The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  Both Akkara and Dalitha were listening carefully, their eyes large and liquid. Kethe hesitated. Her own trauma seemed insignificant compared to theirs. Was she making a fool of herself by bringing it up?

  "That's when I started training with the blade. That's when I decided to become a knight." She hesitated again, trying to put her rough emotions into words. "I bring this up not because I think it's equal to what you've gone through, but because I know that if somebody had taken me aside back then and told me they wanted to fix me, I would have laughed. Or screamed. Nobody could have fixed me. I had to fix myself, and it took me years."

  Kethe went on, "So, I'm sorry. For forgetting my own lessons, for being arrogant enough to think that, as a Virtue, I could fix you. For – I don't know. For everything. I wish I could keep you away from this battle with the kragh. I wish I could keep all of you away, but I can't." The injustice of it made her tremble with pain and outrage. "We all have to fight, and none of you are ready, and it's my responsibility, and I can't help you enough. I can't."

  Kethe covered her face. She didn't sob; she just sat, trying to freeze her mind, to immobilize her emotions so that her anger and fear wouldn't tear down her self-control and reduce her to sobs.

  A hand touched her shoulder lightly, and she startled and dropped her hands. Akkara was leaning toward her. "It's all right," she said softly. "It's not your fault."

  Dalitha hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. It's not your fault." She reached out, withdrew her hand, then patted Kethe on the arm. "It's just an awful world."

  Kethe laughed, a choking cry, and grinned, wiping at her tears. "It is, isn't it? A horrible, horrible world."

  Akkara nodded soberly. "It's awful."

  Dalitha smiled tentatively. "Yes. It really is."

  They sat in silence, but something had changed. Kethe didn't know how to explain it, but she felt a new understanding. They simply gazed out over the clouds together, sipping their drinks, and occasionally smiled at each other for no apparent reason.

  Kethe had never had friends before. She'd had ladies-in-waiting, but they'd invariably been horrible or just too different from her, not understanding her desire to fight. Roddick had been too young to be anything like a friend, and she'd seen the other noble girls too infrequently to ever consider them friends. But in another world, perhaps she and Dalitha and Akkara could have been friends.

  The thought saddened her. Friends, in another world where she wasn't a Virtue, where they weren't going to battle the kragh; a world where they hadn't each been hurt almost beyond repair.

  An old man in the garb of a Temple messenger stepped out onto the balcony and bowed deeply. "Esteemed Virtue, I bring a message." He extended a slender tube, bowed again, and retreated.

  Kethe sniffed and sat up. She unfurled the scroll from within the tube, scanned its contents, and her heart sank.

  "Bad news?" asked Dalitha.

  "It's time." Kethe lowered the scroll to her lap and gazed at the two Consecrated with stony eyes. "We leave for Abythos first thing tomorrow morning."

  Kethe stepped down onto the training grounds. It was the only space large enough to hold seven hundred Honor Guards and Consecrated, who were already lined up in implacable columns, facing an empty stage that had nothing behind it but the pre-dawn light. The air trembled with the intensity of their emotions, their knowledge that they would be marching to war, that they were only being called to go because the Empire was in peril.

  Kethe walked down the length of her Honor Guard, designated as such by their green cloaks. Their discipline was absolute, and none of them glanced at her. She finally reached the front, where her Consecrated had formed a line behind Kade, who wore his molded plate armor, a gorgeous cloak of viridian hanging to his calves, Makaria's personal sigil emblazoned in white in its center.

  Kethe looked across to where Synesis and Ainos had taken their place at the front of their own two hundred, Synesis in enameled crimson plate, Ainos in canary yellow.

  Kethe's own armor had been delivered the day before. It was wondrous. A composite of green enameled plate and thick chain mail, it was light and hung on her like a dream. Her blade was a reassuring weight at her side. All of it was an emblem of who she was, proclaiming her a symbol of the Empire.

  Kethe gazed past the stage at the storm clouds that were sweeping toward them. It was a dramatic sight, the clouds looking like nothing so much as anvils, dark and filled with menace. Aletheia would soon float into their midst. It would be quite the sight, to float amidst the lightning, but it was a sight that Kethe would miss. They were to march within the hour.

  Around her, she heard the myriad minute sounds of nearly a thousand people breathing, shifting their weight, adjusting a strap here, coughing into a fist there. They stilled Theletos at last appeared and marched down their center.

  He was wearing his white enameled plate. His cloak was like a bank of fresh snow, peerless and rich. He was wearing no helm, and his sharp, handsome face had the look of an eagle to it, predatory and alert. When he reached the stage, he leaped up as if his armor were weightless. Then he turned and stared out over the crowd, nodding slowly as if the very sight of them confirmed some basic belief.

  "You go forth in the name of the Ascendant," he said. "You march to defend the Empire. There is no more sacred duty. You will stand on the walls of Abythos, but not alone. Beside you in spirit will stand the farmers of Ennoia, the scholars of Nous, the sages of Sige, the Perfecti of Aletheia, the miners of Bythos, and even, unbeknownst to them, our long-lost brothers in Agerastos."

  He scanned the crowd, then went on. "Their thoughts and prayers will be with you. Their confidence in your victory. You are the righteous. You are the pure. You are the brave, and I envy you."

  Theletos smiled a cutting smile, and Kethe realized that of all the Virtues, he alone had no Honor Guard.

  "The armies of Ennoia are even now marching to join you in Abythos. Akinetos, Mixis, and Henosis will join you there. The assembled might of the Empire is mustering to face this new threat, for this is a threat such as we have not seen in centuries."

  He paused, allowing his words to sink in. Kethe caught herself, realized that she'd been drinking in his words like all the others, and snuck a glance around her. People were rapt. Their eyes were shining.

  "It has been centuries since the kragh arose in such numbers, centuries since they united behind one warlord and allowed themselves to be forged into a single weapon. The last time they did so, they took Abythos unaware. They swarmed through it, pillaging and murdering, and crashed through the Solar Gate into Bythos like a tide of doom."

  Again, he surveyed the crowd. "You know the tale. We were defeated. The Empire was at Ogri's mercy. We were broken and reeling when the Ascendant prayed for our salvation, and his prayer touched Ogri's soul and moved him to quit the battlefield. His forces fell apart and were routed. That mortal danger was averted, but not forever, for a new warlord has arisen. His name, we are told, is Tharok. He is of the mountain tribes. He has with him countless thousands of kragh, and his sole goal is our destruction. He will come, and he will not stop until he has battered his way to the very heights of Aletheia and cast down all that we treasure and hold dear."

  Kethe realized that she'd been swept up by his words again, that she'd actually held her breath.

  "You will stop him. Amongst your number, right now, before me, are the heroes of tomorrow's tales. You don't yet know your strength, your capacity for sacrifice. Your dedication to the Ascendant. But the next few days will bring it forth. You will be tested, and you will be found worthy. I, Theletos, the Longed For, salute you."

  Kethe inhaled deeply and couldn't help but smile. She looked down the lines and saw Synesis standing tall; even Ainos had her chin raised, her golden hair swept back. As the Sigean Virtue, she had rank, and so it was that she walked down her column, which turned in place and then began to march out of the training grounds behind her.

  Synesis' Honor Guard went next, and t
hen it was Kethe's turn. She walked down her column, her rage and anger from the day before forgotten in this moment of glory and grandeur. All her life, she had dreamed of being a knight, of saving others, of being the source of strength when danger loomed near. Now, this was it. No matter what came next, this was a moment straight out of the epics.

  Kade and her Consecrated followed, and when her Honor Guard swiveled to march out after her, when she heard the thunder of their boots, when she felt the great column fall in line behind her, she couldn't help but thrill. Not because she believed in the false glory of war, but because she was profoundly aware that regardless of the horrors to come, they were committed. There was no turning back. There was no averting this fate. This battle. This war.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Audsley flew down the flanks of Aletheia, falling without purpose, down past the endless balconies, gardens, towers and bridges. His mind was sunk in despair. He'd failed. There was no returning from this debacle. Try as he might, he couldn't force his mind to tackle the problems before him. Couldn't rouse his faculties to seek a new approach.

  After all he'd done, the heights he'd reached, he'd lost.

  Audsley sighed, staring down at the thin wisps of cloud beneath him. He should return to Iskra and seek to help her out in whatever small way he could. Yes, she would be disappointed. Yes, he would have to tell her how he had been duped when he'd thought himself so wise to the ways of the demons. But what else was there for him to do?

  The thought of slinking back to Agerastos with his tail between his legs was too galling. He spotted an overgrown series of gardens down near what had to be the Sixth or Seventh Level, an abandoned estate. He dropped gratefully down into its obscurity, into the center of a copse of willows whose long, feathery branches streamed in the downdraft that blew from the heights like weeds in the current of a stream.

  He sat on a rock and rested his chin on his palm. He should interrogate his demons, seek to wrest some final truth or concession from them, but he didn't have the spirit, the will. Instead, he sank into miserable introspection. Where had he taken the wrong step? Where had he erred? When he'd refused to sign over his body to the demon at the poetry contest? When he'd agreed to take on the three demons during his fight in the bowels of Starkadr?

  He didn't know. He couldn't tell. Somewhere, his pure intentions had led him astray.

  Movement above him caught his eye, and he looked up to see Small Zephyr floating down through the canopy of the willows. He rose to his feet as she alighted gracefully on the cracked flagstones in front of him and then looked around curiously.

  "Why did you choose this place, stranger?" Her tone was friendly and light, as if they had just bumped into each other in a library. "Poetic associations? Old memories of your demon's? Or simply an isolated retreat?"

  "Ah, that is, ahem." Audsley coughed into his fist. Her casual reference to their demonic possession had thrown him completely off-balance. "An isolated retreat. Though not, it seems, isolated enough."

  Small Zephyr waved her hand airily. "My demon could follow the trail of your two – three? – with relative ease. You made no effort to obscure your passage. I thought that practically an invitation."

  Audsley wiped at his robes in an attempt to busy himself, but his mind was spinning. "Obscure my passage?" How far did his ignorance extend? "No. I thought there might be a chance that you would follow." He smiled wanly. "I was right."

  "Is that so? How strange. A moment ago, you were protesting that you weren't being allowed to enjoy your isolation."

  Small Zephyr returned his smile brightly, and Audsley's heart constricted. Oh, but she is beautiful, like a perfectly honed little knife. Be careful!

  "I contradict myself," said Audsley. "A liberty I am fond of enjoying."

  "So it would seem." Small Zephyr began to walk amongst the willow trees, trailing her hand over their trunks. "Satisfy my curiosity. Why did you insult my uncle so?"

  "Your uncle?" Audsley sat down. The momentary urge to impress her had left him. Why bother, after his self-immolation? "I wanted to shock him into revealing the source of his demonic corruption, perhaps, or at least the, ah, origins of the black potions through which you Fujiwaras maintain your political monopoly."

  Small Zephyr paused, looking at him with frank amusement. "You're serious? In his own home? That's hilarious. Oh, dear stranger, you are a rarity. Such power within you, such naiveté! As if Uncle would blurt out such secrets."

  "I was desperate," Audsley said with a shrug. "And short of time. My tactics were poorly chosen." He watched Small Zephyr, admiring her lithe frame, her long legs, her narrow waist, and the grace that matched that of the willow trees. "Why are you here?"

  "To use you," she said sweetly. "I am a Fujiwara. Seeking advantage is in my blood."

  "Ah," said Audsley. "Well. That is comforting. At least you're honest."

  "Yes, I thought you'd appreciate that. That my bluntness would set you at ease after your taste of Aletheian obliqueness. Is it working?"

  Audsley chuckled morosely. "Oh, yes. I feel so relaxed I'm about to fall asleep."

  "Not yet, stranger. You must still convince me that you will prove a useful tool. What did you seek to do with that information, should my uncle prove foolish enough to reveal it?"

  "The secret of the black potions? The source of his possession? Or yours, for that matter? Why, I was going to root out the evil, somehow. Reveal it to the world so that it could be judged and dealt with."

  "So, you are a crusader? Idealistic? Fighting for the good of the people?" She didn't sound as if she was mocking him. She was simply, he thought, trying to place him in the right box.

  "I, ah, suppose so? Though I am hardly a silver-armored knight."

  "No. You carry three demons within you. Incredible. How have you resisted their possessing you completely thus far?"

  "Effort, I suppose. Stubbornness. Constant vigilance? Perhaps a dose of good luck. I don't know." He sighed. "I'm making this up as I go along."

  "Still, impressive. I have but the one, though I deem mine to be of better pedigree than yours. No matter." Small Zephyr continued her weaving between the trunks, a movement that verged on being a court dance, as if each tree could be a partner. "I have an offer for you."

  "An offer? After my humiliation at your uncle's party?"

  "I don't need a tool here in Aletheia. You wouldn't serve, despite your flair for fashion and amateur grasp of politics. I need you on Haugabrjótr."

  "Haugabrjótr," said Audsley. "What's that?"

  Small Zephyr laughed, a cruel, high sound that made Audsley clench his jaw. "You know even less that I thought! Haugabrjótr is my grandfather's secret stonecloud, the true home of the Fujiwaras."

  "Secret stonecloud... Wait." Audsley stood up and patted at his robes as if he were seeking old pockets, his satchel, the tools of his former trade. "Haugabrjótr. Yes, I think – was it in the Stonecloud Atlas? I could swear I saw it there, but it's more myth than legend, with even less substance than Starkadr. You're saying it's real?"

  Small Zephyr shook her head with pitying amusement. "Of course I am. It's one of our most jealously guarded secrets. Your life would be forfeit if any member of my family were to learn that you'd heard of it."

  "Oh," Audsley said, and sat down abruptly. "Then, why have you divulged it to me?"

  Small Zephyr stopped her peregrinations and faced him full-on, all humor leaving her face. "I need to escape. I cannot remain a tool of my family. I will not be a mindless bearer of a future Ascendant's children. And if I have to cut myself free from my family, if I must spill blood to do so, then I shall." Her eyes were wide, her whole frame suddenly tensed. "You are my knife. I'll use you to escape the evil that corrupts each member of my clan. I'll tell you anything and everything if it means I am able to escape."

  Audsley's breath caught. "You want to escape?"

  "More than anything!" She rushed forward and crouched in front of him, taking his hand in both of
her own. "You can't imagine my life! Stultifying, boring, yet suffused with a terror that comes from knowing I am a pawn without agency, that the entire course of my life has already been mapped out!"

  "Um," Audsley said, blinking rapidly. "That does sound awful."

  Small Zephyr laughed bitterly. "You have no idea. I don't know how you acquired your own demons, but mine was forced upon me when I was but five years old." She held his hand tightly. "Can you understand that? What having such a presence in my mind did to my childhood?" She laughed again. "Childhood? I had none. I've not been innocent since that day."

  Audsley swallowed. "I'm so sorry. That's – that's beyond ghastly."

  Small Zephyr rested her cheek on his knee. "You can't imagine. You simply can't. I need to escape. I must have a chance of living my own life, even if it ends up being something mean and poor and pathetic. At least it will be mine." She looked up at him suddenly. "Will you help me?"

  Audsley was torn between the desire to comfort her by caressing her hair and running his finger over her lips. He blushed. "Of course I will. Of course! Did you think I'd shrink from such an opportunity? But how can I be of help? After my confrontation with your uncle, I must be anathema to your family."

  "True, but only as yourself. If you were to present yourself as fully subjected to demonic possession, that would be completely different. The you who offended my uncle would be gone. The new you would be welcomed with open arms."

  "Oh, oh no, that I can't do." Audsley shook his head violently. "What would be the point of doing so if I would no longer be myself?"

  "What is your name?"

  Her question cut his protests short. "Audsley," he said.

  "Audsley. A noble name." She turned his hand over and kissed his palm. Where her lips touched his skin, he felt it burn. "I will teach you another secret, Audsley, something all Fujiwara children are taught before their demons are implanted in them. I will teach you to carve out a sacred area in your mind where it cannot touch you. Even as it melds with your being, even as you change and become twisted, there will always be a corner of your mind that will remained detached. That will remain pure. And when that part of you, small and submerged though it may be, decides to come forth, your demon will be helpless to prevent you from doing it."