by Anthony Ryan
“What would you have us do?” the old man asked, cutting through the alarmed chatter of his fellow elders.
“Harvest all the food you can and cart it to Keshin-Kho, where it will be sorely needed. Burn or spoil the rest. Nothing is to be left that might succour the enemy.” Sho Tsai paused, allowing the resultant babble of protestation to continue for a time before barking out, “I speak with the authority of the Merchant King Lian Sha, and you will abide by my word!”
This had the effect of silencing the protests but, from the shared expressions of doubt and distrust on every face, Vaelin surmised that little in the way of persuasion had been achieved.
“Do you think they’ll do it?” he asked once they had departed the village. “Flee homes they’ve known all their lives and burn everything they leave behind?”
“Most won’t,” the captain admitted. “And I have not the numbers to compel them. It’s in the nature of man to ignore the tiger at his door until he sees it with his own eyes. All I can do is warn and command in the hope at least some might heed me.”
Sho Tsai’s gaze strayed to Sherin, as Vaelin noted it often had during their journey. The captain’s brief display of relieved joy upon finding her alive in the hill country had subsided into something more guarded, not to say troubled. To Vaelin’s eyes she had recovered much of her former vitality, though a shadow remained in her eyes and her smile was a rare thing now. Despite his protestations, she had insisted on using her gift to heal the Scouts who had suffered severe wounds in the skirmish with the Stahlhast. All had recovered well save one man with a severed spine who proved beyond her skills. Even so, she had kept on trying, blood flowing freely from her nose and eyes as she clamped her hands on the gaping wound in the man’s back. Had he and Sho Tsai not pulled her away Vaelin suspected she might have bled herself white in her efforts to save him.
“She is changed, it is true,” he told Sho Tsai, reading his expression. “But not so much as to make her someone else.”
A brief flush of anger passed over Sho Tsai’s face. Clearly he wanted no advice from the former lover of the woman he had long wished to make his wife, but his concern for her apparently overrode any ill-tempered response. “This particular . . . blessing,” he said. “You have seen it before?”
“Only once. A man I knew. He was no warrior but nevertheless did great service in war.”
“Did he fall?”
“No. But his gift exacted a high price. It made him . . .” Vaelin faltered, trying to find words to describe what Weaver had become when he healed the Ally. The term “inhuman” seemed cruel, given the man’s selflessness, but neither was it inaccurate. “Made him unable to live amongst others.”
“He was so dangerous then?”
“Partly, although he was a kindly soul at heart. But it was more the danger posed by others. Such power begets fear, and envy. The desire to control it is strong, even amongst the wisest rulers.”
He saw Sho Tsai’s frown deepen at this, no doubt as he pondered the likely reaction of his own ruler.
“The Merchant King is wise,” Vaelin said, choosing not to add “but also ruthless,” as he was aware the captain knew this far better than he. “Do you think he will punish you?” he asked instead. “We failed to retrieve the Jade Princess after all.”
“He will do what must be done,” Sho Tsai responded, straightening his back. “And I will accept his peerless wisdom and Heaven-blessed authority. The Princess may be gone, but the Enlightened Realm lives on, and will do so whilst I still have strength to hold a sword.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
The iron matrix of the west-facing gate of Keshin-Kho rose to reveal at least three thousand soldiers in full armour crowding the courtyard beyond. Vaelin could see yet more thronging the streets of the city’s lowest tier and on the battlements of each successive wall. The soldiers’ armour varied in colour from grey to blue to green, but each contingent stood in well-ordered ranks beneath the banner of the Merchant King.
As Sho Tsai rode through the gate, the entire host let out a uniform shout Vaelin recognised as the formal salute of a superior officer. Newly promoted, Governor Neshim and Garrison Commander Deshai strode forward to greet the captain as he brought his horse to a halt, regarding the assembled soldiery in evident bemusement. The Governor wore an ornate but ill-fitting set of armour that clanked somewhat as he and the commander both bowed to Sho Tsai.
“General Tsai,” Governor Neshim said, rising but keeping his head lowered as he approached Sho Tsai, proffering a scroll-tube bearing the Merchant King’s seal.
Sho Tsai took the tube and extracted the scroll within. For the briefest second a profound shock registered on the man’s face before he forced it back into a stern officer’s mask. “I see,” he said, beckoning Vaelin and Tsai Lin forward.
“It seems,” he told them, handing the scroll to his son, “the Merchant King has appointed me General of the Northern Armies, and sent thirty thousand men to reinforce the garrison of Keshin-Kho.”
“Congratulations,” Vaelin told him, speaking in Realm Tongue to keep his words from the assembled soldiers. “But you know thirty thousand won’t be enough.”
“The Merchant King assures us more are on their way,” Tsai Lin said, glancing up from the scroll. “But it seems there has been trouble in the middle provinces. So many people fleeing south and not enough food to feed them. Riot and even rebellion are mentioned.”
“Besides,” Sho Tsai added, taking back the scroll, “if I had but fifty men, I would still endeavour to hold this city, for that is what the Merchant King commands.” He angled his head at Luralyn and her Gifted companions. “And let’s not forget our new and very useful allies.”
He turned back to the governor and commander, both still standing with heads bowed. “Governor,” he said, “I require a complete inventory of all supplies and a full and accurate count of every living soul within these walls. Please ensure I have both by noon tomorrow.”
The governor bobbed his head. “Of course, General.”
“Commander Deshai,” Sho Tsai went on, “I hereby give you command of three regiments of cavalry and order you to proceed to Keshin-Ghol with all urgency. The inhabitants are commanded to harvest their crops and bring them here. Anything that might aid the enemy is to be burnt or destroyed. All wells are to be spoiled.” The new general gave an almost imperceptible pause that Vaelin doubted anyone but he and Tsai Lin noticed. “Any subjects who refuse this order are to be executed on the spot.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
“My brother will send the Tuhla to Keshin-Ghol,” Luralyn said. “Theft and terror being their principal attributes as a people. The Stahlhast and his army of faithful adherents will be coming here.”
“When?” Sho Tsai asked, not raising his eyes from the large map spread out on the table. They were in what had been the late Governor Hushan’s library. From the surprisingly small number of book-scrolls but preponderance of maps, Vaelin concluded Hushan’s interests had been more military than literary.
“As soon as he can march them across the Steppe,” Luralyn replied. It seemed to Vaelin she had aged since the skirmish in the village, the last vestiges of girlhood fading into the drawn features of a grief-stricken woman. Vaelin suspected it wasn’t just the death of Shuhlan, although the pain of losing one she looked on as family lingered in her eyes. She lost her brother, he knew. All ties to the man who now believes himself a god are severed. She can never return to her people.
“He no longer has any reason to wait,” she continued, face grim as she surveyed the southern reaches of the Iron Steppe. “There are no more strongholds to subdue, towns to capture or competing tribes to conquer or suborn. Also . . .” She gave a half-apologetic, half-regretful shrug. “He knows that I am here. It might be better if you sent me away.”
“No.” Sho Tsai gave a firm sha
ke of his head. “Having you here means I can read his intentions. Provided you’re willing to stay, of course.”
Luralyn blinked in surprise. “You would let me go?”
“It strikes me it would be best not to antagonise your Heaven-blessed friends, and I’ll need their help as much as I need yours. Better if it were given willingly.”
“They’ll give it,” she assured him. “As will I.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile of gratitude before he turned to Vaelin. “And you, my lord? Failure or not, your mission for the Merchant King is complete. I can issue a pass guaranteeing free passage through the Venerable Kingdom. You could be on a ship home within weeks.”
Vaelin’s surprise was the equal of Luralyn’s and he found himself replying with a rueful laugh. However, he sobered quickly as he discerned the unspoken suggestion in Sho Tsai’s steady gaze: Take Sherin and go.
“She won’t leave,” he told the general. “You know that. And neither will I. I’ve seen enough to know this man has to be defeated. If he’s not stopped here, it’s likely I’ll find myself fighting him on the walls of my own tower in the space of a few years.”
“Very well.” Sho Tsai turned to an unfurled scroll on the table. “Governor Neshim may not be the most resolute of men, but his bookkeeping skills are exemplary and he’s been sufficiently astute to have begun stockpiling supplies in our absence. By his reckoning we can subsist here for at least three months, longer once Commander Deshai returns with the supplies from Keshin-Ghol.”
“Kehlbrand will not try to starve us out,” Luralyn said. “You could have filled your storehouses ten times over and it won’t matter. My people have little patience or ability for siege-craft. When he comes it will be as a storm and it won’t stop until he has this city.”
“How many more Gifted does he have?” Vaelin asked.
“There are only three others that I found. Sehga is a border country woman who can plant lies in men’s minds, lies they believe utterly to be true. Lehkis is Tuhla and has a special way with metal. Useful for crafting but not much else. Morheld is Stahlhast, spared the priests’ attentions by pretending madness for all his life, so much so that it came to be truth. He can draw blood from any living thing, leaving only empty skin and dry bone. But there are more, those I had no hand in recruiting. Once Kehlbrand had his own gift he no longer needed me to find others with the Divine Blood. Exactly how many and what they can do, I know not.”
And he has the stone, Vaelin added inwardly. How many have touched it at the Darkblade’s command and, if it didn’t kill them, what gifts did they receive? “They’ll have to be dealt with,” he said. “And quickly if we’re to have any chance of holding this place.”
“I’ll leave the matter in your hands,” Sho Tsai told Luralyn. “Dai Lo Tsai will take over command of the Red Scouts and see to your safety, with Lord Vaelin’s assistance.”
“We’ll need more,” Vaelin said. “Kehlbrand will know the value of our Gifted as well as we know his.”
“I’ll need every trained soldier for the walls. Commander Deshai has been assiduous in recruiting and drilling the militia companies, however”—the general looked again at the governor’s scroll—“it appears there is one as yet untapped well from which we can draw. Lord Nortah had tales aplenty to share on the trail. One in particular caught my attention. I believe, my lord, you are experienced in taking scum and moulding them into soldiers.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
“Why do they always stink?” Nortah’s features bunched as the heavy doors swung open to reveal the dark vaults that served as the dungeons of Keshin-Kho. “Surely, somewhere in the world there must be a clean prison.”
“Stinks because people shit in it,” Sehmon said, apparently bemused by Nortah’s failure to perceive the obvious.
“Of course.” Nortah clapped him on the shoulder. “My lad, you’ve clearly missed your calling. Such powerful insight makes you a fine candidate for acceptance into the Third Order. I shall be sure to write a letter of recommendation the moment we return to the Realm.”
“Don’t want to join the Third Order,” the former outlaw said, his frown deepening.
“By the Father’s arse,” Ellese muttered, wearily shaking her head. “Why do the pretty ones have to be dullards?”
“How many in all?” Vaelin asked Governor Neshim, who seemed even less immune to the fetid emanations of the dungeons than Nortah.
“Three hundred and forty-eight,” he replied, face pale and eyes blinking against the miasma’s sting. “At the last count.”
“Their crimes?”
“Oh, the usual. A few bandits, though not so many as they’re usually executed immediately. The rest are thieves and beggars, plus a few smugglers. They’re the worst. All part of the same brotherhood so they never inform on one another and band together if there’s a fight down here. We generally leave them to it. Less work for the headsman.”
“Does this brotherhood have a name?”
“The Green Vipers. They’ve been a scourge on the border country for as long as any can remember. Some say they date back to the early days of the Emerald Empire.”
Vaelin turned a questioning glance on Chien. “You know this name?”
“I know it,” she said. “Their reach is long. The Crimson Band has done business with them in the past, and also fought them, as is the way of things.”
Vaelin nodded and turned to the governor. “You have the document?”
Neshim plucked a small scroll from his sleeve and began to hand it to Vaelin.
“No,” Chien said. “They’ll need to hear him read it.” She gave Vaelin a mostly empty smile of apology. “The word of a foreign barbarian is unlikely to carry so much weight.”
“You want me to go in there?” The governor’s skin paled yet further as he peered into the gloomy recesses of the vaults. A few beams of sunlight bisected the otherwise complete darkness and the only sound was the murmur of many softly taken breaths. The denizens of this place were apparently keen not to attract the attention of whoever might have opened these doors.
“You’ll have our protection, sir,” Vaelin assured him. He stepped through the doors, pausing to regard the governor with an expectant smile. Neshim, however, only consented to follow when Alum and Nortah moved to stand close on either side, nudging him forward with polite but firm insistence.
Vaelin heard the mingled breaths grow deeper as they proceeded into the dungeon, bare feet scraping on stone as the inmates stirred. He could see them only as vague shapes in the gloom, the meagre light revealing glimpses of tattered rags and unwashed skin. He waited for Nortah and Alum to bring the governor to his side and gestured for him to read the scroll.
“I . . .” Neshim began before his voice cracked, the trickle of sweat on his brow telling Vaelin that it wasn’t only the odour of this place that disturbed him. “I,” he tried again after a hard swallow, “having been duly appointed Governor of this city by the wise beneficence of the Merchant King Lian Sha . . .”
“Just tell us what you want, you greedy fuck,” a voice called from the darkness. It had a weight and confidence to it that seemed alien to these surroundings, heralding a brief flurry of laughter from the unseen inmates. But it was the laughter of fearful men and soon faded.
“Um,” Neshim said, the scroll fluttering in his hand as it began to shake.
“The Stahlhast are coming,” Chien said, moving to stand in front of the governor. “The law-dogs want you to fight in their army to defend this place. Anyone who fights will be pardoned. Say no and they’ll leave you to rot and there’ll be no more food.”
“You expect us to trust this man’s word?” the same voice asked, stilling the subsequent upsurge in whispers. “Half of us are in here only because we couldn’t afford his bribes.”
“Lies!” Neshim cried, although a qu
avering voice and increasingly sweat-covered brow explained much about his earlier reluctance. “I say leave this scum here, my lord,” the governor went on, drawing himself up and attempting an authoritative air. “They don’t deserve the honour of fighting for the Merchant King . . .”
“Be quiet,” Vaelin told him. He took the scroll from Neshim’s hand and jerked his head at the doors. “Leave. I’ll deal with this.”
Relief warred with aggrieved pride on the governor’s face for a moment before he turned and walked from the vaults, his stiff-backed stride proving a poor attempt at a dignified exit.
“You don’t know me,” Vaelin said, raising his voice so that it echoed through the vaults. “I, as you can see, am a foreigner. And this”—he held up the scroll—“is just a piece of paper. So, you will ask yourselves, why should you trust me?”
“Why indeed?”
This time the voice’s owner stepped into view. Vaelin was surprised by his youth, perhaps a year or two past his twentieth year. He was of average height but remarkably lean with well-honed muscle showing through the rents in the rags he wore.
“You belong to the Green Vipers?” Vaelin asked him.
The lean man’s eyes narrowed and his mouth twitched in defiant amusement. “Never heard of them,” he said.
“Have you heard of the Crimson Band?” Chien asked. As she spoke she raised her hands, making a fist of one and tapping two fingers to it with the other before slowly tracing them to her wrist. The man kept his face impassive but Vaelin saw a definite glimmer of recognition in his eyes.
“I speak as one who has walked the nameless road all her life,” Chien went on, casting her voice into the depths of the vaults. “And I speak true. This is no lie. What would be the purpose? I have no love for this man.” She pointed at Vaelin. “His arrival in this land caused my father’s death and the fall of the Crimson Band. But, he is a warrior of great renown in the Barbarous East and, having seen him fight, I can attest to his skills and that he does not break his word. I swear as the daughter of Pao Len of the Crimson Band that you can trust him. The choice is yours: take a chance on his word and you might live, or most likely die fighting. Don’t and you’ll certainly die starving in your own filth.”