“I never sleep. I am the chosen of Ajh.” Sandun used clear, strong images. “This is your single warning. If you do not leave this city, I will destroy you.”
Sandun pulled away from the Sekovie and nearly flew back to his body. Once he was whole, he shook Miri awake and then helped her to stand. He opened the door and shook his alarm device over his head. The clapper’s distinctive “tock tock tock” echoed in the night air. In a less than a minute, a group of six guards arrived at a dead run, their short spears ready in their hands.
“Follow me!” Sandun told them, and he ran toward the building where he had discovered the Sekovie. Flinging open the door, he found it was indeed an armory, with suits of armor hanging from the low ceiling and a goodly assortment of weapons along the walls. At the other end of the building was a small room used for minor repairs of leather straps and feathers for arrows. Here was where the Sekovie had been hiding, and remains of a hasty exit were visible with spilled bottles of drink and two piles of clothing, laborer’s garb by their look.
Out through the far door, Sandun and the guard patrol found the West Gate in an uproar as the gate commander berated three men lined up before the door set within the gate, who protested their innocence. The three claimed the commander himself had ordered the small door opened just minutes ago. Sandun quickly realized that the guards on duty had let two men who looked and spoke just like the guard commander and his sergeant pass out of the palace. That the same guard commander was now cursing at them seemed most unfair to the befuddled soldiers. Sandun concluded that the Sekovie had fled the palace grounds.
Letting the guards sort out their mistake on their own, Sandun took a chair in the guardroom and set his spirit free to search the immediate area. The two Sekovie couldn’t be too far away, but he had warned them to leave and they had done so despite their defiant replies. After several minutes of searching, Sandun couldn’t find any trace of them. He returned to himself and found Miri explaining to a curious palace guard why Sandun should not be disturbed.
The sun would not rise for more than an hour, though the sky was beginning to lighten. Miri, with her attenuated sleep, looked exhausted, so Sandun told the guards he would return when Lord Vaina wished to see him, and he took his wife back home and put her to bed.
He sat in the embassy library and recalled everything Ajh had told him about Sekovie. They could take on disguises or glamours that made them seem to be other people. Ajh had also stated that individual Sekovie rarely interfered in the affairs of others. “You will likely never meet one,” Ajh had concluded before moving on to elucidate other matters. Sandun wondered why these Sekovie were trying to kill Lord Vaina. Had their god Ses decided to oppose Ajh for some reason? That seemed unlikely given what Ajh had told him, but the events of the night made little sense. He was jolted out of his reverie by Wiyat, who thoughtfully reminded him that it was time for the council meeting.
As usual, the main topics were the closing of the monasteries and the continuing financial crisis. Sandun was distracted and said little. After the meeting, Lord Vaina met with Sandun in private.
“I think there is no good reason to tell the rest of the council what you were doing last night,” Lord Vaina said. “But tell me.”
“Lady Osmo was right. There were two evil spirits,” Sandun said. “They call themselves Sekovos, and I was told by the adesari that Sekovie are masters of disguise and illusion. I believe these Sekovie were behind both of your recent ‘accidents.’ I threatened them and warned them to stay away from you. They were in the west armory building, and I’m sure you heard they escaped by pretending to be the West Gate commander.”
Lord Vaina looked stunned for moment; in fact, more than stunned. For the first time Sandun had known the man, he looked frightened. Lord Vaina tried to cover his fear by making light of Sandun’s news.
“Only two? What a relief—I was worried the situation was serious. Still, as the riverboatmen say, ‘When you meet one shark large enough sink your boat, there will be another.’” He tried to laugh at his own joke, but it sounded more like an uneasy cackle. “The words you use—Sekovos, Sekovie—they mean nothing to me, but we have a name for shape-changers: fox-spirits. There are many stories about them because they are terrifying creatures, said to kill without reason and assume the shape and identity of those they kill for days or weeks on end. To fall under the eye of a fox-spirit—that is a death sentence. A death sentence! At least that is how it goes in the autumn stories we tell as the nights lengthen.” Lord Vaina paused as a new thought came to him. “But not always. I recall one story when a fox-spirit had a change of heart and didn’t kill his target out of respect for the man’s good deeds. Can you…can you drive them off?”
“I believe so,” Sandun replied with all the assurance he could muster. “At night, it’s easier for me to see their true nature. During the day, I hope you can rely on your guards.”
“Night is when the real danger lies. In the old stories, it is rare for anyone to pierce the disguise of a fox-spirit—and never after sunset. I want you to go home and get some rest. Then come back after dinner, and we will talk more. I must reorganize the guards.” Lord Vaina sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Please, don’t say anything about this. If word gets out that fox-spirits are trying to kill me, the people will think I’ve lost my mind. Or worse, they will assume I’m already doomed. I’ll just say assassins from Vasvar are in the city; that is a threat my guards can understand.”
The next evening, as Sandun got ready to return to the palace after sunset, Miri asked to accompany him again. He looked at her face and saw that she was still tired. “Why don’t you join me on another day?” Sandun said gently.
As he was crossing the courtyard, Sir Ako blocked his way. “Trouble at the palace, Sir Sandun?”
“Well…yes. Lord Vaina believes assassins from Vasvar have entered the city.” Sandun felt uncomfortable lying to his friend, but he didn’t want to talk about shapeshifters. It would take an hour, and even then, he doubted he would be believed.
“Assassins from King Tuno? That rumor reached me over at the Ministry of War this afternoon. It put me in mind of beefing up our defenses, just in case Lord Vaina isn’t the only target of Vasvar’s enmity.”
“What sort of defenses, Sir Ako? Armed guards on the roof? We could hire a construction crew to build a walkway all around, with small guard towers at each corner. Just like the fortified manors back in Kelten.”
Ako nodded gravely. “Yes, we could do that. But I was thinking something with more immediate effect. What would you say about inviting Jay and Ven Kirdar to live here with us? We have the space, and the new squires can bunk up together if needed.”
Miri’s cousins had been living in the Temple of Thundering Truth for half a year, ever since they arrived in Tokolas. How much longer they would remain in Serica was an unresolved question. They no longer had a good reason to stay now that Sandun had returned safely from Kemeklos. But the journey back to Shila was long and while it could be attempted at any time, there was no good reason to travel in the winter.
“I agree,” Sandun said. “I’ll pay them a visit tomorrow and sound them out. As it certainly increases their chances of injury or death, how can they refuse?”
Sir Ako laughed.
At the palace, Sandun observed that there were twice as many guards on duty, and they looked on edge. Three guards escorted Sandun to the Hall of Records. That building, close to the East Gate, was one where Sandun felt very much at home, as it was filled with shelves of government documents and books. It reminded him of the Royal Archives from his former life in Tebispoli. As he waited in the dim light of a single candle, he counted the months since then: twenty-two had passed since he had bid farewell to the Archives and the old man who used to control so much of his life, Master Eulogo.
Lord Vaina entered the room, accompanied by six guards. Hearing the noise, Valo Peli came up the stairs f
rom the basement stacks, shaking his head. He was accompanied by a young scholar who he introduced as his new aide from the Ministry of War. “They don’t have the book I’m looking for,” Valo Peli said with disappointment. “I know exactly where it is in the library at Daka, but that’s of no use to me now.”
His aide, a bright-eyed young man named Emil, quickly suggested they might request the book from the Great Sage Temple.
“Indeed, we could do that,” Valo Peli said, stroking his beard. “That’s a good idea. Send a message to Hutinin; it would be best to get Master Donath’s approval. Write it up tonight, Emil, though I doubt we will see it for a month, even if they have a copy.” Emil bowed himself out, and the guards were sent outside as well, leaving the three men alone in the hall.
Taking a seat, Valo Peli explained what he knew about fox-spirits. “This is yet another of the old cults of Serica about which my colleague educated me ten years ago, when I was waiting in Daka for a new assignment. Fox-spirits are mentioned in a few of the old texts such as the odes of the Poet of Tinan, which every educated man should have read at least once in his life. But…what I learned from my antiquarian friend was that a long time ago, entire villages in the eastern provinces worshiped fox-spirits, sometimes calling them the Changing Lords. The creatures were said to be able to take on human form and caused mischief and trouble for many they associated with. But not all. For some men and women—chosen ones—the fox-spirits performed magical deeds for which they were worshiped. As you can imagine, the people who could call upon the fox-spirits for help became village leaders, both feared and venerated.
“The cult was suppressed by the Gold Kingdom just before the great revolt, but my friend believed that it, like the cult of the Mavana, did not die away entirely, instead living on in a few villages. My friend believed this was the best explanation for the continued creation of new stories about fox-spirits. He was convinced new stories were being created, and since the creatures didn’t exist, so he thought, therefore the cult must. This humble scholar was always skeptical of my friend’s rather wild conclusions, but that is what he told me.”
“How long ago did the Poet of Tinan live?” Lord Vaina asked.
“A very long time ago, my lord. From before the Fire Kingdom,” Valo Peli replied.
Sandun didn’t understand why that mattered, but Lord Vaina looked satisfied with the answer.
“My chief of spies, Number Eight, did some investigation this morning, and he learned something disturbing,” Lord Vaina told them both. “Two of the workers who were at the building site when the stone fell told their landlord that they had learned of a sudden illness in the family and were urgently summoned home. Yet, their coworkers said the two men mentioned nothing about this. Today, the men did not join the work crew, and the reason became clear when their room was searched. They were both lying dead, strangled, their bodies covered in lye and wrapped in canvas. Doctor Haz believes they had been dead for several days. Assuming our court physician is correct, those men could not have been present on the day the stone fell on me, yet the other members of the work crew say they were there.” Lord Vaina paused and then said, with a tremor in his voice, “There is no way to resolve this puzzle unless we accept that fox-spirits exist, they can take on other people’s shapes, and two of them are trying to kill me.”
Lord Vaina absently rubbed the side of his head above his bandage. “In my village beside the Mur, the older boys told stories about fox-spirits to frighten the younger children. In the Yellow Dragon Monastery, I was taught such creatures had been driven from the world by the power of Eston. Apparently, this was yet another falsehood, another example where the priests of Eston claimed credit where none was due. If fox-spirits are real, such creatures are the ultimate assassins. How can I protect myself against them?”
Valo Peli tried to reassure Lord Vaina. “My lord, in the long history of Serica, no shape-changing animal has ever been proven to be real. Hundreds of assassins have been captured and executed, and they were all human. I think it is far more likely that the story you put out today is, in fact, the truth. A pair of skilled assassins entered the city and made an attempt on your life. Happily, Lord Sandun discovered their presence, and they have fled. With renewed vigilance and careful checking of everyone who enters the palace, you should be safe.”
“Assassins who can impersonate a pair of stonemasons for a day and then, at a moment’s notice, take the form and voice of my East Gate commander? These are skilled assassins indeed,” Lord Vaina said with an edge to his voice. “You do not comfort me, War Minister, but I thank you for the history lesson. At least we agree on this much: the story of assassins from Vasvar must be maintained. No hint of fox-spirits can be mentioned by anyone outside this room. I don’t even want news that I am asking for a book about fox-spirits to spread, so cancel sending that letter to Master Donath.”
Valo Peli accepted this order; seeing he was no longer needed, he respectfully withdrew.
“If the Sekovie or fox-spirits return, I will use all my power to defeat them,” Sandun told Lord Vaina.
“I am grateful for your efforts, Sandun, and I trust you will succeed. But I can’t help thinking your presence has brought forth powerful enemies. The principal of equal opposition would suggest such a consequence.”
“I can leave Tokolas, my lord, if you wish me to depart.”
“No. This is a principle of heaven, as inevitable the Mur flowing down to the sea. I could have stayed a beggar on streets of Oardulos. I could have sought a haven with the Water Moon Temple and lived out my days as a monk. Or I could have stayed at the Red Prophet’s side and served him. But instead, time after time I have chosen to seek a greater destiny. Now it seems I must face down the greatest powers in this land. Well, let the storm come! My triumph will be so convincing that when I do finally take the crown as King of Serica, none will doubt me. No one will say, ‘There is a man who was placed on the throne by mere chance.’ By steel is steel tested!”
Lord Vaina’s words rang out in the room. The papers and books seemed to rustle and sigh in response to his declaration. Sandun felt a surge of pride and affection. This was a man to follow to the gates of hell.
“What do you need, Sandun?” Lord Vaina asked. “What can I do to help you?”
Sandun thought about that for moment. He didn’t trust all the members of Lord Vaina’s guard. In his opinion, the new palace guards had been recruited more for their height and looks than proven loyalty. The old companions of Lord Vaina who had stood beside him for years were now sadly depleted by wars, both when the burning tower had fallen and at the end of the battle of Devek. He said, “I’d like eight skilled warriors like Blue Frostel, only quieter.”
“Kulkasen warriors? Why?”
“I trust Frostel with my life,” Sandun replied. “Blue Frostel helped me through great difficulties without any thought of reward or benefit. If the other warriors from the Rulon Mors Temple fit his mold, I would be well content. Of course, my fellow knights of Serica have my complete trust, yet because they are Keltens and not Serice, I think it would be unwise to use them within the palace. In talking to Sir Ako, he has made it clear that he wishes the Knights of Serica to remain somewhat independent from your army, just as the knightly orders in the Archipelago remain largely independent from all the great kings’ armies.”
“I agree,” Lord Vaina said. “Using Kelten opmi in the palace would send the wrong message. Many of the evil or corrupt town leaders in Zelkat and Kunhalvar were protected by Kitran guards. What does it tell the people when their rulers use foreign soldiers to remain safe? When I took over this province, I rarely had to replace the mayors who used Serice soldiers for protection.
“All that set to one side, the Opmi of Serica are building an impressive reputation for doing good deeds,” Lord Vaina continued. “Reports from the northern frontier say that Sir Ako and his men have performed even better than I expected.
It is not easy to deal justice in an area where law has broken down, but the complaints that have been made and investigated show that the ones alleging abuse were themselves associated with criminals.”
Lord Vaina stood and walked around the hall, glancing at the books—tax records, census data, military expenditures—and at the now-empty shelves that, up until a few weeks ago, held dusty lists of all the monasteries and temples and their land holdings. “I admit I was wrong about Blue Frostel and perhaps about the Kulkasen in general. In my village, the few that passed through were seen as tricksters, men who convinced the credulous to part with their money in exchange for scraps of paper covered with mystic symbols. I thought of them as actors with strange costumes who claimed ghosts and demons lay behind every sickness and missing person. At the Yellow Dragon monastery, the monks had nothing good to say about Kulkasen, and I adopted their criticisms as truth.
“But I have come to appreciate Blue Frostel. He inspires soldiers, and he performed—heroically—throughout the northern campaign. Even the war minister acknowledged Frostel’s significant accomplishments in his report on the campaign. If there were others like him, I would welcome their assistance. You have my permission to recruit eight, if you can find them. For now, my palace guards will have to serve.”
That night, Sandun followed the same routine as the previous night. He scouted the palace complex and then withdrew to the storehouse beside the well and ventured through the second world for hours. He found nothing, no sign of the Sekovie.
The temperature dropped below freezing, and ice formed on the water bucket placed outside the door. This Sandun discovered when he had to break the ice to drink something shortly before dawn. It had been cold, yet he had not felt particularly uncomfortable. This realization didn’t elicit a strong reaction; he had been somewhat disconnected from his body ever since Ajh left a piece of her mind in his and allowed him to perceive the second world. He guessed, or rather he knew, that his mind used akela to keep him alive and unfrozen. This was why he didn’t need to eat or apparently sleep—he was burning akela for fuel. Nevertheless, he did feel more at ease in a warm room, so it could not be said that he was wholly indifferent to temperature.
The Flame Iris Temple Page 13