She continued, “One should not speak ill of the emprir, but he … he had his way with me, back when I was young and pretty. Three times.” Her wrinkled throat tightened. “That was before I learned to avoid him. Daka destroyed his wives, drove them to misery, broke their hearts, their health, and their spirits. He tried and tried to have sons, but produced only daughters.”
Cemi dribbled the rich liquid between the empra’s cold lips, then used a napkin to dab a drop at the side of her mouth. She raised her eyebrows. “But isn’t Iluris his only daughter?”
Analera’s face tightened, like a raisin drying in the heat. “Oh, he had others, and they all died. Convenient accidents. Daka didn’t want them around.” Her expression darkened. “I failed to save the first two babies, but I vowed to keep Iluris alive. The household staff knew what sort of man he was, and we saw that the priestlords would support any terrible thing he chose to do. By the time little Iluris was born, another girl, another disappointment, we’d had enough. I talked with the other servants.
“The girl’s mother was weak and broken, and we knew that it was up to us to keep the poor baby alive. We protected the child, made sure she was never alone with Daka. A wet nurse fed her, one of our chosen staff. We kept Iluris out of the emprir’s sight. It is a miracle the child survived to adulthood.”
She gave a harsh sigh. “Knowing what sort of man Daka was, it is also no surprise that he turned his lust toward Iluris. The poor girl was fifteen, I believe, when he first ravished her. By then, it was beyond our ability to help her. The harsh treatment certainly shaped her, changed her. I have been with Iluris for nigh on fifty years now.”
Cemi finished feeding the empra as much of the broth as she could manage, then she herself ravenously ate the meats, cheeses, and fruits that Analera had brought for her, leaving half the plate for Vos. The captani accepted the food, but did not eat yet. He was still on guard, but he continued to listen to the old servant talk. The love in her eyes was unmistakable.
Analera continued, “Then, after the beginning of the last war with the Commonwealth, Emprir Daka stumbled out that window and fell to his death.” She gestured toward the arched windows. “Iluris called it an accident, but the rest of us saw it as a miracle.”
Leaving the tray behind, Analera gave a respectful bow and shuffled back toward the door. “I continue to serve Empra Iluris. You have only to tell me what you need, and I will make it happen.”
“I value your service. Thank you.” With a heavy heart, Cemi pondered the fact that she was now about the same age as Iluris had been when she became empra. Cemi would study while taking care of her mentor.
After the old woman departed, Captani Vos wolfed down his meal. He took up his position on the opposite side of the bed, hovering near the empra’s pillows. Cemi could feel the emotion radiating from him.
He had joined the Isharan military because his family had too many mouths to feed, but after he left, his parents and siblings had all died of the coughing flu. Empra Iluris had adopted the orphaned young man as a surrogate son, just like all the hawk guards. And like Cemi.
Vos bent close and touched her cheek in a surprisingly intimate gesture, whispering into her ear. Only Cemi could hear him. “We will watch over you.” Tears hovered in his eyes. “I cannot lose my mother again.”
20
THE konag’s procession passed through three other counties on the way to Lord Cade’s holding. The somber spectacle served Utho’s purpose of fanning the flames for the much-anticipated vengewar.
As they passed from village to village, Mandan always looked north with a hungry sparkle in his eyes. Utho sent heralds ahead to announce the coming of the konag. Though sad and sober, the young man drew strength each time he revealed his father’s preserved heart to awestruck spectators. Utho was satisfied with his behavior.
Finally, the procession reached the main town in Cade’s holding. The lord had already called out his people, so that peasants, craftsmen, and merchants, as well as Cade’s private soldiers, lined the streets leading to the small remembrance shrine.
Coldly handsome, the nobleman himself waited at the main entrance dressed in a blue cape and a vest with gold buttons over a ruffled shirt. His chestnut hair hung long and smooth, and his beard was shaved thin with such precision that it looked like a prominent outline of his face.
For years, Konag Conndur had remained oblivious to how much power Lord Cade wielded or the extent of his large private army. Although the vassal lord paid extravagant taxes with saltpearls harvested from beneath the rugged cliffs, Conndur had never asked about their origin. Utho had gone to extreme lengths to keep the secret, using Elliel as a scapegoat. It disturbed him that she had regained her memories; worse, she had revealed the scheme to King Kollanan of Norterra. Fortunately, Mandan already understood hard realities that Conndur the Brave had been too soft to embrace.
Standing in front of the remembrance shrine, Lady Almeda made her husband look meek and humble by comparison. Her painted face and hair twisted into bejeweled braids made the arrogant lady look more like an ostentatious effigy than a real woman. He remembered his own wife Mareka, who had needed no such gaudiness to be beautiful and strong. The last image of her face was burned into his mind.…
Cade stood beside his replacement Brava, an ugly man named Gant, who had also been with them on that terrible night on Fulcor Island. He had bristly hair, heavy brows, and a misshapen nose that looked as if it had been bashed too many times. Pockmarks dotted his cheeks. Almeda had chosen Gant specifically because of his coarse features, since Cade had been too tempted by beautiful Elliel. Utho quietly despised Lady Almeda, because her shrewish jealousy had turned a mere problem into a crisis that he had been forced to solve.
Now, Lord Cade stepped forward and bowed to the young konag, ignoring Utho, the white horse, and the crowds. “Welcome to my county, Sire. You have our respect as your loyal subjects, and you also have our sympathy and anger for the appalling crime that was committed against your father.”
Mandan began to speak, then faltered. A shadow fell over his face. His voice cracked, but he pressed on. “We remember the legacy of Conndur the Brave, and we must never forget what the Isharan animals did to him.” Mandan dismounted, tossed his fur-lined cape over his shoulder, and walked to the white horse. He placed his hands on the jeweled box, looking toward the town’s remembrance shrine. “This is the end of our procession.”
He undid the leather straps that secured the chest to the saddle, then raised the lid. Lord Cade, his Brava, and his wife all came forward to look at the grisly object in the box. After they made the appropriate sounds of anger and grief, Mandan turned to show the preserved relic to the crowd. “I will leave the heart of my father here, and your legacier can display it for all to see. Remember what happened to him and tell everyone you know.”
Cade’s chest swelled. “We are honored to provide a permanent home for such a priceless gift.”
Gant carried the chest through the open doorway of the shrine, leading Mandan and Lady Almeda inside. Utho hung back just enough to walk beside Cade as they entered the wooden-walled building. “Once this ceremony is over, the konag wants to see the camp and the captives.”
* * *
After they were settled in at the holding house, Mandan and Utho accompanied Lord Cade and his Brava that afternoon as they rode out on the dirt road to the northeast. After traveling several miles, Utho could smell the salty air and felt a chill from lingering fog as they neared the coast. The day was blustery but not unpleasant.
Riding beside him, Mandan looked ahead and shaded his eyes against the wind, eager to see the slave camp. His cheeks were flushed.
Before long, a large army settlement blocked further travel down the dead-end road to the headlands. Hundreds of foot soldiers, archers, and cavalrymen lived in canvas tents and permanent wooden barracks for Cade’s private army.
The nobleman led them at a trot down the main thoroughfare. The soldiers paused and fell into
respectful ranks as the party passed, then they returned to their combat exercises. The wealth from his saltpearl operations funded such a large standing army to protect Cade’s holding from envious neighboring lords, though no one had challenged him in years. Utho was confident that the private army would be a vital part of the Commonwealth military against the Isharans.
The party rode through the army settlement and continued miles up the road to a primitive camp surrounded by fences, wooden barricades, and sharpened spikes that were not pointed outward to defend against invaders, but turned inward to stop the inhabitants from breaking out.
Gant hunched forward in the saddle of his gray horse, while Cade sat tall and confident. Mandan drank in details as they passed Cade’s guards into the camp. He shrugged off his warm cloak to show off his konag’s cape and tunic.
Inside the fence, people stood around like tattered dolls, dressed in rags, their hair unkempt, their bodies unwashed. All Isharans. Although Cade had the resources to feed and clothe them properly, the captives were purposely kept miserable, and Utho agreed that animals deserved to live in pens. Sixty men and women came out to stare with hollow eyes as the visitors halted in the packed clearing.
“The main crew is at the cliffs harvesting saltpearls to earn their keep,” Cade explained. “Soon enough, these will take their place for another shift.”
Mandan raked a pitiless gaze across the Isharans. From his garments, they could immediately see he was a young man of great importance. They beseeched him, eyes wide with hope, but he didn’t respond. “Look at them, Utho. You can see how they are inferior, their hair, their expressions. I can tell they’re thinking evil thoughts.”
“Certainly they are, Sire,” Utho said.
Gant grunted in what might have been agreement.
Another set of riders approached from the opposite side of the camp, leading an open wooden cart. Cade frowned and led his companions ahead to intercept the returning party. “It’s too early for the workers to be back from the cliffs. The tide won’t come in for hours yet.”
A body lay sprawled in the bed of the cart, a half-naked Isharan, his skin bashed and bruised. A red welt encircled one ankle. The skull had been broken so that one eye protruded like a soft-boiled egg.
Seeing this, the captives moaned. Some backed away from the cart, while others felt compelled to press forward in dismay.
“It looks like brigands beat him up,” Mandan said to one of the men on horseback.
“Instead of climbing down the rock stairs to the waterline, he threw himself over the cliff and dashed himself upon the rocks.”
“Lazy coward,” said the other horseman.
The prisoners huddled, looked away, while some wailed. Others stood in silence, shaking their heads.
Looking detached, Utho said, “I am surprised you bothered to retrieve the body. Why not let the sea have it?”
Gant remarked in a gruff voice, “My lord believes seeing the battered corpses will deter others from doing the same.”
Cade’s lips puckered in a pout, and he turned to Mandan. “And now I’ve lost another worker, Sire.”
The abject captives pressed close to the konag. “Please, sir, we are innocent!” one man pleaded. “We did nothing! I am just a poor fisherman. Hear us, save us! We don’t deserve this.” The fisherman clasped his hands together, showing dirt, calluses, and blood on his knuckles. “We are innocent.”
“Innocent?” Mandan lashed out at him. “Your people butchered my father!” He glanced at Utho, and the Brava knew what to do.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the man’s head and twisted, breaking his neck as if snapping a grape from a stem. The pathetic prisoner collapsed, and Utho discarded him. The people backed away, aghast.
Cade sighed in disapproval. “And that is another slave lost. We need to keep the prisoners alive, Utho, so they can continue to work.”
Mandan huffed, “We are about to set off for war. We will get plenty more prisoners.”
Waves crashed at the bottom of the cliffs with an angry roar. Flapping tents and sorting bins had been set up on the grassy, windswept expanse. The Isharan divers wore only loincloths and carried flat pry-knives. Ropes tied around their ankles kept them from swimming away.
* * *
Without fear, Mandan walked to the abrupt edge so he could look down the black rocks, while Utho remained protectively at his side. The wet cliffs were studded with moss and fleshy sea growths. Isharan captives picked their way down to the waterline, using narrow steps and occasional iron bars in treacherous spots. The surf foamed around rocks clustered below.
The slaves harvested shellfish in drowned nooks and crannies, filling their nets with the scabrous shells to be sorted in the bins above. Rough waves crashed around the workers. Although they tried to anchor themselves in place, the surf slammed the captives against the rocks. No one took pity on their misery. Mandan certainly didn’t.
Lord Cade joined them at the cliff edge. “These workers buy food for their families back in the main camp. If they don’t give me saltpearls, then their loved ones have nothing to eat.” He smiled. “It is an efficient system.”
Gant made a dull sound in his throat but formed no words.
Mandan said, “It is what they deserve.”
A wave slammed into the cliffs with a loud boom, sending up a tail of spray. One diver was caught in the undertow and thrown like a drowned rat against the black rocks. Afterward, he floated facedown, bleeding into the water. Cade let out a loud sigh.
Gant observed, without sarcasm, “We will need new workers soon.”
21
THE observation deck on Bannriya Castle had an unobscured view of the surrounding terrain. Adan stepped out into the bright, gusty afternoon, and King Kollanan joined him wearing a fur-lined jerkin that was too warm for the Suderran climate. His loose hair blew about, because he wore no crown or circlet. He looked up into the open sky. “Do you come out here at night? Have you seen any falling stars lately? And if so, have you decided what they mean?”
Penda accompanied the two men on the observation deck. Her green ska rested on her shoulder, teetering to keep his balance. “It could be that the universe is falling apart.” She drew a circle over her heart.
“Sometimes it feels that way,” Adan admitted, but he would not let all the recent setbacks drive him down. Instead, he thought of what he had to live for—his wife, his unborn child, his people—and how he would find a way to save them.
Xar let out a fast clicking song, and his faceted eyes sparkled as he turned toward the line of brown mountains that bordered the deserts beyond. The ska launched himself into the air and flew up to circle the banners on the top of the tower.
With a sudden shudder, Penda pointed to the west. “It’s coming again. Another harbinger.”
Near the horizon, towering dust rolled out of the mountains like an anvil of poisonous smoke. Something was approaching them over the high terrain. Adan’s throat went dry, and Kollanan gasped, “Ancestors’ blood!”
The previous dust storm that came from the Furnace had been a towering monster of wind and dust, but this was much smaller, a self-contained mass of blown sand that whipped through the hills. It moved in an unnaturally straight line, with a clear destination.
“It is coming here,” Penda said.
Kollanan scratched his beard. “Does this happen often?”
“Only on the worst of days,” Adan answered.
* * *
As the dusty whirlwind rolled toward Bannriya, Adan led a group down to intercept it at the edge of the city. A group of uneasy Banner guards stood at the closed gate and thick stone walls. Captain Elcior, head of the Banner guards, reported to Adan, “The gate is secure and the walls should hold against the storm, Sire.”
“That’s not a natural storm,” said the young guard Seenan, who was the brother of the squire Hom, “but it is much smaller than the last one.”
“This storm has a different purpose. I can feel it,”
Adan said. “But we will welcome it and see what the sandwreths intend.” To the Banner guards’ shocked looks, he said, “It does not serve my purpose to resist Queen Voo now. We are allies and good friends, are we not?” His sarcasm was plain. He knew the queen was flaunting her power, as she had done before, and he did not intend to provoke her. “Open the gate! Let us see what this dust devil intends.” Though he tried to be strong next to his uncle—his fellow king—he wasn’t as confident as he tried to sound.
Hale Orr shook his head. Kollanan planted his fists on his hips and looked to his Brava, who stood ready for whatever they might have to face.
Thon touched the gate with his fingertips. “I could defend us, if necessary. Queen Voo would be quite surprised.” He grinned.
“Not yet,” Adan said, though he was glad to know of the dark wreth’s supposed abilities. “Let us hear what she has to say.”
The gates creaked open with straining ropes and groaning hinges. Swift breezes carried a hiss of airborne sand through the gap. Thon’s dark hair drifted about, and he smiled into the blowing grit.
The knotted whirlwind moved down the main road directly toward them, as tall as two men, with diffuse tendrils spreading out. Adan faced it, standing in the open gate.
The dust squall swirled up to the city walls and then paused, as if hesitating. The grains of sand and dust shifted to sculpt an image of Queen Voo’s head, with large eyes, long hair, narrow chin. Voo’s dusty mouth opened, and the looming visage spoke with a voice of clogged breezes. “King Adan Starfall, my ally! I invite you and Queen Penda to visit my grand desert palace while we wait for your Konag Mandan to answer my summons.”
The uncertain face shifted. Voo’s eyes were only orbs of dust, and they did not meet the king’s gaze. The queen’s visage gave no sign that she noticed Hale Orr, King Kollanan, or Thon and Elliel. The blind avatar spoke again. “When you reach the edge of the Furnace, my wreths will escort you.”
Vengewar Page 10