The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  He sent word that he needed an immediate audience with High Lord Yadavendra but did not give details. Let him be the one to worry for a change.

  The Gardener-smiths ceremonially removed his armour, one piece at a time, placing it on a temporary stand in another room, sealed and separate, to stop it bonding with any of the crystals growing in Rochant’s Chrysalis Chamber.

  The aches in his back and neck returned, as sudden as they were vengeful, and he was grateful for the bath and the massage that followed.

  Afterwards, they dried him, painted him, and wrapped him in silk. Considering how little of his own things were here, Honoured Mother Chandni had done an impressive job of finding cuts of cloth that he favoured. How did she know? he wondered as he inspected himself, and wished his own staff were as savvy.

  Naturally, the High Lord had taken residence in Lord Rochant’s throne room. When he, Mia, Chandni, and the baby arrived, the doors remained shut, a stern-faced guard informing them that they would be permitted entrance shortly.

  He’s making us wait. The petty bastard is trying to score a point, but it doesn’t matter, I’ve already won this day, and if he doesn’t know it yet, he soon will.

  It was incredible the difference an hour had made to her baby. Cleaned, wrapped in bright colours, and sleeping peacefully in her arms, it was virtually unrecognizable from the lumpy eyesore he remembered. He had no idea if they had treated its rash with oils or simply painted over it, and he didn’t care, the effect was all that mattered.

  When the doors finally opened, he flashed a grin at Mia, who met it with one of her own, reminding him that there was equally pleasurable business to attend to afterwards.

  It was tempting to carry the baby in himself, but the potential for it crying and spoiling his moment soured the idea. I must always think of Mother. No unnecessary risks.

  He turned to Mia and Chandni. ‘Wait here until I call you.’

  The layout of the room was such that visitors had a long walk to the throne, giving Rochant, or whoever sat in it, plenty of time to scrutinize supplicants. Yadavendra was there, his armoured form shocking in the space. Does he ever take it off? Vasin had always been told that there were dangers to staying in an exalted state for too long, not to mention practical difficulties.

  It seemed the rest of his family were there too, making a loose half circle between him and Yadavendra. Yadva, Umed, even Gada, all of them dressed in their finery. He felt like he’d interrupted a secret meeting of the house. One that nobody had seen fit to tell him about.

  A flicker of worry crossed his heart but he marshalled himself. Whatever they may or may not be planning, nothing would deny his triumph. In fact, he told himself, it is good that they are all here to witness me.

  ‘My High Lord,’ he said, bowing, ‘my family, I bring news—’

  ‘Wait,’ replied Yadavendra, cutting him off. ‘We were just hearing of Lady Yadva’s exploits. Go on, daughter, I’m sure Lord Vasin will want to hear this.’

  Yadva inclined her head, and Vasin was struck again by her size. She was the only one in the room not dwarfed by the High Lord, and she was out of armour, a close fitting layer of silks hugging her musculature, with an open robe, sleeveless, flowing over the top. ‘After a thorough investigation I can reveal that the Deathless of House Tanzanite remain our true and eternal allies. The rumours that Lady Pari was here are just that, rumours. I saw her at her home with my own eyes. She’s stuck in a crusty old corpse that can barely muster a walk, let alone break into this castle and kill our best.

  ‘But,’ she said, the word punctuated by a loud smack as she slammed her fist into her palm. ‘I do not come back empty handed.’ She paused to look at each of them in turn, her eyes reaching Vasin’s as she added: ‘In fact, I know exactly who orchestrated the treacherous attack on Lord Rochant and the reasons behind it.’

  She left a dramatic pause, the kind of theatrical trick used by the most crass of the Story-singers, and yet she had the room. Vasin’s throat was suddenly dry. If she revealed him as the traitor here and now, the fact that he had returned Rochant’s blood relative would count for nothing.

  They will destroy me in this very room.

  Even if he ran, he wasn’t sure he could outpace Yadva, and even if he could, Yadavendra would be on him in two sky strides, his gemstone blade in Vasin’s guts on the third.

  ‘I had plenty of time to think on my travels,’ Yadva continued. ‘And it struck me that I had gone all that way on the word of one man: Captain Dil. I questioned him, and when it became clear that he was trying to hide things from me,’ her fist raised into the air, like the head of a hammer, ‘I questioned harder.’

  If she broke Dil then he would have told her about me. They will know about Mother! He glanced about, trying to keep his movements small. I must find a way out of here. I must escape. I must warn her they are coming.

  He did not dare edge backwards, not with the way Yadva was watching him. When he made his move, and it would have to be soon, he would need to be decisive. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a balcony. If he could reach it, he could throw himself off the end. He might live out the day but it would mean true death. They would condemn him and the High Lord would forbid his rebirth, giving his Godpiece to another. Or worse, the High Lord might order his rebirth purely so that they could punish him.

  Death! Every path before me ends in death and pain!

  As he fretted, Yadva went on with her address. ‘It turns out that Dil’s ancestry is murky indeed. When his great grandfather was but a child, his family served the fallen one, Samarku. But unlike the others, he escaped banishment into the Wild and was adopted by well-meaning fools. Instead of accepting his good fortune, the vile man nursed his bitterness, passing it to his children, who passed it to theirs, who dutifully infected Dil with it.

  ‘But no more. I have cleansed this sickness, and his lies will fester no more in the next generation, for he has no children.’ She raised her fist again. ‘Any more.’

  Vasin fought to keep the panic from his face. What Yadva had said was only half true. Perhaps Dil’s great grandfather had been attached to Samarku but the man had lived most of his life in happy ignorance. It was his mother, Nidra, who had made contact with Dil in secret and poisoned his mind with stories of his family’s betrayal. Vasin wondered if he dared to believe his luck. If Dil had held out and protected Vasin’s honour, then he and his mother were safe. The investigation would end.

  ‘Forgive me, Lady Yadva,’ said Umed. ‘But are we to believe that all of this subterfuge and death was the work of one ordinary man?’ His uncle looked tired and like he’d much rather be sitting down. The tattoo on his neck gleamed with sweat, and his voice quavered. Vasin thought it was cruel for Yadavendra to force him to stand in his condition.

  ‘Actually, Uncle,’ interrupted Gada, ‘in a way, it was not the work of one man. It was the work of several, over generations. I think there is something almost Deathless about it all.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Yadva, and he knew her well enough to know that it irked her not to be dominating the conversation. ‘But in the end, he was no match for the real thing.’

  ‘So a man is dead,’ said Yadavendra, pacing before the throne in long ponderous strides. ‘It means nothing. Where is our immortal friend? Where is Lord Rochant?’

  Vasin waited as Yadavendra’s glare cowed the room, each head bowing as the tip of his staff stabbed towards them, accusing.

  But Vasin did not bow. His gaze met the sparkling tip of Yadavendra’s staff, unflinching, before rising to lock eyes with the man himself. ‘My apologies for being late to this gathering, my High Lord. I have just returned from a hunt.’ He only dared risk a short pause, lest he be interrupted. ‘A most successful hunt.’

  ‘I will be the judge of its success, not you,’ came the cutting reply, and yet the tip of Yadavendra’s staff wavered.

  I see it. Surely they all see it.

  ‘I regret to inform the house that Lord Rocha
nt’s current lifecycle is over. I found the remains of his body in the woods.’

  Yadavendra moaned and staggered back as if struck.

  ‘However,’ he added quickly, ‘there is still hope.’

  ‘There is?’ asked Yadavendra, his voice smaller than usual, lost.

  Vasin smiled, and then bowed as he signalled Mia. ‘May I present Honoured Mother Chandni and her child; Satyendra, of the blood Sapphire, son of Mohit, son of Lord Rochant.’

  There was such sweetness in that moment that he wished he could encase them all in ice, so that he could savour it forever. Umed was nodding proudly, Yadva had punched the air, even Gada’s smile was halfway to warm. And Yadavendra’s reaction was the most striking of all: tears ran from bloodshot eyes as he leapt to where Chandni stood. ‘You are sure this is he?’

  Chandni and Vasin assured him that it was.

  Yadavendra swept the child from her, one handed, holding it above his head like a trophy. ‘He is returned to us! Lord Vasin, you have excelled yourself this day. It will not be forgotten.’

  The baby began to squirm in the High Lord’s crystal grip, and he saw Chandni start to reach out before checking the impulse.

  ‘And so, the wretched traitor and his assassins have been broken by my daughter, and this seed, that will grow to house Lord Rochant, our truest friend, has been returned to us by my nephew.’

  The baby began to cry, quite urgently, Vasin thought, as if it were in pain. Yadavendra’s eyes twitched in irritation. ‘Truly this is a great day for the Sapphire.’ He gave back the baby with more care than Vasin expected, leaning down to whisper in Chandni’s ear, before straightening to add: ‘You will all stay here tonight. We must feast.’

  Vasin moved carefully down the corridor to his assigned room. The feast had been good, every sip of every drink, every bit of smoke inhaled, every mouthful of every dish, sublime. Truly, victory over my family is the best sauce.

  When he reached the doorway, he paused, even his dulled senses sharp enough to detect that someone else was inside. A lusty smile tugged at his lips. He’d hoped that would be the case.

  ‘Well met, my huntress,’ he began, then stopped. For it was not Mia sitting on his bed, but a form twice as big and many times more threatening: Yadva.

  ‘I am hardly yours to claim, little cousin,’ she replied.

  She seemed far too alert, and yet he remembered her drinking as heartily as ever. ‘Cousin? To what do I owe the honour?’

  ‘We need to talk.’

  He suppressed the urge to yawn, it really had been an excellent feast. ‘Now?’

  She nodded, a predatory look in her eye. ‘Now.’

  ‘Is this about the story of how I fought the Corpseman? I’ll tell you if you want, but you’ll get a much better version if you wait till morning.’

  ‘This isn’t about the past. This is about the future.’

  ‘Mine? Yours?’

  ‘Yes, and House Sapphire’s.’

  He rubbed at his face, remembering too late that it was painted and he’d probably made an ugly streaking mess of it. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I enjoyed torturing Dil, did I mention that? He didn’t resist much at all. There are Ratkin with more loyalty and Wormkin with more spine. My father was right to call him a wretch.’ Her lip curled in distaste. ‘I’d barely touched him and he was spilling his secrets, or rather, yours.’

  Strangely, the tension that had been digging into his shoulders eased, and instead of saying something clever, or launching into a denial, he began sizing up the distance between them, and how lucky he’d need to be to survive close combat with her.

  Yadva shook her head, and gave a throaty chuckle. ‘You had us all fooled, you tricky bastard. Leading us to believe you were strung out on drugs and grief, when all the while you were planning a coup.’

  She thinks I was behind this? Does she know about Mother or did Dil sacrifice me to protect her?

  ‘But you know what, cousin?’ Yadva continued. ‘I was pleased when I found out. I thought you’d lost your spark but you were hiding it all these years, lulling us before the strike.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell them at the meeting?’

  ‘Because I like you. And because I agree with you.’

  He couldn’t help but look surprised at that. ‘You agree with me?’

  ‘Yes. My father is not the man he was, and without Rochant to prop him up, he’ll fall much more easily. Delaying Rochant’s resurrection another generation was a masterstroke. By the time that baby grows up, there will be little left of my father, but then, I’m sure that was your intention all along.’

  Vasin managed not to laugh at that. If you only knew what a blundering mess I have made of everything. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know all of my plans while I know none of yours.’

  ‘Mine are much simpler. When the time is right, when my father makes another grand mistake, or when his sanity gets so bad that even cowards like Umed and Gada feel the need for action, you are going to denounce the High Lord.’

  He tried to take this in. ‘If I do that, Yadavendra will destroy me.’

  ‘Oh if you did it now, he would, and we would stand back and watch while it happened. But I can see the path he is on, just as you can. A few years from now, maybe a decade, maybe more, but soon, he won’t be able to stand against you. We’ll need to get the others on side for things to go smoothly. It wouldn’t do for House Sapphire to embarrass itself again. You work on your brother, and I’ll manage Uncle Umed.’

  ‘What about Rochant?’

  ‘He’s a realist. If he sees the house turning against my father, he’ll follow. And if he doesn’t, well,’ she clenched her fists, making the knuckles crack, ‘he’ll be in his last body, weakened after his extended absence.’

  ‘And if I succeed, then what?’

  ‘Then, cousin, you are going to back me,’ her palm slapped hard against her chest for emphasis, ‘to succeed him as the new High Lord.’

  He gave up all pretence of composure and gaped at her.

  ‘Notice that I did not make it a question. You owe me.’ She stabbed at him with a finger. ‘I could have destroyed you today, yet I chose not to. But if I changed my mind …’ She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Being Yadva, she did anyway. ‘… They’ll send you to your last death, be certain of it.’

  Vasin sighed. At a stroke, Yadva had ruined his plans. If he did what she asked, then his mother’s fate would be in her hands, not his own. But what was the alternative? He sighed again.

  ‘I’ll do what you ask.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied, standing and clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re mine now.’

  He watched her gloating swagger as she left, and wondered how he was possibly going to salvage the wreck his life had become. One thing Vasin was sure of however: he hated his family just as much as ever.

  An urge to find some Tack rose so strongly that he’d taken several steps to meeting it, taking out the locked box containing the last of his stash and opening it, before he realized what he was doing and stopped himself.

  There is no time for distractions any more, he reflected, every year that passes is one closer to Mother’s final breath. I must be what she thinks I can be: her saviour. Yadva will help me remove Yadavendra, and I have until then to find a way to remove or control her.

  He picked up a little of the Tack, rolling it between his fingers.

  But would it matter if I had this one night to relax? My plans will take years to put in motion and decades to complete. Surely one night won’t make a difference?

  He thought of his mother out in that shack with Lord Rochant and sighed. One night could make all the difference.

  With a shudder, Vasin closed the box.

  Acknowledgements

  Although this is a new series, most of the people involved have remained the same, which is exactly how I like it. There’s an odd thing about our culture where we tend to make a fuss when people
do something well for us the first time, but don’t make anywhere near as much fuss when people consistently do things well for us, year after year. So without further ado, let’s make some fuss!

  Four books, a novella, and a short story later, and I’m still having my work made better by my editor, the fabulous Natasha Bardon. Sometimes it’s the ending, sometimes it’s the beginning, but it’s always relevant. I already have suspicions about what she’ll want me to change on book 2. We shall see …

  As ever, big thanks to cover wizard Jaime Jones. His work has not only made my books look lovely, but my house too. And of course, Dom Forbes, for making all the design elements hang together so nicely. Then there’s Joy Chamberlain, my copy editor, who endures my terrible crimes against language so you don’t have to. Also, a special mention to Jack Renninson (a new person!) for providing an extra level of edits. I hope he appreciates the changes I made after his suggestions, and forgives the ones I didn’t.

  Thanks to Jen Williams for another year of advice giving and rant enduring. I am so glad I listened to her about that extra read-through!

  What to say about my agent, Juliet Mushens, that I’ve not already said? I guess that’s the point here. She’s still just as amazing as ever. Always knows how to reassure me, always there when I need her, takes no shit, gets things done. She’s the best. I look forward to repeating these things for years to come. Thanks, Juliet!

  This book was difficult for me for a number of reasons. It’s the first in a new series and a significant shift in tone from what I’ve written before. I wanted to challenge myself and do something different, yet better, whilst retaining everything I liked about my previous work (I have since learned that such a thing is impossible). As such, I’ve been a bit squiffy at various points along the way, and, if I’m honest, a touch on the needy side. So a warm and hearty thanks to my wife of awesome (+5), Emma, for being there throughout this book’s genesis, and for being patient. I couldn’t do it without her.