Empire of Night

by Kelley Armstrong

  He spurred his horse, and they galloped the rest of the distance, with Tova and Daigo running alongside. Ronan waited ten paces from the camp. The tents were silent and still. There were three of them, just large enough to sleep in. No horses, carts, or other belongings in sight.

  "Hello?" Tyrus called as they dismounted.

  When no answer came, he waved Ronan in closer. Then he threw open one of the tent flaps. Moria was at his side, her daggers raised, Daigo alongside her. Ashyn stayed back with Tova.

  "Empty," Tyrus said.

  He checked the other two with the same results. Ashyn moved in for a closer look. Ronan crouched to enter the nearest tent, then announced, "It wasn't bandits."

  "How--?" Ashyn began.

  Ronan tossed out a full and fastened pack as he emerged from the tent.

  "There are packs in these two as well," Tyrus said. "Untouched."

  "And no sign of blood means it wasn't wild beasts," Moria said, stalking around the exterior.

  Each tent had a single set of sleeping blankets, laid out as if for the night. Each also had a pack with a man's clothing in it. While the clothing was not fine--no one would travel in their festival best--it was well made of quality fabrics. They found money in the bags, too. Enough to travel on for many moons. Ashyn suspected the men had been merchants. Her father used to say that after selling his goods, he'd travel as inauspiciously as possible, presenting what seemed like a poor target for bandits.

  Tova and Daigo went into the tents next. Tova snuffled about while Daigo gave dainty sniffs, as if both had understood Ronan's earlier complaint and now were trying to do their part. When neither looked alarmed, Ashyn knew they'd detected no traces of blood.

  As the beasts came out of the tents, Tova stopped and lifted his head. He looked toward the woods and whined.

  "Split up," Tyrus said. "Moria, approach from the north, Ronan, the south. I'll take it straight on. Ashyn? Ride toward the road and call a warning if our wagon draws near."

  Ashyn stifled a sigh. While she didn't wish to be her sister, there were times when she'd rather be where the action was.

  She mounted her horse and moved toward the road. The wagon and guards were still only dots along the horizon. She glanced back at the others as they approached the forest from different angles. When Tova grumbled, Ashyn said, "You can go with them if you like."

  He grunted and lay down, and they both sat by the roadside, casting longing looks at the forest and dutiful ones at the slow-approaching convoy.

  A cry sounded from inside the forest. Then the boom of Tyrus's voice, ordering someone to stay where he was. Running footfalls. The whistle of a thrown dagger. Daigo's snarl. A shriek. A crashing through the woods. A thump.

  Tyrus appeared, his fingers wrapped in an old man's tunic, propelling him forward. Moria and Ronan followed. Daigo leaped into the lead and spun in front of Tyrus and his captive, as if ready to attack. As Tyrus threw the man down, Ashyn saw he was not as old as she'd supposed. Gray-haired, yes, but perhaps prematurely. He was dressed in a long tunic, as if he'd been roused from sleep and fled, his legs and feet bare and scored with scratches from the forest.

  "Enough," Moria said, loud enough to be heard over the man's blubbering. "Do you know who holds you captive?"

  The man twisted to look up at Tyrus. When he saw the lacquered wood cuirass, he hesitated, likely recognizing it as the armor of a warrior. He took in Tyrus's clean-shaven face and gleaming, tied hair. Moria cleared her throat and directed the man's gaze to the bare forearms holding the blade. The man stared. Blinked. Stared some more. Then--

  "You are . . . Those are . . ."

  "Tatsu inkings," Moria said. "Imperial Prince Tyrus, son of Emperor Tatsu and First Concubine Maiko, commander of an expedition escorting the Seeker and Keeper of Edgewood. We came across your camp, and we were concerned by what we found."

  "In other words, we're here to help you," Ronan said.

  "Unless you're responsible for the disappearance of your traveling mates," Moria said. "In which case members of the imperial family are invested with the ability to mete out justice--"

  "N-no. I did nothing. I was hiding in the forest. We were set on last night."

  "By whom?" Tyrus said.

  "I--I don't know. It seemed . . . No, I do not know."

  "Explain."

  The man said he'd woken in the night at a cry and he'd gone out to see his younger brothers leaving their tents, still in nightshirts and bare feet. They'd been walking toward the road. He'd called after them. One had turned and--

  "His face. There was something wrong . . ." He swallowed. "I apologize, your highness. I know it sounds like the words of a madman and perhaps my mind tricked me, in the darkness and the confusion of waking so abruptly."

  "Describe what you saw."

  "It was my brother, yet it was not. His face was wrong, twisted. Ghastly. Like something from a nightmare."

  "Then what happened?"

  "I fell back in horror while he turned away and they both kept walking. There were figures on the road. Distant figures, walking. Fearing for my life, I fled into the forest. From the road, I heard marching footsteps. They did not stop. I don't know where my brothers went."

  To join them, Ashyn thought. They went to join them.

  At the tramp of feet, she jumped, turning so fast she forgot she was mounted and nearly slid off. It was only the rest of their group.

  "Which way?" Moria asked the merchant. "Tell us which way they went."

  Ashyn watched as the man lifted his finger and pointed in the direction they'd been traveling.

  The road to Riverside.

  Tyrus released the man. When the merchant saw where they were going, he decided to head out on his own--in the opposite direction. Ashyn didn't blame him.

  Ashyn waited with Simeon while Tyrus and Moria told the counselors about the man. After the conference, Tyrus looked as if a lead-lined cloak had been lifted from his back.

  "The counselors agree," Moria said as she rode to Ashyn. "Given what that merchant saw, we've made the proper choice in going to Riverside."

  Ashyn exhaled in relief. The counselors openly supported Tyrus's decision. Which meant if anything went wrong, the blame would be shared, as he'd been acting with their counsel.

  Tyrus allowed Ronan out of hiding, explaining that he was a scout Tyrus had brought along to help with exactly these situations. Ronan would need to keep his swords hidden, but otherwise, he could freely join them as they continued toward Riverside, and whatever awaited them there.

  NINETEEN

  It was nearly night again. They kept at the wagons' pace, knowing they didn't dare whip the horses into a lather, but it seemed frustratingly slow to all.

  Ronan was scouting ahead. Ashyn hadn't seen him since they'd taken a brief break for a midday meal, stopping mostly to water and rest the horses. Moria was with Tyrus, not so much for camaraderie now as support. Simeon rode with Ashyn.

  "Do you mind companionship, my lady?" Simeon asked.

  Ashyn managed a weary smile for him. "We sometimes had scholars stop by Edgewood, wishing to see the Wastes and the Forest of the Dead. My father always found a chance for me to speak to them, but it was never enough. Truth be told, I don't think they took my interest seriously. There aren't many girls apprenticed to scholars, I presume?"

  It took a moment for him to say, "No, not many," and even then the words came hesitantly, as if she'd not answered the question he asked. Which she had not.

  "Ah," she said. "That explains it, then. Well, I do appreciate the chance to converse."

  His cheeks colored, and she wondered if she'd misspoken. It was such a difficult line to tread--not wanting to encourage romantic attentions but not wanting to refuse his friendship either.

  Relations between young men and women were so complicated. In this instance, also so ill-timed. There ought to be a universal law that if dire circumstances arose, they happened only to those past the age of romantic entanglements, so
as not to interfere with the more pressing issues at hand.

  "I must ask you a question, Ashyn," Simeon said as she craned her neck to look for Moria and Tyrus. "I fear you'll think it impudent."

  "Hmm?" she said distractedly.

  "It's about the scout. Ronan. What is his caste?"

  She tensed. "Yes, that is indeed impud--"

  "I know he carries a blade, though he hides it around the warriors. Does the prince know?"

  When she didn't reply, Simeon continued, "I am aware that there are men who break the laws in such matters. Mercenaries and bandits. I can see how the imperial family might find use for such men, so I am not questioning--"

  "Ronan comes from an old warrior family. Common warriors of low ranking."

  It was true, though she did not say Ronan himself was a warrior. She was not certain when his family had lost their caste, only that it had been several generations past.

  Simeon's face fell, as if in disappointment, and she felt a prickle of annoyance. Was he hoping to discover Ronan was indeed a bandit or mercenary? He'd never seemed the sort to indulge in scandalous gossip.

  "Then I must ask another question," he said after a few moments of riding. "As much as I'd hoped that, in your answer to the first, I could avoid this one." He gripped the reins tighter. "Are you courting?"

  "What?"

  "I've seen the attention he pays you, and I had hoped he was lowborn, so I might be certain that attention was only the reverence due a Seeker."

  She opened her mouth to say that since she could not marry, there was no need to worry what caste her suitors were. But that would imply the answer to the question was yes--they were courting.

  "We are friends," she said. "He accompanied me across the Wastes."

  "Oh, he is from Edgewood? I did not know that." A slow smile touched his lips. "Well, then, that makes perfect sense. I am glad to hear you are not otherwise involved. He seems somewhat . . . disreputable."

  Ashyn stiffened. "He has had a difficult life, and he is not wealthy."

  "Yes, of course. I meant no offense. He is your friend, as you said."

  They rode a few paces more, and Ashyn checked again for Moria, wondering if she could politely leave Simeon and ride with her sister.

  "Is there anyone else?" Simeon asked. "If not Ronan?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "Are you unattached?"

  "Yes," she said. "However, given the current circumstances, I'm not looking to change that--"

  "Of course not," he said quickly. "But when this is over, and we are back in the imperial city, I . . . I wish to know you better, Ashyn."

  "I--"

  He hurried on. "I'm very fond of you. You have a quick mind and a pleasing face. I mean, a pretty face. You are both attractive and accomplished. And kind. You are very kind. I am certain there are many young men vying for your attention, but you seem to enjoy mine, so I'm hoping I'm not being too forward when I ask . . ." His gaze didn't quite meet hers. "If you'll permit me to court you."

  She wanted to say yes. Which was a ridiculous answer because she most assuredly did not want that. She wished to agree, because his speech was so sweet and so earnest, and she felt monstrous saying she wouldn't even let him try. Perhaps she expected too much of romance, but she did not want to be with someone when there was no spark.

  She took a deep breath. "It's very sweet of you to ask, Simeon, but I have so much upheaval in my life that I am not looking for romance."

  "You prefer warriors? I know young women do, and you are surrounded by them."

  "No, actually, artisans and scholars are more my--" She stopped, realizing that this would not soften the rejection. "I have no preferences, Simeon, because I have no interest in romantic relationships at this time."

  "Is it Tyrus, then?"

  "Prince Tyrus," she said, annoyance clipping her words. "No, I do not have designs--"

  "You must. There's hardly a girl in the empire who doesn't dream of the handsome young prince turning his gaze her way. His attention is for your sister, yet you imagine a day when he tires of her ill manners and boyish ways. Or, perhaps, when he discovers that rough-mannered young women who embrace the warrior life do not fancy young men at all."

  Ashyn stared at him as his lip curled and his gaze hardened.

  You rejected him. He has an ego, despite his awkward ways. And it doesn't matter how gentle your refusal, it was still rejection.

  "My sister likes young men very much," she said. "Though if you hoped to insult her by suggesting otherwise, it's a poorly aimed dart because I would care not whether she liked women or men, so long as she was happy. I understand that you are displeased with my words, but they are truly spoken. If you wish to upset me, you have only to insult my friends. If you wish to divest yourself of my company completely, you have only to insult my sister. I see her riding back. I'll take my leave."

  They did not reach Riverside by sundown, and it was not the fault of the horses. They stopped short because Ronan spotted the bandit camp. The minor counselor, Tyrus, and the girls left their exhausted horses and followed Ronan across the wooded fields. Now they lay on a hillock, peering at the camp below.

  "It's them," Moria said. "See the huge, bald man? That's Barthol. The smaller man with him is Fyren."

  "I count ten tents," Tyrus said. "Presuming two men to a tent, that's twenty. Less than I would have expected. It could be enough to capture a town, though."

  "It is," the minor counselor said. "Riverside has only a few hundred people, and perhaps ten warriors. Warlord Jorojumo's compound is to the east. They can call on him for aid, so they do not require more."

  "We'll dispatch one of our men to ride to the warlord then. I will request his assistance."

  "It is better to demand it, your highness."

  "You're right. I'll do that," Tyrus said. "I see no sign of shadow stalkers, but I suppose they'd not keep them with the camp. I don't know how easily they are controlled."

  "According to legend, they are under the command of the sorcerer who raised them," Moria said. "The fact that they seemed able to kill women and old men--while leaving the children--supports that they can be restrained. Either way, I'd not want them in my camp."

  "I suspect these bandits would agree. So the shadow stalkers will be held elsewhere, under guard."

  "Meaning they have more bandits or warriors nearby," Moria said. "Guarding the shadow stalkers."

  Tyrus nodded. "And more still with the children. We'll send those in our party who are not warriors on scouting missions, searching for the shadow stalker camp and the one holding the children. One warrior will go to speak to the warlord. When he returns--hopefully with others--we will attack, in hopes of catching them off guard."

  He glanced at the counselor.

  "A sound plan, your highness," the man said.

  "Then let's return to the others and prepare."

  TWENTY

  While one rode to speak to the warlord, the other warriors suited up. They did not have full battle armor. The emperor had not dared send them with it, even hidden in the wagons, in case Alvar's men insisted on searching and found Emperor Tatsu's warriors prepared for more than simple negotiations. They had worn breastplates and helmets when they approached Fairview, but they did have gauntlets and leg guards in the wagons, and they were putting them on now.

  The process was not simple, and Tyrus and Moria took their leave of the group to help each other. They started with the undergarments--a short robe and breeches. Before Tyrus put on his robe, he glanced at Moria several times, until she asked, "Do you need help?"

  "No, I was just . . . I was wondering if you'd do something for me."

  "That's what I'm here for."

  "It's not the armor. It's . . ." Spots of color rose in his cheeks and he fingered the dangling ends of his amulet band. "Would you bless this before I cover it? I know it's an old custom, and no longer--"

  "I have done it before," she cut in. "Simply because a custom is old does not mean it is
meaningless. Some of Edgewood's warriors wore them and would ask Ashyn and me to bless them before they went into the forest."

  Faith was a strange thing, Moria reflected as she walked over to Tyrus. No one would argue that the ancestors did not watch over them and could not influence the living world, but customs changed, and openly calling on spirits for support and guidance these days was often seen as a sign of weakness. Which was foolish, in her opinion. Whether an amulet band worked or not, it couldn't hurt. As their father would say, what often counted was whether one believed such protective rituals worked. Confidence in battle guarded one more than any spirit could.

  So she blessed Tyrus's amulet band, asking the spirits to watch over him in battle and make his heart strong and true. Not that he needed help with his heart. She did, however, add a silent plea for his stomach, which might need steadying.

  They continued with the armor. At first, seeing the pile of it, Moria had been satisfied. Surely with all that, Tyrus would be safe. Yet as she helped him with his gauntlets, she thought, But he should have thigh armor, too, and as he put on his helmet, she snuck a worried look, thinking he needed a neck ring as well.

  He ought to have full armor. It's his first battle. This isn't right. It isn't safe.

  It didn't matter. Even full armor only protected against a glancing blow. A sound strike from a well-made sword would slice through it like a blade through butter.

  And that thought did not make her feel better at all.

  She wished she'd blessed his amulet band more. That her supplications had been longer, more ornate and detailed.

  What if I've done it wrong? What if it's not enough. What if--

  "Moria?" Tyrus looked over as he fussed with his headgear. He wore a dragon helmet, like those worn by all Emperor Tatsu's men, but his was dark red, the color of his tattoos, forbidden to all but the imperial family.

  A true imperial helmet for a true Tatsu--a true dragon warrior. That was what Tyrus was, and he did not need armor or blessings to keep him safe. His skill would do that. And so would she, fighting at his side.

  "Let me help with that," she said.

  The plan was in place. The warriors were prepared for battle. And . . .

  And nothing. As the moon approached its zenith, the bandits headed into their tents. Tyrus had yet to hear word from the warrior who'd ridden off to speak to the warlord. So they were waiting.