Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  Her dress arrived as Mikial took the last snarls from her hair with a brush she found waiting on the bed headboard. The long one-piece dress was an uncomplicated design born of expediency. Sleeveless, it was fashioned from a deep blue fabric. Along with the dress came a webbed turquoise belt with ends widened into fluffed tassels. There was even a matching cord for her hair, as if the seamstress wished to make up for the overall simplicity. The best part was that it was a reasonable fit, much to Mikial's relief. A pair of slippers completed the package, though she had to stretch them out of shape in order to fit her feet into them. At least they'll be hidden beneath the skirt, she thought with relief. A brief note tied to the slippers informed Mikial that she could set her battle dress out for cleaning. It also let her know that she would soon have a private dinner meeting with the Steward.

  Pulling back her hair, she tied on the cord and considered herself in the mirror. The angular face that stared back at her looked a little less harsh after that bath. Her hair obviously had grown out during the months in the field, the cinnamon cascade now halfway down her back. Mikial took a deep breath, almost hearing her mother's voice telling her to be still while she clipped jewels to the tufts at the end of her ears. Suppressing the pang of homesickness that welled up with the memory, Mikial set to work with the hairbrush.

  Before long, Dahin knocked on her door. For the first time she saw the hidden side of him, his barrel chest covered by a turquoise jacket resplendent in brass buttons and insignia. “Set Commander,” she greeted with raised eyebrows.

  “Dahin, to you,” he dismissed, coming inside. It was his turn to provide a frank appraisal. “Well, I see that Theoren has provided a suitable sheath to soften those sharp edges. You do look a little less threatening with your hair unbound, Mikial."

  “I'm hardly in a position to threaten anyone here."

  “Except Maltenna,” he replied with a laugh. “Come on. Alad would like to meet you in less formal surroundings."

  He guided her through several halls, sentries admitting them through a large door embellished with the emblem of two opposing skathes fashioned from an actual skathe's fangs. Unlike the chandelier-laden opulence of the hallways, the room to which Mikial was led was simple to the point of being cozy.

  Most of the floor was taken up by a lightly stained wooden oval table around which six people could be comfortably seated. The centerpiece was a blue porcelain vase filled with fresh white blossoms. A trio of gaslights hung overhead, shining down on the single occupant in the room.

  Theoren rose from her seat, still wearing the tan dress Mikial had seen her in earlier. “Thank you, Dahin. We will need your services as a witness after dinner."

  “I'd be honored, Lady,” he returned, giving Mikial a wink before closing the door behind him.

  Mikial gave Theoren a confused look. “I was told I'd be meeting the Steward."

  Theoren smiled. “He will be along shortly. For now you must endure the company of his wife.” Theoren gestured to a chair across from her. “I believe we have plains hen this evening.” She pulled a bottle from an ice bucket next to another doorway behind her. “Dahin told me you have a taste for old wines. Perhaps a glass before Alad arrives?"

  Nodding, Mikial took her seat, her mind tumbling through reassessments. “This dress ... thank you."

  “I was the House Seamstress before catching Alad's eye these many years back. Theoren poured a deep amber wine into Mikial's glass. “The dress lends a bit of civility to you. Dahin told me that females in your warrior sect are rare. It must be difficult for you, even among your own kind."

  “I'm well accepted, thank you.” Mikial paused. “What am I supposed to call you? Lady? Theoren?"

  Theoren raised a warding hand. “Please, Theoren will do. Having such as you for a niece is troublesome enough, without everyone thinking I am your mother. Maltenna's attempts to distance herself from you have not bought her as near to the Seat as she hoped."

  “Why don't you just deny her accusation?"

  Theoren's smile was less than kind. “I'm sure Maltenna's wondering the same thing, poor dear. Arguing the point before the Gentry would only have set her barb in deeper. By appearing to embrace you, we have no doubt thrown your mother into confusion. This afternoon was quite a setback to both her and Chasa."

  “My mother."

  Theoren's voice softened. “Dahin told me you didn't take the news of your lineage too well. Your people never told you where you came from?"

  Mikial took a gathering breath. “I knew I was an exchange baby, a Kiorannan.” Her words hardened with memory. “Maltenna intended to kill me when we first met."

  “Maltenna's a determined female. No doubt about that. You have my condolences, Mikial.” Theoren handed her the wineglass. “Just the same, your natural mother deserves some measure of respect. Once every five years the Kior family selects one from among us to become Steward. This is the fifth year, and Maltenna has garnered enough support to replace Alad, providing his popularity wanes enough. There are many who believe our tolerant relationship with your Holding is outdated.” Theoren began pouring wine for herself. “You see, niece, Kioranna currently enjoys the largest population of any country. That has emboldened many, your mother included. They have forgotten the reasons behind why we endure while others dwindle. The raids along our frontier only inflamed these feelings."

  “That would explain her desire to join this Eastern Union,” Mikial said, sipping slowly at her drink. The flavor was deep and rich, something she began to expect from Kiorannan wines. “Perhaps now that you know who's behind these raids, Maltenna's threat is diminished."

  “Most certainly,” Theoren agreed. She held up her own glass, the glitter of its facets reflecting off the dark brown depths in her eyes. “That is why she invoked Corias. One last chance to discredit Alad."

  Not wanting to debate Kiorannan myths regarding the Great Suria, Mikial was happy for a change of subject as her hunting eyes picked up another's approach. “We have company."

  “You have good ears,” Theoren said, both of them rising as the Steward entered. He wore a loose white sweater that gave some bulk to his otherwise narrow frame. Once more Mikial was caught by those amber eyes that seemed more like inset glowstones.

  Alad nodded to them both. “My Set Commanders held me late with another one of their wonderful debates. Fortunately, Chasa returns to Ruth tomorrow, since he is not going to accomplish much more for Maltenna here.” Alad smiled at Mikial. “You do look much improved in that dress."

  “To your wife's credit,” Mikial replied.

  Alad took a seat next to Theoren, giving his wife a quick kiss on the cheek. “Dinner is right behind me."

  Mikial watched in anticipation as two girls in green-and-blue dresses brought in a platter laden with vegetables around a roasted hen centerpiece. More attendants followed with dishes and fine silver tableware. The servants were quick to close the door behind them as they left, earning a couple chuckles from Theoren. “By morning the rumors will have you tearing into the meat with your bare hands.” She gave Mikial a speculative look. “You do use utensils, don't you?"

  “They're always right at hand,” Mikial countered, stabbing at a slice of bread with an extended claw. She was beginning to find her way around Theoren's irreverent wit. Deferring to Alad's raised eyebrows, Mikial took up a fork. “Yes, they taught me table manners."

  It was unquestionably the best meal she had eaten in months, and Mikial made no effort to conceal her relish as she went for added helpings. Theoren was always ready with the wine, keeping her glass satisfactorily full. By the end of dinner, Mikial was sated enough to not bother caring if those who cleared the table were afraid of her or not.

  Once they were alone again, Alad folded his hands and leaned back. “So tell me, Mikial. What did you think of Maltenna's invoking the name of Corias today?"

  Mikial gave a derisive chuckle. “Am I to assume she's expecting to raise our Great Suria from the dead to defend her?"


  “Actually yes,” he replied. “Before Corias died, she left a message that only a Taqurl could open. She expected our line to produce one, and so it has.” Alad gave her a meaningful look. “That message has the power to regain all the support Maltenna lost today. It is the last chance she has of taking the Seat, and she knows it. Kioranna's Co-founder is deeply respected by all, regardless of how they regard your kind now."

  “Co-founder,” Mikial sighed. “Forgive me if I don't share in your myths, regarding our Great Suria."

  Alad's brow furrowed, and for a dangerous moment she thought his temper would let fly. Instead, he pulled back his chair and stood up. “Come with me."

  The Steward ordered guards waiting outside to fetch both Dahin and Maltenna. Mikial looked at Alad as the soldiers left. “Why do you trust me like this? Didn't Dahin tell you anything about my sect?"

  Alad shrugged. “You had opportunity enough during the Hearing to kill me, if that was your purpose in coming here.” He motioned her from the table. “It is time to open those eyes of yours a bit wider, niece.” Mikial followed Alad and his wife downstairs to the Hearing room. Their footsteps echoed back from the overhead dome like impatient spirits as they crossed the dimly lit floor for another hallway.

  Dahin was waiting just inside the corridor with a lamp,

  Maltenna and Commander Chasa beside him. Both officers wore their uniforms, looking like they were preparing for a formal briefing. Mikial traded sharp looks with Maltenna. Her natural mother wore the same deep blue dress with its green trim. Maltenna's face was pinched, but held a resolute expression that any Datha would understand.

  Alad regarded them all. “Four hundred years of waiting ends tonight. I suggest we contain our squabbling, out of respect.” He gave a slight smile. “Governess, if Corias tells us to exact that revenge you desire so much, I will step down this night. The Seat will be yours."

  Maltenna let out a breath. “Are you so confident that she won't?"

  The Steward shook his head. “No, Maltenna. I am confident that I will have no part of it."

  “Fair enough.” Her fingers curled at her sides. “Let's get this over with, then."

  Not understanding what fantasy the others were caught up in, Mikial followed them to a set of brick stairs guarded by two sentries who dutifully stepped aside.

  “This goes down one level to the basement beneath the palace,” Alad said, taking Dahin's lamp. “Careful, there are no lights."

  Puzzled, Mikial looked at the obviously placed charge pads imbedded into the brick arch beside him. Reaching over, she gave the copper plates a brief discharge. Even Maltenna gasped as a line of round ceiling lights flashed to life down the narrow stairs. From below came excited shouts. Two more soldiers appeared at the bottom with pistols drawn.

  “It's fine,” Alad assured, waving the guards back. He leveled his eyes at Mikial. “Don't do that."

  “You said it was dark down there,” Mikial said as they descended. “Now it's not. They're just lights."

  “Which have not been turned on for generations,” Maltenna added with an acidic look toward Mikial. She gave a dark smile. “We'll tell you what to turn on in a moment."

  The two armed soldiers met them at the bottom, the gray granite floor leading to a single ironwood door. Taking a set of keys from his pocket, Alad opened the lock attached to the handle.

  Mikial gave a low growl, hating how everyone, guards included, stared at her expectantly. Her nostrils caught the musty scents of antiquity from inside the next room. Her hunting eyes found nothing to worry about, yet Mikial found her claws extending anyway.

  “I will go first and light the lamps,” Alad said, giving Mikial a stern look. “Wait here."

  When the Steward finally beckoned her inside, Mikial saw a curving wall of polished red granite lined with shelves and display cases. Stepping through the door, she glanced at a stone ceiling not much higher than the top of her head. The room itself was huge, almost as wide as the Hearing chamber above them. Gas lamps lined the walls, with more sitting on iron pedestals around what she first thought were two large chests centered in the middle of the floor.

  Crossing the wide expanse of polished stone, Mikial realized that what she looked at were sarcophagi. It was a form of internment rarely, if ever, used anymore. What chilled her was that the bodies were encased in solid crystal blocks, as if the couple were simply resting side by side. One of the bodies was that of an old Servant, his hair tied back much like her battle braids. He wore blue robes, and the hair around his sunken face was identical to Alad's. Mikial's heart almost stopped as her eyes fell on the one laid out beside him. The female's face was far older than the many visages Mikial had seen on sculptures and paintings, but it was unmistakable just the same.

  “Creation! It can't be!” Crying out, Mikial took a step backward, feeling Dahin's steady hand on her shoulder. It can't be true! The body wore a milky white dress, and lay upon a bright yellow robe. The faded belt about her waist contained four bands. Shandi yellow, Cothra brown, Ipper blue, and finally Datha red. Her hair, appearing to float within the crystal, was a pallid blonde. The tensa plaque at her feet told the rest. Corias Kior.

  Trembling, Mikial stared at Dahin. “This is a trick!” she whispered, shaking her head. “It has to be!"

  “So Corias still means something to you,” Alad observed with a nod. “Good. I was hoping that she still held a place in Taqurl history."

  Mikial swallowed. “Not this place.” Mind whirling, she could only stare at the body. So much teaching ... wrong? Mikial sucked in a ragged breath. It suddenly felt as if thousands of other eyes looked through hers. Was this fear? Or the spirit of Corias judging her? Mikial responded, her lips drawn back in a shrill roar of denial. Ignoring the guards, who now had their pistols drawn, she headed for the door.

  Maltenna moved to block Mikial's flight. “Wait! You have one task to perform first, Mikial. One that will prove without question what you seem so desperate to deny."

  “I want none of this!” Mikial snarled, her lips drawn back. “This isn't Corias! It's just a filthy trick, so get out of my way!"

  Maltenna looked up at her, the Governess's jaw set. “No."

  Mikial fought the urge to rip Maltenna apart.

  “This is more important than all of us, Mikial,” Dahin slowly spoke behind her. “Your people need to hear Corias’ message, just as ours do. Please. This, is in the purest sense, is what you came out here for."

  Mikial turned away from Maltenna, her eyes on the guards with their drawn weapons. For a brief instant, she saw herself charging forward into the only release left her.

  At Alad's nod, the soldiers holstered their pistols. Mikial gave a low groan, brushing past Dahin to stare at the bodies once more. “You expect me to tell my people that Corias Charrid was a traitor?"

  Alad walked over to the wall behind the sarcophagi and opened a display case nestled between two shelves. “Let Corias defend herself, if indeed she will.” He pulled out what looked like an old Cothra motion-recording box. Speakers were imbedded in its black-lacquered sides, and a glass sphere sat upon the top. Alad delicately set the device on the floor beside Mikial.

  Mikial knelt. She studied the silver flowers set in front of the box. Yes, they looked like decorative charge pads, but could she use them? Should she? What other unwanted secrets would come spilling out of this thing? Mikial placed her shaking palms on the flowers, and carefully discharged. Something woke inside with a hum and scratch of speakers long unused. A brief spark leapt within the glass ball, expanded, and—"It's her!"

  Mikial scrambled back in awe as the image formed. It was Corias! Suspended inside the globe was the same female whose body lay before her. This one stood on her feet with that forlorn half smile Mikial had seen on statues. Corias wore the same white dress and cloak, but there was life in her eyes. And then history spoke.

  It was a smooth, if somewhat distant voice, as if Corias knew her time was ending. “I am Corias Kior, though
some might know me as Corias Charrid. Only those of Taqurl blood can operate this case. Only those of the Kior family shall find it.” The Tasuria looked down a moment, then continued. “Who better to breathe hope into my failed dreams? Forty-eight years ago I tried to end the slavery of the Servant race that my people had created in their arrogance. When reason would not prevail, I chose vengeance. I used these four bands about my waist to set the great Taqurl dynasties against each other. Better, I thought, that the Servants win their own freedom while their masters fought over possessing me.” Corias’ eyes shut tight for a moment, as if warding off memories. “My people had succumbed to the desire for power far more than I imagined. I let lose a monster possessing an insatiable fury. Those terrible lights in the night skies burn me still. It was as if the stars had fallen, and with them the last façade of order.” She gave a bitter laugh. “And when the Servants rose up to put torch to the rest, I was made their savior. Me, with my hands dripping in treachery. When I tried to take my life, a young Servant nursed the poison from my stubborn body. In return, I discarded my fantasies for his truths."

  Her voice firmed with pride as Corias folded her arms in front of her. “Yane Kior didn't fail as I had, and in doing so lifted me far higher than these four bands ever could. We founded our land, and I gave him five strong children to begin it with.” Her look was almost apologetic. “Now that horrible light has come to claim me. I can no longer stave off its withering effects. I have no more tears left now. Only the memory that once I tried to bring a people together.” She gave a dry chuckle. “Perhaps a dying fool is entitled one final hope. Mine is for the one who hears this message. If you still look upon a people divided, succeed where I have failed. Make them whole again."

  Mikial did not know how long she was staring at the empty glass ball before Dahin touched her shoulder. Flinching, she gave a laugh that came from her throat like a rasping bark. Her need to hurl the box against the stone went unanswered as Alad gently pulled it from her grasp. “I'm the best she can do?” Mikial shook her head. “Corias couldn't even do this right.” She lurched to her feet, slapping at the cold harness of the crystal block with extended claws. “You started Min Saja?” Mikial stared at the sunken face. “They wouldn't listen, so you—” She gave a strangled cry. “Why didn't you die like you were supposed to?"