Blood of the Gods

by David Mealing

  “Gods,” Tuyard said. “You don’t have a plan, do you?”

  “A plan for what, High Admiral?”

  “Seizing power. Oh Gods, d’Arrent. Considering your reputation, I’d assumed you were laying threefold traps and contingencies at every turn. I was sure of it. Since you moved against Voren, I’d figured it a matter of days, perhaps.”

  “Slow down, Admiral. I never moved against Voren. Every word I told you here is true.”

  Tuyard held her gaze for a moment. Then he laughed, deep and rich, as he folded back into the chaise he’d used during the meeting.

  “We’re fucked, then,” Tuyard said. “You couldn’t have come up with a better hoax to get them to arrest you if you’d tried.”

  This time anger flared. “This isn’t some game,” she said. “Our enemy has been working to conquer and destroy our people since he first took power with the Gandsmen. Whatever status I have as a Need binder, his only aim is to crush it, to remove me as a rival.”

  “That’s your one token of providence,” Tuyard said. “They’ll have to keep you on as a military adjunct at the very least. Me, they’ll find a way to execute, along with every other former nobleman they’re certain escaped justice in the last purges.”

  “High Admiral, I am entirely serious,” she snapped, rising to her feet. “I consulted the assemblyman and First Prelate to gauge response and begin planning for a military action across the sea.”

  “Well, you’ve gauged it. They’re going to be rounding up militia squads to lay siege to high command within the hour, provided you don’t consent to surrendering without a struggle. Count on it.”

  His words twisted in her stomach, though she kept the sour turn from showing on her face.

  A bang followed by a ringing clap sounded, muted by walls but within the building.

  Tuyard spun to look in the direction it had come from.

  “They move fast,” Tuyard said bitterly. “Time to decide whether you mean to resist, High Commander.”

  She pushed past the Admiral, opening the door to her receiving room. “Aide-Captain,” she said—Essily was already on his feet, peering toward the bang. Too soft to be gunfire, unless she missed her guess. Something else. “Find out what’s going on out there, as quick as you can run.”

  Essily gave a quick half bow that served well enough for a dismissal, and left running, her words sufficing to give him haste.

  “I hope you’re wrong, High Admiral,” she said, turning back to where Tuyard stood behind her. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect our people. The army will see it, even if the politicians and priests don’t.”

  “You had to imagine they would react,” Tuyard said. “First you strong-arm the Assembly into approving a war—and let’s not pretend your stationing thirty thousand soldiers in marching distance of New Sarresant was anything other than a bully tactic. Then you—”

  “Royens?” she interrupted. “I placed the First Corps here to defend the city, or hadn’t you noticed the Great Barrier had collapsed?”

  “Do you mean to tell me you didn’t mean for them to seize the capital?” Tuyard laughed again. Gods but she could do with hitting him in the teeth. “Say what you will of Anselm Voren, but he didn’t bother teaching you anything of the subtleties of politics, did he?”

  Another boom sounded, this one more of a thud, like a cut tree crashing to the ground. Definitely not gunfire. She ignored Tuyard and strode into the hallway outside her chamber, where Essily had already returned.

  “Sir,” Essily said, panting as he came to a halt. “It’s the tribesfolk. I couldn’t be certain, but I believe we’re under attack.”

  Body and Life gave her speed and enhanced senses, and she moved.

  Tuyard’s voice faded as she ran around the corner toward the main chamber. The great dome of the old Lords’ Council extended far above, with more offices and private chambers that had been taken over by her command staff.

  She emerged onto the landing leading down into what had become the map room, and saw the source of Essily’s claim.

  Ten tribesmen, wearing no particular uniform and carrying no weapons that she could see, standing at odds with a makeshift company of her soldiers that had formed a line between them and the hallways leading to her rooms. She recognized the two figures at the head of the tribesfolk: Asseena, a woman gifted with the tribes’ magic, and Ilek’Hannat, the shaman she’d met with to broker the peace between their people.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, as loud as her voice could carry, and every tribesman or soldier in earshot turned to see her standing at the chamber’s head.

  “High Commander d’Arrent,” one of the tribesfolk said. A woman—one she’d treated with before, though the name eluded her. She conferred quickly with the shaman in their tongue, then spoke again. “You are in great danger here. Ka’Hannat has seen it, and bid us come to share what he has seen.”

  Ka’Hannat? The man had been called Ilek before. Yet it was the same man, she was sure of it.

  “Stand down,” she called to the soldiers and aides who had hastily assembled to bar the tribesfolk’s entry. By now Tuyard and Essily had caught up to her, appearing to flank her on either side. She went forward into the chamber, parting the line of her men, to meet Ilek—no, Ka’Hannat and his escorts face to face.

  “All respect, honored shaman, but you cannot force your way into these chambers. You’re lucky my men didn’t arrest you, or attack.”

  The woman who had spoken before—Tirana, she remembered the name now—passed her words to Ka’Hannat and Asseena, and they conferred before she spoke again.

  “He apologizes,” Tirana said. “He says you would have been killed, had he not come to warn you. He says vipers among your own people are to blame. And he needs you.”

  Those of her soldiers who had heard Tirana’s words shuffled back, some few passing muttered whispers between each other.

  “He needs me?” she said.

  “Yes,” Tirana said. “He has seen a dire vision, a sending from the spirits of things-to-come. He requests that you connect him to the Goddess, and to Ka’Inari, together with one of your vessels on the far side of the world.”

  50

  TIGAI

  Eastern Markets

  The City of Kye-Min

  Cowards!”

  Captain Ugirin’s taunt sounded up and down their line, one word carried on a thousand tongues. Laughter went with it, mocking fingers pointed toward the Imperial soldiers as they broke.

  It was … wrong. Bloody wrong. Tigai had no head for soldiering—that had always been Dao’s province as elder. But Remarin had trained him with the basics, and besides, his eyes worked well enough. No matter how many friendly soldiers were coming toward them from the west, the Imperials held a fortified position at the city center. And now he watched as ten thousand men broke without either side firing a shot.

  They scattered down side streets and thoroughfares, with nothing orderly about it. If the Tigers had been in the way they’d have been trampled in the fury, and no few of the Imperials suffered that fate at their fellows’ hands. It was as though every man had been suddenly set against his greatest fear, and his fellows be damned if it meant delaying flight from their posts.

  “What under the koryu …?” Lin Qishan said beside him.

  Ugirin’s bellows turned to more boasting, a great roar as the line jeered the Imperials from their positions, but Tigai had heard Lin’s expression and drew close to her, a private aside amid the chaos.

  “It’s magic, isn’t it?” Tigai asked. “There’s no other explanation.”

  Lin Qishan held to her usual reserve, but some vestige of awe remained in her face.

  “Which of the Great and Noble Houses can do that?” he asked. “You know their world; which of them is it?”

  She only seemed to notice him at the last. “None of them, Lord Tigai,” she said.

  He wanted to press her, the privilege of a captor over a priso
ner. Instead Captain Ugirin bellowed, “Forward!” and the Tigers’ line surged, their jeers melted into displays of bravery, roars, and yawps as they charged the now-unoccupied ground.

  Spears, swords, and arquebuses greeted them when they reached where the Imperials had held their line, weapons cast down into the streets before their owners broke and ran. No few of the Tigers paused to take up their enemies’ arms, holding aloft polished steel as trophies of their victory. Kegs of powder and crates of lead greeted them, too, with wagons of food and water barrels pulled by animals that seemed not to have caught the fright that sent their handlers running. He went along in the rush, checking over his shoulder to be sure Lin Qishan stayed at his side.

  Looting had almost begun in earnest when Ugirin bellowed another command, this time to form ranks. It took a moment to see the cause through the chaos of the Tigers’ swift acquiescence, spearmen rushing to the fore, with maces, swords, and arquebusiers behind: another company, marching at a steady pace toward them through the streets.

  Tigai gravitated toward Ugirin’s flag, a square white standard with three black claw marks at the center. The captain noticed him and Lin, sparing him a wolfish grin as the rest of his men snapped into place.

  “This is Isaru Mattai’s work, isn’t it?” Ugirin said. “He sends me you to whet my appetite for wonders, then delivers us the city, ripe for plunder.”

  “It may well be, Captain,” Tigai said. “Lord Isaru only charged me with keeping the Tigers alive.”

  Ugirin laughed, turning back to head his line as they faced the newcomers. Soldiers in yellow, instead of the Imperials’ red, whom the officers near Ugirin’s flag had already identified as another mercenary company: Captain Hashiro’s Golden Sun. A spike of fear went through him, catching first sight of their approach. Lord Isaru and his magi were two thousand leagues away, but then, not all of Isaru’s allies would have been at the camp. Whatever had sent the Imperials running, it would be coming closer, at this Captain Hashiro’s side. Ordinarily he’d tether himself to the strands and be done with this city, but Lin Qishan had said Remarin might be imprisoned here, and that meant finding a way toward the harbor, where the Tower of the Heron stood overlooking the bay. If that took facing down another of Isaru’s magi—one strong enough to scatter an entire company of soldiers—then so be it. He might even be able to convince them to help plan his assault, if the wind spirits were smiling.

  “Riders approaching, Captain,” one of Ugirin’s men said, and so there were: no more than ten, most on horseback, carrying a golden banner as they trotted forward from the other company’s line. The rest of the Golden Suns seemed content to hang back, making a show of discipline as firm as the one Captain Ugirin had ordered on their side of the market.

  “We’ll meet them,” Ugirin said. “Hylang, Gorin, with me.” Five swordsmen approached at once from the left side of the banner, and five pistoleers from behind. “Lord Tigai, I don’t suppose you and your clanswoman would consent to posturing for the sake of the Tigers’ pride?”

  “Of course,” Tigai said. “But it will be me and my prisoner. Yuli Twin Fangs Clan Hoskar is—”

  “She is happy to bolster your ranks, Captain,” Yuli said from behind.

  He turned to see Yuli approaching through the front ranks of the arquebusiers. She clutched her forearm to her chest, and her skin was pocked with red lacerations anywhere it was exposed, with the rest of her clothing ripped and torn.

  “Yuli!” he exclaimed. “I had to take Lin away to stop her, and without a connection to that street I couldn’t return.”

  “I can handle myself, my lord,” Yuli said. She met him with warmth that drained as she turned to Lin Qishan.

  Ugirin grinned and clapped Tigai’s shoulder. “Time to reconcile after we receive Hashiro’s dogs,” the captain said. “For now, forward, while there are still hours in the day for killing!”

  The front ranks opened to admit Ugirin and his chosen escort, and Yuli pushed past without a word from any of the others for her condition. She looked as though she would bleed out, or at least faint from the cuts covering her body, but then, he had little doubt as to how his concern would be received. Instead he followed along, with Lin Qishan trailing a few paces behind, as they emerged into the open street.

  The riders from the other mercenary company clustered behind a man Tigai assumed would be their captain, a proud soldier sitting stiff on his horse. A banner flew behind him, and all wore the same armor save for three: one mounted and two on foot, kept at arm’s length by their fellows’ movements. The sort of unconscious separation that followed magi wherever they went; he’d borne it himself among Remarin’s men, and recognized it here.

  It took the length of the street to realize two of the magi were women, and all three bore strange features he didn’t recognize at a glance. The women were pale-skinned, with the sort of hawkish, overly pronounced noses and cheekbones he associated with the Natarii clans, for all they lacked the clans’ facial tattoos, and the man was clean-shaven, with long hair, russet skin, and a mix of features somewhere between Jun and Hagali.

  “Captain Hashiro,” Ugirin said when they came close, his piebald warhorse skittering to a stop less than two strides from his counterpart. “I’d hardly expected to see you here.”

  “Captain Ugirin,” Hashiro said in precise, formal tones. “I acknowledge your service to our mutual lord, and bid us begin planning for joint maneuvers here in Kye-Min.”

  Silence held for a moment, as both companies studied their mirrors on the opposite sides of the line.

  Ugirin’s laugh broke the tension.

  “It’s bloody good to have the Sun on our side this time, old man,” Ugirin said. “Hylang and Gorin will be my attachés with you. I assume Kiroshi and Natana are mine?”

  Captain Hashiro gave a sharp nod.

  With that, the lines let down their guard, the swordsmen and pistoleers from the White Tigers moving to mingle and clasp forearms with the spearmen of the Golden Sun. It left him to move toward the three magi, trying to put down the dread that somehow they knew what he’d done to Isaru Mattai.

  One of the women met him at their head. The shorter of the two, though still tall by any standard, wore a plain-cut brown tunic and breeches almost ostentatious in their lack of splendor, for a magi.

  “Greetings,” he said, offering her a formal bow. “I am Yanjin Tigai, assigned to the White Tigers here in Kye-Min. This is Lin Qishan, and Yuli Twin Fangs Clan Hoskar.”

  The woman at their head responded with a strange sort of bow, dipping her head and rearward leg in the sort of maneuver he might have expected as part of a dance.

  “I am Sarine Thibeaux,” she said, speaking perfect Jun in spite of her Natarii features. “From lands far to the east. This is Rosline Acherre, and Ka’Inari.”

  He resisted the urge to correct her, or to wrinkle his face in an expression of doubt. Lands far to the east? The only thing to the east of Kye-Min was the sea, unless his tutors had been woefully lacking in his education. He saw the signs of nerves in the woman’s—Sarine’s—face, displayed openly, without effort to mask her emotions. He’d been afraid they would somehow recognize him, or at least recognize that he wasn’t one of Isaru’s thralls. But these magi were hiding something. If he could find it, perhaps it could serve as leverage to get them to move on the Tower of the Heron.

  “I hadn’t seen you in Lord Isaru’s camp,” Tigai said. “Did you come to Kye-Min with the Golden Sun?”

  “And how is it you speak two tongues at once?” Yuli asked. “I hear you speaking the Hoskar tongue, when I know Lord Tigai does not speak it. This gift is not known to my clan.”

  Tigai turned while Yuli spoke, intending to admonish her with a subtle rebuke, instead cut short by Lin Qishan’s expression. Lin’s eyes had gone wide, her skin as pale as milk, staring at the three magi as though they were ancestor spirits come to life.

  “It’s part of my gift,” Sarine said. “Acherre and Ka’Inari don’t share it,
but I can translate between us. And no, Lord Tigai, we didn’t come with Hashiro’s company. We came seeking the leaders of the … Emperor’s magi. The Great and Noble Houses. Do you know where they might be found?”

  “We know where you can find one,” Lin Qishan said abruptly. “Here in Kye-Min, the Lady Bavda Khon is Grandmaster of the Great and Noble House of the Heron. We are here to kill her, the same as you, and you will have our talents in furtherance of your cause, should you choose to allow us to fight at your side.”

  This time Tigai failed to keep the shock from his face.

  Lin stood resolute, as though it had always been her plan to offer to help assassinate what had to be one of the most prominent magi in the Empire.

  “Yes,” Sarine said, once more the emotions on her face writ plain for all to see. “Yes, that’s precisely our aim. We have to help Hashiro get his soldiers to safety, then we can—”

  She was cut short by the other woman—Rosline Acherre, Sarine had named her—speaking in short bursts of an utterly foreign tongue. Tigai’s head still reeled from Lin’s assertions; it took a second glance to notice that Acherre’s eyes had gone gold, as though the strands had erupted through her sockets, spilling golden light like stars embedded in her eyes.

  Whatever strangeness passed between them, Tigai seized the moment to turn on Lin.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed, keeping his back turned and his voice low. “You are my prisoner, and you’ve been on the magi’s side since the beginning. Why would you offer to help kill one?”

  “Do you not wish to assault the Herons’ tower, Lord Tigai?” Lin said calmly. All sign of the shock he was sure he’d seen there had vanished, returned to her usual placid self-assurance.

  “Are you playing me false?” he said. “I swear, I will take you back and leave you in the middle of the fucking ocean if you don’t tell me what’s going on, bloody now.”

  “I’ve said it plainly,” Lin said. “We’ll offer our service to this Sarine Thibeaux, and use her to reach Remarin, and Mei as well, if she’s still being held here in the city. I swear on the Great and Noble House of the Ox, every word I’ve said is true.”