Path of Blood

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

“If I go back to them, they’ll take me off to Ti’O-moru and insist that I fix things from there. I won’t be able to. I have to go back to Mysane Kosk. But they’ll try to stop me. And even if they can’t, they’ll try to destroy Ti’Omoru and stop the drain of magic from Cemanahuatl before I can get to Mysane Kosk. And . . .” Reisil’s voice faltered. She swallowed. “If they do, then both our worlds will be unmade. I won’t be able to stop it.”

  For a moment Reisil didn’t know if Yohuac believed her. He paced away, stopping to stare at the wall. At last he turned around.

  “We can leave now. But you will have little time. If what you say is true, then when they realize you’ve gone, they will go straight to Ti’Omoru.”

  Reisil’s heart dropped. “Then we’ve lost. It will take us weeks just to get from the Melyhir Mountains back to Mysane Kosk.”

  “Are you sure you’re done here?”

  Reisil stiffened. His voice rumbled like the earth gnashing its teeth. Vases on the tables vibrated in response. Slowly she turned. The glow in his eyes had increased. If she looked close enough, Reisil thought she could see flames dancing inside. The golden flecks on his skin had grown lustrous. He was terrible. And he was beautiful.

  “I’ve learned all I can. I know how the rinda work. And I have those.” She pointed to her pack. “Now I have to solve the puzzle. And to do that, I need to go to where it began. I have to go inside Mysane Kosk.”

  “Then I will take you there.”

  Reisil didn’t ask how or if they’d be in time. She snatched up her clothing and dressed, then slung her pack over her shoulder.

  “Where to now?” Reisil asked. “We’ve got to get Saljane. She says the Temple Pyramid is lit well, but she cannot fly far.”

  Yohuac smiled. It was a strange, faraway expression. Immense power flowed out of him. The son of a god. Doubt wriggled inside Reisil. What could they do for Mysane Kosk that the gods could not? She refused to consider it. The wizards had caused the problem, and she and Yohuac would fix it. The gods had nothing to do with it.

  The air around Yohuac rippled like heat on sand, and suddenly Saljane appeared, her talons clutched around his forearm. They did not break the skin. He held out his arm and the bird fluttered to Reisil’s fist. She looked down in wonder. The gauntlet the Sun Priest had cut away now sheathed her arm, undamaged. She looked back at Yohuac, who smiled crookedly.

  “Come to me, Baku.”

  The words were a golden rope. Reisil felt them unwind and wrap their prey. Then Baku shimmered into being beside them. Suddenly the expansive bedroom felt much smaller. Reisil reached out and stroked her hand down Baku’s neck in a gesture of welcome. She had missed him and his surly temper. His head jerked around at her touch and she half expected him to snap at her, but he only prodded her ribs with his muzzle. She smiled. He missed her too.

  Yohuac held out his hands. Reisil took one. He gripped one of Baku’s neck ridges with the other.

  “We go,” he said, and then the world turned to flame.

  Remembering their fall between Kodu Riik and Cemanahuatl, Reisil had expected that they would float upward, or climb. Instead they dropped inside a crucible. Heat enveloped them in a smothering blanket. Though Reisil sweated and Baku’s tail lashed, Yohuac was unperturbed by the heat. It was almost impossible to breathe. Reisil found herself panting, her lungs crisping. Roaring filled her ears, snapping and crackling. She doubted she could have heard herself shout.

  She pulled Saljane into her stomach. The goshawk trembled. Reisil didn’t dare draw on her own power to shield them. Not here. She had a feeling they were traveling through the body of Ilhuicatl himself, through the heart of the sun. Pulling on her own power, even to protect Saljane, could be fatal.

  ~I am here, my heart. I am here and we are safe. Hold on just a little longer, she crooned, over and over. Saljane pressed closer.

  It went on and on for what seemed like days. Thirst was at first uncomfortable, and then intolerable. But Reisil didn’t have free hands to open her water pouch. She grew dizzy and found herself slumping. Only Yohuac’s grip kept her from falling.

  And then as suddenly as they began, the flames and heat disappeared.

  Reisil sat down hard as her sweat-slicked hand slipped free from Yohuac’s. She gasped, drawing deep, soothing breaths of the cedar-scented air. Cedar. She looked around. She was sitting in a meadow surrounded by tall cedar, spruce, and pine. There was a great traveler’s pine opposite them, its limbs sweeping the ground. It was familiar.

  She stood, turning in a circle. Yes, she remembered. This was where Sodur had met her when she and Yohuac had fled from Tapit. She looked at Yohuac. His eyes had ceased to glow, but they still shone like golden coins.

  “Why here?”

  “It was a place I remembered,” he explained. “And close to Mysane Kosk. I couldn’t risk stepping between worlds any closer. I don’t know what might happen.”

  Stepping between worlds. Easy as that, for the Sun God’s Son. Reisil turned away. In one year, Ilhuicatl will call his Son home. She couldn’t worry about that now. Now they had to sort out Mysane Kosk.

  “We’d better hurry. They will have felt our arrival. They will come looking for us,” Yohuac said.

  He meant the nokulas and wizards. The Scallacians too, if they’d arrived. Once again, they’d become prey.

  Chapter 36

  As feared, the lack of snow had brought Aare’s army to Honor’s doorstep far sooner than originally anticipated. But they were as prepared as could be. The stockades were finished and every man bore metal arms. And now there was nothing to do but sit snug inside the stockades and wait for the battle to begin in earnest.

  Metyein paced the top of the wall at Eagle, gazing out into the predawn gloom. Aare’s army was camped along the eastern end of the valley and in the hills around. Honor was completely surrounded. No surprises there. But Aare had amassed fully six thousand men, all mounted. Honor had less than half of that. Edel’s arrival had added five hundred battle-hardened men to their rolls. Two-thirds of them had come from Vadonis. With the newly forged weapons, plenty of food and water, and the advantage of Reisil’s wards on the walls, Honor could easily hold off the greater force for months.

  Metyein’s lips pulled into a humorless smile. Aare couldn’t afford to let this drag out. He couldn’t feed his men and horses off the land, and Metyein doubted he had supplies to last more than a month.

  But then, Aare didn’t intend to have to be there more than a month. He had his pet sorcerers. He planned to raze the valley in a matter of days, destroy Mysane Kosk and be on his way back to Kodu Riik within a week. Or had planned. Once the sorcerers figured out that Mysane Kosk fueled the wards, they’d attack there in order to break them. If Aare was thinking clearly, he’d attack there first anyhow. After all, the nokulas and plague were far greater threats to Kodu Riik than a handful of rebels.

  But Aare was an arrogant ganyik. He wasn’t going to let Honor’s defiance pass unaddressed. So he’d push his pet sorcerers at the rebellion first. At least Honor wasn’t without magical defenses. They had the wards, Nurema, and the three young members of the Whieche who’d come from Patverseme to help.

  Metyein started at the sound of boots thumping up the stairs. From the covered guardhouse emerged Kebonsat and Soka.

  “Anything?” Kebonsat asked, peering over the wall.

  He’d lost weight. There was an edginess to him, like bowstring pulled too tight. But there was no way to release the tension. Emelovi remained distant and frosty, and who knew what Aare was doing to Ceriba. Luckily, Soka had tactfully chosen not to speculate. Now that they were trapped inside the stockades, Kebonsat’s temper was fraying. When it snapped—Metyein’s lips tightened. He was going to have to talk to Emelovi. Honor couldn’t afford for that to happen. She was the only one who could help.

  “Nothing yet,” Metyein replied.

  But it was coming. Even he had felt the surge of something the day before. It had quaked through him, leaving
him staggering like a drunk and burning with an unaccountable fever. He still felt tattered and wrung from the experience.

  “What did Nurema say?”

  “She had no idea. She thinks maybe the wizards are up to something.”

  Kebonsat swore. “Just what we need.”

  “I don’t know,” Soka said flippantly. “It probably made the Scallacians nervous. Not to mention the nokulas.”

  Yes, let’s not mention the nokulas, thought Metyein acidly. But ignoring them didn’t make them go away. “If the sorcerers believe the wizards are coming, they’ll speed up their attack. They don’t want to be fighting on two fronts.”

  Metyein gazed back over the wall. If only he could talk to his father, convince him to stand down. His father didn’t know what destroying Mysane Kosk would do to Kodu Riik. If he did, he’d hold his men. That would slow Aare down.

  “We have to hold them back until Reisiltark gets here,” he muttered. But she wasn’t due for at least a month, and probably not for two. Would anything be left of Honor and Mysane Kosk when she did finally arrive?

  Aare launched his attack before the sun had cleared the mountains. It was little more than a feint to test their strength. Five hundred men created a horseshoe around Bear, staying out of the cross-fire fields created by nearby Raven and Salamander. Bear contained men from Bro-heyek and Honor with Thevul Bro-heyek in command. Edel and his men had gone to Salamander. The two stockades protruded into the valley like prongs and would take the brunt of the initial fighting.

  When Aare’s men had arranged themselves, they launched boulders from trebuchets. The rocks bounced away, leaving no damage, thanks to the wards. Next they tried flinging burning bundles of brush and wood. As soon as they struck, the flames went out and the bundles slid to the ground. This went on much of the day at various points around the perimeter, until finally they realized the futility and gave up. Then one of the sorcerers marched onto the field. Metyein was too far away to recognize him. He fumed, itching to go through the tunnels and join Bear. Kebonsat wouldn’t permit it. Instead he watched and waited. Soka stood beside him.

  The sorcerer flung his hands up. Metyein felt a gathering in the air behind him. The hairs on his neck stood on end. He spun around. The mist covering Mysane Kosk sparkled and swirled. He swallowed. Something inside was answering the sorcerer.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “That’s only because you don’t like getting burned alive in a magical conflagration,” Soka said.

  “You do?”

  “Better than enjoying Aare’s hospitality.”

  “You ever going to tell me about it?”

  “Find your own nightmares,” Soka snapped. End of conversation.

  A gray gauzy fog began to gather above the sorcerer. It built, piling in great billows like a thunder-head. It darkened, turning first pewter and then purple-black, like bruises. Wind gusted, butting hard. The feeling of something looming behind them grew. Metyein kept peering over his shoulder, expectantly, but the mist shrouding Mysane Kosk didn’t vary. What’s happening beneath the rainbow veil?

  The great cloud suddenly drifted forward until it hovered directly over Bear. Metyein’s throat tightened and his hands gripping the wall were white-knuckled. The cloud dropped. Bear disappeared.

  “Hag’s tits,” Soka murmured.

  Metyein could only stare in rigid silence. The sorcerer didn’t move, his arms extended straight out before him. Ruby sparks flashed around his hands. A stream of red power spurted out to lick at the shadow-cloud.

  It exploded.

  The sound was deafening. Metyein fell backwards as if struck by an invisible hand. He sprawled on his back, his breath ripping out of his lungs. He lay there, black shards splintering his vision. He blinked, dazed. Then fear snatched him by the throat. He rolled to his stomach, wiping away the blood running from his nose. He pushed himself up. He staggered back to the wall. By the Lady, what could survive being in the middle of that?

  Dust filled the air. Metyein coughed. His ears rang with the noise of the blast. Horses screamed and men yelled. There was nothing to see but a curtain of brown. Grass and dirt pelted down around them. He reached out to help Soka to his feet. His eye patch had been knocked askew and blood ran from where splinters had lodged in his cheek. His face was gray.

  “Soka! You didn’t . . . the poison bead . . .” Metyein said weakly, clutching Soka’s shoulders and giving him a shake.

  “I’m fine.” He dusted himself off, his mouth pinched.

  Metyein heard the click of the bead and felt a wash of relief. It died a moment later.

  “Take a head count. Find out what the damage was. Find Tillen. He’ll help you. I want to hear from all the stockades within an hour. See if the tunnel is still open to Bear.”

  Soka nodded and stumbled away, shaking his head to clear it. Metyein went back to keeping watch.

  The dust settled slowly. Minutes ticked past, each one longer than an hour. The outlines of Raven and Fox appeared first. Then slowly Bear emerged from the haze. His heart nearly stopped. Intact.

  The sorcerer still stood, arms slack at his sides. Aare’s men were in disarray. Horses had bolted in every direction, some straying within reach of Honor’s arrows. Forty or fifty bodies littered the valley floor.

  A horn blew the retreat and Aare’s people fell back to their camp. Cheering sounded from the stockades.

  Then suddenly Metyein went cold. That force looming within Mysane Kosk seemed to crouch. It felt angry. No, that was too tame a word. It raged.

  He waited, certain it was about to spring. Nothing happened. Metyein’s chest tightened with the tension. And still nothing. He turned to descend the stairs. Soon enough. And when the nokulas went after the sorcerers, they were going to plow through the middle of Honor. He didn’t know what would survive. If anything.

  “Lord Marshal! Lord Marshal! Come quick! They say it be an emergency!”

  The messenger was hardly more than a boy. He was covered in dust and dirt. His eyes were wide and his hands were shaking.

  “They says you gotta come now!”

  The panic in his voice galvanized Metyein. He followed the man back to the trapdoor tunnel entrance. The messenger swung over the edge and scrambled jerkily down the ladder. Metyein followed swiftly on his heels. At the bottom he snatched up an unlit torch and touched it to the brand held by the tunnel guard. He wanted to ask for more information, but the man was already trotting ahead. Toward Fox.

  Metyein hurried to catch up. In one place, the wall had collapsed, blocking half the passage. Loose rock and dirt sifted down, pattering his head and shoulders. Metyein ducked his head and squeezed through, wondering if any of Honor’s other tunnels had been blocked. Another blast like that last and they might all collapse. He grasped the messenger’s sleeve.

  “What’s happened? Fox is quarantined.”

  The man paused, his feet shifting nervously in the dirt. “I know, sir. I’m one of the tunnel guards. Remuntark said you must come. Right away. He said it can’t wait or everyone will die.” His voice shook. “Everyone.”

  Fear made Metyein’s voice rough. “Let’s go.”

  They scuttled through the tunnel, choking on the dust thickening the air. At the end of the tunnel another guard waited. He looked scared.

  Metyein ignored him and reached for the ladder, climbing up to slide open the bars locking it in place. He pushed the trapdoor open. Hands reached down to lift him out. He was surrounded by a dozen tarks.

  “Welcome to Fox, Lord Marshal,” Remuntark said in a shaky voice. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “It didn’t sound like I had a choice.”

  “You need to see something. This way, please.”

  To Metyein’s surprise, they went up onto the wall. A haggard Remuntark led the way and the other tarks trailed behind. They curved around to the western side overlooking Mysane Kosk.

  Fox was the closest stockade to Mysane Kosk. The perimeter of the mist circle had
been expanding for years, more swiftly in the last two. But it shouldn’t have been a problem. Not for another year. Only when he came to the allure, Metyein found himself standing an arm’s length away from the mist. It overlapped the wall and cut across the walkway.

  “How? When?” he asked in a sharp, businesslike voice that didn’t seem to be his own.

  “After the blast, when the haze cleared. One moment it was a quarter of a league away; the next it was . . . here.”

  He’d gotten it wrong. The sorcerers didn’t need to attack Mysane Kosk. With the protective wards anchored to the power of Mysane Kosk, magical attacks on the stockades would force the nokulas to respond. But he’d never imagined this. One more attack would swallow Fox. Maybe the whole valley.

  His face was a graven mask when he turned to look at Remuntark. “The tunnel’s half-blocked. We couldn’t move your patients even if we had time or a place to take them. They’ll have to stay. The rest of you evacuate to the other stockades. Don’t argue. These people will have to trust the Lady. But we can’t risk losing any of you. Honor will need your skills very soon. Leave them water and food. I’ll give you an hour before I send guards.”

  With that he strode back to the tunnel. He told the guards to allow the evacuation of the tarks and then hurried along to find Nurema. She had to take the wards down. All of them. And now.

  Snatches of song. Echoes. Memories.

  Pain.

  Juhrnus came to the place that had lured him across mountains. It smelled of breaking and undoing.

  Silence.

  He wandered and paused, sat and listened. Here. There.

  Silence.

  The discord was gone. The song was gone.

  ~They burned it. Edel said they would.

  ~Edel?

  An image in his mind’s eye. Yes. He remembered. A bit of melody twirled in his mind. Deep notes. Brassy. Edel.

  He let the music fill his mind and his body. Other memories, other harmonies. He sat, enraptured, while the memories returned.

  And then in the distance, he felt a hard twang, like ruptured strings on a harp.