Through the sword-bearing soldiers, the king slowly made his way toward his youngest sister. The look in his eyes spoke of a broken heart, and of sorrow for the deaths of countless footmen and children that his trusted friends and family had caused.
The heavy silence in the room fell over them all, until Thalia spoke again, her voice almost conciliatory. “Brother, you’re no longer fit to be king. I don’t think you really even want to be king anymore. Your perceptions of Nallan are misguided. Step down. Leave the throne to another. We can sue for peace. And your smiths can still be useful.”
The king turned. He held a pose of dignified wrath, glaring. When he spoke, he spoke not to Thalia, but to the whole room.
“Those here who would side with my sister and her bastard lover stand with her now. Those who are true to me stand close.” They were the words of a king, and Sutter’s skin tingled when he heard them.
One by one, men either turned and fell in beside Thalia and Marston or came to the steps of the throne. The sound of boots on the polished granite floor struck Sutter as far too polite for the decisions of fealty that were being made. And when silence retook the room, the imbalance clearly disappointed the king. The general with the ruined face stood near the throne, him and the men he’d brought with him. Beside them, there also stood a short, wiry man who wore a leather toolbelt. Sutter guessed this was Gear Master Mick that Mira had told him about. The gearsmith lifted a hammer and used it to salute Sutter, then winked at him while wearing a lopsided grin.
Still, they were severely outnumbered, Thalia with forty swords at her command. A dark, thin smile spread on her lips.
“Yenola, you always did choose the wrong man. But no matter, your overused box has served its purpose.” She gave a dismissive laugh as one might over the antics of a mindless bitch in heat. “Caldwell, I could have guessed you and your little band would choose to die defending some vague sense of honor. If that’s your choice, so be it.” Then her tone became softer, more earnest. She looked directly at Relothian, her brother. “I give you one last chance to save the lives still sworn to you. Have you any wisdom left?”
The king, instead of answering, turned to Sutter, looking intently from one eye to the other. “Why did you come here?” he whispered.
Sutter looked back, having no good answer. He understood better now that Relothian would never have joined Convocation at Vendanj’s entreaty; it was an insult to even ask. Yet the Sheason had sent them here. Why? Had he known of the conspiracies in the court? Could he have known how dire the conflict with Nallan had become? What of the children?
The questions spun in his head as he sought to answer the king before the man committed his friends to a hopeless fight. He looked at Yenola, whose eyes were wet with tears—a sister who’d now betrayed both her siblings in their effort to rule. Sutter then looked at the Throne of Bones. It occurred to him again that he’d never seen the king seated in the gruesome chair. Sutter had come to view it as nothing more than a symbol. Part of him even imagined that sitting there would be a crime of disrespect.
He then remembered something about Tahn’s pendant he carried. It’s a glyph.… It stands for fraternity. Family … connection and familial bonds that cannot be undone or unwritten.
Sutter looked back at the king. “I think this is why.”
He pulled the pendant from his pocket and took two steps to the throne. Before any could protest, he sat carefully into the midst of bones fitted together from hundreds of dead kings.
The people there have forgotten who they are. Make them remember. The glyph will help. Sutter remembered Vendanj’s words, almost like a prayer, and placed the sigil directly on the arm of the chair.
The moment he did, the throne began to thrum beneath and around him. The old bones twisted and wove. Yenola and the dozen men still loyal to the king backed away, awe and terror in their faces. Only Relothian did not move, his face beaming with a strange glint of hope. Sutter put his hand over the glyph to keep it from slipping to the floor, and braced himself in the throne.
Then the entire floor and room began to thrum, as if it were a vibrating string. Sutter could see doubt spreading on Thalia’s face; her coconspirator, General Marston, looked like a man who’d seen a god and was desperate to repent.
A soft white light began to emanate from the bones, and Sutter could hear distant voices, as though they spoke across a great gulf. The sounds rushed in and around his ears, causing a wind that licked at his hair then passed out to touch all those in the chamber. Men and women shielded their eyes and ears, raising their hands against the flurry.
Feeling the throne move and change beneath him, Sutter tried to see what was happening. The light made it all but impossible. The thrum grew louder, like two great trees being ground against each other to produce a deep vibratory note.
Then in an instant, the light and sound vanished. Men and women lowered their arms and stared toward Sutter, marveling. He now sat not on countless individual bones, but on a single, unified bone mass. A smooth white throne fit for a king.
Far from ornate, the changed seat showed a simple elegance. Gently curving lines gave it a royal quality it had lacked before.
When Sutter looked up again, almost everyone had gone to one knee, heads bowed toward him. Some few yet stood, wearing expressions of fear and surprise and wonder.
In the long silence, Yenola asked with an unsettled voice, “What happened?”
It was the king who answered. “You’ve made us one with our past. It is … remarkable, my young friend.”
When Sutter considered the throne of woven bones, and looked at the Draethmorte sigil, he saw the pole-star—the star in the night sky that never moved. Every set of eyes in the wide world looked up to see that star in the same place, every day. He sensed a single, unbroken unity was the meaning and power of the glyph.
The throne had been how this people had tried to stay connected to their past, but it had become only a rickety, ghoulish seat. A tradition without conviction or direction.
The king gave a faraway-looking smile. “Thalia says I’m unfit because I’m always looking back. But there’s much worth remembering…” Then Relothian drew his sword and held it out to Sutter. “To replace the Sedagin blade I ruined.”
Shouts and rushing footsteps filled the hall beyond the throne room. A moment later, the doors crashed inward, and men bearing swords and pikes swept in. Their arrival snapped Thalia from her state of shock, and a look of grave certainty stole back into her face.
“Brother, peace is more expensive than war,” Thalia declared, “and requires more strength.”
“Strength?” Relothian said, incredulous.
“Before I stepped in, your forges annealed ordinary blades. I brought you palontite to make Alon steel.” She paused a moment, pointing at the sword in his hands. “But that rock can only be bought one way, from one place.”
“You forsook your people—”
“No,” she said. “I’m simply willing to trade the lives of a few to save the lives of thousands. I’m the one who has been building your army, Jaales. With greater strength we can broker peace with Nallan. And stop this endless war!”
“Nallan won’t negotiate for peace—”
“You’re wrong. I’ve already met with King Solomy. He assures me they are weary, too.” She gave a smug smile. “But I’m no fool. I’ll only sign the truce once our own army is able to enforce it.”
“You will sign a truce?” Relothian’s voice cut throughout the throne room.
Thalia stepped defiantly forward. “They’re not savages, Jaales. They’re like us. Do you even remember why we’re at war? Do you know how it started?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Of course you don’t. No one does. It’s madness.”
Relothian said nothing for several moments. Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to deny Thalia’s claim, explain how the war had begun. With a look of admission, he nodded. “You’re right, Thalia. I don’t know how it began.”
&nbs
p; She smiled in vindication.
“But,” said Relothian, “I know how it’s been in my life. Years ago I was weary, too. I sent word to my generals to ask for a meeting on the field. To bargain for peace. They met with Nallan. They were seized. Over the next several days, eight of our best men were kept alive by Levate hands, as their arms and legs were carefully removed. Each night they were forced to sit and watch Nallan field captains sup on the braised flesh of those taken limbs.”
Sutter shivered, and looked to Mira, whose expression had become hard.
The king finished softly, “They returned those men to us, armless, legless, strapped to the backs of asses. Most of them soon took their own lives with the help of friends. Those who didn’t are broken men you’d no longer recognize.” Relothian looked up at Thalia. “You’re being used against me.”
“You tell lies,” she said. “Why are we hearing about this now? Why would you keep this from us?”
“To remove its sting,” he explained. “Nallan’s purpose was to paralyze us with fear. Instead, we kept it secret, and declared those men fallen heroes.”
Thalia began shaking her head. “That won’t happen again. We’ll negotiate from a position of strength.”
“They won’t negotiate, Thalia,” repeated the king, “and neither will we.”
“This is why you must step down, Jaales. This war has become about your pride and glory. Don’t you see?”
Relothian offered a soft laugh. “I agree with you on one point, this war has become too much about glory”—he settled a firm look on her—“and not enough about honor.” He glanced at Sutter and then the throne. “That will change.”
She raised her arms to indicate those soldiers beside and behind her. “And it will change with the army I’ve been building now for years while you’ve been watching men march the parade yard.” There was earnestness and excitement in her eyes. “It will change with Alon steel. It will change with gearsmiths building better gears. Peace through strength, Jaales.”
Relothian showed his sister a tender look. “Thalia … they’re children.”
The woman said nothing, her expression unreadable, and somehow more awful for that.
“And why do they want them?” The way the king asked it, Sutter didn’t think the man wanted the answer.
Thalia simply shook her head. “You’re a good man, Jaales. But you’re not a good king. Step down. Please. I ask you this one last time.”
“My dear Thalia, you don’t understand war. It is not a game. And Nallan is not a bedfellow.” Relothian’s hard glare swept across all the well-dressed, well-fed generals and advisors who stood with her. “And even if you could do what you say, every citizen of the land I call home would rather die than buy peace with a child’s life.”
Sutter thought he saw regret in her eyes when she said, “Kill them all.”
The scar-faced general barked and his men formed a line between the king and Thalia. The fray broke out immediately. Men wearing the same Ir-Caul uniforms fought one another, their swords clashing and filling the throne room with the noise of battle.
“Follow me,” Yenola said, and rushed to the rear of the room.
The king didn’t move. Instead, he gently but firmly pushed his sword and sheath into Sutter’s hands. “Go with her. Protect her.”
“We should help you—”
Relothian offered a gracious smile. “You and one Far?”
Sutter spared a look at Mira, remembering her disappearing Far gifts.
“My sister and your friend need you more. And this here.” He pointed at the brawl behind them. “It’ll be a hard fight, but we won’t lose.” Relothian then glanced at the throne, his eyes still holding some awe at the sight of it. “We lost the meaning of the bones.” He looked back at Sutter. “Now we remember why we fight. I cannot go to Convocation, especially now, but my best man will leave this hour for Recityv to announce our allegiance to its cause. You have my word.”
“I’m sure Convocation is over,” Sutter observed.
The king grinned. “Nonsense. Convocation isn’t an event. It’s a promise. They’ll take our support when we show up to give it.”
“Thank you.” Sutter ducked as something sailed past his head.
The king took him in a handgrip only a smith could possibly have. And only a rootdigger could possibly bear. The two shared a kinship Sutter wouldn’t have imagined when he first arrived.
He then quickly strapped on the king’s sword near his Sedagin blade. He and Mira hurried to catch up with Yenola. In the far corner of the throne room, the king’s sister pressed a small stone in the wall. An unseen door swung inward, revealing a dark corridor.
“Wait,” Sutter said.
Yenola looked up at him as he drew his sword. “Where are you going?”
Sutter gave her a quick look. “I can’t leave like this. I’m going to help your brother.”
“Don’t be a hero. We need to get you two out of Ir-Caul.” She nodded toward the dark hallway.
“I’m no hero. But I don’t let friends fight alone.”
Yenola’s face hardened. “Then let’s all go.”
Mira handed the king’s sister one of her blades and they started back toward the fight.
“Bet you expect me to stop you,” he said, striding beside Yenola.
“You could try.” She tapped his knee with the flat of her sword.
Sutter jumped to Relothian’s side. Together they fought at the center of the line. Yenola was to his left; she’d found her sister, Thalia—the two locked in their own fight.
A blade came hard at Sutter’s chest. He parried the blow and thrust his blade into the man’s gut, dropping him.
The king shook his head. Smiled. “You’re a fool. But it’s good to have you at my side.” He lowered a crushing blow on his own assailant.
Two men rushed Sutter next. Before they got to him, the king stepped in and brought a huge forge hammer down on one man’s wrist. Bone cracked. The man screamed and dropped his weapon. Sutter lowered his center, bending his knees, and ducked under the second attacker’s strike, stabbing up hard into the man’s gut.
A few of the king’s men had fallen, but they gave better than they got. The clamor had dimmed by half, men fallen or fleeing, when General Marston stepped toward the king. By silent agreement, men gave the two opponents room.
“You should have been satisfied bedding my sister, and left the throne alone.” The smith king spun his hammer in his hand.
“She’s a shrew. But she had her uses.” Marston raised his sword and shield.
As the two circled, Sutter spied one of Marston’s men against the far wall, crossbow cocked. The man was waiting for his general to draw the king around for a clear shot. Sooner or later the king would be exposed.
Sutter looked around quickly, and saw a fallen short ax. Like splitting wood, he thought. He scooped up the ax and came up throwing. He imagined a tree at the far side of their stock pen and let the ax fly. Concentrating on his aim, the general’s man didn’t see the ax coming. The blade buried itself deep in his side, and he dropped his crossbow.
A flurry of battle followed. The king took several cuts, one particularly deep in the forearm. But the gleam in his eye never wavered. And a few moments later, he blocked a thrust, spun the general’s weapon out of his hand, and shoved his hammer into the man’s throat, crushing his larynx. The general fell, flopped, clutched at his neck, then went still.
A scream rose, and Sutter turned to see Yenola with her blade buried in her sister’s belly.
“You whore!” Thalia cried. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done!”
Yenola remained silent while her sister dropped first to her knees, then to her ass, and finally lay down, heaving. “Wrong. I know exactly what I’ve done.” The words were quiet, but clear.
An instant later, Sutter saw Mira take a knife in the side. She’d been a half moment too slow to evade it. She returned her attacker a death blow in the throat.
; A few more men fell. A few more ran. In the end, the smith king had lost eight. Thalia and her betraying general were both dead and had lost nineteen of their own. No telling how many had abandoned their would-be queen.
“They’ll bring support,” Sutter suggested.
“Maybe. But when they see the head has been cut off, they’ll lose their enthusiasm.” He flipped his hammer up; it spun three times before he caught it again by its bloody grip. “I’ll see to that. Now, you,” he turned to Sutter, “will you be on your way. A king could begin to think he can’t get along without you.”
They shared a last smith grip over weary smiles before Yenola led Sutter back to the corridor. He helped Mira, who struggled a little to walk.
Their eyes adjusted to the dark as they navigated by the light of the room behind them. Moments later, that light flickered, then went out. Quickly after came hurried footfalls. Chasing footfalls.
Yenola grabbed his hand and pulled. “Thalia’s supporters. Come from an adjoining corridor. Run!”
“This is getting ridiculous,” Sutter said, looking back.
“Hurry,” she said, and yanked him deeper into the corridor. They moved more swiftly, guiding themselves with their hands against the walls. They turned several times, moving for what seemed like half a league.
With the rushing steps of their pursuers echoing toward them, they came to a set of stairs that led down to a door with a small window that admitted faint light. They went down quickly, Mira missing a few steps and nearly pitching forward. At the bottom, Sutter looked back and saw the three men halfway down the stair, gaining fast.
As Yenola fumbled for a keystone, Sutter raised his sword, his lungs burning from exertion. Mira clung tightly to him. She’d never cried out, though her body had tensed often as she bit back pain.
Boots descending on the stairs produced a maddening mix of echoes. Sutter prepared to climb a few steps to block their pursuers, when Yenola pulled the heavy door open, revealing the light of stars over an open plain. They’d gotten to the city’s edge.
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