Restoration

by Carol Berg

  Slaves were commanded to open the iron doors, and only as two men lifted them from the brackets where they rested did I note the wide metal straps that had been laid across the tight-fitting doors. The mine had been locked. Sealed. Dread gnawed at my spirit. Two other slaves manned the gear wheels at the sides of the doors, and the moment the grinding clamor of the opening doors began, I abandoned my corner and flew through the slowly widening gap.

  The cool dry tunnels smelled foul—the stench a familiar one for anyone ever held in close confinement for a long span of time—and they were unremittingly dark. After a few brushes with solid walls, I let my instincts take over and guide my flight by the sound of my own high-pitched squealing. But my instincts led me nowhere that a man or woman of any shaping could wish to be. Nothing lived in those tunnels, nor in the wider rooms I felt expand around me from time to time before narrowing into another passage. Every once in a while, I would come to the end of a tunnel, the face of the rock where the veins of gold lay exposed, ready for the taking, and I would feel them there ... soft bodies, still and lifeless. Not warm. Not anymore. Everyone was dead.

  I fluttered frantically from one passage to another, desperate to find any evidence to contradict my belief. The hobbled slaves were now chained to the two-wheeled carts, dragging them through the dark tunnels and lighting torches along the way, illuminating the buried horror. Seven hundred, Aleksander had said. And only these few souls had been spared, now charged to haul out the dead and burn them. Thus the octar.

  Time ... The sun must be nearing the horizon. I was too slow to explore all the passages, hunting for one body that might still be breathing, something to relieve this vile darkness that enveloped the world and was seeping into my soul. I allowed instinct to guide me back to the mine entrance. No need for me to explore the passages so as to tell the full story. The others would come soon and discover the magnitude of our defeat. Perhaps they would find one who lived—a small victory to wrest from the ruins of the night. For now, I had other duties. The missing warriors. Where in the name of all gods were they waiting?

  CHAPTER 33

  I emerged from the cave into dusk, the last edge of gold outlining the rim of the cliffs far above me. With only a thought I changed from bat to falcon, stretching my wings to catch every shift of the air, rising and circling wide over the rift and the pockmarked cliffs. No sign of the missing Derzhi. No sign of anyone save the small party of horsemen riding toward the stone columns where Feyd stood, a tiny dark figure waiting for them. Heedless of secrecy or wonder, I touched earth behind the Suzaini, changed to human form, and waited for the horsemen to halt.

  “Where’s the Prince?” I said harshly, sparing no time for explanations. “I thought he was to lead this assault.”

  “Seyonne!” Three voices said my name at once—and the three painted faces each revealed something of truth. Feyd’s lips murmured an invocation to his god, his expression already reflecting the horror that I knew. Roche’s pleased surprise quickly faded into a puzzled frown. And Gorrid ... was I wrong to think the dislike in his hard eyes was laced with fear?

  “There was word of trouble,” said Roche. “Lord Aleksander has gone to—”

  “Don’t tell him anything,” Gorrid commanded. “You heard the stories of Dasiet Homol, how the women said he was possessed by some fearful being. We daren’t trust him.”

  I ignored Gorrid. “Roche, tell me where I can find the Prince. Everyone on this mission is in danger. Feyd will witness as to what we’ve found at the fortress, and in the first moment you step into the mine, you’ll know of treachery so foul you’d wish your children blind before they laid eyes upon such vileness. Remember what you know of me from Andassar, from Taíne Keddar, from Blaise’s trust. You must tell me where Aleksander’s gone. His life depends on it.”

  In the moment I spoke the words, I knew them true. What could have compelled the Danatos to take such a drastic step— to murder their own slaves? Only the need to use their troops for something other than securing the slaves, along with a despicable determination to deny the freedom they could no longer prevent. Perhaps they didn’t realize how few outlaws were coming, or perhaps there were not a hundred and fifty warriors garrisoned in their fortress. But no matter the numbers or the plan. I could think of only one reason that could inspire greed of such monumental consequence—the prospect of something infinitely more valuable to replace their dead property. The Kinslayer. They were after Aleksander.

  Feyd broke in. “The fortress is empty, Roche, and the archers have been withdrawn from the watchpost. It’s surely a trap. You must tell us where the Aveddi can be found.”

  “We got word that there were more warriors at the sluice gate than we thought,” said Roche, convinced more by Feyd than me, it seemed. “The Aveddi said I should take command here—to reap the glory in his stead, he told me—and he took out alone to help them at the sluice.”

  Of course. Stupid of me not to see it. Slaves could be replaced, but the mine could not. The Danatos could never allow the mine to be flooded. And, too, the dark hillsides that opened onto the green shelf and the lake were perfect places for warriors to hide and so to capture their wayward Prince. If they were sure he would be there, if someone had betrayed him, sent him there believing he was needed ...

  “Gaverna,” I said to a Basran woman who was one of Blaise’s fiercest fighters, “get up to the mine watch. Tell Farrol that only twenty slaves are left living, all chained to the carts. Only four overseers to deal with, no guards, no warriors. Set a watch and do whatever you can to confirm that no one else survives, but make it quick and get out.”

  “Only twenty—” Gorrid and Roche spoke together, aghast. Gorrid’s bronze skin lost color.

  “The Danatos decided that their slaves were not to be free,” I snapped. “The rest of you—the battle is at the sluice gate. If not for Aleksander’s sake, then ride for Blaise; his life is at risk as well.” For if Blaise, manning the watchpost, saw Aleksander in trouble, he would surely fly across the chasm to his aid. And if we didn’t get there in time, every man and woman of the outlaw party would die ... except for Aleksander. Aleksander’s death belonged only to the Emperor. “And if not for Blaise, then ride for the seven hundred dead.”

  I turned to my dreamer. “Your fight is waiting, Feyd. Will you come with me?”

  Feyd straightened his back and loosened his sword in its scabbard. “Four hundred years ago, on the first day of Wolf’s Moon, Parassa, the royal city of Suza, fell to the Derzhi Empire,” he said. “On that cursed day, every girl child of Parassa was slain. Every woman was ravaged, bound, and sent to the slave markets of Parnifour and Vayapol. Every boy child was cut to ensure that the noble houses of the Suzai would come to an end, and the men and boys were condemned to dig mines like this under the rocks of Suza. All these years the Suzai have waited for the Firstborn of Azhakstan to return to the desert and make amends for the deeds of his fathers. I will not fail him.” He mounted his horse. “Lead us, Master.”

  With a surge of melydda, I shifted into my warrior’s form, and as the last of the sun’s gold vanished, my own golden light flared bright, and I took wing.

  No perspective of a battlefield can rival a view from the air. As I raced westward, following the dark network of the rifts that would lead me to the green meadow, the sluice gate, and the trap laid for Aleksander, I could see the darker smudge that was Feyd and Roche and the ten riders galloping along the same route below me. The moon already hung over the desert beyond the wall of these mountains, and as I veered to the right over the green shelf, its wavering image was reflected in the evening ripples on the lake. At its northern edge, the level meadow broke over into a steep slope, crisscrossed by a narrow track leading downward to the valley floor.

  I caught one glimpse of deceptive peace. Five Derzhi warriors protected the gate, two of them mounted and riding slowly about the rim of the lake on patrol, two standing stiffly, spears in hand at either side of the sluice gate, one tending
a fire. Three horses grazed nearby. But at the very moment of my arrival, five riders reached the top of the steep track and shot across the meadow toward the gate and the guards, four painted outlaws led by a Derzhi voicing the wild and throaty war cry of the desert. Aleksander. Four of Blaise’s outlaws could never out-match five Derzhi warriors, but with the Prince at their side, they would believe the balance tipped in their favor ... except that I knew better.

  For the moment I stayed high and circled the meadow, anxiously searching the cracked shoulders of the adjacent ridge, the narrow slots in the cliffs where men and horses could hide until they heard a signal to descend upon the unsuspecting raiders. There! Even so high above the ground I felt the quiet tension in the dark gully below me ... twenty ... thirty men and horses, surely no more than forty, well disciplined, waiting until the attacking outlaws were fully committed. Of course the Derzhi would believe forty enough to take the Prince and a handful of outlaws. But then where were the rest of the warriors? I assumed that the Danatos, determined to take their prize, had sent all of the garrison into this combat, prepared in case the outlaws got wind of the treachery and sent their entire force to attack the gate. But my search revealed no more warriors, and the clash of steel and angry shouts below told me that I had no more time. The hidden horsemen burst from the slot in the cliff. I circled back, drew my sword, and descended on the line of Derzhi spilling out across the meadow.

  Surprise is a formidable weapon in combat, and awe and astonishment are its worthy companions. My wings were fully spread, and my body glowed fiery gold. I killed seven Derzhi before even one thought to aim sword or spear in my direction. Even then I had half of them circling and running into each other trying to see what I was and from what quarter I would come next, while others remained cowering in the gap in the cliff, afraid to face me. But while I reaped the benefits of successful surprise, I saw Aleksander suffering the consequences of the reverse. The five guards who had seemed to be pursuing quiet routine were mounted and battle ready before the outlaw party had crossed half the distance from the edge of the meadow to the lake. Perhaps Aleksander suspected the trap even then, for he tried to pull up, but his four companions were not so observant and rushed on headlong. Not one to retreat at any time, the Prince released his mount, and when the two parties clashed, he was again at the head of the outlaw band.

  By the time thirteen of the hidden warriors lay dead beneath me, a few of the troop had recovered their wits and were trying to reform their party. One on one they could not touch me. Three on one kept me busy. Each time I seemed to be in trouble, I thought of the seven hundred helpless souls murdered in their dark prison, and my anger gave strength to my arm and power to my enchantments. Even so, some of the Derzhi slipped away and rode for the gate and the Prince. I could not allow it.

  I wrenched out an arrow that had pierced my left shoulder, set the bloody shaft afire, and threw it with such force it pierced the archer’s neck. A last sweep of my blade beheaded one warrior and unhorsed another, and I soared upward and flew toward the lake. One by one I cut down the escaping Derzhi, unheeding of their groans and screams. I called up the wind and the water, causing a monstrous wave to climb out of the muddy basin and sweep two horsemen into the lake. Another was trampled when I drove his horse mad with stinging bees.

  By the time I reached the sluice gate, Aleksander was engaged with two of the gate guards who were pressing him hard. Two Derzhi were on the ground—one dead, one injured—along with an outlaw missing his head. The remaining Danatos guard fought two outlaws at once, while a man with a painted face worked on the gears and latches of the gate, ducking and dodging the flying weapons and hooves when the battle came too near him.

  Aleksander caught his first sight of me. “Great Athos, save us!”

  “They’re coming for you,” I shouted to the grimly smiling Prince, who used the occasion of my arrival to skewer one awestruck opponent while I unhorsed the other.

  Aleksander pulled his horse around to look for his next opponent and kicked the unhorsed Derzhi in the head lest the man stab the preoccupied Pherro. “What in the god’s holy name have you done to yourself?”

  Lungs burning from the heavy fighting, I forced myself to inhale before trying to speak, and even then I could not afford to waste strength on explanations. “At least twenty more coming around the lake. Over a hundred of the garrison unaccounted for.” Where were they?

  I touched earth between the two struggling outlaws and the remaining gate guard. The Derzhi guard staggered backward and dropped to his knees. Before the gaping warrior could make a god sign against evil, I cut him in half. None too soon. The first rider of the larger party rounded the end of the earthwork, sword raised and heading straight for the Prince. As he blazed past me, I pulled him off his horse and severed his neck. A second rider followed close on his heels. This one swerved to avoid me. The wind rose at my command, and I raised my bloody sword one more time, but before I could take flight, a dark shape streaked screaming across the sky and flew into the man’s face. The warrior’s mount reared and threw him to the ground, where he lay unmoving. The bird circled once, and after a blurring moment, Blaise was running toward us.

  “When I saw the fire—and you—I decided there was no more point in holding the watchpost,” he said, staring at me unabashed. “Stars of the heavens, man, what have you—?”

  “Get everyone away,” I said, still heaving, warm blood dribbling from my shoulder, though I felt no hurt from it. “You were betrayed.” I hacked off the head of the unhorsed Derzhi, and then spread my wings, ready to take on the remainder of the Derzhi riders. Feyd and Roche and the rest of the raiding party were riding over the lip of the meadow, and I yelled for them to follow me.

  “Seyonne!” Aleksander called after me. Though his command was quiet, somehow my name on his tongue reached me in the grim place where I had existed since I’d seen what was done in the mine.

  I held the wind under my wings so as to hover over him, my gold fire bathing his worried face. “My lord?”

  “Watch your soul, my guardian. I would not buy my life with it.”

  “They should not have left the mine unguarded,” I said. “They killed them all, my lord. Seven hundred, less twenty they saved to stack and burn the others. I have no mercy left in me.”

  The battle was joined again a few hundred paces from the gate. Feyd struck his blow for Parassa, for lost Suza and four hundred years of humiliation. I sent Blaise hunting for the rest of the warriors, while I killed again and again. Aleksander fought with deadly success, but only until the first Derzhi dismounted, knelt, and begged quarter. “Not one more drop of blood,” he shouted, dashing to every duel, halting the slashing swords with his own if his voice was not enough. “Not one more hair will be touched.”

  He forced the seven surviving Derzhi to kneel and place their hands on their heads while the outlaws disarmed them and led their horses away. And then he rode before the line of prisoners, back and forth, as if to make sure that each one saw his face—especially those who wore the gold trappings of nobility. One of the kneeling Derzhi spat at the Prince, but Aleksander stayed the hand of the Manganar raider who raised his hand to strike the man. “Rope these seven together. While we take care of our fallen, they will gather my brothers and bury them,” he said to the raiders. “I’ll leave no Derzhi warrior for vultures, no matter his crimes. When the work is done, we’ll take the prisoners down to the mine and see how they should be judged.”

  As the prisoners set about the grisly task, and the raiders stripped the bodies of weapons and tended to their own dead and wounded, I touched earth near the Prince. Everyone withdrew hastily, leaving us alone in the center of the battlefield. “You need to find out where the rest of the garrison is waiting,” I said. “Your prisoners know. Did you see the smug looks on their faces?”

  Aleksander dismounted, crouched down beside a fallen Derzhi, and began cleaning his hands on the man’s ripped cloak.

  “Of course,
I saw it. They expect me to torture the information out of them, but I won’t. They’d die before they told me—or near enough. If things are going to change, then it must begin now. I want these seven to carry the tale of it to Zhagad.” Before standing up again, he rolled the dead warrior to his back, closed the staring eyes, and straightened the cooling limbs, laying the man’s sword on his chest until the outlaws could collect it. “I hoped you would agree.” He stood up and faced me square on, his whole posture a question I could not answer; I did not yet know who or what I was.

  “Then we’ll have to learn what we need to know some other way,” I said, yielding the point. Reluctantly. Abandoning wings and light, I shifted back to my own form, rubbing my head to try to clear the muddle.

  Aleksander nodded, satisfied, and then he mounted and rode off toward the others, encouraging the outlaw fighters, ignoring the scowls and curses of the Danatos warriors, watching carefully to see that they did not break their parole. Impatient at the delay, I stood at the top of the embankment, where I could see, trying to find the missing piece of the night’s puzzle. Blaise returned after a while, reporting that he saw no evidence of the other Derzhi. “Perhaps the garrison has been reduced,” he said, sitting down on the grassy hillock and offering a waterskin.