Beyond The Shadows (25 page)

Vürdmeister Neph Dada sat beneath an oak at the mouth of Quorig’s Pass, awaiting his spy. He hadn’t brought any of the two
hundred Vürdmeisters he’d gathered to the meeting. If his spy was caught, he didn’t want her to be able to tell the Chantry
anything useful. Of course, the catatonic Tenser Ursuul and Khali had traveled with him, and he kept them close—but hidden.

Eris Buel arrived at moonrise. She was not an attractive woman. Her eyes were close-set, her nose long, and her chin weak.
She looked rather like a rat in makeup. Too much makeup at that. And she had moles. Everywhere. Garoth Ursuul had long let
it be known that his female progeny were worthless to him except as killing practice for the aethelings. It was half true.
Most of the girls served to weed out boys too weak to murder their own sisters, but Garoth sent wytchborn girls away at birth.

Few became as valuable as Eris Buel. Years ago, Garoth learned that Eris had roused the Speaker’s suspicions. Rather than
lose her, Garoth had shipped her off to Alitaera and arranged her marriage to a nobleman. Eris had then caught the crest of
a rising tide of resentment among the Chattel, the former magae who’d left the Chantry to marry. She was now poised to head
that movement back to the Chantry, demanding recognition. Eris might even overthrow the Speaker.

“Eris,” Neph said, dipping his head.

“Vürdmeister.” Eris liked to think too highly of herself, but she could obviously feel the nearness of Khali. That was enough
to put anyone off-balance.

“I have a task for you,” Neph said. “One of our spies tells me a woman named Viridiana Sovari has bonded a man with a set
of compulsive earrings. Given the bond, we expect he will come to the Chantry soon.”

“I know the girl. She’s the talk of the Chantry,” Eris said.

“She doesn’t matter. Let me be blunt. This man, Kylar, may hold Curoch. We’ve hired an extremely skilled thief to take it
from him. We have reasons to trust our thief, but Kylar is very resourceful. He may track our man down. So as soon as our
man steals the sword, he’ll signal you by raising two black flags on a fishing boat visible from your room in the Chantry.
Check three times a day. When you see it, collect the sword and leave the city immediately. The thief is not to see your face
or know anything about you, just as you know nothing about him. You’ll pay him. He knows how much to expect.” Neph handed
her a purse full of Alitaeran gold. She looked startled at the weight.

Neph was lying to her, of course. He did believe that Kylar had briefly held Curoch, but he’d also seen how Ezra’s Wood changed
on the day that Vürdmeister Borsini had gone to his death, trying to take Curoch from Kylar. The Sword of Power was gone;
once something went into the Wood, it stayed there.

What Neph’s thief was trying to steal was a normal sword, with one difference: it had been reported to Neph that Kylar’s sword
had a black blade. Kylar was hiding his ka’kari—the black ka’kari, the Devourer of magic—on his sword. Neph was certain of
it. If he was wrong, he would likely be dead by spring. He was running out of options. The things he’d thought would be easy
had turned out to be viciously difficult.

With two hundred Vürdmeisters, Neph had attacked the weaves Jorsin Alkestes had laid on Black Barrow hundreds of years ago.
Even together, they’d only broken the first spell: now it was possible to use the vir within the Dead Demesne, the unchanging
circle of land around the dome of Black Barrow. Before, anyone using the vir there would die instantly. It was better progress
than anyone before Neph had made, but in itself, it accomplished nothing. All the millions of krul around Black Barrow were
still magically sealed. No one could raise them. No one could raise the Titan Neph had found beneath the mighty dome of Black
Barrow itself. With Curoch, Jorsin Alkestes had been more powerful alone than Neph was with two hundred Vürdmeisters.

Neph’s few successes seemed like nothing. He’d stirred up the wild men in the Freeze. He’d taught their shamans to raise krul,
though he’d deliberately taught them imperfectly, in case he ever had to face them himself. He’d sown rumors about the weakness
of the new Godking among the highland tribes.

It would be enough to distract the new Godking, but not enough for Neph to take the chains of office for himself. The Ursuuls
had long claimed that only an Ursuul could take the vir from a meister. That claim had meant the meisters and Vürdmeisters
had never been a threat to a true Ursuul—any magical fight would end instantly. Neph had been certain it was a lie. He had
staked everything on the belief that once he held Khali, it would be a simple matter to learn to remove the vir from whomever
he wished. But so far, he hadn’t even come close.

If Neph didn’t figure something out soon, any of the aethelings could show up any day and remove the vir from Neph himself.

There were ways out, but none was likely. If Neph actually recovered Curoch, of course, he could shatter Jorsin’s work and
anyone who rose against him even without the krul or the Strangers or Khali. If he could steal the black ka’kari, he could
make it devour Jorsin’s magics, raise the krul, and the krul would crush anyone who rose against him. He could use the black
ka’kari to walk into Ezra’s Wood and steal Curoch and everything else there. His last hope was to raise Khali herself. It
had been Khali’s wish for as long as she had been worshiped. It was enshrined in every Khalidoran’s prayer: Khalivos ras en me. Khali, make your home in me. If Neph could give Khali a body, she would give him everything. Neph was preparing the magic
and trying to find a proper host for Khali in case he needed to do it, but it was a last resort. Khali would surely teach
him how to deny the vir to the Godking if Neph gave her true embodiment. But if Khali had a body, if she could give him everything,
could she not also take everything from him?

Neph turned pensive eyes toward Eris. He needed, as always with these arrogant children, to seal the lie. “If it is Curoch,
Eris, I’ll give you whatever you ask. But there are two things you should know. You have not the power to wield it even for
an instant. It will kill you if you try. Second, I will kill you if you try.” His vir squirmed up and down his arms as he
laid a tiny weave on her. “I know you can untie that weave, but one of my other spies at the Chantry will be checking on you.
If you tamper with it, she has instructions to kill you. Don’t worry, the weave is small enough to escape any but the closest
magical examination.”

Eris’s face paled. It would, of course, be her death if any loyal Sister found that weave. But Neph had also revealed that
he had another spy close enough to her that the spy could check on the weave regularly. “How likely is it that Kylar has Curoch?”
she asked.

“Not likely. But the prize is worth the possibility of losing you.”

A green hue entered her skin. “I want Alitaera,” she said defiantly. “That’s my price. If it’s Curoch, you’ll take all Midcyru.
I want to be queen of Alitaera. I have debts to repay.”

Neph pretended to think about it. “Done,” he said.

Kylar opened his eyes in darkness. His whole body ached, but he knew where he was instantly. Nothing else had the sewage-and-rotten-eggs
smell of the Maw. They’d put him in one of the nobles’ cells. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find himself in the Hole,
or dead. He was glad they hadn’t killed him. It would be better for Logan if there was a trial first.

“I must have been twice your age when I killed my first queen,” a familiar voice said. “’Course, I didn’t make such a damn
mess of it.”

“Durzo?” Kylar sat up, but the man squatting on his heels across from him was unfamiliar. The laugh wasn’t.

“I’m going by Dehvi now.” The voice took on a tonal accent, “Dehvirahaman ko Bruhmaeziwakazari I have the honor to be.” Durzo’s
voice came back as he said, “They used to call me the Ghost of the Steppes, or A Breath in the Typhoon.”

“Durzo? Is that an illusion?”

“Call it advanced body magic. It was one of the things I was going to teach you if you hadn’t developed your Talent so damn
slow. We’ve only got a few minutes. All the guards down here are honest, if you can believe it. And your trial’s going on
as we speak.”

“Already?”

“Your pal the king seems to have high esteem for your powers. Almost accurately high. They drugged you. You’ve been unconscious
for a week.”

“Logan’s the king?”

“Without opposition. He and Duke Wesseros are presiding over the trial. It’s too bad you’re missing it. You’d be amazed at
what Gwinvere can get witnesses to say.”

“Momma K’s on trial?” Kylar asked. He was still off-balance. He couldn’t place things. It was unreal to be talking with Durzo.

“No, no, no. But what she’s doing is making sure the witnesses bring up Terah’s indiscretions as many times as possible. The
honorable judges are trying to quell the rumors, but Momma K’s already won. No one thinks you killed a saint. That helps Logan,
but you still killed a queen in plain sight of eighteen people. Logan wants to give you a nobleman’s death, but they’ve already
heard testimony that you’re not a Stern—the Sterns were pretty adamant about that, go figure—and some lady who sat next to
you at the coronation says you turned down the Drake’s adoption. He gave you the rings and you refused to put them on. So
you’re looking at the wheel. I did that once. It’s a real shitty way to die, especially for someone who heals as fast as we
do.”

“You came back,” Kylar said. “You gave me Retribution. Again.”

Durzo shrugged, as if it were nothing. He reached for a pouch, then stopped himself. “You put philodunamos on the crown?”

Kylar nodded.

“You wonder why it didn’t work? Someone cleaned it off. The laundress swears she dumped some cleaning rags into the water
and boom! There was a fire. No one believes her. She lost an arm and her job.”

Kylar’s stomach turned. He’d nearly killed an innocent. Again. What could a one-armed laundress do?

“So,” Durzo said. “Time’s wasting. You want to live or die?”

“I’ll take any way out that doesn’t make Logan look complicit or weak.” At Durzo’s grimace, he said, “And don’t tell me you
wouldn’t give your life for a friend. I know better.”

Durzo grimaced again and stood. “You’re the damnedest kid I ever met. Good luck.”

“Master, wait. Am I . . .  am I doing the right thing?” Kylar asked.

Durzo stopped and when he turned, there was a smile on his face. It was a rare sight. “It’s a gamble, kid. You always put
your money on your friends. It’s something I admire about you.”

Then he was gone. Kylar shook his head. How had he got himself into this?

Six royal guards arrived soon thereafter. None of them looked happy, but while two of them had the cautious air of professionals,
the other four seemed either nervous or angry or both. One of the angry ones pulled Kylar to his feet. Kylar was, he noticed
now, manacled to the wall, and still wearing the clothing he’d worn the night of the coronation. They’d been nice clothes
a week ago. His and Terah’s dried blood made the front stiff and reeking.

“So you’re the big wetboy,” the gap-toothed guard sneered. “You don’t look so tough when you don’t have a helpless woman shielding
you.”

“Sorry I made you look bad,” Kylar said.

Gap-tooth hit him in the stomach.

“Please don’t hit me again,” Kylar said.

“You didn’t make us look bad, you murdering bastard.”

The captain said, “Don’t be an asshole, Lew. Of course he did.”

“Upstairs they’re making him sound like a god. Wetboy-this, wetboy-that. Look at ’im. He ain’t nothing.” Lew casually backhanded
Kylar.

“Lew, I—” the captain cut off as Kylar disappeared.

One by one the guards realized Kylar had vanished. There was dead silence for a moment. Then it was broken by the clang of
manacles hitting the stone floor.

“Where the hell—”

“Sir! He’s gone!”

“Block the door! Block the—”

The cell door slammed closed with all the guards inside. The lock clicked.

Kylar reappeared outside. Grinning, he waved the captain’s keys at them.

“That didn’t just happen,” one of them said. “Tell me that didn’t just happen.” Another cursed under his breath. The rest
still looked like they couldn’t believe it.

“Captain,” Kylar said, “will you please ask Lew not to strike me?”

The captain wet his lips. “Lew?”

“Yes, sir. Right, sir.” Lew met Kylar’s gaze and quickly looked away.

Kylar opened the cell door and the men shuffled out sheepishly.

“Should I, uh?” Lew asked, holding up the broken manacles.

The captain swallowed. “Uh, if you don’t mind, Master . . .  um, Kagé?”

Kylar put his wrists together. They put the manacles on him and walked out of the dungeons. No one said a word. No one laid
a hand on him, either.

The courtroom was a large, rectangular hall that could hold hundreds of people. It was overflowing, and the doors had been
thrown open so more people could stand at the back and watch. At the raised table at one end of the room, Logan Gyre and Duke
Wesseros sat side by side. There were supposed to be three judges, but Logan hadn’t wanted to impose the duty on the last
surviving duke, Luc Graesin.

Facing the table was a small desk and chair inside an iron cage. The captain led Kylar to the cage and removed his manacles.
The crowd watched, silently but with great anticipation, as though the wetboy was a monster on display who might gnaw the
bars. Kylar stepped into the cage silently, glancing briefly at the gallery. Logan wondered if he was looking for friends.
He wondered how many Kylar found.

The front two rows were made up of nobles. Lantano Garuwashi, silent but obviously wondering what Kylar was trying to accomplish,
sat near Count Drake, whose jaw was set and eyes were grieved. Logan wondered how much Count Drake had known about his ward.
Drake had been a model of integrity for as long as Logan had known him, and a Gyre banner man besides. The Stern family was
in the second row, looking furious. The testimony had already established that they’d never known or seen Kylar, but they
still felt their honor impugned. Aside from the usual nobles, there was a vast array of Cenarian humanity. The cream of the
Warrens was here, men and women in fine clothes yet without titles. Logan wondered if all of those were Sa’kagé. He wondered
how many were glad Kylar was here, and how many were grieved, or terrified for themselves that he might speak. Then there
were a smattering of those drawn simply by the spectacle: a few Ladeshians, some Alitaeran merchants, and even a Ymmuri.

To Logan’s right hand sat the witnesses. There were eighteen guards, as well as the grasping woman who’d sat next to Kylar
at the coronation. Kylar sat.

“State your name for this tribunal,” Duke Wesseros said.

“Kylar Stern.”

“Sit down, Baron Stern!” Duke Wesseros barked as the unhappy nobleman jumped to his feet. The nobleman scowled and sat. “This
court has accepted testimony from nobles who said you saved them during the Khalidoran coup. They called you the Night Angel.
We have heard, sometimes despite our best attempts, about how you saved King Gyre from the Hole. We have heard you called
Kagé, the Shadow. We even heard one man who claimed your name was Azoth. But one certainty we’ve established is that you are
not, nor ever were, a Stern. What is your real name?”

Kylar looked amused. “I am the Night Angel, but if you’d choke on that, you can call me Kagé.”

Duke Wesseros looked over to Logan. Logan had asked him to lead the proceedings. Logan nodded. “Kagé,” Duke Wesseros said,
“you stand accused of high treason and murder. How do you answer these charges?”

“Of murder, guilty. Of treason, not guilty. Terah Graesin was not a lawful queen. By marriage and adoption, Logan Gyre has
been king since the death of King Aleine Gunder IX.”

The courtroom erupted in whispers until Duke Wesseros raised his hands. He had threatened to clear the courtroom several times
during the last week of testimony, and the crowd quieted quickly. “It is not your place to lecture your betters on Cenarian
law.”

“Then you tell me, Your Grace, was or was not Duke Gyre formally made King Gunder’s heir and was or was not he married to
Jenine Gunder, and did or did not that confer on him the right of succession?”

Duke Wesseros purpled, but said nothing. If he agreed, he would concede that Terah should never have been made queen and that
he should have never sworn fealty to her. If he explained his decision was based on practicalities, he would sound like a
weasel or a coward.

“I wouldn’t have killed Terah Graesin if my betters had followed the law rather than their cocks and their coin purses,” Kylar
said.

This time, the whispers were forestalled by Logan’s raised hand. He wore a thin gold band around his brow, but otherwise little
to denote his kingship. “There is some truth in what you say. On the eve of Pavvil’s Grove, some of us made regrettable compromises.
In the end, however, Cenaria’s nobility delivered into Duchess Graesin’s hands the scepter and the sword, and we placed the
crown upon her brow. It is not the prerogative of a commoner to shed blood to correct what he sees as the nobility’s errors.
Therefore, Kagé, you stand convicted of murder and treason.”

A hush fell.

“This tribunal has further questions, which we ask you to answer for both your own sake and Cenaria’s. If you answer fully
and forthrightly, you will be granted a merciful death. If not, you will be bound to the wheel.” Logan held his face impassive,
but his stomach turned. The wheel was a cruel death, as bad as Alitaeran cruxing or Modaini drawing and quartering. It was
the established punishment for treason. Only treasonous nobles were beheaded, and it had been established that Kylar was no
noble. A merciful death for testimony was the most Logan could do for his friend.

“I will answer all I can without compromising my honor,” Kylar said.

“Are you a member of the Sa’kagé?” Logan asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you an assassin?”

Kylar sneered. “Assassins have targets. Wetboys have deaders. I was a wetboy.”

There was a sudden electricity in the room, like thunderheads were rolling by. The crowd had become an audience, and they
were pleased with the show. They were getting a chance to peek behind the veil at the Sa’kagé, and they wouldn’t miss it for
the world.

“‘Was’?” Duke Wesseros interjected.

“I split with the Sa’kagé during the coup. I don’t kill for money now.”

“So you claim no one ordered you to kill the queen?” Logan asked.

“The Night Angel is the spirit of retribution. No one orders me to do anything, Your Highness, not even you.” A thrill ran
through the crowd at the show of defiance.

“Strike him,” Duke Wesseros said.

One of the guards stepped up to the cage but hesitated.

“Strike him!” Duke Wesseros demanded.

The man hit Kylar across the jaw, not hard. Logan could swear the man looked scared.

“Who hired you to kill Terah Graesin?” Logan asked.

“I planned and carried it out alone.”

“Why?” Duke Wesseros asked. “A wetboy might have escaped.”

“If I wanted to, I could escape right now,” Kylar said.

There were titters in the courtroom.

“Well, I don’t know if you’re a wetboy, but you’re certainly an accomplished liar,” Duke Wesseros said.

Kylar glanced at the guards who’d accompanied him up from the Maw. The men looked positively ill. Logan felt a tingling on
his right arm and for a moment, could swear he saw something moving from Kylar’s fingers like the shadow of a shadow. He looked
around, but no one else seemed to notice anything. Then Kylar’s expression changed like he was deciding against an impulse.
Logan had seen the expression enough to know it. “I am an accomplished liar,” Kylar admitted. “I guess it doesn’t matter.
You’ve already established that I’m not a Stern, and that I killed the queen, so let’s finish this.”

“You deny the Sa’kagé had any part in the queen’s death?” Duke Wesseros asked.

“Are you a moron or a stooge?” Kylar shot back. “I’ve given Cenaria a king who can neither be bribed or blackmailed. The Sa’kagé
is furious with me. The question you’re too afraid to ask is whether the king ordered me to kill Terah Graesin.”

Duke Wesseros jumped to his feet. “How dare you impugn our king’s honor! Strike him!” The court was in an uproar.

Logan stood. “No! Sit!” It took half a minute for everyone to obey, but finally they did. “It’s a fair question. A fair question
for us to drag into the light, because everyone’s going to be asking it quietly in the days to come.” Then Logan sat.

“Many of you were at Pavvil’s Grove. You saw Logan kill the ferali,” Kylar said. Logan almost goggled. He and Kylar both knew
he hadn’t killed the ferali. It had been Kylar’s assassinating the Godking that had defeated the beast. “Many of you hailed
Logan as your king, but he wouldn’t accept the crown then, would he? Do you think he was afraid of Terah Graesin then? How
many of her banner men do you think would have stood by her on that day if Logan had taken the crown? He held his honor that
day as he has every day of his life. Do you think that if he had ordered me to murder her on the night of her coronation that
he would have welcomed me to sit by him at the high table? Do you think he is such a fool that, knowing what I was going to
do an hour later, he would remind everyone what good friends he was with a wetboy? I’ve been a Sa’kagé spy on Logan Gyre for
ten years. In that time, Logan came to trust me as his best friend. So it turns out that the question isn’t whether he had
me assassinate Terah Graesin, because he didn’t. The duke who was once betrothed to a mere count’s daughter has always had
too much honor for that. The real question is if our new king will pardon his friend for the murder that put him on the throne.”
Kylar turned and met Logan’s eyes for the first time. “Well, Logan, how about it?”

Whatever else Kylar’s time straddling Cenaria’s worlds had done to him, Logan saw that his friend had learned the way of rumors
among both the peasants and the nobility. He’d fingered exactly the questions people would ask. Indeed, he’d set up everything
so the questions could have only one answer. Logan had wondered why Kylar had allowed himself to be caught. He had no illusions
that it had been because Kylar couldn’t escape. Now he saw all the connections that Kylar had known other people would make.
The first question when someone was assassinated was always, who benefits? When Terah Graesin died, the answer was clearly
Logan. That wasn’t why Kylar had killed her, though. He’d killed her for all of Cenaria’s people, because she would have been
a disaster as a queen. So Kylar had needed to kill her in a way that freed Logan of suspicion.

In a way, Logan had forced Kylar’s hand with the seating arrangements at the coronation. The Sterns had been there. If Kylar
hadn’t been placed so prominently, he might have escaped attention, but with too much scrutiny, Kylar’s disguise would collapse.
When it collapsed, everyone would have known that Logan’s best friend was in the Sa’kagé—that would be damning enough. After
all, how could Logan be a reformer when he came to the throne smeared with charges of corruption himself? This was Kylar’s
answer: to shine a glaring light on everything and force Logan to show decisively where his loyalties lay.

Kylar had no doubt what Logan would do, Logan saw that. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. But Logan
had recently lost his father, his mother, his fiancée, and his wife. How was he supposed to condemn his best friend to death?

Logan remembered the sick pleasure he’d felt at ordering Gorkhy’s death. It was the pleasure of power, and he’d felt it again
when men had bowed before him. But suddenly, he hated his power. Kylar was giving his life so Logan could have power. He trusted
Logan that much, and Logan knew he had it in him to be a monster. But there was nothing to do.

His face stony, Logan said, “A pardon is out of the question. You were our friend, but our justice will not be swayed. Whatever
your intentions, even if it was to make us king, you have done murder in this realm. Justice demands your death. Justice will
be satisfied. As king, I demand you answer one more question. If you answer, we will grant you a merciful death. If not, it
will be the wheel. Kagé, what are the names and positions of everyone you know in the Sa’kagé?”

Kylar sighed and shook his head.