Witch King, page 18
The Hierarchs’ legionaries had always talked of how horrific the underearth was, when their own homegrown monsters were so much worse.
Thrashing in the trees told him the ghoul was nearby, aware that an intruder had entered its hut. A few heartbeats later, it shoved through the doorway.
It looked like an ordinary male mortal, maybe a little more well-fed and prosperous than was normal for this empty land, his long cotton tunic and wrapped skirt less ragged. His graying hair was tied back and his face was weathered. If he hadn’t been carrying a dead mortal body, there would have been nothing unusual about him.
“Ah, a customer!” he said in Old Imperial. He dumped the corpse on the packed dirt floor. “Incautious of you to simply walk into my home. I might be short of wares.” He leered, showing sharp bloodstained teeth. “What are you willing to offer me, I wonder, to make you worth more as a buyer than as”—he gestured to the racks of glistening limbs and organs—“a lovely addition to my stock?”
Kai was suddenly sick of these grabby mortal predators, huddled in their filth, greedy for pain. He called the scattered imps to him. As their little bodies filled the hut with light, he said, “So you get many customers out here? I thought this was more a hobby than a vocation.”
The ghoul made a gargling noise and whipped around to flee. Kai reached to find the tendrils of design and intent around the creature and pulled. The ghoul froze in place.
Kai stepped close, circled to face his prey, and wrapped his hand around the ghoul’s throat. “Do mortals just walk into your charnel house all the time? Am I one? Am I stupid?”
The ghoul choked out, “I didn’t know you were a…”
“Say it.” Kai smiled.
“… a demon.”
“You idiot.” Kai leaned closer to whisper, “I’m the demon.”
THE PAST: THE BATTLE
The Immortal Marshalls’ part in the Hierarchs’ war was always in dispute … The Immortal Blessed have always valued isolation and claimed superiority, setting themselves above the rest of the world. They would never want to admit to being as helpless before the force of the Hierarchs’ invasion as the mortal lands. It was an unprecedented concession when the Immortal Marshalls eventually revealed that they initially resisted the Hierarchs but were ordered to capitulate when they found themselves unable to protect the Blessed Lands from attack. There was no shame, the whole of the known world was helpless then. But the Immortal Marshalls were seen to serve the Hierarchs so the Immortal Blessed will always be viewed as willing allies to their conquerors. That Tahren Stargard rebelled when she did is their sole saving grace.
—Writings of Weranan, historian of Seidel-arik
They left the Benais-arik Hostage Courts through an open door that led into a much bigger, better-tended court. Large trees grew in planting beds, their canopies like a tent roof overhead, a scatter of red leaves like blood spatter across the paving. There were only two legionaries, not particularly alert. Tahren walked briskly up to them as if she meant to speak, then whipped her sword around and took off both their heads at one stroke.
As Tahren reached the archway at the far end of the court, Ziede said, “Wait!” There was no gate, but Kai sensed something across the opening, something that tasted of an expositor’s power.
Tahren stopped, glancing at Ziede with lifted brows.
Keeping her voice low, Ziede explained, “There’s an intention across the opening. If the Hierarchs decide to kill everyone here, they don’t want to waste time breaking down doors and gates. But they want to know whenever anyone enters or leaves.”
Tahren made a gesture for her to go ahead. The still air shifted as a tiny wisp of power slipped from Ziede’s hand and into the archway. Kai couldn’t tell what its source was, except that it was soft and insubstantial, something like the air right before a sun rain. Kai said, “Is this how you got in without the Hierarchs knowing?”
She nodded, preoccupied. “Yes, Bashasa got me to this point rolled up in a rug, then I suspended the barrier long enough to slip through.” She moved her hands in slow fluid gestures, weaving something out of air.
“It’s why they kill Witches,” Tahren said.
Kai turned to face her and Ziede slid a languid look over her shoulder.
Tahren looked from Kai to Ziede, and appeared to realize she needed to clarify. “Your abilities are different from the expositors’. You slip through the cracks no matter how powerful they are. It frightens them.”
“It should,” Ziede said. She turned her attention back to the barrier. “I suspect it was Cantenios who this was meant to warn, but there may be others.” She added, “There. This will stay open long enough for Bashasa’s people to get through without setting off any alarms.”
Tahren nodded toward Kai. “Speaking of alarms.”
“I know, I know.” Ziede started untying the sash at her waist.
“What?” Kai didn’t understand. Oh, his eyes. “Wait, are people going to be able to see us? Aren’t we … going a back way or—”
Tahren’s eyebrows quirked. “There is no back way.”
Ziede shook out her sash, a filmy diaphanous gold. She draped it over Kai’s head where it rested like a cobweb, low enough to screen his face. “Now let’s go.”
The archway led them through a short tunnel, the end opening into a wider corridor. Tahren paused and said to Kai, “There are people from all over the conquered territories in this palace. No one should notice us, if we behave as if we have nothing to hide.”
“I get the idea,” Kai said, annoyed. He knew he must look nervous. His shoulders were as stiff as if he had rigor mortis. These wide, high-ceilinged stone corridors were like walking through a cave where something might leap out at you at any moment. The veil made it hard to see and the material kept sticking to his face. He kept his gaze on the floor, the worn paving stones and the moss or occasional scrawny flower growing between them.
Ziede took Kai’s hand. “We’re visitors, escorted by an Immortal Marshall.”
Tahren gave her a nod and they walked out into the corridor. It was wider, taller, more brightly lit, with silk banners and painted emblems mounted on the upper levels. Bashasa would be coming out soon with the Arike soldiers. The investiture would have meant more people moving through here, more confusion that they could have taken advantage of. “I’m sorry,” Kai whispered, his breath stirring the veil. “I shouldn’t have … done that.”
Ziede squeezed his hand. “I don’t see how we would have gotten out alive if you hadn’t.”
Tahren added, “The Temple Halls and the Imperial Halls are both equally … impossible situations, so it hardly matters.”
Kai grimaced. That really didn’t help.
Ziede snorted quietly. “Thank you for that reassurance.”
Tahren glanced back, her expression dry.
They passed a quartet of legionaries going the other way, following two figures so wrapped up in veils that Kai could tell nothing about them. After they passed and were out of earshot, Ziede winced. “We need to look more natural.”
Tahren said, “An admirable goal.”
In a low but conversational tone, Ziede said, “Kai, did Bashasa tell you how he and the Immortal Marshall got you out of the Cageling Court without anyone knowing?”
Kai hadn’t retained a lot of what Bashasa had said right after he had woken, but he remembered that. “He said he left a dead body in my place.”
“Yes. It was his sister’s body.”
Startled, Kai looked up at her, not that he could see any subtleties of expression through the veil. Cantenios had said something to Bashasa—taunted Bashasa, actually—with condolences for a death. And Bashasa had told the servants to bring clothes from his sister’s trunk. He had just assumed the sister was around somewhere.
Ziede glanced down at Kai. “His younger sister. She was weapon training with a few of her soldiers, in a practice court they were given access to. Some servant-nobles from the Hierarchs’ court appeared and challenged them, supposedly to a friendly sparring bout. The girl was struck in the stomach and the back with the end of a short spear.” Tahren was listening, too, her head cocked slightly. “She seemed well at first, then became badly ill and died a day later. Bashasa has no doctor of his own, and the one provided by the palace was useless.”
Another group of nobles and legionaries passed, these in a kind of dress Kai didn’t recognize, long gauzy robes in rich greens and pale yellows, their heads shaved, gold circlets standing out against dark skin. Listening to Ziede, Kai barely took them in, and knew he and Tahren must look much more like people who belonged here, having a conversation as they walked through the corridors.
Ziede continued, “This was before I came here, so I only saw the girl after she died. The nobles claimed they weren’t responsible for the death because there was no open wound, only bruises. For all I know, they believe it.” She dropped her voice again, cautious of any listeners. They had turned into a higher open hall, one wall all archways looking down into a larger court filled with trees and ornamental ponds and streams. “The servant-nobles who came here from the south are appallingly ignorant about medical matters, anything to do with their own bodies, which are considered profane by their own dogma. Bashasa had paid one of the lesser expositors to suspend the corpse’s natural corruption, to preserve it, supposedly so it could be transported back to Benais-arik to the family mausoleum. I think that’s when Bashasa had the idea to free the demons in the Cageling Court.” She tightened her grip on Kai’s hand. “He said he had seen the demons and thought it was cruel, and typical of the Hierarchs, and a great pity they couldn’t be let out to ravage the Hierarchs’ elite who took so much interest in staring at them. And he felt that way before they killed his sister.”
Tahren glanced back and said, “So, he’s a grief-stricken madman.”
At first, Kai had thought Bashasa was angry about being a hostage, angry in an abstract way about losing control over his city-state, losing his political power. But his anger was more visceral than that. He said, “He’s just like us.”
Ziede’s smile was wry. Tahren ducked her head for a heartbeat, as if concealing an involuntary expression.
They took a turn down another corridor, and Kai heard the patter of rain. Enna’s heart thumped in his chest and he almost stopped, but managed to keep his legs moving. There was a short flight of upward stairs, and then he got a lungful of damp air laced with the coppery odor of blood.
Kai didn’t falter, he thought he was controlling his expression, but he was grateful for the concealing veil. Ziede tugged him closer. At the top of the stairs they crossed into the roofed gallery, placed here specifically for the entertainment of the court, so they could look down on the captured demons and admire the Hierarchs’ power without getting wet. The open balustrade allowed a view down onto the court where light rain and mist fell in continuous waves. Kai kept his eyes on Tahren’s tense back and his gaze averted from the huddled chained figures on the pavement.
There were several servant-nobles here now, leaning against the balustrade and deep in conversation, as if the view wasn’t any different from the garden court with the ornamental streams. A half dozen legionaries, probably tasked as the nobles’ bodyguards, were stationed at each end of the gallery. Tahren passed them without a glance. Their gazes followed her watchfully but they didn’t speak.
Tahren led Kai and Ziede to the exit at the far end of the gallery and down a short flight of steps, the stone damp with mist. They turned into a smaller corridor, out of sight of the viewing gallery. A single legionary stood there, near a metal door set deep into the stone wall.
The face under the close-fitting metal helm was young, open, guileless; this wasn’t an important post. One of the first things the Saredi and their allies had learned about the Hierarchs was that many of the common legionaries were conscripts from conquered peoples.
Tahren said, “A word, please,” and then slammed the legionary’s head back against the stone. His helmet banged off the wall and she drove her fist into his face. Bone cracked. She caught the limp body as it slid down the wall.
Ziede let go of Kai to move closer to the door. She hissed, “They heard that.”
Kai stepped back into view of the gallery entrance and said in Imperial, “Sorry! I dropped it.” He leaned over as if scooping something up from the floor.
Ziede raised her voice to add, “Careful, child.”
Kai flicked a glance toward the nobles and legionaries and saw them turn to continue their conversation. He stepped back out of sight and whispered, “Be more shitting quiet.” If they were caught now, Ziede and Tahren might seem plausible long enough to bluff it out, but Kai was a demon under a flimsy veil with a Blessed cutting tool stuffed in his tunic. Even for the dullest legionary, those connections were going to be obvious.
He expected Tahren to ignore him or be angry, but she just mouthed, “Sorry,” as Ziede wove air through the intentioned lock on the door handle. She pushed it open to reveal a narrow well. A spiral stair led upward to a source of wan daylight. Tahren hauled the limp legionary inside and Ziede and Kai slipped in after her. Kai tugged the heavy door shut. There was no way to bar it.
Ziede said, “I’ll create a seal—”
Tahren held up a hand to stop her. “A seal can be undone, as you’ve just demonstrated.” She took a sheathed dagger out of her tunic and slipped it through the metal loop on the door to hold it shut.
“I’m impressed,” Ziede said dryly.
Tahren flicked an unreadable look after her. Kai just wanted to get on with it and raced up the stairs.
At the top, lit by daylight falling down from a shaft in the low ceiling, was a large square stone basin, maybe twenty paces long and wide. It was waist-high to Kai, the water swirling gently.
There was no power in it that he could sense, not in the damp air above, not in the water when Kai tentatively flicked his fingers in it. He leaned over the stone lip to look down, but it was empty all the way to the bottom, the water a little clouded but not enough to hide anything. He turned, looked around the room desperately. He must have missed something.
In the far wall, the one facing into the court, was a row of windows. Kai ran to the first and had to stand on tiptoes to see out. The wall was thick, more than the length of his forearms. He couldn’t get more than a glimpse of the decorative scrolling on the roof of the opposite gallery, just above the heavy layer of mist.
Kai turned back to the basin. Whatever controlled the court had to be in there. The rest of the room was empty, just a bare chamber. He circled around, baffled, and finally noticed there were holes drilled under the inside edges of the basin, just above the waterline. Some drained water away, some filled it with steady streams.
Tahren and Ziede still searched the room, looking for hidden panels in the walls and floor, apparently as confused as Kai. He said, “It has to be this basin. There’s nothing else here. How do we break it?” The stone was thick, twice as wide as the span of Kai’s hands. He couldn’t drain the life from stone.
Ziede looked pointedly at Tahren. Tahren said, “I was told it was delicate.”
“Told by who?” Ziede demanded.
“Expositors brag while in their cups,” Tahren said pointedly. “I explained this before.”
“I don’t care what you were told,” Kai said. He knew he was being unreasonable but they were so close. “This is not delicate. This is stone and water. There’s no life in it, no power.”
Ziede grimaced in frustration. “The intention that drives it must be hidden somewhere. This is just the water it uses.”
Kai snarled. He slammed a hand into the water, splashing Tahren’s light tunic. If he tried to go into the court with the rain still falling, he wouldn’t be able to fight, he could be caught by any legionary with a cursebreaker. “We have to go back down, you have to try to stop it from inside. I can’t—”
“Block the holes,” Tahren said.
Ziede blinked. “Ah.” She grimaced again, but the irritation seemed directed at herself now. “We could do that. Of course.”
Kai stared at Tahren, the breath harsh in his lungs, as the simple solution sunk in. He said, “I’m sorry I splashed you.”
Tahren made a slight movement indicative of a shrug.
Ziede braced her hands on the lip of the pool and a breath of damp air brushed past Kai’s face. A breeze flowed in through the windows. The water shivered, wavelets chased each other in odd crossed patterns. Ripples grew at the waterline. Ziede’s brow furrowed and she muttered, “This is harder than it looks.”
“It looks hard.” Tahren’s gaze was on Ziede, a faint line of worry between her brows.
The breeze grew harsher, plastered Kai’s veil to his face so he pulled it off. He flinched away as the water rocked and slopped out of the basin. But the waves settled and troughs formed at the rim, created by the air Ziede manipulated. The troughs forced the water away from the sides and the drain holes. Kai’s fingers curled into claws as tense moments stretched. Then the streaming water abruptly slowed to a trickle.
Kai dashed to the first window again, reached through to hook his hands around the outer sill and pull himself up to see. In the court the mist was clearing, the patter of rainfall slowing to a drip. He dropped back to the floor, heart pounding. “It’s working!”
A hollow metal bang spun him toward the stairs. It came from the room below, from the door. Tahren winced. Ziede, jaw tight with effort, all her concentration and attention on the basin, didn’t move. Someone must have noticed the change, come to investigate, and sounded an alarm when they found the guard missing.
