The guards opened the door for them and Darsken stopped at the door and smiled to Tataya, who smiled back and rose from her seat. As always, her beauty struck him. As always he nodded politely and then got to business.
Merros also nodded at Tataya, as Darsken got his first true look at a Sa’ba Taalor. She was lean, all hard muscle, and dressed in the clothes of a street person. Perfectly camouflaged. No one would have reason to suspect her of anything, until they saw her face.
As the girl was unconscious he stepped closer and looked at her carefully. His hand moved across her gray face, feeling the raised flesh of a dozen or more scars under several spots where her flesh was freshly bruised.
At first he thought that an overzealous guard had punched the girl in the mouth until it split several times but upon a second, careful glance he understood better.
“So that is the reason for the veils.” He opened each of her mouths, studying the fully developed teeth, the musculature, the tongues. They were properly damp and his hand felt the breath that came from each. If they were born that way it was a wonder they ever knew how to speak.
Merros looked over at the girl and stared at her mouths, horrified. “By the gods.”
Tataya spoke softly. “Drask was different. His mouths had more… symmetry.”
Merros looked at Tataya for a moment and then looked back at the girl. He took one of the layers of her shawl and drew it over the lower half of her face. “Jost. This is Jost.”
“Are you certain?” Darsken did not ask to be rude, but rather to assess the facts.
Merros was wise enough to understand that, despite his active dislike of the Inquisitor. “Yes. We traveled together for months.”
“Do you know if she is fully grown? Her body is that of a young woman, but I had heard the Sa’ba Taalor were giants.”
“Not giants. Some of them are very large, yes, but only a few stand taller than me.”
Tataya nodded. “They are not giants. They are merely very, very fit.”
Darsken ran his hand over the girl’s arm and then her leg, nodding. He could feel hard muscle and still more scar tissue under the clothing. He also felt several concealed knives, which he carefully extracted from folds in her attire. He took his time, running his hands in places that might have been deemed inappropriate had this been any other female, but he was not going to leave the young woman in question with any surprise weapons. He had been cut more than once in his line of business.
When he was done there were eight blades, an even dozen small darts and three lengths of wire he didn’t quite trust should be left on her person, all set to the side.
“Can you wake her please?”
A word, a gesture from Tataya and in seconds the girl was awake. She bucked and thrashed and tried to get free from the shackles on her legs and wrists.
She failed.
Darsken waited patiently while she tried several times.
Finally he said. “You will find the best way of gaining even a little freedom is to comply.”
The girl continued struggling. Merros Dulver spoke and the girl cocked her head and answered.
“I have no answers for your questions.” Merros’s voice, but he knew the words belonged to the girl called Jost. He did not look away from her, but merely waited for the translations from the General’s mouth.
Darsken nodded. “Then you will stay here.”
“If that is what my gods demand.”
He shook his head. “It is what my Empress demands. Your gods do not matter in this place.”
“My gods are all that matter. You will learn in time.”
“How many of your people are in Canhoon?”
“Enough to kill you all.”
“You will not leave this cell alive if you do not tell me what I need to know.”
“Then I will have honored my gods.”
Darsken looked to Merros and then to Tataya. “This will take time.”
He looked back to Jost. She was staring at him with her oddly glowing eyes. “A lot of time.”
Arlo Lancey did not have any bodyguards. Many of his fellow ministers did, but he felt no need to waste his finances. First, he was only the Minister of Lands. He did not mint new coins; he could not change the taxes. He only did what he was told to do. In exchange he made enough coin to live comfortably and he ruled over a small gathering of people who listened to him and obeyed not because he was a harsh man, but because he was pleasant enough to work for.
He did not consider himself a bad man. His predecessor, Lirrin Merath, on the other hand, had been a fat, bloated lump of a man with too many connections, too much money and too little empathy. Arlo had worked with him on many occasions and both of them had understood that land was ultimately power. But where Lirrin had willingly changed the rules as he pleased to gain more power – there was never enough, you see. Power is a feast for fools. The more you have, the hungrier you become – Arlo did not follow suit. He wanted to. Let’s not misunderstand that. He would have gladly gained as much power as he could and appreciated the starvation as so many others did. Arlo would have considered being greedier, and he most certainly would have hired bodyguards, but he had been told not to.
One did not argue with the woman who held your fate.
He did not know a name. Not for the woman. He could tell you the name of her god. If he ever failed to remember the name Wrommish, it would be the death of him. That he believed with unyielding conviction. The woman, a little tall, but nothing remarkable, had killed five men in front of him to make her point. The first four were trained mercenaries, capable killers, and she’d broken them in a matter of seconds.
The last one had been his predecessor, Lirrin.
The nameless woman was the enemy of the state. She was a murderer. She was a cutthroat. She had probably had a hand in all of the mindless murders running through the city.
Arlo had no doubt that if he hired bodyguards, she would kill them and then him. She had already said that he would do his job the best he could and follow her orders, or he would die.
He looked at the thin scar on the back of his right hand. All that had happened was a scratch from the woman’s nail. She’d scraped him and promised that before that wound healed they’d talk again.
She’d kept her word. The very day he was appointed as the new Minister of Lands, after he’d celebrated with friends, consumed far too much wine and whored his way home, she was waiting for him in his apartments.
She was not there to sleep with him.
“Do you remember the name?” Her words were a soft, silky whisper in his ear as he was drifting to sleep.
He sat up quickly in his bed, heart thundering, breathless and looked around the room.
She had watched him undress, watched him fall on the bed and roll across the sheets before his head found the pillow, and had watched him patiently as he fell into a drunken stupor.
He had never guessed her presence.
“The name.” She was just out of arm’s reach. Her dark eyes looked at him without even seeming to blink.
“The name?”
“The name of your new god. The name that can save you.”
Oh, how he’d scrambled then. His body did not move. It dared not, but he thought hard and sorted through his memories of the night Lirrin died in a pool of his own blood, rainsoaked and lifeless while the shadow-shape of his killer stood and watched Arlo. She had spoken a name. It was important. Had he not been drunk he would have remembered instantly. He looked down at his hand and saw the scratch and then finally remembered, “Wrommish?”
She’d nodded and he’d thanked the new god with all of his heart.
And then she’d explained all that he was to do.
It came down to paperwork, ultimately. The laws of the Empire were clear. The right scrap of paper with the right seal meant that you owned a parcel of land. Arlo was paid dearly to make sure that there was no confusion in the matter. Ever.
He was not performing his task
s to the best of his ability. To do so would have been his death.
The Empire wanted all available lands that were not being used to hold the people now living on the streets. Several prominent citizens had already offered properties for that very purpose. The people staying there did not own the properties. They were merely tolerated, but it was a step. Others were allowing the refugees to stay for a price. Most were fair about it. Some were not.
There were hundreds of places that could have been offered. They were not, and despite the fact that he had been tasked with finding the owners of those properties, Arlo had deliberately failed.
Sooner or later they would come for him.
He was prepared. If he could just explain to someone the nature of his dilemma, perhaps they could offer him safety within the Palace. He had all the paperwork he needed. It was sorted and ready for them, but he dared not offer it up without some sort of protection.
“Wrommish knows what is in your heart, foolish man. You have prayed to him.”
He knew the voice instantly. Arlo turned fast toward it and reached for his sword. It was a foolish thing, ornate and more for decoration than function, but he knew how to use it and he was desperate.
His eye exploded with pain and Arlo dropped the sword, screaming and reaching to cover his wound. His eye could still see but the lid was trying to close over something that was in the way and every motion of any type caused more pain.
“You are a weak man and you would betray me. For that reason you are already dead.”
His good eye saw her as she moved away. Anger surged. She had hurt him and she wanted to kill him and while he was not a fighter, there were limits. Arlo surged toward her and promptly fell to the ground.
“Do you know that you can buy a dozen spices here that will kill a careless person? You just have to cook them the right way.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They are coming for you and you would have. As I said, Wrommish knows what is in your heart. You prayed to him. He knows all he needs to know of you.”
Without another word she knocked his oil lamp to the ground, where it spilled its fiery contents across a woven rug and began to smoke and burn. The rug was a gift from an admirer. It was lovely. It was also flammable.
Arlo tried to reach for it. With effort he could put it out and only get minor burns.
His arms did not move. His body was sluggish. He should have been screaming but nothing happened.
The woman walked away, but as she left she made certain to scatter his paperwork across the blaze. Deeds burn brightly when they burn.
Swech slipped from the window of the apartment easily enough. The rope was still tied where she’d left it and climbing was not a challenge.
She’d hoped Arlo might be a worthwhile investment and he had been, but his service was no longer required.
As she reached the roof of the building black smoke started spilling from the window she had just vacated. The sun was still up, but the day was overcast. They were high enough up that the clouds did not block the sun so much as they swallowed the city entirely.
People moved as if they were traveling through a heavy fog. It seemed to calm them.
Glo’Hosht’s voice called out to her, softly warning her that he was present. While it was unlikely that any strike she made toward her king would hit, he was wise enough to warn her just the same.
“My king.”
Even through the cloud cover she could now see the smoke rising from Arlo’s apartment. Soon others would sound an alarm.
“Swech, Jost is captured.”
She nodded. “How?”
“The wall that surrounds the city. She touched it while she was serving the gods. The stone guardians captured her and held her until the Fellein guards took her.”
“Do we go to help Jost?”
“No. She must take care of her own. As all of us must if we are caught.” Swech felt her hands try to tighten into fists and made them relax. The gods had plans. Jost was not currently on them.
Swech nodded her head in compliance, much as it hurt her. There were no promises. The Daxar Taalor made demands and they were obeyed. They had saved members of the Sa’ba Taalor before, when it suited them. But not this occasion. Jost’s fate was her own to decide. If she could not, the gods would handle the matter.
The thought that they might not save the girl was painful, but life was pain.
Swech nodded a second time and took a deep breath.
“What is next, my king?”
“These stone men change everything. They only seem to stand at the outer wall.”
Glo’Hosht moved and spoke at the same time, gliding over the ground and heading to the next building. Swech followed and looked back at the black column of smoke that had spread in size.
“We could continue what we have been doing, my king. It has certainly unsettled a few of the people and made others desperate. But there are other things we could accomplish.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Swech looked back again as flames began to dance across the roof of the building she’d been inside. Smoke pirouetted across the roof and beneath it tongues of light tasted the air and seemed to like the flavor.
The building was going to burn down. There would be no saving it. Most of Canhoon was stone, but there were exceptions.
“Perhaps we consider more of that.”
Glo’Hosht looked on and nodded. “Perhaps.”
“What I’m thinking of involves at least three of us entering the palace.”
“For you that is an easy thing. You have the face of a Fellein.”
“There are others. I know that we have been kept apart to avoid issues, but if we wish to strike hard this is something we should consider.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Most of the food supplies, much of the clean water, is stored in the palace.” Swech stared at her king. “They might find more food, but water is rare here. They depended on their rivers.”
There was a very long silence and finally Glo’Hosht answered, “The gods agree. I will be joining you.”
“You, my king? Did you not say that would be a challenge?”
“A challenge for many. A challenge for me, but not so great a risk that Paedle does not decree it.”
There was no more to say. When gods make demands, they must be obeyed.
Behind them the roof of the apartment building collapsed and flames roared higher into the air.
Bells sounded. Horns sounded.
“They will come to put out the fires, my king.”
Glo’Hosht nodded. “Let’s kill as many as we can when they do, but do not be careless.”
Swech took no offense at the words. They were often uttered by the King in Mercury, who liked to remind the followers of Paedle that not being seen was their greatest gift.
Besides, Jost had already reminded them of the consequences of growing careless.
Seven
How quickly things could go wrong.
Nachia sat on her throne and ignored the pain it caused her to do so. Perhaps Desh was right. The discomfort was a good way to make certain she did not grow arrogant. Or maybe she just enjoyed being reminded of her responsibilities.
Darsken Murdro looked at her and frowned. “She does not speak, Majesty. Her gods have forbidden it.”
“Have you tried torture?” She hated the words as she said them.
“No, Majesty. She is not the sort to respond to that method of inquisition. She and her people celebrate the scars they earn as a mark of honor and proof of all they would willingly suffer for their gods.”
Merros, who was next to him, nodded. “You were not there when Drask Silver Hand let Andover Lashk bite into his arm until he bled. He never even flinched and I assure you I would have been screaming my idiot head off.”
“Then what do you suggest, Inquisitor?”
He lowered his head. “I can discover much, Majesty. I can walk
through her mind and learn, but I am not aware of what will happen if she tries to speak to her gods.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Both Desh Krohan and the general have told me that the Sa’ba Taalor actually communicate with their gods. That either the gods actually speak into their minds, or that they believe they can. If I am in her mind when this happens, I do not know if the god will see me.”
“And if a god sees you, what is supposed to happen?” She resisted the urge to shake her head. It would not do to insult her closest companions.
“I do not know, Majesty. What are the limits of a god? We have seen that their gods allow them to survive great heat. We have seen that their gods gift them with limbs of living metal. If their gods could walk into my mind as I would walk into hers, then what secrets might a god learn? I hold many secrets for the Empire, Majesty.”
She chewed at her lower lip and then forced herself to stop. One must always look calm.
“A notable point, Darsken. What would you suggest?”
“The Sisters, Tataya and Pella, they are capable of seeing into my mind if I let them. They could, perhaps, kill me before the god could glean much information.”
Merros was standing to the side of the Inquisitor when he spoke and she could see the general reassessing his opinion of the man. She knew him well enough to read his face: he didn’t like the Inquisitor or any of his kind. Not many did.
“Have Pella come to me. I would speak with her about this.”
Darsken bowed formally and nodded before he left the room. She had told them they did not need to bow in the circumstances they faced, but most did it anyway.
She waited a full minute in silence and then looked at Merros. “You don’t like him.”
“No, Majesty.”
“Why is that?”
“He and his use fear as a weapon. That I find acceptable. That they use it as their primary weapon is irksome to me.”
“Irksome?” She teased with her voice and he grinned.
“I deem the Inquisitors a necessary evil. I do not like them. They have a level of power that makes them dangerous.”
“Said the man in charge of the Imperial forces?”
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