SHIANG

by C. F. Iggulden

  The leader of the thieves blinked at the offer, sensing that something was wrong. The man speaking as if to a child appeared quite unworried by the weapons they carried. The other two … The thief saw they were twins. They were smiling in the oddest way, both dressed the same, like a mirror. And the last! Even curled up and grumbling about all the talking, the man was about the size of a brown bear. The thief had no interest in seeing him stand up. He made a decision.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. He sheathed his sword with a clumsiness that made Hondo wince. ‘Pax in the camp, lads. We’ll earn our coin this morning.’

  ‘It won’t be as much as they have with them,’ one of the others grumbled.

  Hondo lost patience. It was one thing to spare scavengers, just as he might ignore wild dogs. He was a swordsman after all, not a butcher. It was quite another to have to listen to them bicker as if he had not just granted them their lives. Hondo gestured to the twins and one of them strode forward through the thieves. The twin moved like smoke, startling them. For one who had never seen a Mazer swordsman before, it might have seemed like a cat running along a branch, a balance so perfect it could make a grown man stand in awe.

  The fellow who had spoken was dead a moment later. The twin had drawn and cut him in a single blow. As Hondo watched in silent appreciation, Hi, or perhaps Je, cleaned the blade on the fellow’s coat, then polished it with a second cloth before replacing it in the scabbard, protected once more. Even the touch of a bare finger could spoil the mirror finish of the steel if left untended. A blade was not just for a lifetime, but centuries, if treated with respect.

  Hondo bowed to the twin as he returned, honouring his skill. The young man flushed, delighted by praise from the sword saint as he rejoined his brother. The rest of the thieves still stood transfixed and horrified.

  ‘There,’ Hondo said, as if the entire event had been merely an interruption. ‘Now, without further argument, please. You know of Darien? You can direct us?’

  The leader of the thieves had paled at seeing one he called a friend bleeding into the frozen ground. The frost vanished there as the blood touched it, he noticed. He seemed a little dazed, but when Hondo raised his hand, he babbled a response.

  ‘My father knew it well. He met traders from the west. He said it lies six hundred miles past the mountains there, on the banks of a great river. It’s a trading city, my lord. Once you are across the highest peaks, you’ll surely meet merchants who call it home.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hondo said, though he had hoped to hear it was closer. Even so, he fished in his pouch for a low-value piece of silver and passed it into the man’s hands. ‘Go on your way now, gentlemen. Know that you have earned an honest coin.’

  They trooped off like boys dismissed from class. Hondo watched them go and turned in irritation to Bosin as the man gave up on sleep and sat up. He saw Hondo’s expression and shrugged.

  ‘What? You won’t say you needed me against a few skinny thieves?’

  ‘It was not a matter of need, Master Bosin, it was a matter of discipline and my orders.’

  ‘The king sent me to Darien, Master Hondo. He did not say I was to be your servant. I don’t remember that. Do you remember that? You were there as well. Did he say that? Did he say, “Oh yes, don’t forget, Bosin, Hondo is your master on the trip”? When was that?’

  Hondo controlled his temper with difficulty. He was suddenly no longer hungry. Bosin watched the sword saint move stiffly to saddle his horse, anger in every gesture. The big man was already feeling guilty for what he had said, but he didn’t know how to call it back. Instead, Bosin stood in sullen silence until Hondo mounted and rode on, clearly determined to leave him behind in his bad temper.

  The twins looked nervously to Bosin as he stood there. He sighed and waved them after Hondo.

  ‘Go on. Look after the old bastard. I’ll catch up when I’ve had breakfast.’

  Gabriel felt ill. There was no better way to describe it, as he had no words for the discomfort he felt. It was not quite a pain, but almost a sense of loss, as if he had watched a child die and each moment was the anniversary … He gave up with a wave of his hand. For weeks he had ruled a terrified populace in Shiang. At his order, the noble families and great estates had come to prostrate themselves before him. Those who had refused he had visited himself, leaving the walls of their homes daubed in blood. It had been necessary only twice, though he had made an example of a third in the city, so the Fool could have somewhere to live and be tended. The other estates had gone to Thomas and Sanjin, his gift to them.

  Gabriel leaned on a balcony, looking out at the administrative buildings they called the Hub. He had thought he would have those cleared for the view, but he had planned many things that remained undone. He gripped the stone and felt the sill crack, so that his palms were marked with dust. He had been given much, but it came with a price that was driving him to madness.

  Even as he had the thought, he felt a slight passage in the air, the beating heart that seemed to eat at his self-control each time he felt it. He’d read once of a torture that was no more than a drip of water landing on a man’s forehead, while he was bound beneath and unable to move. Gabriel had laughed at the idea of it. He had known torture in many forms and when he compared the slow drip of water with his knives and irons and his room of little ease, he thought it a foolish thing.

  The reality was different, he knew by then. Over the previous week, he’d even had an iron bed made to test the water-drop torture on a royal guardsman. So far, the man had lasted three days, but he’d begun screaming that morning and it did not look as if he would stop. All from a drop of water, or a call he would not answer.

  Gabriel clenched his fist and felt a sting as a flake of white marble sliced his palm. He held it up in something like wonder, seeing the extraordinary brightness of blood against the paler dust. Blood was the only true red – and only then when it was full of life. It darkened as life drained away. It became brown and then black, then the dust of the grey land. Gabriel shuddered at the thought and then again, when the strange thrum in the air touched him.

  How many times had it been that morning? His great fear was that they were coming more often. He told himself it was mere imagination, but if there was any truth in it, he knew he could not withstand the beats for ever. Like the water drops, each one was nothing, but together they would bring his walls down, he could feel it. Water wormed its way into foundations, so that castles and even cities fell.

  He turned back to a room where his ministers waited for him. They included men and women taken from the street and made to wear the robes of a noble house. It had amused him to do it, to see the light of greed or just possibility come to their faces as he gave them more than they had ever dreamed. He thought those common men and women would be loyal to him, if only to protect what they had.

  What a pleasure it was to lead! People were such simple creatures, in the end. They needed food and warmth and family. They wanted power over others. The men wanted a harem; the women … well, who knew, really? His first wife had said women wanted babies and security. Give them that and they would ask for nothing else. He wondered if that could be true, though. His new queen seemed not to need him at all, now that he had given her power. She had gathered an army of servants to tend her, seeking out old enemies around the city to lie in the mud and be walked upon. One of them had drowned just that morning, he’d been told. He liked her, but she could be vicious, there was no doubt about that.

  ‘Gentlemen, ladies, I thought some sort of ball might entertain the families of Shiang …’ He paused as the thump ran through him. Of course, they felt nothing, but just stared at him with bovine expressions or obsequious smiles. He gathered his thoughts and tried again.

  ‘There are trading cities further to the east. I thought I might invite their ambassadors to my coronation here. The ball could be’ – thump – ‘… an event to mark a new reign, and a new royal house.

  ‘There are no riots any long
er in Shiang. Now that I have brought back execution for treason in all its forms, there is no unrest against my rule. I trust that will continue. I thought to hold the ball at the new moon’ – thump – ‘… Damn it! None of you feel that movement in the air?’

  They looked at him in terror, he realised, with the whites of their eyes showing. They already feared him, but this was the dread of the insane, of a different order entirely. He shook his head to clear it, forcing his thoughts back on course.

  ‘It is my intention to make Shiang a great trading city once more.’ Thump. ‘We have too long looked inward.’ Thump. ‘Hellfire! What? Would you draw back from me? Perhaps you should be afraid! Thump thump thump! Can none of you hear it?’

  ‘I hear it, brother,’ Thomas said wearily from the doorway. ‘Sanjin does as well now. The Fool is tormented by it. He does nothing but shriek at his servants like a cat caught in a trap. He gets worse each day. We all do.’

  Gabriel raised hands like claws, showing the red blood that still seeped from one of them. He had not bothered to heal or clean it.

  ‘It’s getting harder to bear,’ he said. ‘Not stronger, but …’

  ‘But more often, Gabriel, yes. There is no doubt any more.’

  Both of them winced as the pulse went through them again, the tugging, deep in their stomachs.

  ‘If I leave Shiang, they will forget me in a month,’ Gabriel said. ‘They will undo all I have done.’ Thump. ‘You know it.’

  Thomas shrugged.

  ‘I have enjoyed living as a lord, but I cannot go on like this. We’ll win it back, perhaps, or find some other place. It is still better than the grey land, brother. Remember that.’

  Gabriel nodded slowly. He looked around at the lords and commoners all staring at him.

  ‘Very well. It seems I must leave my throne and this city behind. Bring Sanjin and the Fool. There are horses here. I will answer this call. I’ll face whatever there is waiting for me – and if there are stones, I will take them all.’

  He and Thomas both tensed for the pulse, but there was nothing. They looked at one another in wild surmise. Thomas nodded.

  ‘It seems you have made the right decision, brother.’

  As the sun rose to noon, the king of Shiang rode along the west way to the great gate. Gabriel’s horse bore packs of food and he wore the royal sword on his hip. Thomas rode at his side and Sanjin kept an eye on the Fool and Lord Ran as they rode behind, though he had complained bitterly at being given such a menial task. His foot still bled. Gabriel was so relieved to be heading west he had considered healing it, but changed his mind at the last moment. Perhaps he’d reconsider if Sanjin ever showed a little grace and good manners, instead of the constant scowl.

  Few in the city knew they were leaving. Crowds began to gather even so as the horsemen headed for the gate and were recognised. One or two cheered, but most of them were silent. They would not jeer or call out, such was their fear of the new king. Yet they could glower and hope the man would know. That was all they dared to do.

  Gabriel ignored the sullen crowd, riding with a straight back. His new guards looked nervous as he passed them. They had not been told the king was leaving the city and some of them feared what might happen when the news spread. Gabriel had employed some as executioners as well. They would surely be torn apart without his protection. There would be violence and fire in his wake. The thought made Gabriel smile as he reached the gate.

  ‘Taeshin! Oh, it is you!’ Marias called.

  A young woman stepped up to his stirrup and touched his boot as if she thought he had to be an apparition. Gabriel was tempted to kick her away, or just dig in his heels and ride on. Somehow, he could not bring himself to do it and drew his mount to a halt with a squeeze of the reins.

  ‘I do not know you,’ he said.

  ‘It is Marias! Your slave, Taeshin! Oh, what have they done to you? Taeshin?’

  Gabriel sensed a flash of awareness, there and gone in an instant. It frightened him and he wanted to ride on. Yet he was held in that spot as if rooted in stone.

  ‘Let me come with you, Taeshin. Please. Wherever you are going. I thought you were dead. I was certain. Please, Taeshin.’

  She began to weep. Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment and summoned his will. The young woman had clearly known the one who owned the body he had been given. Gabriel had hardly thought of him from the moment of first awakening. She was beautiful – and competent to have survived a month without her master. She would be useful to him on the trail, to cook and tend the animals. Gabriel shook his head once more, confused. He had left Song behind, to whatever fate befell her, but he would take a slave out of Shiang? It was madness.

  ‘Get up behind me,’ he said, his voice hoarse as if from lack of use.

  Perhaps it was a whim, but he was heading out into the wilderness and … no, he had no explanation. Thomas and Sanjin looked at him as if he had lost his wits. The Fool made his ‘shee shee’ sound, though whether he laughed or wept was, as ever, hard to say. Lord Ran just looked stern, though he watched everything they did. At least the man knew by then that he could not run. Both Gabriel and Thomas were as fast across open ground as a galloping horse.

  Gabriel felt the woman’s hands slide around his waist and the pressure of her head on his back as she embraced him. It was oddly comforting as he rode through the gate and left Shiang behind. He was going to the source of the call that hurt him. He was going to Darien and whatever waited for him there.

  Taeshin opened his eyes on the grey land, unchanging, though armies clashed below. He had been afraid to walk down the hill before. He had no desire to join those serried ranks that slaughtered one another and then reappeared each morning as the sky brightened. The sun did not rise in that place. There was nothing as joyous as warmth, nor even the bite of winter. Neither did he feel hunger or thirst, though at times he longed for those signs of life.

  Grim and silent, he watched the armies gather. Officers rode up and down the lines on both sides, exhorting the men to greater efforts than before. Taeshin could hear them shout and answer.

  It was not always the same, he had begun to see. Two great kings met on that field every day to fight. Whatever the result, no matter which side was triumphant in the evening camps, they still trooped out to fight again the next day.

  He closed his eyes, but no colours came, no flashes of strange scenes he had never lived. Of Marias in the wilderness, of the tiger named Gabriel who walked in his flesh. Taeshin shook his head, feeling once more a surge of anger that anyone could even consider hurting Marias. That was a true emotion, he realised, a part of himself that was not of the grey land. It warmed him like the sun rising would have done. He decided once again that he would not walk down to the battle, not that day.

  12

  High Pass

  The funeral of Lady Elizabeth Forza took place a week after her death, while snow lay on the walls of Darien and winter drove hard across the city. Peals sounded in every church spire, muffled by cloth pads held to the bells, so the notes were as short as life. Dressed in black against the frosts, the funeral procession looked unusually sombre. The heads of the Twelve Families were present, including Lady Forza’s eldest son, Reno. He was a stern and handsome man in his forties, with a touch of grey. Unfortunately, as they all knew, he might have inherited his mother’s house, but he lacked the talent to use the Forza Stone. One of his younger sisters was working with it, but it might as well have been basalt or red porphyry for her. Lady Forza had written down all she had seen in her visions, but it was always some variant on the black wave breaking over the city. As Lady Sallet had noted wryly to Tellius, they were a long way from the sea. Whatever was coming, whatever destruction awaited, it could still be almost anything.

  The coffin was carried by the heir and five other men Tellius did not know, all wearing matching black coats with dark red collars. The snow gave the scene dignity somehow, though he hoped they would not slip and drop a lady he had come to lik
e. Tellius shivered suddenly as he followed them, wondering if her spirit had brushed past him, or whether it was just his own advancing age. He looked up as he and Win passed under a bridge packed with Forza staff, there to give silent honour to their mistress. The man he had once been could not help think it would be a good time for thieves to be about. One lad to cause a commotion, perhaps by dropping something from the bridge, then half a dozen more to dip and snatch. It would be almost too easy. No guard could chase thieves in the snow, not with a chance of catching them.

  Nothing dropped from above as the procession of lords passed by. Tellius was almost disappointed. He could not lose the frown that had settled on him as they made their way into the church of the Goddess and bowed to her effigy. It was one Tellius had always liked, a rather benign version, more maternal than the usual young lover capable of leading a man to destruction as easily as joy. He nodded to her, exactly as he might have done to an old friend.

  The city was quiet for the passing. Perhaps the snow and cold played a part in that, but Tellius knew Lady Forza had been respected, even loved. She’d used her wealth to invest in businesses – and one thing you could say, she’d had a flair for it. Even the new Hart gunsmiths looked like they would make a fortune. Her son would never be short of a few coins, once the full scope of his inheritance became clear. Tellius still hoped to retain Reno Forza as the primary donor for the new militias training across the city and the Campus outside it. The costs of feeding and equipping eighty thousand men were simply staggering. With a sniff, Tellius only hoped they would be enough.

  He had not forgotten the sense of helplessness he’d felt as he’d watched the black wave break over the city. Whatever it meant, he would rather lose a fortune and six months of his life preparing for nothing, than be caught with his trousers round his ankles when the end of the world came. Put like that, it was not such a grand ambition. New Hart pistols were coming out of the workshops Sallet and Forza had funded, finding their way to the regiments and private customers in boxes of grease and straw. It made Tellius smile to think of it. Unlike Lord Bracken and Lord Regis, he did not fear the mob. In his heart of hearts, he was the mob.