Witch King, page 41
It was midafternoon on a clear blue day when they saw the town, and then the stone fort on the rocky rise above it.
The canal ran between the fort and the town, ending in a boat basin below the fort with a high bridge over it. Irrigation water channeled from the canal fed lush green fields and orchards. The town was mostly one- or two-story wooden buildings painted sun-faded colors, with tile roofs, and an open paved plaza in the center. Big awnings and a few trees lined and shaded the streets and the stalls of a market, and canal boats were drawn up along the docks. People were already coming out to stare at the wallwalkers. Probably out of fear, thinking there were Hierarch nobles aboard.
“Prince-heir, the banner,” Trenal said suddenly. She stood at Bashasa’s elbow, and Kai glanced back to see her eyes were wide.
“I see it.” Bashasa’s expression was thoughtful rather than grim, but then Kai wasn’t sure Bashasa had looked grim when he had been leading a charge against a Hierarch. “Dasara, get your mother.”
Dasara had been loitering to the front of the palanquin, maybe having recognized the terrain and that they were drawing near the town where Bashasa meant to pick up supplies. The past couple of days, several of the wounded had recovered enough to sit up, which meant there was more room for moving around the palanquin. Dasara leaned forward to peer out, jerked back with alarm, then turned to push toward the back.
“The banner?” Kai asked. There were three long colorful banners, not unlike the one that Bashasa had liberated from the hall of trophies, hanging from a horizontal bar above the fort’s gate. Salatel and Trenal both gave him worried grimaces.
Bashasa said, “The banner of our cousin, Karanis. The usurper the Hierarchs handed Benais-arik to. It shows that he is in residence here, instead of the capital.” He scratched his chin, where beard stubble had appeared because his soldiers had forgotten to remind him to shave this morning. “This could be difficult.”
Lahshar shouldered her way through the crowd and elbowed Kai aside to stand next to Bashasa. She stared at the banners as if hoping everyone else was wrong, and then hissed something in Arike. Bashasa and Salatel and the others had been teaching Kai the Arike language, but he didn’t know that word yet. He had seen enough of Lahshar at this point to know he would never like her, but she was at least as tough as a Saredi captain. Seeing her so dismayed was unnerving.
“Yes,” Bashasa agreed, speaking in Imperial. He glanced at Lahshar’s stricken expression and said, “Cousin, you knew this would come to pass sooner or later.”
“Yes, but—” She bit the words back. “How did that puckered ass know we were coming? There hasn’t been time!”
Tahren swung up onto the palanquin’s rail beside Kai, and he managed not to twitch. She was the only one who could climb down from one wallwalker, run to catch up with another, and climb it while it was in motion. The first time it had been twilight and when she popped up out of nowhere it had startled Kai so badly he had almost punched her in the face. She said, “The legion that came to relieve the Summer Halls must have used Immortal Blessed to carry messages ahead of us.”
Bashasa nodded agreement. “There is a source for the Well of Thosaren at Benais-arik. The puckered ass—I like that, Lahshar, it’s apt—thought we might travel here and came to meet us.”
“But what are we going to do?” Lahshar demanded, an edge of despair in her voice. Kai was wondering that too, but thought it was typical of how Bashasa’s cousins were so obstructive right up until it was time for him to think of something to save their lives.
Because it was obvious this was the end.
Bashasa said, “We will stop in the town, and let everyone disembark. I’ll continue on with my cadre and speak to Karanis.”
Kai watched Trenal’s shoulders relax, as her fear settled into determination. The soldiers here had always planned to die defending Bashasa, even before he had decided on his impossible plan to fight. That had been Kai’s plan, too, more or less. He said, “I’ll go with you.”
Bashasa turned to him, and smiled. He looked pleased and fond, as if they were planning to do something fun. “Thank you, Fourth Prince.”
* * *
They brought the wallwalkers into the town plaza, instead of the stables outside it, the better to give the refugees a chance to conceal themselves among the population. Kai thought they might be attacked immediately, but the Arike seemed confident in the people who lived here.
When Kai climbed down after Bashasa and the soldiers, the leader of the town was already greeting them, speaking rapidly in Arike. Salatel translated, “Karanis arrived at dawn today with word of our escape. She says they will hide everyone they can. There may be traitors in the town but there are already many refugees here and our people can blend in with them.”
The breeze played with the fringed awnings at the edge of the dusty plaza, water chuckled in the big fountain. The smell of woodsmoke and sizzling olive oil and garlic came from a nearby cookhouse. Other mortals gathered, fearful and staring, some already mixing with the wallwalkers’ passengers as they climbed down. There was a steady murmur of dismay, of wonder. The Arike, both the townspeople and the refugees, kept coming up to clasp Bashasa’s hand, like a ritual. Kai felt a little sick. The last real Prince-heir of Benais-arik, going to his death. What would it have been like if the Kentdessa Saredi could have said goodbye to their last captain, or to Grandmother? Bashasa allowed the touches and handclasps, continuing his urgent conversation with the town leader while distractedly nodding to each person who came to him. “No one ever came back from the Summer Halls before,” Kai said in realization.
Salatel nodded grimly. “At least they will remember us.”
By the time the other Prince-heirs and soldiers were all gathered, the town leader had ordered horses to be brought. “They don’t want Bashasa to walk into the fort like a criminal,” Salatel explained.
Kai watched it like a story being acted out, mostly in languages he didn’t know, though Salatel translated when she could. The other Prince-heirs, Hiranan, Vrim, Asara, and Stamash were coming with them, bringing their cadres. So was Lahshar, though she ordered Dasara to stay behind. He argued violently, began to cry, and she told two of her cadre to drag him away and keep him from following. Others were coming too, servers, dependents, some who weren’t Arike. Tahren tried to make Dahin stay behind, but he became so agitated she finally hugged him and agreed. Bashasa tried to tell Ziede to leave but she said pointedly, “We started this together, we’ll finish it together.”
There were only enough horses for the Prince-heirs and higher-ranking soldiers. Bashasa asked for Tahren to be given one, as courtesy to an Immortal Marshall, and Ziede swung up to ride behind her. These horses were a breed Kai hadn’t seen before, sandy-colored and tall, with long legs and pads on their feet instead of hooves, teeth a little too sharp and eyes a little too beady. But when they brought one for him, it shied like a normal horse. Kai told them, “Horses don’t like demons. Salatel, you take it.” She protested, but Bashasa was suddenly there. His mount snuffled in protest at the proximity but Bashasa was apparently too good a rider to let it further express its dislike. He leaned down and held out his hand. “Fourth Prince?”
Kai swung up behind him. With the cadres and others walking, they rode toward the bridge.
The outer walls slanted back, the stone polished to reflect the sun. The inner walls were painted with bright colors and carved with images of savage battles where the warriors had elaborate and implausible armor. Soldiers watched them from the little cupolas atop the many round towers.
The inner gates of the fort made clanking noises. Gears turning as the heavy doors were cranked open. Kai leaned on Bashasa’s sturdy back because why not, and thought, This is fine. I’m tired. He had gotten more vengeance than he could have ever hoped for, and a chance to put Enna’s body to rest, even if it was far from her home.
“She said ‘escape,’” Bashasa said thoughtfully.
“What?”
“The town leader. Our escape,” Bashasa clarified. “Implying that we slipped away from a place that was still intact.”
Kai understood then. Escape, not rebellion. Either Karanis hadn’t been told the full story or he was keeping it from the other Arike. “How can that help?”
“Eh.” Bashasa shrugged. “It’s given me an idea.”
They rode through the gates, the shadow of the heavy walls and pillars falling across them like bars. Inside was a broad stone plaza, looked down on by walls honeycombed with windows and balconies. A ramp dropped down to a lower plaza, then to another even lower, like a giant’s version of a step well. Most of the fort’s soldiers were assembled on those two lower levels, watching them. More mortals watched from the windows or lined the balconies.
They wore legionaries’ armor and gear, but they were all various shades of brown, their dark hair in loose or tight curls, and few looked happy to be here. Only those with officers’ tails were the paler-skinned mortals from the south, from wherever the Hierarchs bred their followers. Conscripts from Arike and the surrounding areas, then. And all those Kai could see were dressed as men in tied split skirts. Kai had figured out by now that Arike soldiers were traditionally women, and Arike women wore pants; had the Hierarchs killed the whole garrison and conscripted men to replace them, or made the captured soldiers change their gender? Another reason they didn’t look happy to be here.
Opposite their position, high in the far wall, was a large shaded gallery where a group of brightly dressed mortals and legionary officers stood. Only one was sitting down, on a carved stone chair on a raised platform like the Hierarch in the water court. But he didn’t look like a Hierarch, he looked like an Arike in a very elaborate brocaded coat, like the one Bashasa wore. That had to be Karanis.
It was disturbingly quiet, just the banners snapping in the breeze, and the occasional grumbling noise from the horses.
“He’s arranged this like a stage,” Bashasa said, thoughtful and without a trace of nerves in his voice. As resigned as Kai was, his heart was pounding in every pulse point. “Which means something is about to happen.”
This was already a massive trap, there was no way they could escape. But Karanis would know Bashasa, and Bashasa was never more dangerous than when he was talking. Kai’s gaze snapped to the balconies, tracking potential lines of sight, just as Tahren shouted, “Crossbow!”
Kai grabbed Bashasa’s waist and swung him around, putting his own back toward the most likely direction of attack. He felt the thump below his right shoulder just as they tumbled off the horse. It danced sideways, snarling, blocking more potential shooters. Kai stayed in a protective crouch over Bashasa. He could smell someone’s fear sweat, feel the gritty stone underfoot, the rise and fall of Bashasa’s chest as he tried to get his breathing under control. Tahren and the soldiers moved around them, re-forming to better shield them from the balcony vantage points.
Someone tapped his shoulder to let him know they were protected. He straightened up with a wince and let Bashasa stand. Kai looked down at the bloody bolthead sticking out of his upper chest. He didn’t want to pull it out; it was wedged in deep and he couldn’t afford to lose the use of one arm right now, even for the short time it would take him to recover.
Bashasa gripped his shoulders, brow furrowed in concern. “Fourth Prince, this grows more disturbing every time it happens.”
“It’s fine,” Kai said, absently dusting off Bashasa’s coat. “What’s your plan?”
“There’s a plan?” Lahshar muttered from nearby.
Hiranan had taken charge of the Arike while Bashasa was distracted. She leaned on her crutch, her free hand lifted to tell the soldiers to hold their positions. Her cadre leader stood in front of her, blocking the line of sight from the balconies. Hiranan was outwardly calm, but sweat dampened her gray-streaked curls to her brow. She said, “Is there a plan, Bashasa?”
“Yes.” Bashasa pulled a folded square of fabric out of his coat. “Step aside.”
Trenal and Salatel signaled the other soldiers and Hiranan gestured to her cadre. The group parted and Kai walked forward with Bashasa, out to the front of the platform. A watchful Tahren moved to flank them. Ziede was to Kai’s left, the soldiers and Prince-heirs in a loose formation behind them. Every nerve-ending on Kai’s body was alert; whatever this was depended on his ability to block the next attempt on Bashasa.
As they stepped forward, the silence broke. Murmurs, gasps ran through the assembled conscripts. It made Kai think Karanis had not told his people who was arriving. Even the mortals on the throne platform reacted with shock. Bashasa lived and he was standing next to someone apparently unaffected by a crossbow bolt jammed through their chest; both must be startling.
From the gallery, Karanis said, “Bashasa Calis.” His voice was deep, sounding hollow in the large space, some trick of the way the walls were shaped helping it carry. In Imperial, he continued, “You have violated the treaty with the Honored High Hierarchs and endangered all our people—”
Bashasa shook out the fabric, the torn banner he had taken from the trophy hall. He held it up, let the sudden wind catch and unfurl it. Kai was certain Ziede was responsible for that wind; it wasn’t disturbing the other banners hanging above the gallery.
The murmur this time took on an edge. Dahin, suddenly at Kai’s elbow, whispered, “That’s the banner of Suneai-arik, the city that the Hierarchs completely destroyed.”
Kai nudged him back as Tahren whispered, “Dahin, get back here.”
Bashasa pitched his voice to carry. “We left the Hostage Courts and marched through the Summer Halls, leaving ruin behind us. We fought the Hierarchs there. We won.”
Kai felt Ziede’s command of the wind change, as she altered the air movement to make sure Bashasa was heard. He continued, “I took this from their wall of trophies, where they hung the stolen treasures of a hundred lands and the bones of the brave who fought them, disgraced and despoiled like animals. I ripped this banner from their wall and we redeemed the blood of our murdered kin in Hierarchs’ flesh. Cousin, show them.”
Trenal passed Salatel her short spear and pulled the bag open. Lahshar hesitated, then her expression turned grimly determined. She stepped forward, dragged both heads out of the bag and held them high. Even Kai understood the politics of that; Lahshar and Bashasa were from rival branches in their family, and they had just shown they were united in this.
“This is a lie.” Karanis shoved to his feet. His voice held an edge of panic, also clearly audible. “The dispatch from the High Shield of the Hierarchs—”
“It is no lie.” Bashasa roared the words and still managed to sound calm and controlled. “I joined with the Prince-heirs of our imprisoned cities, with allies from Enalin, Ilveri, Grale, Nibet, and many others. All have risen to fight. An Immortal Marshall joins us, a Witch Sister of the Khalin Islands, and a powerful demon prince of the Fourth House of the underearth. Others will follow in our wake. We left the Summer Halls a ruin where the bodies of legionaries and Hierarch nobles rot in floodwater.” He took another step forward. “Karanis, you took this duty because you love our people and wish to protect them. Now it is time to fight for them. Join with us—”
Bashasa had given the usurper a way out, and he should have taken it.
Movement on the gallery warned Kai before Tahren could speak. He stepped in front of Bashasa and lifted his arms. Three bolts thunked into his back. One passed under his arm and struck Trenal in the leg. She fell back with a low grunt of pain as Nirana caught her.
The crowd had gone silent again. Cerala helped Nirana pull Trenal back between the horses. Kai took a deep breath, meeting Bashasa’s worried gaze. Pain reverberated through Talamines’ body but if he faltered, they might be done for. Bashasa had claimed the support of an unstoppable demon prince, and Kai had to make that true. Karanis was surely too smart to let Bashasa talk his way out of anything less. Kai released the pent breath, made his face neutral, and turned around.
He stepped to the side, revealing Bashasa again, unhurt, his demon prince apparently unaffected by the bolts. Bashasa raised his voice again and said, “I call on you all, join us.”
Karanis yelled, “Kill them!” and the crowd erupted.
* * *
The sun had shifted toward twilight and the day’s heat had broken by the time Kai climbed up to the viewing gallery where Bashasa was working. In the courtyard below, conscripts hurried back and forth along with the cadres, but Kai honestly wasn’t sure what everyone was doing. Once the crossbow bolts had been extracted from his chest and back, he had spent the last couple of hours helping Prince-heir Hiranan and Salatel question the few surviving legionary officers and the two Hierarch servant-nobles. Karanis himself had been one of the first to die. A server standing at the back of the viewing gallery had stabbed him from behind with a meat knife.
Bashasa had thrown his coat over the stone seat and sat on the platform below it, where he could spread out his maps and notes and writing implements. A few members of his cadre were stationed around the platform, to guard him and run messages. There was a flask of water and cups nearby, but someone was going to have to make Bashasa stop and eat soon.
“What news, Fourth Prince?” Bashasa said, without looking up.
Kai took a seat on the dusty stone beside him. He did have a report to give, but it wasn’t urgent. “How is Trenal?” The other cadre members had only scrapes and bruises at best. Most of the fighting had been over by the time they got off the platform.
