A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  “Agreed.”

  “My cousin was a childhood friend of the prince’s. She doted on him. Not long after her thirteenth birthday she was attacked in a lower palace hallway by the young Markham Shaiso. He tried to rape her, she defended herself. For her trouble, Markham tried to drown her in a rain barrel. The prince tried to break them up, but it was almost too late. A palace servant knew the breath of life, brought her back. The girl was brought in front of the emperor and the council on charges of a commoner assaulting a noble. For some reason, the emperor took pity for her. He changed the sentence from death to exile. Her best friend, the prince, did not speak for her. He sided with Markham in his silence. She was sent to the Daro Wastes, where she died not long after,” said Mizrahi. His words were bitter as ash, but Corin could barely hear them, his own memories of those events were so overwhelming.

  The amber eyes that haunted him. The flighty little girl who seemed much too young to be the friend of an imperial prince of fourteen years. A steward’s daughter who called him “your highness,” even when she was apologizing for giving him bruises in the practice yard. As his sparring partner, he had been hard on her. But he had never doubted her.

  “I wanted vengeance on Markham Shaiso, so I traveled to Oruno and trained. Shaiso will never see it coming. And the prince, he will give me an explanation, at sword point if necessary,” said Mizrahi as he clenched his fists on the reins.

  “She was just a child,” Corin said faintly. They were the words that haunted him. He had told himself them when he heard of Markham’s charges. She is just a child. They won’t sentence her. She is just a child. A silly child. I won’t care if they sentence her. They won’t sentence her. Shocked at his friend Markham first, and at the council second, he had watched as she was led away in chains. Markham had told him in his chambers before the charges were put forth that there was nothing he could do. They had argued. Markham had accused him of already doing what he had tried to do. Markham had said defending a commoner in such grievous charges would only convince the council he, the prince, had been involved with her. At the time, he had seen more of the councilors than of his only remaining parent, and their opinion of him had seemed so important. They were all excuses for why he hadn’t tried to get her out of the sentence. The judge had been immovable; pleading for her probably wouldn’t have worked. This girl had wandered where she shouldn’t and sprung up between the first boy of his own age he had ever met. Speaking up for her would ruin the first friendship he had ever had with a boy his own age. Sticking up for her would ruin the image of the strong, impassive imperial family who didn’t care about commoners who were below him in every way. Dead. He imagined her body, broken like a doll in a ditch in the wilderness, tangled copper hair in all directions.

  “Yes, she was just a child,” Mizrahi said angrily. “Now do you understand?”

  Corin swallowed hard. “I understand. Will you tell me what you know?” His stomach felt like it was tumbling down stairs.

  “Yes. Maybe you can get through to the prince. None of us have much time, least of all him.”

  ***

  Imperial Moon Temple

  Ildiko

  Priestess Ildiko nodded to the guard outside Alcyenne’s private office and opened the door, careful not to spill her tray. The room was spacious, opulent with bright carpets, a dark wood desk, and shelves heavy with gold-embossed spell books. There were many clergy that believed a vow of poverty was important to their connection with the Goddess. Alcyenne had never been one of them. She was also not in the room. Ildiko blinked. If the Sybil was not here, the other option was daunting. Ildiko liked her books, her quiet predictable library and her dependable accounts. She herself had never seen firsthand the power of the Goddess cast by the high priestesses. She had no talent in channeling the power of the Goddess, and she was fine with that. But those with the power had rooms in this tower, in secret places, and though they occupied themselves with otherworldly incantations, they also had mundane needs. The Sybil’s lunch was getting cold.

  Determinedly pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose, Ildiko went to a shelf on the far wall, triggered a lever behind one of the books, and swung the shelf open like a door. Behind it a dark passage angled downward. A silvery glow wavered somewhere at the end of the passage. Ildiko stepped in and closed the shelf behind her. The air was cooler, with a smell of water and slight decay. Ildiko made it to the end of the passage with only a small shiver in the knees. The windowless chamber was round, fifty feet across, with a large pool taking up most of the room and a table and chairs near the door. The glow came from three silvery lightfish the size of cattle circling in the pool around a tall, skinny figure. The silverware on the tray rattled as Ildiko recognized the Sybil. The old lady was trailing fingers along the dorsal fins of the fish as they passed close enough. It reminded Ildiko of cats rubbing on the legs of their favorite people.

  “Um, lady?” It came as a squeak.

  The Sybil half turned. Her voice was tired. “What do you need, Ildiko?”

  “Your dinner is here, lady.”

  “Ah.” She slogged up the steps out of the pool and came over. “Put it on the table.”

  The tray barely made it to the table safely. The Sybil sat and took the cover off her plate. She tucked into the meal with obvious fervor. Ildiko noticed it was a plate of delicacies: roasted quail and some tiny onions is a berry sauce.

  “Ah, Sybil, what are those...?” She turned to indicate the fish.

  The lady finished her bite and meticulously blotted her mouth with the linen napkin.

  “Her great spirits. They have protected this city since the beginning.”

  “Are they theomantic? Those rumors of Ozukan beasts aren’t true, are they?”

  “No, they aren’t apparitions. They are fish.” Sybil Alcyenne shrugged. “Of a kind. They feed on human flesh.”

  Ildiko took an involuntary step backward, bumping into the table.

  “In the beginning, when there were Ozuk everywhere in this region, the dead were tempting food to them, and lighting fires to burn them only attracted their attention faster. There are rumors of the dead being brought back to life in Ozuk service.”

  “Yes, I know that is why our funerals involve water. But, those?”

  The Sybil smiled. “Don’t you think the dead would have filled every corner of the sacred pools if they just sat there? Besides the smell...these beauties were brought into being by the Goddess to purify the flesh once the body was empty of soul. They have the run of the sacred pools and the aqueducts from around the city. The bodies are taken up by her spirits, and the bones sink to the bottom. The bones of the faithful act as a shield against the Ozuk.”

  “And they’re friendly...?”

  “Definitely not. Anything that comes to their pools is fair game.”

  “But you...”

  The Sybil gave Ildiko her perpetual mysterious smile. “They are Hers, so they are mine.” Silence fell and the Sybil went back to her meal. Ildiko watched the white light bouncing off the dome of the chamber and the fish with their translucent bones. The Sybil didn’t seem to mind that she was still there, so she cleared her throat.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  The Sybil nodded primly between bites.

  “Anoni Mizrahi is the temple Scion, I mean, the Scion always takes over and becomes the new Sybil but she doesn’t know about the prince. Why?” asked Ildiko.

  “That is a wise question. There are several reasons. The most important is that despite our personal associations, and our personal feelings, we fulfill a ceremony through theomantic principles and holy order.”

  “...I don’t understand much of that...end of things,” Ildiko admitted painfully. She didn’t want the Sybil to think she didn’t believe.

  “What I mean is, the Ordeal ceremony deals extensively with the intrinsic essence of the subject. And the essence is defined in power by the...?” prompted Sybil Alcyenne.

  “The name,” Ildi
ko supplied. “So in moving his soul, you sealed his name. If the people on the quest to Asteri were to know him by his true name, the spell would unravel and...?”

  “He might be lost. Or twisted. Or split. One can never be sure with spells you haven’t written yourself. The spell is renewed through moonlight, and the stasis is delicate. If it was not tied to the coronation so closely I would never risk it on a human,” explained Sybil Alcyenne.

  “The Scion also doesn’t seem to know what her title means,” muttered Ildiko, and then froze. It slipped out. She wasn’t going to ask, especially with how prickly and intense the woman was. It had been bugging her for months, though.

  A crafty smile crossed the Sybil’s face. “Somewhere in that thick skull, she feels it and she won’t admit it. She will lead the temple. I knew that since the morning I found her at her mother’s funeral marker, the day she was going to be exiled. I had been carrying a relic in my pocket for days, for no reason other than a feeling. I saw her and I knew. I gave her the disguise stone and told her how to activate it.” She shrugged. “Much of her life is tangled with the temple, much more than she likes to acknowledge. Soon she will finally say goodbye to her past with the prince and take up her place.” The Sybil was clearly seeing that day as she looked into the distance.

  “Thank you for telling me,” said Ildiko.

  “You are not without understanding in these matters. Do not regret you do not have the talent to channel. You have others that will stand you for a longer. And you ask good questions, which is a rarity in many that come to study,” said Alcyenne as she finished her food and sat back. “They are too busy learning to ask why.”

  Ildiko frowned at this circle of reasoning, unable to make sense of it. “So much has been lost in the past, knowledge about the relics, the spells, histories...” mused Sybil Alcyenne. She rubbed a thumb against her caster, coming to a decision. “We need a new seventh, to help Melkina run the library. I think you would make a good choice.”

  “But, I...” Ildiko trailed off in surprise.

  “You’ll have access to the records that should fill in any more holes in your knowledge.” Sybil Alcyenne cocked her head in the direction of the fish.

  “Oh.”

  Sighing, Sybil Alcyenne stood. “You may go. I’ll speak to Melkina tonight.”

  “Thank you, lady. Thank you so much.” Ildiko curtseyed, and rushed up the passage, so flustered she completely forgot the tray.

  ***

  Sea Road, North of Skevelia

  Anoni

  Their group traveled north through foothills and forests. Anoni laid out the conspiracy against the prince to Corin as the road climbed the bluffs along the coast. Of the thirty-six Highlords, only for Shaiso and three others did they have evidence, and that evidence was still shaky enough that the Judicial Committee might not convict. Many of the witnesses were commoners, not considered reliable to the nobility. They had strong suspicions about many others though. The confirmed conspirators were high-level positions in the command of the armies.

  Corin stopped her. “How can these nobles do this? Surely the people won’t stand for it? They love him in the capital. I...thought they loved the prince.”

  “It’s not that simple. Morale in cities outside the capital is dead. There’ve been riots in Vinik and Mochuela, both province capitals in the southeastern of the Empire. The Highlords are taxing people everywhere into starvation. When winter comes in five months the south will have bodies in the streets, dead for lack of food and money for heat,” said Anoni.

  “But,” he protested, “the south has been the breadbasket of the Empire for twenty generations.”

  “The Sawgrass Plague hit everyone hard, imperial family to foot soldier. They’ve been press-ganging farmers to fill the ranks since then. Hawk’s Hoop is happening all over the Empire. No more men and boys to spare and fields went unplanted this season for lack of hands to do the tilling. They’ve started to fight back when the soldiers come, but you know how much chance a farmer has against marines or cavalry...The nobles have put the full name of the prince spelled out for anyone to read on every proclamation. They tell everyone how much the prince wants these things,” explained Anoni.

  Corin was pale. “They think he’s the one stealing their fathers.”

  Anoni sighed and said, “It was one of the reasons we knew someone in Aquillion was going to make a move. Annihilate their love for him, then kill him and everyone cheers.”

  During their quiet conversation at the front of the column, Vansainté had been busy keeping his sister occupied. There suddenly came a call of “Oh, Mizrahi, you told me you were looking for riding lessons,” from behind them. Anoni turned with a horrified expression to see Copelia had lost interest in her brother and had been trying to eavesdrop on them. Anoni shot Vansainté an annoyed look over Copelia’s shoulder and undertook the riding lessons. Vansainté and Yupendra took up the instruction and filled Corin in on the Council’s effects on healing temples and institutions for the poor. Corin absorbed it all like a sponge. Meanwhile, Anoni gathered bruises from a myriad of falls off Pelaki. Every time she tried to do anything more fancy than sit on the horse, the mare gave her an extra shove over the side.

  That night, Anoni came over to his tent and wordlessly showed him how to set it up. He tried to thank her, but she just nodded and left him to his thoughts. Allies were not allowed to sleep in the rain.

  ***

  Sea Road, North of Skevelia

  Corin

  Corin sat at the flap of his tent, looking out. Copelia was grooming her stallion over by the pickets. Involuntarily, his eyes sought out Mizrahi. The way Mizrahi moved was fascinating. There was a kind of grace there, speed and flexibility. Now that Corin had become part of their little band, his anxieties were eased. Their knowing he was on their side made it clear that every inch of tempered steel and ounce of deadly skill was now on his side. Not just the prince’s, but also his side, even if they think he’s just Corin Deviida. The thaw in the Dragon’s attitudes were so palpable it felt like he had walked from a gusty cold night through a door into a building with thick chinked walls. He liked the image. Dragons as protective architecture. Outside, Mizrahi was doing drills with his sword in one hand and a long dagger in the other. He executed a scoop cut, which Corin recognized as being designed to angle up under the opponent’s descending attack and sever his hands. Corin swallowed shallowly. Now he would just have to see about kindling a real homely fire inside those well-chinked walls.

  Mizrahi had perfect balance and deliberate grace as he spun and kicked out under the blades. He really was just that good. It was hard not to watch. He didn’t see craziness as he had when they had first met; instead he saw determination, unpredictable genius, and exacting fluid steel. It was such a shame Corin couldn’t learn to do that with a sword.

  A pang of memory went through him, recalling the nightmare on the Audience chamber floor. But the anger, the impotent rage, was surprisingly gone from the memory. He had been up against this prodigy of the Oruno Warcollege. He had made the original mistake in the choreographed ceremonial fight with Vansainté because he had caught Mizrahi’s angry amber-colored stare from the group of Dragons. It had so puzzled him, and enraged him, that someone would dare look at him with so much bald-faced hatred. Now he knew where Mizrahi’s rage came from, and that it would always be directed at his enemies.

  Watching Mizrahi practice now and thinking back to the ceremony, as much as he could admire the sword work, his instinct was clear on this. During the ceremony he had dropped his sword and gone for hand-to-hand combat.

  Blinking at the firelight, Corin found the two Dragons he was searching for. Wix and Tevix were conducting a mock battle against Yupendra, the large, golden-skinned healer. Yupendra wielded his wickedly curved sword, while the cousins dodged around him. As Corin watched, Tevix disarmed the healer, and the sword went wheeling into the forest like a crescent moon gone rogue. Corin was halfway across the campsite before he had
formed a coherent plan of what he was going to do. He reached them as they were bowing to each other.

  “Good evening...Um...I was wondering if you gentlemen would do me the honor of teaching me your way of battle,” stuttered Corin. Inwardly he grimaced at the phrasing.

  Wix shook out his braids and looked at his cousin. Tevix shrugged expressively. Wix smiled. “Okay. Take off your boots. We’ll start with some stretches.”

  ***

  Sea Road, North of Skevelia

  Anoni

  Anoni witnessed the opening overtures between the lord’s son and the masters with satisfaction. The acceptance of a student by his masters was important. She didn’t know if he would stick with it, but it was a start. It quickly became a game for the two dark Jaika Masters. They showed him first how to stretch, then began training him in some of the easier techniques. She was surprised how quickly he picked it up. He relaxed into the stance of a fighter with ease once Wix described it to him. It seemed mildly unusual for a lord's son from the mountains to be so well trained in the basics of defense and body memory. He also showed a level of determination and patience that surprised her.

  Against the gentle ribbing of Wix and Tevix, Corin slaved away over the next few days. He seemed so thirsty for the knowledge. The next day when the column stopped for lunch, Corin had asked Arjent to water his horse and started running through the training patterns. Anoni had always been self-conscious about practicing in front of people, ever since her days with the prince in the practice court, so she couldn’t imagine starting a new discipline in front of a crowd of experts like the Dragons. But as the Dragons saw Corin’s calm determination and endless patience, their laughter over missteps and stumbles turned to encouragement and eventually offers for tips on how to improve. Only Nekobashi stayed aloof, though he stopped sneering. Arjent, having taken pity on Corin early on, began helping in the training. He added tricks from the fast and dirty street fighting that was Arjent’s mother tongue on the streets of Oruno.