A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  “I killed Scalamindara here a few days ago. You take me to Aquillion, or I kill you too.”

  He laughed. “No human could kill one of us.”

  “Look at me, use your highly developed Ozuk nose.” He did, and the ruby light shown from her eye. “I need a quick ride to Aquillion.”

  “No!” He leaned away from the dagger.

  “Take me or die, no more choices.”

  “Not into the Goddess’s domain. I can take you to Lyceo,” grunted the Ozuk.

  “Fine. Take better hold. You twitch and this goes through you.”

  He picked her up like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold. She looked over her Dragons for the last time. Six dirty, tired, men. She nodded. “Go.”

  And go he did, flying high in great floating leaps. It was a horrible screaming ride over the treetops that made Anoni wish for horses. The trees and then the burnt desolation of what had been Tall Grasses sped by below her. He took up the time with an endless series of hissing threats of what he was going to do to her when he saw her again. He smelled Koseichiro on her and such an abomination as an Ozuk fragment inside a human could not be suffered to live. He would be back someday when she didn’t have her blade so ready. She ignored him, as she had ignored Koseichiro’s reasoning and warnings.

  By late afternoon, she stepped onto the ground, clear of the angry Ozuk. He waited long enough to insult her mother before launching himself back into the sky in a graceful, impossible leap. Anoni stood long enough to make sure he was gone before sinking to the ground on legs as weak as wet paper. It took her long minutes to gather herself for the half-mile walk to the Lyceo gates. She used a little water from her canteen to wash her hands and face. Her hair was a wild cloud around her head, refusing to be tamed. She realized belatedly why Vansainté had insisted she take one of his shirts—her pants were mostly brown with old blood and they had dried stiff.

  On the North Road, she came out of the trees in the cleared area around the walls of Lyceo. The tall, yellow walls stood silent, the bushy nests atop them filled with birds. The little birds perched, unmoving and silent, watching as she approached. Koseichiro went just as silent. She was a week ahead of the Dragons. She had six days of travel to Aquillion. Alone in this strangeness on the dusty road, she hailed the gate house.

  The scarred veteran who she had met on the day they left Lyceo walked into view from behind a crenellation, crossbow aimed at her. “Who’s there?”

  “Ah, Madame Mizrahi. I came this way a while back.”

  “What about you has the weavers in a tizzy? Something came down near here...” He surveyed her with cold suspicion, the sun glinting off his shiny bald-shaved head.

  She raised her hands to show they were empty. “Don’t know. I think there was something following me. Please let me in.”

  The guards conversed, then argued.

  She raised her purse and the money borrowed from Vansainté jingled. “Would an Ozuk carry money?”

  The gate opened. She had a faint fluttering feeling in her mind, some trepidation on Koseichiro’s part no doubt. The little birds watched her, still silent as she passed through the gate. A split second’s resistance stopped her, like she had bumped into an invisible humming wall. She pressed, and pushed through. She came out from under the gate’s shadow on the other side; the veteran had come down to meet her. She gave him the toll money, and he studied her as he palmed the money. She started walking, and he paced her. “Where are your men?” asked the veteran.

  “I’m coming ahead. Any news for a weary traveler?” she asked, trying to seem like a normal traveler.

  “We heard part of the plains burned.”

  “Anything from in Empire?”

  “Esau, the capital of Cavanii province is under water.”

  “Good,” she said with a grim smile, coming to a stop.

  “What?”

  “Never mind, do you know where I can get a horse?”

  “Third street, Terk’s Stables. Lady?”

  “What?” Her exasperation must have been clear.

  He studied her. “You have until tomorrow’s dawn to be out of Lyceo.”

  She sized him up with a deliberately insulting look and continued walking. “Fine...Mind if I ask why?”

  His words followed her. “The weavers know the look in your eye. I know it when I see it. My city wants none of it.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Tahoi River Near Aquillion

  Ammon

  The Blue Raven puttered down the main channel of the Tahoi River, coming down the last curves before the river branched around the upper city island. Ammon leaned on the railing while the players practiced on deck. It was a dramatic piece, something with sword fights and a lost princess. Telycia was running through her lines to bemoan the death of a just king.

  Ammon had enjoyed his voyage. The players were entertaining, and in general a lively bunch to spend time with. His thoughts could not be diverted from the troubling news he had gotten at last night’s stop. The players had moored at a river army placement, a singular tower on the river where a garrison lived, and news was passed by pigeon up and down the river. The garrison captain, a drunk insistent man, had invited himself on board for drinks with the players. Ammon hid below, but an open hatch had afforded him with a perfect place to overhear their conversation.

  Beachum was no fool: he kept the best wine flowing and the conversation light, while implying Telycia was his common law wife and was not in any way available. Dark news had slipped through the drunk’s lips. Aquillion palace temple had burned, Esau was under water, there was general unrest, and a strange message had arrived at the temples and the city clergy had gone missing. It was all too much for one garrison commander to handle when his superiors began actually asking things of him. Nothing of the mines though. Nothing of Renzeur. Nothing of strange weapons. But Shaiso had clearly made his move, and yet someone was left with enough power in the temple to send a message...Interesting. All hope was not lost. And if Shaiso hadn’t declared himself the new leader, then the prince couldn’t be confirmed dead. The ship rounded the last curve and the palace came into view. Beachum called all hands to help guide the ship into the north channel around the back of the palace.

  They would have to pay a toll at the star bridge and have it risen so they could go under and around to the docks on the other end of the upper city. Sighing, Ammon went to help. It would do them no good if they dislodged the wiring, trying to fold down the panels.

  At the docks, Ammon paid and thanked Beachum, gave the garrulous crew hugs or shaken hands as they preferred, and made his way into the city. He was still dressed in homespun, with a hat he had picked up from the players low on his head, pack on his back, and staff in hand. He attracted no attention. He made his way to a small temple in the docks district and ducked inside.

  The pews were deserted, though that was not unusual at this time of day. There was a distressing layer of dust on everything though, and dead leaves had blown into piles under the pews. Lightfish in small globes hung on stands near the altar at the center of the temple, so someone still cared for the place. Making sure he was alone, Ammon went in front of the altar and knelt, laying his staff beside him. He began his prayer, opened his hands on his knees and cleared his mind. His brothers and sisters were somewhere in the city, hiding. He had to find them. So much had to be done. Forcibly, he cleared his mind again, striving for that perfect silence in which the Goddess so often whispered.

  Instead of Her voice, he heard his heartbeat thumping. As he listened, the beat changed, sped and doubled, until he heard the gallop of horses. Opening his eyes, he stood, examining the altar and surroundings. There was no secret sign, no letters written in the dust. His eyes fell on the lightfish twirling their ever present dance. Something drifted and swayed in the globes, a different movement, not lit. Almost bumping his nose to the globe, he looked. Small and delicate in an antique blue swam a seahorse with a fluted mouth among the lightfish, tail curling and u
ncurling. He checked. There was another in the other globe, just as small.

  Horses. The sign was horses. Ideas starting to become clear, he grabbed up his staff and left the temple in the direction of the merchant district and the horse market. The large horse-trading market was an open space with corrals and stalls. The horse merchants brought their stock in on the river from the docks down the aptly named Horse Street to the market every day of the week. Gleaming horses in every shade milled in those paddocks; among the most popular were the roans, bays, and chestnuts. There were also the great matched grays bred for the lords’ carriages. And the centerpiece: Caruda House’s great black Delkerans, horses that seemed to dance despite their impressive size and hooves the size of dinner plates. Crowds milled outside the corrals, spectators and hopeful buyers. There were uniformed military men searching out their next mount, and well-dressed rich men and women dickering for the next addition to their own houses’ bloodstock. Stablehands exercised some of the horses, putting them through their paces on lunge lines or by riding. It was so busy that it was impossible to tell where he was supposed to go. Muttering a prayer under his breath, he closed his eyes. Using his staff as a blind man’s stick, he wandered. He listened for the hoofbeats he had heard in the temple. Too many. Too many horses, all milling about. How could he find anything in this mess? The Goddess said to see with the mind, not just the eyes. To search with the heart. The fifth time he bumped into someone, he swore and tried again. When he felt someone picking his pocket, he brought the end of the staff down hard on their feet and opened his eyes. A street boy was limping away at speed through the crowd. Ammon kept quiet because the boy hadn’t gotten the purse. He stood next to the crowd observing the Caruda Delkerans. A solid looking stablehand sat on the fence, a broad brimmed hat pulled low, whittling a bit of wood with a knife. He didn’t answer any of the questions of the crowd, letting the head trainer answer from the inside of the fence. The trainer was a tall, tanned man of middle age with long, brown hair graying at the edges that was tied in a tail. They were between customers now, just putting on a show for the crowd. Ammon watched for a while, drifting closer. Finally, he was close enough to see the whittling as the stablehand twisted the small knife around the curl of a tail. A crude seahorse was taking shape in his hands.

  Ammon pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Excuse me, is there any work available at Caruda House? I’m not so good with horses, but I’m not a bad herdsman.”

  The hat tilted up, and the suspicious and dusty face of Sister Ketchkei split into a blinding smile. “I think we might have room for one more.” She hopped off the fence, took up a staff leaning against the fence and waved the trainer over. “Did Sarousch want another hand, Master Binaldi?”

  “He was looking for one right away. Why don’t you take him back to the house,” he nodded with a knowing smile. “Send Timos back, will you?”

  She nodded and led the way back through the crowd. Once they got out of the horse market she took off her hat. “Thought when I entered the temple I would never have to herd animals again,” she grumbled, wiping the sweat and dust off her forehead with a kerchief. Her long blonde braid was pinned up on her head.

  Questions boiled in him, but he kept quiet. He knew the reasons for the elaborate secrecy. His questions could wait. He followed her for four blocks until they came to Caruda House. It had been a lord’s town manor once, and it still had a certain majesty. The emblem over the wrought iron gate was an old eastern pictogram with four legs and the suggestion of a flying mane, and there were statues of horses on the gateposts. Mishi’s sign, the Goddess of horses. She knocked on the gate and identified herself to the boy on the other side. He let them in quickly.

  “Brother Ammon, this is Timos,” she said, introducing the boy. “Master Binaldi wants you at the horse market.” Timos bowed to Ammon, then summoned another stablehand and told him to take over the watch. Timos went to let himself out of the gate to comply with Master Binaldi’s wishes, but Ketchkei grabbed his arm.

  “Where are they?” Ketchkei asked.

  The boy rolled his eyes. “You weren’t supposed to go out, you know. They have been looking for you.” She made an impatient motion. He gave up and continued. “They’re in the dining hall, same as always. They say she’s finally coming down to talk.”

  ***

  Aquillion

  Copelia

  Copelia dressed in a silk gown of deep blue and had her maid do up her hair. It would be prudent, she decided, to look as rich and influential as possible when she addressed the clergy. Because if the clergy of the Temple were anything like the clergy she had met in Oruno, she knew first, the clergy respected the wealthy because donations kept a temple running, and second, that one priestess or priest could manage to disagree with themselves when no one else would oblige them by being in the same room. A pack of them upped the odds of argument by factors so vast that Copelia would not have bet a penny against them.

  So she indulged her flamboyant urges and put on jewelry and applied tastefully the potions her herbalist gave her for darkening her eyes and lips; she also had to put up with the full skirt when she would have preferred a split skirt for riding. They were the most comfortable clothes she owned, even more comfortable than the breeches she had badgered her brother into buying for her. But to be impressive, a woman needed a skirt. A big one.

  Her hair was piled on her head and secured with jeweled pins and strings of crystals. She gave her casters a quick polish and put them back on. With a pair of pliers and some prayer she had gotten them reshaped back to the silver skeletal constructs that the clergy were used to. She had to leave off her slippers because they would not fit with the casters on her feet. The stone flags were cold under her feet, but she walked through the halls of her home as fast as she could. She had told Sarousch to assemble the clergy in the dining hall.

  The dining hall was not a grand room; it was simply the dining room used by Copelia and her brother and their guests. It was large enough for the Caruda family, their guests, the servants, and the stable workers to eat in. It had a vaulted ceiling and rows of long tables to accommodate the varying number of inhabitants. It was also where the clergy had been eating for the days of their confinement.

  Copelia had a couple of strong stablehands carry Ildiko down in a chair and set her near the head table. Ildiko had looked tired, but much healthier than the night before when they arrived.

  Copelia stepped through a side door and made her way to the head table. The room was only half-filled by the milling clergy, but their noise was a wall of sound. She reached Ildiko and set a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. If the sound was bothering her, then it must be torturing the more timid librarian. Sarousch tried to bring the assembly to order, with little success. Priestesses and priests in dirty silver robes milled back and forth, conversing with each other. The blue-gray robed acolytes were more frenetic, most of them being less than twenty years old. Female and male alike, they flitted about speaking with one another, voices high and excited, while some were getting refreshments for their sponsoring clergy. Even younger were the novices. They were clad in pale green short robes. They were in their early teens. They ran and laughed or gathered in bunches, talking in hushed voices. They had given up their families only a year ago perhaps. The novices could still go back, could still give up the life of the temple for an inconspicuous one. They were afraid and wanted to run back to their mamas and papas.

  The presence of a young woman in a blue gown had not startled the clergy into silence. They ignored her, just as they ignored Sarousch. Copelia climbed onto the head table and waited for anyone to notice. The novices and acolytes grew quiet, their curious eyes turned toward a girl their age. The adult clergy determinedly ignored her. Finally, she clapped.

  “Clergy of the Temple of Aquillion. Please be seated!” She caught a few more curious eyes as the sunlight coming in from the windows flashed on her casters. A tall slender woman with blonde hair stepped forward bel
ligerently. Copelia recognized her as a high priestess by the line of blue-gray around the hem of her robes. “We demand to speak to the head of the house,” said the high priestess as she put her hands on her hips.

  “You are speaking to her. I am Copelia Caruda. In the absence of my brother, I am the head of the house. I sent the call for you to be gathered here,” Copelia said, going for a calm demeanor. She had never played to such a big audience before.

  The blonde high priestess was not done. “Why have you called us here to a non-believer’s house?”

  “I was called by your Goddess to take the position of Sybil,” Copelia said.

  Murmurs of disbelief and incredulity ran through the crowd. A rotund priest stepped forward. and asked, “How can you be the Sybil? Alcyenne is Sybil and you are not in the Temple.”

  “I am sorry to say that Alcyenne was killed by Stellys.” The murmurs grew louder, tinged with outrage but Copelia kept going. “On the day of the fire, Stellys killed the Sybil and led the marines to the Ordeal Chamber.”

  “Lies! What lies does this foreign whelp say!” yelled the blonde high priestess, face contorted in anger. “The fire was an accident! All we need to do is return to the Temple and Alcyenne!”

  Another priest, tall and slender this time, joined in saying, “Yes. We return to our Temple tonight.”

  Copelia exchanged a worried look with Ildiko. They could not go, but holding clergy against their will would be sacrilege. The call for return was being taken up by more and more of the clergy. Copelia rushed to think of what to say, or magic she could do to convince them. Nothing came to her.

  “No, you must listen to her. I was there,” came the slightly shaky voice of Ildiko from the chair where she sat. Copelia stared, surprised. Ildiko’s voice grew stronger. “I was there in the chamber when the marines broke in. I was there when they cut our sisters and brothers to ribbons.”