The Blind King's Wrath, page 2
Now that world is shattered, the family broken. Of all the things that could possibly have gone wrong, this was the one thing she thought she had triumphed over. Ever a warrior, she only knows victory and defeat. She thought Shvate and she had snatched victory out of the jaws of death, not just during the battles and fights they fought shoulder to shoulder, but in these past few years of peacetime as well.
To lose him now is the one thing she was not prepared to accept, to endure. It will break her. She will never be the same again. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is the children and their survival, and for that, I need her to hold herself together, if not emotionally, then mentally and physically at least.
The instant she released Mayla, the younger woman folded into herself on the floor, like a wet cloak fallen from the clothesline. She lay in a crumpled heap, weeping the deep, desolate tears of someone who has surrendered all hope, all reason, all sense.
Karni picked up her sword and pointed it at Mayla, who seemed not to notice.
She jabbed the point of the sword into Mayla’s side, fleshier since the children, even with the meager fare they had to eat in this wilderness.
A warrior born and raised, Mayla had little time to even practice her usual routines with Shvate as they had once all done together. With five little ones to manage and a forest full of potential dangers and unknown enemies abroad, they had needed to be constantly vigilant. That was apart from their never-ending daily chores and duties. It was hard to manage a household, raise little children, and survive in the forest, as well as keep up the rigorous training regime required of a master warrior. While not fat—their forest repast hardly allowed for indulgences—Mayla had softened considerably since the days when Shvate and she had gone on campaigns together.
Karni pricked that fleshy side with deliberate force, enough to draw blood and be keenly felt without causing any real damage. She might not be as veteran a warrior as Mayla or Shvate, but she had received good training during her childhood and youth at Stonecastle, and she knew basic anatomy well enough.
Mayla started at the sword prick, jerking upright. Her hair had fallen over her face, and her eyes, red-rimmed and brimful, stared up at her attacker wildly.
“You cut me!” she cried indignantly.
Karni raised the sword to point at Mayla’s throat. “Yes, and I’ll do it again, and again, until you listen.”
As the point of the sword drifted upward, Mayla reacted.
Her hand shot out, slapping the flat of the blade with enough force that it jerked like a living thing in Karni’s hands. Even though she had been expecting it, she still felt her wrists creak.
Mayla kicked Karni’s feet out from under her.
Karni fell clumsily, banging her hip on the mud floor, catching herself in time to avoid striking the back of her head. She felt the sword snatched away and could do nothing to prevent it.
In a trice, Mayla stood over her, holding the sword to Karni’s throat.
“You cut me!” Mayla said again, her eyes flashing through the folds of the curtain of disheveled hair.
Karni smiled with a twinge of bitterness, even though her hip was crying out and her husband’s body lay, still warm and cooling, only a few feet away. She knew she wasn’t badly hurt, just as Mayla’s wound would stop bleeding in a few minutes on its own.
“That’s the Mayla I need right now,” she said grimly. “Now, help me up, and let’s do what must be done.”
2
It took surprisingly little time for the hut to burn. They watched, tears falling from their eyes as thick gouts of smoke engulfed the thatched roof. The beams crackled like dry twigs snapping underfoot and collapsed, throwing up a flurry of sparks and ash that drifted over and around them. The steady drone of Ashcrit chanting carried over the crackling and roaring of the flames.
They had decided to use the hut itself to cremate Shvate. With Vida’s guidance for the specific rituals that applied to Krushan royalty, they had carried out the required formalities as best they could. The rishis and hermits from the nearby ashram had joined in to help them and were reciting them now, all chanting in unison.
Ideally, Krushan funeral rites called for stonefire to be used to cremate the bodies, but there was none readily at hand, and no time to go seeking even a chip or a pebble. Shvate would not care, Karni knew, and Vida agreed. Mayla and the kids had only gone through the motions, doing as instructed, still stupefied by shock and grief.
The five children were standing, staring, hugging themselves, sitting, and looking up at the smoke rising into the sky respectively. They had stopped the babyish wailing and were dangerously quiet now, like feral cats awaiting threat.
Mayla had tied her hair in a knot and her garment around her waist, girding her loins just like Karni had, the way they both did when washing clothes in the river or chopping firewood. Soot stains marred their sweat-shiny faces and bare arms. Mayla’s eyes had a strange, lost glitter. Karni knew that although she had done as Karni requested, her actions had all been mechanical and designed to do what was needed as quickly and efficiently as possible. Her mind, her heart, the Mayla inside, had gone someplace else.
To Shvate, Karni thought sorrowfully. A part of her died with Shvate. She was too attached to him to ever separate herself. She had never anticipated a day when she would have to continue living without him, even though she knew about his curse and the fact that he was a warrior. Even when Shvate had killed a sage and his wife while out hunting, and been cursed to die should he ever lie with a woman again, Mayla, whose love for physical desire was even greater than Shvate’s, had accepted celibacy and the loss of her husband’s caress. When Shvate had decided to abdicate the throne as a result of the curse, because he was unable to perpetuate the Krushan bloodline, Mayla had accepted that momentous decision as well, and left the luxuries and safety of the imperial palace for this mud hut in the forest. Mayla’s love for Shvate had made her believe that they could overcome anything. That they would live forever.
Karni understood that feeling. She had been young—younger, in fact, a mere girl—when she had been in love with her childhood friend. His death had shattered her. She had been so destroyed by his loss, a visiting sage had sensed her grief and granted her a boon: the God Mantra. With the recklessness of youth, she had used the mantra to summon her dead lover. He had appeared before her, not the man she had once loved but the sun god, Sharra, in the form of her late lover. She had given herself to him, consummating her unfulfilled passion, and conceived a child from that union.
And now I cremate my second lover, my husband, father of my children.
Why do all my romances end in flames? Why do the greatest loves always end in tragedy? Or is it because they ended in tragedy that we remember them as great loves?
She shook her head now, dispelling the wave of sorrow and grief that threatened to rise up like the floodwaters of a deep well. This was not the time to wallow in self-pity. Mayla was doing enough of that for the both of them.
The crackling of the fire and swirling ash and smoke helped Karni stay rooted to the moment.
I need to focus on the children.
She was worried about them. They had grown too quiet, too still.
The Five were not ordinary children.
True, they played and frolicked like any others their age, but they were far more than just mischievous tykes. They were demigods, each and every one of them, conceived from the most powerful stone gods summoned by the God Mantra. Their powers had yet to reveal themselves fully, and their extent would only be known once they came of age, but already they displayed enough talent to make them extraordinary . . . and dangerous. Karni feared how the brutal murder of their father before their eyes would affect them.
Vida stirred behind her, making a sound to attract her attention.
She turned to look at him.
The soft-featured advisor shared some features with Shvate—the broad, backward-sloping forehead for one, the perfectly shaped aquiline nose, the same eyes—but his jaw was weaker, his body softer, his shoulders narrower, and muscles undeveloped from a youth spent dedicated to the mastery of knowledge rather than warcraft. He was a good man, but unaccustomed to violence and far from a man of action.
One more life to protect and look after for now, Karni thought. She was the only one here who was mature and responsible and capable enough to make the hard decisions, at least until . . .
Until when?
She had no idea.
“Vida?” she asked simply. She had no more energy for wasted words or gestures.
He looked at her with sorrowful eyes that reflected the dancing flames. “Come to Hastinaga with me. My chariot remains at the outskirts of the jungle. It will be a challenge, but perhaps it will carry us all away from here. We can go slowly, taking our time. Once we reach the outlying villages, we can get fresh horses to continue to the city. You will be safe there under the protection of Prince Regent Vrath and Dowager Empress Jilana.”
She looked at him for a moment, knowing he meant well. She reached out, touching his face lightly. “Gentle Vida, your invitation is touching and, on the face of it, logical. But Hastinaga is the last place we would be safe right now.”
He blinked. “It is?”
“Yes. Think about it. Jarsun wouldn’t have used subterfuge to kill Shvate unless he had a larger plan in place. Removing Shvate only makes sense if he has already set into motion other events and players that pave the way to the Burning Throne. And where is the throne, the seat of ultimate power?”
“In Hastinaga,” Vida admitted. “But Vrath and Jilana—”
“Are not omnipotent or omniscient. Just as they could not prevent Shvate’s assassination here, they would not be able to prevent Jarsun from striking at me or my children in some fiendish manner. You saw how easily he duped us all into believing he was Vessa today. If it had not been for you, Vida, we might not have realized the truth, and he might have simply committed the murder and vanished, leaving us bewildered. He only revealed himself because you so brilliantly observed that scar on the wrong hand. It also proved to me that even the devil makes mistakes. Stupid, tiny mistakes, but mistakes nonetheless.”
She paused, recalling something else. “Besides, weren’t you dispatched here by Vrath and Jilana to warn us of the next attack? And wasn’t it they who sent their regrets that they could not send aid or come themselves to help us? Because of their need to avoid direct involvement in this . . . epic feud, or whatever one calls it? I can’t imagine they would be happy to have us turn up uninvited in Hastinaga after all they said. And it would be devastating to us to travel all the way there, only to be turned away.”
Vida shook his head. “What you say about my being sent by Jilana and Vrath is true, of course. And yes, they could not send military aid to your rescue. But it would be very different in Hastinaga itself. Anyone they grant sanctuary to would be protected under Krushan law, and any attempt on your lives would be an act of treason against the throne itself, punishable by death. I can’t promise that Jarsun cannot get to you there, but it is much less likely, as he will be in the enemy’s den, the seat of all power. I saw how he fared against Vrath at the Battle of the Rebels. It is a victory I have never forgotten. It proved that Jarsun can be defeated. I believe he fears Vrath. If there is one person whom Jarsun would not dare cross, it is he. Vrath’s presence alone would be your best guarantee of safety.”
The fire had caught the cowshed now. They had turned loose the cow and her calf, but the shed had been full of hay, grass, and chopped wood for the coming winter, and the fire roared anew, doubling in ferocity and rage. It echoed the emotions of all those standing before it in the clearing.
“I hear all that you say, gentle Vida,” Karni said. “But I would rather not return to Hastinaga just yet. I need time to think and process my grief. We all do. And my first priority is the safety and well-being of my children. So, no, I regretfully decline your invitation and offer.”
Vida looked sadder still, if such a thing was possible, but he seemed to accept her decision. Unlike his half brother, he was not the kind of man who argued every point.
“In that case, sister-in-law, I would like to take your leave. It is painful and reprehensible of me to abandon you and your family at this most tragic of times. But as I said earlier, things are afoot in the palace as well, and if what you said is true—and I do believe it to be so—then surely Jarsun’s plan includes working some havoc in Hastinaga as well. It is imperative that I return at once and report this sad event to the elders. Both Vrath and Jilana will be shocked and saddened by this news, but it is crucial they learn of it as quickly as possible. So long as Shvate was alive, he was still an heir to the Burning Throne, despite his abdication. Should he have chosen to return at any time, or to nominate his children to take his place, the elders would have accepted it without question. As I have said before, Dowager Empress Jilana and Prince Regent Vrath frequently encouraged me to broach the subject of return to Shvate. Even our brother Adri, though he did not say so explicitly, encouraged such an approach. The burden of empire sits heavy on his brow, and he would have welcomed Shvate coming home to rule beside him. Now that possibility has been closed off forever. Shvate’s death will come as a great shock. It is a major upheaval in the chain of inheritance and changes the balance of power significantly.”
It was not the first time Vida had spoken of these things; in fact, his previous visits had been centered around this very dialogue with Shvate, often attempting to recruit Karni’s and Mayla’s aid in convincing their husband. Mayla and Karni had even talked about it privately, together as well as with Shvate, and had pointed out that for the sake of the children, moving back to Hastinaga would be the best way to secure their inheritance when they came of age. Karni had no idea how she alone might be accepted now that Shvate was gone. Or how their father’s death might impact her children’s future as Krushan heirs. But she could not dwell on such matters right now, not with her husband’s corpse still warm in their hut. It was a matter to be dealt with another day.
“Safe travels, Vida.”
Vida bid her farewell and then took his leave of Mayla and the children, all of whom were still too dazed to do more than mumble politely. He walked into the woods in the direction of Hastinaga. Karni wondered if she would ever see him again. The future seemed so uncertain now, a dark wall looming before her. She felt one final pang of regret at not accepting his invitation. Despite her clearly voiced—and very sensible—objections, the truth was that Hastinaga was the closest thing to a home she had left. That her children had left. But she knew in her heart she had made the right call.
And that decision was made final once Vida passed into the woods, out of her sight. Alone, he would move quickly and ride even quicker. She closed that door in her mind and turned back to more practical options.
The best place she could hope to find sanctuary in this time of crisis was her father’s abode, Stonecastle. There was one more place, of course: Mraashk. Her homeland, home of her birth parents and family. But she had been adopted as a little child by the ruler of Stonecastle and raised as his own, and she regarded him as her true family. To go back to Mraashk now, after all these years, would be far too strange.
No, it must be Stonecastle, it was her last hope now. Her only port in this storm.
A break in the Ashcrit chanting distracted her from her thoughts. Then a startled yell, followed by shouts and a horrendous scream.
Karni turned back to the burning hut just in time to see a flurry of white fabric meld into the vivid yellow flames and disappear.
Her heart leaped into her mouth.
“Mayla!” she yelled, darting forward.
But several hands grasped Karni’s wrists, her arms, her shoulders, stalling her motion.
The rishis and their acolytes were shouting, urging her to see sense, to think of her children.
She shook her head. She wasn’t intending to jump into the fire as Mayla had just done. She had thought perhaps she might still save the younger woman.
But even as she watched, not resisting their protective hands, she saw Mayla’s pale skin moving inside the well of fire, as she sought out and then found what Karni knew she had gone after.
Shvate’s corpse, mounted and anointed atop the pyre they had built inside the hut.
With a final hoarse cry of despair and longing, Mayla cast herself down upon the pyre of her dead husband. Their dead husband.
The flames obscured the rest, rushing in greedily to feed upon their new prey.
Karni cried out in solidarity with her poor, doomed sister wife, releasing the grief, the pain, the sorrow, that she had pent up inside her, now doubled at this fresh hell.
She cried out for Mayla, who did not utter a single sound even as the flames engulfed her and fed upon her living flesh.
She cried for her ruined life, her devastated family, her murdered marriage. For the children, who were all she had left now.
The rishis released her as they saw she was not afflicted by the same passionate self-destruction that had driven Mayla to her final, desperate act.
The children came to her then, crowding around her, putting their arms around her and each other. They all wept together and called out their pain.
And across the hundred miles or more that separated it from them, the Burning Throne heard and felt their pain and anguish, and replied with the cold, emotionless glee of animate stone.
Burn, it sang. Burn.
Jilana
1
JILANA SMELLED VESSA EVEN before he materialized.
Living in the wild jungles of Aranya, the seer-mage rarely had an opportunity to bathe. She sighed, knowing that his arrival marked the end of her afternoon gossip-and-wine session, a rare moment of respite from the travails of overseeing the world’s greatest empire. She was used to her son’s unannounced visits. The other women, however, all mature matrons from the highest houses in Hastinaga, were not so well accustomed to wild-haired, half-naked seers appearing out of thin air. A certain amount of commotion ensued. After the serving maids hastily ushered them out, she turned to her son.
