Throne of Ruins (The Powers of Amur Book 5)

by J. S. Bangs

  Vapathi stopped. The first person she recognized among them was Basadi. “Empress of the Devoured?”

  Basadi looked up and spotted Vapathi at the edge of the rowdy circle. “Queen of Slaves!” she responded with a raucous smile, raising a hand bedecked in rings and waving at Vapathi with imperious grace. “You’ve never come here before. Have you descended from your tower to join us in a game? We let women throw the dice sometimes.”

  Vapathi shook her head. She had played sacchu once or twice and found it dreadfully dull. “Where is Apurta?”

  “Vapathi?” She heard the response. He was sitting with his back toward her among the spectators. He stood and turned to face her.

  His face was flush, and he wobbled a little on his feet. A woman had been leaning into him and fondling his calf. Vapathi gave the woman a sharp stare. She dropped her hand.

  Apurta smiled. “You coming to join us?”

  “Can you come with me to talk?” she said. She motioned back down the passage that led to the Ushpanditya.

  A moment of confusion showed on Apurta’s face. “Sure,” he said. “Let me… never mind.” He stepped forward, wading his way through the ring of bodies around the game. Once he reached Vapathi, he put an arm around her shoulders and leaned into her. He smelled of rice beer and sweat.

  “Bye, Apurta,” Basadi called out in a sing-song voice. “Come back soon.”

  He waved a hand in silent farewell as he staggered with Vapathi down the hallway. “Where are we going?” he asked her.

  “I want to show you something,” Vapathi said. She frowned.

  “Is something wrong, love?” His steps were uneven, and he leaned heavily against her to keep from falling. “You’ve been a little off the last two weeks.”

  “Yes. Off.” Before, maybe she would have joined the soldiers for an afternoon of flirting and drinking. She couldn’t stomach it now. “Just follow me.”

  The couples kissing in the hall had gone, probably for slightly more private places. Apurta breathed heavily in her ear. They passed under the arch of the Horned Gate and into the courtyard of the Emperor’s Tower. Apurta turned toward it instinctively, but Vapathi pulled him away.

  “Not that way,” she said.

  Apurta looked confused. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” She paused. “Why do your commanders let all of those girls into the Dhigvaditya?”

  “The Empress brings them,” Apurta said.

  “And the commanders allow it?”

  Apurta chuckled. “Can they stop her?”

  “Are they Devoured?”

  “Most of them, I guess,” he said. “I don’t know where else they’d come from. They probably sleep in the Ushpanditya. The ones that haven’t started sleeping with soldiers in their bunks.”

  “I should talk to the Mouth of the Devourer,” Vapathi grumbled. “He wants the Red Men to maintain discipline. This doesn’t look like discipline to me.”

  Apurta slapped her on the shoulder. “Soften up, Vapathi. Soldiers need to relax, eh? When did you get so concerned?”

  She shook her head. They were in the servant’s wing now, close to the entrance to the cellars. “It’s not really the soldiers that bother me. It’s—you’ll see.”

  A moment later they reached the cellar entrance. Vapathi lit the empty lamp hanging by the door and gestured for Apurta to descend. He hesitated at the entrance.

  “If you’re looking for some privacy for us, we’ve got the Emperor’s Tower,” he said.

  Vapathi rolled her eyes. “Follow me.”

  They went into the arched, stone-carved cellars. The cold, dry air sobered Apurta a little, and he stopped leaning so heavily on her. At the end of the cellar, Vapathi stopped before the last door.

  Her skin already crawled. She didn’t want to open the door. But she couldn’t just tell Apurta about what she had seen. He had to understand.

  She pulled the door open. “Look inside,” she said. She thrust the lamp into his hands.

  He entered. A deathly silence filled the tunnel. She heard Apurta’s footsteps scraping the dust of the cellar floor and a heavy breath. He returned to the tunnel, holding the lamp lazily at his waist, a dazed look in his eyes.

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  “The Devoured,” Vapathi said. “The ones from Pukasra and Tulakhanda.”

  “All of them?”

  “I think so. I can’t tell. It’s not like we took a census.”

  He blinked and rubbed his bleary eyes. “And why did you want me to see this?”

  “Because… we have to put an end to this.”

  “We do?”

  “Merciful Powers, Apurta, did you see them? It’s worse than death. And all the Devoured will become like that—”

  “Will they?” Apurta asked sharply. He handed the lamp back to Vapathi and rubbed his temples. “You don’t know that.”

  “It makes sense. The ones that have been Devoured for a while, you notice that they get listless, indolent—”

  “The Empress of the Devoured doesn’t.”

  Vapathi paused. “How do you know?”

  Apurta snorted. “I see her in the Dhigvaditya every day. She’s quite lively. More so than half the non-Devoured people I’ve seen.”

  “Maybe she’s different. Still, Apurta, we can’t let the Devoured end up like this.”

  Apurta staggered a few feet down the tunnel. “We can’t? Why not?”

  She gaped at him. “You can’t be serious, Apurta.”

  Apurta shrugged. He leaned against the wall of the tunnel. “They chose to give their names to the Mouth of the Devourer.”

  “And he said he would deliver us, not turn us into—”

  “Your brother hasn’t done anything to us,” Apurta said, turning sharply.

  Vapathi took a nervous step backward. The light of her lamp shone in Apurta’s dull eyes. His breathing was heavy and angry. “No,” Vapathi said. “He refused to make us Devoured, even when it would have been safer.”

  “He never needed—”

  “When I walked up to the gates of the Dhigvaditya with a jar of blood, I would have accepted the invulnerability of the Devoured if my brother had offered it to me,” Vapathi said sharply. “And don’t forget that’s how I rescued you.”

  He sighed and rested his head against his hand. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “And now? You’ll just let this go on?”

  “He’s your brother.”

  “And that’s why—”

  “Damn it, Vapathi,” Apurta said. He pushed off of the wall and started to pace. “Why can’t you leave this alone? I’d rather things stay the same.”

  “Stay? You can’t be serious.”

  “Can’t I?” His voice rose in anger. “This is the best I’ve ever lived. I live in the Emperor’s Tower, you know? And I get to drink beer and play games all day. I don’t fear anyone, and I don’t have to listen to anyone. How much better do you want it? Why do you have to make things difficult?”

  “But Kirshta—”

  Apurta started. “You’re not supposed to say that name.”

  “He’s not here, he can’t hear it.”

  He murmured. “I think the Devoured feel it. He might know even if he’s not here with you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not here just so that I can wallow in luxury. I was here because my brother wanted it. And this… this is just one more thing that shows it’s not going how we planned.”

  He looked at her sharply. “How we planned? When did you plan any of this?”

  Vapathi hissed. “I helped you. You and my brother both. Both of you would have died in the dungeons of the Dhigvaditya if I hadn’t saved you.”

  “And now you want to throw it away?”

  “Apurta, I want my brother to be well.”

  Apurta stamped a foot in the dust. “Your brother seems to be fine. You’re the only one who’s upset by anything.”

  “Fine? Have you seen him lately? He looks like
he’s on the verge of death.”

  “She Who Devours keeps him alive.”

  “Does she? Or is she slowly eating him up?”

  “I don’t see that,” Apurta said. “What I see is that the Mouth of the Devourer has kept both of us safe, driven off the Emperor and the khadir and everyone else that would push us around, and given us the Ushpanditya and the Dhigvaditya for our playground. What do I care for a bunch of peasants who would have killed us if he hadn’t Devoured them?”

  Vapathi stood still as a stone. Her breath came as heavy and hard, like drawing water through a reed. The stone above her felt suffocating.

  “Is that really what you think?” she asked.

  “Don’t bother me with the fate of the Devoured,” Apurta grumbled. “If your brother needs help, he can ask me. He’s asked for help plenty of times before.”

  “I don’t think he can ask now, Apurta. He needs us.”

  “No. You’re mad because you think he needs you. You want him to need you. You just don’t know how to relax and enjoy victory.”

  He turned away and walked a few paces down the tunnel, to the very edge of the circle of light cast by Vapathi’s lamp. He paused there and looked back, a mixture of fear, sorrow, and anger showing on his beer-flushed face. Vapathi stepped closer to him.

  “Do you need the light?”

  A pang of fury crossed his face. He waved her away and charged off into the darkness.

  Vapathi stood alone in the tunnel, holding the lamp. She stepped to the right and closed the door to the room where the Devoured waited. She paused with her hand on the copper handle of the door. Her breath caught.

  Her eyes squeezed shut. There was no time to weep. If she had to save Kirshta without Apurta, then she would.

  MANDHI

  Nakhur and Sudran dragged the drunken, red-faced Kaleksha man through the door of the bhilami and dropped him onto the floor. He rolled onto his side and attempted to stand up, but collapsed with the grace of a dead fish. Saliva dripped from the side of his mouth, and half-formed Kaleksha words dribbled out.

  Hrenge sat on a bench beside the entrance of the bhilami. Mandhi pointed to the drunken man and asked, “Who?”

  Hrenge had learned just enough Amuran to understand the question. She sighed, pursed her lips, and said, “Hagodl.”

  Mandhi shook her head. She looked at Nakhur, who was wiping Hagodl’s beery sweat off of the sleeves of his white garment with a rag. He threw the rag down and said in disgust, “Better off washing the whole thing. And repurifying the room here.”

  Mandhi tried not to touch the man. “Was he the only one?”

  “The only one too drunk to leave on his own,” Nakhur said. “Glanod and Kest stayed behind to herd the others out.”

  Sudran, second in rank of the city’s saghada, stood with his hands folded behind his back, regarding the drunken man with a look of disgust. He glanced at Mandhi with an icy expression. “Yes, the others were only mostly drunk. And in an unclean establishment.”

  Mandhi turned away. There was nothing she could say to Sudran. Her disgust was as great as his, but she didn’t have the luxury of swearing off the os Dramab.

  She heard Kest’s and Glanod’s voices in the entrance. They were talking in Kaleksha to Hrenge. Mandhi waved them in. In the inner dim she got a good look at their faces: grim, with frustration and weariness written in the creases around their mouths and the red knots on their brows.

  “Bring Hrenge, too,” Mandhi said. Glanod stooped and spoke to the matriarch, and she followed them into the bhilami. The scent of old candles and sandalwood covered the reek of rice beer coming from the man in the doorway.

  Mandhi sat herself down on a cushion and looked over the Kaleksha. “Why are the os Dramab men spending all of their time in the Kaleksha district?”

  Glanod snorted. “Because that’s where the Kaleksha are.”

  “But it’s unclean,” Mandhi said, her frustration bubbling up into a much harsher tone than she had intended to take. “You all swore to follow the laws of Ulaur—you can’t be off whoring and drinking and playing games in the Kaleksha district!”

  Glanod and Kest crossed their arms and glared at her. Hrenge inquired in Kaleksha what they had said, and Glanod gave her a few rough words of summary.

  “Why?” Mandhi asked when they had finished. “Why can’t they just stay here with the Uluriya? We’re not making them do any work—”

  “That’s the problem,” Kest broke in. His tone was rough and angry. “We have nothing to do. There’s nothing for us to farm or craft. We could take work as sailors, but you said—”

  “Yes,” Mandhi said, “we’re still trying to find a boat that can bring everyone to Virnas. I don’t want half of the men disappearing onto ships before we leave.” She was certain that if the os Dramab men dispersed now, they would never get them together again. She knew from her conversations with Hrenge that their matriarch had the same fear.

  “So what are we supposed to do?” The heat in Kest’s voice rose. “We’re strangers here. A lot of us don’t even speak Amuran. We’ve been in Davrakhanda for two months with nothing to do. But you don’t want us going to the Kaleksha district—”

  “That,” Mandhi said, pointing to the drunken man lying in the doorway, “is why I don’t want you going into the Kaleksha district.”

  “You didn’t even know his name until he came here,” Glanod said.

  “He swore the same oaths to Ulaur that the rest of you did. This debauchery and uncleanliness violates your promises. And it reflects badly on me and on all the Uluriya.”

  Kest snorted and shook his head. “Notice who has not given you trouble. Me—”

  “My husband,” Mandhi said sharply.

  Kest winced. “Me,” he repeated, “and Glanod and Adleg. The ones who had spent the most time in Amur beforehand. The only three who speak Amuran well.”

  “You think the others will settle down once we’ve been here for a while?”

  Kest shook his head. “It’s not the language itself that’s the problem, it’s—”

  “Idleness,” Sudran said. He appeared behind them in his saghada’s gown, his hands folded behind his back.

  Kest gave Sudran a glare of distaste. “He may be right,” he grumbled.

  “Having them idle around the houses of the Uluriya was never a good idea,” the saghada said acerbically. “Having them idle around the Kaleksha district is worse.”

  “We don’t have work for them,” Mandhi spat. “We already asked.”

  Sudran looked over the gathered Kaleksha with his eyebrows raised in distrust. “It’s time to ask again. Anything. Let them stoke fires for the silversmiths. Carry loads for the merchants.”

  “Work for boys and slaves,” Kest spat.

  “As is fitting,” Sudran said.

  In a burst of movement, Kest bolted toward Sudran and shoved him back a pace. He bellowed, “Is that what you think?

  Sudran’s eyes blazed. “Are you threatening a saghada?”

  “I won’t be called a slave by anyone.”

  Mandhi stood. “Both of you, calm down!”

  “Quiet, woman,” Sudran said with a wave. “You don’t have any standing here. This is my bhilami.”

  “And this is my husband,” Mandhi said. “Step-father to the next Heir of Manjur, if you recall.”

  “Oh,” Sudran said, his voice dripping with venom, “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Then don’t insult him and his people.”

  “Insult or not, they have to do something, and none of them are skilled—”

  “Many of us have sailed,” Glanod broke in. His voice was as hard and sharp as a reef rock.

  “That doesn’t help, since we’re not letting anyone sail out.”

  Mandhi noticed Hrenge watching them, her eyes drawn nearly shut, her face warped with anxiety and incomprehension. She lay a hand on the old woman’s shoulder.

  Kest took a moment to relay the contents of the conversation to Hrenge. The
matriarch nodded, then began to speak, her creaking voice filling the bhilami with its soft, lilting cadence. Kest and Glanod calmed. They bowed their heads. Glanod murmured something in response.

  “My mother is right,” Kest said when Hrenge had finished.

  “What did she say?” Sudran asked, the skepticism evident in his voice.

  “It doesn’t matter what kind of work we have,” Kest said. “Back in the Dramab, we plowed fields and herded sheep, but here we don’t have fields or sheep. So we should do whatever work there is. Even if it’s work for slaves.”

  Mandhi took a moment to breathe. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Whatever work you can do, it’ll be acceptable.”

  “Well,” Sudran said reluctantly, “I suppose I can ask the smiths and the merchants again. Hiring Kaleksha may be a bit easier than hiring men from the docks, if you’re right here in the district.”

  “Good,” Mandhi said. She bowed to Hrenge and repeated one of the Kaleksha phrases she had learned. “Hu ser damak.”

  Hrenge gave her a forlorn smile.

  “There is another thing,” Glanod said reluctantly. “Some of the Kaleksha seemed to have made debts at the guesthouses where they played and drank.”

  “Debts?” Mandhi said. Memories of the dissolute Navran came to her, and her mood sank further. “How much?”

  “Not too much,” Glanod said. “You’d have to ask.”

  “Nakhur and I will take care of it,” Mandhi said. “Tomorrow. For now, get your brothers to rest. And tell them that none of them will be going to the Kaleksha district. Not tomorrow. Not ever, if I can help it.”

  “I can say that,” Kest said softly, “but I don’t know if we can actually stop them.”

  “Then we’ll have to keep them busy,” Mandhi said. She squeezed Hrenge’s hand.

  * * *

  The owner of the Kaleksha guesthouse was, to Mandhi’s surprise, a middle-aged Amuran man with a pot-belly and a long, greasy mustache. His guesthouse was located on the edge of the Kaleksha district, a dimly lit, half-buried hovel with two long, narrow tables down the middle and dirt-stained rugs on each side. The odor of old beer mingled with the stench of dung smoke and boiled milk.