Hammer of the Earth

by Susan Krinard

  Nyx and the village hunters agreed to scout the surrounding forest for sign of the little people, who would be watching the caves for their visitors’ arrival. The Imaziren set out to gather wood and kindling from the forest floor, while Rhenna and Cian hunted for game. By nightfall Cian had caught a small striped antelope, and Rhenna helped him carry it back to the clearing.

  Tahvo was gone. The Imaziren had returned with their firewood, but none had seen the healer. Cian quickly shed his clothes, changed and plunged into the black forest to search for her.

  Rhenna forced worry from her mind and built the fire while the Imaziren skinned and cleaned the carcass. Nyx and the villagers returned after moonrise, empty-handed. The meat was almost charred when Cian finally reappeared with Tahvo.

  The healer sat before the fire, her opaque silver eyes reflecting the dancing light. “I have met with the little people,” she said. “They have heard tales of the thing we seek, hidden many days’ journey south in the deep forest. They say there is a great power there, an angry god who rules a place forbidden even to their kind.”

  “An angry god,” Rhenna said. She turned to Nyx. “Did you know of this?”

  “No more than the prophecies tell—that four escaped Exalted stole and hid the Weapons.” She leaned close to Tahvo. “Will the little folk guide us?”

  “As far as the borders of the forbidden place,” Tahvo said. “They will show us the way, but we will not see them.”

  “Then they fear us in spite of their test,” Cian said.

  “They would not take us at all if the caves had not shown us to be worthy. But they say we will face many dangers.” She bowed her head. “Not all will survive.”

  Rhenna nodded and looked from Nyx to the Imaziren. “We knew this would be a difficult journey,” she said. “None of you need go with us. You can return to the desert—”

  “And give up the chance to become great heroes of our people?” Immeghar said, slapping his chest. “We were charged to protect the Guardian on his quest and watch over the little Healer who awakened our goddess. This we will do until death claims us, even if we end our lives in this stinking wet hellhole.”

  “We go,” Cabh’a said firmly.

  “We go,” Tamallat and Mezwar echoed, smiling at each other.

  “Very well,” Rhenna said. “What of your people, Nyx?”

  “Few of the Ará Odò have ventured beyond the caves,” she said. “Abidemi and Enitan are among those who believe my father’s tales of the Godwars. They are eager to see what lies in the South.”

  “Then we must rest,” Tahvo said. “The little people will come for us in the morning.”

  Immeghar began slicing chunks of meat from the carcass and handing them around on plates fashioned of broad serrated leaves. Rhenna ate with little appetite, half watching Cian as he prowled the borders of the clearing. When the others had made their beds, she drew him aside.

  “Did you see these little people?” she asked.

  “Not a sign,” he said with veiled disgust. “I didn’t hear or smell them, either. They might as well have been invisible.”

  “Tahvo trusts them.”

  “I hope they prove worthy of her faith.” He cleared his throat. “What did you see in the caves?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It was…something that doesn’t exist.”

  “Or has yet to happen.” He looked away. “If the price for the Hammer becomes too high…if I ever turn against you—”

  “Was it my blood you saw, Cian?”

  He seized her arms. “If I ever lose myself, only you can stop me. Promise you will.”

  “No.” She worked free of his hold and took his face between her hands. “Whatever you saw was an evil vision meant to lay bare your deepest fears.”

  “Is that what you found, Rhenna? Your deepest fear?”

  She let her hands fall. “I saw Farkas.” Her skin heated painfully. “He was in a land I’ve never seen before.”

  “Farkas is too much of a coward to leave the steppes,” Cian said, baring his teeth.

  “I know. It was only a dream.” She met his gaze. “Only dreams, Cian.”

  He stroked her scarred cheek with the back of his hand. “Then just for tonight,” he said, “let us dream of peace.”

  But she saw in his eyes that no such dreams would come for him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Karchedon

  S pring arrived in Karchedon, and with it the fragile beginnings of a new life.

  Patience, humility and caution. That had been Philokrates’s advice in the midst of the warm Libyan winter, when a traitor’s shame had seemed Quintus’s sole inheritance from his royal Arrhidaean blood.

  But time had given truth to the old man’s words. It was true that Tiberia had lost its leading rebel when Quintus had failed to set Buteo free; the captive had been taken to the Temple, supposedly for sacrifice, but no word ever came of his ultimate fate, nor was there any sign of the grand celebration that should have taken place on the day of Buteo’s death.

  Though Quintus never found a way to penetrate the Temple’s veil of secrecy, he knew that neither Nikodemos nor Baalshillek had won a lasting victory. The rebellion in Italia continued unabated; regular dispatches came across Ta Thalassa to inform the emperor of the latest outrages committed by the colonial insurgents.

  Quintus made it his business to listen, and learn. And he built fresh determination out of Philokrates’s guidance: You must use your position here for the world’s benefit, and never allow yourself to forget your true purpose.

  Quintus didn’t forget. With the enthusiastic aid of young Hylas, who made no secret of his personal interest in the emperor’s exotic half-brother, he found it surprisingly easy to become an accepted part of Nikodemos’s court. He swallowed his pride and made himself agreeable to elderly advisers and military commanders alike; he rode out with Nikodemos on tours of the city and countryside, turning a blind eye to the evil of the priests and their altars. He hardened his heart to the suffering of those who could or would not bend to the One True God, remembering that he was but one man with a unique power that must at all costs be protected.

  He made no attempt to see Danae, and she stayed close to the emperor. That was as it must be. Quintus didn’t allow himself to dwell on their brief moments of intimacy, or on the loneliness he felt more keenly in the palace than at any time since childhood. He focused his attention on observing Nikodemos at every opportunity, in work and leisure, making careful note of each strength and weakness. When delegates arrived from distant satrapies to make their obeisance and bring reports of drought or petitions for relief from the priests’ levy of their children, Quintus admired the emperor’s clever answers that left the supplicants convinced that their grievances would be duly addressed. He smiled at Nikodemos’s jokes, absorbed every morsel of court gossip, however trivial, and learned never to show what lay in his thoughts.

  And the emperor rewarded him. If Nikodemos had harbored any doubts about his half-brother’s loyalties, he had set them aside with the same hearty good nature with which he favored his chosen Companions. He began to invite Quintus into some of his private councils, watching his kinsman over steepled fingers as his secretaries tallied the empire’s growing wealth and discussed the deployment of imperial troops.

  But even the most generous emperor’s trust had its limits. Quintus knew there was much that went on in his absence, secret meetings with priests and generals to which few in the court were privy. There was still a barrier Quintus had yet to pass. He spoke to Philokrates when he could, but the philosopher had little additional advice to offer; he was ensconced in his new workshops in the abandoned quarter of the palace, purportedly devising some fantastic machine for the emperor. The old man suffered the unenviable position of keeping Nikodemos satisfied while somehow delaying the actual completion of his work.

  On the eve of the Spring Festival, when the common people of Karched
on would be loosed to the Stone God’s madness for a night of wanton destruction, Nikodemos called for a lion hunt. He assembled his favorites and ordered chariots and wagons of supplies prepared for a week away from the city. It was necessary to travel some distance from Karchedon to reach lands where the Stone’s influence had not driven away wild game worthy of an emperor.

  The party of servants, soldiers, courtiers and drivers set out for the hills west of Karchedon, the men mounted on fine horses while the few women permitted to accompany them lounged among pillows and furs in the covered wagons. It was the first time Quintus had been near Danae in many weeks. While Nikodemos exchanged jests with one of his Persian commanders, Quintus fell back to ride beside the lead wagon.

  Four women reclined under the linen canopy stretched over the wagon’s frame: Danae, her servant Leuke and two others Quintus recognized from brief glimpses at court. Danae straightened when she saw him, her lips curving in an indifferent smile.

  “Well-met, my lord Alexandros,” she said. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

  Quintus returned her bow and drank in the sight of her through half-closed lids. He had always thought her beautiful, but now he felt like a starving man so long deprived of food that he had forgotten the difference between a crust of stale bread and a banquet. She was thinner than he remembered, her lovely eyes shadowed beneath long lashes, but her golden hair still shone as bright as the Libyan sun.

  “My brother the emperor is much occupied, Lady Danae,” he said. “I took it upon myself to see that the ladies have all they require.”

  One of the women behind Danae leaned forward, displaying a bounty of bosom, vivid azure eyes and coils of black hair laced with pearls and precious stones. “You may tell the emperor,” she said, “that some of us would much prefer to ride beside him and bask in his imperial glory.”

  Danae arched a brow at her companion, and her mouth twitched. “I do believe you two have never been properly introduced,” she said. “Lady Gulbanu has but newly come to our court, my lord Alexandros.”

  “But everyone in Karchedon knows the emperor’s brother,” Lady Gulbanu said. “Even in Persis, we have heard his name.”

  Quintus bowed. “It is my honor to serve you, lady.”

  Gulbanu laughed, low and dark. “Your speech reveals your royal blood, my lord,” she said, “and gives shame to those who would deride such a noble kinsman for the misfortune of his upbringing.”

  “Gulbanu has been in Karchedon only a few weeks,” Danae said, “but already she knows all that is said in the corridors and private chambers of the palace. Her hearing is acute, but her tongue is sometimes known to wander.”

  “An agile tongue is a most useful instrument,” Gulbanu purred. “Perhaps yours, Lady Danae, has grown weak from lack of use.”

  “It is merely selective in its choice of work,” Danae said. She turned her back on her companion and smiled at Quintus. “Have you hunted lions before, my lord?”

  “There are lions in Tiberia,” he said, looking deliberately at Gulbanu. “The land of my unfortunate upbringing has no need to test the courage of its warriors by slaughtering dumb beasts.”

  Danae gave Quintus a sharp glance of warning. “No one doubts Lord Alexandros’s courage, or that of the emperor.”

  “Or yours, Danae,” Gulbanu said. “Perhaps you will stand beside our great lord when he makes his kill.”

  Danae suppressed a shudder, and Quintus saw the distaste in her eyes. “I am honored to serve the emperor in any way he requires,” she said.

  Gulbanu smiled. Quintus felt her hatred for Danae as if it were a blade poised in the air between them. Danae was far too clever to lose a battle of wits with a female like Gulbanu, but this seemed more than a mere skirmish of words.

  For the rest of that day’s journey and the next, when the emperor did not specifically request his presence, Quintus made casual tours of the wagons as often as was reasonable. Danae accepted his visits with distant courtesy, but her face had become an expressionless mask.

  On the third night the party made camp beside a farmer’s fields near the outlying edge of Karchedon’s chora, and the servants efficiently raised the tents and prepared a feast for the emperor and his Hetairoi. The ladies Danae and Gulbanu were invited to join the men under the awning that served as a dining hall.

  Quintus ate sparingly, observing Nikodemos’s laughing response to Gulbanu’s brazen jests and unsubtle words of praise. Though Danae still sat at his side, the emperor gave her a fraction of his attention, and she made no effort to win it. She picked at her food and only once met Quintus’s gaze. The pain in her eyes tore at his heart. Still, it was Danae who joined the emperor in his tent when the feasters retired, and Gulbanu withdrew with her maid to her own accommodations across the camp.

  Thoughts of Danae kept Quintus awake long after the camp grew silent. He was still staring at the ceiling of his tent when Nikodemos’s trackers rode out in the hours before dawn. They returned just after the morning meal to report the presence of a lion, its females and cubs laired in the hills several leagues west of the fields.

  The servants remained at the camp while Nikodemos and the courtiers pursued the trackers’ lead. The emperor drove his own vehicle, Danae at his side. His personal groom rode his favorite hunting horse close behind, and Quintus’s driver took up the privileged second place in the procession. Gulbanu traveled with the rest of the courtiers, audaciously dressed in loose trousers and tunic, bearing her own bow and quiver.

  It was planned that the hunters should climb into the hills by chariot as far as the terrain allowed and then complete the excursion on horseback. The skilled drivers managed to find negotiable trails twisting among the jutting rocks and low trees, and only when they reached the impassible barrier of a dry gulch did Nikodemos hand over his chariot ribbons and mount his prancing stallion. Those courtiers who wished to be in on the kill had brought their own horses, and the emperor provided Quintus with a handsome gray gelding. Danae was given a mare whose gleaming coat matched the gold of her hair. Gulbanu mounted an onyx beast that lashed out at any man who came too near.

  Quintus rode alongside Nikodemos as the chattering would-be hunters gathered around their king. “Surely it is dangerous to bring the women,” he said.

  Nikodemos looked at him in amused surprise. “Do you fear I will not be able to protect them, brother?” He waved toward Danae. “You aren’t afraid, are you, my little doe?”

  “If she is,” Gulbanu said, reining her black mare across Danae’s path, “I would be honored to take her place.”

  The Hetairoi fell silent at the insolence of her words. Nikodemos burst into laughter. Danae faced Gulbanu, her veil fluttering about her shoulders.

  “I am not afraid,” she said clearly.

  Nikodemos clapped his hands. “Excellent. Today we will witness the valor of our women, and to the most courageous…” He held up his left hand and worked a gem-encrusted ring from his smallest finger, holding Gulbanu’s gaze. “This will be her prize!”

  The courtiers applauded. Danae rode up beside Quintus. Her passing glance was bleak. He clenched his jaw as the trackers retraced their steps higher into the hills and Nikodemos spurred after them. Danae hurried to catch up, and Gulbanu whipped her mount in pursuit.

  The lions were not difficult to find. If there had been no vulnerable cubs, the male and his females might easily have fled and given the hunters a hard fight for their lives. As it was, the trackers had pinned the king and his two queens near the outcropping of rock that served as their lair. The dark-maned male crouched snarling on a jutting stone, one of the females at his flank, while the other guarded a hollow full of mewling cubs.

  The courtiers hung back as Nikodemos dismounted and accepted his bow from his servant. He nocked an arrow. The lion gave a great bellow and shook its massive head, muscles bunching. The men nearest to Quintus sucked in their breaths.

  Nikodemos let fly just as the lion sprang. The arrow caught it
in the center of its chest, and it fell like a stone.

  The Companions whistled and applauded, provoking fresh snarls from the females who waited to die. Nikodemos turned his back on the beasts as if they were kittens, catching Quintus’s eye with a grin. But he didn’t offer Quintus the honor of the second kill; he knew that Quintus could not draw a bow because of his withered left arm. He beckoned instead to one of his favored army commanders. The man failed on his first attempt, but his second wounded one of the lionesses. She charged, tawny body sweeping close to the earth. Quintus drew his knife and swung his gelding in front of Danae’s quivering mare. An arrow hissed past his ear and drove between the lioness’s ribs.

  Gulbanu stood triumphant, still posed with her bow in hand. She looked like some wild goddess of the hunt, her hair whipping free of its veils, and the effect was not lost on the emperor. Nikodemos stared at her with open admiration, pulled the prize ring from his finger and tossed it to her. She caught it one-handed and bowed deeply.

  Quintus kept his knife in hand and looked from Danae’s impassive face to the remaining lioness and her cubs. Nikodemos retrieved his bow and strode within a few paces of the lair. Casually he aimed at the doomed female and pulled the bowstring taut.

  Danae kicked her mount forward, driving the mare between the emperor and his quarry. His shot went wild. Danae slid from the saddle and knelt at his feet.

  “Spare her, my lord,” she whispered. “Let her cubs survive so that they may become worthy prey for a king.”

  Nikodemos cursed and grabbed her arm. “You dare—”

  The lioness gave an eerie wail and leaped at Danae. Quintus lost no time in thinking. He threw his knife with the unwavering focus of desperation. The lioness stumbled and collapsed within reach of Danae’s robes.

  The Companions broke into cheers of astonished delight. Nikodemos glanced at the dying beast, pushed Danae away and advanced on Quintus with open arms.

  “Bravely done, brother, bravely done!” He embraced Quintus and pressed his mouth to Quintus’s ear. “You’ll have your reward,” he murmured. “I promise you.” He let Quintus go and acknowledged the courtiers’ shouts. “Tonight we’ll celebrate,” he said, gathering them all into the circle of his triumph. Not once did his eyes seek Danae.