Throne of Ruins (The Powers of Amur Book 5)

by J. S. Bangs

  “Explain.”

  “We have read the book,” Bhudman said, “and we believe it describes for us the principles by which the saghada and the dhorsha could be reconciled.”

  “Reconciled,” Navran said flatly. He did not seem very convinced. “Those principles are?”

  “The submission of the Powers to Ulaur. My lord and king, you know that we do not give our dhaur to the faithless Powers. Because we describe them as faithless, like khadir who have rebelled against their rightful king. Yet if the Powers themselves submitted to Ulaur once again, then we might lift the curses against them.”

  Navran looked at Bhudman with surprise. “I’ve never heard anyone say anything like this before. Is this an idea which the saghada know?”

  “No, my lord and king. If it were, I would have taught it to you by now. Rather, it is a conclusion which Daladham and I have recently arrived at.”

  “And this is in the thikratta book?”

  “It is, after a manner,” Bhudman said. “The book is ancient, and Daladham and I have observed two things of importance in it. First, it does not name Am as the Lord of the Powers of Amur. Rather, that title is given to Ulaur.”

  Navran looked from Bhudman to Daladham, his expression still inscrutable. “Daladham-dhu. What do the dhorsha think of this?”

  Daladham bowed and touched his forehead. He stood in Grass posture, his face toward the ground. “My lord and king, I cannot tell you what the dhorsha as a whole will do. I am but one man of the Amya dhorsha. But I can tell you that the idea is not without precedent.”

  “Which is?”

  “When the Emperor Aidasa knit the Seven Kingdoms together into the Empire, he made the dhorsha of every lineage proclaim Am as the Lord of the Powers of Amur, and he made Ashti into Am’s consort. It could be done again.”

  “Could it?” Navran looked back to Bhudman. “Would Ashti become the consort of Ulaur?”

  A momentary look of dismay crossed Bhudman’s face. “No, I don’t think that Ashti needs to be remarried. But Ulaur could be named as Lord.”

  “And what do the saghada think?”

  “You are the Heir, my lord and king,” Bhudman said. “You would push them.”

  Navran snorted. “Not on my own. Not for something like this.”

  “Then I would support you. And I would make the case, not just from the words of the thikratta book, but from the Law of Ghuptashya. Give me ten days to debate with the saghada of Virnas, and I will have half of them on our side.”

  “Ten days,” Navran said with a little laugh. He folded his gloved hands together and leaned forward. “Why now?”

  Bhudman bowed his head again. “The Mouth of the Devourer ravages the north and overturns Majasravi. Daladham-dhu says that the might of Am is broken. The red star hangs as an omen in the sky. If we are to survive this onslaught, then people and the Powers of Amur must be united under a new banner.”

  “Think of the political advantages,” Daladham said. “There are many khadir who will not convert, and others, such as my host Yavada-kha, who converted but still pine for the old rites. You could do a lot to bind them together in this manner.”

  “And Sadja-daridarya?” Navran said. “What will he think if I proclaim that Ulaur is the Lord. The imperial throne rests in the hand of Am.”

  “Rested,” Daladham corrected. “The Emperor has fled from Majasravi, and Sadja-daridarya holds a peculiar devotion to Kushma. He is not zealous for Am.”

  Navran got up from the throne. He began to pace, slowly moving in and out of the golden beams of sunlight that cut through the room. To Daladham he seemed disturbed and deep in thought, but not angry. It was an auspicious beginning. “Not alone,” he said softly.

  “What do you mean, my lord and king?” asked Bhudman.

  “Can’t act alone. Need the support of the saghada. And the dhorsha.”

  “Give me ten days, as I said—”

  “Not just Virnas. All the saghada. As many as can come. A council.”

  “Oh,” Bhudman said. He seemed surprised for a moment, but a thoughtful smile appeared beneath his beard. “Not in my lifetime have the saghada gathered for a general council.”

  “But it’s been done.”

  Bhudman nodded. “Previously they occurred in secret. The saghada came without their robes, according to the records, so that the king of Virnas would not suspect.”

  “No secrets this time,” Navran said. “And the dhorsha.”

  “Yes, of course,” Daladham said, rubbing his hands together. It was obvious. He couldn’t speak for the dhorsha, not even just the Amya. But if all of the lineages sent representatives, they might all agree. “Much better than simply making a royal edict.”

  “No royal edicts,” Navran repeated. “I need the saghada and the dhorsha behind me, not being dragged. Bhudman, can you give me the saghada?”

  “Yes, my lord and king,” Bhudman said.

  “And the dhorsha, Daladham-dhu?”

  Daladham couldn’t speak with anything like Bhudman’s confidence. “I can call them together,” he said. “Beyond that, I can argue in the council. But I cannot compel.”

  “No. No compulsion.” Navran nodded. He turned suddenly on his heel and looked Bhudman and Daladham directly in their faces, his eyes burning with quiet intensity.

  “If I call the council, will it save the kingdom from the Mouth of the Devourer?”

  “I cannot promise that, my lord and king,” Bhudman said. “But I believe it will help. More importantly, it is right and true. There is no need for us to be enemies of the dhorsha if it’s possible for us to be friends.”

  Navran walked back to the throne and collapsed atop it. “Then I’ll call it. Bring a scribe. We must send invitations. Every major city south of the Amsadhu.”

  “How far out?” Daladham asked. “We must leave time for the invitations to be received, delegates appointed, and gathered here in Virnas.”

  “A month, two,” Bhudman said. “There is a new moon in ten days. It would be auspicious to begin the council on the new moon.”

  Daladham counted on his fingers. “Two moons after the coming moon, then. That gives us enough time for invitations to go throughout the south and for the delegates to return.”

  “Two moons after the coming sacrifice,” Navran repeated. “The council will begin as soon as the morning sacrifices are complete.”

  SADJA

  The mouths of the Amsadhu were a maze of islands, mangroves, mud flats, and serpentine channels, infested with cranes, flamingos, snakes, and turtles, the heart’s blood of Amur spilling into the sea. Sadja had never visited them before, but by reputation they were wild, murky, and nigh-impossible to navigate. Great stone cairns were raised near the deepest channels to mark the way for ships sailing up the Amsadhu to Jaitha. The cairns had to be demolished and rebuilt every decade or so as old channels silted in and the great river carved new outlets in the mud.

  He glimpsed the first of the piles of stone as their ragged fleet came around the headlands to the north of the delta. There was no more need for it, though. The pillar stood on dry ground fifty yards back from a narrow, reed-choked channel, with no other way up the river in sight. He heard curses from the men around him.

  He turned to Bhargasa standing next to him. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “I’ll ask the captain,” Bhargasa said. A moment later he returned, his expression downcast and forlorn.

  “Water level in the river is low. Lower than the men have ever seen it. Even when it’s dry, before the monsoon, the channel here should be deep enough for boats to sail.”

  Sadja glanced at the reedy trickle crawling past the stone pillar. There was no need to ask whether they could sail up it to Jaitha. He doubted whether they could row a coracle up that muddy creek. And on every side of the channel were empty mud flats, baking in the sun, dried silt cracked into hexagons. The green reeds crowding around the trickle of water were the only things that seemed fully alive. The trees on t
he islands were wilted and limp, the grass around their roots yellowing. Farther down the coast, Sadja could make out more islands of struggling green, with tracks of lifeless mud between them.

  “We pull ashore here,” Sadja said. “Lord and Lady… I had hoped we could sail all the way to Jaitha.”

  The order went up for them to come ashore, relayed via hollers and hand signs to the fleet that followed them. The mixed crew of Kaleksha and Amuran sailors began scurrying across the decks to prepare sails and anchors for landing. Sadja sighed and leaned against the rail.

  “Tell me, Bhargasa,” he said softly. “What is our best chance?”

  “It’s not too hard to weigh anchor here,” Bhargasa said. “We’ll have to row to shore—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Sadja said. “We could not hold the Dhigvaditya. We could not hold Davrakhanda. If the Mouth of the Devourer comes for us here….”

  Bhargasa was quiet for a while. “Here at the mouth of the Amsadhu we are defenseless. But Jaitha is the most defensible city in Amur after Majasravi. And the Amsadhu is a good place to make a stand. It is the artery that holds the lifeblood of Amur. And we still have allies.”

  “Do we?” Sadja asked. “We have barely any army. Even if I used my position as Emperor to compel the kings of the south to come to our aid, would they?”

  “I don’t think they favor the Mouth of the Devourer.”

  “No,” Sadja shook his head. “But what imperial power do I have to compel them? Neither the Red Men nor the Seven-Stepped Throne. Not even the seat of Davrakhanda.”

  “Those are not the only means of imperial power.”

  Sadja looked over the shriveled delta. The mighty Amsadhu, the great river of Amur and the queen of the waters, reduced to a weedy trickle before them.

  “I schemed for years to get to the Ushpanditya,” he said softly to Bhargasa. “Developed allies, looked for opportunities. Found Navran, unseated Ruyam, eliminated Praudhu. When I finally sat on the Seven-Stepped Throne, it seemed so solid. I don’t think any Emperor since Aidasa had taken the Ushpanditya in finer form than I did. And after less than a year, it dissolved into…”

  He gestured to the feeble remnants of the Amsadhu and the ragged fleet following them to the shore. His head dropped against his chest.

  Bhargasa was silent. He folded his hands behind his back and joined Sadja looking out over the dried and dying delta. A pair of listless herons flew to the edge of the river and began wading past the reeds. Their bills pried through the grasses, long legs taking careful steps in the shallow mud.

  “Yet we are not dead,” Sadja said, straightening. “We’ve lost both Davrakhanda and Majasravi, but if we stand here, I may regain them. I told Mandhi when we fled Davrakhanda that I was done running. The next time the Mouth of the Devourer comes for us, I will face him myself or die in the attempt.”

  “We had six months after the fall of Majasravi before the Devoured came to Davrakhanda,” Bhudman said. “If the Mouth of the Devourer waits to attack again, we may have time enough to build a truly great defense in Jaitha.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have six months. The Empress lives, it seems, and has taken an interest in me. The Mouth of the Devourer will be here soon.”

  “There’s still many, many miles between Majasravi and Jaitha, and they will be marching with the Devoured. It will take them months to reach us with an army. And there may be resistance.”

  Sadja shook his head. “The majakhadir of the plains will be in no position to resist the Mouth of the Devourer. I expect they’ll die or, more likely, flee and meet us here. I’ll send messengers among them inviting anyone that wants to join us. The kings of the south will be more important. I hope it will be enough.”

  He straightened and pointed to the trickle of the Amsadhu. “This is the heart of Amur. If the Mouth of the Devourer crosses the Amsadhu, then all of Amur will be lost—but I won’t let him cross.”

  * * *

  The ships disgorged their refugees onto the islands of the delta, forming a slum of tents and makeshift houses that gradually expanded inland. In an ordinary year these channels would have been brown with silt and muddy water, even before the rains began. But now, only the deepest channels still held water, and those were weedy, algae-ridden trickles.

  If the monsoon were to start, the camp would be flooded overnight. But no one had any hope that the monsoon would come.

  The dried mud of the shore crackled under Sadja’s feet as he paced through the heart of the encampment. Bhargasa and a handful of guards scouted ahead, finding passages over the remaining creeks and through the brambles of the shores. A command center of sorts had been built here in the center, the scarlet-colored Emperor’s tent sitting on a flat patch of mud, with the remnants of the imperial guard around it. The sun beat down cruelly, and the muggy air stuffed up Sadja’s nostrils with the scent of salt mud and rotting sea grass.

  This mud-floored settlement was what remained of his palace. This place, camped on the floor of the dried-up Amsadhu, with a handful of guards and two dozen boats full of refugees. His neck throbbed with a mixture of shame and anger. His hands formed into fists, clenching, unclenching. He paced.

  He heard the crunch of mud crushed under feet behind him. Mandhi and Kest approached, with the baby Heir-to-be slung onto Mandhi’s waist. A guard followed them. He bowed and presented them.

  “My Emperor, the lady Mandhi and her husband would speak with you.”

  Sadja waved them closer. The guard retreated, and the pair of Uluriya approached him.

  “My Emperor,” Mandhi said with a bow. “I have heard that you’re calling for help from Virnas.”

  Sadja nodded. “And Jaitha and Patakshar. We will make a general muster of the south and face the Mouth of the Devourer at the Amsadhu.”

  A moment of doubt appeared on Mandhi’s face, but she seemed to swallow her objection. “Well, it’s time for you to carry through with what we discussed. I am going to Virnas with the Kaleksha.”

  Sadja folded his arms over his chest. “You haven’t been back to Virnas for…”

  “A year and a half,” Mandhi said. She pointed to her husband, the tall Kaleksha walking beside her. Sweat glittered on his face, and his skin had turned red in the day’s heat. “The Kaleksha have never been, but that’s where we’re going to settle.”

  “No. First we go to Jaitha,” Sadja said. “From there, I’ll send a messenger overland to Virnas. I have already arranged for a ship to sail around the cape to Patakshar.”

  “That’s fine,” Mandhi said. “We’ll go with you to Jaitha. But me and the Kaleksha will carry your message to Virnas, with the Uluriya survivors.”

  “And you’ll carry it faithfully?”

  “As faithfully as you carried my letters to Navran-dar when I was in Davrakhanda,” Mandhi said. Her tone was carefully neutral.

  “Ah,” Sadja said. So she knew he had read them. It seemed so long ago, and the matter so trivial now.

  “What will you be asking of Navran-dar?” Kest asked. His Kaleksha accent was thick, and he breathed heavily. He was even less equipped for the southern heat than Sadja was.

  “To muster all able-bodied men of his kingdom,” Sadja said. “And to bring them to Jaitha under the command of the Emperor of all Amur, so that the Mouth of the Devourer can be defeated once and for all.”

  “Emperor of all Amur,” Mandhi said coldly. “Last time you demanded Navran-dar’s cooperation, it turned out poorly.”

  “You’ve seen what the Mouth of the Devourer does,” Sadja snapped. “You saw the Devoured take Davrakhanda.”

  “I’m not saying we’re on his side,” Mandhi said. “But I want some assurances before I start making more trades with you.”

  Sadja turned suddenly. “I am not making trades with you, Mandhi. I am not asking. I am commanding Navran-dar, my vassal, as the Emperor of all Amur.”

  His voice was fiercer and angrier than he had intended it to be. Mandhi’s eyes grew wide and she took a
step back, and Kest’s arm went protectively around her shoulders.

  Her lapse in confidence only lasted a second. “Ah,” she said, in that same carefully neutral voice. “I see how things stand. So shall I and the Kaleksha go to Virnas to carry your word, my Emperor?”

  “No,” Sadja said. He tried to bring some control back into his voice. “I want the Kaleksha in Jaitha where they can fight. I need as much brawn as I can muster. I’ll… I’ll send my own messenger.”

  “Ah.” That was all. She stood with her chin high, watching Sadja carefully, then she turned on a heel and marched away. Kest watched Sadja for a moment longer, his heavy red brows pulled low over his eyes, and he turned and followed his wife and son.

  Sadja let out a long breath. He cursed and marched into his tent. “Where’s Bhargasa?” he demanded of the first soldier he saw.

  “Still scouting up the river, my Emperor,” the young man answered.

  He would wait, then. He didn’t trust Mandhi not to attempt something foolish—marching off in the night with the Kaleksha and the Uluriya in tow, perhaps—and he wanted them guarded. The Kaleksha were too valuable as soldiers to have them leave for Virnas now, perhaps never to return. And he needed something to ensure Navran’s compliance. Sadja himself would be in Jaitha, and could ensure the cooperation of Gauhala of Jaitha easily enough, and Bidhra of Patakshar had always been compliant to a fault. But Navran-dar, with that damnable alliance he’d made for himself—

  If Sadja had to hold Mandhi captive for Navran’s sake, he was prepared to do it.

  Sadja spent a restless afternoon wrangling the khadir who had escaped with them. They kept demanding various privileges—the kinds of privileges that didn’t exist here on the muddy shores of the Amsadhu—and Sadja had to ensure that everything was unloaded and kept under order. They didn’t have much food, but at least there were a couple of fishing boats among their refugee fleet. He could send soldiers to conscript fishermen from the nearby villages if he had to.

  It was nightfall before Bhargasa returned. He came straight to Sadja’s tent, his face haggard from a day of marching, his dhoti heavy with dust.