by Grace Draven
She scowled at Anhuset. “I have another dozen storerooms and four barns to inspect with Mesumenes, not to mention finding additional quarters for a vicegerent, two mayors and their families. You’re riding patrol and coordinating messenger and scout runs. Teaching me how to successfully hit one of you with a stick is an indulgence neither of us has time for.”
Anhuset refused to relent. “While I’m here at Saggara, we train. No excuses.”
“They’re perfectly good reasons, not excuses.” Ildiko sighed. “Fine. A half hour, not a moment more.”
The other woman’s lips quirked into the faintest smile, and the two trekked into the house and a small spare room devoid of furniture on the third floor. Ildiko changed into the trousers and shirt Anhuset handed her and donned the padding.
She stared down at herself, then at Anhuset, and frowned. No matter how many times she dressed in this outfit, she’d never grow used to the sight of it. She looked like a turtle, bulky, clumsy and slow, unlike her teacher who wore hers as naturally as a second skin and moved in it with all the lithe grace of a cat.
Anhuset untied the bundle of sticks she’d propped against the wall, handing two to Ildiko: a tall one nearly Ildiko’s height called a silabat and shorter one, half the silabat’s length called a sediketh. “Which do you want to work with first?”
When they had first embarked on their training sessions, Brishen had volunteered to teach Ildiko the martial art of gatke or stick fighting, both women had balked.
“You’ll be too soft on her,” Anhuset declared.
Ildiko had echoed Anhuset. “The first time you even tap me, you’ll end the lesson.”
Brishen hadn’t given in right away and countered with his own protest. “If Anhuset teaches you, you might not come out alive after the first lesson. I don’t want to have to kill my favorite cousin for killing my wife.”
It had taken a few indignant sputterings from Anhuset and several assurances from Ildiko that she’d survive before he agreed to relinquish his role as mentor to Anhuset. It had been several months since then, and while Ildiko always emerged from the encounters sporting a bruise or four, she hadn’t died yet.
She hefted the shorter sediketh in her hand and set aside the silabat. She had better luck with the shorter stick. Its size made it easier to handle, and as Anhuset reminded her every chance she got, easier to conceal on her person.
“Your strength is the element of surprise,” the Kai woman said before one of their first lessons. “No Kai, or human for that matter, will expect you to be armed or able to defend yourself. Learning the art of gatke will allow you to protect yourself long enough to flee or escape. You can hide the sediketh, and the silabat will give you both reach and distance. And you can turn just about anything into a stick.” An ignoble fighting method, but an effective one.
The two women faced off, Ildiko dropping into the wide stance and half crouch Anhuset had taught her. They circled each other, Anhuset loose-limbed and casual as Ildiko stalked her around the room.
She lunged and swung, her strike easily parried. They clashed several more times, Ildiko striking, and Anhuset either parrying with her own stick or blocking with her forearms. While Anhuset landed several stinging blows to Ildiko’s arms, legs and backside, Ildiko didn’t manage a single strike against her opponent. By the end of the half hour, she was breathless, sore and wet with sweat, even in the frigid room. She surrendered her stick to Anhuset, who looked none the worse for their encounter, and bent over, hands flat on her thighs as she fought to catch her breath.
The Kai woman stared down her nose at Ildiko, forehead creased in disapproving lines. “You’re distracted.”
“You think?” Ildiko said between gasps.
“We need to practice longer. A half hour isn’t nearly enough time.”
Ildiko limped to where her clothes rested in a neat pile and untied the padding at her elbows, wincing with every bend. “More than enough to earn my daily quota of bruises.”
She peeled off her sweat-soaked training garb and dressed reluctantly in the frock she’d donned earlier. She was sticky with a coating of grain dust and desperate for a bath. That would have to wait as would her meetings with Mesumenes. She needed information from Anhuset first.
“How much do you know of your mother’s history and that of King Djedor?”
The other woman lifted one shoulder and bound the fighting sticks together. “More than I wanted and none I can recall.” She did raise her head then, giving Ildiko a close-lipped smirk. “I’m gameza, Highness. Bastards aren’t taught about the pride of a long bloodline, when they are the shame and taint of that line.”
Ildiko flinched. A bastard’s lot was a hard and unfair one, no matter what culture they were born into. “I’m sorry, Anhuset.”
Anhuset shrugged. “No need to be. I lose no sleep over it. Brishen is the one who can answer your question. He could recite Djedor’s bloodline before he could read.” She piled the sticks and Ildiko’s training clothes in her arms and strode to the door. “You’re still using that liniment I sent you?”
“Yes, but it smells foul.”
She received no sympathy for her complaint. Anhuset opened the door, peered outside, then motioned for her to exit. “Just hold your nose and tell the herceges to do the same. If you don’t use it, you’ll be too stiff and sore tomorrow to get out of bed.”
They parted company at the stairs, and Ildiko fled to her chamber where she shed her clothes for the third time and sponged down with a cake of soap and a basin of cold water Sinhue had filled for her earlier. By the time she finished, her teeth clattered hard enough to make her jaw ache, and her hands were so clumsy with the cold, she had only a quarter of the lacings tied before Sinhue returned to finish the rest for her.
Clean and warm in her heavy frock and shawl, she met Mesumenes at the bottom of the stairwell leading to the great hall. “Mesumenes, does Saggara’s library keep records of the royal family’s history?”
“It does, Your Highness.”
They made their way to the expansive library, a glorious room with tall windows that looked onto the wild orange grove, and was filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with both scrolls and precious bound books. A wealth of knowledge and information, unmatched by any library Ildiko had ever seen in Gaur. Even the Gauri royal library didn’t compare, and Ildiko often wondered why such a treasure had remained at Saggara instead of moving to Haradis when the royal court did. It was a fortunate thing it hadn’t, or all of it would be lost to them now.
Mesumenes stalked the shelves for several minutes, climbing ladders at times to retrieve a dusty scroll or two. By the time he gathered what he deemed sufficient, there was an impressive pile of parchment covering one of the tables that dotted the room.
Ildiko unfurled the first scroll, using river stones left on the table to hold down the corners. “I’ll need your help translating. My knowledge of written Kai is adequate at best, and I’m guessing some of this is written in an older form.”
She and the steward spent the next hour reviewing the scrolls he brought her. She took notes while he translated and did her best to hide the growing tremor in her hands as she scribbled the information he gave her. When they were done, and the scrolls rolled and tied, Ildiko thanked him. “The scrolls can stay here for now. I might want to look at them again. There’s no need to stay with me. We’ve more storerooms to inspect and guests to sort. I’ll join you soon.”
Mesumenes bowed and left her in the quiet library. Candles flickered in the darkness, and she caught her reflection in the windows—solemn, pale, human.
Ildiko turned back to her notes and the rolled scrolls. They revealed nothing surprising, only verification of the thing she suspected and dreaded the moment Brishen explained that Anhuset was illegitimate and barred from line of succession to the throne. She rested her head in her hands and sighed.
If his father and his brother and children were dead, then Brishen was indeed the last Khaskem with th
e right to rule. If not him, then the throne would pass to another family. She flipped a page of notes to scan another one. If the Kai were like the humans, and in her observation during her brief sojourn in Haradis, they were in many ways, the major noble families tended to congregate at the royal court, in part to curry favor, gain influence and scheme against each other. It was also likely Djedor preferred it that way. His spies could keep a watchful eye on them and report back any information considered either beneficial or threatening.
That concentration of nobility in a city destroyed by the galla might well have been its undoing. Every family directly connected to the Khaskem line lived on estates neighboring the royal palace. If any survived, they traveled with the survivors toward Saggara and wouldn’t waste a moment making themselves known to Brishen once they arrived.
She traced the column of family names, those who’d challenge each other for the right to rule if the House of Khaskem fell completely. Djehutim, Petomi, Serames. The three most powerful houses who could claim Djedor as a direct blood relative. If none within those families survived, others with weaker claims did—lesser nobles who lived beyond Haradis and a few within Saggara’s province.
Ildiko’s stomach had flipped at her first sight of House Senemset on the list. Only a catastrophic event enabled a house that far removed from the direct line to have a chance at ruling Bast-Haradis. The galla attack was catastrophic. The Senemset matriarch had already sent a message that she, her married son and three unmarried daughters were traveling to Saggara seeking sanctuary. A possible queen with both male and female heirs to inherit from her. And no matter where in the blood line one stood, uniting with the last remaining Khaskem ensured the strongest claim to the throne for any family with aspirations to rule.
Despair seeped into her bones, weighing her down. “Oh Brishen,” she said softly. “The prince of no value has become the most coveted Kai in all of Bast-Haradis.” She, on the other hand, was worse than valueless. She was an obstacle either to overcome or destroy.
She gathered up her notes, blew out the candles and left the library. The manor house was a hive of activity, with servants scurrying this way and that, preparing the great hall for the evening meal. All the tables were set and the benches pulled forward to seat the greater number of guests staying at the redoubt.
Ildiko almost missed Brishen’s arrival, catching sight of him only as he strode through the throng toward her. The hard cast to his expression warned of a dark mood, and people scattered out of his way with quick bows and worried glances. He motioned to her, indicating she follow him to the smaller, private study where he met with visiting councilors and vicegerents.
She closed the door behind her, pitching the room into perfect blackness. The clink of ceramic against pewter let her know he had made his way to a table near the shuttered window and poured himself a dram of whatever throat-scorching libation filled the bottle.
Even if she knew where the candles were, she couldn’t light them. The hearth lay cold and unlit. She shivered in the darkness and waited, silent at the door.
“Forgive me, wife. I’m distracted.” Brishen’s carried a wealth of apology before he threw open the shutters, allowing in streams of moonlight that bathed him and part of the chamber in silver light. Their shadows stood in sharp relief on one wall, while other shadows flowed across the floor to huddle in corners and under the table.
Brishen’s throat flexed as he tilted his head back and downed the goblet’s contents. He gasped and coughed before pouring a refill. He raised a second goblet and met her questioning gaze with a singular one of his own. “Did you want one?”
She shook her head and crossed the room to stand in front of him. His bicep was tense under her touch, quivering beneath the layers of leather and fabric he wore. “What happened?”
He tossed back the second goblet before dropping it to the table with a careless thump. The heady fumes of fermented Dragon Fire drifted between them. Brishen’s voice was clipped, despite his having imbibed enough of the Fire to make most people incoherent and likely senseless if they drank so much at once. “We scouted the Absu south of Escariel until we reached the town itself. Victims of the galla are littering the banks. What’s left of them.” This time his fingers wrapped around the bottle’s neck and lifted it. “The first one ended up wedged between a pair of trees. Half a horse with even less of its rider still trapped in the saddle.”
Ildiko gasped, tempted to ask him to share the drink once he finished the healthy swig he tipped into his mouth. The image his words conjured made her stomach lurch. “Are you certain it was galla?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the bottle down. “As certain as I can be without seeing them myself.” His nostrils flared. “The corpses have a smell to them. Nothing as pleasant as decay.”
His face was gaunt in the silvered dark, aged beyond his natural years not only by the horror he’d seen but the horror he would inevitably face. Ildiko laced her fingers through his and led him to one of the chairs. He threw himself into the seat, pulling her with him until she perched on his lap.
She rested her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry you saw that. Sorry for that rider and the others.”
Warm breath drafted across her jaw where he nuzzled her cheek. “I’ve seen death,” he murmured against her skin. “Dealt it myself. But nothing like this. This was...unclean, soul-sick. It seemed like even the river tried to flow away from the corpses.” He shivered in her arms. “The malevolence trekking toward Saggara with the Haradis survivors is unlike anything any Kai warrior has ever faced in this age.”
His words terrified her, and she wasn’t the one plagued with memories of the grotesque images he briefly described. “How do you kill galla?”
“I don’t know that they can be killed. Not with steel at least, and I can’t begin to imagine how much magic it would take to cage them, much less destroy them.” He leaned his head back against the chair’s top rail and exhaled a long breath.
Ildiko straightened in his lap. “But the Kai have done it. Your histories record that a Kai shaman named Varawan trapped a dozen and banished them back to the void during the Age of the Red Seas.”
The grim set of Brishen’s mouth relaxed for a moment into a wan smile. “Raiding the library, were you?” He twined a curl of her hair around one claw. “I know the story. Every Kai does, but the Red Seas was a long time ago when the magic of the Kai wasn’t faded as it is now. And this is more than a dozen galla. It’s a horde, a hul galla. A nation of shamans can’t defeat such a force. All we can do at the moment is keep the rivers and streams between them and us.”
Ildiko pictured the Absu, the settlements, both Kai and human, perched on both sides of its flow. One side now the open maw of death, the other a chance at sanctuary. “Water is more valuable than gold now.”
A gust of frigid night air hurled itself through the open window, whipping strands of Brishen’s hair across his face. He scraped them away with an impatient swipe of his hand. “Half my garrison will spend its time keeping the waterways flowing and free of debris that might block them. The other half will be put to controlling the Kai who’ll descend on Saggara from every holt and dale, not to mention those fleeing Haradis.”
“All those Kai gathered in one place.” They’d need three times as many storerooms and barns bursting with food to prevent a famine. Ildiko clenched her teeth against the swell of panic threatening to choke her.
“We’ll be a beacon to every demon spilling out of the void.” His next words, spoken in a voice strained with helpless anger, encapsulated her every fear and shot it skyward. “Gods, this is a disaster.” She squeezed his shoulder but didn’t reply. What was there to say? He was right.
“If I didn’t think the journey too hazardous to take, I’d send you to Gaur for safety.”
She scowled at him. “I’d refuse to go if that were your reason to send me.”
He tilted his head to one side, considering her. “Then what w
ould convince you to go?”
“If you sent me to act as ambassador or envoy. I could ask for aid from Gaur. They are your allies now, not just Bast-Haradis’s uneasy neighbor.”
It was his turn to frown. “I don’t see how they’d be much help. If Belawat got wind of Gaur sending an army to support Bast-Haradis, they’d declare war on us both so fast, we’d be on the battlefield by dawn of the next day.”
She escaped his lap to stand in front of him. “As you said, steel doesn’t work against the galla. You don’t need an army of soldiers but one of mages. The Kai aren’t the only ones graced with sorcerous power. Some humans are born with it as well. Hedges witches, court magicians, tribal shamans and holy monks. They can wield it with various levels of skill. Gaur can employ such people. Belawat does. The raiders who captured you had a battle mage with them. Remember?”
He folded his hands across his belly and stared at her with one glowing eye. “Were you Gaur, with a diseased kingdom next to you, would you give up your sorcerers?”
She shrugged, undeterred by his reasoning. “I might if I thought their help solved a common problem, and I have a difficult time believing the horde will only linger within Bast-Haradis. They have no understanding of borders. Prey is prey, no matter where it resides. They’ll cross into Gaur, into Belawat. Wherever they smell magic and blood.”
“I’m sure they already have by now. Gaur’s safety is that most of its territory sits between the Absu and the ocean, but its outland settlements are vulnerable on the wrong side of the river and any place there’s a break in the river’s flow.” He shook his head. “I’d be mad to send you on such a journey. You’d be safe once you arrived. It’s getting you there that’s the challenge.”
It would be dangerous, but if they hugged the river or even sailed it where the rapids weren’t as treacherous, they had a chance. “Don’t rule it out, Brishen. You can send a Kai, but who in this entire kingdom knows the Gauri court better than I do? The king is my uncle. I can at least beg for safe haven for Kai exiles. Temporary refuge. We have to tell Gaur something anyway if they don’t already know. This isn’t a secret that can be kept, and it will be better if revealed by me.”