Blades of the Old Empire (23 page)

The Cha’ori closed in, shielding Dagmara with their bodies. But Mai didn’t look like he was about to fight. He held the staff out, showing Ellah one of the blades.

It was covered with dry blood to about two thirds of the length.

“That’s how deep it went in,” he said, seemingly ignorant to the reaction he caused. “You’ll have to make sure the substance reaches all the way to the bottom of the wound.”

Ellah glanced at the dark vial in her hands. “But how?”

Mai looked at Kyth. “You’ll have to convince your friend to let me approach.”

Ellah nodded and turned her pleading gaze to Kyth.

“Please,” she urged. “Let him help. I’m not sure I can do it on my own.”

Kyth’s cold gaze made her shiver. “Then,” he said distinctly, “you and your
friend
can get out. I don’t need your help.”

Mai moved another step forward. “
You
don’t,” he said quietly. “But
she
does.”

“
Not
from you.”

Mai held Kyth’s gaze. “You do want her to live, don’t you?”

Kyth went so still that for a moment he appeared inanimate. Then he lowered his eyes.

Mai approached the rest of the way and knelt on the ground next to Ellah. He took out a narrow dagger and measured it against the blood-stained blade at the end of his staff. Then he stuck it, hilt-first, into the ground, so that it stood in front of him with the blade up. He unfastened a small flat flask from his belt and carefully spread some of its contents over the blade. Finally, he took out a flintstone and struck a spark. To Ellah’s surprise the blade sprung into a blue flame. The Cha’ori, watching Mai’s movements in an entranced silence, drew back in fright, but the Diamond sat still, keeping an eye on the flame as it burned for a minute or two and slowly died out. Then he turned back to Ellah.

“I didn’t see what Odara Sul did to my face,” he said. “But from the way it felt I believe she put the substance on the inside of the wound, right?”

Ellah nodded.

“We need to coat the blade of this dagger with the substance,” Mai told her, “and put it in.”

“In
where
?”

He met her gaze. “Just spread your substance over it, and give it to me.”

Ellah carefully opened the vial. There was a small brush inside, the one she saw Odara Sul use on Mai’s wound. It was attached to the lid, so that one could use it without touching the sticky liquid.

Mai took the dagger by the hilt and held it out to her. She leaned over and carefully spread the glistening paste along the entire blade. When it was done, she sat back and looked at the Diamond.

“Be careful it doesn’t touch the hair,” she said. “Or it will start moving, just like Odara’s does.”

He nodded, his gaze reflecting a brief wonder. Then he turned to Kyth. “We have to do it quickly. Lift her up and hold her very still. Her body must not move when I’m doing this, do you understand?”

Kyth carefully lifted Kara to a sitting position. Her head fell back against his shoulder, so that the gaping wound at the base of her neck came into full view. It looked awful. Seeing it, Ellah finally realized how futile their attempts to help were.
Why does Mai insist on this cruel charade?
she wondered. Yet, for Kyth’s sake, she couldn’t refuse to play along.

Mai knelt in front and slid his hand inside Kyth’s embrace, giving additional support to the top of Kara’s body. Then, in a smooth, deft movement, he thrust the dagger into the wound all the way to the hilt. There was a collective gasp from the spectators as he held the blade for a moment, then withdrew it and handed it back to Ellah. She took it, looking at the blood-stained steel. It didn’t seem like a proper way to heal a serious wound. Fortunately, like Dagmara said, they were unlikely to do any harm.

Mai pressed his free hand against Kara’s chest. The movement was smooth like a caress, but by the way her body shuddered under the pressure, Ellah could guess how much force he was applying. When his hand was all the way up at her throat, he moved it down again, holding a closed palm against her skin.

“We need more,” he told Ellah over his shoulder.

She leaned over to him, the vial in hand.

“I’ll hold her,” he said, “and you put it into the wound.”

She nodded and started unscrewing the cap. At that moment they all heard a chuckle.

Ellah raised her head and gasped.

A row of hooded figures stood shoulder to shoulder just a few paces away. Behind them loomed the riders, wearing similar robes but with the hoods thrown back. They looked just like the strange men that had attacked Kyth back in Tandar and had accompanied the mysterious Kaddim Tolos in Castle Illitand, except that this time there were a lot more of them.

The man in the center slowly removed his hood, revealing a sharp-featured face framed by short brown hair. His eyes were very dark and seemed to have no irises. They looked like the eyes of an owl.

“Nimos!” Kyth gasped.

“Long time, no see, my prince.” He cast his eyes over Kara’s lifeless body. It seemed to Ellah that she saw regret in the owl-like gaze. Then he raised his face back to Kyth, a triumphant smile creasing his thin lips. “We’ve all been waiting for this, Highness. Now that your pretty little friend is dead, there’s nothing to stop us from developing our relationship further, is there?”

Kyth carefully eased Kara’s body down to the grass. “Don’t take another step.” His hand darted to his sword.

Nimos smiled. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Your Highness. I brought enough men to make sure we could match your fighting skills. They’re considerable, I’m sure, but still–”

Mai stepped up to Kyth’s side. He held his staff in a lowered hand, face calm as he surveyed the enemy rows. The Cha’ori warriors slowly gathered behind, their faces grim, curved sabers at the ready. More were hurrying downhill from the direction of the camp.

Nimos watched the activity, his face spreading into a wide smile. “Aghat Mai, if I’m not mistaken.”

Mai kept his silence.

“Allow me to congratulate you on a successfully accomplished mission, Aghat,” Nimos went on. “A brilliant blow, if I may say.” He glanced at Kara’s body again.

Mai raised the staff.

Nimos chuckled. “I’m glad you are trying to resist us, Aghat. I thought all our preparations were useless. For a moment there, it looked too easy.”

Two men next to him removed their hoods. Their confident postures suggested they shared the same command privileges as Nimos. The one on the left looked familiar.
Reverend Haghos?
Ellah had no time to wonder.

She moved sideways, shielding Kara’s body from the attackers. Who knew what could happen to someone near-dead if these men started using their powers?

The three men drew themselves up and spread out their palms. A collective force blast swept over the grass and hit everyone in sight. Ellah shuddered and covered her ears, sinking to the ground. The Cha’ori swayed and went down one by one. Through the mist in her eyes Ellah saw Mai raise his staff, but his movements were not nearly as fast or confident as usual. Half a dozen of the attackers fanned around him, spinning their orbens. He thrust against the nearest one, but his staff wavered, knocked by a sideways blow. A chain hooked around it and tore the weapon out of his hands. He staggered. An attacker in front released an orben straight at his chest. The blow connected with a thud, sending Mai backward to the ground.

As he landed, one of the riders in the back line lashed out with a whip, hooking it around Mai’s ankles, and tugged, sending his horse into gallop. Mai tried to lift up, but one of the attack leaders stretched his arms, forcing the Majat down. His head hit a boulder. Blood gushed out of the cut at his temple and his body went limp, like a rag doll.

As his captor urged the horse along the plain, Mai’s body bumped against another boulder on the way, bouncing off and folding away, as if devoid of bones. Then the rider who captured him disappeared behind a low hill, Mai’s body dragging in his wake.

Tears rolled down Ellah’s face. It was horrifying to see a Diamond of Mai’s skill defeated so easily by just a handful of men. It was also clear that no one could possibly survive being dragged behind a galloping horse through the rough Grassland terrain. If Mai wasn’t dead yet, he was unlikely to live much longer.

Nimos turned to Kyth and studied him with his dark, owl-like eyes.

“That was fun,” he said. “And quite easy, as you may see. Now, would you like to surrender, Your Highness?”

“In your dreams!” Kyth lashed out with his sword, but Nimos leaned out of the way.

“Why don’t you use your power, Prince Kythar?” he suggested.

Kyth rushed at him. Nimos evaded the blows with snake-like speed as he backed off, luring Kyth deeper into the enemy’s line. The hooded men surrounded him. An orben hit his blade and Kyth swayed, twisting his weapon out of the lock. He dodged another blow and darted to the edge of the attackers’ circle. The air around him filled with spinning orbens. One of them brushed Kyth’s shoulder, throwing him off balance. Another one hit the back of his head. He shuddered, sword sliding out of his hand, and collapsed face-down onto the grass.

Ellah screamed and rushed to his aid, but a blast of force sent her down to her knees. As if in a nightmare she watched the hooded men bend over Kyth, deftly tying his ankles and wrists with wet straps of leather. They threw a cloak around him and wrapped it with a length of rope on the outside. Lifting him like a sack, they flung him over the back of a spare horse and tied him to the saddle with a couple of quick knots.

Through her tears, Ellah could see another packhorse with a similar bundle flung over the saddle. Strands of dirt-stained blond hair were visible at one end.
Mai.
She hoped he was still alive, but after the way she saw them drag him over the ground it seemed hard to imagine.

The attackers mounted and rode off, their large group slowly subsiding into a cloud of dust in the distance.

Ellah painfully struggled to her feet. Dagmara crouched on the grass next to Kara’s body, a thin streak of blood running down from her nostril. Ellah and the Cha’ori hastened to help her up.

Dagmara’s smile was strained as she leaned heavily on Ellah’s arm. “I’m too old for this. Their powers are indeed enormous. And it seems that Kyth is the only one capable of withstanding them.”

Ellah nodded, looking into the distance. “Kara was immune to them too,” she said in a hollow voice.

They looked down at Kara’s body. It was still, and, to Ellah’s relief, appeared undisturbed. When she leaned closer to inspect the wound, she realized that it had actually closed, and only a deep scar remained at the base of the neck where the gash had been just a short while ago.

“Are you sure this liquid only works on living flesh?” Dagmara asked.

Ellah hesitated. “No. I’m still not sure why Mai told me to do it.”

“Asking him about it might prove difficult.”

They stared at the distant cloud of dust. Elah felt empty inside. It was true that Mai had shamelessly played with her feelings to get his way, but she found herself intensely wishing she could see him again.

The road from the Cha’ori camp descended steeply down to the water. Alder threw his pack higher onto his shoulder and hurried to catch up with Garnald at the front of the line.

“How are we going to cross the river?” he asked. “The current’s too strong to swim over. And the ferry’s more than a day’s travel upstream.” He looked down to the water, words freezing on his lips.

A raft was waiting for them down by the shore. It was a flat platform composed of intertwined leathery branches of snakewood trees, the kind that to Alder’s knowledge grew only very deep inside the Mire, in the heart of the Forestlands. As they approached, he could make out several trees, complete with roots and earth stuck in between, huddled together inside the woven leathery mass. Looking down at them, he had an uncomfortable feeling the trees were watching him. He forced the thought away as he followed Garnald on board.

As soon as the last man was on the raft, it pushed off the shore without any visible help. The river Elligar was wide in this place, and the current powerful, but the raft headed to the other shore in a straight line, toward a spot almost exactly opposite to where it had started. Alder tried to imagine what this strange contraption could possibly use to propel itself, but the thoughts were too uncomfortable to dwell on.

As soon as the raft touched the riverbank, the roots of the snakewoods dug into the earth. As Alder watched in stunned silence, they took hold with the comfortable look of something that had been growing there all along.

Unlike the steep slope of the left Elligar bank, the ground on this side of the river was low. Thick grass pasture stretched from the veil of the weeping willows lining the waterfront all the way to the main road, and the forest beyond. They made their way toward it, and in less than two hours entered the protective shade of tall white birches with thick hazel undergrowth.

A trail ran off the main road into the forest, wide enough for two men to walk side by side. As they stepped into the tree shade, Alder couldn’t help noticing that the trail had no footprints on it. It seemed as if it had been made especially for their group, so that they could enter the forest in this particular spot, level with the raft’s landing. Looking behind, Alder saw a dense wall of trees with no clearing in between. The trail was closing as soon as they passed.

He hurried ahead and fell into step with Garnald. For a while they walked in silence. Alder considered bringing up the subject of the trail, but eventually decided against it. He knew Ayalla the Forest Woman was capable of ordering trees to move, opening and closing paths at her will. It seemed quite logical to imagine she had the same power here, in the airy growth of hazel and birch, hundreds of miles to the north.

He threw another glance at Garnald walking by his side. He was dying to know more about why all the Mirewalkers were looking at him with such strange expressions, and why they thought it was so important for him to leave the Cha’ori camp and come out to meet Ayalla.

Garnald understood the unspoken question. “You’re wondering, aren’t you?”

Alder nodded. Now that he saw Garnald’s eyes on him, he suddenly had a suspicion where this conversation was going. Back in the Forestland, Ayalla had once taken him for a mate, a privilege also extended to the Mirewalkers and some of the more adventurous villagers. She was a beautiful woman and she had made him very happy that day. But it didn’t make him different from any of these men, did it? He held Garnald’s gaze, feeling the color creep into his cheeks.

Garnald smiled.

“She’s never been the same since the time she was with you,” he said. “She’s more… sane, if you will. And the trees in the Mire – they’re becoming different now. Tall and straight, with airy crowns that reach far into the sky. We all think they’re yours.”

Alder’s blush deepened. He had heard Garnald say such things before, but it just didn’t fit into his head. “Forest Mother” was a name woodsfolk had called her in their fireside tales, nothing more. No living woman could possibly give birth to trees. Especially not after being with a normal man. And yet…

“I know exactly how you feel,” the Mirewalker said. “When it first happened to me, I was like that too. These things just blew my mind. And, in a way, even the fact that you get to be with the most beautiful woman in existence doesn’t make the rest of it any easier to accept.”

Alder didn’t respond. It
did
blow his mind, even to consider the possibility that Garnald was right. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Ayalla since the brief time he had spent with her, but he never thought she’d want to see him again. She was not only beautiful beyond reason, but also powerful and ancient, more so than Alder could ever comprehend. She could have any man she wanted.

“When you think of it,” Garnald went on, “you must always remember one thing. One doesn’t choose to become a Mirewalker. The Mire chooses you, and all you can do is follow its call. Don’t resist it, boy.”

A Mirewalker?
The question froze on Alder’s lips as the path in front of them suddenly opened into a glade surrounded by tall birches. Thick grass covering its floor looked as if no foot had ever walked upon it.

In the middle of the glade stood a tall, slender woman. She had a perfect oval face and deep indigo eyes. Alder shivered as he met her gaze.

Seeing Ayalla in the flesh made his memories of her beauty seem pale by comparison. She was perfect down to a single touch. Her face, as if carved out of a precious gem; her soft skin, whiter than birch bark and smoother than the silky grass under her feet; her body, slim and tall like a young pine singing to the sky.

When she saw him, her full lips folded into a smile. She beckoned.

“Welcome, Alder.” Her soft, deep voice reached down to his very soul.

Her skin had a faint smell of honeyed ivy buds and river water. As he approached, it made his head swim. He reached over to take her hand and drew back as he caught the movement on the bodice of her dark velvety dress that traced all the curves of her tall, slender figure down to her feet.

In horror, Alder realized that this dress was not made of any cloth he had ever seen. It was made of live spiders that clung to her, covering every inch of her skin. Each was large and hairy, creating the soft velvety look of the garment woven of their creeping mass. As Alder watched in fascination, one of the spiders moved over, opening a glimpse of her bare skin underneath. Then its place was taken by another, closing in the gap.

The Guardians.

Alder edged back. He couldn’t stand spiders, even ordinary ones. But these, almost as big as a man’s hand, were not only horrifying to look at, but also deadly. To imagine anyone walking around wrapped in
spiders
…

She laughed. “Don’t worry, sweet one. The Guardians won’t harm you. You are at one with the forest.” She lowered herself down to the grass, the spiders hurrying to spread around her legs like the hem of a real dress. Then she signaled for the Mirewalkers to join her. They settled around her, forming a circle in the center of the secluded glade.

“Before I come out to meet with the grass people,” Ayalla said, “you must tell me what you learned when you were out there.”

“The Wanderers are disturbed by the dark order,” Garnald said. “The trouble we had – that’s nothing compared to what they did in the Grasslands. They attack the Cha’ori horts and take their horses. They bend people to their will. They kill. They’re a threat to everyone. The Cha’ori say they come from an outpost in the south, at the outskirts of the Bengaw Crest.”

Ayalla looked past him into the forest. “Why should we be concerned about them? My children can protect themselves. Those that came through the Hedge will never do it again.” She looked around the group, a chill in the depths of her indigo eyes. Alder shivered. He could only guess what had become of the intruders that crossed the Hedge. The forest was a peaceful place, but it had ways to protect itself.

He realized everyone was looking at him.

“Tell me, Alder,” Ayalla said in her deep, melodious voice. “You have been to the north, all the way across the lakes. What goes on there?”

Alder cleared his throat. “What do you want to know?”

Ayalla smiled. “Tell me about your foster brother. Son of a king, is he?”

Alder nodded, unsure of what answers she was looking for.

“His gift is so strong it echoes all the way through the realm,” Ayalla said. “It shouldn’t be possible, but I saw this with my own eyes. Did his father pierce him with a sword?”

Alder swallowed. The royal succession ceremony, where a father had to run a sword through his son, was difficult to forget. “Yes.”

Ayalla nodded, her eyes aglow with a strange light. “Then, it’s time for a change. It’s time for your priests to reconsider their ways.”

“I think,” Alder said, hoping that it was the right thing to say, “that’s exactly why the King sent Kyth and me here. He wants to ally with the Cha’ori and change the Ghaz Shalan law.”

“A noble cause. Is your foster brother the one who is going to bring this about?”

Alder thought about it. He hoped it was going to happen this way, but too many things were going wrong. He couldn’t stop thinking of Nimos and his men who had followed them all the way from Tandar. He suddenly had an urge to go back right now, to make sure Kyth was all right.

Ayalla watched him with an intent gaze that seemed to penetrate his thoughts.

“Your foster brother is in trouble,” she said quietly.

How could she possibly know?
Alder’s heart raced. Somehow, he didn’t doubt Ayalla knew what she was talking about.

“I summoned you here,” she went on, “because I couldn’t allow you to share his fate. You weren’t meant for it.”

“Meant for what?”

She rose to her feet in a quick, powerful move. The spiders crawled around, quickly rearranging themselves back into a long narrow dress but, for a brief moment, Alder could see her bare leg, slender and tall, all the way up to the hip.

“You’re anxious to go back, aren’t you?” she asked.

Alder nodded.

“Then, let’s go. It’s safe now.” She led the way in the direction they had just come from.

Safe? Is he safe now?
Alder wanted to scream, but the words froze on his lips under Garnald’s heavy gaze. He picked up his pack and followed.

The path opened in front of Ayalla with a rustle, trees moving aside with nearly visible speed. It looked as if a gust of wind blew into the airy mass of birch crowns, pushing them to a standstill a small distance away from their original spot. It was dizzying to watch but Alder was too preoccupied.

Something horrible had happened in the Cha’ori camp. Ayalla had known about it and summoned him here so that he could avoid that fate. But Kyth…

Alder’s hands balled into fists. He wasn’t going to let anyone mess with his foster brother. Whatever danger Kyth was in, Alder was going to do everything in his power to save him.