Throne of Ruins (The Powers of Amur Book 5)

by J. S. Bangs

  Weep for your deliverance.

  Bless the hour of your death.

  Who is the deliverer? Who is the death-bringer?

  Who drinks the blood of men, who tramples the serpent underfoot.

  Who is the deliverer? Who is the death-bringer?

  Who curses the mother without birth, who curses the devourer without death.

  Who is the deliverer? Who is the death-bringer?

  Whose name is forgotten, whose feast in forbidden.

  Speak the forgotten name, hold the forbidden feast.

  Curse the deathless devourer, trample the childless mother.

  Burn the field, scatter the seed.

  And it ended. With the suddenness of a flame being snuffed out, the presence of the amashi was extinguished, and Navran found himself back in his own head. The room tilted vertiginously around him. He grabbed at the seat of his chair to keep from tumbling forward.

  A little squeal of surprise. He looked and saw Aryaji had fallen to her knees, and Srithi collapsed onto the cushions beneath her. Sadja already lay prostrate on the ground. All three of their chests heaved, as if they had just run the length of the city. Nakhur knelt beside Aryaji and took his niece’s hand.

  Navran stepped to the ground and steadied himself against the chair. The room gradually took on a stable orientation. He wet his lips and said, “Did we get what we wanted?”

  Amabhu looked down at his wax tablet. “I recorded most of it, but….”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t see how any of this is going to help us in battle.”

  “You don’t?” Sadja said. He pushed himself to his knees and looked at Amabhu. “Read what you wrote.”

  Amabhu read the words. The room grew hot with the smell of incense as he read, but it was bearable.

  “It’s clear,” Sadja said. “Who is the deliverer? Who is the death-bringer? Kushma.”

  Nakhur hissed. He pulled Aryaji to her feet and led her away from the other two. “I thought you would impose some mockery of this sort on us.”

  “Mockery?” Sadja said, looking at Nakhur fiercely.

  Nakhur looked back at the Emperor with just as much fierceness. “I shielded as many of the Uluriya as I could from the madness of Navran-dar. They imposed some nonsense about Kushma on us, claiming that the blood-soaked demon was one of the amashi, but I won’t hear it.”

  “Most holy saghada Nakhur,” Navran said carefully, “you heard their prophecy as well as the rest of us.”

  “I know that I allowed Aryaji to go under the tutelage of this thikratta, hoping it would help her.” Nakhur spat the word thikratta as if it were a curse. “Who knows what madness he planted there? You’ve gotten my niece’s prophecy. Do what you want with it. But we won’t hear any more about Kushma.”

  “We need to understand what it means,” Navran said.

  “No. I’ve had enough of this. I regret that I allowed her to participate here in the first place. I’ll leave you gentlemen to the interpretation of prophecies. I have to tend to the needs of the os Dramab and the rest of… of the saghada and the Uluriya with us.” He gave Navran a sharp glare.

  “Calm down, uncle,” Aryaji said. “The King of Virnas is not your enemy.”

  Nakhur murmured.

  “You will be with us in the battle?” Navran asked.

  “The os Dramab men and the Uluriya who are of age will,” Nakhur said quietly. “We will not renege on our promise.”

  “Then you have my promise that I’ll let you go peacefully,” Navran said.

  “Good. My Emperor,” Nakhur said, bowing to Sadja and Navran. “The stars upon you.”

  Aryaji stood with her head bowed. She traded a glance with Caupana and Srithi, seeming neither sad nor chastened. Nakhur grabbed Aryaji’s hand and pulled her out of the room.

  The rest of them were quiet for a moment. Sadja cleared his throat and rose.

  “I think it’s clear what we must do,” he said. “The amashi invites us to speak the forgotten name and hold the forbidden feast. We must make the ram sacrifice to Kushma, and with the power of the death-bringer put an end to the deathless Devoured.”

  “Are you certain?” Caupana said. “The ram sacrifice may only be brought by the lineage devoted to Kushma.”

  “And the Kushmaya dhorsha are no more. I know, I’ve been told a thousand times. But the lineages of the dhorsha had to be established at some time. And they can be re-established. Are the Kushmaya dhorsha no more? Then let us make them again. Where is Daladham?”

  “A few hours behind me,” Navran said. “He accompanied us but was not in my retinue.”

  “Send him here,” Sadja said. “If anyone deserves this honor, it’s him.”

  Caupana murmured.

  “Do you object, honorable thikratta?” Sadja said, spinning to face the tall thikratta.

  “I counsel caution.”

  Sadja shook his head. “We have a few days before the Mouth of the Devourer reaches the Amsadhu. There is no time for excess caution. Now will you thikratta be of any help, or will you merely raise useless objections?”

  Amabhu, holding the tablet with the scrawled prophecy on it, bowed to the Emperor. “We will help, my Emperor,” he said. “There is no rite for the consecration of a new lineage of the dhorsha, but if you wish—”

  “Speak to Daladham. And there are plenty of other dhorsha in the city, of the Amya and the Chaludriya, and even those without lineage. Surely some of you may find a way to obey the command of the amashi within the constraints of ritual.”

  Amabhu bowed his head. Caupana was silent.

  “Do you have some other objection?” Sadja asked the tall, thin thikratta.

  “No,” Caupana said. “Only questions.”

  “Which are?”

  Caupana pressed his lips together. “Whether this is what the amashi intends. But I submit to your decision. Time is short. We must try.”

  “Very well,” Sadja said. He gestured to Navran. “Now I will be very busy, and I expect that you will as well. When Daladham arrives, you may begin preparations. Call for me only if you must.”

  Navran rose and bowed quickly to Amabhu, Caupana, and Srithi, and followed Sadja out of the room. There was a commotion in the hall ahead of them as they emerged, and a man in Sadja’s green livery sprinted down the hallway and threw himself to his knees.

  “My Emperor! Urgent news from Bhargasa.”

  Sadja straightened into a stiff imperial Cane posture. “What is it?”

  The man did not rise from the ground. “We captured someone trying to cross the river. The man had a message for you. Bhargasa has the details.”

  Sadja quickened his pace through the halls back to his apartment. The messenger picked himself up off the ground and began to follow them.

  “Any idea what the message says?” he asked.

  “I know only one thing.” The man’s gait sped up to match Sadja’s, and he spoke in a low whisper. “It’s a request from the Queen of Slaves.”

  VAPATHI

  Vapathi and Basadi marched together beneath a banner of yellow cotton they had recovered from a plundered khadir’s house. Some of the Devoured had stitched a coiled black serpent onto the banner, making a kind of emblem for the Mouth of the Devourer. But the stitching was crooked and the serpent badly shaped, beside the fact that both Vapathi and Basadi were draped in dusty, travel-worn sari with barely a hint of pomp and finery.

  Basadi peered across the dried mud-flats where the Amsadhu had flowed. She pouted. “They have an actual pavilion. We should have set the Devoured to make us a pavilion.”

  “We don’t need a pavilion,” Vapathi said. The heat of the summer sun at noon beat down on her brow, but she was used to sweating. Basadi was not.

  “It’s easy enough to have the Devoured make one,” Basadi countered. “Or we can plunder one from one of the khadir.”

  “Shut up,” Vapathi said.

  The bluff at the far bank of the Amsadhu, nearly a mile away, was covered
with men bearing spears. The heads of their spears glittered like an endless line of teeth, warped in the shimmering heat rising from the empty riverbed. Surrounding Basadi and Vapathi the Devoured formed a rag-clad line of bony, starving peasants, holding sickles and clubs and kitchen knives. Their deathlessness was the only thing that made them fearsome.

  “I’ve seen you and Apurta talking together,” Basadi said, giving Vapathi a fierce grin. “I don’t trust you. You are not Devoured, and I don’t think anyone with a name can serve the Mouth of the Devourer with the same devotion I do.”

  “I was devoted to my brother before you were even born,” Vapathi hissed.

  Basadi tisked. “So angry. See, this is why the Mouth of the Devourer won’t take your names. You aren’t strong enough.”

  “I suspect it’s because he has pity on us,” Vapathi said. She shaded her eyes to peer across the creek that was the last remnant of the Amsadhu. She saw green banners blazoned with an eagle and the white pentacle sigils of Virnas. The kings she expected were here, and they were marching out with their own retinues.

  “Pity,” Basadi said. “I suppose I might pity you, too. At least you got your lover back.”

  “At least I did,” Vapathi said dryly. “But my brother did not send us out here to bicker like khadir girls. Let’s meet the kings and give them the word of the Mouth of the Devourer.”

  The opposing kings assembled on the far side of the creek, standing beneath their banners with liveried men and shining bronze blades around them. They advanced up to the trickle of the Amsadhu’s heart of slimy green moss and stopped just before the reeds began. Ten feet of stiff mud separated Vapathi and Basadi from the kings and their heralds. Basadi crossed her arms and raised her head in defiance.

  “Why hello, Sadja-daridarya. My husband. How fine to finally meet you again!”

  A rustle of movement on the far shore. A handsome, middle-aged man called out an answer. “Basadi-daridarya—”

  The Empress flinched and drew back, hissing. The Red Men around her leaped forward into the reeds, brandishing spears at the Emperor and his retinue.

  “She is the Empress of the Devoured,” one of the Red Men called out. “You will address her by her title.”

  “I’ll address my rebellious wife however I please,” Sadja snapped. “How is it that after putting her beside me in the Ushpanditya, I find her consorting with a peasant rebel and ruining the Empire?”

  Basadi snapped upright and pressed forward into the reeds, which crackled underneath her feet. “You were the one who left me behind in the Ushpanditya, dear Emperor. You did not see fit to carry me out, and now you’re disappointed to find me still alive.”

  Sadja answered coldly and calmly. “You chose to remain rather than become a fugitive. Don’t pretend I abandoned you.”

  “Do I pretend?” Basadi looked at him with loathing for a moment. Then her face melted, and she gave Sadja a sultry, imploring look. “But it’s not too late to change sides, my husband. You’ll never overcome the Mouth of the Devourer, but on his side you’ll find we still have soft beds. If you still have heat in you, you’ll find that I do as well.”

  “I’m done speaking to this wicked child,” Sadja said. He looked at Vapathi, pointedly turning away from Basadi in the reeds. “You are the one they call the Queen of Slaves?”

  “I am,” Vapathi said. She stood up straight and affected a glare of defiance.

  “Do you have an actual name?”

  “Vapathi,” she said.

  Sadja smiled a little. “Then you’re worthy of being spoken to. Bring my message to the Mouth of the Devourer. We have forces twice as large as his. Surrender, and he’ll be granted a painless death.”

  “The Mouth of the Devourer will never surrender.”

  “Painless death!” cackled Basadi. “He has no death for you to grant. Don’t worry, dear husband, keep talking that way and we’ll be together before long.”

  Sadja grimaced at Basadi’s taunting, but he did not look at her. “What does the Mouth of the Devourer want?” he asked.

  “The Mouth of the Devourer wants the liberty of Amur,” Vapathi said. At least, that’s what Kirshta would have said. “He wants the death of the khadir and the kings, the elimination of the dhorsha, the freedom of the slaves, the liberation of the peasantry.”

  Sadja snorted. “Then I see there’s no negotiating.”

  “You can negotiate for your lives!” Basadi called out. “The Mouth of the Devourer will condescend to eat your names and give you eternal life.”

  “No,” spoke the other king softly.

  It took a while for Vapathi to recognize the man, as it had been so long since she had seen him. But yes, it was the same Uluriya man that Ruyam had taken into the Ushpanditya as a prisoner. He was changed: his face was marbled with old scars, his beard thin and patchy, his eyes serious and weighed down with responsibility. But he stood straight, with a pride and self-possession that he had never shown while in Ruyam’s care. He caught Vapathi’s eye and nodded slightly.

  “None of us will give our names to be devoured,” the man went on. “We would sooner die.”

  “Die?” Basadi said. “You know we met a village of your star-addled Uluriya on the way here. They would not give up their names. We devoured them all.”

  “The stars upon their memory,” Navran said.

  “We’ll be less kind to you—” Basadi began.

  “Will someone shut up this mewling child?” Sadja said.

  Basadi snarled and jumped forward across the creek separating her from Sadja. A blur of movement. Sadja’s men leaped into the reeds. Basadi howled. The Red Men around them rushed forward, jostling Vapathi. She fell to the ground.

  A moment of chaos as spears clashed against spears. A blade pricked Vapathi in the shoulder, and she screamed.

  “Stop!” called Navran’s voice. The soldiers crunched together again, and Vapathi heard Basadi’s cackle.

  “You stab me?” the Empress called out. “I am Empress of the Devoured. Your spears cannot harm me.”

  “But they can harm her,” Navran said. Vapathi saw him wading through the reeds, pushing aside the men in his silver livery. He knelt next to Vapathi.

  She clutched her shoulder in her hand. A hot trickle of blood seeped out beneath her fingers. Navran knelt and touched her cheek.

  “Are you injured, Queen of Slaves?”

  “A little,” Vapathi said. Her voice was tight with pain.

  “The blooded woman weeps,” Basadi mocked. “The weakness of those without the touch of She Who Devours.”

  “I told you to get back, child,” Sadja snapped. “This was supposed to be a diplomatic meeting, not an exchange of arms.”

  “Forgive us,” Navran said sincerely. “Will you let us bandage your shoulder? As a gesture of goodwill. We’ll return you to your brother as whole as we can make you.”

  “I’ll go,” Vapathi said.

  Navran took Vapathi’s uninjured hand and pulled her to her feet. Wincing at the pain, she hobbled across the creek and into the circle of Navran’s men.

  “You will bring her back unharmed!” the Empress shouted behind them. “If you take her, the Mouth of the Devourer will devour you all this very day.”

  “She’ll return unharmed,” Sadja said firmly. “But cross this creek again and I’ll do whatever I can to hurt you.”

  The king’s pavilion was hot and muggy. Navran shouted to give them privacy from the press of people, and a dark corner of the pavilion split to let her in. A mat was laid out on a bed of straw, and Navran helped Vapathi to lie down. A field medic crouched at her shoulder and began to clean the wound. Navran closed the curtain that enclosed their little corner, then sat at Vapathi’s side.

  “You got my message,” Vapathi said through gritted teeth.

  “I couldn’t think of a better way to get you alone,” Navran said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. I understood what you were doing.”

  “So why are you
here?”

  Vapathi gave him a sad, serious stare. “We need to get rid of the Mouth of the Devourer. You’re my best hope.”

  “Best hope?” Navran looked doubtful and uncertain, as if he had little hope to spare for anyone. “I thought you were on his side.”

  “I am on my brother’s side,” she said harshly. “But not She Who Devours.” Her voice started to crack. She focused on the pain of her wound being prodded by the medic. A needle bit into her shoulder. “She Who Devours has almost entirely eaten him. My brother, the one I love… occasionally he seeps through, but only for a few moments. Everything he does now is driven by the hunger.”

  “You want to free him.” The king’s voice was quiet and grim. He looked away from her, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. His lips moved in silent thought.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Vapathi said. She gritted her teeth and spoke through the pain of the stitches. “We protected each other. We were supposed—” she grunted in pain “—wanted to help the children. Deliver the slaves.”

  “That’s what you said a few moments ago to our messengers.”

  “But the Mouth of the Devourer never says it anymore. He’s forgotten why he came. All he has left is the hunger.”

  “So what should we do?”

  The medic finished stitching Vapathi’s shoulder. He put a rag soaked in cool water over the wound and patted her forehead. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered. He nodded to Navran before leaving. “My lord and king.”

  Vapathi took a moment to catch her breath. She almost missed the pain of being stitched. It dulled the pain in her chest. “You need to get to him, first,” she began. “The Devoured make up most of the army, but they’re just bodies. No training, not even weapons for most of them. The center, where the four of us stand—”

  “The four of you?”

  “The Mouth of the Devourer, the Empress, me, and Apurta.”

  “Who is Apurta?”

  “One of K—my brother’s friends. Used to be a friend, at least, back when we were in the Ushpanditya. I’m not sure the Mouth of the Devourer has friends.”

  “Why won’t you say your brother’s name?” Navran said, looking at her curiously.