CHAPTER 43
The onlookers held their breath.
“How do you feel, your majesty?” Sorjot asked quietly and fearfully, the question echoing in the chamber.
“I feel nothing,” Philquek announced, clearly displeased.
“I ... I’m sorry, uncle,” Amber stammered.
“She’s had her mirjuva since we left Philen,” Sorjot suggested, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “She is no longer a child, where the Sword of Kings is concerned, or maybe we’ve overlooked elements of Pisor’s legends.”
“Or maybe I was right to question your counsel.” The Akdren kluntra sounded like a man who had been up all night running an obstacle course only to learn at dawn he would be expected to march across the shanjin that day. “The blood priests’ histories are clearly false, and Pisor is but a symbol of the old kings.”
“But your majesty, what of the Urgarun Massacre?” Sorjot asked, leaning close to Philquek. “Why would a king ...”
“The Akdren have bled much to find the Sword of Kings,” the ancient kluntra said sternly. “Our scouts report the Kadrak will attack at dawn, and we are too weak to defeat them.”
“Perhaps there is a delay between the making and...”
Philquek spoke over him, and reared over him, as well. “Or perhaps the Zatkuka have betrayed the Akdren.”
“Never!” Sorjot cried as he took a step backward, stumbled and fell.
At a gesture from Philquek, two sordenu rushed forward to seize the Zatkuka kluntra. “One of your agents confessed to attacking Amber’s escort. You’ll find him buried with the other spies, traitors and treaty-breakers.”
Sorjot’s face froze in fear, a white smear of salt fading as he sweated.
Philquek raised Pisor until it was right in front of Sorjot’s face. “Your bad counsel and lust for power have cost my clan dearly, and for that I will make good on my threats. The Akdren will fall upon the Zatkuka and devour them.”
Sorjot wrenched his arms from the sordenu and flung himself at the feet of the Akdren kluntra. “Have mercy, kluntra! I had no way of knowing...”
Philquek didn’t move the sword away from Sorjot, but he turned his attention to Butu and Lujo. “Captain Bephis, please take these young sordenu outside and find them a tent on the east face of the rock. Give them food and water.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Bephis said, saluting.
Philquek looked on the point of correcting him but thought better it. He smiled at his niece. “Amber, accompany me back to the camp. You must be tired. I must plan our strategy for our battle with the Kadrak.” He turned his attention to Sorjot, who was a sobbing wreck on the floor. “As for you, Sorjot al’Zatkuka, you have until we reach the surface to convince me you are innocent.”
Bephis stepped between the kluntras and the Ahjea, blocking Butu’s view of the weeping Zatkuka. Butu could still sense Sorjot scraping on the ground in front of Philquek.
Is this a worthy king — a ruler who makes his subjects weep? Butu remembered the story of the Urgarun Wail with a shudder.
“Come with me,” Bephis said in a voice used to giving orders.
Butu stopped his arm from saluting and followed Bephis and several Akdren sordenu out of the crystal palace. Before he reached the first step, he glanced over his shoulder into the other half of the dead city. The water damage was even greater, there, and the light far weaker. More buildings were destroyed back there, and the salty rain seemed heavier.
They began the descent. Butu felt a hand briefly touch his neck, though he couldn’t sense anyone.
Jani reminding me that she’s still here, assuring me she is safe, Butu realized.
They passed slick streets and encrusted buildings filled with dead men and women whose faces and bodies were twisted with the pain and terror.
But not even one child.
“Doesn’t this prove there’s some truth to the stories about Pisor?” Lujo asked softly.
All this over a sword, Butu thought sadly. All this because a king was angry at a kingmaker he was afraid to kill.
“None of this makes sense,” Lujo whined. “What went wrong?”
Butu said nothing. He had his own suspicions but thought it best not to voice them, yet.
It should be easy to get back to the city. Lujo can dig us another tunnel. Amber was helpful, there. We’re not prisoners. Part of him questioned that. Philquek — king or kluntra — did not seem the kind of man to abide by such an agreement.
When they reached the tunnels beyond the bridge out of the dead city, one of Bephis’ soldiers lit a lantern to guide them. Compared with the gleaming light of Urgaruna’s columns, the flickering red light was hardly illumination at all. Very quickly, they passed the crack Lujo had widened for them to get into the city.
Lujo suddenly gripped Butu’s arm and spoke softly in his ear. “It’s gone.” Butu could hear the fear there. “I can’t feel the stone, anymore.”
His magic is fading, too. I’d better think of a way to get to the city without magic.
“Quiet.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Later. Keep your eyes open.”
Lujo tilted his head, confused, then nodded and kept his silence. The tunnel sloped upward, but there were no branches this far down.
Like a road, Butu thought. It’s designed to let adults get up and down easily, so that should be pretty easy to follow, again.
Eventually, the straight path became a series of meandering, branching tunnels. Butu watched the sordenu, trying to figure out how they found their way out. Someone had marked the ways with a white, chalk arrow. The darker, charcoal arrow must be the way down. Butu could just make out the marks in the lantern’s light.
He yawned. I’m going to need a lantern, then, or some other way of knowing which way to go.
Once they passed out of the lower levels, the caves widened into large rooms connected by tunnels. Butu quickly lost count of the Akdren soldiers they passed along the way.
I can’t count on invisibility to get past all of them. Tirud’s trick might be the only way through.
At last, the light of lanterns seemed dim in the tunnels. They reached a wide cave mouth guarded by sordenu and archers. Great bonfires lit the tops of basalt battlements at the lip of the cave, which provided cover from enemy attacks. One of the guards on watch lowered a rope ladder off the ramparts, and Bephis’ soldiers took turns climbing down. When Butu’s turn came, he looked down and felt a momentary pang of terror seize him.
It must be a hundred feet to the bottom. Without magic, I’m not getting back up here unless they throw down the ladder.
“Shanubu, is it second watch yet?” asked one of the Akdren sordenu. “How long have we been underground?”
“Second watch begins in an hour,” someone answered. “We’ll see battle against the Kadrak, tomorrow. Aesh al’Kadrak himself leads a force of ten thousand. Our scouts report they’ve brought the Ahjea heir with them.”
Zhek! Tirud, Blay and the others will probably be with them, too.
“How many men did the Ahjea bring?” the sordenu asked, snorting a laugh. “I’m guessing three squads of sordenu and an old man leading a camel.”
Butu clenched his teeth and continued his descent in silence. If he had felt terribly tired knowing he’d had less than four hours sleep in the past two days, the effort of gripping the rope ladder made it even worse. At the base, he stood next to a yawning Lujo.
“Better a night’s sleep under the sun than a day’s march under the stars,” Bephis murmured, apparently quoting some saying Butu didn’t know. The two boys looked up at the stars. Then, more loudly, “Come with me. I’ll show you to your tent.”
Butu felt lighter as he walked, almost as if the smallest gust of wind would blow him away like a cloud of dust. In the gathering darkness, they led the young sordenu toward the heart of the eastern camp through pools of light cast by fires. At last, they came to a small tent surrounded by lanterns on poles.
Bephis shouted orders to
a nearby sordenu and led the pair inside. He smiled at them. “Food should be here shortly. Try to rest. This part of the camp is the farthest from the battle lines.”
Farthest from the safety of our own clan, you mean, Butu thought but murmured thanks.
Lujo stifled another yawn as they went inside. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it to dinner.”
Butu felt Bephis and his sordenu as they left. The captain headed back toward Urgaruna, while the sordenu immediately congregated with several others by a fire. None were close enough to overhear them.
“Jani?” Butu whispered to the air.
“I’m here.” She didn’t appear, but her voice came from a foot in front of him.
“No one’s close,” he assured her.
“Perhaps, but others in the camp might share your talent.”
“Oh.” Butu paused, considering what to say next. Lujo had already curled up on the rocky ground, arms stretched out under his head like a bony pillow. Butu sat down near him, leaning forward on his knees, flexing his wrists. He had a good view of the tent flap.
“We need to get back to the rest of the squad and let them know Philquek has Pisor,” Jani whispered. “That’s the mission. If we do that, Blay can’t say we’re deserters.”
“How are we going to get out without the Akdren catching us?” Butu asked. “Our magic has already failed us once.”
“Who cares if they catch us? We’re honored guests, remember? Philquek can’t have us killed. Otherwise, Amber will unmake him,” Lujo said. He yawned. So did Butu.
Jani sighed heavily. “No. Butu’s right. You’re only guests so long as you let yourselves be held captive. If you give the Akdren soldiers a reason to think you’re spies, they’re going to kill you without asking Philquek for permission. The kluntra can easily claim innocence, punish the ones responsible, and offer his insincere apologies to Amber and the Ahjea.”
“That doesn’t force her to accept his excuse, though. She can still unmake him.”
“She won’t. Philquek might be a son of a washerwoman, but he’s still Amber’s blood. Jusep and Zhek have done a lot of things to make me angry, but I wouldn’t kill them for something someone else in the clan did.”
“Maybe she’s different from you,” Lujo persisted, propping his head up on one hand, the elbow digging into the rock. “Some kingmakers have unmade their kings for much less.”
“She won’t unmake him,” Butu said. “Because she can’t.”
Kingmaker Page 43