Wall of Spears (2 page)

‘Then we are no worse off than we were a day ago. I was about to die, you were about to step into my shoes and the elves were about to descend on us with bow, sword and magic.’

Edmund nodded ruefully.

‘A king needs to step back and see a problem from all angles. Or the thing you missed will come back and hurt you. We shall accept her offer but be ready for treachery.’

‘Yes, sire.’ Edmund bowed.

‘Now let us go and tell my wife and sons the bad news that I am healthy again.’ Ward smiled and clapped Edmund on the shoulder. Then he thought about what he had just said. This was a second chance, he realised. Edmund was still the best man to rule Forland after him but what if he could use these extra years to help his sons? It was a strange thought after he had given up on them. But it was a thought that would not go away. He forced a fresh smile and patted Edmund’s back again. What if he could finally succeed as a father?

Sumiko said nothing until she and her companions had been shown into another poorly furnished room, this one garnished by plates of stinking meat and lumpen bread, the smell of which was enough to turn the stomach.

‘Is anyone listening to us?’ she asked sharply.

‘There are two. But we have ensured they cannot hear what is said,’ Oroku replied confidently.

‘Excellent. We can talk freely now,’ Sumiko ordered.

‘What was all that about?’ Fushimi asked harshly.

‘Necessary deception. They did not trust us — why should they? They fear us and our anger, so we had to persuade them they were right to make a deal with us.’

Fushimi sniffed. ‘And yet we plan to trick and betray them?’

‘Of course. They are only gaijin,’ Sumiko replied casually. ‘And you have done your part well. I shall report as much to Lord Jaken.’

‘Have a care, Sumiko. Do not forget who I am.’ Fushimi drew himself up, as if preparing for a thundering sermon.

Sumiko stepped in close, so close the startled Fushimi took a step back.

‘And you forget who I am! You will address me as Lady Sumiko, for I am a member of the Elven Council as well as leader of the Magic-weavers, exalted above others and trusted absolutely by the Elder Elf. I lead here. You serve me. Forget that again and I shall see you are called up to serve your God personally,’ she hissed.

Fushimi tried to meet her gaze and failed. He offered a short bow.

‘My apologies, Lady Sumiko,’ he said reluctantly.

She spun on her heel. She could feel the archbishop’s glare on her back but she knew he was too afraid to do anything more than that. She gathered her two deputies on the other side of the room.

‘Oroku, Jimai, you understand your place in this?’

‘We know.’ Oroku nodded.

Jimai was slower to answer. ‘I am not sure of what we are doing.’

Sumiko’s fist clenched but her face betrayed nothing. ‘What, exactly, are you not sure of? We have worked for the past few years to get ourselves to this position. Finally we have respect in Dokuzen and now you don’t want to finish the job?’

‘But isn’t the job finished, sensei?’ Jimai said. ‘You are on the Council, we have the backing of the Elder Elf to teach magic and use his authority to expand our power. Surely we can stop here. We do not need to do anything else …’ He trailed off as he saw the expression on Sumiko’s face.

‘You are lucky we are not in my garden now,’ she told him, ‘or your remains would be food for the birds. I will not stop until we have complete victory. I have sacrificed too much to give up now. I want Jaken humbled before me, the way he destroyed my father. He shall bow down before me, then the whole world will follow. Now, are there any other second thoughts?’

‘No, sensei!’ they answered in unison.

She watched them walk away, keeping her face impassive. They did not know the full extent of what she had been forced to do to make her plans come true. There was no way she could have gone to the bed of that bastard Jaken without the knowledge that one day he would grovel on the floor before her, a broken and weeping shell. That thought was the only thing that had kept her sane as he grunted and pawed at her.

Asami strolled through the market of Dokuzen, her mind elsewhere. Gaibun was out with the Border Patrol. Now they were a force that had to live up to their name. Not only were there huge gaps in the barrier to the south and west, the blows the Forlish had dealt to it were proving mortal. It was shrinking, unravelling along its entire length — within a moon it would be gone. Not long ago this would have been the worst nightmare of most people in Dokuzen but there was none of the panic on the streets Asami had once predicted.

No, thanks to Sumiko and Jaken, the people believed they would still be safe, that a new barrier of magic, backed by swords and bows, would see them protected.

Asami felt disconnected from the people around her. Gaibun was beyond happy, telling everyone he met he was about to become a father and basking in their response. All the congratulations left Asami feeling frustrated and angry, however. She was effectively banished from the Magic-weavers; her messages to Sumiko offering help returned unopened. Her parents were delighted at the thought she would give up the magic and give them a grandchild, setting Asami’s teeth on edge. Everyone told her how happy she should be, which just made things worse. None of her acquaintances — she could not call them friends — would understand, let alone be able to help. She longed to speak to Rhiannon and yet could not bring herself to.

The hardest thing of all was emptying her mind of Sendatsu. The memory of their last meeting and the expression on his face as he walked away haunted her. Was there a way out, something else she could have said to change things? Could she have run away with him after all?

That question, at least, was easy to answer. Gaibun’s reaction to their child told her he would not have stopped until he found them. What sort of life was that, always on the run? Yet what sort of life awaited her now? The cloistered existence of the nobility, never able to use her magic the way it was intended. Or worse, forced to watch the humans being dragged back here as slaves.

The colours, sounds and bustle of the market were a welcome distraction and she wandered, searching for something that appealed. People were rushing around, moving with purpose. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she noticed a pair who seemed out of place in the market. These two moved from stall to stall, attracted by nothing. They wore nondescript clothing but her bored eyes picked up that they both carried swords, quickening her interest, and she pretended to go through the fine leather shoes at one stall so she could watch them loiter near her, trying to look inconspicuous and yet standing out because of it. From their stance and the way they carried themselves, she could tell they were not nobles. The way they avoided the well-dressed shoppers made her think they were esemono, although why they were here and carrying swords was a mystery.

One of them seemed a little familiar somehow, although she could not place him. She wondered if Gaibun had somehow paid them to shadow her — then another, darker thought occurred to her. Sendatsu had thought Sumiko would try to kill her. But Sumiko was away, on a mission for Lord Jaken …

Even as she thought that, she saw the pair signal to someone else. She turned, seemingly casually, to see another pair of esemono, similarly dressed and armed, moving into place on the other side of the stall.

Asami felt everything come alive. She looked around quickly. Beyond the second pair were a couple of clothing stalls, then one selling pottery and behind that a stall selling rice and tea. She had hoped for a swordsmith but they were hardly likely to run a stall in the market. Still, she was not defenceless.

The first pair drew their swords and advanced on her, making nearby shoppers scream and run, or duck for cover. The other pair also drew swords but merely to stop her fleeing. She ran at the first pair. One raised his arms to bring his sword down on her unprotected head and she slammed the heel of her hand into his throat then, as he staggered back choking, ripped the sword from his grasp. His companion pushed aside the gasping warrior and thrust his blade at Asami’s face but she swayed back and cut down ferociously. The borrowed sword had a cheap wooden hilt that twisted slightly in her grasp but the blade was sharp and true and sliced through flesh and bone, taking his leg off below the knee. Blood sprayed across the ground as the screaming warrior fell over, clutching his spurting stump.

Asami spun towards the second pair, bringing her borrowed sword back into the guard position, flicking sticky blood in all directions. They hesitated and she smiled humourlessly at them — then a bellow from her left made her turn to see a third set racing in, swords out.

Not willing to wait until they cornered her, she raced further down between the stalls. The second pair moved to cut her off but she glanced at the pottery stall and sent half-a-dozen heavy jars flying at the would-be killers. One used his own magic to fend them off but the second took a jar to the head and another two to the body and went down like a sack of rice falling from the back of a wagon.

Asami hurdled a rolling pot and attacked the magic-using attacker, moving from the dragon-tail style into the tiger-claw. He did not have her speed or skill and she finished him off with a thunder-strike that opened him up from one side to the other, her blade exploding out of his ribcage and sending shards of bone pattering onto the pottery. Asami ignored the warrior’s unearthly scream as his intestines were sprayed across the ground and caught a cut at her back as she turned, the force of the blow spattering her with the blood that coated her blade.

This warrior’s lips were drawn back from his teeth in a snarl of hatred and he rained blows at her that she dodged or blocked smoothly, feet searching for safe footing on the cobbles made slippery by blood and shit. His eagerness to press home his advantage made him unwary and his left foot slipped on a coil of rubbery intestines, provoking another howl from the esemono dying on the ground between them. Asami pounced instantly and rammed her blade into her attacker’s neck, adding yet more blood to the ground.

She ripped her sword clear of the warrior and wiped her face clean with her sleeve, beckoning the last two forwards. One was still gasping for breath after she had punched him in the throat and the other was looking nervous after seeing how she had dealt with four of the original six: one was still alive, although unconscious; two were dead; and the one with only one leg still screaming out his last.

‘I’ll give you a choice. Run from me now or come here and die,’ she invited, flicking blood from her sword at them. The two exchanged glances and she used the opportunity to send more pots cartwheeling through the air at them, following with her sword. The gasping one used magic to send the pots smashing into other stalls but Asami assailed them a moment later. The other attacker lunged but she slipped past his blade and slashed off his hand and wrist. He yowled in agony and reeled back across in front of her, so she finished him off with a slice across the kidneys.

‘Who sent you?’ she asked the last attacker, who backed away, sword held low before him. ‘Where are you from?’

She looked into his eyes and a faint memory stirred but she could not place it.

‘You cannot escape and you cannot match me. Throw down your sword and tell me everything and I shall see to it that you live, despite your crimes,’ she said.

In response, he let out a hoarse howl and jumped at her, swinging his sword. She flicked his wild stroke over her shoulder and let him impale himself on her blade. He dropped his weapon and hung limply on her borrowed sword for a long moment as she looked into his face, trying to find an answer but seeing only the blankness of death. She let go of the sword and let him fall to the ground.

The dying moans of her attackers were growing weaker but there was almost no other sound in the market. Everyone else was cowering away or watching from behind the dubious safety of a wooden stall.

Asami stepped across a pool of blood and selected a garish yellow robe from a nearby stall, using it to clean the blood off her face, hands and arms.

‘Send me the bill for that one,’ she told the dumbfounded shopkeeper, dropping the ruined robe on the ground, before turning to the pottery stall owner, who was looking mournfully at the shards of his stock on the ground, and the blood coating many others.

‘You can send the bill for those to Lord Jaken. His warriors should have made this market safe,’ she announced.

The stallholder nodded dumbly as Asami walked further down and stopped at the tea stall, where she wordlessly took a cup from the owner.

Asami toasted her with the cup before leaning back against the side of the stall and clutching the tea close, hoping it would stop her hands shaking. She wondered who had sent six warriors to kill her.

‘How could such a thing happen? In the marketplace? I shall tear Dokuzen down with my bare hands until I find out who is responsible, then I shall rip them into pieces!’ Gaibun raged, storming around the garden.

‘Calm down,’ Asami told him. She had changed but the smell of blood and death and shit was still thick in her nose and she had to be out in the fresh air, where the scent of the autumn flowers could at least distract her. ‘We know who is responsible but proving it will be near impossible.’

‘There has to be something we can do!’ Gaibun spat. ‘We shall wring answers from the one who survived —’

‘Sit down and listen to Asami, my son,’ Retsu rumbled. ‘The last attacker died before we could get anything from him. He seemed to have some sort of fit at the first question and choked to death.’

‘Well, that proves it was Sumiko. Nobody else would have the magical ability to make that happen.’ Asami closed her eyes to shut out the look on the faces of her attackers as she had killed them. Then a memory stirred and she gasped.

‘What?’ Retsu asked.

‘One seemed familiar somehow — I think I know from where. Talking about them reminded me of the time Sumiko sent a group to kill us here and steal that book Sendatsu found in Vales. I stunned one but he escaped. I only saw his eyes then but now I am sure it was the last one I killed today.’

‘Sumiko is dead. I will take her head as soon as she returns.’

‘Sit down!’ Retsu barked and, surprised, Gaibun obeyed him.

‘Listen for a moment. Sumiko and her deputies were far away, in another country. To say they were behind this is foolish. Already Jaken raises Sumiko above all others on the Council. If we were to accuse her, we would be lucky to escape with our lives. Remember, Jaken has no love for our family. And, since Sendatsu left Dokuzen, Jaken has been worse than ever. Instead of seeing Sumiko punished for her crimes, we could be the ones executed.’

‘That could never happen!’ Gaibun protested.

‘Really?’ Retsu raised an eyebrow. ‘I never thought to see the day when Jaken was Elder Elf and Sumiko his most trusted counsellor, but it has happened. And let us not underestimate Sumiko. What if this was her plan all along?’

‘What — to fail?’ Asami asked, amused.

‘Send six warriors to kill you. They stand a chance of success but she knows you have both prodigious magical skills and are deadly with the blade. So if they kill you, all well and good. If they fail and you dare to accuse her in the Council Chamber, she can use her newfound political power to have you imprisoned. Either way you are removed as a threat.’ Retsu shrugged.

‘Who thinks like that?’ Gaibun asked.

‘Jaken does, for one. And I am sure Sumiko does as well. Wheels within wheels; plans within plans. I think our only choice is to keep quiet and accept the Council Guards’ apologies, and ensure Asami is kept safe from now on.’

‘So we sit here and do nothing?’

‘No, we avoid the trap Sumiko has left for us. Years ago I was quick to confront Jaken, quick to denounce him, and it cost me both leadership of our clan and something more important.’ Retsu fell silent for a moment. ‘I still believe in honour but I also believe in learning from one’s mistakes. I shall not charge headlong into traps any more.’

‘But we cannot do nothing,’ Gaibun protested.

‘We are warned and prepared. We wait for them to make a mistake,’ Retsu corrected. ‘Meanwhile, Asami must stay in the house at all times.’

‘No!’ Asami exclaimed. ‘I shall go mad if I am forced to stay here all day long!’

‘Well, what do you suggest? Sumiko wants revenge. How else do you keep safe?’

‘But I do not want to just keep safe. I want to strike back at her.’

Retsu shook his head. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, that is what they want you to do!’

Asami held up her hand. ‘Agreed. Walking into Daichi’s old home, now her centre of power, is foolish. But there is a way to fight her. The old books from the tombs of the forefathers — they now rest in the Council Chambers, do they not?’

‘I believe so. What about them?’

‘Bring me as many as you can. I still have the book that Sumiko made, the one that allows us to translate the old languages into the one we use now. Sendatsu’s book had many things in there about elves and humans and the past. There may be answers in there that we can use against Sumiko and Jaken.’

Retsu and Gaibun exchanged a glance. Retsu sighed.

‘If you promise to stay safe, and inside, I will bring you as many as I can.’

‘Find the ones with the blue covers, for they are the words of our ancestors,’ Asami added.

‘Anything to keep you safe.’ Gaibun embraced her, leaning in to kiss her.

Asami turned her head slightly so the kiss fell on her cheek rather than her lips but, in doing so, found herself looking right at Retsu. His eyes closed briefly and she cursed herself for such a mistake.