by Devin Madson
She paused her attempt to push through the stone wall.
“Grace Bahain. Or Lord Edo. Are they here?”
For a long, anxious moment the girl just stared at me, before very slowly she shook her head. Relief slumped my shoulders. I wasn’t sure what I was more grateful for, that there would be fewer soldiers without Grace Bahain, or that I didn’t need to fear my men would end Edo’s life. I had already lost one brother. I didn’t think I could survive the loss of the only person I had left who felt like family.
What little light had been filtering in from the passage vanished. A soldier stood in the doorway, but I couldn’t tell by his dim silhouette whether he was theirs or mine.
“Well, well,” the man said, the voice familiar. “If it isn’t Empress Miko all alone. Making my job all the easier.”
I drew my short blade and backed a step, eyes on the newcomer though it was too dark to see more than his outline. He hefted his own short sword. “Going to fight me, Your Majesty?”
“If you make me, I won’t just fight you, I will kill you.”
He laughed, a sound all the more terrible for the genuine amusement it held. “Just because you were trained to fight doesn’t mean you can beat a man.”
“Then why are you looking warily at my blade instead of attacking me?”
“Because I’m not an idiot.”
“Yes, you are, because while you’re standing here wasting time, my soldiers are taking your castle.”
No flicker of concern, just another gentle laugh. It made my skin pimple. I wanted to ask what was so funny, ask what he wanted, but dared not sound worried. And then I couldn’t because his laugh broke and he lunged, jabbing his blade toward my unguarded shoulder. My dodge was a desperate thing and I staggered back, hitting the wall within a few steps, so small was the room.
The soldier followed, still blocking escape through the open door. But the maid scrambled to her feet and ran in a flurry of pale linen. The soldier’s gaze flicked her way and I thrust my dagger at his gut, only to have it almost knocked from my hand as he slammed his forearm into my wrist. I ducked out of instinct and felt something brush my hair, but rather than risk standing into his strike, I charged at his legs, knocking him into the wall. A grunt of air burst from him, but he wasn’t winded, and thrust me back with a slash of his blade. It grazed my arm like a stinging trail of fire and I fell back, breathing hard.
Here a lesser man might have boasted or goaded me, wasting time on self-aggrandisement, but my assailant merely licked his lips and stepped cautiously closer. Beyond the blocked door, I could hear shouts and running steps, but calling for help might bring the wrong people.
Another step. A spin of his blade. I tried to think of all the lunges and guards and parries and dirty tricks General Ryoji had taught me, but everything slipped from my mind like it was full of holes, leaving me staring at the man with my jaw slack. Perhaps noting my stupor, he feigned a lunge one way and thrust the other; I only reacted to the first movement and couldn’t stop the short blade slicing a cut into my side. He stepped back without so much as a grin, but instead of sticking me with it again he stiffened with a rattling gasp and staggered. I leapt back, blood weeping through my shallow wound as the man fell, first onto his knees and then his hands, an arrow protruding from his back.
A new figure stood in the doorway, one whose silhouette I would have recognised anywhere. “General Ryoji.” Once again, I kept myself from running to him like a child in need of reassurance.
“Sorry I took so long, Your Majesty,” he said, stepping in and making short work of slicing the dying man’s throat. Blood ran onto the stones. “You ought not to have been on your own.”
Almost I snapped that this wasn’t the time for scolding, but someone else appeared in the doorway with a lantern, and I was glad I had kept my mouth shut. “Ah, there you are, Your Majesty,” General Moto said. “It looks like the garrison here is severely depleted and we’ve had an easier win than—”
He broke off, perhaps realising I wasn’t listening. I was staring at the dead soldier on the floor. His voice had sounded familiar, but I hadn’t been able to place who he was. Now, as General Ryoji rolled him over, I recognised Captain Soku.
“But—”
General Ryoji cleared his throat, the look he shot me full of warning as he let the dead man roll back onto his face. “Sorry, General Moto,” he said. “You were saying?”
If the general had noticed anything amiss, he didn’t show it. “I was merely informing Her Majesty that we have taken the castle without significant losses. How long we can hold it with so small a force if Bahain comes to oust us is, of course, a different matter. But for now, we can count this as a victory.”
The words washed over me, losing all meaning. General Moto formed something between a smile and a grimace. “It has been a long and difficult few days, Your Majesty. Perhaps you should rest.” He looked at Ryoji. “Find somewhere for Her Majesty to rest and ensure she is well guarded, just in case we have missed someone or one of the servants is particularly loyal.”
Not a fear I needed planted in my head, but General Ryoji nodded.
“I’ll take it from here, Your Majesty,” General Moto said, and I could only nod and was still nodding when his voice faded away along the passage.
All the while, General Ryoji watched me. “This man tried to kill you?” he said.
I nodded, not sure I was capable of words.
“He’s one of ours, isn’t he? He was with you on the boat.”
I nodded again and managed to add, “He sat with me on the way in and seemed to be… to be in command.”
He had even let me go off alone. Had he tried to talk me out of it knowing I would refuse? Had it made him feel clever?
“You think he’s one of General Moto’s men?” I said, when General Ryoji didn’t answer. “Is that why you stopped me speaking?”
“I don’t know. But it’s my job to ensure your safety and I’m a suspicious bastard, so don’t say a word. The last thing we need is for whoever he works for, assuming he was taking orders from anyone at all, to know we know. Let them think we are none the wiser.”
It was a clever plan, but I was sick of clever plans. Sick of having to doubt the loyalty of everyone, sick of wondering if a knife waited in every shadow. I had grown up worrying about death every day, and it was not a state I wanted to return to.
“I’m going for a walk.”
He straightened up to join me.
“No,” I said. “I just want… a moment to myself. No one will try anything now.”
He gave me a look.
“I know you’ll have your men watch me from a distance anyway, or pretend to be servants, so just do that to make yourself feel better and let me have a moment to myself.”
General Ryoji bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Leaving him in the doorway of the small bathing chamber, I walked back along the upper passage toward the now lit Cavern at the end, ignoring the sounds of life all around me. This ought to have been a moment to celebrate, and by the sounds echoing through the great castle, somewhere someone was, but our success sat like a lump of cold coal in my gut. Out beyond the balcony the sea raged and the storm blew, just as it had while Edo and I had eaten together the last time I had seen him.
I blew out a held breath and gazed around. The Cavern looked the same as it had that night, its walls of dark stone cold and severe despite the light and warmth of the braziers and the crackle of reeds underfoot. So many times had I imagined this place. So many dreams where I had become the duchess of Syan after Edo or his father had regained approval at court. It had all seemed so simple then, because even if Emperor Kin never allowed it, Tanaka would when he took the throne. After all, what could please him more than having his best friend and his twin sister marry and hold the fortress at Syan?
I thrust out a hand as though I could push away the memory of my naivety, but no matter how tightly I screwed my eyes shut it was still there. Even wi
thout the war, it would never have happened. It had never been me Edo loved.
“Miko Ts’ai, Lady of Kiyoshio,” I said, mocking myself. “Just not the way you thought.”
It was late, but no one seemed inclined to rest. There was too much to do. The castle had to be searched, the flags changed, messengers sent, the rest of the soldiers to ferry in off the ships and the city to be made sure of before any loyal watchmen thought to resist. Trembling servants brought food, my reassuring smile having little effect. I bathed. I ate. I sat and stared out at the night. I walked around the castle in a numb state and checked in with General Moto enough times that he began to counsel me, with the directness I had previously applauded, to get some sleep.
“Are you planning to seek your mat as well, General?”
“I will get an hour or two once I’m confident we are secure here until reinforcements arrive.”
“Have you sent messengers to Manshin and Oyamada?”
A sharp nod was his first, impatient answer, but I was not satisfied and lifted my brows. “And?”
“And I am concerned that our inability to wait for a reply from Minister Oyamada before striking may mean Grace Bahain leaves Kogahaera before Oyamada gets near it. Minister Manshin may be on his way, but the chances he’s picked up enough soldiers to hold against a siege are slim.”
“This castle is well fortified, and we’ve sent messages.”
“It is and we have.”
“But you’re still worried.”
He chewed on his lip and huffed out a breath. “Not worried, Your Majesty, just concerned enough to make sleeping in the darkest hours more difficult. But I’ve never been very good at sleeping after a battle. We’ll know more in the morning.”
The possibility we had walked into a trap of our own making made my heart race and the walls close in around me. “Your Majesty?” Moto’s voice seemed to come from a long way away, the vision of him blurring. We had almost died getting the ships, almost failed before we had begun tonight, and all of it might yet be for nothing. Or worse than nothing. Death came to everyone, but if Grace Bahain retook his castle our fates would be far worse.
“Majesty?”
Someone laughed, and it took me a few moments to realise it was me.
“Perhaps a rest, Your Majesty,” Moto said. There was a hard edge in his voice, but I couldn’t stop gasping breaths. They didn’t come out as laughs anymore but with a ragged edge of panic.
“Pull yourself together,” General Moto snapped as the sound of hurrying footsteps approached along the passage. “The most important part of being a leader is looking confident no matter how you feel, is continuing to walk and talk and carry on no matter who or how many you lose or how close to death you come. If you want to lead soldiers, you have to remember that.”
“There are no gods. Only men,” Emperor Kin had said. “But if you can give people hope then you can become something close to divine.”
But as I looked at General Moto, I thought of the captain who had tried to kill me and couldn’t but recall one of Kin’s other lessons. Lesson number four. Sometimes those who seek to help you are the worst enemies of all.
12. RAH
We didn’t speak as the night wore on, Amun navigating the fenland as quickly as he dared in the eternal drizzle. There was little moonlight to see by, but after an hour spent looking over his shoulder, tensing at every narrow miss with a tree or low branch, I began to relax. Not once did he panic, his swift skill at changing direction impressive even for a Made Sword.
Confident in his ability, I let fatigue overtake worry and set my cheek to his back, holding tight. But I could not rest. Blood was oozing from a wound somewhere, mud was heavy all over me, and painful spasms of cramp kept surprising me with their ferocity.
And I couldn’t stop thinking about Ezma. She had wanted me dead, and I was grimly determined to go on disappointing her.
“Whisperer Ezma is going to be angry with you for coming back,” I said when Amun slowed to navigate a tight clump of trees.
“She’ll be far angrier with you for not being dead.” He turned his head so I could hear him better. “Isn’t exile the punishment for disobeying kutum?”
“It is. I can be an exiled exiled exile, lovely. We’re going to need new words for this.”
His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Enemy of the people?”
“Yes, very good. Ezma will like it.”
Laughter faded from his lips, and I remembered the way we had parted as I hadn’t before and wondered if it was in his mind. “I’m sorry,” I said, still leaning my cheek to his back. “For leaving you behind back in Chiltae.”
“You didn’t. I chose to stay. In hindsight it wasn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made, but I couldn’t think of anything but losing Hamatet. If it hadn’t been for the Sheth seeing the bastards coming and dragging me with them over the walls, that would have been it. Thought I’d found a good place with Whisperer Ezma, but… kutum… Fuck.”
His eloquence perfectly summed up my feelings, and with my head still resting against his back, I chuckled, too relieved and exhausted to be angry anymore.
“I don’t know what we should do though,” he said, reminding me of the yawning sense of hopelessness lying at the end of every possible path. “Following them sounds unwise. Fuck going to Kogahaera, but could we make it home? Just the two of us with one horse?”
I was too tired to find the words to explain why I couldn’t leave yet, why despite everything Kogahaera was exactly where I needed to go, so I said, “First we get through the night alive. Surely they would rather chase the bulk of the deserters, but…”
“But you are Rah e’Torin and some of them really hate you.”
I thought of Sett spitting his anger. Of Yitti’s disdainful look. Of Istet’s sneer. I had never set out to make myself an enemy of my own people.
When Amun spoke again, I might have missed it had my cheek not been pressed to his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you,” he said, the words vibrating through his back. “You were a good captain and a good friend, and I’d like to have that back.”
The simple words left me speechless, but thankfully he didn’t seem to need a reply, speeding our pace to a trot through the mire.
It was hard to tell how much time passed between sluggish thoughts, every doze both a second and an eternity. Amun must have been exhausted, but he did not stop to rest, just kept on, his frequent glances behind us waking me more often than our sudden turns or his occasional gasp as a tree appeared from the night.
Dawn found us eventually, early grey light the first hints of its arrival. Slowly the world appeared from the darkness, first as shadows then shapes, and before I was ready to face the new day, it had come. Yet still Amun did not stop. The horse needed rest. We needed rest. But he kept on alternating between a walk and a canter wherever the fen allowed.
“Do you think they’re following us?”
“I keep hearing night calls,” he said. Even in profile he looked tired and worried. “I could just be imagining things, but… why wouldn’t they follow?”
We used the calls of plains creatures in night ambushes, each having a different meaning, varied by pitch, but there were enough animals in the fen it could mean nothing. Yet when a tila tila sounded in the distance, both Amun and I stiffened. Did they have those birds here? Back home, at least to members of the Torin herd, it would have meant enemies sighted, and Amun sped again to a canter, chill morning air cutting at our cheeks.
Another call sounded closer. Amun changed direction sharply and my grip slipped. I had to throw myself forward to grab hold of him again, my heart racing. The trees to either side of us remained empty. Behind too. “Nothing,” I said, my lips by his ear to keep the words as quiet as I could. He gave the slightest of nods, discernible only because I had my chin on his shoulder.
The horse thundered on, though I could feel it beginning to tire. We ought to stop. But even as I began to hope the two
calls had just been a coincidence, a third sounded close by. A flash of brown and crimson flickered through the trees. There and gone. I hadn’t seen many coloured birds in Kisia and didn’t try to convince myself it had been one. Especially not when it came again, keeping pace.
“They’re here.”
“I know.”
Amun pressed his knees in hard, and the horse lunged forward at a speed we could not maintain, not with the dense cover and two riders on its back. Our pursuers had the advantage of only riding one warrior to a horse, and would catch us eventually no matter what we did.
“Shit,” Amun hissed, no doubt having the same thoughts. Our horse was flagging, and neither of us was well-armed or in a good state to fight multiple opponents. “Shit shit shit.”
He made another sudden turn through a dense thicket. It left the flash of crimson behind, but it wouldn’t be for long, and Amun urged the horse to a mad dash, the animal speeding as fast as it dared through the trees and over fallen trunks, around pools and through dense foliage damp with morning dew. There was nothing quiet about our progress, but if the Levanti giving chase were travelling as fast, they would have little to hear but the wind in their ears and the thud of their own hooves. Sound is useless on horseback, as every young Levanti learned in their earliest tracking lessons.
“Hold tight.”
The warning came a moment before Amun yanked the reins, sending our mount off at a sharp tangent, hooves skidding in mud. He ducked as a laden branch brushed its leaves over our heads, leaving us to emerge on the other side with water droplets glistening in the short bristles of his hair. Shouts echoed through the fenland around us, but when I looked back it was to see nothing but the bluster of trees in the wind, the gathering dawn turning everything bright.
“Anything?”
“Can’t see any, but I can hear them.”
He flicked his gaze up at the sky, turned sharply again, and plunged on. I wanted to ask where he was going, if he knew where we were, but all I could do was trust he had a plan.