The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  Kanna nodded. "Food, clothing, all the basic things we need are distributed to us here."

  "That's right," said Asho, and memories began to swim to the front of his mind: his mother returning home with tunics, belts, and loose pants once a year for them to replace their old clothing with. "I remember a festival – when meat was given out?"

  "The Ascendant's Benevolence," said Kanna, nodding. "Once a year. "

  "I remember looking forward to that," whispered Asho as they drew up to a side door. "My mother would cook the meat with –"

  Kanna raised her hand, cutting him off. She moved up to the closed door and rapped three times, paused, then rapped twice more.

  Nothing happened.

  "How do you know that code?"

  Kanna shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Everyone knows it."

  "Not very secret, then, this place of Mikho's."

  Kanna looked at him askance. "It would be hard for cohort leaders to ask him for favors if it were."

  A wooden slat slid open, revealing an old man's suspicious glare. "Yes? The center's closed."

  "Two pilgrims with empty bowls here," said Kanna, her voice tight with impatience.

  "Kanna!" The old man's eyes opened wide, then his gaze slid over to Asho. "And who's that?"

  "That's Asho, Zekko's son. Come to have a word with Mikho. Now, open up, Jhago, or I'll kick this door in."

  "Temper, temper," said Jhago, chuckling as he slid the slat closed.

  A moment later, Asho heard a crossbar being lifted, and the door was pulled open.

  "All bark and no bite, this one," said Jhago to Asho, giving him a wink.

  Jhago was a stooped old man, his back curved so badly that it was nearly parallel to the ground between his shoulder blades. His head jutted forward, all pointed chin and nose, and his eyes gleamed with a cruel amusement. He was dressed well, however: fine woolen garments, plain but of rich material.

  Kanna stepped up to enter, but Jhago refused to step aside. "How come it's been so long since you last come visiting us, hey, Kanna? Mikho misses you. Misses that temper of yours."

  Kanna stared past Jhago's stooped shoulder. "Get out of my way, Jhago."

  The old man reached up to finger Kanna's hair. "Is that how you speak to an old friend? Come, let this boy go on and talk to Mikho. Stay here with Jhago and entertain him a little, hey?"

  Asho didn't know what was going on, but he'd seen enough. He stepped in and pushed Jhago firmly aside, pinning him to the door with a hand pressed hard to his chest. "She said step aside. What part of that don't you understand?"

  "Let go of him," hissed Kanna, pulling at Asho's arm.

  Surprised, Asho did so, and Jhago coughed and stepped away from the door, giving Asho a venomous look.

  "Who is this boy, Kanna? You bringing filth to Jhago's door? Perhaps I won't let you through. Perhaps I'll close the door, and you can –"

  "Peace, Jhago," said Kanna, her voice strained. "I know you don't want to force the issue. Let it drop, and we'll be on our way."

  Jhago eyed Asho. "Your time will come, boy. Just wait." He sniffed, however, and stepped aside.

  Kanna strode briskly part him and entered the building, but Asho stopped right before Jhago and stared down at him. The old man bristled, but finally looked away. Asho nodded and followed Kanna, his heart thumping, not knowing what was going on, not knowing if he was making a grave mistake, but determined to follow his conscience.

  The ground floor was large, a third of it given to the public space where Bythians would enter once the grate had been lifted and line up at a broad counter, the other two-thirds dominated by shelving, boxes, and rough hemp sacks. Stairs went up, but Kanna went over to a dim corner and levered up a trap door.

  "We're going down," she said when Asho caught up. "And you're going to need to control yourself from here on out. At the Hold, you might be Iskra's fancy knight, but here you're nobody, and you'll get us killed if you keep shoving people around. Understood?"

  Asho fought down the urge to protest. "Fine. Just stop lying to me."

  Kanna looked as if she was about to flare up, but then the fight went out of her, and she shook her head. "It's none of your business. Now, come on."

  The stairwell was steep and dark. Kanna drew a tallow candle from her belt and lit it from a wall sconce, then led the way down until they finally stepped out into a narrow passage, so narrow that Asho had to walk with his upper body at an angle, his shoulders brushing the sides, his head ducked down low.

  The walls bore the marks of large chisels. The edges of the exposed rocks were sharp. Recent work, done within the past few years, and illicit.

  Ahead of them, the passage sloped down. As they followed its claustrophobic course, Asho grew ever more impressed; it had taken a serious amount of work to carve this out and dispose of the rubble discretely. His estimation of Mikho rose with each step, till finally they reached a heavy wooden door banded in black iron.

  Standing behind Kanna, Asho saw murder holes on either side of the tunnel beside the door, close enough that the defenders wouldn't even have to fire an arrow – they could simply stab through with blades and cut Asho and Kanna down where they stood.

  Kanna rapped the same signal on the door. Moments later, Asho heard movement through the murder holes, the sound of approaching feet, and the silence around them came alive with a subtle sense of people pressing close, just out of sight. Asho could almost hear their breath.

  A second slat opened on this door, and this time the eyes of a young, brutish man appeared. He peered out at Kanna, then gave a grunt and the slat closed tight. A heavy bolt clunked back, and the door swung open.

  "Kanna," said the guard. "Thought you'd become too good for the likes of us."

  "Batou," said Kanna, her voice tight.

  The young man was as broad in the shoulders as Elon the blacksmith, with a deep and powerful chest and heavily muscled arms, but his waist was narrow, and he moved lightly on his feet as he stepped aside, smiling mockingly at them both.

  This man's had combat training, thought Asho. He's dangerous.

  Batou had a plain, nondescript face, with a square chin, a flat nose, small eyes, and pale hair cut short, the kind of face that would easily become lost in the crowd but for his prodigious frame.

  "That's all you have to say to me after all this time?" He leaned against the open door and admired Kanna openly as she walked past him. "You're breaking my heart and dashing my dreams, you are."

  Asho stepped into the doorway. He didn't say anything; he just stood there and gazed levelly at Batou, who eventually deigned to notice him and straightened. Asho didn't move; he just raised his chin a fraction.

  "So, who's this, then?" Batou's humor sluiced away as he examined Asho, looking him up and down. "New friend of yours?"

  "I'm Asho, son of Zekko," he said.

  He didn't back away, even when Batou leaned in so that their faces were only a few inches apart. Batou frowned. Asho could read the man's desire to impose himself physically, to break him. But Asho simply smiled.

  "I don't like you," said Batou at last. "Coming in here like you own the place."

  "Is that so?" Asho didn't feel the need to talk. Instead, he simply stood there, smaller than Batou but unafraid. There was something about killing a demon lord that made regular pummelings less intimidating.

  "It is." Batou looked over at Kanna. "He going to be a problem?"

  That was precisely the moment when Asho would have head-butted him. Sloppy of the man, turning away like that when he was so close. But, then, he probably hadn't spent the past seven years training to be a professional killer. So Asho simply forced himself to relax. To wait.

  "No, he's not. Asho, get over here. Now."

  Batou smirked. "Run, little pup. Your bitch is calling you."

  Asho grabbed Batou by the balls and squeezed hard. Batou's eyes bulged. He gave out a croak and immediately started scrabbling ineffectually at Asho's hands, slapping and clawing at his
fingers.

  "Apologize." One word, reasonably said.

  Batou was on his tiptoes, wheezing, with both hands clamped around Asho's wrist now, squeezing hard, but he was unable to do anything about the killer grip Asho had on his privates. "Sorry," he gasped. "Sorry!"

  "Not to me." Asho nodded to Kanna. "To her."

  "Kanna. Sorry. Oh, by the Black Gate, I'm sorry."

  Asho let go and moved farther into the room, giving Batou room to bend over and cup himself. "Better."

  The guard propped himself up against the door, his face scrunched up in pain, and then with a hiss he forced himself to straighten. "You bastard," he gasped, and grabbed a stone-encrusted club that hung from the wall by a leather thong.

  "Batou, he didn't – damn it, Asho!" Kanna ran her hands distractedly through her hair. "Damn it!"

  "Alright, you whoreson," said Batou, slipping his hand through the loop and gripping the club tight. "I'm going to tear off your balls and feed them to you."

  Asho was impressed. That kind of pain would have had most men on their knees weeping for their mothers.

  He backed slowly away, into the room. It was small, little more than a guard room, with a table and chairs on one side and a cot on the other. There was no obvious weaponry with which he could defend himself. A buglight was glowing on the wall, shedding a rich emerald hue across the room, its abdomen bright and brittle. He could shatter it across Batou's head, perhaps, burning him blind.

  Kanna hurried to the far door and opened it. She called out something to those inside, but Asho kept his focus on Batou. The other man was still moving gingerly, but a grin had appeared on his face that was all teeth and feral excitement. Was the pain actually goading him on? It looked like it.

  Asho lowered himself into a slight crouch and reflexively reached for his magic, but nothing happened. Damn, he thought. He was so used to its power, so used to wrapping himself in its might. He sensed again that faintest of wisps, that hint of magic – a candle compared to the raging bonfire that was the land around the Hold. Still, he'd take it. He drank that trickle into himself and felt just a fraction more power seep into his limbs.

  Batou hopped forward, knees bent, both feet coming down at once. His arms were spread wide, club to the left, his eyes alight with joy. "Come to Batou, little boy. Come on. You've made a bad mistake, but I'm happy you did." Again, he made an aggressive hop forward.

  Asho stepped back again. Sweep a chair up into the man's face, perhaps? There was nothing but a deck of cards on the table. Throw that as a distraction? Retreat into the next room? Dive into the man's legs?

  Batou made an exploratory swing, whistling the club through the air toward Asho's head. At the last moment he jerked it back – a feint. Asho lurched aside as the real attack came, a forward kick launched from the hips that would have sent him flying back into the wall.

  By the Black Gate, this Batou was fast. And that was with a half-crushed set of balls.

  "Enough, Batou."

  The voice was soft, but it carried an undercurrent of authority that cut right through the guard's rage. Batou straightened, blinking, as if he were emerging from a dream. "But he grabbed my rocks."

  A lean, older man was standing slightly in front of Kanna in the doorway. He had to be Asho's father's age, his white hair worn long and yellowing at the ends. His face was cadaverous, his eyes sunk deep but still blazing with a fierce will. He was wearing clothing that would have befitted an Ennoian noble: a fashionable tunic of forest green with gold buttons down the left side of his chest, and brown leggings that disappeared into soft and supple boots of fine suede.

  "Asho. What a delightful coincidence! Such impeccable timing. And why am I not surprised that Zekko's son would be starting trouble the moment he stepped through my door?"

  Asho didn't know how to address the man. He felt an urge to give him a shallow bow, but that was absurd. "Mikho."

  "You don't look much like him, truth be told." Mikho approached Asho, scrutinizing him as one might a horse. "You're built slender, like your mother. But that doesn't mean you're delicate, does it, Batou?"

  The guard had moved back to the door. Asho could feel him glaring at his back. Kanna had also drifted forward and to one side and was hugging herself tightly, watching them both with hooded eyes.

  "Now, what does the son of a dear friend wish to discuss with me? Does Zekko know you're here?" Asho's hesitation caused the older man to smile. "He doesn't. My, my. This must be something good, then. Have you come to try to convince me to abscond to your hidden castle in the clouds?"

  Asho coughed, taken aback. "My – how do you know about that?"

  "Come, Asho. Information is my business. Did you really think you could address so many and not have word get out? Most of Bythos is already aflame with your secret, doubly so since the Ennoians lashed out in response. We've been suffering in their place."

  "'We'?" asked Asho, his voice dry.

  Mikho nodded in acknowledgement. "Most of us, at any rate. Did you think the disappearance of nearly three hundred Bythians would go unnoticed? Or that the Sigeans wouldn't react?"

  "What did they do?"

  Mikho waved a hand lazily. "They're interrogating some people. Your mother and father have gone into hiding, as it's certain that eventually the Sigeans will figure out that they were involved. At some point, they will realize there's nothing they can do other than be more watchful, but until then, their brutal crackdown is actually serving our purposes quite nicely."

  A ball of ice began to take shape in Asho's gut. "Where are my parents?"

  "Safe. I reached out to Zekko, and he had the wisdom to accept my help."

  Kanna stepped around so that the three of them formed a triangle. "What do you mean, serve your purposes? What are you up to, Mikho?"

  Mikho grinned, revealing long, yellowed teeth. "You know me, Kanna. Always working an angle. But this time, everything is coming together quite nicely. Come – I want to introduce you to someone."

  "Wait." Asho felt as if everything was spiraling out of his control. "What about the purpose behind our visit? We haven't even told you yet."

  "I imagine it can wait, whatever it is. Will you trust me on that?"

  Mikho gave Asho an enigmatic smile, then walked into the next room. Asho exchanged a look with Kanna, who shrugged, and together they followed Mikho.

  The room beyond was the first of nearly a dozen, all of them closely connected by short tunnels or high archways. The complex was large, but not stunningly so; as Asho moved through the rooms, he guessed that perhaps a dozen people could reside down here comfortably.

  And comfortable the rooms were. Mikho's taste for luxury was on clear display, and even Asho was taken aback. Sigean tapestries were hung over the stone walls; Noussian furniture, low and comfortable, was placed strategically throughout the complex; and the smell of a Zoeian dish cooking from a side room made Asho's mouth water.

  They reached what seemed to be a final room, and Mikho paused at the door. "Oh, this is delicious. A moment to savor! Well, come on, then. Come on through." And he pushed the door open and gestured for Asho to enter.

  Asho hesitated, expecting a trap, perhaps a jail cell or the like – but saw instead a circular table of rich cherry wood, beyond which loomed a monster that would have fit in with the demon lord's army. It was huge, standing easily seven feet tall and built like an oak tree, covered in muscles that looked to have the density of huge tree roots. Its skin was a green so dark it was nearly black, and its heavy head was bestial, large ivory tusks rising from its lower jaw. It put Batou at the entrance to shame.

  Kragh! Asho's hand went for his missing blade even as his eyes widened. It was huge!

  "Asho?"

  The voice, full of shock, was strangely familiar. It seemed to arise from the depths of his oldest memories.

  Then Asho saw the slender figure at the kragh's side.

  "Shaya?"

  She'd grown, but it was her: a beautiful young woman now, her
face more mature, her eyes wide but betraying a wisdom and resolve that jarred his memory of his sister, the young girl he remembered from his past.

  She edged out around the table, not looking away from him, and then she was running forward into his arms. He held her tight, as if a piece of himself had been returned against all the odds, thrilled and laughing at the sheer wonder of the moment. She squeezed him warmly, then he pulled back to study her face and grinned, marveling at the sight of her.

  "Look at you!" He felt dizzy, overwhelmed, filled with a joy that was pure and true. "But – you're free? Not a slave? What – oh, Shaya, when Mother told me, I –"

  Tears were running down her face. "Asho, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  "For what? What are you talking about?"

  "For leaving you. Abandoning you in Kyferin Castle. I swore that one day I would find you again and apologize." She laughed weakly. "I never thought I'd actually be able to, but you're here! I'm so sorry. I've never forgiven myself."

  "No – how did I let you go? I should have come with you, but – what happened? Father said you were banished?"

  Mikho walked over to a side table and poured himself a glass of wine. "Yes, indeed. Our Shaya uncovered a most terrible secret. She was just telling me about it when you assaulted my doorman."

  Asho wanted to step protectively in front of his sister, but his eyes were drawn to the kragh. It was massive, its eyes gleaming like wet river stones, its hands large enough to crush rocks. Asho doubted he'd even be able to lift the ax that hung over the kragh's shoulder, much less swing it.

  "Asho, this is Nok." Shaya moved closer to the kragh, extending her hand as if he'd have trouble knowing to whom she had referred. "He's been a true friend to me since I was freed."

  "Asho," rumbled Nok, and nodded. His voice was like stones being ground to powder beneath the world's largest mill wheel. "Friend of Shaya."

  Shaya smiled, wiping away the tears, and spoke a spate of harsh syllables.

  "Asho," said Nok, nodding once more. "Brother."

  "This is all very touching," said Mikho. "And, normally, I would sit down to enjoy the show, but we don't have much time. The Ennoians are patrolling the streets for now, but I fear that their crackdown won't last much longer. We must move quickly."