by J A Hutson
Silence falls. I realize that everyone is looking at me expectantly.
“So . . . what do we do now?” asks Xela.
I’m quiet for another moment, trying to put into order all the things I’ve learned. “You said Auxilia will be angry?”
“Enraged,” Xela affirms. “Mother is proud and vengeful, and when she feels like something has been stolen from her she’ll use all her considerable resources to get it back.”
“Wonderful,” I reply with a sigh. “We seem to make friends wherever we go.”
“We have to leave the city, then,” Bell says. “Go north.”
“And what’s there?”
Bell gestures at the pile of books and papers covering her desk. “The Umbra, the monastery of the shadowdancers. And apparently the girl you’ve been searching for ever since you came to our lands.”
“The abbess won’t just give her up, if this stranger truly has powers,” Xela says slowly. “You said the Prophet was also interested in her? There’s no way she’ll be allowed to leave if she could fall into his hands.”
“Then we steal her.”
We all turn to Fen Poria, who still has her hands in her pockets, her shoulders hunched. She seems to hunker down a bit more under our attention.
“The Umbra is not a place you can simply stroll into,” Xela says. “The shadowdancers have abilities that can barely be comprehended. My powers are only a tiny sliver of what the abbess and the senior nuns are capable of doing.”
Fen Poria shrugs. “Seems like our pack has some talent, too. We go in fast and hard and snatch this girl away before they know what’s happened.”
“I like her thinking,” Deliah agrees, reaching among the tangled blankets she’s sitting on and pulling out a piece of her carapace armor, a long greave of gleaming black chitin.
I meet each of the women’s eyes in turn. To my surprise, there’s not a hint of doubt that I can see. They are all willing to throw themselves against the Umbra, one of the great powers of Zim, to rescue a girl they’ve never met before. A wash of emotion goes through me. Weeks of being alone, sleeping on the wooden floor of the wagons, eating gruel, fighting monsters . . . and now I finally feel whole again, surrounded by these women.
“We should get ready, then. We leave on the morrow.”
19
I’d hoped to depart Zim before the daughters of the Prophet raised their voices in supplication to the dawn, but despite my best intentions, the sun has nearly crested in the sky by the time I finally stumble down the stairs to the inn’s common room. I slept well, when I’d slept, though Deliah saw that I got little enough of that. The lamias had been sharing a room with our other companions during their stay at the Mouth, but she’d demanded we secure our own space when it was finally time to turn in for the night. Our lovemaking had been of a different flavor than I remembered – slower and more tender, as if in our time apart she’d come to realize something about the bond we shared.
I’m turning this over in my thoughts when I reach the bottom of the stairs and find myself confronted by a Zimani in ornate bronze armor. I blink stupidly at him, unable to understand in my befuddled early-morning haze why a fully-clad warrior is standing stiffly at attention holding a spear of black wood. Without meeting my eyes, he jerks his head towards the doorway to the common room.
Oh no.
Tentatively, I step inside the darkened eating hall; the few windows are so begrimed that the day’s light barely suffuses the glass, and the room is draped in shadows. Almost all of the long trestle tables are empty, but dozens of Zimani soldiers line the walls, the tapering points of their spears nearly brushing the low ceiling. Seated at one of the tables is Auxilia Orthanos, resplendent in a dress of sleek black feathers that shimmers in the gloaming. Behind her loom her collection of Swords. Jalent sneers at me in unabashed contempt, while the Northman Romen looks pained, as if he’s embarrassed at having to be a part of what is coming. The other Swords – powerfully built Zimani bristling with weapons – have all adopted various menacing expressions.
I wish I hadn’t left my sword upstairs.
“Talin,” Auxilia calls out, gesturing towards the bench across from her. “Sit down.”
I consider dashing up the stairs to find my blade, but I feel several large presences moving behind me to block my way.
Grimacing, I step into the common room. “I’m not your slave any more. You can’t command me.”
The matriarch sighs, and I think she may have even rolled her eyes. “You’ve lost your circlet, but by the laws of Zim you’re still a slave. Actually, an escaped slave now, which means you’ve abrogated the terms of your life debt. I will be expected to have you put to a slow and painful death.”
I hesitate halfway to her table, and Auxilia makes a little noise of frustration.
“But that’s not why I’m here. If I wanted you dead, I would have had my warriors kick down the door to your room and stab you in bed.” She pauses for a moment. “Though that thought did cross my mind. I don’t particularly like being betrayed, Talin.”
“I didn’t much care for having my life constantly threatened if I dared to disobey a request,” I reply, but still I slide onto the bench across from her.
Auxilia regards me with a slight frown. “I tried to make you comfortable. And I don’t think our time together was . . . unpleasant.”
“It wasn’t,” I concede, remembering her body pressed against mine. “But the simple fact is that I was your prisoner.”
“Hm. Any warrior in Zim would have cut a bloody swath to my door if I offered them the life I gave you.” She taps her lacquered nails on the table. “But I understand. Some beasts wither when they are yoked.” Auxilia glances around the room, as if distracted by something. “Show yourself,” she suddenly calls out loudly. “I thought I taught you that it’s rude to eavesdrop.”
A long silence follows this pronouncement, and then a dark leg steps from where shadows have clotted behind a post. Xela emerges from the darkness, peeling away the few tenacious wisps of blackness that still cling to her. The soldiers arrayed around the room mutter and shift, and I can see from the expressions on the faces of the Swords that they recognize the shadowdancer.
“Mother.”
“Auxela.”
The shadowdancer edges closer to the table where we sit. I can see the emotions warring in her face, though she’s doing an admirable job keeping the tremors from her voice.
“How did you know I had returned?”
Auxilia swallows, and for a moment I see the strain she’s under as well. “My handmaiden recognized you in the hall.”
“I thought she might have.”
“You should have come to see me.” There’s an edge of anger to the matriarch’s words.
“To be truthful, that was why I came to the house. But then I found him.” She nods in my direction, her eyes still on her mother.
“You stole him from me.”
“You stole him from me first.”
For a long moment the tension in the room is palpable as Auxilia and her daughter try to stare each other down. Then Auxilia throws back her head and laughs.
“Oh, Auxela. How I’ve missed this. There are so few people around me who dare to be so infuriating.”
“What are you doing here, Mother?” Xela asks after the last echo of Auxilia’s laughter fades away.
“Why do you think I’m here?” The matriarch’s voice is serious again.
“I expect you came to drag him back,” Xela says, her hands clenched.
Auxilia studies her daughter for a long moment, her lips pursed. When she speaks again, she almost sounds sad.
“You think too little of me, Auxela.”
“I know how angry you become when you feel like someone that belongs to you escapes.”
To my surprise, the matriarch flinches at that barb. I expect her to lash back angrily, but instead she only nods slightly.
“I have learned something of myself since you left, Aux
ela. And while I still believe you share some of the blame for what happened” – the matriarch swallows before continuing – “I have come to understand that most of the fault lies with me.”
Now Xela is the one who looks shocked. She has the face of a true believer who discovers the high priest doesn’t believe in the gods.
“I came here to see you, Auxela,” the matriarch continues, “and also to relinquish my claims to Talin.” With a rustle she draws a piece of paper from the folds of her feathered robes. “Your life debt, signed and witnessed.” Without ceremony she rips the paper into several small pieces and lets them flutter to the table. “And now you are free.”
“But I was told only the emperor –” I begin in confusion, but Auxilia interrupts me.
“I saw him when we visited the palace and requested your manumission.”
“Why would you do this?” Xela asks, and I can hear her suspicion.
Auxilia smiles thinly. “Because I have to come to realize that I am caught up in a much larger drama. And that Talin has a very important part to play.”
The matriarch holds up her hand and snaps her fingers. As one, the warriors lining the room turn and clomp towards the exit in a jangle of metal. Auxilia waits until they have all vanished before speaking again.
“A long-simmering rivalry is about to erupt in open conflict,” she says, the cold steel returning to her voice. “Ever since the Prophet came out of the east he has been opposed by the Umbra – he claims that the gods are testing us, while the shadowdancers maintain that the gods have fled our world in fear of something that is coming.”
“Except for the Lady of the Shadows,” Xela adds.
“Yes,” Auxilia agrees with a nod. “Except for their goddess, who stayed behind and still grants them the blessing of her gifts. But they scorn the rest of the gods, whom they believe abandoned us.”
“And the Prophet disagrees,” I interject.
“Vehemently. And so they have been at odds for a very long time, both trying to usurp the other for the favor of the emperor. The shadowdancers have their strange powers, and the Prophet has his evident immortality. Who is correct? The people of Zim and the royal house have often been conflicted over who speaks the truth.”
“Who do you side with?” I ask, honestly curious.
Auxilia waves my question away, her long fingers fluttering. “The Orthanos have always preferred balance. Personally, I have my reasons for despising the Umbra” – she glances meaningfully at Xela – “but I also have little love for the zealots who follow the Prophet, and I’ve always feared that if the scales tilt too far in his favor that he might use his popularity to destroy the order that undergirds the empire.”
“You just mentioned something about open conflict.”
Auxilia gives a curt nod. “Yes. You remember that tense affair in the throne room? About some girl that the Umbra is sheltering? Well, it seems that this matter will finally push the abbess and the Prophet into war.”
Coldness creeps down my spine as the matriarch speaks. Could Valyra be in even more danger than I feared?
“I had an emissary from the Prophet arrive at my manse last night. He carried a request . . . though it came off more as a demand, to be sure. The absolute gall of that man.” Her face twists in disgust. “He said that the end times are upon us, and that if Zim is to survive what is coming then this girl must be here in the city, where the Prophet can teach and guide her. And since the Umbra refused to give her up then she must be rescued.”
I shift uncomfortably on the bench. Xela’s brow is also creased with concern.
“The Prophet’s servant said that the Umbra is a fortress impregnable to assault by any army . . . but that it could be penetrated by a small, elite force. He asked that I give over my most skilled Sword to join this band, and said that many of the great houses had already done the same. He promised that in the new age that will dawn, the Orthanos family will retain its power and prestige. That all the nobles who participated in this great endeavor would be lauded as the saviors of Zim and all mankind. But that if I refused, my name would go down in the histories as a great betrayer.”
“And what did you say?” I ask, though considering she has her full complement of Swords standing behind her I suppose I already know her answer.
“I told him my sharpest Sword had already run off. And then I told him I would take my chances in the next age.”
“Do you think what he said is true?” Xela asks, concern in her voice. “That the other houses have given their Swords to him?”
Auxilia shrugs, her feathered robes rustling. “Once, the nobles were united in their disdain for the Prophet. Now, a good number of them either believe in what he preaches, or wish to curry favor with him. Yes, I believe the emissary spoke true. And that this band of Swords and Shields has already left the city.”
Xela gasps. “Then we have no time to waste! We have to leave now if we’re going to beat them to the Umbra!”
“And what would you do then?”
A hard resolve fills Xela’s eyes when she hears her mother’s question. “Tell the abbess. If she is aware that they are coming then there is no way they will get inside the Umbra.”
Auxilia rests her chin on laced fingers, watching her daughter carefully. “I thought you might say that. Suffice to say, I could not allow you and your band of misfits to chase after the finest warriors in all of Zim.”
“You would try and stop us?” Xela says, her eyes flashing.
Auxilia smiles slightly. “Oh, I very much doubt I can convince you to do anything. In fact, I know from experience that you’ll likely go against my wishes, whatever they are. So I shall bequeath you a little help.”
I glance in surprise at the Swords standing behind the matriarch. “Them?”
Auxilia chuckles. “No, no. If I sent along my own warriors then the Prophet would bend his will towards the destruction of my house. I’m afraid I am not bold enough to confront him directly.” With that, she withdraws a small silver bell and rings it loudly.
Moments later there’s a commotion at the door as someone stomps inside cursing.
“I heard it, I heard it, you troglodytes. Get yer paws off me, we’re going inside.”
I know that voice. “Shalloch?” I cry out, rising from the bench as the mucker and Vesivia enter the common room.
“Lad,” the mucker says warmly, striding over to wrap me in a quick hug.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in mild astonishment.
“I had the emperor sign his letter of manumission at the same time as yours,” Auxilia says.
Vesivia clasps my arm, crooking a smile at my obvious surprise. “She freed Shalloch.”
“But I thought you only had a few more months?” I ask him.
“Aye, I did. But that’s fewer trips down below, and the last few have been fairly dicey.” He punches me lightly in the shoulder. “And you weren’t around anymore to watch our backs.”
“I also offered them a substantial amount to join you, if you do decide to race the Prophet’s force to the Umbra.”
“Truly?”
Shalloch winks his good eye at me. “Aye, lad. Enough money to buy a sweet little ship . . .” He trails away when he notices Vesivia’s frown. “For fishing, of course.”
Xela clears her throat, and I quickly make the introductions between them. Shalloch gives her an unctuous grin and sweeps her hand up for a quick kiss. Vesivia’s frown deepens, but Xela seems mildly amused.
“We must leave quickly,” I say, already considering how fast we’ll need to ride to try and overtake the Swords and Shields if they have a few hours’ head start. “And we need to rouse Bell and Fen Poria.”
“They should be back soon,” Xela says. “They went to find supplies while you and Deliah were . . . sleeping in.”
“Deliah?” asks Auxilia. She says her name innocently, but I know her well enough to hear the edge of danger.
A quick patter of footsteps coming down the stairs
announces the lamias. She strides into the common room, her hair in an artful state of sleep-mussed disarray, and then looks around blinking at the scene before her.
“What in the seven hells is going on in here?”
20
We ride north, passing unchallenged through soaring gates wrought of twisting copper, their mighty stanchions inset with innumerable colorful stones: garnets and carnelians and chunks of rough-hewn topaz. The road wends through fields of purple blossoms, bent-back old women in broad hats harvesting the flowers, long-furred animals draped around their necks like scarves. Each time a flower is plucked, the crones hold the blossom to the snout of the creature, and then depending on some reaction I cannot see they either toss it aside or carefully place it in a wicker basket slung over their shoulder. Bell wants to stop and inquire about what they are collecting, but Xela keeps a harsh pace, and our horses kick up clouds of white dust as we thunder down the road.
I can see in the faces of my companions that they have many questions, but those will have to wait as we hurry north, towards the jagged dark mountains piercing the cloudless sky. The Blackspears, Xela named them, younger and more rugged than Hesset’s Wall. A few even have faint wisps of smoke uncoiling from their peaks into the wash of blue, and Xela even claims she has seen fire flowing like a river down these blackened slopes. Somewhere in that range is the Umbra, the sanctuary of the shadowdancers of Zim. And Valyra, daughter of the Red Sword and child of a dead world.
After a grueling ride, we enter a forest aflame with crimson leaves. The way becomes more arduous, plains giving way to the first foothills of the rapidly swelling mountains. The horses are lathered with sweat and breathing hard, so Xela calls for a slower pace. I take this chance to ride up beside her and broach the questions that have been gnawing at me since we left the inn.
“So did you leave the Umbra on the same terms as you left your family? Will the abbess be glad to see you again?”