Michelle West - Sun Sword 01 - The Broken Crown

by sun sword

  Still, he waited. The Tyr'agar and the clan Leonne had retired into the inner sanctum to recover from the previous day's ceremony—a gaudy, drunken affair with, in Alesso's opinion, just enough excess to please the boys who had yet to take their ranks, but not so much that those selfsame boys would have to be censured for the damage they caused. A delicate balance, and one of the few that Markaso di'Leonne was good at striking.

  One of the very few.

  A seraf came to offer him water or wine. He accepted, politely, setting the goblet to one side while the heat of the day caused beads of water to gather on the face of the polished silver. Something bothered him, and when the seraf returned carrying fruits and moist breads, he realized what it was: for a seraf, the man's movements were ungainly, even awkward. The deference was there, but it was there in all the wrong ways.

  "You," he said, the amiability of a long wait gathering around his words before he spoke, "who is your master?"

  The man frowned, a quick expression that fell away from his face so smoothly it was clear that he was used to dealing with ill-tempered men. "My master," the man said, "is Cortano."

  "And you are a seraf?"

  "No." Bending, the man placed the tray he carried beneath the sun shelter's proffered shade. "No more than you."

  "Are you Widan?"

  "Widan-Designate," he replied, speaking cleanly and clearly and without resentment. "And in four years, should my master so choose, I will have learned enough to be offered a place upon the path that leads to the test of the Sword."

  "I see. He must trust you."

  "Must he?" The man bowed. "I defer to your superior understanding of politics, General Alesso. For myself, I assume that he understands that my fate is tied to his success, and that I, as Widan-Designate, will respond accordingly.

  "If you have any further needs, I will tend them as I am able. The Widan Cortano extends his apologies; he bid me tell you, if you inquired, that he is waiting for an important associate, without whom your meeting is destined to be fruitless."

  "I see." He took a breath. "He is aware that I have been waiting for almost half this day?"

  "Indeed. As has he."

  "Very well. Tell your master that I will continue to wait."

  The man bowed, as if the reply had never been at question. But the sun's shadows were long indeed before that wait was rewarded, and as the inches grew, so also did Alesso's determination that the results of the meeting be worthy of the increasingly humiliating wait. The Lord did not favor those who waited, like serafs, upon the will of another.

  But the Lord did not countenance men of no ambition, or men whose gross desires overmastered their ability to plan well. Caught, as he often was, in a dance along the edge of the Lord's unspoken commandment to warriors who followed his ways, Alesso drank the sweet water left in the goblet beside him.

  To his great surprise, he found that he was drinking from the waters of the Tor itself. He laughed; Cortano's serafs—or perhaps his students—were bold indeed, or foolish; not even Cortano was, by Leonne law, allowed this liberty.

  Refreshed, amused, he kept his vigil.

  And it was rewarded.

  Cortano di'Alexes appeared, from the depths of the darkness beneath the haven, as the last of the light fled the garden and the evening sky's pink gave way to a blue that would deepen into blackness punctuated by stars. At his side, robed like one of the less affluent Widan, a tall figure walked.

  One sweeping glance around the garden told him that the Widan-Designate had vanished; there was no moving life that was not smaller than his hand. His hand touched his sword and wavered there a moment before firmly gripping the hilt; he did not know why, but he felt the presence of a physical danger, a sudden threat.

  Cortano di'Alexes nodded at his minimal gesture. "I believe," he said to his companion, "that I have won this wager."

  His companion nodded. Reaching up, he pulled back the cowl of his robe to reveal a face that was as pale as that of a Serra born to harem and never ungentled by the touch of the Lord. But a Serra's face could never be so unpleasingly edged, so harsh in feature, so shadowed in look. And a Serra's hair could never be so utterly, completely black.

  "General," this stranger said, as Alesso's grip upon his sword tightened further, whitening his knuckles until he could see the bone beneath the skin.

  "Alesso," the Sword's Edge said, still well-pleased, "May I introduce Lord Isladar?"

  "Lord?"

  "Indeed."

  Not a title that any man would dare to take in the Dominion. "You may. You may also explain what the subject of the wager that I have won for you was."

  "Ah. That? A trifling thing, no more. Lord Isladar and I have, on many occasions, debated the proper use of magic and glamour. I believed that, for this meeting, he should use a binding spell that was more than merely physical; he believed that appearance would carry the day, as it has so often in his travels." Cortano's sideways glance was almost smug—if an expression so undignified could cross that Widan's face.

  "Indeed," Lord Isladar said softly. "Cortano felt that you were of a finer mettle than most of the mortals I deal with. He was, in his suspicions, correct. You are not a trusting man, General."

  "No." The General almost drew his sword; he wanted the comfort of its edge between him and this associate of Cortano's. "Cortano," he said, his voice deceptively soft, "when this Lord uses the word 'mortal' in that fashion, what does he mean?"

  "I mean," the subject of the question replied, "what you fear I do, General. There is a reason that we do not willingly walk in daylight." With a gesture that was sharp and final and curiously like the downward slash of long blade, Lord Isladar let fall the deception of which Cortano spoke.

  Bathed in early moonlight, he grew an inch or two; his shoulders were less broad, his hands longer and finer. But it was his eyes that were striking, his eyes that were dangerous; they were a black without end. He smiled faintly, as Alesso di'Marente did draw his sword, and the smile was edged with the glimmering of sharp teeth. Unnatural teeth.

  Alesso was a man of action. A man. The years when he had been locked within his father's protective harem and coddled with children's tales had long since passed; but having been lived they left traces that time alone could not erase. He was not a religious man by the lights of the Radann, but he was a man who was entirely immersed in the culture of the Lord. He knew what he faced.

  This creature was a servant of the Lord of Night.

  "Cortano," Alesso asked softly, "what have you done?"

  "I? Very little, General. But if you think that I had the power to summon this creature, you honor me perhaps a little too highly. I could not call Lord Isladar, and if I did, I could not hold him. He is of the Kialli among the demon-kin, and the mages who could bind and use the Kialli have long since crumbled to dust in the annals of our poor history."

  "But they did exist," Isladar said. It surprised Alesso, to hear him say it; he was not a creature that the General would have thought willing to speak of a weakness or a loss, however far in the past it might be.

  Almost as if the words were spoken, the creature smiled thinly. "I am not like the kin in many things, General Alesso di'Marente, and it would do you well to remember this. If mortals live brief lives, if their lives are tainted by the concerns of the merely mortal, they are not less dangerous for their lack of years."

  "He is trying to tell you, in his oblique way, that the kin are both ruthless and arrogant, and that he feels their arrogance toward mortals is unwarranted in many cases."

  "Thank you, Cortano," Isladar said dryly. "But I believe that you requested my presence for a reason."

  "Indeed."

  "And that reason?"

  Cortano did not choose to answer the question; he turned his appraising glance upon Alesso, and Alesso felt as if he stood unshaded beneath the glare of the high sun. "Alesso, this creature is not the only one of his kin to walk our lands in recent years. He is not the only one who will walk o
ur lands in the future, and he is not the most powerful, although I would say he is the most dangerous."

  "Thank you, Cortano."

  "Certainly the most easily flattered."

  "Cortano."

  "Very well. I told you that I had allies. These allies wish the Dominion to be a force and a power in the new world. But force and power or no, either you will rule it, or they will. Their time is coming; not even the foreign demons—" and he lingered over the word, as if appreciating an irony that was not immediately clear to the General, "—will be able to defeat the army they have begun to build."

  "If 'they' are 'destined' to rule, what purpose will I serve?" Alesso's blade was steady. He was aware, as any man of power must be, that a man who had no purpose was usually a dead one.

  "We are," Isladar said softly, "unprepared to deal with the Empire of Essalieyan in a suitable fashion at this point. We do not wish to alert our enemies to our presence until such a time as that alarm would do them no good.

  "We are not yet at that stage." He paused, weighing his words, or so Alesso thought. "General, the man who rules this Dominion now is a man who has once declared war upon the Empire, no more and no less. He failed because he did not have the necessary tools—or the will—to carry a war to successful completion.

  "We wish to see war carried to the Empire again, within the course of this year."

  "Impossible."

  "Is it? Impossible in your current state? Yes, I agree. The Tyr'agar could not lead an army to victory if it was handed to him. The clansmen are not loyal to him; his loss hurt him much in that regard. But we are prepared to offer you our dedicated, and our hidden, support.

  "I am aware of what the words Lord of Night have come to mean in the Dominion," he added quietly.

  "And you would do this just for the war?"

  "No. In time, the worship of the Lord of Night must return to these lands. This will occur in any case; your choice this night does not affect that fact. But I assure you that the will of the priests will be suborned to the will of the Tyr'agar, if that man is a man of our choosing."

  Alesso was silent for a long time. At last, he said, "And am I that man?" And he sheathed his sword.

  "If you make wise choices, yes, you will be that and more. The Empire of Essalieyan is a land that is vast and more appropriate for the ministrations of the kin than the Dominion. We can make our treaties, General; that the Dominion will be free from the predation of the kin for so long as your blood rules."

  There was a glittering in the eye of the demon that matched the glittering in the eye of the General; for a moment, only the two existed, and in the falling night, they did not look so distinct, so different.

  Alesso thought, You are lying to me about everything but your need for this war. He smiled. Cautiously, he said, "Tell me, Lord Isladar. You speak of 'we' and 'our.' Who is this 'we'?"

  "The Shining Court, General. Newly risen, and destined to be the council from which all power in this world is granted. Cortano di'Alexes is one of its founding members."

  The Sword's Edge smiled. "You might become one of its most influential if you choose to support us."

  "The clan Leonne will have to perish."

  "Of course."

  "Any interference in the politics of the Dominion, other than our own," and here, Alesso nodded to the Widan Cortano, "are expressly forbidden."

  "Agreed. You will find that most of our number have little interest in human politics, except as it affects the eventual disposition of the humans in question." His smile was unpleasant.

  "You and your kind will remain unseen until I have been installed as the Dominion's ruler. There must be no word, no hint, of your existence, or my part in it."

  "Indeed."

  "I will choose my own adviser or advisers, and they will be under my protection."

  Silence. "If we feel the choice of adviser unwise—"

  "You will live with it. It will be considered a part of the politics of the realm."

  "Make your choice, General."

  Ignoring the ambiguity of the reply, Alesso pressed on. "And I will want some proof that you are indeed capable of all that you have offered or implied."

  "Of course."

  * * *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Wittan, 426 AA

  The Tor Leonne

  It should not have surprised the Widan Sendari di'Marano, but it did. Alesso was a man who lived to surprise. Whether or not the beneficiaries of such pleasantries, Sendari thought, survived his little surprises was another matter entirely—and one not open to debate at this moment.

  I intend to assassinate the clan Leonne and become Tyr'agar—but I would be happier to know that you stood at my side. The words still hung in the air between them, chased weakly by those that had followed: details, plans, logistics.

  He should have known, though; Alesso rarely asked for the use of magery as a protective measure against unwanted eavesdroppers. He could be relatively certain that the Widan would not detect this use of magic; Sendari was, after all, one of the Sword set to watch for all signs of magic's use within the Tor Leonne, and was hardly likely to report himself.

  Markaso di'Leonne, the Tyr'agar, very wisely chose not to trust the Sword's Edge; they were, he and Cortano, in almost every aspect, unalike, save in that they ruled their chosen domains. Because he did not trust the Sword's Edge, he ill-trusted the Sword of Knowledge, but no Tyr ruled who did not, at one time or another, employ the services of a mage; he used three, informing each of them in a slightly different fashion of the events they were to oversee and forbidding each from consulting with the others. Thus he attempted to trap those who might work against him in some fashion, however small.

  The Widan, for their part, did their work without speaking to each other; it was wisest. The Widan were known across the Dominion for their unusual obsessions, their fixations on areas of knowledge that no true clansman would consider noteworthy. They were not always known for their ability to maintain the complexity of a lie, and Sendari, as his two compatriots, had decided it was wisest not to put oneself in a position where one would have to.

  If one had the choice.

  He turned to stare out at the lake, for it was by the lake that they now stood, the waters rippling in the fading wash of sinking sun and dusk breeze. They had climbed to this spot, or one much like it, when they had been younger men.

  This time, as adviser to the Tyr, the climb was not so dangerous for the Widan; as General under the Tyr, even less so. But the lake held some of that moment's forbidden exhilaration—and fear. Just as, no doubt, Alesso had intended. He did very little without some forethought.

  "Do you remember the Festival of the Moon?" Alesso spoke softly, his gaze intent, his arms crossed and propped over a bent knee. The winds had added creases to his forehead and the corners of his eyes, and darkened his skin enough that the rainy season could not pale it.

  War had done the rest.

  Sendari nodded, almost solemn in reply.

  "Then you have been answered, as I have. Come, Sendari. You have Adano, and I, my own brother. But I want more for my sons—for my blood—than the name Marente, and the service to an increasingly distant kai. Why do you hesitate? You cannot love the clan Leonne."

  "No more than you," the Widan replied, bristling slightly. "But you are talking about an act that has been attempted, several times, in the history of the Dominion— without success."

  "We have allies that the nameless clans did not."

  "Your Shining Court."

  "The Shining Court."

  "And you trust them?"

  "Not at all. But I trust that they need me, and for the moment, that is enough. Let us take from them what we need."

  "If we give them the Dominion, they will have no need of us."

  "Indeed." The General smiled. "So we will not give them the Dominion."

  "If, as you say," Sendari replied, his face tight with the effort of remaining expressionless, "the kin will be
on our side, and within the Dominion, I do not see that we will have the choice."

  "Think, Sendari. Let us wage war with the Empire; it will be a war that we can win, a war that we must win if I am to consolidate my rule. It will be a weak thing, at best. Essalieyan won the war that the Tyr brought against it, no? And we are still the Dominion, if diminished.

  "Let us win, and not win, in the same fashion. There is a reason that the Shining Court fears the demon Kings and their followers. When we have won the lands that we need to win, and we have fulfilled our necessary function, might we not go to the demon Kings with a tale of how our own ranks were infiltrated by the kin? By the men and women who call themselves Allasakari? I assure you, the Imperial court will listen. Do not forget the events of sixteen years past."

  "We do not, now, have a good report of those events."

  "Sendari, enough. Either you will support me, or you will not."

  "And if not?"

  "Then not," Alesso replied, his brows creasing into a single line. "Or would you like me to offer you threats that our friendship renders meaningless?"

  Silence, then. It was Sendari who turned away, as always, to stare out upon the waters of the Tor Leonne. "No; if we argue, we will argue in earnest, as we always do. Do not make mock threats."

  "I do not want to do this without you," Alesso said quietly. "We have been through much together. Come. Be my Widan. Be my eyes and ears within the Sword of Knowledge; be my conduit into the Shining Court. I do not have your skill or your ability—no one who has not passed the Sword's test does. But I need both. And unlike most men, I have access to a Widan I can trust. Sendari— would you not be the Sendari—the man who founds his line?"

  "Yes," the Widan said, but distantly, indistinctly.

  "Then what is wrong?"

  The Widan's silence was long and painful, but it was unexpected. Therefore it took Alesso a moment to recognize it for what it was. His face darkened; he rose, taking his foot from its perch on the smooth rock. "I offer you an opportunity that most of the men situated within the Tor Leonne would kill for, and you think not of the offer itself, but of her." He turned, folding his hands behind his back; Sendari knew that he was on the verge of walking away.