by Megan Derr
Yavuz looked at his hand, then stared up at Binhadi. They seemed to stare at one another for an eternity, the dark king and the darker shadow mage. Some silent conversation seemed to pass between them—and then Yavuz looked away. "Go see Seda, then, if you must. But have a care, Binhadi."
"Prince Seda is nothing more than treacherous," Binhadi replied, removing his handkerchief and tucking it away as the healer arrived and began to tend the king's hand. "No one knows treachery better than I, hmm? As everyone says, it runs in the blood." He turned away and walked back down the hall without another word.
"Go," King Yavuz ordered the rest of them. "Get out of my sight, all of you. Do try to come back alive—and free of the damned Oath that binds you to him."
Mahzan did not waste time trying to ask questions, not quite running as he fled the monastery and reached the relative comfort of the outside. He moved to the high bank of the pond, staring down at the moss-covered water where the mist parted to reveal it.
"This place gives me chills," Sule said from behind him.
"What do you want?" Mahzan asked.
Sule came up beside him and said, "I wanted to see if you were going to throw yourself in. You're certainly melodramatic enough."
"To kill myself?" Mahzan asked derisively. "Hardly. What would that accomplish? I did not survive that damned fearmonger only to throw myself into a scummy pond a few days later."
Grunting, Sule replied, "That was my thinking—"
"And you thought I lacked your ability to think?" Mahzan cut in. "Dragon eat you! Be off before I throw you in the pond."
Sule ignored him, and they lapsed into silence. Mahzan was just about to leave when Sule asked, "So what exactly happened here, that makes it so oppressive?"
Mahzan looked at him in surprise. "How does anyone grow up in this country without knowing about the Broken Monastery?"
"Not everyone in the country grows up in the Heart," Sule snapped—and Mahzan felt immediately bad that he could feel shame coming off Sule. "Not all of us grew up being able to read, or had the luxury of time for classes, or even the resources apparently available to a street rat!" He turned sharply away and made to storm off—
Mahzan lunged, trying to catch him, because he had not meant—he snagged Sule's sleeve, but then tripped, tumbled forward, sending them both crashing to the ground. He half sat up, realizing that he was plastered against Sule's back—and Sule was face down on the ground.
"Give me one good reason I should not set you on fire," Sule said, lifting himself up enough to brace on his arms, turning to glare over his shoulder, his eyes glowing red-orange.
"Because you will feel every moment of my suffering until I finally died," Mahzan retorted, but without any real heat. "I'm sorry."
Sule grunted. "Get off me."
Mahzan clambered off and stood, then offered a hand to Sule—and rolled his eyes when Sule ignored it and stood up on his own. "So do you still want that history lesson? It's not very cheerful or motivating."
"I just wondered why you…what about the monastery affects you so. I've never seen a mind mage act the way you did when we first stepped inside."
In anyone else, Mahzan might have thought it was concern provoking the questions. But he did not need to read Sule's mind to know he was just being efficient and learning all he could about a liability. Mahzan had never felt inadequate, not since he became a real jester, but he was suddenly, painfully, aware that he was a jester who had lived his entire life in the Heart, and while he had hardly lived a sheltered life, he had never traveled, never fought a battle, or even gotten in more than a few scrapes as a child and a handful of drunken brawls as an adult. He was of no use in their odd little band, not unless they suddenly had need of an entertainer.
Sighing, he picked up a stone and threw it into the pond. "Almost five hundred years ago, our neighbor Petrocia explored these lands, largely uninhabited at that point, or so all accounts go. They came over the Red Forest Mountains and pushed inland, mapping and claiming all they could. But Orhanis has always been a hostile land, and it was even worse in those days. The army sent to take these lands made it as far as here, nearly this exact spot, before they were forced to stop. They proceeded to build, starting with a couple of towns along the lake, garrisons for the soldiers, and a few rough roads. After a time, the general in charge of the expedition ordered a castle built. Legend has it the idea came to him in a dream. Sadly, it has not survived history; no one even remembers where exactly that first castle was built, though theories abound."
Sule snorted. "A dream? I just bet."
Mahzan smiled briefly. "Anyway, the army was largely composed of priests on what they felt was a holy mission—it was their god given duty to expand the greatness of the Empire of Petrocia. They built the Holy Monastery of the Flower here, in a hidden valley in a mountain that seemed shockingly peaceful in so violent a land.
"All was well for a long time, nearly a hundred years. They called their little patch of Petrocia the colony of Orhanis, and lived peacefully, too far away from the Empire proper to be troubled by it so long as goods were sent and taxes paid. It was then they built the Heart of the Dragon and began construction of the Compass Bridges, though those would not be finished for nearly another century.
"Then the Emperor of Petrocia died without naming an heir, and three brothers fought bitterly for the throne. The youngest, Prince Meda, eventually decided he would be better off creating his own kingdom somewhere else. He took as much of the army as would follow him and went to overtake the colony of Orhanis."
Sule stirred and looked up from staring at the pond in surprise, "I know this part. Triva's Last Stand. He was the regent who commanded Orhanis and lived in the newly built Heart. His ships were stolen and used against him. It was the first and last time—until now—that the Heart fell. It was razed, and all on the island were killed or taken prisoner."
"Yes," Mahzan replied, throwing another stone. "Prince Meda killed Triva and claimed Orhanis for himself. Recognizing the vulnerability of the island when he did not have the resources to hold it, he destroyed it, the ships, and the surrounding towns—four by that point—and came to what was still the Monastery of the Flower.
"The Monks there refused to let him inside, and they fought bitterly until the end. When that end finally came, every last monk expended the full of their powers to stop him. They killed themselves in the effort, but destroyed more than half of Prince Meda's remaining army in the process. Meda took the Monastery with what little he had left, and not long after, his brothers came for him…"
Shaking his head, Sule said, "I dread to know how much worse the story can become, though I know well enough the name of the first king of Orhanis—and it's not Meda."
"No," Mahzan replied. "Meda's brothers came for him, and Meda was confident he was prepared, even if he had the lesser army. After all, he was a powerful fire mage in his own right, he had mages aplenty amongst his hardened warriors—and he also had with him a powerful shadow mage who had long served the royal family." Sule frowned, and Mahzan could feel his thoughts spinning and spinning. He continued, "Meda expected an easy victory, despite the odds—but he had not counted on being betrayed. No one knows why the shadow mage betrayed him, betrayed all of them. The shadow mage waited until all three brothers were close, then stole the powers of as many mages as he could and attacked. He killed thousands. They say ten thousand men walked into Orhanis, and ten walked out. The shadow mage put Triva's nephew on the throne of Orhanis, and slaughtered anyone from Petrocia who dared to march again into his lands.
"Finally, a general took the throne of Petrocia, ended the civil war, and called a truce with Orhanis. The two countries have lived in peace ever since. But the tens of thousands of priests and soldiers who died here…" He tensed just thinking about it.
"The nephew was King Trule, that much is clear," Sule said, "but who was the shadow mage who gave him the kingdom?"
"No one knows his name. It was lost to history,"
Mahzan replied. "But there are those who theorize…" He trailed off, and turned, as footsteps and the presence of masked thoughts brushed against his mind. He met black eyes, mouth twisting in dry amusement.
Binhadi smiled, cool and sharp, and finished, "There are those who say that the shadow mage's name was Morlock, and he was the first in a very long line of traitors."
"Somehow I am not surprised," Sule said. "What did you mean, about this place not liking the Blood?"
"The blood of those who were involved in that bloodbath," Binhadi said. "Trule spilled blood here, even if he was only defending the land his Uncle had died for. Mahzan is not the only one who finds it cumbersome to be here, though the reasons are different. Fresh supplies are being readied for us. We can leave within the hour or tomorrow morning."
Sule's brows lifted. "You are giving us a choice?"
Binhadi mimicked his expression. "I can certainly take it away if you prefer."
"Dragon eat your tongue," Sule retorted lightly. "It seems to me we have no reason to linger, and every reason to leave, so we should depart within the hour."
"Very well," Binhadi said, and turned around on his heel and walked off, vanishing into the monastery.
Sule snorted. "I don't care what he says about blood and ghosts—he broke that fires' damned glass."
Mahzan looked at him sharply. "What are you talking about?"
"You didn't notice?" Sule asked. "It was shadow work that shattered that glass, though to what purpose, I do not know."
Mahzan played back over the scene in the hall—the king's refusal to grant them permission to go see Prince Seda, the way the glass abruptly shattered, and the way the king had then permitted Binhadi to do as he pleased.
That nagging feeling that he was missing something returned. Try as he might, though, he could not figure out what about that little scene was truly bothering him. It irritated him—all the more because he should not have been standing here tormented by ancient history and puzzling over strange conversations between kings and warlocks. He should have been home, performing and thinking only of the next performance or who he wanted to coax to his bed for the evening. "Today should be the closing day of the census," he said quietly, then wished he had not spoken, because just like that, the grief he had been trying to ignore struck him.
So many people had arrived in the Heart to be counted. Some of them would not be missed for days, some for weeks, some for months. But they would all eventually be missed, and there were no heralds to carry the news of the tragedy.
Mahzan swallowed—then felt an explosion of pain in his jaw, tumbled down on his ass, thoughts scattering. They came back together as white hot anger. "You bastard child of a diseased whore!" he snarled, and threw himself at Sule, landing a knee in his gut before Sule had him pinned to the ground. "Why in the fires did you punch me? I should have thrown you in the pond when I had the chance!"
"It seems to be the only effective way of drawing you out of your fits of melodrama," Sule retorted. "I, for one, grow tired of your histrionics. I also do not need you forcing your damn feelings on me!"
His retort died as all of what Sule had said registered. "You shouldn't be able to feel me, not that well—not yet. It's only been a few days since that stone-hearted shadow weaver mucked with my powers. The only way you could feel me so strongly is if—" He jerked hard, kicked, twisted free, and got to his knees, then punched Sule in the jaw. Smirking, he straddled Sule in triumph and said, "Is if you felt the same damn way. So stop accusing me of being melodramatic, North Drama."
Sule narrowed his eyes—then slammed their heads together, startling Mahzan into letting him go. Still reeling from surprise and pain, Mahzan realized after a moment he was pinned again. He scowled into the grass—
"When you children are done playing, we are ready to depart," Cemal said. How long had he been standing there? "Honestly, you're grown men."
"One of us is," Sule muttered.
"That one is certainly not you, you petulant child," Mahzan grunted, getting his arms under him and lifting himself sharply—swinging an arm out as Sule tried to recover his hold—and somehow they only wound up crashing and tangling together.
Then he realized he could not move at all.
"Are you done?" Binhadi asked.
"It would seem so," Sule said.
Binhadi released them, and Mahzan landed with a pained grunt on top of Sule and his unyielding leather and steel breast plate. Making certain to cause as much pain as possible, he clambered off Sule and rose to his feet.
Not bothering to offer a hand that time, he turned and strode off after Binhadi, already wishing the journey was over and the bond long broken.
FIRST BLOOD
They traveled for a week in relative peace—if squabbling with Mahzan, resisting an urge to smother Cemal, and strenuously avoiding Binhadi counted as peace. Sule was a soldier, long-used to living in close quarters with others—while managing to keep his secrets, no less. No soldier loved it, but they all grew accustomed or they simply did not last long in the army.
Still, he would swear that all the army combined did not snore half as loud as Cemal. The king was not as arrogant and commanding as Binhadi. He had seen fresh soldiers on their first leave who behaved better than Mahzan.
He almost sighed, but bit it back because it would provoke Mahzan into saying something obnoxious, and he really preferred to enjoy the silence while it lasted. They had been on the road ever since leaving the Broken Monastery—
And that was something he preferred not to think about. Viciously turning his thoughts away from that debacle, he focused on their destination. There was very little in the way of civilization between Weeping Valley and Three Circle, only a couple of campgrounds that showed much neglect. His father had said once there had been little villages, surviving in the woods without the safety of high walls, but if those villages had existed, any proof of them was long consumed by the woods—or destroyed by the beasts that lurked within them.
Beasts they had seen little evidence of, and that was concerning. Sule frowned over the anomaly, refusing to believe it was merely luck. The smell of four people should draw out all manner of predators, and the bonus of four horses was enough to make even the wariest creature daring. And even if most of those remained intimidated by the presence of steel and magic, the spikers would still come for them.
He looked out over the woods, the complicated tangle of trees large and small, undergrowth, vines—the forests of Orhanis were notorious for their density and complexity. The beasts that filled them were only one of many reasons for the equally famous walled cities of Orhanis.
Something cracked in the woods immediately to his left, and he reflexively turned toward the sound, though without real concern. The horses would know well before them if there was something approaching that they needed to be alarmed about.
"Does your mind ever cease?" Mahzan asked suddenly, casting him a look. "It spins and spins, like an overwhelmed waterwheel. You're giving me a headache."
"If you do not like my thoughts, stop listening to them," Sule retorted. He wished they could ride fast enough that talking would not be possible, but the road was too treacherous for that—uneven, twisted, rising and falling, weaving carefully through the forest. Large sections of the stonework were simply gone. It was not hard to pick out the portions where travelers had been dragged into the woods, never to be seen again.
They were still two days away from the nearest village, a place he did not remember well, save that the inn there had been kind to his mother, always perpetually sick and weak, further strained by their long journey south to the Heart.
Binhadi had barely permitted any stops along the journey, not even in Weeping Valley before leaving it well behind to begin their quest in earnest. The few campgrounds they had passed had been overgrown with neglect, and a few had been scattered with the bones of people and horses. Only the desperate and determined traveled in Orhanis.
"I do block your thou
ghts," Mahzan said, sounding annoyed where he hadn't before. "You think so loudly and constantly, it's difficult to block all of it."
Cemal laughed before Sule could reply. "Bored, Mahzan?"
"Yes," Mahzan said. "I thought traveling was supposed to be more interesting than this."
"You should be grateful for the boredom," Sule snapped. "We should be getting attacked, or at least stalked. But so far there has been nothing. I do not like it. Leave it to a child of the Heart to complain of not being beset by monsters." Mahzan's annoyance flickered through his mind, startling him. Sule twisted in his saddle to shoot Mahzan a nasty look. "Keep your thoughts to yourself."
"Keep yours," Mahzan retorted.
Sule started to reply, but fell silent as Binhadi stirred. "Perhaps you should begin teaching him to shield when next we stop, if you have so many problems."
"Not a bad idea," Cemal agreed thoughtfully. "I could stand to learn myself, now that I am spending so much time in the company of a mind mage. It is not a field of magic I know well, given that mind mages are not exactly common."
"We aren't as rare as healers, either," Mahzan said. "Blocking isn't hard. I wish more people learned it."
"Then what would you have to complain about?" Sule said.
"Where you are concerned? I have lists," Mahzan said, but without real heat.
Cemal chuckled. "I thought we had been quiet too long. It has been nice, though—the last time I traveled this way, I was with a group of three other priests on pilgrimage. We were attacked by a thorny wyrm, not far from this very spot if I recall… Yes, it was years ago, but that turn in the road has not changed a bit."
Binhadi startled them all by laughing softly. "I know the very wyrm you mean—an old, mean beast, with two of its eyes ruined, one of its tail spikes gone?"
"Yes!" Cemal said with a surprised laugh. "That is the very one."