Days later, he joined Larz and Olroth on the battlements to survey the siege. Aside from the screamers, only a few dozen thanes watched the keep. They stood out of range of the archers.
Larz Kedar said, “I’m impressed. I didn’t expect mind games.”
Olroth said, “Don’t underestimate Breonna.”
“I could burn them.”
“Bad luck,” Olroth said. “And she’ll send more.”
Lahar said, “We should find a way to keep people busy, help them ignore it.”
“Sparring,” Olroth said. “We need a room.”
Lahar helped clear the throne room so they could use the large space, and many of the thanes jumped at the chance to exercise. Not long after they began sparring, talk turned to the Norsil versus Shinari styles of fighting. Large men put on a display of athleticism that made Lahar and his knights feel like young squires again. The thanes lived up to the legends of the barbaric warriors. Their style was unorthodox but defined, and Lahar realized that many of their moves made sense if they were fighting the animal men of the wastelands.
They moved like cats who were used to fighting dogs. The style prized speed and accuracy, with many feints and twists. The Norsil seldom tried to overpower. They pretended to, but the killing stroke came from the blind spots.
They also humbled Lahar’s knights.
He watched, somewhat embarrassed, as Sir Rustan was manhandled like a child by a large brute with over forty runes. The knight looked like a boy who’d just learned the knife facing off against a sword master. The thane was too fast and strong.
Olroth stepped up to Lahar. “You think these men are worthy to guard the Ghost Warrior?”
“I do.” Lahar had to defend his own even if they were outmatched. “Your man is impressive, though.”
“He’s my son, Rood.”
Lahar would not have guessed that. Rood was so large that guessing his age was difficult, and it was hard to imagine a warrior like Olroth with full-grown warrior sons. He was too powerful to be that old.
Rood disarmed Sir Rustan and threw him to the ground with one fluid move. The sight both impressed and demoralized Lahar. His knights were no match for the thanes.
Olroth said, “I wouldn’t let that one guard the gates.”
“I’ve fought with him. He knows his business.”
“Breonna has dozens of thanes stronger than Rood. If that knight tries to hold a door, he’ll be cut down.”
“Then we’ll get him a bow.”
Olroth grimaced. “Bows are for women.”
Lahar didn’t say anything, but he had noted that, among the Norsil, the archers were women, and many of the children carried knives and slings. The Shinari had never armed their women and children, and the idea of everyone carrying weapons made Lahar dread visiting the wastelands. He could not imagine a place so wretched that young children had to fight beside their mothers and fathers.
“Well, let’s see how Rood does with a more even fight.”
Olroth gave him a sideways glance. “You wish to spar with him?”
“Someone has to avenge our honor.”
Lahar squared up against Rood, and lost the match faster than he would have liked. Watching Rood fight and fending off his attacks were very different. The man moved faster than anyone Lahar had fought. Lahar lost once—disarmed with a blade at his throat. He lost again—arm locked and shoulder driven into the floor. He lost a third time—but coming close to a strike that would have taken Rood with him.
The forth match ended in a blur. Lahar wasn’t sure how he had lost, but his shoulders rested on cold marble, and the back of his head hurt. They should put down planks or hay if they intended to wrestle in the throne room, but he would not be the one to recommend a softer floor.
“You can fight.” Olroth stood over him, smiling. “Not well, but we can fix that.”
Lahar took his hand and stood. He was not proud of his performance, but Olroth and his son, along with a couple of other thanes, looked pleased. He took a break to consider what he had experienced. He needed time to learn their style. They had a different understanding of the edge and point, as though they wrestled with the blade more than they thrust.
Sir Rustan sat next to him on a bench. “At least you move like they do.”
“How so?”
“The speed. The strength. Even when I made a good strike, he would knock it out of his way. With you, he had to move around you.”
“They dance more than we do.”
“I’m sure they must. It feels like I’m trying to push over a wall. The only thing to do is sidestep and redirect.”
“I thought they would fight more like the Butcher.”
“No man can fight like him. He fights like a demon.”
Lahar smiled. “Fought many, have you?”
“I can imagine. You don’t learn to fight like that by training with men.”
“Maybe not.”
Lahar was eager to learn, but his patrols called to him. He decided to give others a chance at the floor. The space was cramped, and many of the thanes looked eager to use it. He excused himself to wander the keep. Nothing had changed, other than when he approached the windows and doors, he could hear the giant whisperers still screaming about exile and forgiveness.
IV
Lahar made his rounds and found Larz Kedar in the rooms Azmon had claimed. Lahar meant to pass through, but with one glance into the room, he found it papered with scrolls. Larz was pacing with a scroll in one hand, the long roll of paper dangling down his red robes. He was so lost in thought that Lahar had to cough to get his attention.
“I apologize,” Larz said. “I’ve begun sorting through all the things Azmon left behind. I believe these are his notes for creating a beast that can change its shape. Most of it is puzzling, but I believe that was his intent.”
“He left all this behind?”
“I’m still finding more of it. He used two different offices, and I had thought this cache was one of the other lords’, but then I noticed the handwriting.” Larz showed him a scroll. “You see how it changed over the years. I believe this was his older style, and this, here, has a much more aggressive shape to the letter. The thoughts are more erratic as well.”
Lahar made an effort to be polite. As far as he could see, the scrolls were filled with runes. He had to admit though, that it looked like two different people had written them.
“How do you know it is not another lord?”
Larz slapped the scroll. “This, right here, runes arranged in matrixes that I would have thought no one could control.”
“I see.”
Lahar didn’t, and he began to eye the door, trying to find a polite way to take his leave. Whatever Larz had found, he was immersed in it to the point of obsession. All the paper scattered about the room seemed like a waste. The stuff was terribly expensive, and the sorcerers played with it as though it were an extra set of robes.
Lahar asked, “Any chance this can help us with the Norsil?”
“I’d have to understand it first.”
“Is it that advanced?”
“Forbidden things, but it’s strange—I can see Dura’s hand behind his. This is her style here… and here.” Larz grabbed another discarded scroll. “And I think this is one of the oldest because it looks like something Dura would have done herself. But then there are these runes over here. This is all new and foreign. It’s like another language. These are the runes from the Nine Hells.”
“Do you know what they do?”
“How would I?”
“Is there any way to learn?”
“I could kill myself, trying to use them. Or I could sacrifice a prisoner to contact one of the shedim.”
Lahar’s eyes widened.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that.” Larz winked. “I apologize, but I assumed you knew that would be absurd.”
�
��Of course I did.”
“I wouldn’t want the shedim to know that I possessed such knowledge. That is not the kind of attention a sane person would crave.”
Lahar inhaled deeply and noted the room smelled like dust and old paper. The sleeping chamber had become an untidy library. He stepped with care to avoid messing up the strange sorting system Larz had built. The conversation reminded him of forced mingling at a feast. He wanted to extricate himself from the room, but he was also morbidly curious.
“When you have a moment, I’d like to discuss the Sea Kings.”
Larz looked up from a scroll. “All I have is time.”
“I assume they will bring more sorcerers from the Burning Isles. What do you know of them? What do we face?”
Larz’s eyebrows rose a bit as he considered the question. “Well, our orders seldom interact unless we are traveling across the seas. They are the safest passage—no one will try to pirate a Sea King vessel.”
“No one?”
“Not even the Zaavan tribes of Kelut will harass the green sails. They are an ocean power, and they can blockade a port with impunity. A hundred ships will box it in, and each has a master sorcerer with an apprentice or two. They use runes to create safe passage in storms. Few of their ships are lost at sea.”
“What about on land?”
“I’m sure they can burn things as well as I can.”
“So it’s only a matter of time before they break us?”
“Jethlah’s Walls will keep them at bay. It would take years for them to break down the doors, and that’s if my students and I don’t defend them.”
Lahar cast about the room. He was bored and wanted answers, and he knew that nothing he heard would put him at ease. His home had once been impregnable, but he had seen both Azmon and Marah break the walls. He didn’t like the idea of hundreds of green sails arriving on the coast with Sea Kings coming to attack the keep, but he had no power to stop them.
Larz said, “You must find something to pass the time. This is going to be our prison for many months, maybe a year or two.”
“We don’t have the supplies for years.”
“The Norsil don’t seem to be exploring the tunnels. I know Azmon changed them, but from what I’ve seen—if we had to raid Breonna’s clan—the tunnels give us access to most of the city.”
“That’s a trick we won’t get to use twice.”
“I know,” Larz said. “Now tell me, what is really bothering you?”
“I don’t know the invaders.” Lahar shrugged at his own ignorance, hating the feeling of powerlessness. “The Norsil are still a mystery, and my father and my grandfather forbade the slavers from visiting our shores.”
“The Sea Kings haven’t been slavers for a long time.”
“They trade in Norsil warriors.”
“The Norsil sell their own flesh, and they sometimes sell the people they defeat in battle. The Sea Kings act as transport. They don’t run the slave markets. Those are dominated by the Zaavan tribes and the Armana Empire on Kelut.”
“My father would say helping move slaves is the same.”
“Perhaps, but repeating such a thing would start a fight in the Burning Isles. The Sea Kings believe a free man with a ship can transport whatever he wants. They think of their ships as kingdoms.”
“Well, then their kingdoms are about as big as mine.” Seeing the sorcerer’s confusion, Lahar gestured at the walls. “The Kingdom of Shinar has become one keep with four doors and twelve knights.”
“We shall retake it, Majesty.”
Lahar ignored the honorific. The sorcerer seldom used it, and he found the clumsy attempt to placate his ego insulting. He nodded though and made for the door because he saw no point in stating the obvious. Even if they rescued the kingdom from all the various invaders, there were no Shinari left to people it. If they drove out the Norsil and the Islanders, the eastern coast of Argoria would become a barren wasteland.
He paused in the doorway. “You think the keep’s doors will hold against their sorcerers?”
“Jethlah built them, Majesty.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, but it sounds better than ‘I don’t know.’ If I had to make a wager, I’d put my coin on a dead prophet. Generations of sorcerers have studied this place, and we still don’t know how Jethlah pulled it out of the clay.”
“Put our trust in the dead?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I know.”
Lahar left the sorcerer to his piles of paper. The idea of trusting Jethlah made about as much sense as anything else he had done of late. After he swore to defend Marah, only to be abandoned in Shinar, it seemed fitting that he would have to place his trust in another prophet who had been dead for over six hundred years.
V
Weeks passed while Breonna busied herself with securing the Kingdom of Shinar. She worked with the Islanders to claim ports and bring in supplies for her clans. Most of the Norsil loyal to her had arrived, and without Marah poaching her thanes, her forces had become stable. She barricaded off King’s Rest, so even if her people were curious about the Ghost Clan, they could not approach the fortress.
The gutted countryside surprised everyone. The last of the scouts reported that they had not found any survivors in a dozen smaller Shinari towns, and the ports were barren. They also found no evidence of battles or mass graves. The empty land seemed to be abandoned, as though the Shinari had vanished, which posed a whole new host of problems for Breonna and Orfeo. They needed laborers to rebuild ports and farmers to feed the garrisons.
Breonna asked, “How can they all be gone?”
“The Roshan make beasts from the dead.”
“But everyone? All the laborers are gone?”
“It’s not just people. There’s no livestock or game.”
“Are you saying they killed all the chickens too?”
“The siege lasted years. The land was picked clean.”
They stood around a table in her villa. A giant map sprawled across the table, weighted down by stones, and Orfeo used markers to indicate the ships and thanes who had taken the ports. Breonna took to the map quickly and liked what she saw. They appeared to have conquered the Shinari, but the last of the reports came in, and the Shinari were gone. The empty kingdom robbed her of her triumph. She wanted to parade prisoners before the clans and divide the spoils. Instead, they claimed ruins.
Breonna said, “We need to discuss more shipments. If there’s nothing here, we’ll have to bring in more food.”
“That will cost.”
Breonna glared at him. “I’ve given you free access to all the ports.”
“As if anyone was going to oppose us.”
“I can oppose you now.”
“Unless we stop feeding you.”
Breonna walked away from the table. She flexed her fingers and paced to occupy her mind. They needed each other—a land power and a sea power—but conquering a kingdom was unlike any battle she had ever fought. Her clan always found spoils. She couldn’t believe that one of the most famous kingdoms in the history of the world had been so thoroughly gutted.
Breonna asked, “What do you propose?”
“Land is currency in the Burning Isles. There is so little of it to go around, and our people have spread across Lileas and Kelut. There are plenty of minor lords who would bring their households to settle these ports if they were to be given lands and titles—honors that are rare among the Burning Isles.”
“I’ve already agreed to let you use the ports.”
“As they stand now, they aren’t usable. The whole point of a port is to resupply and trade. These ports are ghost towns.”
“So I should give them away to your people?”
“My people will bring farmers and fishermen and craftsmen. They’ll swear fealty to you as queen and pay taxes to Shinar. You hold
the seat of power but let our people rebuild the ports.”
“And your people marry into my clan?”
Orfeo flushed and stammered. “I don’t… That is to say… Your marriage customs are very different from our own. And the fights over wives… I doubt any of our nobles would be interested in such a thing.”
Breonna grunted a laugh. “As if you little boys could bed a Norsil woman.”
“There are other ways to secure loyalty.”
“Hostages.”
“That is not what I meant,” Orfeo said. “We have contracts—”
“I will not give the ports away without assurances. Your people will feed mine and resupply your precious boats—”
“Ships.”
“Whatever—until I am satisfied that the kingdom isn’t stolen out from under my clans, your families give me hostages.” Breonna’s finger traced the coastline. She knew one of the ports was important to Orfeo because they had landed there and secured it first. “Calardia is one of your prizes. You have someone who wishes to settle there?”
“That can be arranged.”
“And, in exchange, until the farms are built, the shipments continue. The stone workers continue to come to Shinar.”
Orfeo said, “I will discuss it with my people.”
“Good. Land is currency?”
“It’s the one thing that is scarce in the Burning Isles.”
Breonna studied the map harder. She had to master the thing, and she had to travel the coastline to truly understand the currency she possessed. The thought excited her, even if it meant visiting empty towns and ports. The Norsil were nomadic people, and she longed to leave the city. Her fingers traced the largest structure on the map, the city of Shinar.
Before she left, she had to ensure she wouldn’t lose the city to Olroth.
“I want King’s Rest.”
“We can bring in siege equipment from the Armana Empire. They understand this kind of war. And you’ll have need of it again when you march on Ironwall.”
Dance of Battle: A Dark Fantasy (Shedim Rebellion Book 4) Page 39