The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  “I will not take my eyes off you today. My prince trusts you, Sky Blood. But I do not.”

  “No to the privacy, then?”

  Ashi did not smile. The set of clothes was nothing but a pair of faded brown xadjar pants, which were billowier than Kale preferred, and a pair of leather sandals.

  “You forgot my tunic.”

  “I did not forget. You are a slave,” said Ashi, smiling for the first time. “To the eyes of the palace court, you are an exile from Osha, and one of Salla’s personal attendants. So, you will dress the part.”

  The Exiled Lord rises again, Kale thought darkly. He faced away as he stripped off his Oshan garb. Ashi’s stern, unwavering eyes made him feel vulnerable naked. Though, truthfully, she made him feel vulnerable at all times. She was Salla’s most trusted and loyal assassin, so far as Kale could sense, and she had made sure he knew it over the past month. He slipped into the xadjar pants quickly. When he turned, Ashi picked up a jar and lathered its thick contents in her hands.

  “The bodies of palace slaves are oiled. The soltaynes wish all their attendants to be strong and as pleasing to the eyes as possible. You are strong, at least. The oil will help deceive their eyes with the rest.”

  Kale smirked, but did not argue as the Ilya woman oiled his bare upper body. When it was finished, Ashi led him to the central hall of the Den, where a dozen assassins dressed in black waited for them. Ashi handed him a black hood. “Or, if you would prefer the sleeping draught again, I would be happy to oblige.”

  Kale draped the hood over his head. Ashi took hold of his wrist and led him forward. Somehow, the darkness of the hood managed to increase as they entered the tunnels.

  “The Ilya don’t believe in torches?” said Kale.

  “These tunnels are a part of our very being. We are creatures accustomed to darkness. Ilya do not need light.”

  And it allows them to easily appear and vanish within the Red City, Kale supposed. Just a dark cloak in the shadows.

  “You Ilya, in many ways, act like the Watchers of old, you know.”

  “Do not compare us to your sorcerers! My people value honor, unlike Osha.”

  “I am not like most Oshans,” said Kale.

  “And this makes you honorable?” There was a bitter edge to Ashi’s voice. “I know what your kind did to the Old World, Sky Blood. Not all have forgotten so readily. The Yan Avii remember why our people roamed the desert for so many years. You caused the War Between the Worlds. Somehow, you endured the war and the chancellor’s purgings of old. Are you going to tell me your kind survived all these years because of your honor?”

  “No,” Kale said. “I am like you, Ashi. Willing to do anything necessary for the one I care for. Nothing more.”

  Ashi said nothing after this. The Ilya marched on through the winding passageway. It was half an hour before Kale sensed the absence of the other assassins. A rush of light and heat seared through the thick fabric of his hood, and he felt suffocated by the onslaught of Yan Avii minds teeming around him.

  The hood came off. He and Ashi stood alone upon a narrow street in the heart of Vlyanii. Beyond, there was the bustle of crowds, chanting as they made their way to the shrines for evening prayer.

  Without a word, Ashi removed her dark cloak and tucked it into a nook in the sandstone brickwork. Beneath, she wore a scanty leather lynti that left her shoulders and midriff exposed, along with a pair of xadjar pants identical to Kale’s. Her skin was a deep bronze and smooth with oil. Her beauty surprised him—a proper slave of the Red Palace.

  Ashi grabbed hold of his wrist again. “We must be quick.”

  They entered the Red Palace through a slave’s entrance, greeted by the captain of Salla’s personal guard, an Ilya named Jerrah. Kale recognized him from the Den. The captain ushered them in, with a smirk at Ashi’s attire. “The slave has returned from the underworld,” Jerrah said, his eyes hovering unabashedly over her cleavage.

  Ashi’s mind became unguarded beneath the captain’s gaze. Salla had seemingly trained his Ilya to resist the invasion of a Cerebro, for Kale had been able to detect little from the assassins, least of all from Ashi. But now, Kale sensed a deep animosity toward Jerrah that sprang forth unconcealed. “I serve my prince in whatever way suits him,” Ashi said.

  “Yes, well, hurry along. While you’ve been playing nursemaid, we men have been setting pieces into place. Our prince is in his chambers and has need of his Sky Blood. And I may have need of my Sweetling before the night is done.” At this, Jerrah squeezed Ashi’s face between his immense fingers—hard, though she hid the pain well. Kale detected it only in her mind. “I trust you haven’t forgotten the way.”

  Ashi shirked his grasp, but nodded. “I am a servant of the Red Palace, and I am at your command, Captain.”

  “I am glad to see you have not forgotten your place during your time in the Den. Our prince may be entertaining your little play at assassin for now. But once a slave among the soltaya, always a slave. Once a woman, always a woman.”

  “I have not forgotten what does not lie between my legs, Captain,” said Ashi.

  “Palaces are the realms of men, Sweetling. Welcome back.” Jerrah pinched Ashi’s cheek once more, then he left them at the gate.

  Without a word, Ashi led Kale down a labyrinth of halls to Salla’s chambers. When they came to the door, Kale stopped her.

  “You are a slave,” he said, the surprise evident in his voice.

  “And you must be a scholai.”

  “Surely Salla would not let that brute treat one of his Ilya—”

  “Salla does not know!” Ashi hissed, shoving Kale up against the sandstone walls. “And he must never know! I am a servant of the Red Palace, Sky Blood. All my life, I have served the soltaya as I am required. It was a great honor to be chosen to serve my prince among the Ilya. I will not piss upon that honor by renouncing my other duties. I am still a slave.”

  “But surely if he—”

  Ashi slapped Kale across the face. “Do you Sky Bloods all think your magic gives you some special sway over my people?”

  “All?” said Kale. Did Ashi speak of Kirra? Or had Salla encountered other Watchers?

  She slapped him again. “We never needed Sky Bloods! Not in the Old World, and not now. When the time is right, I will win my freedom, on my own terms. Do not pretend to care for me now that you know my tragedies. I do not need your help or your pity.”

  “As you wish.”

  “You will speak nothing of what you’ve seen. You will shut your mouth and do as you are bidden, and then you will leave us. Not soon enough, in my opinion.”

  Kale nodded his assent. The woman had struck him first as a blind follower, but he realized she was calculated and honorable for all her fierceness. A lesser woman—or man, for that matter—would never put her prince’s cause above her own suffering.

  Ashi knocked, and two Ilya ushered them into Salla’s chambers. The place was immaculate. Every sandstone wall was intricately etched with the dune wave patterns of Yan Avii artwork. Elegant tapestries and ornate statues of Great Soltaynes past lined the halls. At the end of the room before the eastern window stood an immense statue of Arayeva in all her glory, naked but for the blazing sun held at her waist. Somehow, the stone itself seemed to radiate. At the base of the statue was a small shrine.

  “So that even when she is shrouded by clouds, I may say my morning prayers, basking in the light of the Sol,” said Salla, emerging from his bedchamber. A young servant boy stood at his side, matching his every stride. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Kale nodded. “An elaborate facade for a nonbeliever.” He reached out, but Salla’s mind was closed to his sense.

  Salla grinned, but his voice was stern. “Careful, old friend. There are ears everywhere in the Red Palace.”

  “Even in the prince’s chambers?” Kale asked, scanning the empty hall.

  “I am no longer a prince. Only another chieftain vying for the Great Saddle.” Salla motioned for
Kale and Ashi to follow him into his bedchamber. The guards remained at their post.

  The servant boy closed the great doors behind them. Salla pointed to an immense rug at the foot of his bed. The boy strained with all his might to roll it back. Salla smiled approvingly when he finished and clapped him on the shoulder in a fatherly fashion. Beneath the rug was a lone stone without mortar, which Kale and the boy inched out of place, revealing a space just large enough to shimmy through. Salla went first, dropping straight down.

  “It is only a six-foot drop,” Salla said from within.

  Ashi followed, and then Kale dropped into the dark. The servant boy remained above.

  “Close it up, Pelah,” said Salla. “We will exit another way. If anyone comes, tell them I have gone to the temple to pray.”

  Pelah shoved the stone back into place. There was a loud unfurling as the rug rolled back over the entrance. Salla lit a candle, revealing a long tunnel that stretched between the levels of the palace.

  “I feel safe only in the Den of the Ilya, but these tunnels are as close as I can get. This month-long mourning ritual has been torture, believe me, Sky Blood.”

  “And yet you seek permanent fixture in this place,” said Kale.

  Salla smiled in the glow of his candle. “It would seem I am fated to live a double life, wouldn’t it?”

  “Fated by whom? The Sol?”

  “Fated by myself.”

  “And by Kirra. And me, it would seem.”

  “Fate is but a game, old friend. Do you know how the Great Soltaynes are chosen?”

  “I cannot say I have had the… privilege… of participating in the process before, though I imagine it has as much to do with fate as your double life.”

  “And that is why I like you, old friend. No shenzah. You are right. I have found, behind most things attributed to gods and fate, lies nothing more than ambitious men. And women,” Salla added with a glance at Ashi. “Ashi knows better than anyone. We choose our own fate. Even slaves.”

  “If that is so, then my fate is to see you to the throne, my prince,” Ashi said.

  A tender touch passed between the two. Salla gripped her fingers briefly, and for the first time that Kale had seen, the Ilya woman smiled with true pleasure. Her loyalty was not fueled by blind faith in her prince, Kale sensed. Nor was it pure honor. It was fueled by love. Whether or not Salla felt the same passion, Kale could not tell, but in Ashi’s mind, it was unmistakably clear.

  “Yet,” said Salla, releasing Ashi’s hand, “I wonder how ambitions do happen to cross. What do you think, Sky Blood? Is it blind fortune you and Kirra have come to me?”

  “If there is blind fortune, then there is also blind misfortune,” said Kale, his thoughts on the innocent Watcher lives lost on the Isle of Jallaa. Was that simply misfortune? That the night he and Kirra had finally welcomed their budding love, the Morphs had come like a curse? Slaying their ancient master and all his followers. Leaving only them behind to wade through the guilt. “I do not trust in fortune,” Kale finished.

  “Then what do you trust in? Ancient gods, like the Watchers of old?”

  Kale pushed away thoughts of the Isle of Jallaa. “I do not trust in anyone.”

  “I pity you, old friend. Life is a sham without ones you can trust. Ashi is my truest servant, and I would trust her with my life. If it was fortune that brought her to me as an attending slave in my youth, then I count myself blessed. And if it was the Sol”—Salla met Ashi’s gaze—“then I thank Arayeva immensely that our ambitions have crossed. I trust Ashi treated you as I would have during your stay in my Den, Sky Blood.”

  As he spoke, Kale thought of his wake-up kick and smiled. If that was from Salla, then Kale was correct in his continued distrust of his old friend. “I believe Ashi treated me just as you would, Salla.”

  “Very good. Now, follow me into the deep, old friend.” Salla blew out the candle and led the way down the tunnel in the dark. “It is time you learned how fate works in the Red Palace.”

  Dark tunnels and narrow staircases ran through the entire Red Palace. The twelve soltaynes occupied the three lowest levels of the main palace spire. The remaining two levels, including the great pointed dome, belonged to the Great Soltayne. When time came for the Festival of the Rising Sun, even if the tribes were warring, the soltaynes took up residence in the Red Palace. But that did not mean all wrongs were forgotten. More than one soltayne had been found mysteriously dead in his bedchambers. But never before had a Great Soltayne suffered such a fate. Salla was the first to commit that crime.

  “How is it these tunnels have passed unknown all these years?” Kale asked as they descended a spiraling staircase.

  “They are not unknown,” said Salla. “I told you. There are ears everywhere in the Red Palace. All the soltaynes know of these passages, and they keep their own guards posted at the entrances to their own chambers. No chieftain has been murdered by use of these tunnels since the days of our second Great Soltayne. Which is why they are empty now. They have become rather useless.”

  “Then why are we down here?”

  “Because we are not trying to kill anyone. And I have a Cerebro. The other soltaynes have not paid me any mind over the past few weeks. I am not a threat, since I am a Burodai, and no successor has ever been chosen by the Sol to succeed his father as Great Soltayne. The eleven are busy bribing priests and temple maidens and plotting assassination attempts against one another. They will not see me as a threat at the Choosing tomorrow. But there is one chieftain I yet fear. An age-long adversary of my family. One I believe may suspect my ambitions, and may try to kill me before I have a chance to manipulate the lots. I need you to get a sense for what scheme Xander Mynah is concocting.”

  Minds flitted in and out of Kale’s senses—quarrels between princes, whispered prayers of dutiful wives, the ecstasy of men and the defeated inner cries of accommodating slave girls as their masters had their way with them.

  Kale tensed, reminded that Ashi would be among them come nightfall. Why this bothered him so much, he could not truly say. These slave rites were not so different from those of other nations. Oshans had their nighthouses. The Trium’vel was famous for its pleasure barges. But Jerrah’s lustful gaze sprang back to mind, and Kale was glad when they reached their destination, and the minds of the slave girls passed on.

  But when Kale’s senses filled with two new minds, his anger flared all the more. In the chamber above, he heard Jerrah’s cool voice.

  The captain of Salla’s guard was speaking with the soltayne of tribe Mynah. Their voices came through the stone clearer than Kale expected, almost as though they wanted to be heard.

  “My chances are good, yes?” said Xander Mynah.

  “It has been three generations since our people have sat in the Great Saddle,” said Jerrah. “Your chances are good, indeed.”

  So, Jerrah comes from tribe Mynah, Kale thought with interest.

  Each man spoke his words with great care, but Kale soon detected a code beneath them. The words themselves were not altogether clear to him, but Kale could piece together their hidden meaning well enough.

  Everything is in order? meant Mynah.

  The pieces are set in place, meant Jerrah.

  “Three generations!” said Mynah. “Pah! It should have been two!” Those Burodai bastards stole the throne from us last Choosing.

  “Ah, but if it had been two, my chief, then you would stand no chance at the throne.” Unless you were a Burodai.

  “Yes, of course,” said Mynah. Then, my suspicions about Salla’s aims are well founded.

  “No chieftain has been as blessed as you. Your lambs are strong. Your crops are abundant. The Sol shines upon you, my chief.” You will be Chosen.

  “Yes,” said Mynah. “Well, let us thank the Sol that this will be the last night we must endure Burodai rule, however the lots fall tomorrow.”

  “Indeed. Well, I have overstayed my welcome,” said Jerrah. “I should make myself seen elsewhere.” Sa
lla trusts me yet. “Perhaps I will go thank the Sol.”

  Mynah laughed. “You? Utter prayers?”

  “Not all prayers are uttered at shrines, my chief. They say it is poor luck to bed a woman the night before the Choosing, but we have no need of luck, do we? Our fate rests… with the Sol.”

  “And Arayeva shines whether we go to bed or not. Let us pray, indeed!”

  The two men roared with laughter as they left Mynah’s chambers. Even when their voices had gone, Kale could sense Ashi’s tenseness lingered.

  “Your captain of the guard…” said Kale carefully.

  “Has played his part well,” said Salla. “The Ilya are bound by ideas, not tribes. Jerrah has spent months winning the confidence of his chieftain. But even Mynah is not fool enough to trust him with the whole of his plan. Now, what did you sense, old friend?”

  Kale chuckled out loud at this. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  Salla scowled. “Hardly.”

  “Then you should know you will not get your information until I have seen that Kirra is safe. I haven’t been able to sense her, but I trust she is close. She will be casting your lots tomorrow, will she not?”

  Salla was silent for a moment, then he chuckled. “Very well, Sky Blood. As you wish.” Salla led them silently back through the tunnels, down below the quarters of the soltaynes. They slipped into a vacant hall, inching a stone out from behind a large tapestry. “I will meet you both back in my chambers shortly. With Kirra.” Salla disappeared down the hall.

  Ashi led Kale up the spiraling central staircase of the Red Palace to Salla’s chambers, her teeth still set on edge as she slammed the great doors behind them. The place was empty except for the servant boy, Pelah, who stood dutifully at the door. A table was loaded with bread, wine, and cheese. Kale went to it.

  “I would not eat that,” said Pelah.

  Kale stopped, a slice of cheese between his lips.

  “Many soltaynes have taken their last breath with cheese still on their tongues.”

  Kale smiled. “Ah, but Salla is not a threat to the throne, is he, son?” Do all Salla’s servants know their master’s ambitions?