The Flames of Shadam Khoreh (The Lays of Anuskaya) (39 page)

The cloth was parted by delicate hands adorned with golden rings, and out stepped a woman wearing a pristine dress made from fine cloth the color of wheat and snow. An intricate headdress draped her jet-black hair, which was pulled back into one long plait. She was not tall, but she strode forward with a confidence that commanded attention—the confidence of the royal born. Men like the Kamarisi had it. Nikandr and his brother Ranos had it. And this woman had it too. It was not something in their blood, but their upbringing, the expectation that when they spoke, men would follow. This woman had seen perhaps thirty summers, but her eyes had deep crow’s-feet, as if the severe look upon her was one she wore even while sleeping.

She took Styophan in, her eyes resting on his eyepatch before speaking. “Your name.”

“Hadeyn ül Fazel, Second Commander of Negesht.”

Edik cleared his throat.

At this the Kaymakam snapped her head toward Edik. She looked him up and down, her sharp gaze lingering on the blood stain on his shoulder, before returning her attention to Styophan with a reluctance that spoke of just how spoiled and pettish she was. “This note says you’ve been summoned to Alekeşir. That you should make all haste.”

“
Evet
, Kaymakam.”

“Where were you raised, commander?”

“I’ve been stationed in Negesht for six years, but I come from Trevitze.”

She stared at his lips, as if tracing the curve of his words. In all likelihood, she’d never left the region of Avolina, save perhaps for a handful of trips to Alekeşir. Still, Avolina was large enough that it would have received visitors from Trevitze.

She looked beyond him to the coach, to the men standing in line behind it. “
Two
barges,” she spat.

“
Evet
.”

Her next words came breathy and soft, and still they pierced the cold afternoon air. “Why? Why would Bahett ül Kirdhash send for a handful of broken men from the torn edges of our Empire?”

“It’s not my place to say, Kaymakam.”

He said the words with hesitance, and she took the bait.

“You
know
.”

Styophan lowered his gaze, met her eyes briefly before looking down again. “
Hayir
, Kaymakam.”

“Tell me, commander.”

“I know nothing, Kaymakam. Truly.”

She flicked one hand, and one of the janissaries strode forward. He had the look of grim determination on him, the look of deadly intent.

Styophan should have recognized it sooner. He should have sensed how mercurial this woman was. But he didn’t, and before Styophan could think to stop him, the soldier had pulled the wheellock pistol from his belt and pointed it at Edik’s head.

He pulled the trigger a split second later.

The wheel spun, shedding sparks.

The gun bucked with a cough of white smoke.

A flash of red exploded from the left side of Edik’s head.

Something warm sprayed across Styophan’s right ear and cheek and neck as Edik’s body collapsed to the cobbled stones.

Inside, Styophan screamed. But outside he remained silent in his horror.

His head turned more slowly than the seasons to stare down at the ground.

Where blood poured from the shattered remains of Edik’s skull and his eyes stared sightlessly toward the waters of the Vünkal.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Styophan felt something white hot form inside him. It surged up from his gut, fury and fear rising, mixing, until he wasn’t sure which gripped him more fiercely. He stopped himself from reaching for his own pistol, but several of his men disobeyed orders and pulled their muskets to the ready position.

“
Hayir
!” he shouted.

In a blink the Kaymakam’s janissaries had their wheellocks in hand and pointed at his men.

“
Hayir
,” he called, softer, praying to the ancients his streltsi would listen. They could overpower these men, but if they did, there would be no way to reach Alekeşir, not without the Kamarisi being alerted to their approach. And that would be disastrous.

He breathed deeply, assiduously avoiding looking to his right. By the ancients, Edik’s hand was twitching on the ground!

Through all of this, the Kaymakam stared on placidly, unaffected by the bloodshed before her. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her expression stated her demands for her.

Styophan swallowed once. He tried to speak, but failed for the growing lump in his throat. He tried again. “Lord Bahett ül Kirdhash made his way through Negesht, Kaymakam.” He cleared his throat, well aware of how closely it echoed what Edik had done only moments ago.

“And?”

“A suurahezhan was summoned there, by men wearing red robes, men Lord Bahett had brought with him. They summoned it at the very doors of the keep. They—they lost control of it. It stormed through the keep, burning as it went.”

Her eyes flicked toward the men, many of whom wore burned uniforms—uniforms they’d burned purposefully over campfires the night before they’d left the fort.

Styophan’s eyes—ancients preserve him—flicked toward Edik again. Thank the souls beyond, he’d stopped moving.

Go well, dear brother.

“Lord Bahett left,” Styophan continued, “with the Kiliç Şaik, nearly twenty of them, but he asked that we stay behind before following.”

“Why?”

“To prevent the Haelish from following him. He lost a hand to them, and he worried they would soon storm over the walls, despite the protections of the Kiliç. Any who lived were to wait for three days and then follow him to Alekeşir.”

“To what, reward you?”

Styophan bowed his head, the mere gesture filling his mouth with spit. “That is what Bahett told us, Kaymakam. He said we were owed. And since the fort was ruined, he ordered that it would be given to the Haelish should they wish for it. We’d have it back soon enough, he said.”

The Kaymakam stared at him carefully, her once-placid eyes suddenly filling with interest. “He’s done with his plans, then? To woo the Haelish kings?”

“As far as we know, the barbarians have retreated into their hills, and from where I stand, they can stay there until the end of days.”

“And Bahett would leave them there? Return to his war in the east?”

Styophan looked down to the jeweled toes of her white leather boots. “Forgive me, Kaymakam, but his Lordship did not share his plans with me.”

Styophan raised his gaze but did not meet her eyes. The Kaymakam glanced up to the center of Avolina, then to her left, toward the river and the barges. She was considering the orders Styophan had forged, and it was at this moment, even more than the moment the pistol had fired into Edik’s skull, that Styophan realized he may have made a grave mistake. Bahett was not well loved, but all the Kaymakam knew he stood in the Kamarisi’s favor. Disobeying him would be risky. Still, if she could embarrass him in some way, it might allow her to leverage it to her own favor. She might kill them all, have them hidden away in a mass grave to be forgotten by any who’d seen them, just to keep them from Bahett.

He considered ordering his men to fire. They could kill these soldiers. Every last one. And any others from the crowd who rose arms against them. But the moment he did, achieving their larger goals would become nearly impossible. His mind raced, searching for some way to tilt the Kaymakam away from her better instincts.

“There
was
one thing Bahett said,” Styophan said, glancing down and away as if he were searching through his memories.

The Kaymakam stared, expectant, not dismissive.

“He said it while I was standing outside his office. I didn’t mean to hear it—”

“Speak!”

“He said he would be calling for a council in Alekeşir.”

A council would summon many of the Kaymakam to the capitol to speak with the Kamarisi. As it was among the Duchies of Anuskaya, Yrstanla held one yearly, but they were occasionally called at other times. The possibility introduced uncertainty, enough that the Kaymakam could not be sure what Bahett might do were he to learn that the men he’d summoned had gone missing near Avolina.

The Kaymakam measured Styophan anew. She’d already made up her mind, but something in her was reluctant to say it.

Then, without warning, she spun and strode to her palanquin. As she passed the janissary that had met Styophan at the gate, she said, “Give them their barges.”

The palanquin was picked up and carried away, the soldiers falling into line behind like the body of a snake. The area felt empty and lifeless. The river looked dark, almost black, as though it were filled with blood.

“Wait here,” the janissary told him, but Styophan hardly heard a thing. He could only stare at his hands, which were now shaking. He gripped them tightly and stiffened his jaw. He stared straight ahead so that he wouldn’t pull his pistol and fire it into the back of the soldier.

Still, every step he took toward the barges felt like a deep and inescapable betrayal.

Twenty men—ten men per side—pulled at the barge’s oars. They sliced into the dark waters of the Vünkal like a knife through oil. Ice rimed the stones at the very edge of the river, especially where the willow trees shouldered beyond the grassy banks and over the calm water. Styophan stood at the rear of the lead ship, staring at Avolina as it receded into the distance. Edik’s body lay next to him, wrapped in tarp. They would find a place between here and Alekeşir to bury him properly.

Farther and farther they went, the river curving east, then south, until the tallest of Avolina’s buildings were at last hidden by the snow-covered landscape.

Some distance behind the barge there came a rippling in the water. The surface of the river mounded as something swam quickly with broad, surging strokes. Styophan could see a hint of arms, of a head and torso, of legs snapping as a Haelish warrior stroked forward through the water. Eventually his head pulled up above the water. It was Datha. He immediately surveyed the area around him, and then, only after he’d assured himself there was no danger, he released a low, trilling whistle down toward the water.

“Hold,” Styophan called to his men.

As they began rowing against the current to hold their position, another mound marred the surface of the Vünkal. Yet another followed, and another, and soon a dozen Haelish warriors had poked above the surface like otters. As they levered themselves up and over the edge of the barge, more warriors broke the surface near the second barge.

Datha now stood next to Styophan, cold water shedding from his frame. Across his chest and arms and face were bright swaths of blue paint. Styophan was surprised it had remained intact. They’d put it on hours before, well before he and his men had entered the environs of Avolina. It made some sense, though. The paint was infused with crushed azurite, which allowed jalahezhan to inhabit their bodies. The stone would need to remain in contact with their skin for the hezhan to remain in the material world.

It took a toll, however. This was a long time for the Haelish men to allow the hezhan to inhabit them. Datha’s eyes were haggard, and his posture looked as though he were more than physically exhausted. It seemed, in fact, as though Datha were half a man.

Datha looked down at the body wrapped in the tarp. He met Styophan’s gaze seriously, but with a clear look of regret. “The ways of war are covered in mist.”

Styophan said nothing. He didn’t want to hear mollifying words from the savages of Hael.

On the river, more and more warriors pulled themselves onto the barges.

But on the hill beyond, a form rode up.

Dear fathers, it was the janissary. The very one who’d led him into Avolina and later prepared the barges. He’d suspected something, and he’d come to watch their departure.

He was too far for Styophan to fire a musket. For probably the first time in his life, Styophan wished he’d been gifted with the powers of the qiram. He wished he could open up the earth and swallow the janissary whole, or summon a suurahezhan to burn him where he stood

Datha whistled three times, short and sharp, while pointing to the hill.

The warriors farthest behind the trailing barge turned and ducked beneath the water. They were lost from view for a moment but in the time it took Styophan to take two quick breaths they had reached the river’s edge and were climbing onto the snowy bank.

The soldier from Avolina watched from the back of his horse, staring at the barges, too startled to move, but then he reined his tall horse over and kicked it into action.

The towering Haelish men sprinted after him, and Styophan could only stare in wonder. They sped toward the hill faster than a horse could gallop, and in moments they were over and beyond it. Shortly after a distant shout came. It was too soft to make out the soldier’s words, but it sounded like a cry for help. It was cut off a moment later. Then came a deadly silence. Every man on the barge knew what had happened.

In short order the warriors returned, one of them leading the horse by its reins, and though the horse tried to tug itself free, it was eventually led into the river. Another warrior carried the limp soldier over his shoulder. It was easy to forget how large the Haelish were, but not when they carried a fully grown man and made him look like a boy. When they reached the bank and stepped into the shallows, one of the warriors drew his sword. The other, the one holding the horse’s reins, ran his hand along its forehead. Styophan would never have guessed it, but the horse calmed, mere moments before the sword came down, severing its neck.

Styophan cringed at the sight of the head being dragged down into the water as two of the others dragged the body deeper into the water. He knew as well as everyone else, though, that there could be no evidence left behind, not if they were to reach Alekeşir and have any hope of completing what they’d sworn to do. The last of the Haelish carried the janissary down into the depths. They were gone for long moments, but a swath of muddy, bloody water rose up from the depths as they buried the bodies of man and horse alike in the riverbed. There might come a day when the bodies would surface, but in the meantime, a single janissary gone missing in Avolina would raise little concern in the capital of Yrstanla.