavily armoured men. They looked much like standard Kisian soldiers, except their mail had plates and the leather at their throats and arms was thick with padding. Different due to the weather or because they were better provisioned? It was hard to know. Each man also carried a spear, one decorated with a damp flag whipping in the sharp sea wind.
The flag bearer spoke, and in an under voice Tor translated. “He says he is Captain Nagai of the Fourteenth Battalion under Duke Bahain. He’s demanded to know who she is.”
Tor sounded amused, but the empress spoke her name so clearly Tor had no need to translate. “She has demanded to see the duke,” he went on afterwards, and when the captain replied, he continued, “The duke is not here. But his son Edo Bahain is. Is that a close enough ally to leave her with? Can we go now before we cannot get out?”
As though drawn by his plea, a second soldier indicated us as he spoke. His words elicited a quick snap of a response.
“She says she takes responsibility for our actions. I’m not sure what she means, but I don’t like it. Come on, Rah, we have done the task we set out to do, now let’s go.”
It was not the friendly welcome I’d hoped she would receive. There were no smiles here, no relief at finding their empress alive. Kisians seemed cold at the best of times, yet the calm these men sought to display was not shared by the fretting horses beneath them.
Before I could repeat my intention to stay until I was sure of her safety, Tor spoke to the empress, no respect in his tone. The empress’s cheeks reddened and she snapped an answer. The boy glowered.
“She says I am free to go, but if you wish your horse back you will have to ride to the castle with her. She will not so dishonour her name by walking the rest of the way in the mud.”
“And what did the captain say?”
“That he has no desire to keep filthy barbarians.”
“Then I imagine he will let us go once our duty is fulfilled.”
Despite the opportunity to leave, Tor rode with us toward the castle. It towered over us, looming larger and larger until it blocked the sun from view. And in its shadow the endless damp was all the colder.
The slope steepened toward the open gate and Empress Miko urged Jinso not to slow. He had never been one for hills and would not appreciate it, but he carried her up and through the stone arch with regal stoicism.
“This is a bad idea,” Tor said, but together we passed through the gate, from day to night and back out the other side. An empty courtyard met us, echoing the clatter of hooves until it sounded like there were a hundred horses instead of five. The gates thudded closed behind us.
No fanfare. No welcome. Just a man standing upon stairs spewed from the base of the castle like a crinkled tongue. At first glance he was like every other grim-faced Kisian nobleman in stiff, regal silks, but as we drew closer it was a face no older than Tor’s that solemnly watched our approach.
“Edo,” the empress said, and a smile softened her face as she leapt from Jinso’s back. The duke’s son smiled too, though even half hidden in the castle’s shadow it looked strained.
Friendly Levanti meeting again after a long time were more likely to crush one another in a hug rather than stand awkwardly, barely speaking, but Kisian customs seemed to involve touching as little as possible.
After a strained pause the grandly dressed young man bowed to his saturated and mud-splattered empress, but when he straightened, it was over her shoulder he looked at Tor and me. She followed his gaze and spoke. The young man nodded. Replied. The words were loud enough to hear, but not a single one beyond Levanti did I understand.
The captain kept glancing my way but he spoke to Tor, and while Tor translated, intent stares prickled the back of my neck. “They have offered us food,” he said. “And a chance to rest and dry before the fire in the kitchens. They will tend our horses.” He paused a moment, everyone staring as they awaited an answer. “Don’t do this,” he added, his voice low. “We can leave now.”
Tension hung about the empty yard. The great castle and its walls protected us from the worst of the sea wind but none of the rain. It dripped from the stripped branches of a large tree and left the courtyard glistening. It made every flag and flower droop, yet the guards were stiff statues with their eyes on me. Waiting. A smart man was one getting out of here as fast as possible. But they had closed the gates. And atop the inner wall figures moved, all but unseen.
I forced a smile to my lips. “We can’t. Don’t look up, but there are archers on the wall and that soldier by the tree has his hand on his sword. Tell them we accept their hospitality with thanks.”
Tor’s eyes darted, but to his credit he didn’t turn to either soldier or wall. He managed a calm answer, and the soldier by the tree took his hand from his sword and clasped it behind his back. The silk-clad lord on the steps smiled and, bowing once more to the empress, invited her to go before him up the stairs. Even had I been able to speak her language a warning could not be uttered. Too many watching eyes. I had to hope I was wrong and only we were in danger. These were her people, after all.
As the empress disappeared, Captain Nagai gestured for us to follow him, and before I could set my horse walking, he reached for Jinso’s reins. Jinso stepped back, snorting, and I slid from my saddle. “Calm, boy, I know,” I said, striding up to him and pressing my hand to his neck. “We’re in yet another strange place, but I’m here.” He calmed at my voice, but when I made to lead both horses, the captain stood in my way. His hand had frozen outstretched, his smile bemused.
“Tell him we will tend the horses,” I said to Tor. “Tell him they do not like the hands of strangers.”
Tor spoke. The captain answered. Shrugged. And turning on his heel, led us toward a wide opening in the inner wall. A second courtyard sat beyond, and against the base of the castle clustered a great many outbuildings in stone and wood, each with a wavy roof down which the rain trickled, pooling along the eaves.
The man pointed to a building in the castle’s shadow, its entryway carved with horses emerging from crashing waves. There were few buildings on the plains, and upon first arriving in Chiltae I would have called such a construction a fine house; that the Kisians went to such trouble to house their horses was impressive.
Inside the building was comfortable and dry, with feed and fresh straw, brushes and combs and picks. For a few blissful minutes, I lost myself in the task of tending both Jinso and the other horse, taking off their saddles and rubbing them down, humming all the while. No one disturbed us. Tor did not speak. The rain drumming on the roof ebbed and flowed in its ferocity, but even when no sunlight made it through the doors, lanterns kept the shadows at bay. Yet doubt ate at my comfort like my wet clothes rubbing on drying skin. I had come this far only to repay my debt, to atone in what small way I could for having been part of Kisia’s destruction, not to get caught up in disagreements between the empress and her people. I had my own people to get back to, my own people to serve.
“What’s your plan?” Tor said, breaking his anxiety in upon mine.
“To get out of here as soon as we safely can,” I returned, and caught his little sigh of relief. “I say we wait and see what they expect of us before we make any moves. If we show ourselves to be unthreatening and calm they may let us go after we have rested.”
“Or they might slit our throats in our sleep.”
I looked at him over Jinso’s back. “You think we are in that much danger?”
“It’s hard to tell
from what they say; they may only fear us as supporters of the empress. Either way I won’t be comfortable until we’re outside those gates.”
He didn’t remind me of the half-dozen times he’d warned me not to walk through them in the first place, but even had I known how we would be received I wouldn’t have done differently. Stubborn, Gideon would have called me, that wry, almost pitying half-smile turning his lips. But I had failed my people once, failed myself, had walked away from responsibility and weighed my soul heavy. I would not do it again.
We stayed working quietly in the hope we would be forgotten, but after a time the captain returned, renewing the offer of food and a warm fire. His smile was friendly, though it tightened to a grimace as Tor translated. Seeing it, I accepted, glad at least of the opportunity for some warmth and a hot meal.
“Are you sure?” Tor said.
“I’m sure. Patience.”
Tor pursed his lips but accepted the invitation and went to grab his second hunting blade from his saddle. “Don’t,” I said, risking a glance at Captain Nagai’s stiff smile. “Don’t make it look like we’re arming for a fight. If we have to fight our way out of here, I’d rather fight relaxed soldiers than tense ones.”
“Fight our way through a closed gate? With no weapons?”
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”
“Yes, let’s, because I don’t know about you but I haven’t developed the ability to kill with a glare yet.”
“No? You need to train harder.”
He snorted a laugh and I patted Jinso’s neck. “I’ll be back,” I said, hoping it would be true. “You rest and I’ll be back.”
We followed Captain Nagai to the kitchens, a series of large stone rooms in the bowels of the castle, their high, domed ceilings stained black like the night sky. Smoke hovered overhead in clouds, and through the haze servants bustled from fireplace to stove to table and back, grazing past us with grunts of annoyance as the captain led us to a table near an open fire. Feeling like a giant, I crouched at the little table lacking in stools. Tor knelt and pointed to a rough cushion half obscured. “You kneel on it. They sit on the floor, that’s why the table is so low.”
I knelt opposite, amid the clattering pots and chattering voices. Captain Nagai had removed to another table nearby, where a dozen soldiers knelt with bowls. Laughter rang to the high ceiling.
Two bowls landed on the table and before I could thank the girl who’d brought them, she hurried off into the spice-laden steam.
“Our reputation precedes us, I see,” I said, looking at the bowl’s contents. Vegetables floated in an off-colour liquid.
“I told you we shouldn’t have come.”
“Oh, did you? I mustn’t have heard you.”
He gave me a sullen look. “Funny.”
“I know you think this was a bad idea and maybe it was, but I had my reasons. You need not have followed.”
He said nothing for a time, just let the sounds of the kitchen swirl around us. Then, snatching a piece of carrot with his fingers, he said, “I saved your life too, you know. You’d be dead if I hadn’t picked you up and found help.”
Guilt cut deep. The boy had left Mei’lian for me, had hoped at last to find a herd he could be a real member of, to go home, and here we were putting a balm to my heavy soul.
I pressed my fists in salute. “You’re right, and for my life you have my thanks. And for staying with me while I carried out a task that was important to me.”
“As long as you know it says nothing good that you felt helping a Kisian was more important than helping your own people.”
I had been about to lift my wine cup, but I let it go and stared at him across the table. “Your assumption that I do not care about both does you no honour.”
Tor scowled at the table. “My apologies, Captain.”
Captain. That stung as much as the guilt. Without my Swords I was no captain, nothing but an exile in service to no herd.
“You have every right to be angry at where circumstances have landed you,” I said. “I’m sorry I can do no more to make amends than help you get safely back home now we are finished here.”
He nodded and pulled another piece of carrot from his soup. With nothing else to say, we fell into silence while we ate, letting the gentle hum of conversation rise and fall around us in the smoky kitchen. As I was finishing my soup, a new group of Kisian soldiers strode in damp from the rain. They made for the nearby fire, eyeing us as they passed. I could have asked Tor to translate what they said as they sniggered, but their expressions left me in little need of specifics.
Tor stiffened. His hand stilled upon the table and he tilted his head ever so slightly. “What is it?”
He lifted a single finger just off the table and went on listening. I waited, watching his face rather than the men as they went on talking, though to call it talking was generous. It was more jeers punctuated with laughter. At the next table, Captain Nagai seemed to have forgotten about eating. Worry twisted inside me, the weight of my sword belt my only comfort.
Tor crushed his fingers to a fist.
“What is it?” I said again, and this time he glanced at me only to look away.
“They are talking about Gideon.”
A hand squeezed my heart. “What about him?”
“They are laughing at the Levanti emperor who thinks himself so powerful, who thinks he rules Kisia. They say…”
“They say what?” I demanded in a desperate hiss as Tor trailed off.
The sudden directness of his gaze was like a challenge. “They say it was oh so good of him to get rid of the Chiltaens for them, but Grace Bahain—the Grace Bahain who owns this castle—is the real ruler of Kisia and Gideon is but a puppet. Until his usefulness runs out.”
A strained silence fell, beating to the rapid thud of my heart. “Are you saying that Gideon, that our people, have been… used? That all of this…” I could not bring myself to finish the sentence. The ground seemed to shift beneath me at the enormity of the very idea that Gideon had been manipulated, that we had been nothing but a means to get rid of Kisia’s enemies whatever the cost to Kisia itself.
“I think… yes,” Tor said, that last word a damning monosyllable. In its wake the room lacked air, my every breath not great enough to fill my lungs.
A hundred thoughts swirled at once through my mind, but the first words that found their way to my tongue were “He has to be warned.”
Tor’s mouth hung open a moment. “Gideon? Warn Gideon? After everything he has done, he deserves whatever is coming to him.”
I tried not to think of the young man who had sat with me in silence, letting me spill my grief until I was empty. He was not that man anymore. He had left Levanti behind to die, he had given saddleboys to the Chiltaens, he had ordered a whole town killed, women and children and all, and called it necessity.
“Rah,” Tor said, reaching across the table. “Gideon has made his choice. The Levanti who chose to follow him have made their choice. All we can do is help those who want none of this to go home.”
It would be so easy to leave, to call my exile done, but every thread of me resisted like a tree rooted to this troubled land. An exile of exiles I might be, but my Swords had been my family too long, Gideon my world, and the thought of leaving without either turned my blood to ice.
“No,” I said. “No, I can’t go back without my Swords; whatever happened I owe them that much.”
“Rah, the last true Levanti,” Tor said, a hint of a sneer in the words.
The last true Levanti. How had I put myself so far above others? Guilt and shame fought for dominance, but what made me sick was the thread of pride I could not let go.
“You haven’t heard what people say of you?” Tor’s brows lifted. “Many hate you for shaming them. For beheading their kills when they did not. For clinging to your duty and reminding them of a time they can never return to. But for every one that hates you, there’s one who would follow you to death and beyond.
” He set his elbows on the table and leaned closer, his young face lined from lack of sleep and his long hair hanging damp. “Think of what you could do if you went home. The plains are poisoned. Our herd masters have lost their minds, but you, you have the power to unite people, to bring herds together to fight the evil back, and you owe it to every Levanti that ever lived to at least try.”
You owe it to your people, Rah. It is an honour to be chosen. It is an honour to serve. Herd Master Sassanji’s hand had been so heavy on my shoulder, like the weight of the whole herd’s expectations and pride. What Levanti would ever run away from that?
Tor leaned closer still, lowering his voice. “You are the leader we need, Rah. You can save us.”
I had stood at the edge of the grove and stared out across the plains, imagining my herd was just over the horizon. I had dreamed of running back to them, fear tingling through my stomach and down my legs like an army of tower ants on the move, but every time the memory of Herd Master Sassanji’s hand seemed to crush me into the ground, breaking me with shame. I felt the same tingle of fear in my limbs now, and it was that frightened child who met Tor’s gaze across the table.
“No. I can’t.”
Tor slammed his fist down, making the ceramic bowls jump. At the nearby table the Kisian soldiers stopped their conversation to stare. “Damn you, Rah, you are not listening to me. I—”
“I am listening to you. Every word you say fills me with more fear than I have ever felt.”
“You’re afraid of change? Of fighting for what is right?”
“For what is right? Think about what you are asking me to do. The Levanti are not a people in the way the Korune are a people, in the way the Kisians are a people. We do not have one leader, but many. Do not have one way of life, but many. Do not have one land, but many. To fight against so great and all-consuming an evil, even if we knew what it was, we would have to fight together.”
“Yes, and you could lead—”
“And to truly fight together we would have to destroy everything that makes us Levanti. We would have to become one people with one way of life and one land. We would have to turn away from our tenets and perhaps kill some of our own. Can you tell me you are not afraid of that?”