Canticle poi-2

by Ken Scholes

  “It’s gotten worse. This resurgence is like nothing we’ve seen before, and its roots have grown deep and in secret. Rumor has it that Winteria’s army is divided. She herself rides to petition for kin-clave.”

  Petronus winced. It was deep, then. The Order had kept a tight rein on these things, using its Gray Guard and its kin-clave to stomp out any hint of Y’Zir worship long before it reached the point of building critical mass. But the Marshers were already susceptible to mysticism. And though they were watched, they were a difficult people to infiltrate. With time and patience and care, a foundation of religion could be formed. Add to that an inexplicable access to forbidden blood magicks and men willing to die in service to the cause and it was a powerful weapon.

  It could be no coincidence that just after Windwir fell, this new threat arose. Had Windwir stood, she had within her basements the means to counter these magicks, the weapons with which to bring down these foes. Some could say that without the shepherd, wolves savaged the fold. Still, it was not reasonable that a cult in the Marshlands could bring down Windwir. Not without a great deal of help.

  Esarov had insisted that the threat that brought down Windwir had come from within. Vlad Li Tam believed his own family had somehow been compromised and used, along with Sethbert, to accomplish this. His golden bird and its presence at Windwir supported that belief. And beyond the fall of Windwir, chaos and violence rocked the Named Lands with both House Li Tam and the Order out of the way.

  “It’s all threads of the same tapestry,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Aye,” Grymlis agreed. “And last week, I dreamed your death, Father, beneath an iron blade. Something is happening, and I believe we’re being herded as cattle to the cliff.” He paused, and Petronus felt the discomfort of his next words: “I’m fearful of what comes.”

  Petronus nodded but said nothing.

  “So again,” Grymlis said, “come with us. We will find a place to hide you. We will continue the work of walking this Whymer Maze.”

  Petronus sighed. “What if my work in this is to follow the path I’m on?”

  There was anger in Grymlis’s voice now, but the old guard worked hard to conceal it. “Then you should give me whatever orders you wish me to carry out both now and beyond your life here. Because if you do not come with me now, of a certainty I believe you will be dead within the month.”

  “Because of your dream?”

  “Because of my dream, yes.” He continued, “And don’t give me that Franci tripe about dreams being the secret mazes our souls work out, our hidden fears and forbidden desires. I know all of that. But I also know this: This dream feels true, and I’ll not stand by and watch it come to pass.”

  Petronus stopped. He’d reached the center of the maze and saw the marble meditation bench there. He walked to it and sat down. He wasn’t sure that he believed the Francis anymore on that subject. Neb’s dreams during the grave-digging had tested and broken his belief. “I cannot go with you, Grymlis. I need to finish what’s begun with this.”

  “You have summoned every leader in the Named Lands that ever held kin-clave with Windwir into one place,” Grymlis said, his voice heavy with anger. “Meanwhile, a foe that we have not the resources to stop flows over the Wandering Army like water over stone to savage the armies of Pylos and Turam on a whim.” He waited, and Petronus felt the weight of the words settling upon him. “Surely, Father, you see this?”

  “I do,” he said. “But Rudolfo’s Firstborn Feast and the events of that night prove that if they wished to, they could strike anywhere and anytime. They do not need us gathered in one place for this.”

  Grymlis sighed. “Then what are your orders?”

  Petronus thought for a moment. “Should your dream prove true-and I do not believe it will, Grymlis-I would have you take what men are left you and petition Rudolfo for protection. They’ve not touched those of the Androfrancine remnant that remained in the Ninefold Forest. Serve him as you serve the light.”

  “I will serve him as I’ve served you, Father.”

  “And you’ve served me well, Grymlis.”

  He offered a bitter laugh. “Not well enough. A better soldier would club you and carry you to safety.”

  Petronus chuckled. “A better soldier would trust his superior’s judgment.”

  Grymlis snorted. “I know better than that, old man.”

  And then, without another word between them, a shadow slipped away and the heavy, rotten odor of human waste gave way to crisp, clear air that smelled like rain.

  When the first drops fell, Petronus remained there at the center of the maze, unmoving on the meditation bench. When the downpour that came next soaked him through and the guards came to escort him to his suite, he gave himself over to them.

  Closer now, he thought, this reckoning of mine.

  No. Not mine.

  And Petronus felt the weight of a greater reckoning upon them all as clouds the color of bruises wept for the children of P’Andro Whym.

  Chapter 22

  Rae Li Tam

  Rae Li Tam sat in the corner of the crowded cell and listened to the voices through the pipe. It had taken them half of the day to figure out the water was drugged-and she should have known better. She could easily name a half dozen herbs or roots that could induce a similar state: nausea, dizziness, lethargy and disorientation. Still, they’d been debilitated for most of their time here. Now, she was clear-headed, and her mind spun strategy after strategy to find some solution to this cipher. She did not have long. At some point, they would have to go back to drinking the water if she did not solve it. And that meant House Li Tam would join the Androfrancines in desolation.

  So she bent her will to the riddle. She set some to tracking guard shifts and others to listening at the pipes in their cells. She established sleep shifts and message routes.

  Blood pipes. It turned her stomach and caught her breath in her throat. They were warm to her ear, but she had to listen.

  Some of the more seasoned sons and daughters of House Li Tam had coded bits of information into the poems they composed to their father beneath the knife.

  So Rae Li Tam sat and untangled the codes, inventoried what she learned, and worried over the children. The guards took them while they were all still too drugged to act, and she was afraid for them.

  She heard a distant tapping underneath the screams, and she lifted her ear for a moment, cocking her head. No, it wasn’t in the pipes.

  There. Letters. She followed the sound slowly as the message repeated, moving gradually to the bars.

  Rae Li Tam, it said.

  She reached the front of the cell and tapped her fingernail against the iron bar. Yes.

  She felt the slightest breeze and started when a firm hand grabbed her wrist and soft fingers pressed a message into the skin of her forearm.

  I am Rudolfo, Lord of the Ninefold Forest Houses, husband of Jin Li Tam,

  forty-second daughter of Vlad Li Tam by strategic marriage

  under the Overtures of kin-clave.

  She crouched slowly, and Rudolfo’s grip loosened to let her. Why are you here?

  There was a pause. We can discuss that at a later time. We have ships at the ready; we’re taking back your fleet, and my Gypsy Scouts are learning the maze before we run it. What can you tell me?

  She blinked. Was this a trap? Some kind of trick? How do I know you’re truly Rudolfo?

  You do not. Just be ready. Have your people organized. We do not intend to leave you to the knife.

  Rae Li Tam looked around to her people. Mistrust at this juncture could not be allowed to interfere with her objective.

  The children had to be saved, and she would not discard any opportunity. They are cutting faster now, she tapped. They fill the holding cell every two hours and move them through quickly. They’re making Father watch.

  His fingers were still for a moment. They are readying the iron flagship for a voyage. I must see to my men. He gave her arm a gentle squee
ze, and then his fingers moved again. Be ready; we will not leave you.

  Her own reply surprised her given her mistrust. Listen to the pipes, she said, and I will pass what little I know to you. She could softly tap the information to him, trusting the magicks to augment his senses.

  Likewise, he replied, but softly, so listen well. Then he dropped her hand and slipped away. She barely heard the whispering of his boots as he retreated.

  Before they faded entirely, Rae Li Tam started the chain of messages that would keep her family ready. She set more ears to the pipes-they could not afford to miss whatever word the Gypsy King might send. If indeed it were Rudolfo. She could not know for sure, and even if it were, there was no guarantee that he could free them.

  Still, she had to be ready.

  Messages sent, she went back to the pipe to gather what knowledge she could. But more than that, she listened to build up hatred. Her grandfather had often told her, “Grow your pain into an army.”

  She did this now, pulling down each cry of pain, each moan of anguish through the warm, flowing pipes. She felt herself building strength as she cataloged the coded bits of knowledge and tapped it into the pipe.

  Closing her eyes, she watched her pain grow into a red light behind her eyelids and bent it into a conquering force that no enemy could stand against.

  Rudolfo

  Rudolfo followed his Gypsy Scouts into the room and closed the door softly behind them. The lock had been simple enough to pick, and Rae Li Tam’s messages, tapped through the pipes, had been correct-the guard passed the door every two to three minutes. His scouts had already inventoried the room, but he insisted they bring him back so he could see for himself. Once inside, he took stock.

  It was a small armory with assorted blades and bows, shield racks and various scraps of soldiering. They weren’t a uniform army, that was for certain. These weapons were an odd collection from various nations in the Named Lands, though clean and ready for use. Certainly enough to guard drugged prisoners if Rae Li Tam’s assertions were true. But the weapons were not what caught his eye as he glanced around the room.

  No, it was the small silver vials in their rack beside the door. He slipped over to it and withdrew one, unscrewing the lid to sniff the contents within. It was a strong, sour smell that made his eyes water and burned his nostrils. These were the blood magicks. They had to be. He stretched a hand behind him and tapped his thumb and fore-finger together three times.

  A Gypsy Scout’s hand found his extended forearm. Yes, General?

  You’ve each earned an estate in Glimmerglam for this work, his own fingers pressed. Now, live through the day to claim it.

  Yes, General.

  He thought for a moment, then pressed his orders into the waiting arm. Take these to Rae Li Tam. Tell her what they are and what they cost. She was an alchemist; she would understand, he realized, and select as few men as possible. Those who took the blood-magicks would pay with their lives for the strength and stealth it lent them. He continued his orders: Kill a guard, take his keys, and free them. Arm them if you can and wait for further orders, but hold your floor quietly. The children are your first priority; Lord Tam is your second. Hold for my orders or for when the ships go-whichever comes first.

  Aye, General, the scout pressed into his arm.

  Rudolfo thought for a moment, choosing his next words with care. Rae Li Tam is to be protected at all costs.

  After the first scout acknowledged the order, Rudolfo tapped for the second scout and took his offered arm. Find the children. Tap their location into the pipes. When I’ve found Tam, I’ll do the same.

  Rudolfo gave them time to get under way, then listened for the guard to pass outside. Once he’d strolled by, he let himself out of the room and relocked it. It was time to begin this night’s work, and he hoped last night’s hastily thought strategy would hold together. With the flagship preparing to leave, they could not afford to wait any longer. He would make his way from here to the kitchen and pack the bundle of soaked rags into the main oven. If Charles’s handiwork proved true, it would lend eerie light to the smoke that leaked from its chimney and tell Rafe Merrique that it was time to disable the ships and prepare to hold the docks.

  Rudolfo crept into the hall and moved quickly to the next point where he could check the pipe. In the absence of new information, Rae Li Tam was tapping out the previous ones. Rudolfo interrupted her with the lightest tapping of his own fingernails, hoping the sound would carry to her amid the screams and the flowing blood. My man brings you a way out. Follow his instructions.

  After her acknowledgment, he slipped down another shadowed hallway and approached the door to the kitchen. He’d memorized what maps they had, amending them internally with each new bit of information he gleaned from his men or from the pipe. He listened at the kitchen door and paused a moment to collect himself.

  The scout magicks were already starting to chew on him. He felt the headache building behind his eyes and felt the restlessness in his stomach. It would only get worse, and that meant he needed to do as much as he could while his mind was still sharp and the discomfort was at its lowest level. His Gypsy Scouts could stay under the powders for days at a time-weeks even, if absolutely necessary. But the few times he’d used them over the years, his body had paid steeply each time for days following.

  Rudolfo heard nothing behind the door and opened it. The kitchen was dimly lit by an open stove with its banked fire. He went swiftly to it and pulled the wad of rags from his pocket. Taking up an iron fire poker, he stirred the coals to life and tossed the rag bundle onto it. Then, he closed the stove and moved back into the hallway.

  Rudolfo picked his way slowly across the second floor, positioning himself near the guard station that stood between him and the third floor. His scouts had logged at least two men at this post during their forays into the various points within the building, and neither had slipped past this station yet-Rudolfo would be the first. But after watching for a full ten minutes he did not see how he could do it without resorting to violence, and magicked or not, two-to-one odds were not favorable. Neither was losing the element of surprise sooner than necessary.

  Rudolfo moved through the corridors and found a door leading to a suite of guest rooms. He could not imagine guests attending the dark rites that took place here, but he picked the lock and found himself in a lavishly decorated room.

  He scanned his memory for his recollection of this side of the structure. There were balconies here, and if the distance was close enough, he should be able to climb to the third floor. Rudolfo moved across the thick-carpeted room and opened the door that led to the bedchambers. On the far wall, a narrow glass door offered him a view of the harbor. Somewhere out there, beneath a veil of clouds, Rafe Merrique and his men set about securing the vessels and disabling the schooners.

  Rudolfo opened the door and felt the warm night wind move over him. Stepping onto the balcony, he pulled the door closed behind him and looked up. The balconies were offset with one another, floor by floor, and he’d not consider a climb like that without the enhanced senses and strength he received from the powders. If only he could keep the damnable headache from consuming him.

  He pulled himself up onto the rail, his hand steadying himself against the outer wall of the building. Trying not to look down, he balanced himself and once more measured the distance between him and the balcony above. Fixing his eye on the handhold ahead, Rudolfo forced himself to the climb, giving himself to the magicks that enhanced his strength and agility and trying not to look beneath him while he imagined the wall to be an old-growth pine from his childhood in the forest. Sweat beaded upon his forehead as he slowly made his way up, his feet and hands finding purchase as he went.

  When he finally pulled himself over the edge of the balcony, he was winded but careful to let his breath out through his nose. He huddled in the corner and waited for the spike in his head to stop twisting.

  As he waited, he heard voices and cocked his h
ead. The door to the balcony above was slightly ajar, and he heard the sounds of muted conversation drifting out into the night air along with curtains that caught on the breeze like flags.

  He’d thought to scout the third floor and see if he could find another way past the guards-but he strained his ear upward, catching the low voices, and curiosity got the better of him. Whatever happened here, he had no doubt it was connected somehow to the Desolation of Windwir and to the attack upon his Firstborn Feast. Blood magicks had returned to the New World when Windwir fell, and it could be no coincidence that one of the Named Lands’ most powerful families was now under the knife. This structure was made for bloodletting, from its viewing balcony to the cutting floor, through the system of pipes down into the distillery he knew must be buried in the deeper basements.

  Rudolfo had certainly read the stories as a child. He was familiar with the bargaining pools and their access to the dark spirits of the Beneath Places, where blood and anguish could purchase favors and power. His own Tormentor’s Row, now closed these eight months, followed a similar design to those Blood Temples of old but only retained the notion of redemptive cutting, having no use for the blood that was spilled in the pursuit of that atonement.

  This resurgence was a threat to the Named Lands that had to be stopped. That meant availing himself of anything he could learn while freeing House Li Tam. It even meant saving Vlad Li Tam if he was still alive, forced to watch as his family went beneath the salted blades. Quietly, he rose to his feet and moved to the far railing of the balcony. As he drew closer, the words became slightly clearer, though still not clear enough for him to hear. It was a man and a woman talking in low tones.

  He climbed onto the railing and found his handholds, holding his breath and willing silence into his every movement. He was too old for this, he realized, and had not climbed since the days of his youth. Heights were not the friend they’d once been to him as a younger man.

  Still, he forced his way upward and found himself crouching in the corner of the balcony.