Page 51

Chapter 51

We were not more than three leagues from the High City when one of the wardens hurried back to our carriage and whispered: “ Thauta! Blood! And human blood, at that.”

Ana gestured, and I exited to review the way ahead with Malo. There we found many corpses lying about in the trees or in the road, cut down by sword or shot with arrows. They were all Yarrow men, to my eye, but they had the look of soldiers, clad in armor and well-armed.

“They are Darhi’s men, I imagine,” Ana told us when we reported the scene to her. “Or men suspected of being loyal to the former satrap. I believe Jari Pavitar and his allies have now won out.”

Malo spat into the night. “That purple-faced bastard truly runs the whole of the Yarrow court now?”

“That, or thereabout. The young prince found himself deserted, but Darhi is now slain, and news of his death is known to all. Pavitar rushes in to fill the gap. I suspect this will not be the last corpse we see tonight. Steel yourselves, children—but do not forget our purpose!”

Her words proved true. When we approached the gates and reported to them our purpose—Prificto Kardas, it seemed, had notified them of our arrival—we were led through and saw the bodies of slain Yarrow men hanging from the gates within, as if stuck there by a srika-bird.

“An ugly thing, when the crown changes heads,” said Ana when I told her of this awful sight. “For it is often paid for only with savagery. But tell me now, Din—have you seen a red rocket in the distance?”

“I’ve seen none, ma’am.”

“Hum. And Malo—you’ve heard no signal from your wardens?”

Malo shook her head. “None yet. So they have not seen the rocket, either.”

“Then Thelenai has not yet succeeded. You’re sure you’ll be able to hear the signal from your wardens once we’re inside, Malo?”

“I could hear that call,” said Malo, insulted, “from half a league away.”

“Good. But I may have to slow my step a little. Let us have hope!”

The Yarrow soldiers escorted our train of carriages toward the king’s hall. We were met at the base of the stairs by several dozen guards; and there, striding at their head, was Jari Pavitar, himself arrayed in a cuirass, a short sword at his side, and his head bare but his brow stained indigo as always. I climbed out to meet him.

“Do you finally bear our treasure, phansi vala ?” Pavitar demanded as he approached. “You’ve tarried for too many hours, when it should have been brought back swiftly!”

“We have it, sir,” I told him, bowing. “All royal treasure shall be accounted for.”

Malo helped Ana exit the carriage, and she turned her blindfolded face upon him and grinned. “Specifically, Jari Pavitar,” she said, “we shall do so before the eyes of ourselves, the prince, and Prificto Kardas. I believe Kardas communicated that to you?”

Pavitar stuck his nose in the air. “Do you think us thieves?”

“We suggest nothing,” she said. “But we know the court has been upended recently by treachery. We’d prefer our counting done in the sight of all, to ensure that no other treachery occurs. Is that not a safe choice?”

His glare lingered on us for a moment before he waved a hand. “Fine, then! Bring it in. But know now I’ve little patience for you this night.” He grinned his broken, misshapen smile and gestured at one of the hanging corpses, which twisted in the night breeze. “Darhi and his greedy folk are gone, and our tolerance for the Empire is gone with them. If we discover Darhi did indeed kill the king, and at your request, the hall may prove a dangerous place for you.”

I listened to the creak of the dead man’s rope. “Noted, sir.”

The soldiers hoisted the trunks of treasure and bore them up the great stairs to the king’s hall. Pavitar watched, pleased, yet his grin vanished when two Yarrow wardens removed the final chest from the litter and bore it inside. “Why does that box stink so?” he demanded.

“Why, it contains the body of the man who did so much harm to you!” said Ana cheerily. “Surely one more corpse will make no difference here, given that you appear to be using them as ornament.”

“But…you wish to bring it inside?” asked Pavitar.

“Indeed! Do you not wish to look upon the face of the man who wounded you?” asked Ana. “Come, follow our dead man with us, Jari! For I shall have many merry tales about him once we are settled.”

—

We entered the king’s hall, smoky and bright with firelight once more. Many Yarrow women were stationed about it, all small and meager and seated before lambskins stretched out upon the floor. The soldiers lowered the chests of treasure before them, and the women opened the chests and began taking heaps of coins and placing them upon the skins, quietly but rapidly counting them out one by one. They only slowed in their counting when the wardens bore Pyktis’s corpse within the hall, and the reek of his rot filled the room.

At the far end of the hall was Prince Camak, seated atop the throne. He appeared exhausted but relieved, his silver crown on his head and his chain about his neck, his gold-painted face smiling sadly at us as we entered. As always, there was a dimness to his look that suggested he did not entirely comprehend what he was seeing. Beside him stood Prificto Kardas, clad in his bright white Treasury dress, and at the sight of us he bowed to the prince and paced over to me.

“Is all well?” Kardas murmured to me. “For the prince is ecstatic to hear that Darhi is slain and the treasure recovered—though it does mean Pavitar’s influence here is now strongest. I daresay you saw the horrors outside? I suppose we must accept these, Kol, for the sake of stabili—” He trailed off as he spied Ana, who stood next to the body of Pyktis. “I say—is that a corpse ?”

“It is, sir.”

Kardas’s face had already been quite grave, but it grew graver still as he absorbed this. “I…I knew Dolabra was coming, yes,” he said, “to explain all that had happened, but…why in hell have you brought a damned body with you?”

“To explain all that happened, sir,” I said—for that was the answer I’d been told to give.

Kardas peered at me, mystified, then leaned to Ana and said, “What scheme are you playing, Dolabra?”

“The winning one, as always, sir,” said Ana, grinning.

Kardas shook his head but said nothing.

Pavitar swept into the room behind us, his brow bristling, and bent low to whisper into the prince’s ear. The prince listened, his rather vapid features fixed in concentration, then nodded and cried, “Immunis Dolabra! How pleased I am to find your work done so quickly! You found not only Darhi, but this smuggler-killer, at last?”

“I have indeed, Your Majesty!” said Ana, grinning. “I have finally found him, at the end of all things.”

We slowly began to take up positions in the chamber. Malo, Kardas, and I stood along the wall to the prince’s right, while Pavitar and his soldiers stood along the wall on his left. Before the prince stood Ana, bent and blindfolded, and the crate containing Pyktis’s corpse; behind her were the trunks of treasures and the many counting women, quietly doing their work.

The scene was quite orderly, but I could feel nothing but overwhelming tension. I glanced at Malo and saw that she was watching Ana fixedly, a bead of sweat trapped in her greenish eyebrow. I took a breath and recalled what Ana had told us before we began: Be still, and move little. Simply let me lay the trap, and we shall see how things proceed.

To which Malo had responded: And if the trap goes poorly, ma’am?

Then we shall have to improvise, she’d said with a shrug. With sword and bow, perhaps! Be ready.

Ready I tried to be, but I could hardly imagine how this night might go.

The prince leaned forward, peering at the corpse in the crate. “This is the man who killed my father? How odd it is to finally look upon him now. For he is quite small, and all the evils he wrought so large…”

“And we still do not know how he killed our king,” said Pavitar. “For all we know this might be the corpse of some unnamed naukari, or imperial indigent, and the Empire simply wishes to claim the deed is done. I still think it was Darhi who slipped that poison in.”

“Ah!” said Ana. “A fair point. It is a worthy story! And it is the exact one I wished to tell you, to explain how all this was done to your realm.”

“Yet why would we listen?” demanded Pavitar. His voice grew loud, like a canton councilman lecturing before a crowd. “It was Darhi who planned the most with the Empire, and it was he who stole our fortunes and fled! To any wise eye it would seem that you imperials are friends of schemers and knaves.”

Then Malo twitched and grasped my arm. She pulled me close—perhaps too quickly, for I nearly stumbled to the ground—and whispered into my ear: “I hear a whistling outside! Many of them, very soft!”

“Your wardens?” I asked.

“Yes. They have seen the red rocket from Yarrowdale. All proceeds as planned!”

I let out a sigh and softly muttered, “Praise Sanctum!” I stepped closer to Ana and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thelenai has succeeded, ma’am,” I whispered in her ear. “The red rocket has taken flight.”

“Ah!” whispered Ana. “Most excellent, Din. Thank you.”

I withdrew, my whole body thrumming, and stood beside Malo to watch the meeting proceed, my hand now much closer to my sword.

Kardas bowed to the prince. “Majesty, I must protest! Satrap Darhi was no friend of the Empire, for he harmed us as well! We know now it was his wickedness that caused the harassment of our shipments and murders of our bargefolk—for many imperial treasures were found among the litter, too.”

Prince Camak turned to Ana, surprised. “Is this so?”

“It is indeed!” Ana said brightly. “This dead fellow aided Darhi in many things, yet he was repaid with only sorrow. Allow me to regale you with his journey—and then grant you a gift that I have prepared for you.”

“Oh?” said the prince. “What gift?”

“A song. For I have practiced greatly upon the Pithian lyres, as you may soon see, and would much enjoy providing you with music! That should make a fitting end to these sad days, yes? To play a Pithian song before a Yarrow king, in celebration of his coronation?”

She waved to me. I reached into one of the many crates and produced her twinned lyres, bound up in cloth, and brought them to her. She unwrapped them and played a tune so melodious that some of the guards gasped in surprise.

“We have minstrels enough,” said Pavitar sourly.

“Ah, but this song shall accomplish something quite startling, Your Majesty,” said Ana. “One that will astonish even one of your high breeding!” A wide grin bloomed on her face. “It is going to achieve a miracle. ”

“A miracle?” said the prince.

“Yes,” proclaimed Ana. “For with this song, I shall make this dead man talk!”

There was a shocked silence. The soldiers in the back of the chamber muttered as a few of them translated what Ana had just said. Kardas stared at me, his gray face coloring, but I studiously avoided reacting.

Malo hissed to me: “What in fuck is she doing?”

“I’ve no idea,” I whispered through clenched teeth, for this mad flourish had not been part of the careful instructions Ana had given us.

Pavitar scoffed. “What is this foul jest? Do you mock us at such a time?”

“Did you not once declare us thaumaturges and magicians, Jari?” said Ana. “I swear to you that it is so. Or would it be acceptable if I asked a favor of you, Your Majesty?” She reached into her pocket and, with an artful twist, produced an oathcoin: the very one that Darhi had given me so many days ago.

The prince gazed upon the oathcoin. “Ah. Yes. An unusual request, to ask for something so simple in exchange for so valuable a token. But…I shall take your coin, Immunis Dolabra, and hear your tale and your music…no matter how odd it may seem.” He plucked the oathcoin from her fingers and placed it in his pocket. Then he sat upon the throne, with Pavitar sitting on a small stool behind him.

“Excellent,” said Ana, grinning. “Fetch me a chair, please, Din, and I shall begin.”

—

“First of all, Your Majesty,” said Ana, sitting, “I shall tell you the most startling thing I discovered—for the dead man in the box is actually not imperial at all!” She sat back in her chair, pausing dramatically. “Can you guess which land he hailed from, so long ago?”

The prince blinked when he realized Ana would not continue until he guessed. “Ahh…I’ve no idea. I am little traveled, other than in my own lands.”

“Ah—but he is from your own lands, Your Majesty!” said Ana. “This man is Yarrow, through and through.”

“Is he?” said the prince, interested.

“It’s true!” said Ana. “Yet he comes from broods closer than you may know! For despite his imperial look, this man is actually a child of your dead father, Your Majesty—royal issue of the now-fallen king of Yarrow himself !”

Pavitar, Kardas, and the prince stared at her, open-mouthed.

“Pavitar,” said the prince, shaken. “Pavitar, surely…surely that isn’t…”

Pavitar swept forward, knelt beside the reeking corpse, and opened the dead man’s eyes with a thumb. “This cannot be so! This man’s eyes are white, and bear only a hint of green. And his teeth are unnaturally white from your accursed magics! And besides, his features are clearly that of the Empire!”

“True!” sang Ana. “I will grant that the masquerade was quite masterful. Why, the dead man even bore an imperial name—that of Sunus Pyktis ! Yet he was your father’s child, Prince Camak, though he left this realm long ago, before his eyes ever greened. As for his race, this Pyktis, like many true Yarrow souls here—including Darhi and yourself, Your Majesty—had Rathras blood in him. For many children of the court bear imperial bloods, do they not?”

Neither the prince nor Pavitar answered, though I sensed this question was deeply distasteful to both of them.

“Yet his fate sent this fellow on a journey far from here!” said Ana. “For long ago, your father had this Pyktis sent abroad to hide among the Empire. There he was to pass as a common Rathras child, gamely pretend to be an imperial boy, and join the Empire’s ranks, in the hope of achieving one thing only, something your father had desired for years untold—he was to return to Yarrow and destroy the Shroud.”

The prince now looked so stunned he nearly slipped out of his throne.

“These are lies!” snarled Pavitar, standing. “You admit this villain was an imperial, then invent far-fetched tales to deny it!”

“I regret to say, Your Majesty, that it is true!” said Ana. “So secret was Pyktis’s identity that even Darhi knew nothing of his existence—nor did he know of the king’s plot to place one of his own trusted children upon the Shroud, with the hopes of destroying it! Indeed, he could not know, for the king by then had sadly lost a great deal of his wits and had forgotten it entirely.”

Now Pavitar was positively apoplectic, and he gestured so violently that he leapt off the stone floor. “Now you impugn the dead!” he bellowed. “I demand you cease this, or I shall strike the head from you, witch!”

I tensed at that. Ana seemed to sense my movement and waved a hand at me. “You may try, but I do ask that you wait until I’m done! Besides, I don’t think you’re allowed to demand I stop, given that your prince took my coin, yes?” She turned back to the prince. “And don’t you wish to hear this, Your Majesty? For these are the once-hidden works of your father—and that man in that box was your half brother.”

The prince gaped at her for a moment, then gazed upon the dead body. “Yes…please continue.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Ana, bowing. “This Pyktis once attempted to destroy the Shroud from within. To do so, he rose in the ranks of the folk there to become an augur, one of the most esteemed of imperial ranks—a fantastic genius whose cognitive powers match nearly any in the Empire. Yet even with these abilities, he failed in his final task, and the Shroud survived. But he did not abandon his efforts! Pyktis escaped that site and became the partner of your former Satrap Darhi, some two years ago now. From thence he worked as a smuggler, stealing riches from the imperial barges, with the intent of fashioning a weapon capable of attacking the Shroud yet again. But his choice of partner was unwise—for Darhi betrayed him just like he betrayed you. Now here he is, dead in this box, and all that he and Darhi wished to accomplish is but dust and ashes. A tragic tale of waste, is it not?”

The prince raised a hand. “What evidence do you have for this tale, Immunis?”

“I have the testimonies of many imperial officers,” said Ana, “and soon I shall have another witness with more testimony.” She laid her hands on her lyres, grinning devilishly.

Pavitar scoffed. “Your dead man shall now speak for you?”

“Oh, yes!” said Ana. “Let me pluck my strings, and we shall listen to his words!”

Then she bowed, sat up straight, placed her hands upon the strings of her lyres, and began to play.

But the song did not at all resemble any tune she’d yet strummed upon her lyres. Those songs had been beautiful, and sad, and woodsy, yet this song was harsh, lacking all melody, and grated upon the ears, a syncopated, peripatetic song that seemed to alter and shift every second. The very sound of it bothered me immensely, and judging from the faces in the crowd in the hall, I was not alone. Pavitar especially was growing more furious by the second.

Ana played on and on, her snowy head tilting back and forth as she plucked out this tremendously irritating rhythm that almost seemed to fight itself.

Then came a loud, unearthly moan.

Everyone stared about, seeking its source. Quite a few stared at the corpse, awestruck. Yet the corpse remained still, and because of the shaping of sound in the hall, it was difficult to tell where it had come from.

“How…how is this done?” said Pavitar.

Ana ignored him and played on, strumming out her horrid tune.

Another moan split the chamber, this one far longer and stranger than the first, warbling madly at the end. Then, slowly, everyone realized.

The moaning was coming from Prince Camak. Yet his moaning was a terribly strange thing: he sat in his throne in a position of utter calmness, hands in his lap, his gold-painted face fixed in an expression of benign disinterest; but as Ana’s plunking continued, his mouth opened very slightly, and another low, uncanny groan escaped him. It was as if he was trying his hardest not to cry out but could not help himself, and all his anguish came leaking through his lips.

Yet this time, the moaning did not stop. It grew and grew, rising into a wild scream. His entire body began to quake, every bit of him trembling horribly, until at last his fingers flew to the arms of the throne and he began tapping arrhythmically, his fingers beating out a strange, awful rhythm.

Pavitar gazed at him, horrified. “What have you done to the prince, woman?”

Ana quit playing, an infuriatingly smug smile now on her face. “Oh, nothing!” she said cheerily.

Again, the prince screamed, his body trembling, his eyes now rolling up into his head.

Ana stuck a finger out at me. “Din! Kindly recite the firmest instruction you are given when visiting augurs on the Shroud!”

My eyes trembled in my head, and I said: “ But most of all, do not tap, or beat out any rhythm before them. Nor should you hum, sing, or whistle any tune. That will agitate the augurs greatly, for they shall seek meaning and pattern in it. ”

Prificto Kardas stared at the prince, then at Ana, his eyes wide. “What are you suggesting, Dolabra?”

“Don’t you see?” said Ana. “The augurs of the Shroud are unusually vulnerable to music. And I just happen to have composed a percussive song that is uniquely irritating to an augur—always suggesting order yet dissolving before it coheres! A song to drive an augur mad, in other words, no matter how iron their will. And so it has.” She grinned. “For that man in that throne is not the prince. He is an augur. He is, in fact, none other than Sunus Pyktis himself!”