by Anthony Ryan
“I will do this,” she told Varulek, handing back the bow. “But if I do not live, you will ensure this thing is burned and no mention of it ever made to my people.” I’ve told them enough lies.
“Owwwww!” Lieza squealed, rolling on the floor and rubbing her knee. For such a finely made person she remained aggravatingly clumsy and mostly devoid of coordination, despite two weeks of constant training.
“Get up,” Reva sighed. “Let’s try again.”
“You too quick,” Lieza grumbled, getting to her feet. She pouted at Reva’s insistent frown and assumed the crouch she had been taught, bent almost double, one hand touching the floor. The information Varulek had provided about her upcoming spectacle had left Reva in little doubt that attempting to train the girl in combat would be unlikely to aid her chances of survival, but the ability to dodge a charging opponent might.
Reva met her gaze, forcing a smile. This time Lieza wasn’t fooled, springing to her right, rolling and coming to her feet, just beyond the reach of Reva’s flailing arm as she flashed past.
“Better,” she said. “But the thing we face will have a longer reach.”
“You really think you can kill it?”
If I get my hands on the bow quick enough. “We have a chance. Remember what I told you. There will be chaos, when it happens you run for the western exit. Do not wait for me, do not look back.”
Lieza blanched, hugging herself as the fear returned. It was less frequent now, but still had occasion to leave her shivering and tearful. Reva had grown accustomed to waking with the girl’s slender form pressed against her, tear-stained face nestling into her shoulder. She hadn’t yet found the will to push her away.
Lieza started as the locks on the door rattled for the first time in days. Their food was provided via a slot in the base of the door, the only means of gauging the passage of time as they had been left alone since Varulek’s surreptitious visit. When it swung open she was dismayed to find the black-clad absent. Instead two Arisai stood there, grinning as they bowed, unconcealed lust in the gazes they directed at her and Lieza.
One of them spoke, deepening his bow and gesturing at the corridor. Lieza swallowed before providing a translation. “She wants to see you.”
Think nothing. Feel nothing.
She knew she was asking the impossible of herself; how could any living mind think nothing? But still she found the constant refrain a comfort, placing her faith in the Empress’s patent madness, the hope her mind was too clouded to allow her gift free rein.
To her surprise the Arisai led her from the arena and out into the broad parkland that surrounded it. The Empress was overseeing some form of modification to a life-sized bronze statue standing on a plinth opposite the main entrance, a team of slaves moving quickly at her shouted instruction. Most of their work seemed to be focused on the statue’s head, working feverishly to hammer iron pegs into its bronze neck. Nearby a dozen Arisai stood guard, a kneeling man in their midst, naked, slumped and chained.
“Ah, little sister,” the Empress greeted her, pulling her into a warm embrace. “And how does the morning find you?”
Think nothing. Feel nothing. “What do you want?”
“We haven’t had occasion to speak since your delightful demonstration. I wouldn’t wish you to think I harboured some anger towards you. Sisters shouldn’t fight.”
“We’re not sisters.”
“Oh but we are. I’m quite convinced of it. I was meant to have a sister, you see. But she died before she could be born.” The Empress’s gaze snapped back to the slaves and the statue. “Hurry up!”
Their efforts instantly became frantic, hammers moving in a blur as the last of the iron pegs were pounded into place. “Handsome fellow, isn’t he?” the Empress asked as the slaves secured ropes around the statue’s head. “Not to your taste, I know. But still, I assume you can still appreciate the aesthetic qualities of male beauty.”
Reva glanced at the bronze face, now partly obscured by a net of ropes. He had certainly been a handsome man, strong-jawed with a narrow nose, though his expression was even more stern and commanding than the plethora of heroes the Volarians erected in every spare corner of their city. He wore the armour of a senior officer, though it seemed more elaborate and ornate than others she had seen.
“Savarek Avantir,” the Empress said. “The greatest military commander in Volarian history. And my father.”
The slaves hurriedly hitched their ropes to a team of horses and began flailing at their flanks with whips. The iron pegs in the statue’s neck fell free as the rents they had forced in the metal widened, the bronze giving a whining groan of protest until the head finally came loose, falling onto the plinth with a loud clang.
“Conqueror of the southern provinces,” the Empress went on, moving to the plinth and laying a hand on the metal head. “Victor of sixty-three separate engagements. One of only two citizens to gain the red by virtue of martial merit rather than property, creator of the Varitai and Kuritai and the first to receive the Ally’s blessing. A fellow of singular achievement, wouldn’t you say?”
“Did he kill as many people as you?”
The Empress’s mouth twitched in a smile as she caressed the head. “More than both of us combined, little sister. And we have killed so many, have we not?”
Think nothing. Feel nothing. “If he took your Ally’s blessing, where is he? I thought your kind lived forever.”
“Even the Ally’s gift is no defence against a skillful blade.” She turned to regard the man kneeling amidst the Arisai. “Nor it seems, sufficient reward to ensure good service.”
She waved a hand and the Arisai hauled the kneeling man upright, dragging him forward. He seemed to be absent any injury but sagged as if wounded, head lolling and limbs slack. He made no sound though the stench arising from the dark stains that covered his thighs spoke of bowels loosened by fear.
“Allow me to introduce General Lotarev,” the Empress said as the Arisai allowed the stinking man to slump to his knees before her. “Commander of the Third Volarian Army, whom I elevated to the red and promised the Ally’s blessing should he fulfil his boast of bringing that golden-haired bitch before me, preferably in chains though a corpse would have done. In the event his heroic troops fled the field with such alacrity I’ve little doubt some have reached the eastern shore by now.”
She crouched down, taking hold of the unfortunate general’s hair and jerking his head back, revealing a face twitching in unalloyed terror, bleached bone white and the eyes betraying a near complete loss of reason. “Why did you come back, Lotarev?” she asked him, her tone not unkind, though since she spoke in Realm Tongue, Reva doubted the man could comprehend a word. “What did you imagine your reward would be? Was it duty? All those years of service don’t fade easily, I suppose. The capital in peril, you racing to bring me warning regardless of the risk to your own neck. Hoping for a statue of your own, eh?”
She leaned closer, speaking softly, her hand cupping his unshaven chin. “Don’t you understand? The blond bitch can slaughter every soul in this city and rend it to dust, and I suspect I’ll laugh at the spectacle. No, I just wanted her.” Her other hand tightened in his hair, jerking the head again and drawing a fearful whimper. “She once took something from me, you see. I owe her a considerable debt.”
She released him, rising and turning to the headless statue with a contemplative air. “Still, your dutiful service shouldn’t go unrewarded. I’m minded to spare you the three deaths and give you the statue you hunger for. Fashioned by the expert hand of my own little sister.”
One of the Arisai came to Reva’s side, proffering a broad-bladed axe, the others dragging the general around until he knelt before her, head bowed.
Reva ignored the axe, fixing her gaze on the Empress. “No.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “How terribly uncharacteristic. The reports from Alltor were fairly lurid in their description of your willingness to do this very thing.”
“But I need for us to understand each other better.” The Empress reached out to clasp her shackled wrists, meeting Reva’s gaze with intent sincerity. “Blood will bring us closer. A lesson I learned from my beloved. In time we will be a family…”
Reva wrenched her hands away, burgeoning rage sending unwise images through her mind; Varulek’s secret chamber, the bow of Arren, how it would feel in her hands when the time came … Think nothing!
“What is this, little sister?” The Empress frowned, tilting her head in a now-familiar gesture. “Do you scheme? Do you plot? With whom, I wonder?”
Reva closed her eyes and drew breath, calming herself with an image of Veliss, that day in the gardens as they watched Ellese stumble through her scales. I have never asked you for a promise … Stay alive and come back to me. “I already have a family,” she said. “And you could never be part of it.”
“And Lieza?” the Empress asked. “Does she deserve a place in your family? What will you tell that woman you pine for if you return? Why don’t I spare you the complication? I can have her brought up, and my father’s statue can have a girl’s head instead of a coward’s.”
Reva lunged for the axe, tearing it from the Arisai’s grip and whirling towards the Empress, though she had danced out of reach, a delighted laugh escaping her lips. “Enough play,” she said, her mirth fading as she pointed to the kneeling general. “Time to craft your art.”
“She make you fight again?” Lieza stared at the blood discolouring Reva’s blouse, coming forward, eyes wide in concern. “You hurt?”
“No.” Reva moved away, tearing the blouse off, suddenly uncaring of what she saw. Lotarev gaped up at her in vague comprehension, drool beading on his lower lip …
She stripped, filled the bath and scrubbed herself clean. So much death wrought by these, she thought, staring at her hands as the blood turned to mist in the water. Why do I feel it so now?
After a while Lieza came to wash her blouse. This time she made no effort to enter the water, avoiding Reva’s gaze and crouching at the edge as she worked the soap into the material.
“Have you ever killed anyone?” Reva asked her. “I know you tried with the Empress, but have you ever actually succeeded?”
The girl shot her a guarded look and shook her head.
“Well, to escape this place you may have to. I won’t be able to protect you when it starts.”
Lieza spoke in a soft voice, her hands still busy, “Won’t leave without you.”
“This is no game!” Reva thrashed at her, scattering reddened bath water. “This is no story! You will die here and I can’t save you!”
Lieza was on her back, pinned beneath her, the concern in her eyes now turned to fear. Reva couldn’t recall leaping from the bath. Lotarev didn’t speak as she raised the axe. It made a crunching sound as it bit into his spine, just like the prisoners and the Free Sword, Fatherless sinners all …
She shuddered and scurried away from Lieza until her back met the wall, drawing her legs up and burying her head in her knees. She felt Lieza come to sit beside her, soft fingers gently tracing through her damp hair until Reva raised her head. Her kiss was tentative, so unlike Veliss in its lack of experience …
Reva moved back. “I can’t…”
“Not for you,” Lieza murmured, kissing her again, more insistent now, Reva finding her heart pounding, knowing she should push her away and yet her arms opened to enfold her, drawing her close. Lieza drew back a fraction, their breath mingling as she stared into Reva’s eyes. “For me.”
Varulek arrived after the morning meal with a dozen female slaves, some bearing clothing, others combs and various concoctions used for dressing hair or painting faces. They dressed her in armour, of a sort, specially tailored to her size judging from the closeness of the fit. The breastplate was tight around her torso, fashioned from stiff leather but too thin to ward off anything but a glancing blow. Similarly the kilt of leather strips, each weighted at the lower end with a brass stud, was too flimsy to afford more than basic protection. She soon realised this was not truly armour; she was required to play a role and this was her costume. However, she took some comfort from the fact it was light enough to allow her to move quickly.
Lieza was dressed in a long gown of flowing silk, dyed a pale shade of violet that complemented her eyes. Her hair, grown longer than any slave was usually permitted over the weeks of seclusion, was moulded into a lustrous ebony cascade, adorned with a small silver diadem.
“Avielle was a queen,” Varulek explained. “Granted the throne by her elder sister who eschewed power for service, preferring to fight rather than rule. When the Dermos fired Jarvek’s lust to carry Avielle off to the dark places, they baited a trap Livella could never resist.”
Reva met Lieza’s gaze and the girl smiled, seemingly immune to fear now. Reva had woken awash in memories that alternated between Veliss and the previous night, guilt and delight stirring to a fugue of confusion. She disentangled herself from Lieza’s embrace and roamed the chamber, vainly searching the Ten Books for some words to comfort a betraying soul. Lieza was markedly less confused, waking and coming to her with more kisses.
“No.” Reva turned away, softening the rejection with a clasp to her hand. “No. Today we fight. One last practice before they come for us.”
Varulek dismissed the slaves when Reva grew fractious at their constant fussing, snarling at a matronly woman attempting to brush some reddish powder onto her cheeks.
“I doubt the Empress will notice any imperfections,” he said when they had gone. He glanced at the two Kuritai at the door, presumably to confirm no Arisai had joined them in the interval. “Rumour has it your queen is fifty miles from the city. Panic spreads but the Empress has her spies everywhere. A hundred free men received the three deaths yesterday and she has decreed all citizens of age attend the arena.”
“The bow,” Reva said.
“There’s a motif carved into the centre of the lintel under the Empress’s balcony, an eagle with wings spread. The bow is beneath the sand fifty paces directly in front of it. You will have six arrows.”
With luck, five more than I’ll need. “I have another condition,” she said, turning to Lieza once more. “Should I fall, you will secure her escape from this place and take her to the queen. She will be my assurance your words are true.”
“The task we face is perilous. I can make no promises…” He trailed off in the face of her glare, eventually giving a reluctant nod. “I will do what I can.”
The trumpets blared as they were led into the arena, the tiered terraces so filled with people it seemed they might overflow the walls and spill onto the sand. Apart from the trumpets, however, there was barely any sound save the continual faint groan of thousands drawing breath. Reva picked out numerous specks of red and black amidst the throng; Kuritai and Arisai strategically placed to ensure their continued attendance. She shifted her gaze to the lowest tier, scanning the faces within sight. There was none of the bloodlust she had seen before, just a parade of scared people, tense with dreadful expectation.
Was this her intention? she wondered. To make them hate the spectacles they loved?
A pair of Kuritai led Lieza to a new structure rising from the centre of the arena—three circular platforms of descending size placed one atop the other to form a dais, constructed of wood but painted to resemble marble. The Kuritai secured Lieza’s manacles to a sturdy wooden pole that arose from the topmost platform whilst those guarding Reva placed a long, broad-bladed spear and a short sword on the sand in front of her before removing her shackles and quickly trooping off to the nearest exit.
The trumpets faded, leaving a tense hush as the slender form of the Empress appeared from the shadowed recess of her balcony. “Honoured Citizens!” she call
ed out, her voice absent the mockery evident before. Now it was rich in joyous celebration, a benevolent ruler greeting loyal subjects with a grand reward. “Not for a generation has this spectacle been gifted to the Volarian people. The Council was ever mean in its responsibilities, grubbing to fill their own pockets and begrudging you the smallest entertainments. Now behold your Empress’s generosity, rejoice as I give you the legend of Jarvek and Livella!”
She spread her arms wide and the crowd cheered, though it sounded to Reva like the hoarse baying of some tormented monster. The people in the lowest tier screamed themselves red in the face in their desire to display loyalty as an Arisai looked on, teeth bared in mocking laughter.
The Empress lowered her arms, heralding an instant silence. “Be it known to the ages,” she said in tones of grave recitation, “that the Dermos did conspire to steal away good queen Avielle to the darkest pit beneath the earth.” She assumed a theatrical pose as she pointed at Lieza standing shackled atop the dais. “And there they did chain her under threat of vile torment, knowing her loving sister would brave any danger to bring her into the light once more. All will acclaim Livella, bravest of the Guardians!” Her finger swept towards Reva, drawing another chorus of hoarse cheering from the crowd.
“But the Dermos were ever cunning in their evil,” the Empress continued when the tumult subsided. “For having tempted the mightiest of the Guardians into lust and treachery, they filled his heart with malice and spite, moulding him into their most vile and savage servant. Behold Jarvek!”
The door at the opposite end of the arena swung open with an audible boom, the crowd screaming on cue, then gradually falling silent as nothing happened. For a moment Reva suspected some trickery on the part of the Empress, a great prank to stoke her fears before revealing yet another novel cruelty. However, a glance at the balcony showed her to be staring at the empty arch with palpable annoyance.