A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  The sword was lifted, wavering in front of Mizrahi’s chest. The Commander’s face had frozen. “All lies.”

  Mizrahi gave a swift tug on the pendant around his neck and threw it in the Commander’s face. Franco flinched as Mizrahi flared with bright silver light. Mizrahi stepped in, in a smooth motion hooked the sword so it ran through a link of the manacle’s chain, and then leveraged the link to tilt the blade to a less lethal angle.

  Mizrahi held onto the hilt of the sword, hands over the commander’s, their faces mere inches apart, Mizrahi able to see his reflection in the commander’s startled eyes. Where a dark-haired young man should have been reflected, a young woman with long copper curls, a multitude of freckles, and Ryelis Mizrahi’s same amber eyes now stood.

  Recognition stole over Commander Franco’s face and he paled. “Anoni?”

  “You remember.” She smiled painfully. “Shaiso holds your family hostage. But you’ve served the emperor’s house for more than a decade and I believe you still have your honor. I’ve returned to Aquillion to stop Shaiso. Please. Help me.”

  The Commander tried to shake her grip off his sword hilt for a moment. “I’m glad you’re not dead, but why, by all that’s holy, should I trust you? You’ve just cause to hate the prince and you’re...Bardis Kahnin’s daughter, for all you’ve a cursed mancer’s disguise.”

  “Her disguise is a holy relic of the temple,” the Sybil cut in. “The Goddess sleeps in Aquillion, but she is not gone, Franco. Our power is diminished but what we have stands behind Anoni’s efforts. Keep in mind, she is still a graduate of Oruno. We confirmed the sigil ourselves.”

  He gritted his teeth, disbelief twisting his craggy face. “Oruno Warcollege doesn’t take women.”

  Anoni Mizrahi let go of the hilt and pulled the chain taut around the blade. She twisted sharply and the chain snapped around the sword. “Yes. They do.” Hands free, she bent to pick up the broken link from the carpet and held it out to him.

  “How did you...?” He took the link, examining it.

  “Imperial guard swords are good Tehana steel. This piece of ujonfa,” she indicated the manacles, “would never stand against it. Sir, I need to take the Dragons to gather the Goddess’ offering. They will be outside the Empire proper and if Shaiso wanted to avoid going against the temple, there are a pile of excuses to explain how the Dragons never returned. But the shortest line between this and Shaiso’s victory is killing the prince. Arctuan was one of ours, but he got himself killed.”

  Commander Franco’s face went grim. “How did they kill him?”

  “They poisoned his lover. Some sickness that would delay long enough for her to pass it to him. With you to guide the guards here, the prince will be safe during his Ordeal, and we have agents who can get your family out of Cavanii.”

  He was thinking fast. “You attacked the prince in front of the whole court.”

  “I...lost my temper. I let the past get in the way of my duty...” Anoni didn’t meet his eyes. “If I’m out with the Dragons I won’t have to deal with him. I can...get under control before his coronation. I have gone through too much to let the Shaisos get their way.”

  The Commander studied her. “Mizrahi was your mother’s maiden name, wasn’t it? Thirteen summers...We were sure you were dead even though Ventirus commuted the sentence to exile. He was so sick he could barely walk but...”

  “The old man saved me.” She wiped at something in her eyes.

  He reluctantly sheathed his blade. “If there was time, we would settle this. By rights and duty I should turn you over to the Judicial Committee. But the expedition to Asteri leaves in less than ten hours. When Corinado’s crowned we will have a long chat about lying to superior officers. I knew Shaiso had plans I didn’t hold with. One too many coincidences...I can agree that as much as you might hate the prince, you’ve cause to hate Shaiso much more. Corinado is young and selfish, but despite his past choices, he has greatness in him.”

  Her expression was unreadable. “I know.”

  “You’ve passed the imperial tests but I don’t know how to explain you to the squad...nor how to order them to follow a woman...”

  A lopsided grin crossed Anoni’s face. “They know. The Dragons have known all along.”

  The commander sighed tiredly, and picked up the pendant from the carpet. “That’s a rare bit of magic. If the lords find out they’ll have you burned as an enemy theomancer.” He handed it to her. “I hope it works.”

  Commander Franco took her by the shoulders gently, looking her over again. “I’m glad you’re not dead. In the years I trained you and the prince, you always were the better student and you always tried to be worse. You took to it like a cat to grass.” He patted her on the head.

  Anoni’s hug surprised him and after a long moment, she broke away, not willing to look at him. She had turned to put the pendant on again, feeling the shiver of the magic changing her form back to that of male. The copper hair and eyebrows fell out onto the floor and dissolved to silvery sand, replaced on her head with short, straight, dark hair. She shook sand out of her shirt, the byproduct of the magical dissolution of her breasts. By then, the rest of the change had occurred. Her delicate features had been blunted, her nose grown large and squarish. Only her almond-shaped, amber eyes were the same.

  The commander had been trying not to watch the strange working of magic, instead studying her weapons. “We’ve lost enough people in the service of Miliarnes House. Your father...he’s buried with your mother in the house plot.”

  “When I could get away from training, I put flowers on the graves. He never knew I survived exile.” She reached past him and picked up her surcoat, finding the second mail shirt in the bundle. She shot a glance at the Sybil.

  The old woman smiled at Anoni. “In case you managed to keep your life,” said the Sybil.

  Anoni turned and slipped the garment under her stained shirt. The metal links parted and closed, the shirt encasing her with the set stones against her skin.

  “What is that?” Commander Franco asked. The Sybil shook her head at the Commander.

  “Don’t ask. They are more relics of Our Lady of Mystery.”

  Anoni took hold of the bottom edge of the shirt and broke a brittle pearl between her fingers. She held the broken piece of pearl and metal up for Franco to see. The pearl was hollow, filled with silver liquid that now covered the pieces and her hand. Franco watched as the liquid moved, reforming into a whole pearl, the metal eerily flowing to create an innocuous-looking setting and chain around it. When it was done, a moonpearl pendant like any a faithful member of the temple would wear lay in Anoni’s palm.

  “This will let you communicate with us,” Anoni handed it over. “Just keep the pendant against your skin and we can speak mind-to-mind.”

  Franco balked.

  “Only surface thoughts. Those you allow us to see,” Anoni hurriedly reassured him. He took it and with a look of doubt, put it around his neck. She held out her hands so the Commander could unlock the broken manacles, then took up her surcoat and shrugged it on with a sigh. She hadn’t thought to ever feel the reassuring weight of it on again. The Sibyl held out her sword belt. The sword and two long daggers were comfortable around her hips. She put on her boots, easing the thinner stiletto daggers inside against her legs.

  “Come, Yupendra should look at your face.” The Sybil slipped out into the hallway and held the door for Anoni. “Don’t complain. The people must not see the bruises.” Commander Franco blinked, looking a little lost. Anoni bowed low, then left. She felt the settling of the new spell segment of the communion stones, a small spot of warmth in her mind. She opened a primary link.

  Thank you for believing, Commander.

  She let the words echo in his head for a moment and then closed the link. She turned to the Sybil as they moved down the hall toward her quarters in the Dragon’s barracks. “Alcyenne, have Stellys show Commander Franco how to use the communion stones as soon as possible. He’ll need an
introduction to our allies, and to be shown the Ordeal Chamber tonight if he’s going to collaborate guard strategy with her. There’s no time for me to do it.”

  “The prince’s observer will be going with you tomorrow,” the Sybil said. The Sybil sent her an unreadable look. “His name’s Corin Deviida, a minor lord’s son, and quickly becoming the prince’s confidant. His loyalty to the prince is assured. Turn him to our cause, and we’ll make great inroads in countering Markham Shaiso’s influence with the prince.”

  “I have Markham, his father, a coup to foil, and a quest to get the Goddess’ offering that goes through dangerous territory which, if I’m feeling superstitious, is full of spirit beasts and crazed theomancers. I don’t have time to spend on a minor lordling. We’re walking a knife’s edge if the thirty-six Highlords make a move on the Ordeal Chamber.”

  The Sybil waved the thought away. “There has been a temple long before there was an emperor. Shaiso wouldn’t dare. Don’t be paranoid.”

  “In sword fighting there are two positions: the step outside, and war, where you engage. I think Shaiso’s going to take that step. With Franco on our side, I think we have a good chance,” said Anoni.

  “May her lions guide your path.”

  Head full of the possibilities of the journey, Anoni sighed and stubbornly returned an Oruno blessing instead. “Luck of the turning tide be with us all.”

  The Sybil chuckled. “The Isle of Asteri is the Goddess’ place, take care. One of these days, Our Lady of Mystery is going to take exception to your blasphemy.”

  Anoni turned into the Dragon’s barracks, giving a derisive snort. “She should be grateful I’m even on her side.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Imperial Palace Corin

  Corinado Mathias Miliarnes, last heir to the Imperial Miliarnes dynasty, stood in the dark. He stood tall, holding his breath, heart pounding, and from the dark in front of him came the faint sounds of five hundred people waiting for him to make his move.

  This could be his last chance. At midnight, the Sybil of the Moon Temple would come for him and take him to his Prince’s Ordeal, and that test might kill him. But for now, he held the crowd in the palm of his hand. He took a breath.

  “Five, six, five, six, seven, eight,” he counted in rhythm.

  On “eight,” the spotlights, with rare electric bulbs, flooded the ballroom with light from behind him, silhouetting him and the band. His bassist began his bassline, catchy and pulse-pounding. Corin had had that tune stuck in his head for days before he wrote it down. The drummer joined in on the snare and bass drum. He pushed his troubles from earlier in the day from his mind.

  Looking out he watched the light flash off jewels and fabrics from the courtiers’ finery in an extraordinary way. There were the bright emerald and violet silks, others in every imaginable color, and the more muted green or blue dress uniforms for the military men. The light shone on the ceremonial swords the men wore. The people were from all across the Empire; their rapt faces were a kaleidoscope of shades from the deep brown as the Goddess was pictured, to the palest skins of the Northerners, and every shade in between.

  Corin raised his arms in his copious court robes, all three infernal layers of formal silk brocades, as the band continued the intro. There was a murmur of anticipation from the crowd. The robes were white, gold, and blood red, moving inward with an embroidered white surcoat underneath. He hoped he wasn’t sweating. At least the ensemble looked great with his long, dark hair. On his cue and with a quick movement, he undid the tie on the robes and let them drop.

  The crowd cheered at seeing him free himself from the stiff traditional clothes.

  The rest of the spot lights came up on him and the band. He picked up his tech guitar, put the strap over his shoulder, and made the guitar wail with the opening riffs of his magnum opus. The crowd went wild, screaming and cheering, dancing to the beat.

  He stepped up to the antique microphone and began the first verse. Feeling every beat and hitting every note on the punishingly quick chord changes, he rode high on his elation and reactions of the crowd. They were his. Here he was, making them love him with something as simple as a song, instruments designed before the world burned, and a little electricity carefully collected from the wind mills on the palace curtain wall and the blue sunsmith panels on the roofs of the capital city around him.

  Two hours later, he and his band played an encore and then to applause, he took up his robes and the performance was over. The huge old electric chandeliers were turned on and the crowd went back to mingling. He dismissed the band, and they bowed to him while his valet helped fasten on the robes again. One of his servants took the tech guitar back to his rooms.

  An orchestra on the other side of the ballroom started up a waltz. The older ministers and Highlords came back in from the terrace where they had been hiding from the noise. Corin stepped off stage and ten minutes later, was back to doing what the Highlords wanted: behaving like a proper heir. He waltzed with Delis, turning her around the floor to music that made him want to nod off. Delis was a small consolation for the strict codes of behavior the lords expected of him. She was blonde, blue eyed, curvy, and an enthusiastic lover. Maybe she would be the one he would marry after the Ordeal was over. Tradition said he was to choose a bride at the coronation ball.

  “Corin, you seem far away. It is a wonderful turn out. So many of the court were able to make it,” Delis said.

  Corinado blinked and almost missed a step, brought back to the present as he guided her around the dance floor. Only his most intimate friends called him Corin. It was a family nickname, and it gave him comfort to hear it now though his family was all gone. It saddened him that they had not lived long enough to see him crowned. “I apologize. I was distracted. Yes, the birthday party did turn out well. It was fortunate so many of the mountain lords were able to attend. It is gratifying to see them back in the capital after so long,” he said a little stiffly.

  She smiled, patting his shoulder with a gloved hand. “They support your coronation. They see the emperor in you. Smile. Aquillion celebrates tonight.”

  “The lords have brought their daughters to hunt me,” he said with an uncomfortable smile.

  “I know. I have felt the murderous glares on my back all night.” Her laugh was a chime in his ears. “I look forward to seeing their faces on your coronation night when you choose me out of everyone for your bride. Poor provincial misses...It is rather cruel of the heralds to get their hopes up. As if you would really choose some commoner...”

  The waltz ended, and Corinado spun Delis one last time. He smiled indulgently. “Very cruel. I’m parched, lady. Would you do me the favor of getting a glass of punch for me?”

  Her face fell to a pout. “But I...”

  “Please?” He gave her his most gallant smile. “I think from now on I’ll only take sustenance from my bride’s lovely hands.”

  She curtsied, giggling, and turned to make her way to the refreshments table.

  Corinado’s smile twitched as he watched her retreating form and signaled a waiter for a flute of bubbling wine. She was exquisite. Delis was the best option for his marriage so far. He drank deep, trying to steady himself, and made his way through the crowd. He nodded to Highlord Seriam and General Erdogun as he passed and was waylaid by the four daughters of a western Highlord, though he couldn’t remember the man’s name. The third eldest was beautiful, and refused to blush when complimented on her grace. He made a note of her name in case there was a cold night sometime in his future, and bowed his way clear of the pack. Avoiding a chamberlain’s questioning gaze, Corinado slipped out the terrace doors into the night.

  He paused to let his eyes adjust, humming the melody from the orchestra’s new piece. Light from the chandeliers of the ballroom filtered through the bright mosaic of stained-glass windows, blazing crimson, bronze, gold, and indigo over the grass and young trees of the gardens. He left his glass on the railing of the terrace, stepping down into the grass, sho
uldering off the robes, and heading for the orchard. The night was perfectly cool and he could smell early summer rain on the breeze. The Terastai Empire was moving into its rainy season. At the corner of his vision, two imperial guards followed him at a distance through the garden. The movements of the guards reminded him of that afternoon, the memories returning with the burning sourness at the back of his throat. “It was my ceremony. My Introduction to my bodyguards,” he muttered to himself, moving to lean against a peach tree and slinging an arm over a branch. These were the trees he had climbed as a boy, when he had escaped his tutors and Armsmaster Franco. “What is the Red Dragon playing at...” He stared into the night, unbidden memories flowing over him. The burning stare of amber eyes from a Dragon in the back, distracting him as he performed the moves Franco had taught him. The gasp of the courtiers as his sword slipped, digging deep into the Dragon’s sword arm. Blood soaking the Dragon’s shirt as he fell to the marble. Whispers in the crowd. His own doltish tongue, running to save face. “Their leader has fallen. I accept these worthy warriors as my guards.

  His weakness is understandable...”

  “Such bravery will do them justice on their holy quest,” he said, mimicking himself bitterly. The bark of the tree dug into his palms. “Goddess. My idiot tongue.”

  “I’m Mizrahi. I’m the Red Dragon.”

  He remembered backing away from the amber-eyed youth. The Dragon with wide amber eyes like Anoni’s had been, ripping off his surcoat and lunging at Corinado. Himself, dodging desperately, blocking faster than he had ever thought he could. The Red Dragon locking their swords, grappling, almost nose to nose now, and growling, “Your inattention may cost Vansainté his arm. I’ll settle in blood.” The Red Dragon attacking in a style he’d never seen, and could barely keep at bay. Yet he knew the Dragon held back. Corinado remembered feeling more alive than he ever had, but wishing he could just drop the sword.