Coin of Kings (The Powers of Amur Book 2)

by J. S. Bangs

  She carried a bowl of clean water and a rag. Kirshta inclined his head to her and let her inspect the tattered remnants of his ear. She cooed quietly, cleaning away the crusts of blood and pus. Her touch sent little jolts of pain through Kirshta, but he endured them silently. Pain is nothing.

  When she was done, she sat in a comfortable crouch in front of Kirshta. “So. What’s the news here in the dungeon?”

  Kirshta looked at her strangely, then she laughed. Kirshta smiled, finally catching the joke. “There are rats,” he said. “Very ambitious, some of them. Want to be Emperor.”

  “So does everyone, these days,” Vapathi said. “The question is, who will get it?”

  “Whomever we want to.”

  “Chained in the dungeon, you’ll be picking the Emperor?”

  “Why not? The two of us worked our way from slave scum to the attendants of the Emperor’s Hand. This shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Vapathi grinned. “So who do we want to be Emperor?”

  “Whoever lets me out of the dungeon, for starters,” Kirshta said. “Which probably means whoever supports Chadram. Chadram likes me and will support me, and if Chadram is in the Emperor’s favor, then so am I.”

  “Dumaya hates Chadram. Sees him as a traitor.”

  “Does Dumaya want to be Emperor?”

  Vapathi fingered the hem of her sari. “That’s hard to say. He’s been the de facto ruler of the city since Ruyam marched out, but he hasn’t dared to take up the symbols of the empire, not even after the news of Ruyam’s death. He knows that the captain of the Red Men is in a good place to replace the Emperor, and he remembers that this is how the Kupshira came to the throne a few generations back—”

  “Praudhu-dar knows it too,” Kirshta broke in. “That’s why he’s so nervous. Dumaya’s maneuver is the same one that Praudhu-dar’s ancestors used to claim the Seven-Stepped Throne.”

  “Right,” Vapathi said. “So things in the Dhigvaditya are tense. I don’t think that Dumaya was actually prepared to make a bid for the Ushpanditya, and he has few allies outside of the Red Men. That’s why he’s been cautious about actually taking power. Or so I’ve gathered from the slaves’ gossip.”

  Kirshta laughed. “If the men of the Ushpanditya knew how dangerous their slaves were….”

  “They don’t,” Vapathi said. “Dumaya has gotten very paranoid since Praudhu-dar and Chadram appeared at his doorstep. Even more so since you managed to get inside the walls.” She lowered her voice. “He has almost completely eliminated the guard along the walls and the patrols of the city. He worries that if his men go out, they will defect to Chadram.”

  “Is that likely? Are the Red Men here so desperate?”

  Vapathi shook her head. “Not desperate. Food and pay have been as usual. Dumaya has maintained the imperial civil service in Majasravi as well, so he seems to have plenty of money. Outside Majasravi, it seems as if the empire is holding its breath, waiting to see what will happen.”

  “So his paranoia is unjustified.” Kirshta reached out and grasped Vapathi’s hand, and she let her palm slide warmly into his grip.

  “He’s not entirely unjustified,” Vapathi said. “The Red Men’s loyalties aren’t fixed. Like everyone else in the city, they’re nervous. Standing on a ram’s back.”

  “And if the ram jumps?”

  “They’ll try to see which way he jumps first.” She stroked Kirshta’s hand. “The Red Men, even the conscripted ranks, aren’t stupid. But they won’t make the first move.”

  Kirshta sighed. “And what about the khadir of Majasravi?”

  “He receives them, but he doesn’t take their obeisance—at least, not that I’ve seen. He claims to be acting as regent until the rightful Emperor appears. The khadir, like the Red Men, are doubly nervous now that the Prince Imperial is here. It puts everything into question.”

  The sound of footsteps interrupted them. Vapathi snatched up her lamp and blew it out, then Kirshta heard her soft footsteps mingle with the heavy ones descending. When the lamplight reached the bottom, it was one of the Red Men passing by. He gave Kirshta a hard glare, then headed deeper into the dungeon. A moment later he returned, leading out one of the other prisoners. They ascended the stairs, the door closed, and Kirshta fell into total dark.

  With a gesture as comfortable and easy as stretching out his hand, Kirshta’s mind found the hot wick of Vapathi’s lamp and set it alight. A deep, shadowed corner near the stairs glowed with yellow, illuminating Vapathi’s expression of pleasant surprise.

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen you do that,” she said, picking up the lamp and returning to Kirshta’s side.

  “But you heard that I set the guard on fire.”

  Vapathi laughed. “I only half-believed the story. You know how guards exaggerate.”

  “And the guard above?” Kirshta gestured to the stone roof over his head. “You hid, which means you fear being seen. But if you’re not supposed to be here, how are you getting in?”

  She gave him a glance of mild reproach. “I bribe the dungeon guard with my own coin, Kirshta. This isn’t the first time I’ve kept you safe.”

  “Oh.”

  She was right; this wasn’t the first time that she had bought their safety with her body. Both of them had made that trade at times, though once Kirshta learned to read, his owners began to value his skills more than his body. Vapathi, alas, was very pretty and had grown more so over the years. There was no coin they could leave unused.

  Kirshta, for his part, knelt alongside the seats of authority, picking up what scraps of knowledge and power he could, always banking that proximity to power led to power itself. And it had worked for both of them. They had never been separated, and they had usually been safe. Vapathi never complained, and it was unclear which of them actually had the worst of it. Kirshta, after all, was chained to the wall in the dungeon, while Vapathi slept warm in the Ushpanditya.

  Kirshta brought his thoughts back to the present. “Can you get a message out with a servant?”

  Vapathi rolled her eyes. “Of course I can. Why do you even ask?”

  Kirshta laughed, which turned into a cough. The water had settled in his stomach enough that he considered taking a bit of the roti. “I wonder if we can share some of this with Praudhu-dar. If Praudhu-dar were to offer Dumaya an amnesty and a position—perhaps captain of a garrison in the Moon Palace of Gumadha—would Dumaya take it?”

  “No,” Vapathi said. “He’s far too paranoid. And would you take the Prince Imperial’s promises if you were in Dumaya’s situation?”

  “No,” Kirshta admitted. He wasn’t a fool, and neither was Dumaya. “What if Dumaya were allowed to escape? The Prince would withdraw some distance and promise not to follow Dumaya.”

  “If I were Dumaya in that situation,” Vapathi said, “I would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for imperial assassins.”

  Kirshta murmured in frustration. He stretched his arms, and the darkness filled with the sound of his chains dragging across the stone.

  “Kirshta,” Vapathi said, “you’re thinking of the wrong end. Start not at the top, but at the bottom.”

  “With the slaves?”

  “You have those, through me.”

  “Can they open the door?”

  “No. But we can corrupt the soldiers. The slaves speak to the soldiers all the time. No one will even notice.”

  “And we corrupt them to Chadram’s cause—”

  Vapathi shook her head. She laid a hand on Kirshta’s arm and spoke softly, though they were alone in the dungeon. “You’re still thinking too high. The soldiers are like us: conscripted, self-interested, less loyal to their captains, more loyal to their friends. Whoever offers them the best deal will get their loyalty. We tell them that Praudhu-dar and Chadram are coming, and that if they open the Dhigvaditya they’ll be rewarded, while if they continue to resist they’ll be killed.”

  “I don’t know if I can make that promise on Chadram’s behalf
,” Kirshta said.

  “Does it matter?” She shrugged dismissively. “It matters only that they believe us.”

  Kirshta lapsed into thought for a few minutes. “I need to tell Chadram the terms being offered. I don’t want to betray the Red Men’s trust if I don’t have to. After that….”

  “I’ll bring one of them to you.”

  Kirshta raised an eyebrow. Vapathi smiled at him delicately.

  “You see, my brother, if I bring you a few of the sergeants, then you’ll be able to show them something that proves your power and your legitimacy.”

  “I will?” Kirshta said. But the calmness of the inner void came to him. Of course he could. He had persuaded Chadram and Praudhu to take him in. A squad commander would be no problem.

  * * *

  There were two sets of feet on the stairs this time. A woman giggled, and there was a brief sound of fabrics rustling together.

  “Down here?” a male voice said. “This is hardly the best place. Come on back upstairs, lovely, and I’ll find us someplace dry and warm.”

  “It’s very dark down here,” Vapathi’s voice echoed in the darkness. She spoke in a high, breathy tone that she never used with him. “We can be sure no one sees us.”

  “There’s lots of dark places,” the man objected feebly. He didn’t seem to resist, though, as Vapathi led him the rest of the way down toward Kirshta. Their footsteps splashed in puddles. “Too dark here. I can’t see a thing.”

  Vapathi’s voice sounded right in front of Kirshta. “Then we should get a light.”

  That was the cue. Kirshta breathed fire, as much fire as he could, into the cold lamp between his feet. A gout of flame leaped from its spout, billowing toward the stone ceiling of the dungeon, and illuminating the scene in garish orange. Like faces seen in a lightning flash, Vapathi and a slender, mustached man appeared out of the gloom in front of Kirshta.

  The initial burst of fire faded to a simple flame glowing comfortably on the end of the lamp. Vapathi looked at Kirshta with a pleased smirk, while the sergeant stared at Kirshta with stunned horror.

  “Do I have your attention?” Kirshta asked.

  “What in Am’s name is this?” the man sputtered.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Kirshta said, “but you aren’t actually down here to enjoy my sister.” He nodded at Vapathi, who dropped the man’s hand and moved to stand next to Kirshta.

  “I’m going back,” the man said. “I’ll report this to my commander, to Dumaya.”

  Kirshta blew fire into the lamp, bringing up flames a yard high. “Will you? That might not be safe.”

  The man hesitated, watching the licking flames.

  Kirshta let the flame die down to its natural size. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to offer you something that will keep you safe.”

  “Safe?” the man asked. “From you?”

  “I am the least of your problems. I’m talking about Praudhu-dar and Chadram. The Prince Imperial and the legitimate commander of the Red Men.”

  “Oh,” he said. The fear on his face relaxed into relief tempered by wariness.

  “What’s your name?” Kirshta asked.

  “Raksham.”

  “And you’re a sergeant?”

  Raksham nodded.

  “You’re the person we want. Praudhu-dar is still willing to make deals with the Red Men in the Dhigvaditya, but I don’t know how long his forbearance will last. Are you willing to listen to the offer?”

  Raksham hesitated. “This is a trap.”

  “Vapathi bringing you down here was a trap. But now that you’re here, you’ll listen. And if anyone asks what you did down here, you even have an excuse.” Kirshta gestured to Vapathi.

  “What does Chadram want?”

  “When Praudhu-dar and Chadram approach the Dhigvaditya, you and your men will open the gates. And if there is fighting for the fortress, you’ll fight for the Prince Imperial.”

  Raksham’s eyes narrowed and he looked suspiciously from Kirshta to Vapathi. “I’ll do no such thing. How do I know this isn’t a loyalty test from Dumaya?”

  “You don’t,” Kirshta said. “But you know who I am and how I came to be in this dungeon. Dumaya couldn’t have arranged that. And I wouldn’t have given him my ear.”

  Raksham lowered himself into a crouch. “Say that I believe you. Suppose you are an agent of the Prince Imperial. Tell me exactly what you want.”

  Kirshta gave the man a calm, indulgent smile. “As I said a moment ago, we want a few well-placed men to open the Bronze Gate at the right moment. The Prince Imperial is not so foolish to think that he can take the Dhigvaditya by force of arms, so he needs someone to open the fortress for him.”

  “As soon as he approaches the outer gate of Majasravi, the watchtowers will sound the alarm.”

  “Let them,” Kirshta said. “But when Chadram blows the ram’s horn before the Bronze Gate, open it, then prepare to defend yourselves and the Prince Imperial.”

  “Just me and my squadron?” Raksham shook his head. “Not a chance. We’d be destroyed.”

  “You are not the only one to whom this offer is made. There will be others. Loyalists on the walls and in the fortress. Men whom the Prince Imperial will reward when he is seated atop the Seven-Stepped Throne.”

  “And if Praudhu-dar fails—”

  A king lay facedown in a pool of blood on a marble floor. The image pressed itself into Kirshta’s mind. Kirshta grinned through the grim image. “I have foreseen that Praudhu-dar will enter the Dhigvaditya. You’ll want to be on his good side when it happens.”

  “Yes, and I want to be on Dumaya’s good side now.”

  Kirshta shrugged. “Your choice. But Praudhu-dar will not be more merciful than Dumaya when he comes.”

  Raksham dropped his head and rested his fist on the ground. “You put me in an impossible situation.”

  “More impossible than mine?” Kirshta shook the chains binding him to the wall.

  “But you ask me to risk execution for a Prince who might never come.”

  “You and the Red Men standing with Dumaya are already treasonous. You’re already risking the Emperor’s wrath.”

  Raksham tapped the ground in front of him. “For now, though, Dumaya is in the Dhigvaditya and Praudhu-dar is not.”

  “Do you really believe that Dumaya will hold out forever? He doesn’t have the position or the allies to actually claim the Ushpanditya, and he hasn’t even tried. The Prince Imperial will eventually take what belongs to him.”

  Raksham dropped his head into his hands. “Merciful Jakhur,” he said. “So you want me to open the Bronze Gate?”

  “When Chadram blows the ram’s horn. Nothing beyond that. And know that you will have allies. But,” Kirshta said, sending an extra gout of flame through the lamp to illuminate his point, “don’t try to find them. Don’t tell anyone of anything.”

  Raksham shook his head. “I won’t.”

  Kirshta dismissed him with a flick of the hand. His chains rattled. “Then get out of here. You’ll know when the time comes.”

  Vapathi and Kirshta listened as Raksham’s footsteps splashed through the shallow puddles on the dungeon floor. When the door to the Dhigvaditya creaked and was closed, Vapathi let out a long breath.

  “The rumor of what you’re doing will spread,” Vapathi said. “Especially as our number of recruits grows.”

  “That’s what we want.”

  “So long as it doesn’t reach Dumaya too early. He would kill you.”

  “It’s a risk. Have you sent the message to Chadram describing our plan?”

  “Yes.” Vapathi reached into a fold in her sari and removed two more leaves of roti. “This will take many days. Maybe half a month. Keep your strength.”

  Kirshta took the food wordlessly but didn’t eat it. “Don’t worry about me. Is this the most danger we’ve ever been in?”

  Vapathi laughed. “It was pretty bad when you went to Virnas with that mad thikratta, left me her
e alone, and then had to find your way back. But you seem to have come back whole.” She ran her finger across the edge of Kirshta’s healing ear. “More or less.”

  Kirshta grinned. “Compared to Ruyam, these people are children. It won’t be long before we’re both back in comfort.”

  And this time he wouldn’t be a slave trying desperately to learn from his master’s secrets, but an openly acknowledged thikratta. And he and Vapathi would never be in danger again.

  Vapathi leaned and kissed Kirshta on the forehead. “I know,” she said. “We’ve never failed each other before.”

  Navran

  White mourner’s clothes, a brown hand marbled with burns, and black rings in his palm. Manjur’s ring and the rings of the Heir’s children.

  His father had given him one. A mistake: he was never meant to have it. But it was his father’s gift, and he had kept it.

  “Mother,” he said softly. “I never gave it up. Not the years I was a pauper and a slave. I kept it to remember what good I could of you and our home.”

  But his mother had been gone for most of a month, and his father for years. Mistake or not, he was a king now, and as a king he had bigger debts than those of a pauper.

  He took a heavy breath and entered the throne room.

  Three men in silks and silver necklaces stood in the center of the room with a high table between them. Navran pushed past them and went to the dais, accepting Dastha’s hand which helped him to the throne. The herald announced his name. All three of the men bowed, then arranged themselves on cushions around the table. A servant girl appeared and poured cups of tea. Navran didn’t touch his. He took out the box of oiled red sandalwood from the pouch where it had rested against his neck. It smelled of incense and dust, cinnamon and iron.

  He handed it to Dastha. He felt sick.

  Dastha gave Navran a little glance of pity. He set it down on the low table between the three men. The oiled, ancient wood dropped onto the surface of the table with a quick click. The room fell silent.

  “Look at them,” Navran commanded.