Knight Exiled: The Shackled Verities (Book Three)

by Tammy Salyer

  They came to a narrow place where the passage branched. One way led to the right, the other up. A rickety rope ladder that had clearly been built by a child from scraps hung from the overhead passage. Some of the rungs appeared to be little more than thick sticks, and the ropes tied to them were a motley mix of twine, possibly spun yarn, and the occasional hemp-like rope that it should have been made entirely of. She wondered if the ladder and where it led were part of a newer passage he’d said the children had built. She wondered if the ladder would hold her.

  Inder didn’t hesitate, clambering up it with the confidence of a child to whom it has never occurred that things break. “Come on. The next floor is where the Archon and soldiers meet to talk about things. Almost there.”

  She grasped a rung and gave it a testing tug. It flexed alarmingly. She was Yorish, and though not particularly heavy for her people, she was still much bigger than the boy. All she could do was hope for the best. Shouldering her pack, she followed him.

  Somehow, it held, though she noticed the bit of yarn anchoring the ladder top over a ledge starting to fray. After she’d warned Inder of the danger, she looked around. They were in a narrow passage that ran between two stone walls, barely wide enough for her to stand sideways in. Even Inder couldn’t square his shoulders and walk straight. Rubble, small stones, and sand dusted the floor, making her step lightly to avoid making any noise.

  “Where are we?” she whispered.

  “The map room,” he said matter-of-factly. “And the Archon’s council room. If you scale the wall there”—he waved his rushlight to indicate a spot ahead of them—“there’s a gap behind one of the great maps on the wall. The Archon doesn’t know about it. We cleared out this space so we could—” He cut himself off and looked away, embarrassed, but she knew what he’d been about to say.

  “I promised your secret would be safe with me, Inder, and it is. Spying on your elders is certainly frowned on, but in this case, you’ve done an immense amount of good. Now,” she bent to one knee and looked him in the eye, “it’s time for you to go, and stay out of these passageways for a time. You are a wonderful boy, and you’ve done a wonderful thing to help me start searching for my daughter. Stay out of trouble, Inder. And steer clear of the Archon as much as you can. Your father was, and will be, proud of you.”

  “Okay. I hope you find her,” he said lightly, as if wishing her well in something as minor as a card game. Then he dropped back down the precarious ladder, already having forgotten the fraying rope.

  She watched his retreat until his light faded and whispered after him, “Stay safe, child,” though he couldn’t hear her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mura had come with Isemay and Salukis to the edge of the Churss, and now the three of them looked over the valley spread below. Morning light dappled the meadow leading down in soft waves. The River Thallorn glistened like a string beckoning a kitten far below them. Across the valley, the Tyrn Mountains advanced beyond the edge of vision, distant snow-covered tops reminding Isemay of the view of Mount Omina from Vigil Tower. Homesickness, family-sickness, cut through her like a thin knife edge, too sharp to feel but nevertheless flaying her feelings completely open.

  Will I see Mount Omina or Vigil Tower again? Will I see anyone from home again? With an effort, she shook off the sadness suddenly stifling her. She didn’t want to start off this journey feeling half-lost and half-defeated already. You will see them, she told herself. Every step you take today will be one step closer to Mum, and so to home.

  Eleven days and nights had passed, and she’d heard nothing of her mother. No Minothians patrolled the Thallorn Valley or had been seen since she and Symvalline had arrived, which told her that her mum must not have escaped them. Surely they’d have sent someone after her if she had. The Zhallahs welcomed the Minothians’ absence, but to Isemay it was foreboding.

  Making worse the passage of time and the lingering doubts and fears she bore was the continued silence from her memory keeper. Whatever had become of her father had rendered him unable to communicate through it.

  All of which simply confirmed that if anything was going to change for Isemay, she was going to have to make it happen herself. I just have to think of it as a test, the first real test to see if I have what it takes to become a Knight someday.

  Drawing a resolute breath, she barely managed to stifle a shudder as she released it.

  Mura stood beside Isemay. The woman, only about four or five Arc Rheunosian years older than she, turned and asked for at least the fifth time, “Are you certain you want to do this?” A cascade of wrinkles that belonged to someone much older and with many more cares than a woman her age should bear cascaded down Mura’s forehead.

  Isemay wasn’t surprised she was here. That Mura was part of the group of Zhallahs who had chosen to outright defy Archon Deespora seemed inevitable. She’d lost a brother to the Minothians. What else could she do but try to get him back?

  “I-I don’t think I have any other choice,” Isemay answered simply, the only answer she could think of.

  “We’ll be okay, Mura,” Salukis said from behind her. He was busily going through the small collection of supplies they’d brought, packing them tightly so they’d make no sound while they were on the move. “You know I’ve scouted the gate a hundred times. I can get us in, and if I can get us in, I can get us out.”

  Mura shot him a look that said loudly, Only a fool would pretend that makes sense, but concealed it quickly with a wan smile. “None would ever accuse you of lacking bravery, Lukis.”

  She’s nearly as good as Safran at concealing her true thoughts, thought Isemay, stifling a smile.

  With Salukis occupied with their final tasks before they embarked, she tried to fill the moment with the few last questions still lingering in her mind. “Mura, at the gathering last night, one of the men said I couldn’t hide in the labyrinth because I’m not a yielder. What did he mean?”

  “Let me show you,” Mura said.

  She took a few steps away until she reached the base of a Churss tower, then turned and pressed her back into it. In a moment, her skin tone faded and shifted into a color closer to the tan stone behind her—then something extraordinary happened. She simply disappeared. One moment she was rock-colored, the next moment nothing was visible but the rock itself. And her clothing, of course, which was still formed around her outline.

  “That’s simply amazing,” Isemay said. “I can’t even see you except for your clothes and sandals.”

  Mura spoke from the illusion, if that’s what it was, and the sound of her voice coming from where she no longer seemed to be was somewhat unsettling. “If you think that’s interesting…” She said nothing else, but the next moment, even her garments disappeared.

  Isemay’s eyes widened, and she looked around despite herself, expecting the trick to be obvious if she could just spot a single tell.

  “We’re called yielders because we can yield our own aspect to whatever we wish.”

  Isemay jumped at Mura’s voice, which was now beside her and speaking nearly into her ear. She’d moved without Isemay hearing her. What the Knights would give for this kind of ability! Looking in the direction of her voice, Isemay could see a strange wavering in the air but nothing else. It was a bit like looking at something through a distorted lens. Though she could swear she was looking directly at where Mura’s voice came from, the view of the valley was still spread out before her, just slightly bent and hazy.

  “You’ve seen how our colors change. What you haven’t seen is the way we can adopt the patterns of things. We can be the color of stone, sky, or even the ground at our feet, and any combination of things we set our mind to. We yield ourselves to what we see or imagine, and we become like it. And that’s not all.”

  Mura’s cool hand wrapped around Isemay’s forearm and shifted from the colorless-ness of the air it had passed through to the color of Isemay’s own bare arm, down to the dark freckles scattered over it. Only the faintest
of outlines showed her Mura’s fingers against her skin at all.

  “Walk with me,” Mura said, gently pulling Isemay forward toward the base of a Churss tower. The volume of plant life twining around and up it proved it had been stationary for a very long time. Coarse brown vines, as thick as one of Stave’s thighs, wound around and up toward the stone tower’s peak. Many-lobed green leaves as wide as a scholar’s dictionary dangled from long stalks along the vine, ruffled by the occasional breeze coming up from the valley. When they were close enough to one of the vines to reach it, Mura shifted back into sight and gripped the vine with her other hand.

  “We can also yield to the essence of things and allow it to pass through us into other things. Like this.”

  A sensation of warmth seeped through Mura’s palm into Isemay’s arm, spreading like syrup up and down it. The sensation widened rapidly from her shoulder, across her chest, to her neck and down past her waist and into her legs. She felt like she’d fallen asleep by a window and a sunbeam had slowly spread over her.

  “What did you—” She broke off. This feeling was familiar. She thought she’d felt this, just less intensely, the first day she’d been in the Churss, when Mura had tried to console her. But this time, the strength of the sensation was unmissable, so similar to how it felt when Deespora used her wysticism on Isemay. “I feel…you can…heal me?” she asked in wonder.

  Mura released her arm. “In a way. We can borrow life from things that have some to spare, such as this vine”—she gestured to the plant, and Isemay saw some of the leaves had wilted, but overall it still thrived—“and let it pass through us to whoever and whatever needs it. It’s called ‘tendering.’ What I just did should give you enough time to make it through the labyrinth and back,” she finished with finality.

  Oh, right, that. Isemay had been feeling so well from the last time Deespora had aided her that she hadn’t considered how she might fare over the next three or four days. This slow dive into languor and illness that Arc Rheunos caused could hit her hard and leave her helpless, lost in the maze. Salukis would look out for her, and she him, but she didn’t want to endanger both of them with her weakness.

  But now with the extra suffusion of strength from Mura, she was sure she’d make it through fine enough. As long as they didn’t take longer than expected.

  “But what happened to your clothes?” she asked. “Is it some kind of spell that makes them invisible?”

  Mura looked uncertain about the meaning of the word “spell,” but she answered, “Our Churss talismans allow us to project whatever we’re yielding to onto whatever is near, such as our clothing. We call it a ‘shimmer,’ but it can only reach small things at a short distance.”

  Isemay reached out and touched her fingertips lightly to Mura’s bare arm, and was surprised to note that her skin didn’t feel any different than Isemay’s own. She glanced into Mura’s deep green eyes shyly. “I’m sorry, it’s just so…so unique. I see now why everyone thinks I’m not the best person for this. You are all so much better equipped than I am.”

  Mura smiled. “Hardly. Your bravery is a rare gift. And none of us could hide pen, ink, and paper and sketch out a map easily, all while trying to elude the Minothians who travel and scout the labyrinth. Some have tried, and they’ve never come back.”

  Her words weren’t a warning, necessarily, or meant to scare Isemay, but they did. She looked to Salukis. “Can you do that too?”

  He shrugged. “No, not like her. Women have the traits of yielding and tendering, men of flying. My mother says it’s Mithlí’s way of spreading her gifts equally. But I never saw how flying could be equal to…” He spread his hands out and gestured to Mura and things she was capable of.

  And I have barely any gifts at all, beyond the ability to fall deathly ill and become a burden to those around me.

  “I can do this, though,” he went on quickly, and inexplicably wrapped his wings around the front of his body. The fine down covering them seemed to wave, then he, too, shifted into a facsimile of the landscape he stood before and was lost to sight.

  “So you can!”

  He drew his wings back, and she saw that the rest of him was as solid as before. “Just on our wingbacks. It’s enough to help us stay invisible to anyone flying over us, or blend into nooks and crannies when we need to.” He raised a concerned eyebrow. “With your memory keeper and my familiarity with the labyrinth and the Minothians, believe me, we can do this. Do you trust me, Isemay?”

  A glance at Mura showed her to be smiling at Salukis in a way that was somehow both sad and approving. She wondered if Mura thought of Salukis as a replacement for the younger brother the Minothians had taken. His name was, is, Dwoon, she reminded herself. And finding him and bringing him back to his family is part of what I’m helping to do. It’s a task worthy of Knighthood. And if Salukis is brave enough, I can be too. This thought gave her the final bit of spurring she needed to face what lay ahead.

  She forced herself to smile, as much as she could, and hoped the more she did it, the less artificial it would feel. “We can do this,” she repeated, then bent down and retrieved her small satchel. “Okay. I guess we’re ready, then.”

  Salukis beamed as if they were simply going on a holiday and grabbed his own bag.

  Isemay turned to Mura. “Thank you,” she said. “We’ll see you in a couple of days, I’m sure.”

  Mura brought her palms together and intertwined her fingers, bringing her clenched hands to her chin and dipping her head in the Zhallah gesture for goodbye. “Like we discussed. You were distraught and wanted to visit the edge of the Churss to wait for your mother. Salukis said he’d stay with you if you promised not to go farther. I’ll make sure everyone knows,” she said, repeating the tale they’d agree she’d tell Lysis and Salukis’s parents about their absence. “Churss protection be with you.”

  She patted her thigh to get Tekl’s and Juz’s attention. Salukis bent over and bumped his own nose to each of theirs and said, “Do as Mura says, or no govels when I get back.”

  The snouzes looked at Mura, back at him, then back to Mura, who waved them over. Isemay could swear she saw their shoulders sag sadly as they disappeared back into the Churss forest.

  When Mura and the snouzes were out of sight, she and Salukis remained standing quietly where the meadow met the forest, looking toward the Aktoktos Gate, neither seemingly ready to take that first step toward danger.

  Finally, Salukis heaved a sigh. “Walk or fly?” he asked her once again, working valiantly, it seemed to her, to keep his tone upbeat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Creeping through Everlight Hall, Symvalline imagined herself to be a bandit, of which she’d encountered many as a Knight Corporealis and keeper of Fenestrii, the most valuable artifacts in Vinnr. Bandits always seemed to be irreverent types who believed, for some unaccountable reason, they could easily steal hallowed weapons, valuable historical items, and even a Fenestros a time or two. Old, false rumors circulated throughout the kingdoms that the Knights had mountains of lucre, which didn’t help keep thieves away either. In the times she’d confronted them, she’d rarely seen past their usually grimy clothes and grimier dispositions. They were criminals and had offended Vaka Aster by offering offense to the Knights. What more did she need to see?

  But now, perched before the peephole overlooking Tuzhazu’s war room—this was her word for it, for what else did Tuzhazu intend but war?—she wondered if she’d been too dismissive of those many bandits and thieves. Stealth was a craft, and if her needs had led her to this type of thievery, regardless of its purpose, what kinds of needs had those men and women had that led them to such ignominious heists? Not all need was greed-driven, she belatedly realized.

  She estimated the peephole was about twelve feet from the floor. Shoddily crafted pegs that served as footholds had been wedged between the stone blocks composing the wall, and she now balanced on two that positioned her in front of a gap where two blocks had been removed. This
was covered by a heavy parchment on the other side and provided an opening about a foot and a half tall and wide. Barely enough to squeeze through. Her peephole was a small slit in the parchment created to spy on the chamber outside.

  Which was now occupied by Tuzhazu.

  The wall opposite her held rows of wooden shelves containing a multitude of books and scrolls. She could see the shelves were labeled but couldn’t read them from her vantage. One of the scrolls was a map of the labyrinth. It had to be.

  The Archon, who appeared to be the only person in the midsize chamber, stood over an oblong table that could have sat at least twenty others around it. A model of the labyrinth occupied the entire surface, intricate and detailed down to the last wall she assumed. Getting through the maze’s twisting corridors would not be easy, even with a map, while being pursued. But she was swift and did not need sleep. Plus, she had her powerful sleeping agent, her petards, and if her luck held, a few more weapons would find their way into her clutches before she left this fortress. And if she could retrieve her klinkí stones from Tuzhazu without alerting him, she would be nearly unstoppable. Anyone who encountered her in the maze would pay a price. She didn’t think she would need to worry about Tuzhazu coming after her himself. Why would he waste his time on one person, especially one who’d caused him so much trouble?

  Tuzhazu appeared deep in thought. As she watched, he placed Balavad’s fist-sized Fenestros inside the maze and began pushing it through with his hand, an idle movement by someone whose mind was elsewhere. As she watched him, a grim sense of anticipation of what was to come rose up from Symvalline’s subconscious. Tuzhazu had not yet received the package she’d sent him, but he would soon, she suspected. In the bedlam that was sure to follow, it would be the perfect time to take back her stones.