by Alec Hutson
Remnants of the lost queendom emerged from the landscape through which they rode. A circle of white stone pillars—some broken, others whole and soaring twice the height of a man—surrounded a great basin mounded with snow. They had left the plains behind, and perched atop the hills rippling around them Cho Lin saw the shattered remains of towers. Smoke trickled from a few of those buildings; apparently the Skein still made use of the walls that remained to keep watch on those approaching Nes Vaneth, as no doubt the Min-Ceruthans had also done long ago.
The mountain swelled larger and larger until it filled the sky, its peak shrouded by clouds. Black ice and snow swaddled the upper reaches, but below it was mostly jagged rock, though there were patches where hardy trees clung to the slopes. More ruins were visible here, clinging to cliff faces or secreted in rocky folds. Cho Lin wondered what secrets and treasures they might give up to those daring enough to brave the mountain’s dangers.
Near midday, they crested a rise and saw the legendary ruins of Nes Vaneth spread below. The Empire of Swords and Flowers was littered with the vestiges of the Kalyuni Imperium, but the greatest of the Mosaic Cities were drowned beneath the Sea of Solace, and Cho Lin had never seen anything to approach the size and grandeur of the holdfast now before her.
The city filled a flat expanse ringed by the mountain to the north and foothills everywhere else—not the best placement for defensive purposes, perhaps, but if the stories of the Min-Ceruthans’ sorcerous prowess were true, Cho Lin suspected they had little to fear from besieging armies. A frozen river meandered through the ruins, spanned by silver-glinting arches and dotted with tiny fishing huts. Most of Nes Vaneth appeared abandoned, tumbled buildings of white or gray stone half-sunk in snow or black ice, here and there pierced by the jagged remnants of pale green towers that looked to be made of crystal or glass.
The area inhabited by the Skein covered only a small portion of the ruins. Dozens of thatched longhouses clustered around the remains of Nes Vaneth’s gates, and a well-trodden path led from this encampment through the heart of the city to an imposing building that looked to have weathered the long-ago cataclysms better than any other in the dead city. Smoke was coming from this mighty edifice, emerging through great rents in the domed roof. It appeared that many slim minarets had once surrounded the central dome, but most had been reduced to shattered stone.
“That is the Bhalavan,” Verrigan said when he saw where Cho Lin was staring. “Heart of Nes Vaneth. The king and his warband are there. That is where we go to tell we killed the Bear who fled.”
“Do you think the… skald will be there as well?”
Verrigan nodded. “Aye. Skalds from the southlands are rare. He will go before the thanes and king and they will give him gold and a place to sleep in the great hall… if he sings well.”
Cho Lin’s hands tightened around her reins. Jan would be surprised to see her, and perhaps even angry. But she had to impress upon him the danger the Betrayers posed to these lands. And if he still refused to take her to the chest, she would have to compel him by force. How, she wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t think they could ride all the way to Menekar with him slung across his saddle. Hopefully she could convince him to abandon whatever had brought him to this forsaken place.
The Skein warriors descended the hill and approached the crumbled remnants of the city walls. They passed longhouses that bore scars of the recent fighting, such as blackened timbers or staved-in doors, and a few had even been gutted by fire. The corpses must have been cleared away, but Cho Lin could see a few patches of blood-stained snow, and there was even a small pack of gray and white dogs fighting over what looked to be a pile of entrails. A number of men moved among the houses, carrying armfuls of spoils that they dumped on the ground in a great heap: chests and barrels, iron tools and weapons, looms, and even a beautifully carved bed. Some of these men wore tined helms, and they shouted greetings to Verrigan and his band as they passed.
Just beside the shattered gate, Verrigan called for a halt in front of a large circular building with walls of tanned hide and no door that Cho Lin could see. He called out something in Skein and a few moments later a trio of older men in dark woolen robes emerged from within, pushing through one of the flaps of animal skin.
“Who are they?” asked Cho Lin as the men approached.
“Priests of the Stormforger. This is a holy place.”
One of the old men came to stand beside Verrigan’s horse, his face as craggy as the mountain looming above, and held out his hands. To Cho Lin’s surprise, the Skein captain unslung his great war-ax and passed it down to the waiting priest. She twisted around and saw that all the warriors were relinquishing their axes and bows, and the three priests soon staggered under the weight of the weapons.
“You must give them your swords,” Verrigan said, staring at where he knew she concealed her butterfly blades.
“Why?”
“Because only the king of Nes Vaneth and his warband may go armed in the city. For others to bring weapons within means war, and the punishment is death.”
Cho Lin unclasped the sheath containing her butterfly swords, but she hesitated before handing them to the impatient priest.
“Will my swords be safe? They are precious to me.”
“Very safe,” Verrigan assured her. “Stealing from the Stormforger’s temple is death, and worse than death. The doors of the High Hall would be closed to any who dared this terrible thing. No Skein would do it, I promise you.”
Reluctantly, she passed the sheathed swords to the waiting priest. Verrigan gestured at her travel bags and the long keppa case where she kept the Sword of Cho.
“Nothing else, Shan girl? The king may order what you bring inside searched. You are a stranger here in a time of much death. If they find a weapon—even a dagger for cutting meat—they will cut open your belly and leave you on the mountain for the wolves to feast upon.”
Gritting her teeth, Cho Lin pulled the keppa case into her hands. She hated leaving the Sword of Cho outside the walls, but Verrigan was right that the risk of discovery was simply too great. He seemed certain that nothing would happen to the weapons stored here, but still she felt a churning sense of dread as she handed the case to one of the priests. Find Jan quickly, convince him to leave with her, and reclaim the sword. If everything went well she would only be separated from the sword of her ancestors for a very short period of time—but still, she couldn’t help imagining how aghast her brother would be if he heard she had willingly given up the sacred weapon to a wild-bearded barbarian.
Verrigan seemed to sense her consternation, his brow drawing down as he glanced from her to the keppa case.
“That’s all,” she said, forcing a smile. Well, except for the shuriken studding her belt, but she was sure the Skein had never seen the deadly, three-pronged throwing knives before.
After giving her one more curious look Verrigan grunted and snapped his reins, guiding his horse towards the wide gap in the tumbled walls that must once have contained the gates to the city. A pair of guardsmen flanked the entrance, watching them approach. These warriors looked different than the Skein she had seen so far: their cured leather armor was a mottled grayish green that looked disconcertingly familiar to Cho Lin, and black markings covered their faces. As they neared, she saw that these tattoos were meant to suggest the faces of other creatures, as on one man she saw lines drawn to make his eyes appear slitted, and a serpentine tongue extending down from his mouth to his chin. The other Skein’s face resembled some forest beast, perhaps a bear.
One of the guardsmen called out to Verrigan. Cho Lin noticed there was none of the friendliness she had seen from the warriors with the tined helms.
Verrigan barked a guttural response and the snake-warrior’s face twisted, as if he was not pleased about something. But still he stepped aside to let them pass. Cho Lin felt his eyes slide over her as they rode into the city, and s
he almost shivered.
“Who are they?” she asked Verrigan, and the Skein warrior grimaced.
“Hroi’s warband. They all follow the Skin Thief.” He glanced around him, as if making sure no one was listening. “Black god. Even other Worm fear them. They are called the Flayed.”
“The armor they were wearing…”
Verrigan nodded. “Aye. Wraith skin. And that not all they have. Every strong thing they kill—animal, man, monster—they take a piece of the skin and wear it. They think they can take the power.”
Cho Lin thought back to the gate guards. “Where do they wear it?”
“Most do not have so much. Maybe tie it to arm, or sow into shirt. But Hroi –” Verrigan turned and spat, as if trying to clear his mouth of this talk. “– he wear the skin he stole as cloak. Many souls there… including his father.”
So the new Skein king had killed his own father. In Shan, such a deed would be considered the blackest of crimes. But here such a man could rise to lead his people.
She should be careful—despite Verrigan’s friendliness, these were a dark and dangerous people. And now she was without her swords. Her hands itched at the thought of entering their great hall with no blades at her side.
To distract herself from her nervousness, Cho Lin studied the city through which they rode. As she had seen from the hill outside, a wide avenue ran arrow-straight from the gate to the great building the Skein had taken as their hall. The snow here had been churned by countless feet, and just as she had among the longhouses Cho Lin saw dark patches and bits of shattered iron and armor. A great battle had raged here not long ago. In her imagination, a host of Skein—some wearing tined helms, others clad in wraith skin—charged from the gate towards the Bear warriors as they boiled from the great hall led by their old king. She could almost hear the clash of metal and the screams of the wounded.
A hundred paces to either side of her were the remains of the buildings that had once hemmed this great avenue. Blocks of white stone, cracked and listing pillars, shattered archways. Many of those fallen structures must have soared several stories, at least, but the only ones still standing that high were the few wrapped in black ice, as if the ancient sorcery was all that was keeping them upright.
“That black ice, it never melts?”
Verrigan looked at her blankly, and she tried again.
“Melts… goes away when the sun is strong.”
The Skein captain shook his head. “Never go away. It is cursed. I remember coming here after the death of Raven king, when I was young. We boys dared each other to run up to the ice and look inside. Then my father caught us and beat us, said the Stormforger watches over this road and the Bhalavan, but the rest of the city belongs to older gods.”
Cho Lin stared in fascination at one of the great chunks of black ice wedged between several of the collapsed buildings. “What did you see inside?”
Verrigan’s hand drifted to the amulet around his neck. “Is dark inside, hard to see. But I thought I saw woman within, looking out. Maybe it was the Pale Lady.”
“Pale Lady?”
“A spirit many have seen drifting through the ruins. Death will follow when she is seen, they say.” Verrigan touched the amulet beneath his tunic briefly, then glanced up at the sky, whispering a prayer to his god.
They came to the entrance of the great hall, a massive set of bronze doors covered in squirming runes. Great drifts of snow were piled against the doors, but one had been cracked open wide enough for a man to walk through, and from within Cho Lin heard sounds of revelry. They dismounted from their horses and handed the reins to a group of boys that had run up as they approached. Verrigan spoke to one in stern tones, and when the boy gave a fierce nod to show he understood, the Skein tousled his hair affectionately.
“My brother’s son,” he said to Cho Lin as the boys led the horses away to whatever passed for a stable here.
They slipped through the door and into the great hall of the Skein. Smoke filled the air, billowing from both the massive cook pits in the center of the huge room and the great iron braziers scattered about the edges. Several large animals were being roasted on spits over the open flames, and the rich smell made Cho Lin’s mouth water. A hundred Skein, at least, sat shoulder to shoulder on long benches, laughing and bellowing as they tore meat from bones and drank from tall clay tankards. Deeper inside the hall, well past the celebrating warriors, she saw strange shapes looming from the gloom—statues, she thought, but she couldn’t be certain. None of the Skein had ventured beyond the circle of warmth and light cast by the cook pits and the little sunlight that was trickling down through the smoke from the rents in the ceiling.
“Come,” Verrigan said, motioning for her to follow him. “I take you to Kjarl, my thane.”
They wended between the tables and the long benches, towards a dais where Cho Lin could see a number of seated figures. She glimpsed Jan through the haze, speaking to a man wearing a tined helm with a more impressive rack of antlers than she had seen before, and her heartbeat quickened. He was here.
A huge hand clamped down on her wrist. Despite her surprise, she reached down into herself, straining for the Nothing as a massive Skein warrior with long black braids and hair threaded with black feathers tried to pull her closer. He grinned and barked something to his companions seated with him upon the benches, and they broke out in laughter. For a moment she was off balance, and Cho Lin stumbled a step towards him, but she quickly caught herself before she ended up in his lap, then twisted free of his grip. More laughter from the watching Skein, and the warrior’s face reddened. He surged to his feet, but Verrigan was there, his hand on the warrior’s chest, spitting angry words. The warrior’s mouth twisted and he shoved Verrigan back so hard that the Stag captain went stumbling into another bench, upsetting drinks and eliciting howls of indignation. The black-braided warrior’s rage at his humiliation was evident, and he grabbed again for Cho Lin.
She knocked his hand aside and drove her fist into his face, sending him sprawling onto the table where he’d been seated. A rope of blood flew from his shattered nose as he fell, lashing his stunned companions. There was a frozen moment of silence as the Skein lay there, his hands clenching and unclenching, his eyes fluttering as he fought for consciousness, and then Verrigan was by her side again, putting himself between her and the still-shocked friends of the warrior who had grabbed her. He shouted something in Skein and then ushered her away from the table.
“I tell him you are guest of Stag, but he is Crow, he does not care,” Verrigan said, and Cho Lin heard a hint of apology in his voice. “Not so many southerners come north. Most are thralls we take back. But you are not thrall. Not yet, anyway.” He twisted around and said something to the tall Skein who had claimed to have saved her life from the wraiths, one of several of Verrigan’s warband that had trailed them inside. The warrior’s eyes were round with surprise, and he held up his hands as he replied to his captain with a string of tumbling words.
Verrigan snorted as he turned back to Cho Lin. “Kelissan say he no want you as thrall any more. Or wife.”
Well, one problem taken care of.
Smoke swirled around them as they passed by the firepits, and Cho Lin coughed, closing her stinging eyes. She stumbled forward, trying not to trip, and walked into the back of Verrigan. Muttering a curse, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at Jan’s bewildered face. He sat on a stool upon the dais she had glimpsed earlier, next to a finely carved wooden chair where the young man with the tined helm lounged. Three more wooden chairs upon the dais were empty, as was a larger and more impressive throne carved from stone.
“Jan,” she said, blinking away the last of the smoke.
“Cho Lin,” he said, his surprise quickly giving way to wary resignation.
The young man in the wooden chair glanced from Jan to her, and then posed a question in Skein to Verrigan. The ca
ptain of the Stag cleared his throat and launched into what must have been an exhaustive account of what had happened to his warband, because it wasn’t until some time had passed that Cho Lin heard her name and Verrigan started gesturing in her direction. When he had finally finished, the young man asked several more questions, and Verrigan answered each with alacrity. Throughout this exchange Jan continued to stare at her, his face troubled.
Finally, the young man turned his attention to Cho Lin. He had a narrow face, almost vulpine, and from beneath his great helm a few red curls had escaped.
“Greetings, Lin from Shan. Welcome to Nes Vaneth and the great hall of Hroi, king of all the Skein. I am Kjarl, son of Kjartan, thane of the Stag.”
Cho Lin did not bow in the northern style or show obeisance like she would before the Phoenix Throne—from what she understood, a thane was akin to a mandarin in the Empire of Swords and Flowers, which would imply little difference in their respective rank. Instead, she held the gaze of the thane with her chin held high, to show she expected to be treated as an equal.
“Greetings, Kjarl, son of Kjartan. I am Cho Lin, daughter of Cho Yuan and sister of Cho Jun, mandarins of the Jade Court.”
A small smile curled Kjarl’s lips. “You are far from home. What brings you to the Bhalavan?”
Cho Lin pointed at Jan. “I come seeking this man. I did him a great service, and he promised to lead me to something I must find. But he abandoned me south of the Bones and fled north. I came to insist that he carry out his part of the bargain we struck.”