Escape of the Concubines

by Ben Wolfe

  “The wraiths have never been and will never be under any jurisdiction but our own,” the black knight interrupted.

  “Then you reveal yourself as a traitor, Warren of Arkenheim!” At that, the Heitar of Lief arrived with several men, pushing the guards at the door into the throne room and stationing several men of his own who were much more attentive outside the doors.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Gregory, the king of Eisengard stood up, at which point, a dozen other guards seemed to take notice and rushed forward from their stations along walls, which had been out of earshot to protect the conclave. Situating themselves between the Jurtan and the conclave, they leveled their spears, yet the Jurtan did not move.

  Torhig slowly held up a hand to stop the approach of the Heitar and his men. “You wish to know?” He took one of the spears and rather than leveling it at the conclave, he turned it sideways and tossed it at their feet, the other two still within the grasp of his other hand, planted firmly on the stone floor of the throne room. The spear clattered along the floor, coming to a stop just before the guardsmen.

  “Answer my question,” Gregory said, with greater authority.

  Torhig knew the power of the Mage Lords and there were a half dozen in the conclave not including Warren who was both a master mage smith and the Lord of Arkenheim. “Look at the weapon. It was left by the Jintai in the northern pas with the heads of our men upon them.”

  Gregory became outraged, “You are not even the Konigar, yet you stroll in to the conclave late and level accusations at one of the Lords of the conclave with nothing but a spear belonging to women?”

  Warren placed a hand on the shoulder of one of the guards who moved aside for him as he bent down to pick up the spear, but Gregory went on. “As host of the conclave I demand you leave at once. Return home to the Konigar and tell him of your disgrace.”

  “First,” Torhig said, amused at the tone Gregory Gabrihil had taken with him, “I am not your servant to be ordered here or there. I represent the Konigar, so you should be at least smart enough to know that I would rather murder every man here before returning home in disgrace or bringing disgrace down upon the north. Second, as representative of the Konigar, I speak with his voice and I am a guest of the conclave, not of you, Gregory Gabrihil. I did you a service by telling you of a traitor in your midst. Choose your next words carefully. If you do not, you will face a greater threat than you know and it will come not from one direction, but from two.”

  Warren held up his hand, “Wait, Gregory. This spear is not what it appears. With your permission?” He placed a hand upon his sword and looked to Gregory. At his nod, Warren drew his sword, covered in runes and it blossomed with blue aethereal energy. As he placed the blade on the spear, he drew the blade down the haft drawing aethereal sparks from both weapons.

  “The heads were not the real warning,” he said. “The real warning was that they carry weapons that would destroy a normal weapon.”

  “The only weapons like this made in the west are reserved for the mage lords and are forged by the mage smiths of Arkenheim, yet they have an army wielding such weapons and the wraiths are with the concubines and wives of the western lords, protected by the Jintai.”

  “An army of women,” Gregory sneered.

  “An army of women who threw the headless bodies of our dead scouts down upon us before calling down a mountain behind them and left us these spears with baskets of their heads as a message.”

  Warren ran his thumb over the wooden haft of the spear looking at it closely. “These are not ours.”

  “Yes, you would say that,” said Torhig tightening his grip on the other two spears.

  Sheathing his sword and extinguishing the aethereal flames, he waved a hand with aethereal flames leaping between palm and the haft of the spear revealing a rune carved into the smooth, almost black wood of the spear. “This wood is silbony and the rune is an ancient symbol of unbreaking.” Before the others could get a good look at the rune, he extinguished the flame and looked at Torhig. “Might I see another of the spears?”

  Grabbing another spear, Torhig for the first time seemed to hesitate. “Yeah. I’d like to run you through with one.”

  “That’s certainly one option,” Warren replied looking at Torhig and matching his intense gaze until the Jurtan stepped forward and handed him the spear, watching him closely with the other spear held at the ready.

  As he ran his hand over both of the spears simultaneously, bathing the hafts of both in aethereal fire, Warren spoke, “you see the inscription of the rune?”

  “I don’t read,” replied the Jurtan.

  “You don’t have to,” replied Warren. “Look at the inscription of the rune. You would have to know how to inscribe this the right way to create permanence and would have to put intent behind it. If it was made by a mage forge, the inscriptions would be the same. Based on the original mark of the maker. If you look closely, each of these was inscribed individually, the maker imprinting part of their power upon each one.”

  “Your wraith witches then. All know of their affiliation with you. You have admitted to an alliance with these women in the past.”

  Warren appeared for the first time, uneasy, shifting his shoulders and glancing at both the Jurtan and at Gregory. Finally, he said, in a very low voice, “It has long been believed that they make their own weapons from a mage forge of their own making.”

  Nicholas B’tal, the King of Medrigor stood, his face contorted with rage. “You mean to tell me that these women stole a mage forge and found a way to use it and you never felt it important to tell us this?”

  “Nephew,” Warren replied coolly, “remember who it is who put you where you are now. They did not steal a mage forge. It is held by myself, but not widely believed, that they found a way to create one themselves.”

  Nicholas’ face turned red, but the man with the gryphon tattoo from Corth interjected. “King Nicholas. Lord Warren. May I point out that just because a woman has never before been able to wield the aether does not mean that they are not capable of doing so. While it is probably not widely held as possible because it has never been done before, that does not mean that it is an impossibility. The fact that such a secret organization as the wraiths has been permitted to exist as a secret society for so long and has been relied upon so heavily by the Dark Riders to such great effect is a testament that there are at least some women who are capable of things beyond what we might normally give them credit for.”

  “So what if they have a few indestructible spears?” said Gregory. “They have our wives and concubines.”

  “Not all ran.” The man with the gryphon tattoo on his face stood. Stepping from the dias to stand between the guardsmen and Torhig, he looked pointedly at Gregory and then to Torhig. “Warren, did any of your mistresses run?”

  “I fail to see what that has to do with anything,” Nicholas protested.

  “I think most of us here are smart enough to understand the implication,” Warren replied. Inclining his head, he replied, “No, to my knowledge, none have left, though I left to come here as soon as I heard of the wraith’s involvement.”

  Torhig’s knuckles went white on the haft of the spear. “We have only your word that Arkenheim was not behind this plot!”

  “Neither did Lady Alyssa leave Lord Corth, nor did many of the other wives leave their lords.”

  An uneasy silence descended over the chamber as the gathered kings and noblemen exchanged uneasy glances with each other until Torhig shoved the emissary from Corth into the nearest guard and put the tip of the spear held to his throat as the stunned guard tried to determine what he should do.

  “I have told all here to choose their words carefully V’loren. Yes, don’t look so surprised that I know who you are. I usually make it a point, before or after,to learn the names of those I kill.”

  Aetherical light spilled from Warren’s sheathe as he drew his sword, alight in mage fire that stopped its arc a hand span from the back of
Torhig’s neck. “Remember who he represents here, Torhig. Remember who you represent here. Would Garhig want a war with Corth?”

  “Bah!” Torhig turned his head and spat, then looked into V’loren’s eyes. “What do I have to fear from Corth? Vordosha isn’t soft, but that’s all I see here.”

  “When has Vordosha ever won a war without the help of Arkenheim?”

  Torhig growled and ducked below Warren’s blade and parried the sword in a spray of aetherical sparks. “You want to be first, traitor, let’s settle this now.”

  “Enough,” said Gregory, his eyes alight with mage fire and his voice enhanced to echo throughout the hall. “The next person to bear arms will feel the weight of the rules of the conclave.”

  Nicholas’ eyes were both also aflame with aetherical mage fire. “And anyone who thinks us soft will soon find that in this, at least, we are harder than the ice that flows through your veins, Torhig and we do not need a mage forge to enforce the laws of the conclave among battle magi, uncle. Even such as we can be killed.”

  The other lords and self-proclaimed kings had hands on their sword hilts and had turned stony eyes on Torhig and the Heitar and his men who had maintained their distance but now seemed poised to move at Torhig’s command.

  Torhig looked around, evaluating. “Gharig isn’t known to be gentle with his women, but he’s a good man. He has two sons from concubines he got pregnant. He didn’t want his wife to know so he set them up on estates near Vindhela and is seeing to their training. His wife thought them dead. It would have given her and her handmaiden reason to run, but not to steal from the treasury and attempt to kill him.”

  The other kings and nobles seemed to relax a bit but held to their mage fire and kept their hands on the hilts of their swords. Nicholas replied, “It is also a well-established practice to seal alliances through marriage. It has prevented wars in the west for over a century. By abandoning their duties, several wives have broken alliances.”

  Torhig replied heatedly, “They killed my son. I killed the leader of these Jintai who follow the Lianshi but something has to be done. Blood demands blood. They killed more than just my son and they have given sanctuary to our women. How many more will be lost if we do nothing?”

  There were murmurs of assent and nods among most of the conclave.

  V’loren, the master of the citadel at Corth, second only to Gherard Corth himself, stood. “Corth abstains. Whatever you decide, you agree to amongst yourselves. Moving to leave, he encountered the Heitar of Lief and his men blocking his way. V’loren looked back towards the Jurtan with a raised eyebrow.

  The Jurtan gestured impatiently with a dismissive wave of a couple fingers. “Fine. Let the men among us make our choices and leave the women to their knitting down in Corth.

  As the Heitar and his men moved aside to allow V’loren to leave, he stopped to consider and turned back to the assembled conclave. “However, it is the vote of Corth that Arkenheim bring the wraith involved in the attempt on the Konigar’s life to justice. As for the rest, we abstain from the choices you make here today as we do not see any good coming from this except to make matters worse. You are not addressing the real problem.” At that, he turned and walked out of the throne room, his mind awash with thoughts about what could happen here and how it would affect Corth.

  When he had gone, the Jurtan turned back to the conclave. “As for what to do about the Lianshi and her pet Jintai and Wraiths, I have some ideas.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ASSASSIN’S GAMBIT

  ◆◆◆

  “How did you get this again?” asked Grendahl.

  “The Jurtan Torhig had the Heitar of Lief himself deliver it to the outpost yesterday. He waited half a day to speak to Master Sylum,” the thinner, taller of the two said. “He was quite adamant that he wanted to know our opinion on the make of the weapon. There was a confrontation between the Master of Arkenheim, Lord Warren and the Jurtan Torhig, who speaks for the Konigar. They want to know if it is of the mage forge but the truth is that Arkenheim does not use silbony wood, the only wood that can hold a rune of unbreaking and permanence at the same time. That type of wood is only known to come from the northernmost reaches of the Morgovian Empire far to the south and to the east.” He smiled. “I overheard the masters talking amongst themselves. They do not believe that it came from the western kingdoms or the Vordoshans at all but rather from somewhere to the east. That they are wielded by the Jintai warriors of this new ‘Lianshi’ Empress was the subject of some discussion. I’m pretty sure that Master Sulmein moved them away before I was discovered to avoid them killing me. In the next moment I was bit by a spider in the rafters and spent the next twelve hours vomiting. My hand is still swollen from the damn thing.” Holding up his bandaged hand, Rafael looked at his friend.

  The other young man with tousled brown hair and a beautiful but mischievous face sighed and said, “Fine, but you did not hear it from me, Rafael. The Grandmaster received a summons from the conclave following the departure of the Heitar and his men. It is said they want the guild to pay a blood debt that is owed and take vengeance upon the women who left to make an example of them.”

  Rafael scowled as Grendahl tested the weight and balance of the spear. Grendahl spun the spear as one would a staff until it moved so fast that it began to whistle in the air. Without effort, the smooth black wood began to sing with the wind as he began to trace ever more complex patterns all around himself. As Rafael began to open his mouth to ask another question, the spear stopped with the tip forward and struck out plunging into Rafael’s throat. “Sorry, friend, but you talk too much and the other masters did take notice. They don’t like when apprentices think themselves greater in the arts than their masters and like being eavesdropped on even less. Your life was forfeit the moment you chose to wait concealed in the rafters to listen to them.” As his friend held a hand to his gurgling throat, blood pumped through fingers that could not hold it in and he dropped first to his knees and then onto his back, choking. “The time of the culling has arrived and they came to me with an offer I could hardly refuse. Be the first among the graduating class and kill you in a very visible sign that the culling has begun or wait for someone else to make the first attempt on me.” As Rafael’s legs stopped moving and his eyes glazed, Grendahl wiped the spearhead on Rafael’s tunic. “Your life is mine, friend. I took no pleasure in it but we all must face the culling to become one of them.”

  His eyes filled with admiration for the spear, he whispered “And as tradition allows, I will keep the weapon.”

  Spinning with the spear tip leveled, his other hand reaching for his throwing dagger, Grendahl stopped mid-motion and suddenly stopped, straightening quickly and bowing formally at the waist. “Lord Arizian,” he intoned, “I am honored by your presence.”

  Lord Arizian stood in the hooded burlap robe of his order, his silver hair framing his face in stark contrast to the shadowed interior of the hood. “It is...brother Grandahl now, is it not?” he asked.

  Grendahl looked down at his first kill. “It is,” he replied.

  “He was your friend?”

  “He was,” Grendahl replied, trying not to keep looking down at the boy who had trained with him since the age of nine.

  “Always a difficult first, but the best among us are those who begin with difficult assignments.”

  “I’m still not sure why I was chosen,” Grendahl replied. “I was the best with a spear, but Rafael was the best at everything else. He was the more obvious choice to be chosen from amongst all of us.”

  “Who said he was not?” Lord Arizian asked.

  Grendahl’s face snapped around to look directly at Lord Arizian, his blue eyes studying him from under his hood.

  “He declined the assignment,” he said, watching Grendahl for a reaction.

  Grendahl looked down at the fallen figure of his friend. “I was his assignment?”

  Lord Arizian nodded once in assent but said nothing.

  Grend
ahl’s grip on the spear tightened. “He knew they would send someone after him but did not think it would be the one that he had been assigned to kill. He thought it would be too obvious and that they would look for a more subtle method and he trusted me not to accept. Raf, you fool,” he whispered.

  “I must ask for the spear to be returned.” Lord Arizian held out a hand.

  Grendahl’s grip tightened even more on the spear. “He said they wanted me to test its balance and to give them my assessment of it as a weapon. Instead, I blooded it on my first kill, allowing it to taste the blood of a friend whose name was whispered into my ear. I invoke tradition and claim the weapon as my own.”

  Lord Arizian’s arm withdrew as quickly as a snake, his hands disappearing into the sleeves of his robes as he clasped his hands before himself. Grendahl knew he had mage forged gauntlet sword breakers on his forearms and probably had both hands on knives within his sleeves, ready to be thrown at him should he make the wrong move. Knowing he held an unbreakable silbony spear with a rune of permanence engraved on the other side of the haft did little to assure Grendahl that he was good enough or fast enough even with this spear to defend himself if Lord Arizian chose to end his life.

  “You know that this means you and the spear will have to accompany my to the conclave,” he said.

  Grendahl twirled the spear around his back before bringing the butt of the spear down as he knelt before the grandmaster of his order. “I live to serve,” was all he said.

  “Good,” Lord Arizian replied. “Because your services, as well as the services of any who survive the culling, will be needed sooner than many would have thought. None know our numbers but we are more than any know. The conclave may not know how many we have become, but they know they have need of us. They want to whisper in our ear the name of the Lianshi in the east.”

  Lord Arizian turned back his hood, his sharp angular features, tall but slender frame, and pale skin gave him away as an aelfen, but the pointed ears that showed through the long white hair and azure blue eyes marked him as S’rila’s son and as far as he knew, the only aelfen assassin alive in their ranks. “Grandmaster, are you the only fen assassin in the guild?”