Shadowblade, page 26
Naia opened her eyes. “You were the one who did this? But how–”
“It’s unimportant now.”
“I thought you were one of the Daljeer.”
Mehtab smiled. “I think of the Daljeer as my tools, in bringing about my grand plan. To execute it, I’ve spent half a lifetime gaining the Daljeer’s trust. I used my scholarly knowledge to rise high in their ranks, so that I could take charge of some of their most important decisions. And now we are here, about to bring my plan to completion.”
Naia nodded slowly. In her altered state, this information did not seem unusual at all. In fact, it made perfect sense.
She could no longer recall the urgency she felt only a short while ago. Nothing seemed as important as remaining in place, so that she could keep listening to Mehtab’s words.
Gassan. I should ask about Gassan. “Is Dal Gassan informed about this plan?”
Mehtab laughed. “Gassan is a fool who thinks he is in control of the whole empire. In truth, he cannot even control his own subordinates. He has no idea what’s going on.”
Naia wondered at the way this information, which should have sent her running to her superiors to tell them about treason, produced no effect on her at all. It should have been important – yet nothing seemed important at all in the face of the present. Mehtab’s voice, humming her favorite tune, was so comforting. So beautiful. Naia flowed with it, caught in the flood of her visions.
Looking through a veil…
“Shouldn’t I go out and address the people?” she heard herself asking.
“In time,” Mehtab said. “First, you should relax as I sing to you. Then, I will tell you what to do.”
Naia didn’t question it. She leaned back into her pillows and closed her eyes.
DESTINY
Gassan stared at the pile of books and scrolls on the table in front of him in barely disguised disbelief. He turned to Dal Bakhum, the head of the Challimar serai, standing in front of him with a forlorn face. The rest of the Daljeer seniors crowded behind, eyes downcast.
“I take full responsibility for overlooking this before, Dal Gassan,” Bakhum said. “We sent all Dal Mehtab’s belongings to you as requested, but up until a week ago none of us knew about her secret hideout. Once I discovered it, I traveled here as fast as I could to bring these to you.”
Yet not fast enough. Gassan nodded, looking at the pile again. The book on top, The Five Kingdoms, looked just as unremarkable as it did on the shelf of every other library he had ever seen it in. One of the commonest history books, the manicured version of the official Zeg history. Challimar barely owned a chapter in the volume, promptly marked with a crescent-shaped bookmark, and Gassan probably knew the contents by heart. It was the notes scribbled on the wide margins of each page that drew his eyes, telling a wholly different story that not only deviated from the official version by a very long shot, but also made Gassan’s skin creep from the implications.
Every important name in the empire was here, each of them connected to a particular event in the chronicle, each labeled with an attribute – an axe, a cross, or a flame symbol that, Gassan supposed, signified the manner of death this person deserved.
Here and there, the pages were also stained with rusty splotches that Gassan recognized as dried blood. He didn’t want to speculate on the source of it, but one thing was clear. The owner of this book was a very disturbed person. Since, by Bakhum’s admission, the book had been found in a secret hideout in Mehtab’s private chambers, he had no reason to doubt who the owner was. Not with everything else going on.
Prior to the succession ceremony, Gassan could have still done something to avert the worst. But now, there wasn’t much he could do to remedy the situation. Not without removing Mehtab first.
He suppressed the impulse to confront the woman at once. This was no time for rash actions. Judging by these notes, her plan, whatever it was, had been in the makings for decades, probably even before the night she and Gassan first met in the Challimar serai. He needed to know more before deciding how to proceed.
He turned to the pile of scrolls heaped next to the book. Old Challimar songs, written side by side in their original language and in the Zeg common speech. He ran his eyes through a few lines, then raised his gaze to Bakhum.
“Any idea about these?” he said.
The man licked his lips nervously. “Street songs, popular in Challimar. I doubt they are important.”
“They must be, if she’s been storing them so secretly.” Bakhum’s lowered hands trembled. “I am deeply sorry, Dal Gassan. I’ve searched her quarters myself, on your orders, but I must admit, my trust in her was so absolute that I did not take the task seriously enough. Not until recently.”
“What made you change your mind?” Gassan asked. “This.” Bakhum pushed forward a small leather bag, his fingers trembling as he upended its contents onto the table.
It was a pile of notes written, as it seemed, on random sheets of paper. Mehtab’s steady, even hand looked neater than the work of the best Circle’s scribes. Gassan leafed through them. They all appeared to be routine “to do” lists and potion recipes, the only remarkable thing about them the way Naia’s name tended to appear on each with clockwork regularity.
Gassan felt a chill in the pit of his stomach. These notes had been hidden in the Challimar serai since before Mehtab moved to Haggad. This meant they had to be written before Mehtab had officially received her assignment as Naia’s tutor. How could she possibly know anything about the girl?
He could think of only one explanation. Mehtab must have been secretly following Naia’s fate since that first day the girl was brought to the serai as a baby. In some other reality, he could have found it understandable. But the recent events put this knowledge into a wholly different light.
He turned back to the pile, looking through odd drawings he couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t until he flipped to the end of the pile that he realized what they were. Crystal leeches – or, more precisely, their venom glands, greatly magnified.
Crystal leech poison was a highly valued ingredient in some special medicines, administered in very small dozes. But never before did Gassan see anyone’s research notes so preoccupied with the creatures. Along with the fact that Naia had recently found one in her bath, this had to hold a special significance, even if for the moment he couldn’t quite grasp what it was.
“This pouch was found by one of my closest associates,” Bakhum said. “In a secret compartment built into a wall behind her desk, opened accidentally when the desk was moved. It had a note attached to the outside. Here.” He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, taking the time to unfold and smooth it out over the tabletop.
Gassan ran his eyes over it, gaping in disbelief.
It was an ink drawing – a necklace, its elaborately woven patterns merging from two sides to enfold a large stone set in its center. Despite the lack of color or dimension to the drawing, Gassan could almost see the gleam of the ornate lines, the deep shine of the stone it held. It seemed so real.
Was it because he had seen this piece before?
His gut knotted as he ran his eyes over the lines at the bottom – sparse words, whose meaning left him momentarily blinded.
He had been such a fool.
And he doubted he had any time left to do anything about it. His fingers trembled as he reached for the note and folded it carefully, shoving it into a deep pocket inside his robe.
“I must talk to Jai Karrim at once,” he said. “Send word to the serai to mobilize everyone. Meet me in the throne room.”
He didn’t wait for a response as he burst out of the chamber.
For the first time in his life, Karrim had no idea what to do. Formally speaking, he should be pledging his services to Naia, the new empress. But there was also the other order he had received from his superiors just before departing for this assignment.
If she tries to take the throne, kill her.
To the best of Karrim’s knowledge, Naia hadn’t actually tried. Instead, the crown was forced on her, most likely without any prior warning. Back in the throne room, she looked beyond surprised. Stunned. Disbelieved. Until something changed in her, a moment Karrim didn’t quite catch before she became distant and commanding.
What the hell was going on?
Perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed to let Gassan out of his sight. He also probably shouldn’t have threatened him with a blade, given that the Daljeer was an important patron of the Jaihar Order and a man in charge of one of the foremost powers in the empire. It was just that Karrim was no longer sure of anything. Why did Gassan feel so compelled to do his research at such a tense moment? Was it truly necessary in the current situation? Or was it just an excuse to escape Karrim’s wrath?
Karrim was painfully aware that the Jaihar Dozen was the only force standing between a group of uncertain, agitated inhabitants of the imperial palace and the raging crowds outside, chanting Xarimet’s name with such fervor it was as though she was the Holy Prophet descended from the sky. Perhaps, given this kind of enthusiasm, appointing her as a ruler of the empire wasn’t really such a bad choice. At least she wasn’t a deranged imbecile like Ramaz, or a cold-blooded killer like his father had been. She also wasn’t weak and indecisive, like Karrim suspected Halil would turn out, if he was handed the crown right now. Orders or not, Karrim should perhaps be giving Naia a chance – at least until he learned much more about the situation.
One last time, he patrolled all the guard posts he had set out, a Glimmerblade at each overseeing a squad of the regular guards. The last post was at the apex of the large hall right outside Naia’s quarters, its doors still tightly shut, the Jaihar stationed outside having a visible difficulty keeping the courtiers at bay. Karrim swept past them and leaned closer to the tightly shut doors, trying and failing to catch any sound or movement within.
If Naia didn’t have a Shadowblade rank, he would be feeling very concerned right now. He had a serious urge to knock. He did promise Gassan not to try anything on his own, but who knew how long was Gassan going to take with whatever it was he was doing – or if he was ever coming back?
What in three hells was the Daljeer up to?
Karrim turned to scan the hall, over the heads of the milling crowd. He could see none of the princes, who had undoubtedly retreated to their chambers to brood and search for possible loopholes in the succession law, along with opportunities to mount a revolt. The princes’ envoys were here, though, each positioned strategically in a space of their own. The courtiers kept a balanced distance from all of them, calculated to avoid any gestures that could be interpreted as misplaced loyalty, without appearing impolite. The Immam’s blue cloak formed another focus of color a distance away, like a cold flame flickering amidst the group of priests. Some of the Divan members were here too, minus the Grand Vizier. His absence bothered Karrim more than anyone else’s. He should be looking into it, but he didn’t dare to leave this hall, in anticipation of possible action.
The chambers Naia had been given, unlike many others at the palace, had this convenient hall outside – a vast room with enough space to accommodate a court assembly. It was as if someone had been expecting her to inherit the throne, an idea that seemed both preposterous and disturbing at the same time. Did the Grand Vizier have anything to do with it? Did anyone else, present or absent from this chamber, orchestrate the whole thing?
The wait was becoming unbearable. Karrim couldn’t decide if he should act or stall. He knew how to be patient, but what if every moment of his inactivity was bringing about a disaster he couldn’t even foresee?
He almost talked himself into breaching the etiquette by forcing his way into Naia’s chambers, when a movement at the back of the crowd caught his attention. He glimpsed a brown Daljeer robe, relieved at the sight of the familiar face. Gassan. About bloody time. He hurried over, his momentary relief dissolving into concern as he saw the older man’s frown.
“Jai Karrim.” Gassan spoke in a heightened whisper, an unnecessary precaution since even a loud voice would unlikely be heard above the agitated hum of the crowd. “What’s the situation here?”
“There’s no bloody situation, Dal. She’s still locked up in her chamber. I’ve absolutely no idea what’s going on in there.”
“I do.” Gassan grasped Karrim’s elbow, pulling him aside into a quiet passage that led into an alcove with a window overlooking the palace garden.
Only now did Karrim notice how unkempt the Daljeer looked, as if he had just run all the way across the palace without stopping. He waited, knowing that any attempt to rush the information would only lead to a bigger delay.
“Have you ever heard of the power of imlar, Jai Karrim?” Gassan asked.
Karrim shrugged. “Are you referring to its ability to attract other metals?”
“Among other things, yes. What do you know about the imlar stone?”
“Imlarite. Used mostly in jewelry, I believe.”
“Mostly, yes. However, you would perhaps be curious to know that imlarite’s ability to attract metal is even higher than imlar. Especially when it comes to gem-quality stones.”
“This is fascinating, Dal Gassan. But is it really time for a scholarly lesson?”
“Bear with me for this last question, Jai Karrim. What do you know of the Destiny Stone?”
“The large imlarite piece, worn in a necklace by the Challimar queens?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not particularly beautiful, as I heard.”
“True, even if that is a matter of opinion. It has an interesting color play, but lacks the clarity or luster of the more precious pieces. Yet every Challimar queen for the past few centuries has been wearing it around her neck at all times.”
Karrim shrugged, his eyes darting past Gassan to the hallway outside. “Once again, fascinating, Dal, but what does it have to do with our current situation?”
“Everything.” Gassan pulled a piece of yellowed paper out of his sleeve and shoved it into Karrim’s hand.
Karrim looked at the drawing – a necklace, set with an irregular-shaped stone, with words scribbled underneath.
“Does this look familiar?” Gassan asked.
“I believe I’ve seen Dal Mehtab wearing this kind of necklace, even though she usually keeps it hidden under her collar. Why?”
“What about the words?”
“It’s in an older Chall dialect, as far as I know.” Karrim peered closer. “I’m not that good at it. Does this first word mean ‘fate’?”
“‘Destiny’, to be precise.”
Karrim’s eyes widened. “Mehtab’s necklace.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you mean to say, this woman is walking around wearing the Destiny Stone?”
“Yes. And it gets worse. The words on this paper are a chant every Challimar queen sings to evoke the stone’s power, once she puts it on for the first time.” Gassan shook his head. “In brief, I’ve been an idiot. It has been right there, in front of my eyes all the time.”
An idiot. Karrim was beginning to feel like one himself. Despite all the revelations, he still didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on.
“How much do you know about the Challimar Ironbloods?” Gassan asked.
“I know that the last of them was killed off during the royal massacre.” And I assume, at some point, all this questioning is going to come to a point. Karrim glanced at the doors to Naia’s chamber, still tightly shut.
“I thought so too,” Gassan said. “But this paper suggests otherwise.”
“It does?”
“This chant was used by the queen to bind the Ironbloods to her. It says so here: ‘The Destiny Stone will bond you to the iron in their blood. Take it, and claim your birthright.’ It took me a while to realize that this paper is not part of some old text, but a message. A letter I watched delivered, right in front of my eyes.”
Karrim blinked. “Is this supposed to make any sense?” “Eventually, yes. Let me just talk through it.”
“We don’t have the bloody time for this, Dal.”
“Indeed we have very little of it, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t waste any more. Just listen. Do you know where the Jaihar top weapon skill, like yours, comes from?”
“From training. Why?”
“Not only that. It comes from a special ability, inborn or induced – which, as a matter of fact, is very similar to that of the Chall Ironbloods. All the Jai warriors, especially the Shadowblades, are better than others, because they carry extra iron in their blood. This iron is what bonds you to your weapons, so that you can sense them, almost like living things. The Daljeer have a name for this quality. A blade whisperer. You and Naia both share this gift, which makes you so good at what you do.”
Karrim wanted to object, but something in the older man’s gaze stopped him. There was truth to these words, a plausible explanation to why, despite equal training, some Jaihar were so much better than others.
“Assuming you are correct,” he said, “what does this have to do with our current situation?”
“Everything, Jai Karrim. With one important addition. Imlar’s ability to attract iron means that it has an exceptional effect on anyone with your kind of talent. If you wear imlar – even a small piece of it, like, say, a necklace – it speaks directly to your blood. Anyone who can tap into this bond would be able to influence you through it.”
“What the hell do you mean by influence?”
“It acts like hypnosis. This was exactly how the Challimar royalty bonded with their Redcloak guards, who always wore imlar when on duty. The queen’s Destiny Stone amplified the link. This chant, written here, was the way to activate the bond during the coronation. When the queen donned the Destiny Stone, she spoke the chant written here, and any Ironblood within reach became imprinted with it. In the future, hearing her voice, pitched to a special timbre, made them obey her without question. I assume the same thing could be done to a Jaihar of your talent, through regular sessions involving, say, an imlar necklace and the Destiny Stone… Is it beginning to make sense yet?”
