The Godless, page 25
“Their particular looks also work to keep me safe from attack.”
“That might be funnier if I knew you were joking.”
“Why on earth would I joke about that? I’m really quite fond of moving through my days without being attacked.”
There was a disturbance on the far side of the chamber. As she watched the doors to the hall were opened, and a retinue of ten Sa’ba Taalor came through the threshold, moving with the casual grace of big cats. There were men and women alike in the group and none of them wore weapons, or any form of uniform. They never did. They preferred their flashy garments to the regimented looks of the military. That was one of the things she liked the most about them, though it often confused her. Uniforms at least let her know who was the highest in rank. Though they were without any regalia, they were dressed in finery, the sort she expected from the Fellein in the room. Where they had found the clothes she would not guess, but someone had been paid well to dress the gray skins in the latest fashions of the court.
“Well, that’s… unexpected.”
The Sisters moved closer to her, never once revealing any possible tension at the arrival of ten potential assassins.
Desh slid smoothy to her side and watched the procession, slipping his hood over his head in the process.
Nachia found herself wishing she’d brought her throne into the chambers. If it truly offered protection, she’d have taken it.
She couldn’t tell if she’d ever seen any of them before. When she’d met the Sa’ba Taalor the first time they’d still been wearing their veils, the better to hide the Great Scars on their faces.
No one actually screamed, but more than one man reached for a sword, or cursed the lack of one. Very few sported weapons in the presence of the Empress these days.
The retinue continued toward the Empress. Four men and six women. The Fellein parted before them, though a few did so reluctantly.
Hammond moved closer to her side. Unlike many of the others, he was wearing a sword at his hip. The advantages of being royalty, she supposed. He waited with his hand on the hilt of his weapon.
The first four to approach her were the men, who stepped to the sides and bowed at the waist, their hands held out before them palms toward the skies. The women stepped forward and did the same, all except the last of the lot, who stopped in front of her and nodded.
“I am pleased to see you, Empress Nachia Krous of Fellein. I am Swech Tothis Durwrae, Chosen of Paedle and King in Mercury.”
This one she remembered, by name if not by face. There was no proof that Swech had killed her cousin, the previous emperor, but there was a strong belief that she did. Still, that couldn’t be seen to matter, not when faced with one of the seven kings from the Seven Forges.
“Why are you here, King Swech Tothis Durwrae?”
The woman held her hands before her to show that there were no weapons.
“My gods have asked me to come before you at this time and offer peace between our people.”
Nachia remembered her conversation with Andover Lashk. She arched one eyebrow. “What has changed that the gods of the Seven Forges now want peace?”
“We will face a common enemy in the near future. The gods foresee this, and would have you consider a joining of our forces and yours against the common enemy.”
“What enemy is this?”
King Swech stared into her eyes. The woman was covered in scars. She had three of the marks they called Great Scars on her face. Her gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail and held in place by a silver clasp that looked like nothing Nachia had ever seen used to hold back hair. Her eyes gave off a silvery light, the same that marked the Sa’ba Taalor that she had met over the years, including Andover Lashk. She was dressed in finery, yes, but the fashions were more for a man than a woman. All of them dressed appropriately for men, the better, she assumed, to allow them to fight easily if it came to that. There was nothing of the fashions for women that made fighting easier. Though she was hardly a skilled warrior, she doubted that the long skirts she wore would make combat more comfortable. Certainly, the preposterous hats that half the court sported would only get in the way. Even her crown, a small enough affair, was unlikely to be worn onto a battlefield.
Swech did not wear a crown. Her arms were covered only because the weather was cold. Her exposed flesh – more than most women would deem proper – was marked by scars old and new, and her hands were callused.
“We call them the Nual-Moresh. The Deathless. I believe your people called them the Overlords.”
All around the room the courtesans looked at each other in the hopes of getting answers. There appeared to be no one who could offer those answers up.
Desh Krohan remained silent, an intimidating, shadowy form who offered no words of wisdom or consolation.
The Sisters remained nearby but did not speak.
Hammond scowled, but seemed uncertain as to what he should do.
That just left her to make the decisions.
The disadvantage of being in charge, she supposed.
Swech
She had not expected the gods to call on her to speak to the Empress of the Fellein. Still, if she only responded to what was expected of her it would be a very different world.
The Empress Nachia Krous was thin. She was fair skinned with reddish brown hair and she wore clothing that hid much of her shape. She smelled of flowers and was powdered. She held herself just so, and if there was a single scar anywhere on her body it was hidden away, under many layers of clothing.
Despite all of that, Swech promised herself she would not underestimate the woman. The Empress’ eyes were critical. Despite how she looked, it was obvious that she was studying each of them and looking for flaws. Swech did not doubt that she saw the flaws she was looking for and remembered them all. She was wise enough to choose Merros as her commander of armies, and despite the odds against them, Merros had led his armies to more victories than expected in the war.
She pushed those thoughts aside. Merros was not present. She did not have the luxury of looking for him. For now, she had to concentrate on the Empress and the sorcerer.
Nachia Krous spoke. “There were beliefs that yours was the blade responsible for killing the previous emperor. Is that true?”
Swech only briefly considered lying. “Yes. My gods commanded that he die by my hand and so I killed him.”
“He was my cousin. I loved him dearly.”
“Your loss pains me, but I would not have changed anything. When my gods command me, I listen and obey. If they told me to kill you at this moment, I would do everything within my power to kill you.”
“And have they?” The woman leaned in closer. “Are you supposed to kill me?”
“You are alive.” It was all the answer she had for the woman.
Nachia Krous nodded and turned her back on the procession. The sorcerer loomed, a wave of destruction held back, a raging storm only moments way. Swech contemplated him very carefully.
“Follow me.” The Empress walked away and Swech followed. Swech’s retinue started following but she stopped them with a gesture. They would be hostage to whatever desires the Empress had.
Desh Krohan wanted to follow, but Nachia forbade him with a glance. If the king of the Sa’ba Taalor walked alone, so would the Empress of Fellein. Nachia would not show weakness before her potential enemy.
The chamber they entered was as large as the ballroom, but almost empty of people. Several great tables were decorated with finery, set for a feast. Twenty or more servants were making certain that every table was fully stocked with eating utensils that were barely comprehensible to Swech, and those servants stopped as one when they entered the room. With a single look, the Empress conveyed her need for privacy, and the four armored men who’d come to attention the moment the door was opened moved to different positions in the room, far enough away that they could not hear when the Empress spoke.
The other servants walked quietly and efficiently to a set of doors on the far side of the room and left.
“Why would your gods seek to work with me, after previously murdering my predecessor?”
“I do not question the gods.”
“Are your gods always this fickle?”
“I do not understand this word. What is ‘fickle’?”
“It means do they always change their minds?”
“No. They never do anything without a reason, but they are gods. Their reasons would likely mean little to us.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason that our decisions make no sense to earthworms.” Swech shrugged. “The reasons are there, but beyond our abilities to understand.”
“I’ve been accused of being very wise.”
“I have been accused of being a capable killer, but that does not change my abilities to comprehend the gods.” Swech moved her hand in a waving motion, imitating the sea. “I am a very capable killer. I have killed many, many people, but I still do not understand the reasoning of the gods. The Daxar Taalor told me to kill Pathra Krous, after I had befriended him and given him gifts. I did not want to kill your cousin. I liked him. He was a kind, gentle and funny man. Still, one does not question gods if one is wise. The gods have given me everything that I am, and to do less than obey is to do less than my best.”
Nachia Krous stared at her.
“I will always do my best for my gods. Always. If they told me to kill every last one of my people, I would not stop until my task was finished, or my people killed me.”
“Your faith in your gods is admirable.” The Empress crossed her arms. They were thin arms, and Swech wondered if the woman would manage to hold a sword without dropping it. “I do not have that sort of faith in my gods. If they told me to fight you right now, I would question why.”
“Your gods have been absent. Mine are always with me. I had this very conversation once with Merros Dulver.”
“Was that before or after you murdered my cousin?”
“Before. We have not talked as much after.”
“Well, that’s not quite true.”
“As I have said, I do as my gods command me.” For a time she had worn another face, another body, and she and Merros Dulver had spent a great deal of that time together.
“Then how am I to trust you?”
“You must do as you see fit, of course. I could lie to you and give you promises that I might later break, but that is not my intention. I can only offer you what I am. I am faithful to my gods above all other things in this world, Majesty.”
The Empress sighed. “Very well. What assurances can your gods give me?”
That was an interesting question. Swech had no answers.
The same was not true of the Daxar Taalor. Before Swech could respond, the Great Scars on her face spoke in unison, in the language of the Fellein. “Those you call the Overlords are a great threat not only to you and your people but to our people as well. For as long as the Overlords are undefeated, you will have nothing to fear from the Sa’ba Taalor, our children. This is our vow. We offer you a token. Swech Tothis Durwrae is yours to do with as you will. You may kill her. You may torture her. You may do as you please. She is yours.”
There was only one possible answer to the situation, of course. Swech plucked a long dagger from beneath her tunic and offered the hilt to Nachia Krous. At the same time, she raised her head and bared her throat in supplication. The gods offered her life to the woman whose cousin she had murdered.
Swech kept her eyes on the eyes of the Empress and waited.
Nachia Krous took the offered blade.
Swech remained where she was, her eyes unmoving, her body unflinching.
Nachia Krous placed the tip of the dagger against Swech’s neck. The point pushed against the flesh, and every beat of her heart pushed the very tip against her artery.
The Empress stared at her with hatred in her eyes.
“He was the kindest man I have ever known. No matter what I did to act a fool, he forgave me my sins.”
Swech remained where she was. There was a part of her that had already assessed the situation. Disarming the Empress would have been very easy. Killing her would have taken only the smallest effort, and crippling her would have been easier still, but she meant what she had said. She was the servant of her gods and if they demanded her life, it was theirs for the asking.
“You took him from me.”
“I did as my gods demanded.” Swech took a fraction of a step forward, until she felt the skin on her neck stick and then bleed ever so slightly. A drop of warmth ran down to her collarbone. “I hurt for you, but if my gods asked again, I would kill him again. I would kill you. I would kill your wizard. I would even kill your general.” She pushed again and let another drop free from her body. “And I care for Merros Dulver. He is the father of my child.”
The blade eased away from her neck. “You have a child by Merros Dulver.”
“Yes.”
“Does he know this?”
“No.”
“You are mine. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Those eyes, those dark, dark eyes, stared at her and the Empress slowly nodded. “Then you will stay with me. I want you to choose two of your people to leave here. They are to go back to your kingdom. They are to bring your child to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Was that fear in her belly? She thought of her boy, her only child, and understood the meaning of fear.
“You will remain here. You are my guest.”
“Yes.”
“Make it so.” The Empress lowered the dagger and walked back to the doors leading to the gathering.
Swech followed quietly.
Desh Krohan
“I do not like this. Not in the least.” Desh spoke but wasn’t quite sure who he was talking to. The Sisters, most likely, though they hardly seemed to be listening. “The last time we left a Sa’ba Taalor alone with our ruler…”
Pella spoke softly. “We were not as prepared as now.”
“I still don’t like it.”
Nachia came back into the room, King Swech following behind her.
“Well, so I was wrong.” Desh shot a glance at Tataya, who was nearly constantly telling him that he worried too much.
“How unsettling.” Tataya smiled brightly in his direction, but the smile never reached her eyes. She was far too busy assessing the situation for herself. That was why he loved her. She was just as much a worrier as he was, even if she would never admit to it.
The whole of the room breathed easier, it seemed. The Sa’ba Taalor were the only ones who seemed unworried by the notion of Empress and king walking into another room and being left to their own devices. Then again, their king was a capable assassin and Nachia, despite her years of training, would never be Swech’s match.
Nachia Krous had been trained by some of the best swordsmen in the land and had been given numerous lessons by Andover Lashk as well. She could very likely handle herself in many cases, but against one of the gray skins she had as much of a chance as a kitten against a Pra-Moresh. It was simply a different level of training. She could spend every waking hour for a year being trained and never come close to the levels of combat that the Sa’ba Taalor took for granted. They were trained from birth, it seemed. According to what he understood, certainly from the time they could walk they were being taught how to defend themselves and how to fight. He’d actually seen one of their children, no older than ten and not particularly tall or well developed, cut a seasoned Fellein soldier down in a matter of three strokes of an undersized sword. Savage didn’t begin to describe them.
Andover Lashk, whose absence worried him more by the day, had been trained by the gods of the Sa’ba Taalor until he was among the best of them. According to what he’d told Desh, he fought in literally thousands of battles, was killed again and again and resurrected repeatedly until he could hold his own against any opponent. As he’d damned near killed Desh when they fought, it was easy to believe.
Nachia came closer. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“Like you just chewed and swallowed a rotten Pabba fruit, seeds and all.”
“Where did you go?”
“Sometimes rulers need to have private discussions.”
“Some rulers speak with their weapons.”
“I opted to behave myself.”
He opened his mouth to make a comment and she waved her hand. In that hand was a dagger that most decidedly was not part of her formal attire.
“For the present time, Swech is my guest here. She is to be afforded every consideration.”
He looked at the king, who in turn looked at him and nodded her head in lieu of a curtsy. Swech then turned to her people and spoke calmly and quietly. Two of her people nodded and then left the room as quickly as they had entered it.
Sometimes he wanted to strangle the Empress. This was no exception.
“Really, Nachia.”
“Her gods gave her to me as a sign of trust. I’m certainly not going to give her back.”
“I… We… We don’t have slavery in the empire.”
“Who am I to argue with gods?” She stared at him with a blank expression, and while he was amused, he was also very annoyed. “They say that we have mutual enemies in the Overlords. For the present time they want us to work together.”
“Then I suppose we’ll work together, Majesty, if that is your decision.”
“It is. For the present time we’ll all work together against a common threat. I’d like you to communicate to General Dulver that King Swech is my guest. I’d also like to hear his latest reports on his current whereabouts and anything that they might have discovered. I would also very much like you to inform him that the Overlords are, indeed, awakening.”
Ahdra, the wretch who was currently in favor with the god of prosperity, looked their way with keen interest. Despite his dislike of using sorcery, despite the personal cost, Desh cast a simple glamour over her. The words she heard were not the words they spoke. She’d remember nothing but a conversation about the local fashions.
