steel and fire 03 - dance of steel

by rivet, jordan

  She heard a sharp intake of breath from Telvin. “That’s not good.”

  “I agree,” Sora said. She’d read about the weapons Firewielders made in ancient days. Even if half the legends were fabricated, they had a lot to fear from an arsenal of Fire. “We don’t want them to start down that road.”

  “I wonder what General Pavorran thinks of all this,” Telvin said. Pavorran was the head of Vertigon’s army. He had supported the Rollendars in their coup effort, so Sora wasn’t inclined to trust him. Yet . . .

  “He’s based on Square Peak,” she said. “It’s possible he’s part of the Square faction. It could be bad news for the Lantern Maker if he opposes this effort.”

  “I’ll see what Berg Doban can tell me about Pavorran and Stoneburner,” Kel said. “He knows everyone on Square.”

  “Don’t get caught,” Sora said anxiously.

  “Are you worried about me, my queen?” Kel said with a grin. “You shouldn’t be. I’m a master spy now.”

  Telvin snorted. “Didn’t you get caught last time?”

  “Only for a brief moment,” Kel said. “Have no fear. I will—”

  “Here comes the captain,” Telvin said.

  The two guards fell silent as Captain Thrashe joined them in the corridor. The Soolen with the eye patch was a quiet man, a malevolent presence who stalked her every move. It had been harder than she thought to communicate with her trustworthy guards under his watch. Captain Thrashe surveyed the trio for a moment and then dismissed Telvin, who snapped off a salute before marching in the direction of the barracks. Sora was sad to see him go. He was always a solid, comforting presence, with his military demeanor and his sharp appearance. He had sworn to be her loyal man, and his straightforward chivalry made her feel that the mountain could be good once more.

  As they climbed the castle’s central stairwell, she peeked at Kel out of the corner of her eye. He swaggered alongside her, face impassive, giving no indication that they had formed an alliance. He was harder to understand than Telvin. He was friendly and relaxed, but she got the sense that he was a more-complex person than he let on. He had perfected his image as a dueling heartthrob who surely would have no trouble securing another patron, enjoying the adoration of his fans, and living an uncomplicated life. Yet he had decided to take her side too. She hoped she would be worthy of both men’s loyalty.

  Captain Thrashe marched her to the library, where she’d be meeting with the Ruminors. He took up the guard post outside the door and dismissed Kel. The guardsman sauntered away without so much as a backward glance.

  Sora waited for the Ruminors for almost an hour. They didn’t speak to her very often, but they would likely need her to sign a few things after the council meeting. That seemed to be all they used her for: her signature and her name.

  Sora paced around the library, trying to ignore the memories it conjured of her father and her brother. Both had loved this room as much as she did, with its soft carpets, shelves stretching all the way to the ceiling, and papery aroma. She ought to be studying the history texts for solutions to her current situation, as she’d been doing often since becoming queen. The Lantern Maker had cancelled her usual lessons, so she had only the books in the library to help her. She wished for a mentor or a teacher, someone who could help her know what to do next.

  She went to the window looking out on the courtyard. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, pure and bright. The walls were coated in soft lamb’s wool and the trees trimmed in diamonds. She leaned on the sill, mulling over what the Fireworkers had discussed during the council meeting. Weapons of Fire. Weapons that would make it impossible for her grandfather or anyone else to challenge them. Vertigon had long relied on its position on the mountain for safety, but the unspoken possibility of Fire Weapons had dissuaded other nations from turning their ambitions this way. That the weapons did not currently exist had never mattered. A few smiths made Fire Blades, weapons that were faster and deadlier than pure-steel swords, but how would the Fireworkers expand their efforts now? She imagined burning cages of Fire, rivers of suffocating heat, beads of light exploding as they entered the bodies of enemy soldiers, devices that could melt steel and burn through wood, potions more deadly than the Firetears that had killed her father. There was no telling what the Lantern Maker could create.

  Why was he risking opening that door, though? Vertigon was still secure. Did he anticipate that her grandfather would retaliate for Siv’s usurpation? It seemed unlikely. Her grandfather knew how protected Vertigon was—even without Fire Weapons. Rafe couldn’t be worried enough to produce these weapons just because of the Amintelle allies and the nebulous threat from distant Soole.

  But there was another possibility, one that scared her far worse. What if the Lantern Maker intended to take these Fire Weapons off the mountain? What if it was the other nations that had to worry about Vertigon reaching beyond its boundaries? Could that be why he was sowing seeds of discord between Trure, Soole, and Pendark?

  Sora leaned her forehead against the cold glass. She wished she could talk over her suspicions with someone, if only to have her fears alleviated. She had no idea how isolating being queen would feel. She still wasn’t permitted to speak to her maids, and the Ruminors were hardly good company. The stolen consultations with her loyal guards weren’t enough.

  Snow began to fall outside, drifting gently over the mountain. Movement caught her eye beneath the window. A short figure with thick arms crossed the courtyard, leaving footprints in the fresh snowfall. Daz Stoneburner must finally be finished speaking with the Lantern Maker. When he reached the gate, a cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows to join him. Judging by their respective heights, Sora was pretty sure that was the Metalworker, Madame Pandan.

  The Workers left the courtyard together, deep in conversation. Interesting. Madame Pandan had waited for an awfully long time in the cold to speak to Daz. He had been a Ruminor ally during the coup. Could the tendrils of discord she had noticed during the meeting be gathering strength, or had Rafe already secured the Square Workers’ continued cooperation?

  A few minutes after the Workers disappeared through the gates, the Ruminors entered the library together. Both looked more relaxed than they had in the council chambers, though they weren’t a particularly warm or affectionate couple.

  “I have a new task for you,” Lima said without preamble.

  “Yes?”

  “Lady Zurren has informed me that people in the city are worried about you. The rumors suggest you were killed, and we’re parading around a decoy. You must go out in public more often to keep people from asking so many questions.”

  “I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule,” Sora said.

  “Don’t speak to me like that, child,” Lima said.

  “I am the queen,” Sora said. “If you want people to believe it, then maybe you should practice speaking to me with more respect.”

  “Come now, ladies,” Rafe said expansively. “We have an understanding. Let’s not sully our positive working relationship.”

  “I’ve had quite enough of being disrespected for one day,” Lima said, not quite under her breath.

  A flash of irritation passed over Rafe’s face. It was gone quickly, but Sora knew she hadn’t imagined it.

  “Your hostility does not help matters, my dear.”

  Lima’s expression took on a stony tint, and she didn’t respond. Was it possible there was strife in the Ruminors’ marriage? I can work with that.

  “Now, I wish to ask you about Trure, Soraline,” Rafe said. “I understand you have spent time in Rallion City. What can you tell me about its defenses?”

  “Its defenses?”

  “Yes.” Rafe smiled. “The army, the wall around the inner city, how quickly the outlying nobility would be capable of sending soldiers to its aid.”

  “You want me to tell you the weaknesses of my grandfather’s kingdom?” Sora couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice. Did they think she was stupid? She may be y
oung, but she wouldn’t simply hand over that kind of information to a man with Soolen allies—especially one who’d announced that he’d be experimenting with Fire Weapons that very day.

  Rafe sat and folded his broad hands in front of him on the table. “You can start with Rallion City, but I want to know all about the Land of the Horsekeepers.”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” Sora said. She jutted out her lower lip and stared them down.

  Faster than she thought possible, Lima crossed the library and grabbed Sora by the hair. She barely had time to scream before Lima hauled her over to a chair and forced her to sit. When Lima released her, she ripped out a few curly strands of her hair.

  “You seem to be under the mistaken impression that you have a choice,” Lima hissed. She put her hands on the arms of the chair and leaned in close. “Give us the information.”

  “No,” Sora said. Her voice shook, and it took all her willpower not to pull back from Lima’s menacing stare. Her mother and sister were in Rallion City. She wouldn’t make them vulnerable to Soole or the Fireworkers or anyone else. “You need me to cooperate? Fine. I’ll keep Vertigon from worrying about me and making trouble for you, but I won’t betray my family.”

  Lima drew back a few feet and slapped Sora across the face. The hit was completely unexpected, and her head cracked into the back of her chair, making her see stars.

  “You can’t—”

  Lima slapped her again. Both cheeks stung with the force of the blows. Sora’s eyes fill with tears. She stared at Lima in shock. No one had ever hit her before. She could hardly believe what was happening.

  “Do not make me ask you again.”

  Lima’s face twisted with bitterness. Sora had never felt such hatred directed toward her before. She didn’t know what to do with this sudden change in tactics. She stared at Lima, not wanting to blink even though her face stung. Lima raised her hand again.

  Desperately, Sora looked to the Lantern Maker. He was a calm, rational man. He couldn’t approve of this, could he?

  But Rafe was still sitting at the table, a piece of parchment spread before him, poised to begin writing.

  “The information?” he said pleasantly.

  Sora swallowed hard, her shoulders hunching despite her best efforts to appear unafraid. And she began to talk.

  18.

  The Wild

  SIV groaned as his captors dumped him on the ground. It must be nighttime again. The days had started to run together. At least the sack over his head protected his face from being scraped in the dirt. He flopped to the side with a grunt, trying to ease the incessant pain in his wrists.

  “Quit complaining,” Charn growled.

  “You’d complain too if your skin had started to grow in around your ropes,” Siv muttered.

  “Impossible,” Charn said.

  “I saw a fellow it happened to in Rallion City once,” Siv said. “The man was afraid of knives and refused to have the rope cut out of him, so he just lived like that.”

  “How did he use the john?” asked Tech.

  “Don’t talk to him,” Charn snapped.

  Siv shrugged. “Some things you just don’t ask a man, Tech,” he said.

  The fourth member of their party chuckled somewhere to Siv’s left. His name was Resha, and Tech had let slip that he was related to the mysterious Commander Brach. Perhaps a second cousin or something.

  The farther they’d gotten into the wilderness, the less the Soolens had worried about speaking in front of Siv. He’d been filing away every bit of information he could without asking too many suspicious questions. He wanted them to think he was the most-agreeable prisoner ever—at least until he made his escape.

  It seemed to be working. Chala joked around with him as they rode along, his voice a welcome departure from the relentless creak of the wagons. Once, when they’d made camp inside a cave for the night, he even took the sack off Siv’s head so he could join them in a game of cards.

  “I figure one cave is just like the next,” he’d said. “You won’t be able to figure out where we are from a wall of stone.”

  Siv had played along, soaking in every detail about his captors while pretending to focus on the cards. That had been two days ago, and he went over the pertinent information in his head as his captors set up camp around him.

  Chala Choven led this particular mission, but the other three had known each other for longer. Resha was a noble of modest means, and it sounded as if he’d been a bit of a rake before joining his cousin’s force. Tech was as dumb as a stump, but he was bigger than Berg Doban after a feast. Siv was most worried about Charn. Resha and Tech deferred to him and seemed to respect his leadership more than Chala’s. More importantly, Charn’s quick, powerful movements suggested he was an experienced fighter—with or without weapons.

  It was fights with weapons that interested Siv the most. His own sword had been taken from him the first time he got knocked out back in Rallion City, of course, but he took a careful tally of the Soolens’ weaponry during the card game in the cave. They favored short swords rather than the rapiers he was used to, and each one carried a knife. Charn had additional knives strapped to his back with a harness. Siv had heard him throwing them into tree trunks at night, no doubt honing his aim.

  He wouldn’t stand a chance against all four at once, and it seemed unlikely that any of them would join forces with him. His best option would be to sneak away. The men had a regular watch rotation, but if Siv could ever slip his bonds, he may be able to overpower the watchman without too much noise and make his escape.

  Then he’d have to get far enough away that they couldn’t overtake him on horseback. He’d try to steal one of their mounts if it didn’t make too noise, but he’d have no idea which way to ride. For all he knew they were almost to the Ammlen Ocean by now. He could accidentally flee smack into the sea. At first he’d tried to estimate which direction they were traveling by judging where the sun hit him, but the damn thing had been elusive lately. The winter sun barely provided any warmth at all, let alone enough for him to make any meaningful deductions about where they were heading.

  The other thing he had determined through the bits and pieces he’d overheard was that he did not want to meet up with Commander Brach. The men spoke of him with respect bordering on reverence. To hear them tell it, Commander Brach could fight harder, run faster, dance better, and spit farther than every other man in Soole. He inspired natural devotion in his men, which made him an enemy Siv didn’t particularly want.

  He could try to get Commander Brach on his side, but Siv’s confidence in his diplomacy skills had taken a beating lately. Nothing like a coordinated coup against your kingship to make you question whether you had the chops to be a diplomat and a ruler.

  Siv had had a lot of time to think about what had happened during his interminable hours in the wagon—not to mention while he was trying to fall asleep on the icy ground each night. He had thought he was on the right path until Lady Tull betrayed him. Clearly he’d been wrong. He’d also thought he and his men could handle the mysterious swordsman and whatever the Fireworkers threw his way. His sister had paid the price for his overconfidence. The farther they got from Vertigon, the more he felt it was best he was no longer a king.

  One of the men—from the body odor, he suspected Tech—hoisted him up by the elbows and dumped him beside their latest campfire. He set him down too close to it, and Siv had to scramble back to avoid the heat. As it did every time, the warmth of the fire reminded him of Dara. He missed her reassuring presence with a fierceness that surprised him. He wished their last conversation hadn’t been an argument. She deserved better than that. She probably deserved better than him.

  He wondered if she was still searching the city. She wouldn’t give up on him, but they had been traveling fast. She would have no idea at all where to look. He daydreamed about her sweeping in to rescue him, blade and Fire blazing, but the chances were vanishingly slim. Besides, Dara had saved him enoug
h times. He had to figure a way out of this on his own.

  “There’s been trouble on the Low Road,” Resha said. Judging by his voice and the faint crackle of footsteps, he had just returned from somewhere away from the campsite. The Low Road? Had they come that far east? They would reach Cindral Forest soon if they kept up their current pace.

  “What kind of trouble?” Chala asked sharply.

  “Bandits. Spies. Just spoke with a courier from the commander. He had it from a group of scouts a few days ago.”

  “Well, were they bandits or spies?” Tech asked.

  “Unclear.”

  “We’d best keep our eyes open,” Chala said. “Did the courier say anything else?”

  “Not for our friend’s ears,” Resha said. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Siv muttered a curse under his breath. He wished they’d forget he was there more often. He might actually learn something useful one of these days. How many bands of Soolen scouts had already crossed into Trure? This was not good.

  Branches snapped somewhere to Siv’s right, followed by a suspicious rustling sound.

  “What was that?” Tech said.

  “Probably just an animal,” Chala said. It sounded as if he’d taken a seat to Siv’s left.

  “Sounded big.”

  “Some animals are big,” Siv said. “You ever seen a cullmoran?”

  “There are no cullmorans this far south,” Chala said.

  “If you say so. That’s not a risk I’d want to take,” Siv said.

  Another snap sounded, followed by a sharp intake of breath from one of the men.

  “What if it’s hungry?” Tech said.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Chala said, his words breezier than his tone. Siv distinctly heard the sound of a knife being drawn from its sheath. Chala must not be taking any chances.

  “How are you sure?” Tech asked.

  “Go make the rounds again, you big baby,” Resha said. His voice came from the opposite side of the campfire now. He must have taken a seat across from them.