by Megan Derr
"I suppose it doesn't." Binhadi sighed. "Let's go betray a king, then." He slung saddlebags over his shoulders and carried them around to the back of the cottage, helped the others get them on the horses.
They led the horses back to the waiting ship, and Binhadi helped Sule get them loaded while Cemal and Mahzan went to see about additional supplies.
It was a good three hours before they were finally able to shove off, but by that point, the sun had finally beat out the clouds to warm the day. A strong breeze picked up as they hit deeper waters, making Sule cheer. You seem to like sailing an awful lot for a man who loves being a soldier of the Heart.
Sailing has its charms, and at least here there's no one else to boss me around and tell me how to do my job. Except Mahzan, and nobody with half a brain bothers listening to him.
Mahzan didn't even bother to stir where he was stretched out dozing on the deck with a saddlebag for a pillow.
Cemal went to fuss with the sails when ordered by Sule, sniping cheerfully with him until everything was to Sule's satisfaction. He brushed his hands off as he came to sit with Binhadi for a moment. "So how are we going to defeat the fearmonger? I feel that by now Yavuz must know we have figured him out, which means that damned fearmonger will be showing up again."
"It doesn't take a fearmonger to kill four men," Mahzan said. "He wouldn't waste precious energy."
Binhadi wasn't so certain of that, not anymore. Not when there were plenty of other expensive cities to destroy, cities that would be more useful as farmland or mills or factories to better serve the Empire of Petrocia. Not when he could kill them and a city and place all the blame for the fearmonger on them.
Sule swore as only a soldier could. "I really hate that you're probably right."
"So what are we supposed to do?" Cemal asked.
"Work together and hope that's enough," Binhadi replied. "It saved us the first time, it saved us with that second fearmonger, let us pray that it will save us a third."
Mahzan heaved an aggrieved sigh. "There's always—"
"No," Binhadi cracked out, so much like he had the last time the matter had come up. But this time, instead of throwing him into a wall, Mahzan merely gave him an unimpressed look then rolled over and went to sleep.
Binhadi rose and went to go find a place of his own to nap. He was damned tired of being awake.
DEFEAT
The Broken Monastery was gone when they arrived. In its place was a small city that showed every sign of expanding and someday thriving. It wasn't the Heart, but pieces of the Heart were in it. High on the hill, the old monastery had been repaired or completely rebuilt in places, the original dark stone interspersed and merged with a gleaming, light gray stone. Sule could see the start of a curtain, and even a moat, that would eventually divide the new royal castle from the rest of the fledgling royal city.
If that was all that had changed in their absence, Sule might have rejoiced and insisted they quit for the day to celebrate. Unfortunately, all he wanted to do right then was throw up—because everywhere he turned there were Petrocian soldiers in their sky blue and dark gray uniforms, all with swords, half also carrying pikes or glaives. Sule had endured them in small numbers before when they had come as an escort party to some visiting ambassador or other noble.
Worse, many of the shop signs were written in Orhanish and Petrocian. He could smell Petrocian food in the air. He recognized it from his home in the Heart, which had butted up right behind a tavern that was owned by a Petrocian immigrant and largely populated by the same.
"I'm going to be sick," Cemal said, and tumbled off his horse and ran to an alleyway to do precisely that. Sule caught flickers of bad memories that bore resemblance to his own encounters. Soldiers in Orhanis followed strict rules regarding their behavior, and those who broke the rules suffered severe punishment, including execution.
As far as he'd ever been able to tell, Petrocian soldiers had no such rule. They were bullies and bastards, and if there were exceptions to that rule, Sule had never met them.
"It's true, it's all fucking true," Cemal said as he returned and climbed up on his horse again. "Some small part of me was hoping we were wrong, but they're right here making themselves at home."
Sule dug out the bottle of brandy in his saddlebag and tossed it over. Cemal took a swallow to rinse his mouth and spat it out on the street, then took a longer swallow. He returned it, and Sule took a swig of his own before passing it to the other two.
Mahzan's hands trembled as he took his turn. His eyes looked half-wild as he looked over the crowds. "They don't— They're so—" He fell silent, and the most terrifying thing Sule had ever seen was Mahzan crying. He didn't do that. The only other occasions he had were when the Heart fell and when he was convinced they all hated him.
He reached out and grabbed Mahzan's arm, felt some of his tension immediately ease. "What's wrong?"
Tears fell down Mahzan's cheeks, and he wiped them angrily away with the heels of his hands. "The people—our people—don't know. All the Orhanish… They're so happy with the new city, excited and proud to be rebuilding, to not be letting sorrow get the better of them. They think the Petrocians have come to help in our greatest hour of need, that they're faithful allies, being kind and familial. They have no idea all these soldiers are here to maintain order and enforce new laws once it's announced that Orhanis will once again be a colony of Petrocia. The soldiers are in charge of—of—" He started crying again, this time covering his face with his hands.
But none of them needed him to spell out the images in his head: of the hundreds of crates of iron collars that all third class citizens of Petrocia wore. People spent their lives doing desperate, terrible things for the slim chance of having that heavy, ugly collar replaced with the leather collar of a second class citizen.
And nobody born with a collar ever reached high enough to live a life without one. Sule was going to be sick. The only one of them who wouldn't be put in a collar was Binhadi. Cemal and Mahzan would be killed outright, one for being a priest of a foreign religion, and the other for possessing a forbidden magic. Petrocia's rulers didn't like mind mages that hadn't been broken from a young age.
Mahzan threw himself off his horse and fled to Cemal's alleyway to lose his own recently-eaten lunch.
Sule pulled the brandy back out of his saddle. How could we miss this?
I don't know, Binhadi said. I will hate myself the rest of my life for being so fucking stupid.
Cemal frowned. Don't. You've hated yourself for too long already. We missed it because people worked hard to ensure we missed it. Nobody could have expected that the four of us would come together, drive the fearmonger back, and be Oathbound to kill it. But Yavuz revised whatever his original plan was and slotted us into it nicely. Even the Great Dragon once fell because of a child's trick. Nobody is infallible. And we still have a chance to fix it. I hope.
"I certainly feel like a child," Binhadi said with a sigh. We need to kill Yavuz, or someone else part of his Oath, to stop the fearmonger once and for all. We need to kill all of them if we hope to keep Petrocia from taking over.
It's probably too late for that, Mahzan said as he returned. He took the brandy from Sule, cleaned and spat, then handed it back. Petrocia is firmly entrenched. Killing Yavuz just makes it easier to move in their own people. I don't think it's a stretch to say that Yavuz's life expectancy has shortened significantly. I don't need to read minds to know that.
No, you don't, Binhadi replied grimly. They'll use Yavuz to help establish things, then either force a Petrocian spouse on him who will take full control, or just kill him. They could go the route of a new wife and maybe a blood heir, but while it's tidier, it's also slower.
Sule made a face. We should be slaying a fearmonger, not getting tangled up in politics.
What are we supposed to do? Mahzan asked. He's right: this is completely different than what we thought we'd be doing, and only one of us is remotely trained for playing political game
s.
Trained, but a little bit out of favor, I'd say. Binhadi sighed. First, we need to get off the street. If we're in as much trouble as we think, it's only a matter of time before someone recognizes us.
Mahzan nodded and dismounted again, this time to stop various people and talk to them. After only a few minutes he returned smiling. "This way. I've found us an inn."
They fell into step behind him, keeping as close together as possible through the crowded streets. More than a few people gave them curious or annoyed looks, since very few other persons were riding horses—but almost immediately after looking at them the people turned away looking puzzled, like they'd forgotten what they were doing or where they were going.
Up ahead, Mahzan's shoulders were pulled taught, his head bowed as though exhausted, but from the silence in Sule's own mind, it wasn't hard to tell that Mahzan was putting all of his attention on making people forget about them.
By the time they reached the inn, Mahzan was stumbling. Sule hastened to help him while Cemal bustled inside to arrange their room and Binhadi took care of the horses. Hopefully putting the horses up wouldn't prove a fatal mistake. They'd almost decided against buying them, but the chance they might need them had won out, and they'd landed in a town a few days from the Monastery to obtain them—and give Cemal time to rest.
Once they were in their room, which was actually a surprisingly large suite that had two bedrooms and a sitting area, Sule took care of obtaining food and drink. He plied Mahzan with both until he was satisfied the fool probably wouldn't collapse.
I'm not going to collapse. I am better at using my abilities in such ways, and with increased frequency. We don't need to fuss over me, we need to formulate a real plan. This is so much greater a problem than we were expecting.
Cemal sighed as he joined them at the table. "Is there anything for us to do? I doubt the fearmonger will make a reappearance, and whether it lives or dies, Petrocia has made its move. They're entrenched. They've won."
"We're getting rid of that fearmonger," Binhadi snapped. "We're then going to break Yavuz's Oath to make damned certain they can't capture any more. We may have lost to Petrocia, but I'll be damned if I leave them with such a weapon at their disposal."
Cemal flinched and bowed his head. "You're right. I'm sorry. So we need to draw it out, or get to Yavuz, I guess. Figure out who else is in his Oath, which shouldn't be hard. I doubt they wander too far from him, as difficult as it must be to control that fearmonger—especially after pushing to send that second one to kill us. I still don't know how they did that. I'm starting to appreciate why knowledge of Oaths was lost."
"Yes," Binhadi replied softly. "It will definitely be lost again after we die, if I have anything to say about it."
"We still need a plan!" Mahzan snarled, slamming his hands on the table.
Sule crossed his arms over his chest. "We could just go see Yavuz. We were acting under orders to kill Seda. What proof does he really have that we know anything?"
"That seems reckless," Cemal said.
Sule shrugged irritably. "Either we go to see him, or at some point we'll be arrested and dragged to see him. We may as well retain some control of the situation."
Binhadi frowned, brow furrowed, his mind spinning with thoughts too tumultuous for Sule to parse, but which were causing Mahzan to look at him in concern and some fear.
Then Mahzan abruptly jerked to his feet so hard his chair went crashing to the floor. Sule's chest seized as it spawned unpleasant memories, but just as he relaxed, Mahzan said, "They're coming. They're down the street right now, but they're coming. I missed someone, somehow, and they spoke to a guard about 'suspicious persons' and the guard recognized the man's descriptions. Dragon's balls."
Binhadi threw him toward the bedroom doors. "You need to run."
"I'm not leaving—"
"There's no time!" Binhadi snarled. "We're stupid, we're all fucking stupid. We already know they're going to use us to take the blame and execute us for it—but they won't wait that long with a powerful mind mage, Mahzan. They'll kill you right here and now."
Mahzan looked ill. "But I can't leave—"
"Go!" Cemal and Sule bellowed.
Binhadi closed the space between them and cupped Mahzan's face, kissed him so hard even Sule could tell Mahzan's lips were bruised. "Please," Binhadi said as he drew away. "For us, you have to go. As long as you're free, we're all free."
"I hate you," Mahzan said, and cast them all an anguished look before darting into the far bedroom. A moment later they all saw through his eyes as he escaped through a window up to the roof.
Sule shared a look with the other two as they heard increased noise in the streets. He rose and discarded his weapons, moved to a clear area of the room. The others followed suit, extending their arms as footsteps came pounding up the stairs and down the hall.
Soldiers burst through a moment later, swarming into the room like vultures on a corpse.
The man in charge, Orhanish but wearing Petrocian marks on his uniform, stepped forward and looked the three of them over carefully. Finally his eyes rested on Binhadi. "You are Binhadi Morlock?"
Binhadi bristled, seemed to shift somehow, and was no longer their Binhadi, but the cold, intimidating shadow mage they'd first met a lifetime ago. "I am Warlock Binhadi, yes. I do not care for my surname or for arrogant little fools who fail to address me with the respect I am due, especially with this unwarranted treatment. Who are you, then, Sergeant? Never mind, I'll learn your name from your superior."
The sergeant's mouth flattened, but he only turned to Sule. "You're former North Captain Ekrem?"
Sule bared his teeth and didn't bother to otherwise reply.
Mouth pinched now, the sergeant turned to Cemal. "You are?"
"I'm the only white one in the group, but you're not sure of me?" Cemal asked with a laugh. "La la la. I am Cemal, Shield of the Holy Order of the Great Dragon. Address me as such."
"Where is the mind mage?" the sergeant demanded, sounding so put out Sule expected him to stamp his foot. "Where is—" he paused to glance down at the piece of paper clutched in his hand. Sloppy, very sloppy. Sule would have cuffed him and later reprimanded him until his ears rang. "Where is King's Jester Mahzan Tufiri?" He frowned at the peculiar surname, but like Cemal, Mahzan had probably never been given a surname.
It was the name of an orphanage I was at for some years, Mahzan replied. The least awful of them. I almost didn't hate it.
Do you have us locked up tight? Binhadi asked. If they read any of our thoughts, or can use our thoughts to find you—
They've no doubt got someone powerful, but no one as powerful as me, Mahzan said. No one will get past our barriers. I'll stay close. You tell me when to help you, and I will.
Sule barely kept the fury from his face. He'd never practiced remaining impassive as much as he should have. Don't do something stupid and reckless.
La la la, darling, Mahzan said with a laugh. Alone I am very good at being invisible—without using my powers. Once a negligible orphan, always a negligible orphan. Even you three won't see me until it's necessary. Be careful yourself, fire-temper.
Fuck you.
Maybe later. Behave until then.
Sule was going to kill him.
"Where is Tufiri!" the sergeant snarled.
Binhadi looked at him like he was a spot of mud on a freshly polished boot. "He's obviously fled, you imbecile. He knew you were coming and did not want to be captured, given the tendency of fools like you to be decidedly murderous when it comes to his kind."
The sergeant chuckled. "Abandoned you, huh?" When they remained stonily silent, he laughed harder, mood much improved by reveling in their misery. "Bag and chain them. Behave, you three, or you'll be killed now and left rotting in an alleyway, and those still alive will suffer a punishment even worse than what's already planned."
Sule said nothing, did nothing, though it was the greatest of tortures to hold still as they fastened chains ar
ound his ankles and wrists and dropped a thick, scratchy bag made of dense black fabric over his head. As methods for preventing mages from acting, they tended to be fairly effective: Binhadi couldn't use shadows if he couldn't see them, Sule didn't dare use fire if he couldn't see his targets, and so far as their captors knew, Cemal was in much the same position. But manacles and a bag weren't going to stop a man who could shift into a wolf.
No, but not being able to shift fast enough will, Cemal said.
Mahzan's confidence rolled through their minds, cutting through even Binhadi's brooding. We'll be fine.
Don't get cocky, Sule replied. Before he could reprimand Mahzan further, two soldiers grabbed his arms and hauled him out of the room and down the stairs. They did it so poorly he spent more time tripping and falling then he did shuffling along, but eventually they heaved him into what seemed to be a prisoner wagon. It certainly smelled like one: piss, vomit, and blood.
Binhadi was put next to him, and Cemal somewhere on the other bench.
So what next, do you think? Cemal asked.
Sule let his head rest against the wall of the wagon. Now I assume we'll be taken somewhere to be made a spectacle of. People love to see well-deserved executions. His lips curled at the memory of all the people who used to gather for them in what they'd so charmingly called the Blood Court. Executioner's Yard was the actual term, a large circle set down deep, with high, high walls to prevent trouble getting in or out. It had been like working at the bottom of a well. People had gathered around the walls, fighting for space, jeering and throwing food at the people dragged out to die.
He'd felt sorry for many of them, killed for things he felt they should have been punished more lightly for, but he had no power to stay executions. He'd merely done his half year turn and hurried on to other things, climbed swiftly to North Captain.
He had no idea how to feel about the fact he was soon going to be one of the poor bastards everyone was happy to see die.