The other lands a-2

by David Anthony Durham

  "I do. I do, Prince. I lost many brothers who were dear to me that horrible day. Do you know that?"

  Rialus inhaled a sharp, audible breath. His nervous eyes darted between the two men.

  Dariel began, "I-"

  "Not just brothers. I lost my wife."

  Brothers? Wives? Dariel had never thought of leaguemen's domestic lives. "You-you had a wife?"

  Sire Neen flashed a look of disgust. Or did he? The very next moment it was gone, swept away by incredulous mirth. "Of course we have wives, my prince! We are men like other men. How else would we continue our kind? Oh, Prince Dariel Akaran, you amuse me. But tell me, I have often wondered what it would be like to burn alive. My physician tells me that the very horror of it is what makes it bearable. He says the pain of burning all over your body would be so intense that you would be overwhelmed. It would hurt so much that my wife would no longer feel the hurt as hurt. It would become something else, something beyond pain, like death being something beyond life. Does that sound true to you? Surely, you've thought about it, considering that you made that the fate of so many, children even." He shuddered, and as before he looked briefly dismayed, and then instantly at ease again.

  Dariel glanced at Rialus, who seemed just as perplexed by the conversation as he was. What were they talking about? Why were they talking about this? Why now? "I don't know," Dariel eventually said. Thinking that sounded feeble, he attempted a tone of greater certainty. "I had not thought about it before. I have tried to put my memory of that day aside. It's not the work I do now."

  Sire Neen seemed disappointed. He lifted his chin and studied the prince a moment. "Did you never think to grasp the throne yourself?" he asked. "Acacia's generations have few notable queens. In a time of such turmoil you might readily have stepped into power as your brother's heir. To some it seems odd that you did not. Why defer to gentle Corinn-just a woman, after all?"

  "Why would I consider that?" The indignation in Dariel's voice appeared instant and true. It choked his words for a moment and then pushed them out with breath of quick anger. "No, I won't have this conversation with you! What I did at the platforms I did in war against an agent of my family's enemy. Any guilt for it is mine to measure. That's all I'll say. Don't forget yourself and ask about it again."

  "No, I don't forget myself," the leagueman said. He reached out and affectionately squeezed Dariel's shoulder. He paused like that, so strangely familiar, and pursed his lips in thought. "All right, Your Highness. No more probing questions. Forgive me if I trod awkwardly." He released Dariel and turned as if to move away. He stopped and turned back, touching a finger to his nose as if a thought had just occurred to him. "One other thing. We won't be stopping in the barrier isles today. There's no reason to. The Lothan Aklun are all dead. Every one of them. You recall how Hanish Mein used a contagion to ravage your people? We've done something similar here. They weren't really so hard to kill. Your Tinhadin had said they were like serpents with a thousand heads. Or something like that. As usual with you Akarans, that was an exaggeration." He chuckled. "So there's no reason to stop. No one to talk to, you see. They're dead and swimming into their rest. So we'll sail on, if you don't mind, and soon we'll dine with the Auldek, our new friends. It's they who matter to us anyway. Like I said, surprises abound, don't they?"

  Dariel did not find the words to stop the leagueman as he walked casually away, flanked, the prince saw, by bodyguards who were suddenly more attentive than they had been before. He was too stunned to call out, to move, to demand an explanation. Sire Neen's words jostled in his head. But he had heard him. He had understood him.

  Rialus, who had turned to the railing as if he might vomit, stammered something. Dariel didn't make out one word of it, but somehow he knew what he was saying. He just knew. He pulled his gaze away from Sire Neen's back and looked down at the sea. Yes, just as he thought. There were human bodies in the water after all. In fact, there were many floating bodies. Swimming into their rest. The prince felt the presence of soldiers approaching him from behind. He realized then that he had not seen his Marah guards for some time. Many of them had been belowdecks before the angerwall, and those who had been with him were no longer with him. He knew, without turning, that the group gathering behind him was not made up of his soldiers, but he did not rush to look at them. Instead, he kept eyes on the graveyard that was the sea. There were so many bodies in the waves, all of them adrift on the same tide the Ambergris rode, all of them being pulled toward the Other Lands.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A young league apprentice, Noval, sat waiting for Sire Neen among the plush chairs reserved for leaguemen in their council chambers. Several other officials and naval officers stood or sat nearby. With the exception of a few of Neen's assistants, all of them had newly arrived from the sailless clipper.

  "It all went as planned?" Sire Neen asked as he stepped into the room.

  "You saw the bodies," Noval said. He motioned toward a porthole with a lazy finger. "Up and down the archipelago it's the same thing."

  Noval had not yet joined the higher ranks of the league and earned the title sire, but after this he likely would. Noval grinned, leaning back against his chair's cushions as if he might fall blissfully asleep. You'll need to learn to hide emotion like that, Sire Neen thought. He did not really begrudge him his happiness, though. In truth, he could barely contain his own enthusiasm.

  "Every Lothan Aklun is a corpse now," said a captain, presumably the one who had piloted the clipper. "A feast for the crabs and sea worms."

  Noval nodded and concluded, "Yes, it all went as planned. You, Uncle, are a genius."

  Sire Neen pressed his lips together. As much as he wanted a share of the young man's satisfaction, he could not accept it all without a measure of doubt. "Nothing ever goes entirely as planned," he said. "Tell me it all and I'll judge."

  Noval proceeded to describe what had transpired on the barrier isles over the last few days. Listening to the report, Sire Neen had to inhale deep breaths. His heart raced as if he were joyously running. Perhaps in the years to come it would be this feeling he relived during mist trances. Certainly, triumph was a sweeter pleasure than anything else he had yet experienced. The Lothan Aklun food for sea worms? Absolutely amazing. Could he truly believe it?

  The Lothan Aklun had seemed invulnerable, proud, greedy. They were aloof in a manner most marked by their… well, by their simple denial of aloofness. He had met their agents on several occasions. Each time they dressed in loose wraps of white cloth that hung on their leanly muscled frames, always bare of foot. They were slight men and women, healthy looking and tanned. Sire Neen had always felt a knot in his abdomen when meeting them. His head tingled in a manner that made him want to flee. Why, it was hard to say.

  They smiled and nodded and conducted their business with courteous efficiency. They never invited leaguemen beyond the docks at which they traded their goods, but nothing in their outward appearance indicated threat. They did not even seem to have guards watching over them. This fact alone made Neen's skin crawl as if with a thousand spiders. Who other than people so secure in their power-with unseen weapons ready to unleash-would act as if they gave no thought to it? That the Lothan Aklun had such an effect on him while outwardly feigning harmlessness had planted in him the first seed of personal animus toward them. This seed had found ready watering in the years since.

  And now they were dead. Not so invulnerable after all, it seemed. Now everything that had been theirs belonged to the league. Sire Neen did not know exactly what that meant, but he longed to find out.

  "You saw the clipper?" Noval asked. "The captain here has made a quick study of it. He can't explain it in the slightest, but I believe he's rather taken with the vessel. You should see him at the helm."

  The captain did not deny it. "There is power in that ship like I've never felt before. It's inside the vessel itself, Sire. Truly amazing."

  Inside the vessel itself, Sire Neen repeated to himself. So it's tru
e. They had long known that the Lothan Aklun stole the life force from chosen quota children with a soul-catching device and then transferred the force into other bodies. But they had heard only rumors that the Lothan also managed to harness the life force to power inanimate objects like their ships. Now they had proof. And if this rumor was true, perhaps the others were as well, but these things could be explored in time. They had other business to see to.

  "And have you made contact with the Auldek?" Sire Neen asked.

  "Yeesss." Noval dragged the word out. "We have. I can't say that we've communicated all that effectively with them, though. They were somewhat agitated by our arrival. I'll leave it up to you to explain things to them fully. In any event, we've arranged for you to meet their clan leadership tomorrow. We should have the Numrek with us from the start. We mentioned them to the Auldek, but they didn't grasp what we were telling them. Are the Numrek well?"

  "The brutes." Sire Neen blew a dismissive burst of air through his lips. "Who knows? I mean, yes, yes, I'm sure they're well. They've been bound in their cabins the entire voyage. They're alive and will likely be overjoyed to set foot on dry land again." He considered taking a seat, but his body tingled with too much energy to sit still. Instead, he paced, amazed at the situation he found himself in. It was all too perfect. He had been too modest in his aspirations; by the end of this he would be chief elder in his later years. The league would own everything that passed across the Gray Slopes, both what went out and what came in. He himself would be a deity while still in the prime of life.

  This thought did, in fact, cause him to sit down. "So tomorrow I will broker a new trade agreement with the Auldek. Are they like the Numrek?"

  Noval raised his shoulders. Dropped them. "Yes and no. I really can't tell you much about them. They are quite like the Numrek and also not that much like them at all. You should just see for yourself."

  A bit casual in his mastery of details, Sire Neen thought. Youth. "Are they rich?"

  Smiling, Noval said, "Rich enough. Rich and strange, which together bodes well for us."

  "What more do we know about what becomes of the quota?"

  "About what they do with them? Nothing. I saw Known Worlders in among the Lothan Aklun. We interrogated the few we captured. Peculiar creatures; they fought like trapped wildcats, though they were body servants, not warriors. Strangely loyal to their masters, they seemed. Quite a few of them died along with the Lothan Aklun, for no reason but blind loyalty. And the ones I saw among the Auldek…" He began to illustrate something, his fingers dancing before his face, but he dropped the effort. "Really, Uncle, you should see them for yourself. Don't let me spoil the amusement."

  Sire Neen found all this too vague. He was about to say as much, but a commotion at the far door announced new arrivals. Several Ishtat guards jostled their way into the room, all of them focused on a single figure at their center: Prince Dariel. But not Prince Dariel as he had been a few moments ago on deck. The small interval of time between then and now had worked a transformation on him. His lips were swollen and raw. His nose puffy and leaking blood, which smeared across his face. Eyes teary with shock and pain and emotion. And anger. There was plenty of anger, too. He wrenched his body and head about, fighting the Ishtat. But they held him firmly. His hands were bound behind his back. One guard grasped him by a fistful of hair and steadied him. The most ignominious feature was a bit that had been shoved inside the royal mouth and fastened by straps that pressed against his cheeks and wrapped around the back of his head. He could breathe but not talk.

  Sire Neen had forgotten the pleasure of running his tongue over his rounded teeth. Seeing Dariel reminded him of it and he indulged. "Oh, that looks most uncomfortable, Prince," he said, grimacing in a show of commiseration. "It looks as though you put up a fight. Commendable, I guess, but futile." He gestured with his fingers. The guards dragged the prince closer. "Look here, Noval, this is Prince Dariel Akaran."

  Bowing his head, Noval said, "Honored to meet you, Your Highness."

  "I left word for the Ishtat to bring him to us, but it seems he did not come willingly. Perhaps he thought he could fight his way through our entire Ishtat force. He might have thought his Marah would aid him. Alas. They won't." He dropped his voice and added, "We've… had to kill them."

  Dariel's eyes bulged. He worked his lips and tongue, clearly wanting to speak, but the apparatus let nothing more than grunts and frustrated exhalations escape his mouth-that and the drool that slipped from the corners of his stretched lips. He began thrashing about again. The sight of him was almost too much for Sire Neen to bear with composure. To keep from showing his mirth, he fumbled in his breast pocket for his mist pipe.

  He did not look up again until he had lit it and sucked a quick puff of the green smoke. Dariel hung panting, his gaze positively blazing with hatred. "I can see your thoughts," Sire Neen said. Despite the meaning of his words, his voice was syrupy sweet, playful. "They're right there in your eyes. You're thinking, How can he think he can offend an Akaran prince and not regret it later? You never were the brightest of your brood, were you? Aliver would not have trusted me for a moment. Corinn would have figured everything out by now and already be working to undo the damage. Mena, even bound as you are now, would likely have found some way to cut my head from my shoulders. Not you, though. You had a skill at treachery and murder-I'll grant you that-but I've always found you rather dull. You let your sister be master of the world you could have claimed. That lack of ambition mystifies me."

  Sire Neen reached out as if to smooth a lock of the prince's hair back into place, but he was not really near enough and did not complete the gesture. For a moment he forgot how much he hated the prince. He felt something like warmth for him. "Should we explain things to you? There's no reason you shouldn't face your future with clear eyes." He gestured for one of his secretaries to vacate his seat. "Let the prince sit."

  A kind offer, but one that took the guards a moment to convince the prince to accept. Once he was seated, held in place against the chair's cushions, Sire Neen began a casual discourse, one he punctuated with pauses to sip from his pipe. "As you can imagine," he said, "the league has attempted to gain intelligence about the Lothan Aklun for generations. They were annoyingly secretive, giving nothing, wanting nothing other than to trade mist for quota. That's all they wished of us. No more or less. We sent spies among them, but rarely heard back. Usually, they were lone individuals disguised as child slaves. They had orders-and the means-to kill themselves if discovered."

  Neen pursed his lips. "Why did we spy on them? For the same reason that Edifus broke the jaw of any man who raised his voice to him. For the same reason that Tinhadin betrayed Hauchmeinish and exiled the Santoth. Because of the very same impulse that drove your sister Corinn to see Hanish bleed to death upon his ancestral Scatevith stone. Because they were competition, Prince. Because the world, not even the entire stretch of the Gray Slopes, was wide enough to contain our ambition. Why share trade with them when we could own it all ourselves?"

  Noval said, "As an Akaran you should understand such thinking well."

  Sire Neen slitted his eyes at the young man, not exactly a reprimand but nearly so. He did not yet feel like sharing his discourse. "Yes, well, the league is patient, and because of our patience we learned some time ago that the Lothan Aklun were a ceremonial people. Among their many customs was a yearly ritual, a cleansing ceremony in which every Lothan took part. Each and every one, Prince: you can see how that would interest us. It was some years later, but eventually we gained a sample of the ceremonial purgative that was part of this cleansing from one of the few spies to make it back to us alive. Again, remember that every Lothan Aklun takes this purgative on the same day of the year, during the same hour. They, but only they. This gave my grandfather-he was the first architect of this venture-an idea. What, he asked, if we could find a way to poison that purgative in a way that would wipe out the Lothan entirely on a single day?"

  He stare
d at Dariel for a moment. "I see by the way your cheeks are twitching that you acknowledge what a fine idea he had. It proved difficult to orchestrate, though. We simply did not have the agents in place to spread a poison evenly among them. Never would, it seemed. So we tried to find another way. All the time, of course, we kept up the trade. Prospered from it, really. Some of the older leaguemen would have been content to continue like that, but most of us wanted more. What man doesn't really, at some fundamental level, want more? More of everything! More riches. More lovers. More power. More revenge.

  "Because he remained persistent, my father-who had taken up my grandfather's mission-worked with his physicians until they found a component of the purgative they could separate out. This they made into a poison, a vastly potent one." Here Neen paused and shared a knowing glance around the room, finally returning to Dariel. "Do you see where this is heading yet? Earlier this year-at great expense and risk-we managed to contaminate the purgative. A single agent did it, with a single vial of our poison mixed in with their purgative. It was all manufactured and stored in one place, you see. Security around it was surprisingly lax. A weak spot, indeed."

  Dariel had stopped struggling some time ago. His eyes, still red with emotion but calmer than before, remained fixed on Sire Neen. More bewildered now than angry.

  "Somebody wipe the boy's chin," Sire Neen said. "It's disturbing to see a grown man drool so." One of the Ishtat actually tried to carry out the order, but Dariel yanked his chin away. Lovely to see the fight in him, Sire Neen thought. I wonder how long he'll manage to keep it up? Out loud he said, "Noval, tell him what you witnessed. Exactly the same as you told me before."

  The younger man happily obliged. Sire Neen listened to each detail almost as if he had seen the events and not just heard them reported a short time before. Thus, he envisioned the panorama that was the main harbor of Melith An, the trading port of the Lothan Aklun. He watched as the league schooner, the Hooktooth, nosed its way into the harbor. Normally, the harbor was thriving, bustling, alive with boat traffic and commerce. This time, chaos ruled. Neen watched as white-robed Lothans ran shouting along the harbor, chased by their own servants, who were trying to hold them back. But again and again Lothans managed to break free and throw themselves in the water. Some of them even carried others down to the same fate. The waters of the harbor were blocked with corpses and with the dying and with slaves trying either to save their masters or to die beside them.