Blades of the Old Empire

by Anna Kashina

  He was so strong he could lift mountains. If he let his strength loose, he would crush her with his passion. He tried to hold back, but her arms grasped him with the force that left no way for gentleness anymore. His body moved of its own accord, driven by a force more primitive, more powerful than the conscious mind.

  She opened up and yielded to him so completely that he could no longer tell them apart. Each of his senses echoed in her, as they moved against each other, infinitely close, and yet urging for even more closeness. He gave her all his incredible strength, filling her like a vessel so that she could in turn give him the strength of her own. Their bodies, their senses became one, raising them both to heights of passion too big for one person to hold. There couldn’t possibly be anything more in the world Kyth could want, and if he were to die right now, he would die the happiest man that ever lived. He was never going to be afraid of anything anymore. He was invincible. He was immortal.

  He was complete.

  Afterward, they put their clothes back on and sat close together on the deck, shivering and weak, unable to draw away from each other even for a moment. It felt to Kyth that if he ever let go of her, he’d die, a feeling that echoed in the way she clung to him, as if grasping a lifeline. He held her, immersed in her faint flowery scent, in the warmth of her body against his, hiding his face in her silky golden hair. Through its soft glow he watched the dawn of a new day, its beams illuminating the most beautiful river that ever existed.

  They didn’t get up until they heard voices on the deck behind the crates, people moving in a hurry that exceeded the usual everyday routine. Oars banged below deck, rowing against the current to bring the barge to a stop.

  Ashore, a jagged roofline emerged from around the river bend, marking the first outskirts of a giant city, bathed in the morning mists, waiting for their arrival.

  They had reached Jaimir.

  29

  THE GRASSLANDS

  Captain Beater’s eyes were misty with lust as he watched Kara emerge from the bow section of the barge, leading her horse. He opened his mouth to speak, but she fixed him with a short glance that made the captain subside back into silence. He turned to Kyth and Alder waiting to follow Kara down the wide ladder onto the docks.

  “Plannin’ to come back this way soon, eh?” Captain Beater asked.

  “We’re not sure,” Alder said politely.

  Captain Beater’s expression as he glanced over Kara’s back view made Kyth shudder.

  “Well,” he said with a meaningful wink. “Make sure if ye do, ye’ll think of the old Lady of Fortune, eh?”

  “We will, thanks,” Kyth told him stiffly and followed Alder ashore.

  Kara stopped at the bottom of the ladder and surveyed the crowd milling by the docks. Kyth followed her gaze, half-expecting to see a row of hooded figures with orbens lined up to greet them. But nobody seemed to pay them any special attention as they walked off the boat. A couple of men in the vicinity glanced at Kara, but as far as Kyth could tell they weren’t even looking at her face.

  “Stay close behind me,” Kara told them. “And watch out. We’re headed for the ferry. Let’s hope we can reach it without trouble.”

  It was early, but the Jaimir’s giant market plaza was already full. Rows of stalls ran almost all the way to the water, so rich in colorful displays that one couldn’t help but gape. Ornate Harnarian rugs hung next to the impressive displays of Bengaw weapons and the garlands of peppers and dates from the southern lands. Aromatic oils and spices from Tahr Abad filled the air with their heady, exotic flavors. As they pushed their way through the crowds heading for the place where two thick cables running across the river marked the site of the ferry, Kyth felt dizzy from the rich bouquet of smells of spices, roasting meat, cheap perfume, manure, smoke, and sweat.

  Everything in sight boiled with activity. A fat man in a dirty apron was fishing golden balls of dough out of a vat of bubbling oil and laying them out on a tray, then sprinkling them with powdered sugar and cinnamon whose sweet smell spread around in mouthwatering waves. An old woman next to him hung out garlands of dried figs, wrinkled like the skin on her gnarled hands. A weapons merchant scurried around a richly clad customer, balancing a dark curved blade over his arm. Kyth could see from here that the balance wasn’t all that great, but the buyer didn’t seem to notice, nodding with the air of self-importance at the merchant’s explanations. Further away, a young girl was balancing a pile of stacked crates, each containing a wildly clucking chicken. Under a canopy stretched between sturdy wooden poles, a blacksmith was hitting an anvil with a rhythmical sound, his glistening skin blackened by the smoke from the forge.

  Pushing through the crowd with horses in tow proved to be more and more difficult. Kyth stretched his head not to lose sight of Alder’s towering figure up ahead. He couldn’t see Kara at all. He hurried on, doing his best to squeeze through the dense rows of bodies.

  Somebody caught him by the arm. He turned and came face to face with a large man in a leather apron over a baggy outfit. He had a big, unshaved face and a gap between his front teeth, wide enough to fit a finger.

  Kyth raised his chin, his arm slowly going numb in the man’s grip.

  “How much for the horse, boy?” The man’s thunderous voice made people in the vicinity turn their heads.

  “It’s not for sale.” Kyth glanced at his horse, whose eye darted sideways betraying its fear of the thick, noisy crowd.

  The man’s grin widened. “Come now, boy. Don’t think ye can drive a hard bargain. I’ve been bargainin’ in this market when you still didn’t know how to wear yer pants the right way up. Five silvers, that’s me offer.”

  Kyth reached over and took the man’s hand off his arm with a slow, deliberate gesture.

  “I said, my horse’s not for sale. Thanks all the same.”

  He turned to leave but the man stepped forward and planted himself across Kyth’s path.

  “Nobody walks away from Big Ronan, boy.” The man’s face drew so close that Kyth caught the stench of his breath – a mix of beer, onion, and rot. “I said I wanted yer horse. Six silvers, but that’s really as high as I can go.”

  “Get out of my way.” Kyth tried to side-step the man, but the crowd around them was too dense.

  The man smiled. “Me thinks ye’re in bad need of a lesson, boy. Or, would ye rather just sell me yer horse? Last chance, while I’m still askin’ nicely.”

  Kyth clenched the reins and measured the man with an appraising glance. He was twice as wide as Kyth and almost a head taller. Kyth wasn’t sure if he could stand up to such a man in a fist fight, but there seemed to be no other choice.

  “Let me pass,” he said. “Unless you really want to fight.”

  The man threw his head back and roared with laughter. Then he addressed the thickening crowd of spectators, like an actor addresses an audience waiting for a show.

  “Did ye hear it? The little puppy’s trying to bite. Come, show me your teeth, puppy.”

  He beckoned with his left hand, gathering his right into a fist the size of a child’s head. Kyth searched for a place to hook up the reins, so that he could free both hands. But at that moment his horse whinnied loudly and reared, tearing free from Kyth’s hand.

  A blade whistled by. A hooded man at the edge of the crowd swayed and collapsed. Kyth spun around and saw two more figures disappearing into the crowd behind.

  A hand touched his shoulder. He turned, fist at the ready, and came face to face with Kara.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He nodded and turned to catch the reins. His horse shied sideways, but after recognizing Kyth it calmed down enough for him to regain hold. Kyth gathered the reins and patted the horse’s steaming neck. Kara pushed past him and leaned over the fallen man.

  “Ye killed him!” a voice from the crowd said in disbelief.

  The man groaned and rolled over. Kara picked up her throwing dagger, which she must have used to knock the man out, and reached for
a small object lying on the ground next to the man’s outstretched hand.

  It was a metal dart. She turned it in his fingers, then sniffed it and frowned.

  “What is it?” Kyth asked.

  “Wartbane.”

  “What?”

  Kyth knew the plant with silvery leaves and small yellow flowers that grew back by the tool shed in the corner of the castle’s gardens. Common folk used this plant to brew potions against warts and calluses, but apart from its questionable medicinal properties, Kyth had always considered it to be quite harmless.

  She gave him a square look. “It’s poisonous to horses.”

  With a sinking heart Kyth turned to his horse, its head high, eyes rolling nervously around.

  “I don’t think he had time to do it,” Kara said. “But you should really watch out when you go through a crowd like that.”

  “But why would someone attack my horse?”

  “Someone’s trying to slow us down. Where’s that man you were talking to?”

  They turned around, but Big Ronan was nowhere to be seen. Kyth saw Alder at the edge of the crowd holding the reins of two horses, and exchanged a glance with his foster brother.

  “I didn’t see him leave,” Alder said. “There was too much going on.”

  “He wanted to buy my horse,” Kyth said in a shaky voice. He realized how stupid he had been. Ronan was an obvious decoy, meant to distract him while the real action was going on behind. Why would anyone in this busy marketplace want to pay him six silvers for a horse?

  “It’s all right,” Kara said. “We’ll question this one.” She nodded to the man on the ground. “Who sent you?”

  The man’s hand darted to his mouth with surprising speed. Kara rushed forward, but it was too late. The man gasped, then shook and went still.

  “Poison!” Someone shouted from the crowd. “The witch poisoned him!” People around them backed off, eyeing Kara with fear.

  Kara clenched her teeth as she turned and took her reins from Alder.

  “Let’s move on,” she said. “We surely learned one thing: we’re making good speed. Let’s keep it up.” She turned and walked on through the rapidly parting crowd. Kyth followed, trying to ignore the rising buzz behind them, like that of a disturbed beehive.

  The ferryman, a large man with an eyepatch, whose chest and stomach, exposed by an open leather vest, resembled a hard iron washboard, looked them up and down in recognition.

  “I remember you,” he said slowly. “You were here a couple of months ago crossing over from the Grasslands, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Kyth said carefully.

  The ferryman shifted from foot to foot, but before he could say anything else, Kara reached over and handed him a coin. The stern look on her face discouraged further questions.

  The man took the coin, bringing it closer to his eyes for a short glance. Then he rolled his tongue and spat on the boardwalk at his feet.

  “The pay’s a silver,” he said.

  “Since when?”

  “Since I saw the trouble you stirred up at the market plaza.”

  Kara leaned closer. “If you really saw it all, you wouldn’t want to make me angry right now. Trust me.”

  He crossed his arms on his immense chest. “If you do one of your tricks on me, who’s going to take you across the river? D’you think one of these boys could pull all of you, including three horses? Or, do you plan to do it yourself?”

  He looked at Kyth and Alder with calm satisfaction. Kyth had to admit the man had a point. The pulley mechanism that drove the ferry across the river required a great deal of force. Even Alder, by far the largest in their group, didn’t seem up to the task.

  Kara clasped the hilt of her dagger, but Kyth put a hand on her arm.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly.

  She looked at him, anger in her eyes slowly subsiding. Kyth took a silver coin out of his purse and handed it to the ferryman.

  “For this price,” he said. “We expect you to make it quick.”

  The man nodded, meeting Kyth’s eyes. A smirk passed over his face as he hid the coin inside his vest. Then he stepped aside and gestured them aboard.

  Kyth could indeed see the extra effort as the man rotated the huge handle that connected to the rusty pulley mechanism, driving the floating platform across the water. Kyth suspected, however, that the effort was necessary not because of anything he said to the man, but because of the extra weight of four people and three horses that the ferryman had to pull across the river by working his impressive muscles.

  As they neared the other shore, Kyth saw a group of riders up on the hill. They stood still, watching the three travelers get off the ferry and walk their horses up the tall bank.

  When they got closer, Kyth started to make out the faces. They all looked familiar. His heart leapt with joy as they came up close enough to recognize them.

  The two on the outside, dark men with slanted eyes and waist-length braids, were Cha’ori warriors. The one on the left was very young, no older than Kyth and Alder. He kept his face straight as he eyed the approaching newcomers, but there was laughter in his gaze. Kyth smiled back. Adhim had been a great friend back during their ride through the Or’hallas a few months ago. It was great to see him in the greeting party.

  Kyth also knew the man on the right, an older warrior whose skin stretched over his high cheekbones like dry parchment, his hair heavily stained with gray. Khamal, the Warrior Elder.

  Kyth turned to the woman in the center, riding a sleek sand-colored mare. Dagmara, the woman who gave him the medallion last time they traveled with her hort. A foreteller of incredible powers, who foresaw the dangers on Kyth’s path, and the importance of his mission. The look in her eyes told him that it was no coincidence that she and her hort came here to meet them. Their mission was going to succeed. Or so he hoped.

  Kyth was overjoyed to see another rider emerge in the wake of the Cha’ori greeting party. A sturdy middle-aged man with brown skin, shiny dark eyes, and a mop of unruly hair, in which dark and blond strands were mixed, as if having trouble deciding on the man’s true lineage. Unlike the Cha’ori, he sat in the saddle awkwardly. His broad-featured face melted into a smile as he saw Kyth and Alder, but the quick glance he threw at Kara was full of suspicion.

  “Garnald!” Kyth and Alder rushed up to the man. The Mirewalker was the closest thing to family, a man from the Forestlands where Kyth and Alder grew up. Seeing him made Kyth feel homesick.

  The Mirewalker dismounted and gave each of them in turn a long embrace. “You boys grew up! You look like men now. Your father, the blacksmith, will be pleased.”

  “How is father?” Alder asked.

  The Mirewalker smiled. “He’s well,” he said. “Worried sick about you two. Where’s Ellah, by the way? Her grandma was askin’ about her.”

  Kyth and Alder exchanged glances.

  “Ellah stayed behind in Tandar,” Kyth said. “She’s fine.” He had many more questions, but Dagmara’s raised hand stopped the conversation.

  “We have very little time,” she said. Her voice was low and soft, but it carried around their group without effort. “We must move.”

  “Did you know we were coming?” Alder asked.

  She only smiled. Then she turned her horse, signaling for them to mount.

  “We can talk on the way,” Garnald said. “If that beast of a horse cooperates. He gave me a hell of a time on the way here, I can tell you.”

  Kyth smiled, watching the older man struggle with his mount. Garnald’s home was in the forest, in thickets so deep that no horse could ever make it through. He seemed out of place in the open Or’halla plains. Yet, it was so good to see him.

  “Why are you here, so far out of the Forestlands?” he asked, matching his horse’s trot to keep up with Garnald.

  The Mirewalker looked at him sideways and took a firmer grip on the reins. “There’s trouble brewing up in our parts. A dark order or something. They’re invadi
ng the Grasslands and were even seen going through the Hedge.”

  “Through the Hedge?” Kyth and Alder looked at the Mirewalker in shock.

  “Down by the Hazel Grove. They’ve some strange power that can make people do what they want. From the look of it, they were just testin’ if it’d work on the villagers, but it wasn’t pretty, I can tell you.”

  Kyth and Alder shook their heads. The Forestlands had always been a haven of safety. True, there were plenty of dangers in there, like Twilight Moths, Rock Monsters, snakewood trees, and Ayalla the Forest Woman with her deadly spider-guardians and the frightening powers that controlled the forest itself; but one could learn to get by and avoid them without problem. To think that somebody could have come to one of the Grove villages and force its inhabitants into something unpleasant was horrifying.

  “Dagmara,” Garnald went on, “was on her way to meet with Ayalla. She summoned us to prepare the meeting when news of your arrival came.”

  “News?”

  The Mirewalker shrugged. “Some of her foretellings. Not sure how she does it. Anyway, she foresaw you coming, and Alder, and Ellah.”

  “Ellah?”

  The Mirewalker made a move to spread his hands, but a side step of his horse made him grasp the reins with new force.

  “Dagmara was anxious to meet you herself,” he went on. “She kept talking about some danger or something, days before you arrived.”

  He gave Kyth one of his penetrating looks that made Kyth feel that the old Mirewalker understood a lot more than he cared to show.

  Ahead, they could now see the familiar shapes of tents rising out of the grass. The horses sped up, sensing familiar ground. Garnald was suddenly a lot more busy trying to stay in the saddle, and Kyth and Alder left the Mirewalker behind. Their horses leveled up with Kara, riding in front with the three Cha’ori.