The Worldbreaker Saga Omnibus

by Kameron Hurley

  “But you’re… you, all of you–”

  “You’re a temple Dhai,” Emlee said. “You wouldn’t understand. But you will.”

  Lilia gazed across the comatose woman to the open door and the camp beyond. She found something to replace her numb despair then. It was rage. Rage at all of this, at this world, at a place that could create all of this sorrow and madness, at a place that could throw her and these people away like filth.

  She bent over her patient and gently pulled the woman’s matted, dirty hair from her face. Lilia’s fingers froze.

  She knew the woman’s face.

  It was Gian.

  40

  “I said I would tell you when it was time,” Maralah said. “It’s time.”

  “The Dhai are keeping information from us,” the Patron said.

  “And we’re keeping information from them,” Maralah said. “They have yet to ask if we’re fighting Dhai.”

  Maralah, Driaa, and Kadaan stood with the Patron at the top of the keep, in what had become their makeshift war room. The space wasn’t meant for it. Best Maralah could surmise, it had once been a luxurious retreat for some very old Patron’s favorite wife. Silver and gold gilded passages from the Lord’s Book of Unmaking graced the ceiling. The passages were a selection of love poetry to Oma written by a sixth-century scholar included in one of the appendices of the Book.

  The chamber also had a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside. Maralah suspected that before it was tarted up, its original purpose was a military one. Village elders always told her that time was a circle and everything came back around again. It was strange to see how literal that had become.

  “I tried to keep them close by having one of their boys dance,” the Patron said. “It reminded me of happier times. But I suspect they mean to betray us, if they have not already.”

  “Five little Dhai? We can deal with five Dhai,” Maralah said. “Especially one that just saved you from men that looked just like him.”

  “They let my son die.”

  “That was my failure,” Maralah said. “Kadaan and I were seated at that table for that purpose. I failed you, Patron, not the Dhai.”

  Kadaan did not look at her. In meetings such as this, with the Patron’s mood uncertain and conditions rapidly deteriorating, she preferred to be the only one to speak with him, even if he had called up all three of them. Some part of her expected he would ask the other two to kill her, and invite Kadaan to take her place. It was a fight she had prepared for these many months by sparring with Kadaan in the courtyard and sending Driaa off on assignments. Kadaan was faster, but Maralah had more experience. All that remained was for the Patron to give the order.

  “Why else would they bring a boy who could see through wards and not tell us?” the Patron said. “Why would Dasai bring him to my table? I know Dasai’s history here.”

  “I don’t know why they failed to mention his talent,” Maralah said. “But to be fair, we failed to mention they were fighting themselves.” The Patron had been drinking more of late. Rumor had it he had not visited his wives in some time, not even the formidable Arisaa, who had borne his most beloved sons and given him sound advice when he was in these moods. When Maralah’s counsel could not keep him balanced, Arisaa’s usually could. She made a note to have Driaa stop by Arisaa’s quarters after this meeting. Arisaa did not care for Maralah, but she would tolerate Driaa.

  “We must not act on fear,” Maralah said.

  The Patron choked on a laugh. “Fear?” he said. “Fear? This is about respect. They disrespect me in my own house. I’ve had their correspondence monitored all these weeks, and I believe it’s been telling as to their intentions.”

  “A valid precaution,” she said.

  “But not one you suggested.”

  “No,” she said.

  He began to pace along the wall of windows. His long coat was dirty at the hem. His boots were scuffed, and his hair needed washing. Seeing him like this, she was reminded of a story of the last days of the Empire of Dhai, when a group of sanisi finally penetrated a room much like this one, where the city’s magistrate, her family, and their bodyguards made a final stand. They were mad, broken people, the sanisi wrote, with big bug-eyed faces and wan complexions. They had eaten their own children. What remained of their little bodies was spread out on the stones, washed and neatly butchered with skinning knives and cleavers. Maralah wondered what she would be driven to do at the end.

  “They have found something,” the Patron said. “It’s been too long with no progress. They must be sending all the information they have back to Dhai.”

  “That may be,” Maralah said, “but it does not change our position. The invading armies are marching south from Caisau. They’ve burned out four villages and routed much of my brother’s regiment. He’s bringing what remains here. It isn’t enough to hold Kuonrada. We need to retreat south to Harajan.”

  “After Harajan is Anjoliaa,” the Patron said, “and once they have us against the sea, we are done.” He ceased his pacing and stood motionless, looking north. From this great height, Maralah thought she could see smoke from some burned-out little town. She had given her brother’s regiment permission to burn out the farms between Caisau and Kuonrada as they retreated, taking what they could for themselves and leaving nothing behind for the invaders.

  “They should have stopped their advance,” the Patron said. “You said they would stop as the season deepened.”

  “It’s madness to march in this weather,” Maralah said. “If I led them, I would have stopped two weeks ago. They’ll freeze in their tracks.”

  “Then the weather will devour them.”

  “That is my hope,” Maralah said, “but they do not seem to heed the cold. They could make it here before the worst of the weather and turn us out. Then we’ll get caught in the weather during our retreat. It’s just luck now.”

  “This is the place,” the Patron said softly. “This is the place they’ll write about.”

  “What?”

  “We make our stand here,” he said. “In Kuonrada.”

  “Patron, I must protest–”

  “That’s my decision,” he said.

  “We discussed this before we retreated from Caisau. When the time was right–”

  “You are my general,” the Patron said. “You are not Patron. That is my burden.”

  “We could last out the season in Harajan.”

  “That’s what you said about Kuonrada,” he said. “Yet here we are, retreating again. What would my predecessor say to this? What would Osoraan have said to this?”

  “Former Patron Osoraan would not have survived this long,” Maralah said. “He would have broken his armies against them in some vain and glorious gesture early last year, and all of us would be dead. It’s what he did when he assaulted us. It’s why we won.”

  “We?” the Patron said.

  Maralah grimaced. “It’s why you won, Patron.”

  He jabbed a finger at her. “This is where we stand, Maralah.”

  “Then this is where we will die.”

  “It is a good place to die.”

  Maralah bowed deeply. She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. “Then I will die beside you,” she said.

  “When your brother arrives, give him the order to hold this position.”

  “Yes, Patron.”

  “You may go. All of you.”

  Maralah took two steps back before turning away. Kadaan and Driaa waited until she turned before also retreating. They cleared the doors. Kadaan shut them. They were heavy doors, amberwood banded in steel. But Driaa put up a bubble of air around the three of them anyway. Maralah’s ears popped.

  “Do you want me to call back Soraanda’s command?” Driaa asked. “They’ve already started the retreat to Harajan at your order.”

  “What do you think, Kadaan?” Maralah asked.

  “I think we can last another year if we retreat to Harajan,” he said.

  �
�Driaa?”

  “I didn’t want it to come to this,” Driaa said.

  “No one does,” Maralah said.

  “We have no one for the seat,” Kadaan said.

  “The Patron will stay on the seat. My brother will be here in four days with his army,” Maralah said. “I can convince the Patron to… retire. For a time.”

  “You’d put him into a slumber?” Driaa said.

  “When peace arrives, we will wake him,” Maralah said. “I’m no betrayer, Driaa. No oath-breaker. I told him I would protect him. That’s what I will do. My brother and I will lead the armies. Start speaking to those you know to be allies. When it happens, it will happen very quickly.”

  “You must expect some resistance,” Kadaan said.

  “His star is descendent,” Maralah said. “It won’t take but a few moments. But I want to make sure the people left in the hold are ours first.”

  “When do we begin?” Kadaan asked.

  “When my brother arrives. I want Para below the horizon,” Maralah said. “Parajistas who side with him will be weaker.”

  “So will those parajistas who side with us,” Driaa said.

  “But we’ll know what’s coming,” Maralah said. “Sometimes that makes all the difference.”

  41

  When Roh arrived back at the hold, he handed over the Talamynii book to Kihin and went down to the infirmary to visit Luna. Two green-robed orderlies were helping Luna dress. They pulled Luna’s soiled robe off, revealing his small breasts. Roh was used to Dhai, where everyone chose what gender they went by. He wondered, for the first time, who had decided Luna was not “he” or “she” but “ze.” Was it the first person who owned Luna, or Maralah, or someone else? But that, it turned out, was a terrible train of thought, because then he had to acknowledge that every single person he’d meant in Saiduan had had a gender decided for them. They had no choice in it at all.

  The orderlies tucked Luna into bed. Luna saw Roh and beamed.

  “It’s not often you get saved by a sanisi,” Luna said.

  Roh sat at the edge of the bed. “I wanted to see if you’re all right.”

  “Kihin’s already been up,” Luna said. “He worries.”

  Roh didn’t think Kihin was much of a worrier. “I only wish it was me who got to ride all the way back to the hold with Kadaan.”

  “I bet you do.”

  As Roh left the infirmary, Abas surprised him in the hall. Abas cried out in delight and asked to hug him. They embraced. He had a handful of other dancers with him.

  “I heard you flushed out Kadaan, the Shadow of Caisau,” Abas said. “Maralah and Kadaan are fighting again, come see. We’ve missed your happy face.”

  “Abas has missed your face more than most,” one of the other dancers, Rasandan, said.

  The dancers walked out to one of the large secondary courtyards at the center of the hold. Roh stood at the edge of the circle in the sanded snow of the courtyard while sanisi and slaves, kennel masters and blacksmiths, soldiers and clerks, crowded behind him.

  The sanisi moved too quickly for Roh to understand how Maralah got the better of Kadaan during their first bout. Like any strategy game, the error seemed to lie somewhere behind them, one wrong move that set all the others in motion.

  They began the second dance. Maralah stepped back at the edge of the circle and raised her right foot. Kadaan kicked her foot with his as she moved to strike, caught her off balance, and forged a way through her defenses. Maralah staggered, rolled. Kadaan landed two jabs at her back, then a thumb at her neck, not a strike but a press, a call for yield.

  “Yield!” Maralah said.

  Kadaan stepped back.

  Appreciative calls came from the audience.

  Kadaan and Maralah clasped one another’s forearms. Maralah leaned in to say something to Kadaan.

  The crowd began to disperse. Abas called for Roh, but Roh walked out into the circle, where Kadaan was buckling on his baldric. Maralah pulled on her coat.

  Maralah looked up when she saw Roh. “Your puppy’s here,” she said.

  “How do you know he’s not yours?” Kadaan asked.

  “The dancers are always yours,” Maralah said. She walked past Roh and back into the keep.

  “Are you going to teach me to move like that?” Roh asked.

  “Why are you so persistent, puppy?” Kadaan said.

  “You’re the one who followed after me, remember?”

  “Pacifist,” Kadaan said.

  “I’m going to be a sanisi,” Roh said lightly. “Why do you think I came here?”

  “Youth,” Kadaan said. “Foolishness.” But Roh saw humor in his face as he turned away.

  After, Roh tried to slip back into the archives unnoticed, but Nioni caught him on the stair.

  “Ora Dasai wants to speak to you,” Nioni said. “In his quarters.”

  Dasai’s door was open. The old Ora sat on the couch with a pile of correspondence.

  “I wasn’t far,” Roh said. “I just went into the-”

  “I’ll be sending you home in a few days, Roh. I’ve written a letter to your parents. They will expect your return.”

  “It’s still winter,” Roh said. “No ships will be going to Dhai!”

  “There is a ship that leaves every year at the beginning of Siira to bring us Saiduan steel. You and Kihin and Ora Chali will return with it.”

  “I think you should ask the Kai first, before you send me back. And… and what about Kihin’s exile? What’s he going to say when you send Kihin back?”

  “He will most likely be glad to see Kihin alive. If Kihin perishes, it could make things very difficult with Clan Leader Tir, exiled or no,” Dasai said.

  “Ora Dasai, I don’t understand–”

  “Then let me make it clear,” Dasai said sharply. “Shut that door.”

  Roh did.

  “You are an asset to Dhai,” Dasai said. “You’re a fighter. You can see past hazing wards. You think these sanisi are interested in you for your own sake? No. They are owned body and soul by the Patron of Saiduan. We are nothing to them. Dhai is nothing. And those creatures that stepped so easily into the great hall of Kuonrada are going to be descending on Dhai. Your place is Dhai. I am getting you away from here before the Patron demands that you stay. Because if he demands it of me, I will have no choice but to honor him. Do you understand now?”

  “No. Who were those men in the banquet hall, Ora Dasai? Where are the invaders coming from?”

  “You’re willful and arrogant,” Dasai said. “That will either save you or ruin you. I hope I’m no longer living when you find out which.”

  “Ora Dasai, you can’t–”

  “I can. You’re dismissed.”

  Roh spent his evening penning letters and watching the light fade from the world outside. What would happen if he went back to Dhai? Would he spend the rest of his life telling this story, about dancing with the Saiduan and talking to sanisi and then… farming in Dhai?

  Kihin returned from the archives a few hours after dark. The suns only appeared in the sky four hours a day now.

  “Has Ora Dasai told you?” Roh asked.

  “Yes,” Kihin said. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone before then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You should know something, Roh,” Kihin said. “Luna and I are going to run away together.”

  “What? Where?”

  “To Dhai, eventually,” Kihin said. “Someone needs to stand up to the Kai.”

  “But,” Roh tried to wrap his head around what he knew of Kihin. “I didn’t think you–”

  “We’re in love, like Hahko and Faith Ahya. You’ll see. We’ll remake the country.”

  Roh wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Be happy for us, Roh,” Kihin said.

  “I… all right,” Roh said. “Have you talked to Ora Dasai?”

  “We’re not going to ask permission. We’re just going to go. I wanted to tell someone. Before we ran away.
So my father knows I’m not dead. But don’t say anything yet. Luna has to get well. I didn’t tell anyone about you sneaking off with Abas. Please keep this secret?”

  “I will,” Roh said. “Just be careful, Kihin.”

  “Ora Dasai always thought it would be you who ran off. He’s going to be really surprised.”

  Surprised wasn’t the word Roh would use.

  Kihin went to bed.

  Roh lay awake another half hour. Even Kihin was making his own fate. But Roh’s world was spinning back to Dhai again, back to some orchard, the life of a farmer. And he didn’t know how to stop it.

  Roh woke from a dream of sparrows. They swarmed his body, pecking at his flesh, tearing away strips of meat until they flayed him alive.

  Kihin shook him. “We’re summoned, Roh,” he said.

  “What? By who?”

  “The Patron’s summoned us,” Dasai said from the doorway. Nioni and Aramey were behind him, arguing.

  Roh rubbed his eyes. “But why–”

  “Come, get Ora Chali,” Dasai called. “We have sanisi waiting on us.”

  Roh threw off his blanket. He slipped on his boots and ran into the common room, expecting to see Kadaan. But the three sanisi weren’t familiar.

  “Is this all of you?” the eldest sanisi asked.

  Chali stumbled into the room, pulling on his coat.

  “He’s the last,” another of the sanisi said. “Let’s proceed.”

  Roh’s stomach knotted. Why did the Patron want to see them? He glanced at Dasai. Had he shared the book they got from Shodav with the Patron yet?

  The sanisi led them on a winding route through Kuonrada, down narrow corridors and up twisting stairwells. They went up and up. Finally, they came to an amberwood door banded in iron. The sanisi in the lead opened it.

  They walked into a broad room with a stunning view of the tundra and the hulking mountains in the far distance. The room itself was lush, dominated by a massive bed. Roh saw Saiduan writing on the ceiling, and around the tops of the walls, all in gold. Despite the bank of windows, the room was warm. A fire crackled in the massive hearth opposite the windows.