by Ken Scholes
The man blinked. “I have food coming, Lord.”
Rudolfo nodded. “Knock when it is here,” he said. Then he closed the door. They’d put a single chair in the room for him, and he sat in it now, still saying nothing.
He waited and watched her. She made no attempt to raise her head or to speak. He honored her silence with his own, and when the guard knocked at the door, he opened it, took the mess tray from him, and placed it on the cot next to her.
“You should eat, Ria.” He did not use her title; it had never been hers as far as Rudolfo was concerned. She’d stolen her sister’s throne by careful manipulation and insurrection.
And stole my son from me. He could still remember the hollow, empty look on Vlad Li Tam’s face when he’d rescued Vlad from the blood temple where Ria had performed his kin-healing. He remembered the mass grave where the Tams were buried after giving up their last words to their father as he watched from the observation deck beneath Ria’s knife. Tam had said something at some point on the journey back. What had he said?
I will build my pain into an army. And that army had murdered Rudolfo’s son.
He looked at Ria. She still hadn’t moved. “Orius will be by later,” he finally said, “to finish your conversation.”
She said nothing.
“After that,” Rudolfo continued, “you will be executed. I think they’re even using your own people’s Firstfall Axe.”
Ria broke her silence now and surprised Rudolfo. She laughed and it was bitter and dark. When she looked up, he saw the bruises on her face, and when she spoke through split lips, he heard the slur in her speech.
“They are not my people,” she said. “My people will come for me. She promised.”
Rudolfo’s eyebrows furrowed. “The Y’Zirites are routed here. Even now my Wandering Army marches to Pylos to cut the last of them from our lands.”
She laughed again, and he heard more than dark and bitter within it now. “They are not my people, either. My people will come for me. She promised.”
She must mean her sister. And Rudolfo had no doubt that Winters, despite having her people wrenched from her by this woman, would intervene in the execution if she could. Despite the light that had been lost in these few years, she’d not lost the idealism of her youth. “I do not think anyone is coming for you, Ria.”
She went back to silence.
Rudolfo stood. “I will leave you now. I have no parting words for you. The world will be better when you are no longer in it. But your death will not bring back any of the thousands upon thousands your blades and your faith have cut from this world. You live beyond the grace of us all.”
She looked up and met his eyes. For just a moment, Rudolfo saw some of the imperious woman he remembered from her days in power. “Orius hunts more than Y’Zirites. He is hunting down the last of the Machtvolk as well. He’s shown me the bodies. They’ve been left unburied in the forest.”
Her sudden shift into clarity caught Rudolfo off guard.
“I will look into it,” he said. But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t need to look far. It was yet more evidence that Orius had been tipped into darkness by his pursuit of avenging the light.
Her moment of focus continued, and she kept her eyes fixed on his. “Do you understand why your family was chosen?”
He shook his head. He’d accepted long ago that there were no answers and that Tam had made his choices for his own reasons—and later on, when his network was co-opted, made choices based on the machinations of others in an ironic twist.
“You have been taught all your life that the seven sons of Xhum Y’Zir were murdered by P’Andro Whym and his scientist scholars. But Ahm Y’Zir was not murdered. His boyhood friend, P’Andro Whym, showed mercy on him. He maimed the Wizard King beyond recognition, and the first Rudolfo, the desert thief who led your gypsies into the forests beyond the Keeper’s Wall, hid him away to build a faith and an empire.” She smiled. “That,” Ria said, “is how your people were deeded the Keeper’s Crèche.”
“Your people were as well,” Rudolfo said.
Ria smiled. “No,” she said. “All of this—every stone and every blade of grass upon Lasthome—was deeded to my people. My people made it out of desolation.” Then she went back to staring at the floor.
The sudden shift in her along with the words discomfited Rudolfo. He stared at her for a moment, then let himself out.
He found Lysias waiting, and he pulled the general aside.
“How is she?” Lysias asked.
Rudolfo wasn’t sure how to answer. “Perplexing,” he finally said. And as he did so, his fingers sought Lysias’s shoulders. She says Orius is hunting Marshers as well as Y’Zirites. There are unburied bodies in the forest.
Lysias nodded. “She is that,” he answered. I’ll have the scouts investigate. We’ve located Hebda and Tertius.
Rudolfo nodded. He had no doubt that they would find the bodies. And he had no doubt that Orius wouldn’t deny it and would instead defend it vigorously. And it was a line of reasoning that Rudolfo could understand. When he’d first discovered the hidden Y’Zirites within his forest, he’d instantly seen the need to purge them from his lands and to restore a sense of safety to the world. But his father’s Y’Zirites had used paint instead of blood and scars in their worship and had done so quietly, without requiring others to participate or embrace their faith. He stood by his decision to banish them but could not fathom solving that problem with a blade himself. Not anymore.
And the Androfrancine general was operating under the belief that he represented the Order under papal authority that superseded Petronus’s or his own as the inheritor of the Order.
It cemented Rudolfo’s decision to remain behind. The more he saw, the more he realized that even as the threat of Y’Zir diminished a new threat arose.
The threat of what we become as a result of this and what comes after if it isn’t resolved.
A cycle was perpetuating itself, and if unchecked, Orius would raise a new Order from the ashes of Windwir not bent upon preserving the light but upon eradicating all darkness. And there was a difference between the two that Rudolfo grew more and more aware of with each passing day.
I will be removing Orius from power. He knew the right path and took it—that is what his men said. But what they didn’t realize was that when he arrived to some paths, they weighed him down and made his heart heavy within him. That was a side of the turban he did not show anyone, though for a brief time he’d shown it to Jin Li Tam.
The thought of her sent a ripple of longing and despair through him. Fierce and formidable and her father’s daughter. He tried not to think about her now, especially in the days since he’d learned of Jakob. His rage at her decision to leave the Named Lands with their son had never abated. And larger than his rage over her choice and its final, disastrous result was Rudolfo’s rage over loving her still.
Because I do not know how to not love her. How much of that was Tam conditioning through their influences over his life? And how much of it was just how love works, drawing opposites together for one reason and keeping them together for another? Rudolfo didn’t pretend to know much about love. Love-making was another matter. But for a brief while, he’d loved and had experienced a continent of love to explore both in the eyes of his bride and his son.
Rudolfo sighed. Lysias had already gone to set the scouts to their task. And he now had strategies to implement and a renegade general to confront.
The turban upon his head felt heavy suddenly, and he glanced behind him at the stockade. She’d seemed lucid and clear-headed there at the end. But earlier, he’d heard madness in her voice.
My people will come for me. She promised.
It had to be Winters. Or just the raving of a woman on the edge of sanity. He shook the voice out of his head and checked his knives within their sheaths, checked the pouch of scout powders beneath his shirt.
Then Rudolfo, Lord of the Ninefold Forest, turned himself in the
direction of Orius’s cabin for one more unpleasant turn upon the trail.
Chapter
20
Winters
Weak afternoon light leaked through gathering clouds when Winters and the others stopped.
Endrys Thrall scanned the road ahead along with the thinning forest that ran along the eastern side, sweeping his slender spyglass to the left and right. “There are magicked scouts in the intersection,” he said. “They are moving in our direction.” He squinted. “They are wearing Gray Guard colors.”
Winters had joined him on the driver’s bench after lunch and took the spyglass he offered. “What do we do?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, sending orders out by way of the stone in his hand. She’d seen his crew hide long wooden tubes beneath the household items and foodstuffs one would expect in a wagon of refugees, and now, two of them moved to the back of the wagon, within easy reach. There were five total here with her not counting their captain. She had no idea how many others might be following or keeping pace with them in hiding. “Tell them who you are and that you require audience with Orius. Invoke your kin-clave with the Ninefold Forest for protection. They will likely want to take you with them. Go. We’ll join you shortly.” He paused again. “My advance party reports that Lord Rudolfo and his General Lysias are in the camp with a full squad of Gypsy Scouts.”
Winters swallowed. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been angry over her choice not to tell him about Jin Li Tam’s decision to flee the Named Lands with Jakob. He’d been a friend to her and her people, and in that moment she felt her friendship with Jin Li Tam had compromised the man’s trust in her.
And what does he know? Surely he’d been told of the events in Y’Zir? But if Endrys Thrall was correct, he couldn’t possibly know that his son was still alive. That information had been kept from everyone not directly involved. The death of the Child of Promise and the Crimson Empress were necessary for the dismantling of the Y’Zirite faith and empire. But now that Vlad Li Tam had taken that dismantling even further by unleashing the Seven Cacophonic Deaths, the need for that secret was past.
And maybe, she thought, in bearing that news to him she would redeem that broken trust.
“They’re close,” Endrys whispered. “Get ready.”
“Hail the wagon,” a voice ahead in the road called out. “And hail Winteria bat Mardic, the Younger.”
Winters answered. “Hail, scout. Which house are you?”
“We serve no house but the light. We are Gray Guard under command of General Orius, sent to escort you to him.”
“That is most welcome news,” she said, “for I seek audience with the general.” She paused. “As well as Lord Rudolfo.” Winters didn’t wait for them to answer. She stood and reached into her pouch, fishing out a few coins and offering them to Endrys. “Thank you for your hospitality, sir. I wish you success in your new ventures.”
Endrys inclined his head and took the coins. “Thank you, Lady. It was my pleasure.”
She climbed down and drew a bit of dried black root from her pouch, slipping it into her mouth.
Winters saw the slightest shimmer now of forms in the road ahead of her and approached. “We will make better time if we carry you, Lady.”
She shrugged off the hands that reached for her. “No, you will not.” Then, feeling the strength of the root settle into her legs, Winters stretched out into a run. It was the first time she’d run under the root since she’d last been with the Gray Guard scouts, running with Renard and Isaak and Marta. Now there was more mud and less snow, but the road itself was solid beneath her lightweight boots.
Winters felt the wind of the scouts as they swept up around her, and then she increased her speed. She poured herself into the run, feeling the cool air upon her face, pulling at her hair. She’d made do now for weeks with the small scout pack she’d picked up along the way, and she cinched it up now tighter.
She wasn’t sure how long they ran before she saw the smoke of the Androfrancine camp, and it felt like mere minutes had passed before she was in the camp surrounded by gray uniforms.
Rudolfo, in his green turban and rainbow-colored cloak, stood out from all of them, and when their eyes met, they were not eyes she’d seen before. They were haunted now, and dark circles stood out beneath the Gypsy King’s eyes. But the line of his jaw was firm, and he stood straight.
I must tell him.
“Hail, Lady Winteria,” Rudolfo said, inclining his head.
“Hail, Lord Rudolfo,” she replied as she returned the gesture.
Others were gathering now, and the door of the nearest cabin opened. Orius didn’t appear to have missed any sleep or any meals since she’d last seen him, and he barely worked to mask his disdain. “Hail, Winteria,” he said. Then he looked in the direction of the magicked scouts. “Leave her with me.” He looked at Rudolfo. “I have some questions for her before releasing her into your care, General Rudolfo.”
She looked from one man to the other and watched Rudolfo’s eyes narrow. He did not speak, and she recognized that he was waiting for her to speak for herself. “I’ve come seeking audience with you both,” she said, “and I will gladly answer questions for you both as well.”
Rudolfo smiled; Orius did not. “Come in, then,” he said, turning to his open door.
“First,” Winters said, “I would see that my sister is well and being cared for as befitting a prisoner of her standing.”
“Your sister has no standing,” Orius said in a clipped tone, “and is being executed tonight, Winteria. She is being afforded only the care necessary to carry us to that moment.”
The general’s back was to her when she felt Rudolfo’s fingers upon her shoulder. I’ve seen to her.
Winters felt the tension in her neck and forced it away. Then she raised her voice. “No, General Orius. We can talk here.”
His voice was short. “Lady Winteria—”
She gave him no room to speak. “My words are for all to bear witness to. Unless you are afraid of the voice of an unarmed girl?”
She watched his back stiffen at her words. When he turned, he had a bemused look upon his face. He glanced to Rudolfo. “Your ward is troublesome, General. Do you wish to indulge her, or do you wish a more civil setting for our discourse?”
Rudolfo met her eyes. “She does not require my indulgence, General. She is the true Queen of the Marsh. I would hear her on whatever terms she proposes.”
Orius sighed. “Very well.”
Winters looked at the small group that gathered. Most were Gray Guard officers, but a few of the soldiers on guard duty stood about. “I am Winteria bat Mardic,” she said, “and as Lord Rudolfo expressed, I am the true Queen of the Marsh. I come under kin-clave as among the first to ride to Windwir’s aid upon the day that city fell. I watched the gravediggers bury your people here, General Orius, while my people fought alongside Rudolfo and while Hanric bellowed my War Sermons out upon the wind.” She felt the words in her stomach and heard the emotion crack in her voice at the memory of her Shadow, the man who had been a father to her and had been the man the Named Lands thought of as the Marsh King. “The fall of Windwir ended the enmity between the Marshfolk and the Order.”
“The fall of Windwir was part of a Marshfolk plot led by your older sister,” Orius growled, interrupting her. “With or without your knowledge, it is the truth of it.”
“My throne,” Winters said, letting anger drip into her voice, “was taken from me as part of an elaborate plot that involved elements from within my house, within House Li Tam.…” She nodded. “Lord Rudolfo’s House by way of his father, Lord Jakob, along with the Entrolusian Delta and even the Order were all involved. One of Charles’s most trusted assistants rescripted Isaak to deliver the spell.” She paused at the lump she felt suddenly at the memory of those earthquakes. “All of our houses were infiltrated at some level,” she said. “And all of us have lost. Some more than others. But the war is won. The Androfrancine weapon has el
iminated the Y’Zirite threat in the Named Lands. And surely you remember the dream? We all shared it. There is more than just an end to war upon our horizon, but a new world to explore and a new home to settle. Those who wish it may come with us, and perhaps together we can start something new. Perhaps we can learn a new path with less blood. Death is a certainty of life, but we have become too good at hastening its arrival.” She paused and took a breath, measuring the eyes and faces around her. She had them with her words—all but Orius, who glared at her. “It is time for peace, General. And I have come in that peace to ask you for my sister’s life. Exile her into my care, and I will take her from the Named Lands.”
The general grunted. “He wants Tertius and Hebda. You want your sister.” He looked at Rudolfo. “I’m growing weary, Rudolfo, and we have a war to win. I suggest that you—”
Rudolfo stepped forward and placed himself toe-to-toe. “I suggest that you stand down, General.” Then he said something in too low of a voice for Winters to hear, but the general’s face went purple as he stepped back and reached for his sword. He opened his mouth, his lips contorted to say something, and then suddenly his eyes went wide.
The others around him went slack-jawed, and Winters heard a hum behind her. Even Rudolfo, hands at his knife hilts, stared in wide-eyed wonder, and she finally turned.
Low and shining in the late afternoon light, a silver airship moved over the plains, a green light of peace alternating with the blue light of inquiry upon its bow.
She’d never seen anything like it before, and that was after seeing more wonders of late than she’d imagined possible—metal men and kin-dragons and now this. The camp went to third alarm, and then a voice called out from the forest.
“Hail the camp,” Renard said as he stepped out from the evergreen cover. “I have guests in my company with an interesting story to tell.”