City of Lies

by Sam Hawke

  Tain laughed, and Jovan’s lips twitched even as he gave me a reproachful look. “I didn’t realize you’d heard it.”

  “Who hasn’t? He sprang out at me last week with about twenty of his friends from the Performers’ Guild to sing the whole thing. And now it’s spread—I even heard someone humming it on the wall this morning.”

  A knock at the door startled us from the momentary levity. Marco stood there, looking oddly cowed for a man his size. He held a sack in one hand and rubbed the other over his head.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Credola Kalina,” he said politely. He came inside and sank into one of the cushions, setting the bag beside him, then cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles as though unsure where to begin. When Jov offered him tea he took it eagerly, twisting the cup around and around in his big hands and sipping far too often. There was something he didn’t want to tell us. My heart rate picked up, but still the soldier stayed silent, staring at his tea.

  “How are the Builders doing with the new catapults?” Tain prompted.

  “Well, I believe, Honored Chancellor. The Stone-Guilder promises they will be sturdier this time, and have better accuracy. However.” He cleared his throat again. “I have some new information about our enemies.” He fell into silence again, and I tensed with frustration. Tain, ever the most patient of the three of us, set down his teacup and cleared his throat politely. As if waking from a momentary stupor, Marco shook his head and continued. “The army appears to be constructing siege weaponry as well, and is being supplied with materials and weapons by boat and by road. It appears they will not be attempting to merely wait us out.”

  Tain nodded. “They can’t know how long Aven will be, and they can’t risk being trapped between our walls and our army. They have to attack soon. What else?”

  “We received a communication from them in the night.”

  We all sat forward. Blood pounded in my ears—at last, some indication of what they wanted?—but no relief showed on Marco’s face.

  “A single man left it outside the west gate. I sent one of ours over the wall in a harness to collect it—I had thought it might be a trap to trick us into opening the gates.” He opened the sack tucked away beside him and retrieved a folded green cloth; our hasty peace flag, now crusted dark with the emissary’s blood. The smell of old metal filled the back of my throat. Jovan hastily moved the teacups as Marco settled the fabric on the table and unfolded it with slow, precise movements until it took up the entire surface.

  They had written on the unmarked side, angry bold words in our own written language, setting out our sins.

  “No peace for murderers,” I read, my voice sounding squeaky and shrill. “No peace for the unfaithful. No peace for spirit killers. The rotten city will fall and the—what does that say? The something will be restored?” I squinted at the mark I didn’t recognize in the last line. It was not a word, but a symbol of some kind.

  “I do not know,” Marco said. “I have been in your country for nearly twenty years and still I cannot read your language well.”

  “It’s not in our language.” Unlike Trade, or Talafan, or the various related wetlander tongues, written Sjon bore no relationship to spoken; the latter was the oral language spoken by modern Sjona’s tribal ancestors, the former the written language brought by refugees over the Howling Plains from Crede—including my great-great-however-many-times grandmother. The assimilation of the two peoples over time meant Sjona effectively had two entirely disconnected languages, one verbal and one written. And the symbol in that final sentence on the crumpled flag was not ours.

  “Could it be a religious symbol of some kind, I wonder?” Its shape looked vaguely familiar, like something on a festival costume or a Darfri shrine. “Spirits, unfaithful … it does seem to fit.”

  “What does that mean? Spirit killers? Murderers? What are they talking about?” Tain, rubbing his forehead, read the flag over and over. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  Only then did I notice Marco’s silent, grim face, and my hand shook as it touched Jov’s shoulder to get his attention. He followed my gaze. “Marco?” my brother asked, his whole body going still even as mine shook harder. “What else?”

  Marco dropped his gaze. “The flag was not the only message.” He picked up the dark cloth sack, still hanging heavy with unseen contents, and slowly held it out toward Tain. “Please … I know this is upsetting, Honored Chancellor, but I believe you need to see this.”

  My lungs drained of air and my eyes burned, as Tain, stricken, opened the sack, the size and shape of which I abruptly and unwillingly recognized. He winced and looked away. Jovan took one quick glance, his face tightly controlled, and slowly met my gaze with a small shake of his head. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My head spun.

  “I’m afraid that no word will be reaching our own army,” Marco said quietly. “That is the second part of their message. They know we tried, and they are showing us that we failed. There were five other examples, Honored Chancellor.”

  “The runners?” Tain whispered, and at Marco’s tense nod he pressed his hands into his face. I tried to swallow and found my throat too dry. Tain gestured sharply and Marco closed the sack, slipping it under the table again. Though hidden from my view, its dark presence still radiated like a baleful spirit. My head spun as the horror and enormity sank in. I couldn’t get my breath.

  “They did this to all our runners?” Tain’s voice was a pale echo of its normal timbre, but as he spoke his words came out faster and faster. “Why? Why would they do something so monstrous? I think I’m going to be sick. They could have just captured them. Why would they do this? What am I going to say to their families?”

  Everything seemed to be swirling around me in a very faint haze. Was I breathing? I couldn’t remember how to make my lungs work. What could Tain tell their families? He could not possibly show them these remains. Silastians might no longer be terribly observant of the old religion, but respect for our dead was something that bound us all together no matter what. To do … what had been done, was to dismember a person’s very essence so that they could not travel safely beyond. It was a deeply dishonorable, cruel act.

  Jovan, still motionless, swallowed hard. He looked at Marco. “But who…?” His eyes trailed back to the grim sack. “I thought I recognized him, but that wasn’t one of our runners.”

  Marco sighed. “He was one of our spies along the south border. I doubt you had met him, Credo, but the best spies have the most ordinary and familiar of faces. I have no involvement in our spy network, so I was as confused as you to find a stranger among our runners. The intelligence master identified him, though. He had failed to report in for some weeks. She suspects he may have learned of and infiltrated the rebellion but been discovered.” Marco inclined his head. “I chose the … what I just showed you, because I remembered that you knew some of the runners personally and I did not want you to see a familiar face.”

  Jov squeezed my shoulder gently before answering. “Thank you. We appreciate that.” Oh, by the fortunes, he’d gotten there before me. If possible, everything grew darker still, and like Tain I suddenly wanted to vomit. Poor persistent, daft, likeable Edric, with his head in a bag somewhere. I couldn’t bear it. I tried to stand up and almost fell, but pulled away from Jovan when he tried to comfort me. I suddenly couldn’t handle the thought of anyone touching me. Tears blurred my vision. Without looking at anyone, I turned and fled.

  Hazelnode

  DESCRIPTION: Brown growth on rocks in particular conditions that hardens into glossy circular formations which can be removed and crushed into a toxic paste.

  SYMPTOMS: Intense abdominal cramping, diarrhea, severe internal bleeding, eventual collapse and death.

  PROOFING CUES: Taste is strongly metallic and lingering, smell faintly fishy.

  5

  Jovan

  The news sucked what optimism we’d had away in one powerful stroke. Back to the beginning, only now we had fewer options, and
less hope. Whenever I paused in any task, my brain tortured me with the faces of the runners we’d sent to their doom. They had died, alone and afraid, murdered by their own people in the most brutal, dishonorable way. Had it been my fault? Had I let them out too soon, or too late? Should we have opted for secrecy rather than distraction? We’d gambled, and they had paid for the mistake.

  “We need to try again, sooner rather than later,” I told Tain. We waited in the Manor for Bradomir and Lazar, Tain still ashen but composed, me pacing and counting my steps in my head in equal sets of eight. Kalina hadn’t returned and though I worried for her, part of me was relieved. I had no words of comfort for her. “We can’t hold the city indefinitely, especially if they’re building siege weapons.”

  Not to mention that there remained danger to Tain within the city. I patted my paluma, feeling the weight of my new purses disguised under the folds, and accessible through an unpicked slit. I’d diverted to our apartments and filled one with a selection of general antidotes and treatments, from simple charcoal and vinegar to zensu shell paste and river snake scale powder. The other now bore more dangerous fare: hazelnode powder, Malek’s acid, lavabulb seeds, and flare oil. Things I could use quickly in defense if necessary. At least one enemy was still in the city with us, and I’d not be caught without options, if it came to it. I wondered if my ancestors, back in more treacherous times, had carried such things with them as a matter of course.

  I’d had to quiet the new worries this raised inside me. New situations called for new behaviors, I told myself, and if the core of our responsibility was to protect the Chancellor, was I not better to do so by more actively preventing harm from coming to him? After all, I was not proposing to use my tools like an assassin would, sneaking about to harm others in secret. I would just be providing one more kind of shield, one more layer to my duty. Duty and honor were everything. If I couldn’t meet my responsibilities, then what good was I to those I loved?

  Tain let out his breath in a huff of air and gazed at me with the wounded expression of an animal kicked to the side of the road. “Are you joking? After what happened? I’m not risking anyone else that way. If I’d known what would happen if they were caught I wouldn’t have allowed it in the first place.”

  We had no time to discuss it further, as Bradomir and Lazar soon joined us, their manners somewhere between concern and smugness that they had been called privately.

  Tain wasted no time, thanking them for coming and speaking plainly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t appear any of our messengers made it through.” The Credolen sucked in their breath—genuine surprise, I thought. “Which means we can’t assume help is on its way.” We had decided not to reveal the details of how the runners had died. The truth would bring nothing but grief and turmoil to the families, and since presumably the army outside had wanted their brutal act to raise terror among our people, we would not give them that satisfaction. Marco had promised to arrange a private and respectful burial for the remains.

  Bradomir stroked his moustache. “And they have cut off our supplies, so we cannot afford to wait here indefinitely.”

  “We must send out more messengers.” Lazar looked between us, his voice edged with wildness. “At once!”

  “They’re waiting for us to do it,” I said.

  “Surely we could slip some men over the walls in the dark?”

  “We will find a way of getting help,” Tain said. “No matter how widespread this rebellion, they can’t have taken all of our border cities. Very soon I’m confident the siege will be noticed and word sent to our army. In the meantime we have to buckle down and hold our defenses. I need to try to communicate with the army out there, to find out if we can negotiate our way out of this.” He leaned in closer. “I have a few favors to ask. First, can you check with your household staff whether you have any Darfri believers? I want to find out more about how that’s tied into the rebellion, but I don’t know enough. You two have the two biggest staffs in the city. Can you send me someone to help?”

  “Of course, Honored Chancellor,” Bradomir said, and Lazar echoed the same.

  “Second, can you use your contacts, any of the merchants you deal with, to find out if there is any way to get in and out of the city undetected?”

  When both men looked guarded, Tain laughed. “I’m not stupid. I’m aware smuggling goes on. Not that I’m accusing either of you of profiting from it, of course.”

  “I can certainly ask some of my people to look into it,” Bradomir said, inclining his head politely.

  “I’ll have an answer for you by the end of the day,” Lazar boasted. “I know the merchants of this city, Honored Chancellor.” The poor man practically salivated in his eagerness to impress Tain.

  “Much honor to the both of you, then,” Tain said. “I appreciate your help and your loyalty.” He clasped each man by the shoulders.

  Lazar caught Tain’s arm as he did so. “Honored Chancellor,” he said, and his voice quavered, “I must thank you for this opportunity to help you. I so desperately want to restore my family’s honor and your trust in me. I was so ashamed it was in my home that Chancellor Caslav … that I hosted the man who gave that … terrible gift…” He seemed to choke on the last few words.

  Tain patted him on the shoulder, his face bleak. “I don’t doubt your intentions, Credo,” he said. “You weren’t to know Lord Ectar’s gift was dangerous. And your servants did their best to capture it.”

  I felt cruel watching Lazar supplicate himself, guilt and shame leaching from his pores like sweat. There was no way to comfort the poor man and let him know he had not contributed to Caslav’s death, not without admitting it had been poison. We had agreed to tell no one we did not accept the illness theory.

  As Tain and I had planned in advance, I walked the two Credolen out of the Manor. The older men seemed unsure how to deal with me; Bradomir in particular alternated between condescension and flattery, making it clear he did not respect me but was willing to pretend to do so in order to ingratiate himself into Tain’s closest circle.

  “You mentioned Lord Ectar, Credo Lazar,” I said as I escorted them through the grounds. “I wanted your opinion on something, as two of the most learned statesmen on the Council.” My attempt at flattery seemed clumsy and transparent to me, but both men puffed up at the compliment. “The Honored Chancellor doesn’t think he has cause to hold him, and Lord Ectar is understandably frantic at being confined and unable to follow what is happening in the city.”

  Bradomir, settling with relish into the role of trusted adviser, nodded. “He is a well-connected fellow. It could have political ramifications.”

  Lazar wrung his hands. “I do believe it was a horrible accident only,” he said. “But … if he were such a villain as to deliberately gift an infected creature to the Chancellor, how can we be safe with him loose in the city?”

  “I agree, it’s a risk,” I said. “And certainly I—and the Chancellor—would be more comfortable if trustworthy eyes were on Lord Ectar, if he were free.”

  Both men nodded vigorously.

  “We trust the two of you,” I said. “But some Councilors have very strong relationships in Talafar, and I’m just not sure they would be quite so capable of being objective.”

  Bradomir frowned. “I, too, would be cautious.” He paused. “We cannot overlook the timing of our beloved Chancellor being attacked only days before the city itself. I would never suggest anyone from the Families would be involved directly in any kind of plot, but there have been … interesting … words spoken in defense of these traitors. Credo Javesto…” He trailed off delicately.

  “Just so,” I agreed. “I don’t like to suspect anyone, least of all fellow Councilors from the honored Families, but we’re vulnerable here.”

  “You can count on me, Credo Jovan,” Lazar said, wetting his plump lips and bowing his head. “I would sooner forsake my family’s fortunes and honor than betray our city or our country.”

  “Likely I’m being ove
rcautious, and the rest of the Council shares our dedication. But until we can be certain, can we count on you to say nothing of this to anyone else? Just if you happen to observe any … odd behavior from Lord Ectar or from any of your fellow Councilors…?”

  “Of course,” Bradomir said. “I will take an active interest in the activities of my colleagues.”

  Lazar’s head bobbed. “You can rely on us.”

  I watched them go, wondering if we had done the right thing. Bradomir had been right near the Chancellor at the lunch, and had visited the Manor later according to Kalina’s list. But he owned half the city; it was just impossible to imagine he could be involved with a rebellion from our common workers. Still, I did not trust him.

  A crowd of petitioners, ever present outside the Manor, called out to the Credolen as they tried to leave, and Bradomir hastily urged his waiting handservant to prepare his litter. One of the petitioners, though, a tall woman in gray, focused her attention not on the two men struggling into the litter but on me. I looked back, disconcerted by the intensity of her gaze, but she made no move to approach. This new world of being a Councilor and being recognized widely outside my normal circles was unsettling. Given she seemed only interested in watching, not calling out or crossing the street, I turned to return to Tain.

  But the faint blast of a distant horn made me pause, and then the warning bells tolled, first in the distance and then closer as all of the watchtowers picked up the signal. It could only have one meaning. The army was attacking again.

  * * *

  It had come without warning. One minute the attackers seemed at ease, the next a wedge of them had charged out of the falling afternoon sun. The woman reporting this to me sweated in her ill-fitting armor and gulped mouthfuls of air between sentences. A week ago she’d probably never seen violence of any kind. I listened, shoving a pointed helmet on my own head while someone buckled a resin-hardened plate around my chest, unable to pretend I was any less scared than she.