A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  She waited for many long minutes after his footsteps faded out before getting out of the pool, getting dressed, and following his path back to the inn.

  ***

  Imperial Palace

  Fadarin Shaiso

  Highlord Fadarin Shaiso examined a large map that lay on his desk with a brass magnifying glass. Topographical lines ran a red spiral over the green forest markings in front of his eyes. The lettering was faded and the names were in a strange old bastardized language left over from pre-disaster times. Somewhere on these mountains was his goal. He traced his finger over the three starred words—Ilbanos, Aibanos, and Ankathanos—marked on the mountain range. He’d assumed they were mines, but when they had actually started digging that had found something much more interesting. The map was so large the edges flapped untidily off his desk. A polite knock sounded at the door. Fadarin sighed, folded the map closed, settled in his chair, and called for the visitor to enter. It was Commander Franco.

  “Ah, come in.”

  “You wanted to see me, Highlord?” He stood in parade rest on the expensive red carpeting. Fadarin checked to see Franco had wiped his weathered boots before coming in. It seemed he had.

  “I have some troubling news,” said Highlord Shaiso.

  Franco went very still.

  “There has been an attack at the keep back home, at the keep in Cavanii Province. Bandits have taken a group of peasants hostage, including your wife and sons. Several men were killed in the raid.”

  “Are they all right? Have they demanded ransom?” questioned Commander Franco.

  “Not yet. We’ve sent an army detachment to investigate and hunt them down.”

  Franco forced his fists to relax. “How many were taken?”

  Highlord Shaiso steepled his fingertips. “Nine. Mostly women and young girls. I don’t need to tell you...it doesn’t bode well. It isn’t procedure, but I think we can make an exception this one time if you would like to go and lead the investigation.” The bait is set, let’s see if he takes it, thought Highlord Shaiso.

  Franco frowned. “I can’t. My duty is here now.”

  “Well, doesn’t duty to one’s family supersede all other considerations?”

  Franco’s face was grim. “How could you have let this happen in your own keep? You told me you would keep them safe,” he growled.

  I believe I understand what makes him formidable on the battlefield, Fadarin thought idly. “I cannot be held responsible for every man’s will in the Empire.” He made a helpless gesture. “If it makes you feel any better, they took several chests of gold from my strong room.”

  Franco’s glare was like a physical force. “No, it doesn’t make me feel any better,” he snapped and slammed out of the room.

  ***

  Imperial Palace

  Horacio Franco

  Franco stopped down the corridor in a shadow far away from Highlord Shaiso. He covered his face with his hands, trying to massage away the pain and confusion.

  Anoni Mizrahi and her damned schemes. He put a hand up to hold the moonpearl under his shirt. For the first time, and hopefully for the last, he tried reaching out with his mind.

  Burn it, Mizrahi! Where are you?

  Something snapped into place with a weird reverberation.

  Armsmaster Franco? replied Anoni.

  What the hell are you doing having people kidnapped? Are you a brigand? A raider of women?

  There was a wince on the other end of the connection. Sir, could you speak a little softer? I’m afraid people here will hear you echoing in my skull.

  Don’t try me, Anoni Mizrahi. You said you could get my family out. What happened? demanded Commander Franco.

  Hold on one moment. If your family disappeared, Shaiso would know you were on our side. We had to make it look realistic.

  So you could take my leigelord’s gold? Is that it? questioned Franco.

  We have good use for it, assured Anoni. Let me see if I can get you connected to your wife. Norsson? Are you there?

  Yes, boss. Norsson’s voice was deep, with a country accent. We have ‘em in a cave, tied and blindfolded.

  I trust—Anoni’s voice was frosty through the connection—they’re in good repair.

  Yes, boss, affirmed Norsson.

  Could you give Madame Franco a communion stone? directed Anoni.

  There was an echo of frightened screams and a flickering image through Norsson’s eyes of the back of Commander Franco’s wife’s head. He would recognize her tawny hair anywhere. Norsson growled and pulled her away from the other tied and blindfolded women. Theresa stood tall as the other women screamed. She could not see but she would be strong. Pride and pain twisted in Franco’s chest.

  Norsson pulled her over to the wall of the cave, stood her facing the wall, and dropped the moonpearl into her hand.

  “Do not make a sound, Madame,” Norsson said, and dropped out of the conversation.

  A new link stuttered into being.

  Theresa? Franco ventured carefully.

  She jumped. “Horacio?”

  Not out loud, barked Anoni.

  Who are you? thought Theresa.

  I’m Mizrahi. I’ll...let Franco explain.

  Are you all right? He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt.

  Yes, these bastards came out of nowhere and took us out of the keep. How am I speaking with you? questioned Theresa.

  Franco smiled to himself. She always kept her head, his beautiful Theresa. These men were sent to get you out of Highlord Shaiso’s hands. I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were going to do this. They are loyal to the prince, and Shaiso...

  Is not, Mizrahi supplied.

  Can we get some privacy here? Franco growled at her.

  I’m sorry. It doesn’t work that way. The connection is through me. Madame, we did this to take you out of harm’s way. We need you to stay with these men, tied and blindfolded until we can decide what to do with the other people from the keep. If we let them go, Shaiso will know your husband is with us and that puts him in danger. If we let you go untied and one of the other women sees you, they will go out into the world and let them know this was all about you and your children, explained Anoni.

  Men died trying to defend us at the keep, Theresa thought indignantly.

  They were casualties of this quiet war. They were not the first, and they will not be the last. We will try and get you out of there as soon as we can. I’m afraid putting on a show so the other women think you are dead would be a transparent strategy to Shaiso, thought Anoni.

  You are cold, Mizrahi. Cold to the bone and I hope you suffer for it, Theresa thought angrily.

  Anoni ignored Theresa’s last comment and thought, We’ll try and make this short.

  Theresa, Franco cut in, I’m sorry. As soon as I can, we’ll be together again.

  Horacio...she said in a warning tone.

  Stay strong for me, Theresa, and we will all get out of this, assured Franco.

  You can use this stone to speak with me, and I can connect you with your husband whenever you need, Mizrahi offered.

  I don’t think I want you in my head, Mizrahi. Horacio, stay safe. Goodbye. She abruptly cut her side of the connection.

  Do you think she knows how much danger we are all in? Franco asked.

  She knows, Anoni added grimly. I can feel that you were afraid over the connection and I’m sure she could too. If you can think of a way to get rid of the other women without killing them, I’m open for it, thought Anoni.

  I’ll think on it, thought Franco.

  Goodnight, Franco.

  Franco cut his end of the connection, unable to utter a civility to her.

  CHAPTER 7

  Skevelia

  Corin

  The Dragons left Skevelia early, keeping with Mizrahi’s hard pressing regime. In the saddle and back on the Sea Road they ate honey rolls that had been provided by the Mossy Barrow’s generous cook. A night in a real bed had left Corin refreshed and gave him a litt
le perspective. The night before, surrounded by the easy conversation of the Dragons, he had come to a decision. The Dragons, especially Mizrahi, seemed to know much more about certain aspects of court life than he did. The veiled threats Mizrahi spoke against the council could be considered treason, but Corin believed Mizrahi when he said he was ready to fight and die for the prince. It was a gut feeling which he was starting to trust. He didn’t really have a choice if what Mizrahi said about the Highlords was right. Corin had a bad moment while riding, a belated reminder that he was the prince clanging through his head like a hangover. It was enough to give a sane man doubts...

  Four days in Mizrahi’s company and he was just starting to understand how much he didn’t know. He had stood among the men set to protect him last night, and decided to ask Mizrahi for help. I should know these things. I’m twenty-three, set to rule the Empire. How can I do that if I can’t see all the angles of what’s going on in Aquillon? For generations my family has ruled the Empire. The Terastaian Empire once stretched almost from ocean to ocean. Now, the Daro Wastes are lost to us, ruled by bandits and slavers. Noei and Bygista resist as we try to bring them back into the fold. And now Mizrahi says the draft is emptying the small towns of the men needed to keep those towns working.

  For the first time he was thinking of ‘ruling’ the Empire as an active role. He had been taught from long before his father’s death that the emperor sat back, watched the Highlords make decisions, and interjected only if the Highlords got hung up on personal issues or had a deadlock vote. When his father’s weak heart had given up, Corin had not felt anything. No pain, no sorrow, no thoughts for nearly a year afterwards. When the Sawgrass Plague had begun in his eighth year by wiping out his mother and two elder brothers, this had completed. He was alone in a hollow shell of self. Thousands had died in Aquillion in that plague, yet all he remembered was the emptiness of the palace halls. His only friend in the palace had been Anoni Kanin because all the nobles had sent their families out to the country away from the death. Anoni had brought him back from that silence. He remembered her, copper curls everywhere, spinning circles in the courtyard and digging her sandled toes into the dust.

  Corin shook off the memory. He could not bring back dead friends. He could, however, survive his Ordeal and take legal leadership of the Empire. It was a delicate time, more delicate than Fadarin Shaiso had ever let him believe. Under normal circumstances, the heir would take the Ordeal as soon as the Emperor was buried. This special waiting period had only ever been required three times in the thousand years of imperial history. It was a legal provision enacted after Mad Emperor Yohannis had almost broken the people in his two-year reign. He had died a ripe age of fifteen, assassinated by his own mother. That same madness, handed down through the bloodlines, would later claim Ventirus, Corin’s own father. But the Highlords had stepped in before too much damage could be done. Corin had only caught a few people whispering about his father in that way.

  Last night, thinking on his own orphanhood, Corin felt chilled even in the hot water of the soaking pool. He’d felt isolated in the palace, but Markham and his friends were always there. Companions, he thought. Plus, his time had been taken up by tutors given to him by the Highlords after his mother died and his father’s madness had necessitated he go into seclusion.

  If one of the Highlords decided to seize power, not even the Moon Temple’s assurance that he was the Goddess’s son-on-earth would keep him safe. Religious fervor had been declining for centuries. The few devout followers of the Moon Goddess stayed home and made incense offerings at midnight. They were not the kind of people to start a religious war to uphold the long ago divine mandate of one young man. In addition, both the first and second armies were stationed far away in the south in Noei and Bygista, he recalled, piecing together half-remembered reports and overheard talk. They would not rally to his call. They had been in the war for three long years, making next to no headway and taking casualties, trying to bring those two countries back into the Empire. Even the great treasuries that might have been resources to him if he had wanted to hire mercenaries from the east could not do him any good. The bulk of the wealth had been moved south to finance the wars. That which was left was stored on Highlords’ land. Not to mention, those Ozuk-bandit raids. He would be lucky to keep this alternate body, take a horse and set off across the mountains, never to return. Live out his life as Corin Deviida.

  He remembered laughing to himself in the hot spring; he knew he couldn’t just not go back. The paranoia of the Highlords’ betrayal seeped away. That wouldn’t happen. The Highlords were satisfied with their power. It wouldn’t happen. But having thought the possibility through, all the people in Aquillion that he had thought he could trust—Markham, Fadarin, Karic, Jessaly, Delis, and others—fell away. They had come the closest to knowing him, but four days with Mizrahi, Vansainté, and Copelia, and he knew, knew in his bones, that these people were different. Realer people and this was how real people acted around each other. They didn’t grasp, didn’t control, didn’t manipulate. The sour note of falseness was absent from the dynamic among the Dragons. He was so inured to that undertone, there was a shocking silence when it was missing.

  At that moment last night, as he had wavered, unsteady in the hot spring, a shaking hand to his face, thumb rubbing bewildered moisture from his eyes that Vansainté had asked him if he was all right. A simple question, offered in truth, of genuine concern from stranger to stranger. Corin had mumbled something about the sulfur. Vansainté just nodded and offered some quip about the smell. Corin had sat deep in the steam and pondered.

  Those he knew in the palace were Markham’s friends first. He didn’t know them, the more he thought about it. They might not be betraying him, but how could he tell when it was obvious now they weren’t really his friends. The only person with answers seemed to be Mizrahi, if he could get a straight answer out of him. Despite whatever grudge Mizrahi bore the prince, he had sworn to die for the prince. Only stepping back from the situation and using the knowledge he’d gained in the last few days could Corin see the many holes in his knowledge. The political ramifications of being the only Miliarnes left came to him in that hot spring; a daunting flood of paranoia had almost sent him searching the water for poisonous snakes.

  Mizrahi wouldn’t have told him so much if he was in the pay of the Highlords. Corin had to trust him. He had no other choice. The decision had filled him with a sense of peace and of purpose. When the other men got up to leave the pool, Corin had followed. On the way back, he had passed an attendant on the walkway. He had asked the boy what direction Mizrahi was in. The boy had waved distractedly farther out in the woods. Energized, Corin had struck out through the forest to have a private word with Mizrahi. He wasn’t sure he wanted any of the others to hear what he had to say.

  Five minutes of hard trekking later, he had come upon Mizrahi’s paramour in the pool: a beautiful moon-and-shadow-washed woman with long hair and a dagger. Mizrahi certainly knew how to pick them. And now Corin knew why Mizrahi showed no interest for Copelia, despite the girl’s insistence. For the first time in his life Corin had been tongue-tied.

  His horse stumbled on a stone in the road, jolting him from the memory. He sighed and then kneed Rosa, drawing even with Mizrahi at the head of the column.

  “Good morning to you,” he said.

  Mizrahi did a double take and clenched his jaw. He seemed to be fighting some expression.

  “Or is it not a good morning?” he asked in doubt.

  Mizrahi shot him a look and said, “It’s a fine morning. What do you want?”

  Bracing himself, Corin lowered his voice and asked, “I need to talk to you, about something important. Can we ride ahead?”

  Mizrahi peered at him for a moment and Corin thought he would refuse. Finally he turned a head. “Hey Wix! We’re going to scout ahead.”

  “Okay, boss,” came the reply.

  Mizrahi clucked to his mare and Corin matched him as they cantered
ahead. They slowed again when they were fifty feet in front of the column.

  “Far enough?” Mizrahi asked.

  “This is fine. I...” Corin hesitated. “I was sent by the prince to gather information about you Dragons.” Corin waited but Mizrahi just nodded. “I believe you have the prince’s interests at heart.”

  Mizrahi snorted. “For all the good it does us.”

  Corin sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. He said, “You sound like you know what is going on in the palace. I need to know what you know.”

  Mizrahi was silent for a moment. “Can you get the prince to listen to you?”

  “Yes, why?” he almost smiled.

  “If you know what I know, but can’t get him to believe you, then we’re in the same boat. If you can convince His Imperial Highness of Thickheadedness, then we might be able to protect him,” Mizrahi said dryly.

  “Okay, but first you have to tell me why you have a problem with the prince,” said Corin.

  Mizrahi frowned, angry. “Hey, you came to me. I don’t know what you want from me.”

  In frustration, Corin grabbed Mizrahi’s arm. “I need to know I can trust you. If your problem is as deep as I think it is, you might be doing all this,”—he nodded back in the direction of the other Dragons—“to get revenge. Once he’s crowned, you would be perfectly place the kill him. No one could stop you in time. I need to know what is your grudge.”

  “Let go,” Mizrahi said in a quiet voice.

  Corin dropped his hand, but didn’t give up. “I need to know the sword of the Red Dragon will be pointed at the right person when trouble strikes.”

  Mizrahi pondered for a long moment, and eventually said, “Fine. I’ll tell you. But if this gets around to anyone else, I will hold you accountable.” He met Corin's gaze in dead earnest.