Knight Exiled: The Shackled Verities (Book Three)

by Tammy Salyer

  He gave her a look of contempt that matched her own, then ordered: “And gag them, too.”

  Chapter Forty

  Ulfric and Urgo stood at the edge of the Churss in the same spot Salukis and Isemay had stood four days earlier, though he didn’t know it, before they’d launched their nearly successful endeavor into mapping the labyrinth. He was thinking that he should be feeling the way he’d felt before battles he’d fought in the past: resolved, ready, and filled with belief in their imminent victory.

  He felt none of these things.

  Perhaps four or five hundred Zhallah people stood behind him, an unprepared and untrained crew of what he’d call commoners in Vinnr who had no idea what a real militant force looked or acted like—or a real fight. They carried no battle-ready weapons, just clubs altered from farming or building tools, some nets, and heavy bags of stones tied to their waists. These, he noted ruefully, would make those who could fly heavier, less maneuverable, and therefore more vulnerable. Ulfric had seen only a few of the uniformed and, by comparison, disciplined soldiers Minoth had. And even if they didn’t live up to his standards of a military force, they would easily outstrip these Zhallahs, whose lives were built on avoiding battle, not inducing it.

  And then there was the Deathless Guard. He’d already seen the weapons they carried, and he’d also seen the emptiness in their eyes that showed they had no conscience to prevent them from using their hooked swords, so similar to those carried by the Battgjaldic Raveners.

  He feared that if the Zhallahs actually clashed in hand-to-hand combat with the Minothians, they would have no chance at anything resembling success. They would be captured and imprisoned at best, slaughtered by the Deathless at worst.

  He had Urgo turn to Deespora beside him. The night before, Deespora had escorted him and the bruhawks to the Churss Circle in Maerria. There, he’d informed the Archon and the other Zhallah council members she’d summoned of everything he knew of Balavad’s ultimate plans of ensuring the Syzyckí Elementum didn’t come to pass, at any cost, and the susceptibility of the Dyrrakium people to the malicious Verity’s persuasion. Ulfric shared with them his belief, fear really, that now that Balavad’s own people were gone, he would use the Vinnric Dyrraks to subjugate Arc Rheunos, the same as he’d intended with his Raveners in Vinnr—after the Dyrraks finished taking it over first.

  The Dyrraks would be used as cannon fodder in Balavad’s crusade, Ulfric was certain. Not all of them would be as corruptible as the Domine Ecclesium, but most of them would be manipulable, thanks to their blind faith. The Dyrrak people were not truly enemies of Ivoryss or Yor. They were simply different, their beliefs more rigorous (to the point of foolishness, he’d thought more than once in his long life). And it was the rigor of those beliefs that had made it so easy for them, through Balavad’s manipulation of the Domine Ecclesium, to fall into Balavad’s trap.

  Shamelessly showing Deespora the most gruesome sights he could recall of Balavad’s doings, Ulfric finally persuaded her that the Churss was no longer a reliable refuge sometime near what was called Hallumbrum in Vinnr. She agreed, at last, that their realm would be defenseless against the whims of a conquering Verity and his minions from Vinnr while their own was caged, just as Vinnr had been. Ulfric suspected her coming around to the idea had more to do with the pressure from among her own people, who’d made it clear they would go to Minoth to retrieve their kidnapped kin with our without Deespora to lead them, than his tales and suspicions. The woman named Kalisk had been right: Deespora might be considered the wisest among them because she was the oldest and had been closest to the Everlight. But if Balavad was free to wreak whatever ruin and subjugation on the Zhallah and Minothian peoples he or Tuzhazu wanted, all her wisdom would not spare them one ounce of suffering.

  In the end, it didn’t matter why she agreed to go with him to Minoth. They now had to focus on the mission: take Tuzhazu captive, force him to unmake the cage holding Mithlí. Which, aside from rescuing Symvalline and Isemay, was what Ulfric most desired. If the fallen Archon knew how to unmake Mithlí’s cage, he could be forced to show Ulfric how to do it. Therefore, of utmost importance, was that Tuzhazu be captured alive. And when that was done, they could begin to contemplate the wisdom and simple practicality of ensnaring Balavad in his own cage.

  Ulfric refused to ask himself how many of the Zhallahs’ lives he thought this knowledge was worth. Deespora, likewise, did not bring this question up. He sensed she held on to the notion that none would truly be harmed, that the Minothians’ adherence to the belief that taking a life was the worst of evils would still be true. But Ulfric had lived through the War of Rivening and an untold number of skirmishes in service of protecting Vaka Aster’s vessel. He knew that a group’s values, no matter how strongly held, were always malleable under the right circumstances. Look at what had happened to the values of the Domine Ecclesium in Dyrrakium.

  Their strategy was simple. With the aid of Isemay’s memory keeper map, those who could not fly would traverse through the maze at top speed, and those who could fly would assist in shielding them. It would truly be a test of how closely the Minothians still held to the code of honoring life. Ulfric was betting on them reaching the end of the labyrinth with minor casualties, if any. By then, they would know whether the Minothians would stand against the might of an armed troop of Zhallahs or if they would yield. And if they didn’t yield, what then? They would consider that if it came.

  In the meantime, Ulfric focused exclusively on the object of the plan: if just the bruhawks and Deespora, with the strength of her Scrylle and Fenestros to aid her, made it to the Minothian stronghold of Everlight Hall, then the plan would be considered a success. Toppling her sister the false Verity and Tuzhazu, and then freeing Mithlí were the only things that could change the course of Arc Rheunos’s current destiny. If Mithlí chose to punish the Archons for what they did, so be it. None could say how a Verity would react to a situation like this, which had never before happened in all the Cosmos’s history—as far as any who lived knew. If Mithlí took no action against them, then their two peoples would face a period of struggle as they learned once more to live together and trust one another. Then they could begin to rebuild.

  As the last wisps of night fled the horizon, he said to Deespora through the memory keeper, “Remember, we must move swiftly. We can’t allow skirmishes with the Minothians to stop us. We keep going, even if we have to leave a few fighters behind to engage them and keep them away from the main body. We’ll be easily targeted inside the labyrinth walls, so the Wings”—he’d taken naturally to calling the men, who would provide their air support, by the same name as the Dragør Wing Marines of Ivoryss—“will be the most burdened. They must not give way or be tempted to flee. They must keep their faith in the fight.”

  They’d gone over this a few times already during the previous night, and each time Deespora had seemed less and less attentive to his continued instructions on how they would achieve their objective. In truth, it had begun to frustrate him, but he held his tongue from delivering the admonishment he might have heaped on one of his own Knights. Not my world, not my people. And from the Archon’s perspective, the stakes for me are the least important.

  This time, Deespora turned to him and regarded him as one might watch a featherless bird try to take flight. She then said to the young woman standing next to her, “Mura, it’s time.”

  The woman withdrew a reeded instrument with twin pipes from inside her cloak, then turned to the group immediately behind her and gave them a signal. Each carried a pipe of their own.

  Salukis, too, was among the group, surprising Ulfric. He’d have expected the young man to stay among the frail and young in Maerria, due to his injured wing. He looked closer. No, that wasn’t possible. The young man’s wing bore no injury anymore. He looked at the other wing, sure he’d mistaken which had been cut, but it was as whole as the first.

  As he was pondering this miraculous fact, as one, the troupe of musicians
put their instruments to their lips. Mura signaled again, and they all began to play.

  The tune was not like any music Ulfric had ever heard. It seemed to him more a collection of strange tones played out of sync and with no harmony. Some kind of call to arms or action? he wondered.

  Then, all around them the forest of stone began to stir, the massive bases of the towers rolling freely from their entrenchments in the ground, the smaller stones climbing to the sky atop them rolling in unison to stay aloft.

  As Ulfric watched, like an arcane army from some mythic tale, the entire Churss forest began to march.

  Chapter Forty-One

  As Isemay leaned against her mum, horrified by the sight of the Minothian Archon and his ghastly, rotting, metal-tipped wings, the world began to swim away, leaving a black cloud in its wake.

  She lost feeling in her legs and thought for a moment she was simply floating, then the hard earth smacked into her and knocked her breath away. Vaguely, she knew Symvalline was beside her, gripping her shoulders and saying something, but it was all distant. Her eyes caught on the hem of the black cloak spread out around the woman the horrific Archon was hurting, and all she wished was to have that cloak spread over her. She was so, so cold.

  Someone spoke to the Archon and he released the woman, who fell next to Isemay.

  “My liege, the Zhallah prisoners have escaped and have not been found. They could be…anywhere.”

  The man who was speaking sounded far away, and Isemay wondered if she was dying. It was fascinating, in a way, that death would feel so much like traveling through a dark tunnel, not a quick winking out of existence, but a journey to a place she couldn’t quite see.

  She began to grow warmer, first her hand, then up through her arm and into her shoulder. It’s odd that dying would start at my fingertips, she thought. It feels like when Mura had…what had she called it? Yielding. No, that’s different, when they—

  Wait… Her thoughts cut off abruptly. Was someone healing her?

  She shifted her head to see her hand better. It lay in the grasp of the woman in black, the one named Agatha. The woman’s skin was even whiter than when Tuzhazu was harming her, as translucent as glass. Her eyes were staring into Isemay’s, growing visibly cloudy as she watched.

  “Stop him,” the woman whispered. “Don’t let him hurt any more…children.” Her eyes lost focus, now completely covered by a milky cataract, and she stopped breathing.

  Isemay had never seen someone die until this moment. Yet, at the same time, she felt more alive. Did she…did she just give me the last of her…? She couldn’t finish the thought, terrified at what it might mean that another person, a complete stranger, would die so she could live.

  “Be silent!”

  The wicked Archon’s voice rang through her bones, so filled with rage and violence it shook her. Her mother reeled backward from a blow. Isemay, acting on impulse, grabbed him. “Please, please don’t hurt my mum,” she begged.

  The Archon pushed her down and she yielded easily, curling into a ball with her hands clutched at her belly, continuing to feign sickness. Something inside her didn’t want him to know she’d been healed—or to see what she now held.

  She heard Symvalline curse the cruel man in a tone of voice that would have turned Isemay to ice if it had been directed at her. She knew her mum as a firm but fair and loving parent, a calculating and thoughtful diplomat when it came to the people of Ivoryss, and a stalwart and dedicated Knight. She did not know this mien of steady, steely wrath she now heard. Her mum was promising to kill the brutal man, and Isemay believed her completely.

  As the Archon mounted an urzidae and rode off at top speed, she watched the guards who remained through half-slitted eyes. They visibly relaxed at Tuzhazu’s absence and began carrying out his orders. She, the old man named Widin, and her mum were tied hand and foot and fitted with musty rags in their mouths.

  “The barrow tender is…is dead,” one of the guards called when her attempt to rouse Agatha failed. The guard straightened and backed away, as if the body would bite her.

  “Unbind the other barrow ghoul,” the lead guard said. “Old man, she is yours to deal with now. Get her covered up quickly.”

  Shortly, the three of them, along with the woman’s body, were placed in a wagon and began their trek toward Everlight Hall. Isemay desperately wanted to speak to her mum but had to settle for nudging her with her knee. When Symvalline looked into her face, her eyebrows immediately quirked in confusion and surprise. Isemay gave her a little nod as if to say I’m okay now. Her mum stared at her a moment longer, then seemed to grasp if not what may have happened, then at least that Isemay was not as ill as she’d been, and her brows smoothed. But a deep sadness crinkled the edges of her eyes as she looked toward Agatha’s body.

  It was sometime after midday, nearing dinnertime if Isemay’s growling stomach was an accurate timepiece, when they arrived at their destination. Unlike the last wagon she’d ridden in, this one had short walls that allowed her to see all around when she sat up. They went through heavy iron-barred gates in a curtain wall that flowed from one side of the valley to the other, intersecting at each end with the mountains that rose steeply to the east and west. Between the labyrinth and this northern part of the valley, all of Minoth spread throughout the vast, naturally occurring mountainous basin. It was no wonder the Zhallahs had never tried to reach their stolen kin. The natural defenses here seemed impassable.

  Soon, they pulled up in a courtyard before a fortress she assumed was Everlight Hall. Two towers rose from the otherwise squat but wide series of structures. One tower stood about ten stories tall. The other, well behind the main structure, soared at least twenty stories high. If not for the mountains that provided its backdrop, it would have seemed immense, even more than Vigil Tower back home. That must be what they call the Cosmoculous Tower. Where they keep the caged Everlight.

  Her mum’s presence had been reassuring from the moment she’d laid her eyes on her in the valley gatehouse, but the sight of the looming tower brought her apprehensions raging back. Vinnr’s own future was threatened with this same act that had divided Arc Rheunos, according to what Mylla had said weeks ago back when her da had gone up against Balavad. If Vaka Aster were somehow bent into submission, would Vinnr’s people turn against each other, too? Living in fear, hiding in forests, kidnapping each other and subjecting them to who knew what? The idea of seeing her world, which in her lifetime had been one of harmony, at least between Ivoryss and Yor, was bleak indeed.

  A guard from inside the fortress spoke to the ones watching over the wagon. “The foreigners are expected immediately in the Everlight’s chambers. I’ll take them.”

  “And what about them?” The wagon guard waved a hand toward Widin and Agatha’s body.

  “Has the barrow tender moved into the shadows?” the fortress guard asked, a waver in his voice. At the wagon guard’s acknowledgment, he continued. “To the barrows. You watch the old man. After the body has been prepared, Tuzhazu wants him locked in the criminal stores to await his judgment.”

  The wagon guard nodded, her mouth downturned, and the next moment two Minothians took hold of Symvalline and Isemay and carried them aloft. They were deposited on a balcony, then ushered into an ornately decorated chamber and seated on two chairs around a central table, still bound, and made to wait.

  As soon as the remaining guard turned his back for a moment, Symvalline pulled the gag down with her bound hands and leaned close to Isemay. “Are you okay, Crumb? You look so much improved,” she whispered.

  Emboldened by her mum, she did the same with her own gag. “I am. The woman, Agatha, grabbed my hand after I fell. She…gave me…” Her throat tightened, and she felt as if she might suddenly burst into tears.

  Her mum’s stare softened and she took Isemay’s hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I think I understand what she did. I have studied these people a bit. The women in this realm have a powerful gift.”

  Blinking
against the water filling her eyes, Isemay could only nod miserably. When she felt like she could speak again, she said, “Is this what it’s like to be a Knight? To see others be harmed while you are not, and for them to sacrifice themselves…for you?”

  Symvalline gave her a sorrowful smile and thought for a moment before she answered. “You’ve grown up in a relatively peaceful time. There have been no wars between the kingdoms in your lifetime, and no vying between them for the favor of Vaka Aster. Now that I look back, I can see how comfortable life for the Knights of Vinnr has been in these last turns, and I forgot how temporary that kind of thing is.”

  She looked directly into Isemay’s eyes to emphasize her next point. “Yes, Isemay, that kind of suffering and sacrifice define what life is for a Knight—whether we serve for one lifetime or many. And though I hate that you’ve had to endure this, I’m also glad you now know what it means to be ordained by Vaka Aster. And you will know better what you are swearing to when it comes time for you to decide if you wish to give your oath to serve her.”

  Isemay sniffed, thinking over what her mum said. “Is this why you and da want Vaka Aster to release you from your oaths?” At Symvalline’s surprised reaction, she added, “I-I overheard you talking about it.” She’ll know that means I was spying on them. But maybe she won’t be mad.

  Her mum sighed. “Yes, that’s part of it.” She said nothing else.

  Some minutes passed as Isemay considered what had been said, and not said. Finally, the chamber’s doors opened, and a tall robed woman whose skin tone shifted hues ceaselessly entered. She carried a book, and Isemay saw how her mum’s eyes tracked it.

  “Unbind them, then leave us,” the woman directed the two guards watching her and Symvalline.

  When they were gone, the woman observed them wordlessly from the other side of the chamber. Isemay understood this was Akeeva, Deespora’s sister who claimed to be the vessel of the Verity Mithlí.