by Alec Hutson
The veil of terror that covered Cho Lin’s racing mind lifted slightly. She drew a deep, shuddering breath. Wait. This was not how she was going to die. It couldn’t be.
“I hated you,” Bai Hua said throatily, twisting and turning the sword as the trickle of blood traveled down its length. “You acted nothing like a mandarin’s daughter. You climbed trees and played with servants and challenged the boys to archery contests, and yet instead of being disciplined, everyone loved and praised you. If I had so much as fallen and skinned my knee my mother would have beaten me for conduct unbecoming of a Shan lady. You were always so special.”
Cho Lin willed herself to ignore Bai Hua. She closed her eyes, focusing inward, on the Nothing within the Self. She struggled to pull herself deeper into the darkness.
“And Jai Po adored you, the fool. Followed you around like a puppy. I think he loved you up until the day I cut out his heart and fed it to his dogs.”
Cho Lin concentrated on her pulse. The old masters, the ones who had attained Enlightenment, had claimed such perfect mastery over their bodies that they could slow their heart when they needed to stop poison from spreading. But this venom was different: the paralysis was coming about because her heart was grinding to a halt. Could she… could she quicken it again?
Far away, the words of Bai Hua floated on a bitter wind, but she paid them no heed.
“They were innocent. The last innocents of Shan, for after what happened to them we were all stained with a terrible guilt. And that can only be washed away when the Raveling covers this land. We escaped once, when we should not have.”
Cho Lin pushed deeper within herself. Down here, in the depths, the shuddering of her heart consumed her, drowning out the rantings of her childhood friend. Doom. Doom. Doom.
She focused on the emptiness, embracing it. She became a part of that slowing drumbeat, letting it mingle with her inner Self. An absolute calmness filled her. Then, as easily and as thoughtlessly as if she was lifting her arm, she made her heart quicken. Cho Lin felt her blood begin to flow faster in her veins, and a tingling warmth spread along her limbs.
Her finger twitched.
“So fitting, that the very sword that banished the Chosen will cut off the head of the last descendant of Cho Xin.”
Cho Lin opened her eyes. Bai Hua loomed over her, the Sword of Cho upraised, her face contorted by hate and madness.
The dam inside her buckled and burst, and suddenly she could move again. With a strangled cry of triumph Cho Lin surged to her feet, pulling one of her butterfly swords from where it had been hidden within the folds of her robes. She buried the short blade hilt-deep in Bai Hua’s stomach, reaching up with her free hand to catch her childhood friend’s arm as she tried to bring the sword down upon her head.
For a moment they were locked together, their faces nearly touching. Bai Hua’s eyes were rounded by shock, and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
“That’s for poisoning my brother, you bitch,” Cho Lin snarled, then ripped her butterfly sword free. Bai Hua stumbled backwards and collapsed, the Sword of Cho slipping from her fingers to clatter on the floor.
Cho Lin turned just as Aunty Cao flew at her, screeching, long black nails reaching for her neck. She twisted away from the old woman, letting her rush past her, then slashed out with her sword. Aunty Cao’s shrieking abruptly ceased as her head separated from her shoulders.
Silence.
Cho Lin sank to her knees and drew in a shuddering sob.
Time passed. How long, Cho Lin wasn’t sure, but when she finally surfaced from her shock she thought it was deep into the night. She had calmed her breathing, but there was a new sound in the room: a swarm of bloodbelly flies had descended upon the bodies of Bai Hua and Aunty Cao, and their droning filled the small chamber.
Slowly, Cho Lin stood, still a bit unsteady from the lingering effects of the poison, and returned the Sword of Cho to its bag. She forced herself to stare at her old friend. Bai Hua’s eyes were wide and glassy, and her lips were parted in open-mouthed surprise. Her delicate hands clutched at the wound in her belly; her beautiful cheongsam dress had been shredded and stained with blood.
The impossibility of this situation made Cho Lin dizzy. Behind concealing hands, there had been whisperings about how members of the Jade Court and their families still pledged loyalty to the Raveling. Titillating gossip, but very few truly believed such things actually existed, including Cho Lin. Her father had, though, and had made it his task while advising the emperor to try and uproot the last twisted remnants of that terrible faith. But he had found little evidence, despite much effort.
And yet here was proof the cult had survived. This earthen chamber was old, and from the look of the chipped black altar it had been used for many years. How many others had spilled out their life here? Bloodbelly flies nested where there was death and laid their eggs in necrotic flesh. This unholy sanctum had seen sacrifices before.
Cho Lin stumbled up the rough-hewn stone steps and emerged again into the empty parlor. Nothing had changed—the silver decanter was still on its side, the wine cups knocked to the floor from when Cho Lin had upset the table as she’d fallen. Were there no other servants in the house? Perhaps they had been dismissed for the night, so they could not witness what their mistress had planned.
The door to the underground chamber was an ingenuously wrought panel that blended perfectly with the walls, and Cho Lin carefully slid it closed. If the servants in this house were not aware of the evil deeds done beneath this roof, then the bodies of Bai Hua and Aunty Cao might remain hidden for days. By the time they were discovered, Cho Lin would be on a ship to Herath, and beyond the reach of any judicar who might want to ask her questions.
Cho Lin glanced down at her bloodstained robes. She would have to return to the Cho compound by way of the back alleys—she looked like she had been the victim of a robbery. Then she would gather her things and head down to the docks, hopefully before the sky began to lighten. She would find the Loyal Gull and convince her captain that they should sail immediately, without the rest of her companions.
Tonight had proven one thing to Cho Lin—she could trust no one.
Early the next morning they were ushered by a troop of guardsmen through the awakening city. Keilan hardly recognized Lyr after the storm: the brooding edifices of dark stone now gleamed in the light of a new day, and the twisted stone creatures crouching on the roofs had in turn become the perches of countless dark-winged birds. Their challenges to the dawn could be heard above the clangor of the streets below, where merchants and tradespeople pulled tarps from over their stalls and took down storm shutters, sloshing through puddles as they prepared for their first customers of the day.
As they approached one of the city’s smaller southern gates, Keilan saw the same ornate carriage the Lady Numil had ridden inside during the pilgrimage to the Oracle’s temple the day before. This must have been one of the less trafficked entrances to the city, as no other travelers looked to be preparing to leave through its low stone archway. Perhaps it was a night gate, as usually they were only kept open after the sun had set. Three horses laden with saddlebags cropped at a patch of grass near the gate, their reins held by one of the demon-helmed guardsmen. The other warriors of Lyr moved a respectful distance away so they could not hear what was being said, and spread out across the road to keep the curious away.
The Crone’s servant Telion was astride his own mount, a garron with a dappled gray coat that matched the color of the bald warrior’s leather armor.
“They’ve come,” he said loudly, leaning forward in his saddle when he caught sight of Keilan and Nel. Another servant in the livery of Lyr swung open the carriage’s door, and then helped the Lady Numil climb down. She emerged blinking from the darkened interior, wrapped in so many layers of shawls to ward away the dawn chill that Keilan doubted he would have recognized her if they had passed
her on the streets.
“It’s good to see you both this morning,” she said, her black eyes twinkling above the scarf wound around her face. “I’d half feared you would change your mind after a night’s rest.”
Keilan glanced at Nel, but she did not meet his gaze, continuing to stare straight ahead with her jaw clenched. They’d argued long into the night, in fact, with Nel trying to convince him that the Crone’s plan was a dangerous gamble, and that they should return immediately to Herath. But just as the storm had passed, leaving behind a reborn city, so Keilan had felt the same after waking this morning. This was what he had to do—for the Oracle who had sacrificed herself to give this warning, for everyone he loved who would suffer if the dark future he had glimpsed came to pass, and also, it was true, for himself. These were the mysteries that had defined him his entire life. Who was he? Where had his mother come from?
“We’ve arrived at something of an agreement, Lady Numil,” said Nel. “We’ll go east to try and find this sorceress… but there’s something we need from you, as well.”
The old woman folded her arms and arched a brow, and Nel stumbled over her words, as if suddenly realizing she was making a demand of one of the most powerful women in Lyr. For someone who had grown up in the tangled alleyways of the Warrens that would certainly be more than a little disconcerting.
“You must tell Queen d’Kara what happened here. What we saw. And why we’re not returning to Herath. The threat of these demons hangs over everyone, and with her power and the magic of the Scholia she might truly be the world’s best hope, instead of this mysterious sorceress. I don’t know… I don’t know if she’ll agree with what we are doing, but I hope she’ll understand why Keilan believes we must.”
The old woman bowed her head slightly. “Of course. This matter passes beyond the petty rivalries of cities and kingdoms. I had already planned to send back the rangers—once, of course, you’ve put enough distance between yourselves and Lyr that the trail has gone cold—and I will send a letter or accompany them myself. I will try and convince her that your decision to seek out this sorceress was wise.”
“Please do that,” Nel said quickly, and for the first time Keilan saw how nervous she truly was. “The queen has a legendary temper, and if she feels we betrayed her we’ll find ourselves in a cell beneath Saltstone soon after returning to Herath. She does not forgive quickly.”
“I know the queen. She is passionate and strong-willed, and sometimes impetuous. However, she is also no fool. She may rage at first, I’ll grant, but by the time she sees you again I believe she will have come to understand why you have done what you did. There is also some respect between us, and my words will carry weight.”
A note of resignation crept into Nel’s voice. “Then that’s it, I suppose.” She turned to the gate. “We should be off.”
“Wait,” the old woman said, holding up a small silver bell. “Keilan, I have a gift for you.” She rang the bell, and behind her the liveried servant drew forth from the shadowed confines of the carriage a long object wrapped in dark cloth. With quick steps he approached Keilan and held it out for him to take.
“Careful, it’s sharp,” the old woman said as Keilan accepted the object.
He unwound the cloth, revealing a sword in a black scabbard. The silver guard was finely wrought to look like a pair of outstretched wings, and the pommel was carved into the head of a raptor, perhaps a falcon, with two glittering red stones for eyes. The grip was ebonwood, smooth and dark. Keilan touched the hilt lightly, his breath stolen by the beauty of the sword.
“I can’t accept this, Lady Numil. It’s too fine a weapon for me.”
The old woman snorted. “Too late, you’ve already taken it. My house is filled with such rubbish, and most of it stays on the wall covered with dust. My worthless nephews have no use for a blade like this—they just want to swagger around with the long dueling swords that are so popular nowadays, pretending to be bravos.”
“Any gifts for me?” Nel asked, leaning closer to inspect the sword. The shadow she’d been laboring under seemed to lift slightly as she studied the old woman’s gift. “Something also jeweled, perhaps?”
“How about this, little thief: I will pardon your past transgressions in our city. There are a few rich merchants and even an archon or two who remember you.”
Nel sighed. “I suppose it would be nice to visit the city without fear of being clapped in chains.” She pointed at the grazing horses. “Those are for us, yes?”
The old woman nodded. “You’ve enough gold and silver in those saddle bags to stay at the finest inns from here to Theris, although I would caution against flaunting your wealth on the road.”
“Well, now Keilan has a sword and I have my daggers, but will that be enough to deter thieves? We don’t make the most imposing pair.” Nel nodded towards the old woman’s servant astride his garron. “Is he coming with us? He looks like he can handle those swords.”
Lady Numil shook her head. “You wouldn’t want Telion as your companion. Handy enough with those swords, but take him away from his soft bed and mince pies and he gets quite irritable.”
The mounted warrior spread his arms wide. “I am a—how did you say it, Lady Numil? An…”
“Epicurean.”
“Yes, very epicurious. I’ve come to enjoy the best things in life after working in your house.”
Keilan frowned in confusion. He’d thought Telion was meant to accompany them as well, since he’d arrived on horseback. “Then who?” He paused when he saw Nel’s face had paled as she stared past him, back the way they had come.
“No,” she whispered, and then again more forcefully. “No!”
Keilan twisted around, following where she was looking, and he felt a stone settle in his stomach. Striding towards them, trailed by a laughing throng of dirty-faced children, was the Pure.
He had again donned his white-scale armor, and his eyes flashed with Ama’s holy radiance. His hand rested on the copper hilt of his white-metal sword, and his unsullied cloak rippled behind him in the breeze.
When the pack of urchins saw the line of guardsmen up ahead blocking the road they turned and fled, shrieking in exaggerated fear. The paladin did not seem to notice that he’d lost his entourage as he passed through the guardsmen and came to stand before them. He bowed to Lady Numil, his face impassive. As he straightened, his burning gaze found Keilan, and he nodded slightly.
“What is he doing here?” Nel demanded. Keilan felt a twinge of unease when he noticed one of her daggers had appeared in her hand.
“He will be your protection,” the old woman replied calmly.
“Protection?” Nel cried. “He’s tried to kidnap Keilan twice! He wants to drag him back to Menekar, then cut him open and see if he bleeds golden light!”
The paladin turned to fully face Keilan. “I’m sorry, Keilan. It is my order’s sacred duty to protect the world from the dangers of sorcery. I’ve never held any malice towards you… and, to be truthful, I fervently hoped you would find salvation in the light of Ama. Surely on your travels—and in the terrible future we saw together in the cavern—you have witnessed what horror sorcery can bring down.”
“Then you still wish to take him back to your temple in Menekar?” Nel asked. “Sacrifice him to your god?”
The Pure matched the knife’s angry glare with his own burning gaze. “I want the world to be safe. It was my city, my home we saw utterly destroyed. A million people live in Menekar—how many escaped that devastation?” He nodded towards the old woman. “Lady Numil has convinced me. She has told me you will try to find that sorceress who can slay those demon children. I do not care to ally myself with a sorceress such as her, but if she can avert the destruction of Menekar, I must.”
“There is no safer way to travel,” the old woman said quickly, interjecting before Nel could respond. “I could send a host of guardsmen w
ith you flying the colors of Lyr, but that will not stop the bandit princes of Kesh’s red desert. They’ve been bold in recent months, even raiding well-protected caravans along the Iron Road. But no robber would be foolish enough to attack a paladin of Ama returning west with a boy and a young woman. If word trickled out the response from Menekar would be swift and brutal. Even the padarasha might send out his celijan riders, as he still adheres to the old treaties his forebears signed. The Pure are not to be disturbed when they are hunting those with the taint of sorcery.”
What she said made sense, and Keilan saw that Nel realized this as well. But the blazing fury in her eyes had not subsided.
“What if you want us to lead you to this sorceress so that you can lop off her head? Would the leaders in your faith also agree to making common cause with those they have dedicated their lives to destroying?”
Keilan was surprised to see Senacus flinch at Nel’s words. Something she had said had struck him.
The paladin turned again to Keilan, and for the first time the raw emotion Senacus felt could be heard, even though his calm expression still did not waver. “I descended beneath Uthmala to save you from dark sorcery.”
It was true. Keilan remembered the horde of monstrous spiders surging against the white crescent of the paladin’s blade—he and Nel would have died if Senacus had not come to their rescue.
“When I returned to Menekar, my order’s High Seneschal told me that because I rescued you and the Dymorian magister I should open my veins across the Radiant Altar. It was only because I could now sense you and they wished to bring you back to Menekar that I was spared. They told me I should not have compromised, that you should not ally with a lesser evil to destroy a greater.”