The Blind King's Wrath, page 9
Brum, we need to handle this without violence.
From his sister, he received images of juicy roast dripping with sauce; his palate exploded with the flavors of the meat and spices, his mind all but purred with the contentment of good, hot food, strong ale, and the warmth of family. That was so like Brum. Always ready to fight but right now completely preoccupied with the even more important task of eating.
Brum, come on!
He felt her sigh, saw her lower the ham-sized joint she was gnawing on, and look at him with one eyebrow cocked.
Arrow and Kula can handle it. Either one can handle it, actually. Let me eat! This is actually pretty good. You should try some. Put some meat on those skinny bones!
He resisted the urge to call out to her across the table. Already, the bearded men standing at their table had their axes drawn and were grinning with bearish expressions that betrayed how much they were looking forward to separating some foreign heads from bodies. The rest of their group was on their feet and approaching with weapons drawn as well.
The drawn weapons were attracting the attention of the other diners, and hands were reaching for their own weapons in anticipation. What sort of tavern allowed patrons to dine so heavily armed? A tavern in a military state, of course. There would be no question about which way the loyalties of the other patrons would turn once the fighting began. Dronasthan was notorious for its treatment of “outsiders,” the euphemistic term for anyone deemed to be out of line with the community’s norms. The systematic eradication of their own “less desirable” elements was well known, with mass graves containing thousands of slaughtered refugees—unarmed families, even—whose only crime was wanting to leave the fascist state to seek a free life elsewhere.
There would be no quarter here, no mercy. And that meant the only way to defend themselves would be fighting the entire hall, as well as being chased by whoever else came after them from the nearby town and villages, the friends and relatives of this lovely bunch of diners. Yudi could already see himself and his siblings leaving the tavern looking more like an abattoir than a dining hall.
He saw Tshallian’s disappointed, grim expressions. The Vanjhani had emphasized the importance of passing through Dronasthan with as little disturbance as possible. Not only for their own safety—since Tshallian had not truly believed what the Five were capable of even after being told they could handle anything—but because, once they crossed over into Gwannland, Dronasthan could use their troublemaking as grounds for starting an interstate dispute, as prelude to a war on their neighboring kingdom.
After all, Dronasthan itself had been carved out of the better part of what was formerly Greater Gwannland, leaving the great republic only a thin sliver of relatively hostile land on which to eke out its survival. The imbalance of power between the newly formed kingdom and the former one was so immense that there was simply no point, and no advantage to be gained, by eliminating the tiny, humiliated neighbor. But one incident such as this could easily give Dronasthan the justification it sought to wipe out the remnant of its former enemy.
So we would be responsible not only for killing a sizeable number of people here, but also causing a war that could result in the genocide of the remaining Gwannlanders. Definitely not what I had in mind when we embarked on this trip, Yudi thought dejectedly.
Brum, please.
“Foreigner scum!” one of the beards was snarling. “The likes of you aren’t—”
Whatever blather he was about to spew flowed unheeded over Yudi’s head. He was distracted by a pause in the noisy chewing and lip-smacking from his sister.
Brum had finally paused her feast to respond to Yudi’s pleas.
Oh, all right, then. But we’re not leaving until I finish my dinner. Agreed?
Agreed. Just do it before this gets out of hand, Yudi sent.
Arrow and Kula both sent together: Aw, we could use some entertainment with our dinner. It’ll be like supper theater!
Yudi ignored his siblings’ wisecracks. Tshallian, ever the gallant Vanjhani, was already rising to their feet, hammer drawn, ready to crack skulls. In a few more seconds, this would pass the point of no return.
Brum!
He felt, rather than saw, his sister smile, wiping her grease-smeared mouth with the back of one brawny forearm. She only succeeded in smearing road-dust across her cheeks in a slashing stain. The smile she gave him—and the rest of the hall—was the kind that might be expected on a stone carving of Grrud, the stone god of wind, who was in fact her forebear. It gave even Yudi, her brother and someone he knew she would never harm, reason to fear.
Then Brum took a deep breath.
7
Yudi felt a sensation he had felt before and had hoped he would never feel again. When Brum was still a precocious little child as yet unaccustomed to her own strength and powers, like all toddlers, she had poor impulse control and was prone to tantrums when she didn’t get her way. He didn’t recall exactly what had caused her outburst that day—he was of the same age as she, all five siblings being born within weeks of each other—and it hardly mattered. What mattered was that they had been in an ashram in a forest clearing, attending kul.
The guru instructing them that day in Vessa’s absence—and as Yudi recalled quite clearly, Vessa was absent more often than present—had been intent on completing the lesson he was in the middle of. Brum was hungry: Brum was always hungry, but that day she was hungrier than usual. She wanted to go eat, but the guru insisted that she finish the lesson first. Brum had learned enough manners by then to know it would be rude to argue with the guru, or to yell and shout and hammer her fists on the ground. She was also clever enough to know that there were alternate ways to achieve her goals, thanks to her extraordinary gifts. All five of them knew this, but the others were patient enough to wait the few minutes longer it would take for the guru to complete his instruction. Brum, on the other hand, chose not to wait.
She had given Yudi a grin, a younger, more childish version of the same grin she gave him now. Then she had sucked in a long, deep breath.
At once, Yudi had felt a strange sensation, like everything was going silent around him. The parrots squabbling on an overhead branch, a pride of leopard cubs frolicking in the forest nearby, the wind rustling the tops of the banyan trees, the sound of the guru’s droning monotone, even the sounds of his own heart beating and breath passing in and out of his nostrils. His ears, his lungs, his head, everything had felt curiously . . . empty. He had struggled to draw in breath, but his chest heaved and heaved and found no purchase. He’d felt like he was being turned inside out. As if, any minute, his insides would burst out of his mouth and nostrils and ears and other orifices, and his life as he knew it would end.
Then the day had turned mercifully dark, and he passed out.
When he’d regained consciousness, Mother was with them, admonishing Brum quietly but firmly. Brum was looking recalcitrant, but her cheeks were flushed pink, as they always became when she had done something she knew she wasn’t supposed to do but that was also extraordinary: a very Brum mixture of guilt and defiant pride. The guru, poor old chap, was on his back, being attended to by his shishyas, who were fanning him, giving him water to sip from a brass pot, and generally fussing over him.
After that day, the guru had always made sure to end his lessons well before mealtime and would even ask Brum, nervously, if she was hungry yet. She would always answer smugly that she didn’t mind finishing the lesson first.
Now, Yudi felt the same awful sensation. The difference was, he was older, wiser, and prepared for it. He had, after all, asked Brum to use this option. It was the quickest and most effective way to incapacitate all the enemies in their vicinity without harming them permanently. He and his siblings all knew Brum was about to do it, so had breathed deeply and were holding in their breaths when she began.
Too late, he realized that he had forgotten Tshallian. The Vanjhani was halfway to their feet, weapons in hand, faces tense with anticipation of the brawl they thought was inevitable. Yudi thumped himself for failing to warn their traveling companion. They had only first met Tshallian a day before this trip, but the Vanjhani had come highly recommended and already proved themself a loyal and trustworthy friend.
Don’t fret, brother, Arrow sent. There wasn’t time to explain it enough that he would believe it anyway.
Yudi knew that was true. But he still flinched when he saw the Vanjhani’s eyes widen, then their two free hands clutch at their throats, gasping for air, before their eyes rolled back in their heads, and they collapsed in a heap. Their weapons clattered with dull thuds on the sawdust-strewn floor.
They were joined by the weapons and various items—tankards, platters, cutlery, assorted objects that happened to be held or clutched at by the other diners in the tavern hall—as the hundred-odd occupants all imitated Tshallian’s choking, gasping, panicked expressions and actions before collapsing bonelessly.
Brum, her cheeks full from the deep breath she had drawn in, beamed at Yudi. She winked at him. Will that do, brother?
Yudi raised his forefinger and thumb in a circle. Nicely done, sis.
She nodded, then slowly released the breath. Even though she was careful, the sheer quantity of air she was breathing out—quite literally all the air in the tavern hall—created a strange effect and sound.
Yudi felt his ears pop, and the peculiar sucking, pulling sensation on his body dissipated. He inhaled cautiously and was relieved to find himself able to breathe again.
Brum could have held her breath for several minutes, or even hours—she had never actually had the patience to hold it long enough to find out if she had a limit—but that would have defeated the purpose. Long enough without air, and everyone in the hall would have died, Yudi and Tshallian included. When it came to Arrow, Kula, and Saha, while they possessed their own individual talents, each unlike Brum’s, it was debatable how easily they could be killed, or by what specific means. But for Yudi and Tshallian, as well as the rest of the occupants of the tavern, the danger was as real as a dagger to the heart.
“Nicely done,” he said to his sister, sucking in air eagerly. “That was perfect.”
Around the tavern hall, everyone else was still lying as they had fallen. A few stirred, groaning like drunks the morning after, but didn’t actually rise; they soon dropped back into unconsciousness. The effect of having all the air sucked out of the room, as well as from their lungs, usually had a stronger effect on those who had drunk too much. Yudi had barely sipped his ale, as usual, but judging by the lack of movement around them, everyone else in the hall had consumed more than their fair share.
Surprisingly, Tshallian remained unconscious, still slumped on the floor beside their table. Arrow checked their vital signs to make sure they were all right.
“Out cold,” Arrow told Yudi.
Yudi frowned. “They ought to be awake.”
“They did put away a fair bit,” Kula pointed out.
Yudi nodded, unconvinced.
“Maybe they just need the sleep,” Saha suggested.
Yudi liked that answer better. “We should get going,” he told his siblings. “Before they wake up again and pick up where they left off.”
“Yudi, this is the first goddamn good meal I’ve had in weeks. I’m not leaving till I’ve polished off every last bone!” Brum spoke around mouthfuls, juices running freely down her chin and throat. She picked up her tankard and drained it.
Arrow, Saha, and Kula continued eating and drinking as well.
“We may as well finish eating,” Arrow said.
Yudi sighed. “I guess so. But let’s not linger any longer than we need to.”
8
Some time later, they found themselves on the road again, walking down a dirt track. The eastern sky was already showing signs of life. It would be dawn soon. Yudi glanced back. Brum was carrying the Vanjhani slung over her shoulder, held in place by one hand, and a small barrel of ale in the other hand. She kept guzzling ale as she walked, spilling almost as much as she consumed. Wonderful, Yudi thought, they would leave an odor trail in their wake for anyone to follow. Then again, how would anyone know who had dropped the ale?
“They’re waking up,” Brum said suddenly.
They stopped as Brum set the Vanjhani on their trunklike feet. Tshallian swayed a little at first, then their eyes focused and settled on the five of them. Life and confusion returned to their eyes at the same time.
“What? I . . .” They looked around at the dark fields through which they were traveling. “In Dronas still we are? How come to be here? Tavern . . . ?”
Kula clapped a hand on one of the Vanjhani’s shoulders, his slender, shapely hand delicate against the complex network of muscle and sinew. “Don’t worry about it, friend. Did you get a good rest?”
Tshallian blinked all four of their eyes and stared at Kula, then at the others. Their eyes found Yudi. “Master Yudi?”
“I told you before, Tshallian. Just call me Yudi. We use first names among friends.”
“Yudi?” Tshallian said doubtfully.
“We ran into a little trouble back at the tavern. Brum here took care of it.”
He explained the how of it. Tshallian looked simultaneously dismayed and troubled. “Not honorable is such method. To kill or render incapacitated without enemy even having chance to retaliate is not way of warrior.”
“To incapacitate the enemy before they could retaliate was the whole point, my friend,” Arrow said, using the tip of an arrow to remove a fleck of meat stuck between their teeth. They examined the morsel, then flicked it away.
Yudi nodded. “We thought it best to avoid a brawl.”
Tshallian thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “True is. Fight in tavern cause much disturbance, attract king’s guards. More difficult it would make journey our.”
Kula slapped them on the back again. “Great, sport. Now, let’s get on our way, shall we? I can’t wait to get out of this fascist kingdom and reach Gwannland.”
“Let’s pick up the pace, then,” Saha said. “I’m tired of this place too.”
On that, they were all in agreement.
They made good time and encountered almost no further trouble all the rest of the day, taking country roads and avoiding towns and villages with the aim of reaching Gwannland the next afternoon.
At one point, Tshallian said to Yudi quietly, almost conspiratorially, “Gods are you.”
There was no interrogatory uplift at the end of that statement, but Yudi took it as a question anyway.
“No,” he replied. “Merely demigods.”
Gwann
1
KING GWANN WAS NOT looking forward to this day.
Vensera was enjoying herself, of course. She loved such occasions. Festivals, celebrations, parades, rituals, anything that required everyone to turn out in their finest regalia, bone trumpets blaring, buffalo horns booming, conch shells reverberating, confetti in the boulevards, colorful pennants festooning the ramparts, giggling children tossing fistfuls of petals in the air, colored powders exploding from outflung fists. The louder, the more raucous, the crazier, the better.
To her, this was a chance to bring out her Beha’i side, the wild, wanton, anything-goes sword maiden who lived for the hunt, the melee, the battle by moonlight. The Beha’i regarded war as a celebration. A festival of blood and sacrifice, the necessary purging of excess population through karmic selection. Their military attire was colorful, rainbow-hued body paints—right down to their sexual organs. War was pageantry, combat a deadly dance to the death. They approached violent conflict with the joyous enthusiasm that other cultures exhibited at religious festivals.
Oh yes, Vensera was having a great time. She had been up since the stone gods knew what time, or perhaps had never slept at all, seeing to every last detail. As Gwann tied the sash of his robe, walking through the great hall which had been converted for the occasion, he had to admit he was impressed. Like everything else Vensera did, she cut no corners, accepted no compromises.
The great hall had been transformed into a space that was truly fit for royalty. Their guests would be hosted in fine style. He nodded as he took in one exquisite detail after another, from the vaulting softwood sculptures to the intricately painted pavilions, the artistically carved seating, the color-coordinated upholstery and cushions, the washbasins with petal-scented spring water, the luxurious beds that could each accommodate an orgy—and probably would before the week was over—and a hundred other items that contributed to the overwhelming effect of deep comfort and luxury.
He found his way to the podium and the throne intended for himself and Vensera, and sat down to observe the hall. Workers and servants bustled to and fro even now, putting last-minute touches to the masterpiece.
He stopped a serving boy and diverted him to the kitchen to fetch some repast for his breakfast. Gwann knew the dining hall would be packed with Vensera’s family, most of whom had turned up days before the date mentioned in their invitation, and who turned even mealtimes into raging political debates. Gwann had no desire to listen to his brothers- and sisters-in-law bicker about the right time, strategy, and methods to defeat Dronasthan in a sustained campaign: he had heard it all before.
The boy returned surprisingly quickly with the tray of food and hot beverage, and Gwann broke his fast as he contemplated the pageant that he would be hosting within a few hours.
He had been skeptical when Krushni announced her intention to host this event. Aghast when she had spelled out in detail her plans and guest list. Shocked when she had outlined the contest she had in mind for their guests. Even after he had calmed down and finally accepted that she meant to go ahead with the event regardless of his approval, he had been mortally afraid that the whole thing might fall apart once the illustrious visitors arrived and saw New Gwannland’s sparse accommodations and facilities.
