The grave… she had to remind herself.
It was strange to think the chieftain was dead, the singular focus that had given Kareen cause over the past weeks. Livran had finally gotten his vengeance, the vengeance he had craved for his men. And yet, it didn’t seem to matter. He was still dead, wasn’t he, and killing Xisa and thousands of Cutarans hadn’t brought him back, filled the hole in Kareen’s heart, the rent she was unsure could ever be repaired.
“You look to be havin’ some deep thoughts, m’lady,” came a man’s voice. Kareen looked up from the Divide to see a scraggly man heading towards her. Tirrak, she must have look foolish standing as she was on the barrier, in impotent contemplation.
The soldier’s uniform was stained with blood and he sported an angry looking bruise along both sides of his throat.
“And how do you know I am a noble, sir?” She asked. She wore the clothes of a commoner after all. Her simple floral dress didn’t give away any of her aristocratic upbringing.
“Call me Antis,” he said easily. “And on the way I know you’re a noble: it’s how carry yourself. Like you own the place, you know. Didn’t even ask if you could come on the bridge. You just… did.” He paused for a moment and added: “M’lady…”
Kareen stood a little straighter at the comment. She had never been described as authoritative. Intense perhaps, but in the way of a child. But so many things had changed in the past months. She had grown since leaving her home behind. Her last time walking the halls of her father’s estate, Tirrak, it felt like a lifetime ago.
“You were on the bridge, Antis?” she asked, sitting down on the barrier and slipping onto the side on which the soldier stood.
He removed his helmet, revealing a forehead and scalp spattered with blood and dirt, only partially cleaned away. “I was,” he said, nodding. “Held for two days against them.”
“And the Delvers? How did they fare?”
“Forgive me, m’lady, but is this some kind of inspection?” He shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze. Despite the difference in their ages, he looked like a child whose mother had caught him trying to steal cakes left to cool on the window sill.
“No,” said Kareen. She tried to sound nonchalant, although she probably could have pulled off the effect with a little less force. “I just wanted to know more about the men who killed Xisa.”
“Xisa? You mean the bronze-skin Delver?” When Antis saw her nod he continued on. “Good men. Didn’t trust ‘em at first, but without their help we would’ve been squashed like bugs.” He shook his head. “Damn madmen with that power of theirs, if you pardon my language.”
“I should thank them.” Kareen shuffled to the edge of the bridge and stared down into the depths, trying to overcome the tingling in her feet. Xisa’s corpse was down there somewhere, along with hundreds of others. She stepped back from the edge, grimacing.
“I lost a lot of friends,” Antis said, following her gaze. “Good to get some justice, at least.”
“Justice…” The word felt wrong on her tongue, bitter. “Thank you, Antis. I wish you and your men well.” She bowed to him.
He gave a sharp salute and placed his helmet back on his head. “And a safe journey to you, m’lady.”
“You’re staying?” asked Kareen, more than a little shocked. “After all this?”
“I was tasked with guarding this bridge by Emperor Hadan himself, and I will guard it until he tells me I can damn-well go home” He cleared his throat. “Pardon.”
She smiled and turned to climb back over the barrier. True loyalty, she was quickly finding, was hard to come by these days. But it seemed there were still men who would follow you to the ends of the earth, if only you searched hard enough.
* * *
Oranhur had set up his command post on one of the few stretches of ground close to the Divide that was clear of bodies. His lieutenants and captains crowded around a folding table, shaded by a black canvas pavilion. The General himself was the only one to sit, and then only reluctantly, as if at any moment some pressing matter in need of his attention might draw him from his current task.
“Kareen,” Oranhur said as she found a spot behind and slightly to the left of a particularly tall blonde haired officer. “Is it true then?”
There was only one thing he could mean by the question. “Xisa is dead. I had it confirmed by a sergeant named Antis. He was with the Delvers who held the bridge.”
“I’ve already recommended his entire squad for Imperial Recognition.” He glanced down at a piece of paper sitting before him. “For Outstanding Acts in Defense of the Empire. Quite an honor.”
“And the Delvers, General?” She still wanted to speak with them, if only to hear their stories.
“Both were badly injured, but the surgeons have told me they’ll live. Give them a few hours rest and I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to tell you all you want to know.”
“But for now,” he continued, turning to his officers, “we have more important things to discuss, namely the Emperor’s return to Akiv.”
“You’re going home?” Kareen asked before she could stop herself. The men around the table turned to her with expressions ranging from shock that she had dared to speak out of line, to frustration that she was even amongst them in the first place.
“We’re going home. All of us.” Oranhur leaned back in his chair, letting himself relax for the barest of moments. “With Xisa defeated, the remaining Cutaran tribes will have no choice but to head south, deeper into center of the continent. His Highness and I have both agreed that the local lords who have taken up residence here can handle security without direct Imperial assistance.”
Kareen felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. They would finally be going home. She had paid her last debt to Hadan with this battle. She could return to her father’s estate and…
And what?
Live the rest of her teenage years within the walls of his house, only to be married off to some minor lord of a similar rank? Could she really go back to such a mundane existence? A life spent warming the bed of a man she didn’t know, bearing his children and living out a quiet life.
She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t given her future much thought since coming to Fanalkir. She had taken her life one step at a time, glad for another day of existence, free of pain, blood, or death. But now…
“Are there any positions open in your staff, General?” The words slipped from her lips before she could stop herself. What was she saying? But Blessed Tirrak! She didn’t want a hollow life, a life lacking meaning. If she went home that was all she would get in the end. At least this way, she could do something, no matter what it was.
Oranhur appeared as confused as his officers, but answered anyway. “A few. We lost some scribes in the fighting-”
“Scribing sounds wonderful, general.”
“Wait. Are you saying… you want to be a scribe?” He shook his head. “But you’re a noble lady. Why in the name of Tirrak would you want some menial position in my army?”
The group of officers around her shuffled uncomfortably. There was an argument coming, and they knew it. And no one argued with the general.
Oranhur waved a hand at them. “Tirrak! You all look like you’re about to piss yourselves. You’re dismissed.” They saluted in turn and all but ran from beneath the pavilion in their haste to extricate themselves from the ensuing confrontation.
With the path to the general clear, Kareen stepped forward and folded her hands at her waist. “General…”
Oranhur looked up. His eyes were red from where he’d rubbed at them and his face was drawn. He looked tired, drained, somehow less than he had before the battle. “I can’t go home,” she continued. “I’ve seen so much. I’ve done so much. After all that, I can’t be expected to go back to my father’s estate and live a normal life. It would kill me.”
He le
t out a long held breath and scratched at his beard. “I should try to warn you off. Tell you you’re making a mistake. But that would make me a hypocrite. I was the same after my first battle.”
“My first position in the Whitestone Corps was up in the Kelil Desert,” he began. “We were helping put down a tribal revolt by the Irshar Clan of the White Riders. One night, the bastards attacked our camp, coming in on horseback and trying to route us before we could mount a defense. I didn’t even draw my sword through the whole battle, but I commanded my men well, all things considered. When it was all said and done, I got to watch the tribesmen retreat back into the desert, licking their wounds. It was the sweetest sight I had ever seen.”
“From that day forward. I knew this was my calling. I was to be a soldier.” He looked wistful, staring out past her and across the Divide. “I have seen things that have given me cause, even true reason, to stray from that path. I am of noble birth. I could go back to my lands tomorrow and retire to a life of luxury. But instead, I choose this.”
Kareen nodded. She could understand his sentiment now, after so long spent on this continent. “There’s meaning in this,” she agreed. “Even if that meaning is terrible.”
“What will your mother and father say? After being gone for so long, they have to worry about you.”
“I will send my father a letter, explain everything. I might even drop in when time and distance allow it. Mother… she would have wanted me to do this. She was married off to my father at seventeen. She never had a choice in the matter. Never had a choice in her entire life, if I’m honest. She would be happy to know that I was able to do what she never could.”
“Then I offer you the position of scribe,” Oranhur said. He got to his feet with a groan and stretched.
“Thank you, General.” She gave a quick bow. “What unit am I to be assigned to?”
Oranhur gave her a quizzical look. “Unit? No, you will be my personal scribe.”
Kareen’s eyes went wide. “General…” Not just a scribe then, but a Scribe Secretary. It was one of the highest ranks a woman could achieve, placing her on equal footing with Oranhur’s lieutenants.
“You’re a good strategist and an even better confidant. I think…” He glanced in the direction of the Divide. “I think vouching for you was one of my better recent decisions.”
Kareen was about to open her mouth to thank him again when a man wearing the brown field cloak of the Highlanders came into view, running towards them. Gone were the fanciful helmet and ceremonial axe. Although they hadn’t directly taken part in the battle, this Highlander wore his more practical gear. A sword and dagger hung from his hip, and she could just make out a fine breastplate peaking from beneath his cloak.
“Oranhur!” he yelled as he came to a halt in front of the general. Kareen noted that he didn’t use his kinsman’s title. The bodyguards never did, except with the Emperor of course.
“What is it?” asked Oranhur, clearly annoyed at the interruption.
The Highlander was breathing heavily and… were those tears in his eyes? Kareen’s heartbeat increased as she took him in. Anything that could make one of the famed Highlanders weep must have been dire indeed. “You’re needed at the Emperor’s pavilion, quickly.”
Oranhur eyes darted to Kareen and then back to the Highlander before motioning for her to follow. “You’re my scribe now. When you’re not asleep, you’re at my side, understand?”
She nodded. What in the name of Tirrak had she gotten herself into?
* * *
They came to the Emperor’s command tent at a run. Kareen was already sweating, and under his heavy cloak, Oranhur’s ruddy face had turned an alarming shade of red. The Highlanders outside wore the same expression as the man who had come to fetch them—grim, pained
Kareen steeled herself and followed Oranhur inside. The planning room, where she had first met Hadan was empty. The place was ghostly silent, save for an echoed sound coming from deeper within the complex, like the barking of a dog.
The Highlander led them through several similarly sized enclosures. There was a sitting room, drawing room, and even a lavatory. That same barking came again, closer this time. Kareen didn’t know why, but the grating noise put her on edge. Something was very wrong with this place. The air itself was heavy, charged with anticipation.
Finally, they came to a bedroom, the entrance flanked by a pair of grim-faced Highlanders, still dressed in their ceremonial kit. They let Oranhur and Kareen through without question, nodding to them in turn as they entered through the open tent flap. A man sat in a four posted bed at the room’s center, his skin so pale, his face so drawn, that Kareen had difficulty recognizing him for several moments.
Hadan had changed since the last time she had seen him. Blessed Tirrak, the man looked frail. He coughed into a handkerchief so loudly as to make Kareen jump, before throwing the soiled cloth to the side. She now knew from where the barking sound had originated. He tried to sit up straighter in the bed, but his arms shook under his own weight, and he fell back onto the pillow, smacking his head on the headboard as he did.
“Your Highness,” Oranhur began, standing as close to the bed as he dared.
Renna came to stand beside him. “He can’t… speak,” she choked out, her voice cracking. Kareen could see from her puffy eyes and smeared makeup that she had been crying.
“Is it sickness?” Oranhur asked. He looked as distraught as Renna. Even Kareen’s heart sank at the sight of Hadan. He moved his mouth, clearly trying to say something, only for broken groans and croaks to issue from his lips.
“Nothing that I know of,” Renna managed. “He was taking his dinner less than an hour ago and-”
“Poison,” Oranhur growled. “But the tasters…”
Renna nodded before turning to the Highlander Argin, who stood at the door. “Check on the tasters. And make sure none of the cooks leave the complex. If one of them placed the poison, we can’t let him escape!” The female warrior saluted and quickly exited through the tent flap.
“How can he breathe if he can’t speak?” Kareen interjected.
Renna shook her head. “I’m not-”
Hadan fell into another coughing fit, but unlike the others, which had stopped after a few seconds, this one kept on. Two surgeons in white coats rushed to his side. One tried to hold the Emperor’s head level while the other put pressure on his chest. Oranhur’s jaw clenched and Renna looked ready to vomit.
“Help us lift him!” one of the surgeons shouted, a thin balding man, his expression manic in its intensity. Kareen could understand why. If Hadan died on his watch, his career, and perhaps even his life would be on the line.
Renna and Oranhur came forward, helping the surgeons push the Emperor into an upright position. Yet still he coughed and coughed and coughed. There couldn’t be much air left in his lungs. If he kept on like this…
“One of the tasters is dead!” Argin confirmed as she came back into the room. “And the other is in the same condition as His Highness!”
“Dammit!” Oranhur cursed. “Someone get him water!”
Kareen realized with a start that she was the only person in the room without a job. She scrambled over to the wash basin in the corner and ladled out a cup of water. Hadan’s coughs had become tired hacks. He wouldn’t last much longer if they couldn’t get him to stop and breathe.
She came to the bed, pushing one of the surgeons aside in her haste. She tried to put the ladle to Hadan’s lips. He took a single sip before the coughing started up again, spraying a mix of water and spittle across Kareen’s face.
Then, as soon as it had begun, the coughing stopped. For a moment, Kareen thought he might have hacked up whatever had caused the fit, but as Oranhur, Renna, and the other surgeon lowered him back onto the sheets, she knew that couldn’t be right. His face had turned sickly pale, his lips blue, his eyes glassy.
Hadan, the near-immortal ruler of the Corrossan Empire, was dead…
Renna let out a single sob and shoved Kareen away, cupping Hadan’s head in her hands. “You can’t.” She whispered. “You can’t.”
Oranhur stepped away from the body as if struck. “Impossible…” His eyes were wide, his expression confused.
“You can’t,” Renna kept saying. “You can’t. You can’t! YOU CAN’T!”
Kareen could hear the pattering of bare feet outside the tent flap. Five figures filed into the room. Their robes were torn, the wounds beneath barely healed, the cloths over their faces caked with dry blood. Hadan’s Weapons…
They approached the Emperor’s corpse in the same mechanical fashion as they always did when not fighting. There was no sign of grief, no sign of regret for failing to defend their charge’s life. How they had known of the Emperor’s death, Kareen could only guess. One of the Delvers, its massive bronze sword slung over its shoulder, stared down at the corpse laying in the bed for several long moments.
“You couldn’t save him,” Renna whispered. “You were his weapons… his protectors…” The leader of the group of warriors did not respond, did not even seem to acknowledge the elderly woman’s presence. Its head turned to each of its comrades in turn, and then silently, left the room, the others quick on its heels.
Questions churned in Kareen’s mind. Would these “Weapons” serve the new Emperor, whoever that might be, or would they leave to never return? How had the Emperor controlled them? Communicated with them? Made them? So many questions to never be answered, the secrets taken to the grave of this man who lay before her.
Kareen felt suddenly disconnected from her body, from this time and place, from everything. Just hours ago, Hadan had been ordering his army forward, battling Xisa in a game of wits and wills that had cost the lives of thousands. Now they were both dead, the rock on which Kareen’s life, and the lives of every other man and woman living in the Empire had been built, and the monster that had become her fixation.
The Argument of Empires Page 42