by Phil Tucker
"I see," said Audsley.
She dropped her hands to her lap, her eyes glimmering with tears. "His face... I didn't even get a chance to explain to him, to tell him face to face. The announcement was made immediately, and then it was a string of officials, and I was a coward, a wretched coward. I could have torn myself away, but I was so afraid of facing him, trying to make him understand, hurting him further."
"Ser Tiron, my dear lady, is a grown man." Audsley sat up straight. "I warned him, back in Starkadr, that the day might come when you would be forced to make precisely this sort of decision. He understood and, I thought, decided to not pursue your affection."
"Yes. I recall. He was so cold when he returned. So distant." Her voice had become hollow. "But after he saved my life, he – he threw all caution to the wind, and I – I was a fool. How could I have enjoyed his affection so irresponsibly? Audsley, I'm a callow, selfish woman. I turned to him in my pain, never dreaming that I might wound him a thousand times worse for it."
Audsley sighed. "Where is he now?"
"I don't know. Asho told me he left the palace in the company of Orishin and Patash."
"That's a relief, at least. Patash is a good man. Sober, reliable. He'll ensure that Tiron doesn't get into too much trouble."
"Perhaps."
They lapsed into silence. Audsley wrung his hands, trying to think of a way to comfort her. An educational reference to history? No, no, too academic. Perhaps a jest? Inappropriate. A hug? Not out here in the Great Hall, and he was terrible at giving hugs. He never knew where to place his chin.
Tell her this: So poignant is the pain caused by the separation of your hearts, that one may believe you shall be bound in your final life to come.
Audsley shifted forward and took Iskra's hand. "My lady. If I may venture a line of Aletheian poetry: 'So poignant is the pain caused by the separation of your hearts, that one may believe you shall be bound in your final life to come.'"
Iskra's eyes widened. Tears brimmed and then ran down her cheeks, each a pearl of flame in the light of the fire.
Audsley froze. Had he trusted too completely in the demon's erudition?
Then Iskra smiled tremulously, wiped her tears away, and looked down, her hair cascading forward to obscure her features as she gazed once more at the fire.
Audsley went to speak but was cut short. Silence! She contemplates your words. You have planted a seed, suggesting that she and Ser Tiron are ra erenkai, a couple fated to experience true bliss only in their final life before Ascension. She knows it to be an old-fashioned romantic conceit, but still it gives her comfort. Let her speak when she is ready.
Audsley sat back. Ra erenkai. Yes, he knew the old tales. Souls destined to pursue each other across the cycles, their love always thwarted by an envious third soul or by fate, each encounter destined to end in tragedy until their final reward: a heavenly match of true love in Aletheia.
Iskra sniffed, dabbed at her cheeks once more, and sat up straight, combing her hair back and smiling at Audsley. "Thank you, Magister, for the comforting thought."
See? She feels better, due in part to the conceit itself, but also, due to her Sigean education, to a wry superiority over its contrived nature; this allows her in turn to distance herself from her own pain.
That's awfully manipulative of you, thought Audsley in dismay.
She feels better, and the idea of ra erenkai is a pleasing one. Focus on that, then.
He'd been silent too long. "Of course, my lady. A question: I was worried that you would be unable to use the Portals without me, but it seems you have devised a means to open them?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "Asho has figured out how to open them."
"Asho?" Audsley sat up in surprise. "Fascinating! A new Sin Casting ability?"
"Perhaps. He's been loath to discuss it in detail, and I've chosen to respect his desire for privacy. Fortunately, he was able to share the secret with some of the Vothaks. Your initial deduction that the Portals are powered by demons has led to the unraveling of their secrets." Iskra paused. "I wonder, did you read anywhere the means by which they were created?"
Audsley sighed. "Alas, no. I'm sure the secrets are held within some hoary tome hidden deep within the library of Starkadr. But I would hazard to guess it is simply a way to compel a demon to inhabit a prepared archway. The means, however, elude me."
"Interesting," mused Iskra. "Now, tell me of your own adventures."
"They can wait till morning, if you prefer?"
"No, it's quite all right." Her smile was brave, and cut Audsley all the deeper for it. "I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight. Give me something to distract myself with."
"Very well." Audsley rubbed his hands together. "I have discovered that the Minister of the Moon has been corrupted by a demon."
Iskra's eyes widened. "Are you sure? How do you know?"
"Oh, yes, quite sure, quite sure indeed. As to the how? Um..." Audsley paused, suddenly caught flat-footed.
"My dear Audsley." Iskra reached out and placed her hand on his own. "I've pieced together much which has remained unsaid. Asho told me about your newfound powers. I can't begin to guess at the details, but – well. I want you to know that I still trust you. And I understand that your resolve to root out corruption in Aletheia may stem from very personal motivations."
"Ah. Yes. Well." Audsley looked down, unsure how to continue. Iskra gave his hand a squeeze, which gave him enough confidence to look up and smile weakly. When she smiled in return, he took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. "Either way, this new fact reminded me of Asho's tale about the Ascendant's Grace escaping death. It all leads me to conclude that there is some terrible corruption at the heart of the Empire. A corruption that I would ask your permission to root out."
Iskra's gaze became distant. "The current Minister of the Moon. He is of the Fujiwara clan, is he not?"
Your lady is sharp, said the demon.
"Yes. As is the Minister of Perfection. We must trace this corruption to its source, my lady, and cleanse Ascendancy of its evil."
"Cleanse Ascendancy..." whispered Iskra. "There is so much to tell you still. We mean to strike at Aletheia as soon as we have rescued Roddick from Kyferin Castle. The emperor has agreed. His army is to be pulled from Otran and sent through Starkadr at night, into the heart of Aletheia."
"Into the heart –" Audsley stood up abruptly, then sat down. He ran his hands through his hair and then covered his mouth. "You – that would – ah. Of course. Military efficiency. Decapitate the Empire."
"Yes," said Iskra.
"But do you truly no longer believe in Ascension?" Audsley stared closely at Iskra, taking her hand again. "Have you lost all faith?"
"I – I don't know." She looked down at his hand. "I find myself thinking in the old manner all the time. Understanding the world in terms of Ascension. But is that habit or truth?"
"But, my lady. What you and the emperor plan to do will affect hundreds of thousands of people. Every inhabitant of the seven cities. Everyone. Do you – do you mean to kill the Ascendant himself?"
Iskra grimaced. "That is what the emperor intends, yes."
"And you? If the decision was yours alone?"
"I – I don't know. The Empire has done nothing to help me in my struggles. If anything, it has countenanced Laur's betrayals." Iskra spoke slowly, frowning. "I still believe in Ascension, at its core, as it was promulgated by the first Ascendant. But its current incarnation, with its trappings, ministers, rituals, with the layers that have allowed this corruption to sink in – that, I don't agree with." She looked at him with sudden intensity. "It is the venality of men like the Ascendant's Grace who have brought us to this pass."
Audsley sat forward. "What if I were to uncover the source of this corruption before the Agerastian army attacks Aletheia? Do you think you could convince the Emperor to make a surgical attack, excising the rotten flesh and leaving behind the good?"
Iskra hesitated. "I don't know. I
honestly don't know if the emperor would listen to such a plan, or if I even believe it possible. But. If you found a way, I would not hesitate to present it to him."
"I shall, my lady!" Audsley nodded enthusiastically. "I shall do exactly that. Armed with my information, I know you will be able to persuade the emperor to see reason." He pushed his spectacles back up his nose. "My dear Iskra, this is the only sane and righteous approach – for what does the emperor propose to replace the faith with?"
"Nothing." Iskra's voice grew hard. "He sees no further than the destruction of all that he hates. I think – I truly believe – that he would pass away quite happily as soon as he saw the streets of Aletheia running red with blood, leaving the consequences to the rest of the world."
Audsley felt his fear solidify into determination. "That is all the more reason to purify rather than destroy. Yes, yes, I shall be your most faithful hound, nose to the trail, tracking down the villain who has brought this evil to pass. You can count on me, my lady! Your magister shall reveal all! Then, when you lead your forces into Aletheia, we can remove from power those who are truly corrupt and liberate the inherent forces of good within Ascension once more."
His heart soared. To think that he was in the center of this incredible moment in history! That he, a humble Noussian magister – though Noussians were quite high-born, all things considered – should be tasked with the most holy of missions!
"You don't have much time, Magister." Iskra's face was grave. "We plan to capture Kyferin Castle immediately, and then rescue the Agerastian army within the week. They will need time to rest and be re-equipped, but the attack on Aletheia will happen on its heels."
Audsley nodded and stood up. "I shall go at once!" He sat back down. "But if I am to be effective at my task, then I must ask for funds." He smiled apologetically, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. "I must dress the part, buy the right paper for sending letters, and so on and so forth."
"Of course." Iskra's grave expression melted into a warm smile. "What I would do to see you dressed in such finery, Audsley. You shall cut a dashing figure."
"Well, perhaps not dashing, but I do hope to attain at least a slight degree of – ah – shall we say élan?"
"I'm sure you will. I would be happy to provide you with ample funds. Will my sister be aiding you?"
"Assuredly. Iarenna is a key element in my plan."
"Do you know that I've never met her? She was born shortly after I left Sige."
Audsley smiled sadly. "Perhaps you shall yet have the chance. She truly is lovely. You would be very proud of her."
"I'm sure I would. And my father? Did you meet him?"
"No. Perhaps fortuitously, he was otherwise engaged at his estates in Sige."
Iskra nodded. "If you do see him, could you tell him – no. No, never mind." Iskra shivered suddenly, as if she had been seized by a brisk chill. "Will you at least spend the night?"
"My lady, not all the poetry in Aletheia could pry me from your side tonight. For as long as you need company by this fire – ah – pit, then I shall remain. Incidentally, did you know that there are some hundred or so Bythians camped outside in the courtyard?"
Iskra laughed lightly. "My dear Audsley, where have you been these past few days? I have missed you."
"No, I'm serious." He leaned forward. "There are hundreds of them out there!"
"Yes, yes, I'm quite aware. Why don't you fetch us some wine, and I'll tell you about Asho's adventures? He's proving to be a most resourceful knight. I'm starting to depend on him, just as I once..." She trailed off and frowned.
"Ser Wyland will get his comeuppance, my lady, never you fear. Now, wine. And then you must tell me all that I've missed, and I shall tell you about Iarenna's horrid ladies-in-waiting. If they were as deadly with the sword as they are as scathing with their glances, your sister would be able to conquer the world. One moment, please."
Audsley rose and stepped away, moving toward a sideboard on which several bottles and goblets stood. He felt wide awake, completely and almost terribly alive, filled with a righteous purpose and proud of his friends. What more could a man ask for? This was living. This was living such that he would never have imagined was possible before his exile.
Oh, Aedelbert! If only you were here to see me now!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Asho crouched behind the outcrop beside Kanna and gazed out over the Badlands. Ten cohorts were returning to their homes, some three thousand Bythians all told strung out across the trails, their pale forms obscured by the dust, their weariness evident in the slowness of their march. Overhead the agony vultures wheeled, their great wingspans visible as dark cutouts against the ever-shifting aurora.
"Does Mikho work in the mines?" He glanced sidelong at his companion. She'd become even more taciturn since their foray into the Hold.
"Mikho? In the mines?" The derisive curl of her lips was all the answer he needed. She was resting easily on the balls of her feet, one hand on the ground in front of her, long fingers tented, the other hand resting her on thigh. There was no softness to her, nothing but whipcord toughness born from a life of brutal labor.
"How does he get away with it, then? Doesn't his name show on the tallies?"
"Of course. But Mikho makes it worth more for them to overlook his absence than to report it. He's the heart and soul of the Fourth Shift."
Asho bit his lower lip and frowned out over the plain in time to see a distant figure trip and fall. She almost pitched face-down onto the brown dust, but was helped by several of her friends, hauled back up to her feet, her arm pulled over a shoulder.
The agony vultures that had dipped down cried out their frustration and beat their wings, gaining altitude once more.
"Fourth Shift?" He felt foolish for even having to ask, but clearly no more was forthcoming unless he pushed for it. "There's only three."
"Officially, sure. But there's a fourth, a secret shift composed of thieves and would-be rebels and people amoral enough to survive between the cracks." Kanna's voice was soft. "People like Mikho. People who move from one part of the cubes to another as each shift goes out to work. You'll come home sometimes after a day in the mines to find that people have stayed in your cube. Fourth Shifters. They've eaten your food, maybe left you something else in exchange, maybe not. They're like ghosts. But when you need a special favor, when you need to deal with a problem, they're the ones with the connections. They're the ones who can get things done."
Asho pondered that. "Have you ever met Mikho? Dealt with him?"
"Me?" Kanna raised a single dark brow. "Why would I?"
"I don't know. There must be people who have. You could have been one of them."
"No. I'll never deal with Mikho." Her voice grew cold. "Fourth Shifters are interested in one thing alone: themselves. It's why their 'rebellion' has never gained a serious following. People don't trust him. Don't trust his promises."
"But he's the one we're going to meet," said Asho. "If he's so nefarious, why are we seeking him out?"
Kanna sighed. "Mikho might be a snake, but he knows all the right people. He's made it his business to be connected to every cohort leader, to know the schedules, to become friends with the right overseers. If anybody can help us hit the Gate Stone cache, it's him."
Asho nodded. "So, we'll use him quickly and move on. Pay him and forget him."
"It won't be that easy," said Kanna. "Nothing with Mikho ever is."
The tail end of the column was finally clearing the plain, disappearing amongst the cubes. "Come on," said Asho. "Now, while there's still some dust in the air."
They hopped over the ridge of rock and ran hunched over across the desolate plain. Asho clapped his hand to his waist to steady his blade, only to realize with a start that he wasn't wearing it. It was stored back in the same crack. Old instincts died hard.
It took nimble steps to dance over the shattered black rocks as they ran. Kanna took the lead, her lithe form fleet, easily pulling ahead of him. A f
ew minutes later, they joined the very back of the last cohort, pulled their hoods down low, and were ignored again by those tottering on their last legs. Wrapping a cloth over his mouth and nose, Asho slitted his eyes and stared at the ground as they marched slowly toward the town. At the very last, he and Kanna veered to the right and entered between the cubes at a different angle.
Running now between bone-white cubes, following Kanna as she slipped through the shadows, Asho felt excitement arise within him like the wings of an eagle opening for flight. He was forging the destiny of his people. He was setting in motion the events that would lead to their liberation. No longer would they stagger across the plains under the hungry eyes of vultures. No longer would they sacrifice their children to the desires of the Empire. This was the beginning of their independence, and he was the catalyst.
He hurried to catch up with Kanna. "Why are we in this part of the city? There's nobody here."
"Exactly. The Second Shift just headed out," said Kanna, slowing down as she reached a corner and then pressing her back to it. "Which means there's nobody's around to watch us, or at least, nobody who might be tempted to ask questions." She peered around the corner. "But there's a certain distribution house here we're going to be paying a visit to. Come on."
She slipped around the corner and he followed, walking now, watching the dark windows as they stepped out into a large and empty square. There were no stalls, no well, no benches or anything else that might have marked this as a communal space, only a single fortified building in the very center. It rose above the other cubes, rectangular and imposing, one lower wall composed of a metal grate that looked like it could be raised to give general access to the ground floor. There were windows on the second floor, barred and dark.
"Distribution center?" Asho kept his voice to a whisper as they approached. He felt terribly exposed out in the open.
"There's one in every square. Don't you remember?" She eyed him. "I thought you lived here till you were twelve."
"Well, yes, but that was a long time ago." He felt his face flush. Did he remember? "My mother might have come here to collect food."