Heir of Autumn

by Giles Carwyn

  They reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the open air atop a tower overlooking all of Physen. For the first time, Brophy got some perspective on the city as a whole. The Physendrian capital was built on a dry plateau above a fertile valley next to the river Gesphyn. The sprawling structures, both ramshackle and stout, seemed to continue forever. The city was immense, much larger than Ohndarien. It extended from the ocean to the imposing volcano of the Nine Squares arena in the distance.

  “Helliua is the queen’s cousin, you see, and Ossamyr’s mad with jealousy. Won’t rest until she has the next champion. She thinks that’s you.” Phandir looked Brophy up and down. “I can’t say why she believes that. I told her you won’t make it past the crocs.” He shrugged. “But the woman has a good eye. She’s backed a champion four times. That’s more than any person in an age, so maybe she knows something I don’t.”

  Phandir clapped Brophy on the back as if they were old friends. “Have a look, young man,” he said. “This will be the only chance you get to see Physen from such a height. See there? That’s where our soldiers train. That white speck there is The Tooth, the gate to our Wet Cells. And there.” He pointed. “And there and there are the three largest markets. Most of the goods in Physen are traded there.” He winked. “That doesn’t count the black markets, of course. And over there are the winches.” He pointed to the southern edge of the plateau. Huge trusses supporting pulley wheels clung to the side of the cliff. The wheels moved immense baskets up and down between the plateau and verdant river valley far below. The lush green riverbank was a stark contrast to the bone-dry city on the cliffs.

  “Why don’t you live down there?” Brophy asked.

  Phandir chuckled. “Spoken like a true Ohndarien, boy. Why waste good farmland by putting someone’s house on it? Look on the far side of the river. See that?”

  A smaller group of buildings clung to the cliff on the far side, huddled like a band of decrepit gypsies. Brophy squinted. He couldn’t be sure, but they looked like ruins.

  “That’s Sitha. The Old City. King Phy I razed his father’s capital and built Physen on this side of the river. Sitha’s haunted now. You can hear the dead king singing songs of revenge when the moon is black.”

  Brophy looked up at Phandir, trying to decide if he was serious. Phandir smiled at him, showing his white teeth again.

  “So, boy, tell me. How do you think you’re going to fare against our native lads in the dreaded Nine Squares?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Phandir laughed.

  “Best do better than your best. Nine Squares isn’t like jogging around a wall.” He shook his head, seemingly amused. “Ossamyr favors you, but she changes her friends with the wind. Remember that. No man knows the mind of a woman. The only way to keep her attention is to win.” Phandir looked Brophy up and down. “And you have the look of a loser. I despise the queen’s losers even more than I despise her pet champions. I don’t know why she bothers with you. I should just kill you and be done with it.”

  The last was spoken with such geniality that Brophy paused, wondering if he had heard it right. “I’m good at contests,” he said.

  Phandir laughed. “I’m sure. Yes, you seem a very smart young man. Well, tell the other players that. If you convince them that you’re good at contests, maybe they’ll fall over on their backs for you.”

  Brophy reddened. He had to steer the conversation back to the invasion somehow.

  “I wanted to ask about that model I saw in your study,” he said.

  Phandir waved his hand, still smiling. “It’s a toy, nothing more. Go on now, boy. I have work. If I find you snooping in my rooms again, I’ll have you whipped. And beaten. And buggered.” He laughed.

  Before Brophy could respond, the Ape clubbed the back of his knees with his sword again.

  “Kneel before your king!” the guard bellowed.

  Clenching his teeth, Brophy put his lips to the hem of king’s feathered robe.

  8

  BAELANDRA STOOD on her balcony looking over the bay. To a casual observer, she was enjoying the morning sunlight, the breeze blowing off the water, but Baelandra’s mind was boiling with doubt and fear.

  She watched as Lawdon deftly maneuvered her boat through the early-morning water traffic toward the pier. The young waterbug had become indispensable. The four Sisters could not have coordinated their plans without her.

  Lawdon dropped sail and pulled up to the dock directly opposite Jayden’s house. The Sister of Spring was the oldest of the four, and Baelandra wanted her closest to the boat if there were problems. The four Sisters’ homes stood in a row. Baelandra lived on the far left, followed by Hazel, Jayden, and Vallia on the far right.

  Baelandra glanced up the street. In addition to placing the guards in front of their houses, Krellis had assigned a squad of men to watch Donovan’s Bridge. Anyone moving on or off the island was stopped and searched. She could see people complaining, arguing with the guards, but that was all they were doing. So far.

  The Sister of Autumn ran her fingers through her long, windblown hair. So much could go wrong with their escape plan. Timing was critical. If there were any delays, they would be caught. Krellis would not give them a second chance.

  Lawdon made a long show of tying up her boat.

  Despite the churning in her stomach, Baelandra smiled. Lawdon had a future as an actress, but that young woman had a future as many things if she wished. She was smart, loyal, and full of courage. The waterbug had already earned far more than two hundred silver stars.

  Baelandra heard the creak of the cart, right on time. She glanced casually down to her right. Hazel’s niece, Quinn, had been flirting with the guards in front of her aunt’s house for the past three days. Krellis’s men resisted at first, but it was amazing how stupid men became with a pretty girl around.

  The men have their spears and swords, Baelandra thought, but some weapons cannot be taken away.

  Hazel’s guards had come to expect a kind word, a flirtatious glance, and a free pastry every morning. Today there would be more than honey in Quinn’s fruit tarts.

  The girl’s giggle floated up the street. Baelandra took a deep breath of the sea air. Soon.

  As if reading her thoughts, Lawdon tied a red scarf around her mast. Baelandra retreated into the bedroom and donned the crude clay mask and mirrored cloak Scythe had left for her. After checking her reflection in the mirror, she frowned. The cloak hung awkwardly off her slender shoulders. The disguise wouldn’t hold up under close scrutiny, but she hoped no one would get that close.

  She checked the pouch of jewelry, tied securely to her belt, and the thin dagger strapped to her forearm. Wealth came in handy more often than a good blade, but Baelandra was a Sister of Autumn, a descendant of J’Qulin the Sly. Given the choice, she would take the blade every time.

  Leaving the room, she headed for the back stairs. There were no guards in the house. Krellis was still courteous enough to keep his dogs outside. She had plenty of time. The sap of the Snoring Tree took a few minutes to take effect. If she emerged too late, it would be inconvenient; If she arrived early, it would be catastrophic.

  Quietly, she padded down the stairs and peered around the corner before entering the kitchen. Nothing stirred, no more than a whisper of air.

  She hurried through the door of the dry pantry and searched through the thin coating of dust and flour on the wall until she found the tiny gemstone. Resting a finger lightly upon it, Bae touched the heartstone between her breasts.

  A jolt of energy shot through her, and the mechanism behind the pantry wall gave a distinctive click. She allowed herself a brief smile. After 350 years, the locks made by Master Coelho still worked perfectly. The heavy door pivoted inward, and Baelandra slid through the opening.

  A wall of stone blocked her way.

  Her heart started pounding as she pushed on it. The barrier was brand-new. The mortar between the gray stones was still tacky, but the wall was solid. When
had Krellis done it? There must have been workmen in the alley for days and she’d never noticed.

  For a moment, she considered battering down the wall with a bench or soup cauldron, but she held herself in check. She needed to think through this calmly, time was running out.

  She hid the disguise in the pantry and hurried toward the front door. There was only one choice left to her. The drugged guards could be discovered at any moment, and the other Sisters wouldn’t move without her. She couldn’t be late.

  Baelandra hurried across the foyer and opened her front door. She calmed her breathing as she started across the lawn toward her front gate. Krellis’s guards watched her with cautious interest as she approached, crossing their spears in front of her.

  “We can’t let you pass, Sister.”

  Never breaking stride, she ducked her head and walked right under them.

  “The cook is sick, I’m just going to the market for a few things.”

  One of the men grabbed her arm and yanked her back into the garden.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” growled the bear-shaped man with the long beard, obviously from Faradan. His arms were covered with curly black hair, and he sweated profusely in the morning sun.

  The other man had a sparse blond mustache and looked like he was from one of the Summer Cities.

  “You’re making a scene,” she whispered, giving a meaningful nod at a few early-morning passersby who noticed the conflict.

  The Farad was unfazed. His dark eyes never left her. “I don’t care. Get back in that house.”

  She straightened her dress and continued forward. “I will not be a prisoner in my home. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to kill me.”

  She slipped between them, and the Summerman stabbed her with a spear. She gasped, touched her ribs, and her fingers came away flecked with blood. It was a scratch, but she was still shocked. Her own soldiers, in her own city. She hadn’t believed they’d really do it.

  “We’ve orders to kill you if we need to,” the Farad rumbled, but it was the little man’s spear that had blood on the tip. His fuzzy lip curled into a smile.

  “This is boring duty, Sister,” the Summerman said. “Believe me, we’ll get out of it any way we can.”

  A thin trickle of sweat ran down the inside of her shawl. There were only a few minutes left. Reaching a bloody hand into her cloak, she pulled out her pouch of jewelry.

  “I can pay you,” she whispered. Her hands shook as she pulled open the bag, revealing the glittering gems inside.

  The men glanced at the pouch, then at each other.

  “This is just the beginning,” she promised. “I can get you more. Much more.”

  The Farad shook his head. “If we took that, we wouldn’t live to spend it,” he said.

  “No, no, you could. I have friends. I could get you out of the city. I could take you anywhere.”

  The big man’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to tell you again. Get back in the house before I kill you.” He lifted his spear and set the razor tip underneath her chin.

  “Please…” she said, stepping away from the spear. She began crying. “Please. You must…” She sobbed, holding the jewels up. “You must.” The pouch fell from her shaking hands.

  The Farad looked down as silver and jewels clattered to the cobblestoned walkway.

  Before he could look up, Bae whipped the blade from her sleeve and buried it in his eye.

  The other man didn’t have time to even raise his weapon. She took a quick step backward and spun, slicing his throat from ear to ear.

  The Summerman dropped his spear and grabbed at his neck. His knees buckled, and he fell on top of his partner. She left the two men flailing in their death throes, smearing blood and jewels across the cobblestones.

  Baelandra sprinted for the boat, her dagger gripped tightly in her hand. As she reached Hazel’s house, the chubby Sister of Summer ducked through the front gate. Her two guards lay sprawled senseless on the ground.

  Thank the Seasons, Baelandra thought. It’s working.

  The two guards at Jayden’s gate cried out and rushed to intercept them. In their haste, they didn’t notice the pretty girl with the cart of pastries. Quinn shoved her cart with all her might, and the two guards went down in a tumble of pastries and spears. The Sisters rushed past them.

  Baelandra noticed Vallia running along the top of her garden wall. Her front gate faced the side street, shielding her from the guards at the Sister of Winter’s gate. The tall woman leapt from the wall, plummeting twenty feet into a hedge just across from the wharf.

  “Go on!” Baelandra shouted to Hazel. She ran past the boat to help Vallia. The Sister of Winter was stunned, with a cut on her forehead that painted half of her face red, but she shook off the pain and let Baelandra pull her into a loping jog.

  Hazel had already settled herself into Lawdon’s boat. Pulling Vallia behind her, Baelandra jumped in, rocking the tiny craft. The waterbug compensated without a thought. She had the sails up and the boat was straining against the line that kept them tied to the dock. Lawdon had a dagger in hand, ready to cut the line. She looked at Baelandra, silently asking for permission.

  “Where’s Jayden!?” Baelandra asked, craning her neck around to look for the older Sister.

  Vallia’s guards rounded the corner and shouted at them. One of them stopped to throw his spear.

  “Get down!” Baelandra shouted, shoving Hazel out of the way. The spear thudded next to them, pinning Baelandra’s shawl to the side of the boat.

  The guards tangled in Quinn’s cart were back on their feet, racing toward them.

  “Should I cut it?” Lawdon asked.

  “No!” Baelandra shouted. “Where is she?”

  “I’m here,” croaked a quiet voice from behind her.

  “Jayden?” Baelandra spun around, glanced down. The Sister of Spring clung to the side of the boat with her skinny arms.

  “Cut it!” Baelandra shouted, grabbing the old woman by the back of her vest and hauling her aboard.

  Lawdon slashed the rope and they shot forward like a leaping horse.

  One of the guards leapt from the dock and landed on the small boat. The man quickly caught his balance and drew his sword.

  Lawdon jammed the rudder to one side. The tiny craft turned, and the boom swung from left to right, slamming into the guard. He flailed as he went over the edge and disappeared into the water.

  They sailed quickly into the harbor. The three remaining guards stared at them from the edge of the dock.

  Lawdon stood up, pulled down her pants, and wiggled her ass at them.

  Hazel patted the girl on the arm. “Sit, child, no need for that.” But she was smiling.

  The three soldiers sprinted toward Donovan’s Bridge a couple hundred yards away.

  “They’ll never catch us,” Lawdon said, retying her pants. “They won’t even get close.”

  The wind was at their back and Lawdon steered them directly toward the Night Market.

  “Jayden, are you all right?” Baelandra asked, helping the Sister of Spring to a seat.

  The wrinkled woman pushed her away. “Of course I am, I’m not that old.”

  Hazel giggled. She seemed composed now that she had regained her breath. Despite the wind pushing her sunny hair all around, she looked as if she were entertaining the other three Sisters in her drawing room. “How did you get in the water?”

  “My family built this city,” Jayden said, wringing out her shirt. “We certainly know where the sewers go.”

  Hazel wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

  Vallia smirked, but said nothing as always.

  Lawdon cut across the bay to the Night Market. Pulling alongside the dock, she jumped out and held the boat steady. The four Sisters helped each other onto the pier.

  Lawdon led the way across the dock and up the stairs to the Night Market. The Sisters ran through the empty streets. A group of soldiers shouted at them from the bridge, demanding that they s
top. Baelandra grabbed Jayden under the armpit and practically carried the old woman toward the Wheel. They hit the stairs at a dead sprint. Hazel tripped and fell to her face. Vallia helped the heavy woman to her feet, and they kept running.

  They took the stairs as fast as they could, losing sight of the guards as they curved around to the north side of the Wheel. Running ever upward, they circled three-quarters of the way around. Hazel was panting uncontrollably. Jayden clung to Baelandra with one hand and held her chest with the other. Lawdon hung back, clutching her seaman’s dagger.

  “Keep running,” Baelandra said. “We’re almost there.”

  “They’re gaining!” Lawdon shouted. Baelandra looked back. The guards appeared around the corner.

  “Enough!” she said, drawing her dagger and facing the guards. The other three Sisters slowed to a stop, breathing hard. Lawdon hovered at Baelandra’s side, her fist clenched around her dagger handle.

  Panting and angry, the guards slowly closed the distance between them.

  “I already killed two men today,” Baelandra said. “I don’t mind killing a few more.”

  A young officer raised a hand, stopping his men. They held back like restless hounds, eyes baleful.

  “Sister of Autumn, put down your blade,” the officer said.

  “No. Not this time.”

  “You can’t win,” he said in a calm, rational voice. “Commander Heller has ten men at the top of the stairs guarding the Heart. You are trapped.”

  “Actually, Heller had eight men,” Scythe’s voice broke the silence. He appeared around the curve of the stairway, descending on light feet, a bloody sword in each hand. “Now he has none.”

  Baelandra smiled as Scythe walked past the panting Sisters and placed himself between them and the guards.