Out of the Grave: A Dark Fantasy (The Shedim Rebellion Book 2) (4 page)

Einin pointed at another city. “What about this one, Mistmoor?”

“Do you really plan to leave?”

“I am not a lowborn nurse. I can do more than change diapers. And Azmon is coming.”

“Ironwall will hold. Giants are not that different from bone beasts.”

“The Roshan sack every city. Always. And he won’t forgive us for taking his daughter. We hurt his legacy.”

Marah banged her blocks together, oblivious to their talk. Einin watched her play. She hated to take the child away from comfort, but they had to stay ahead of Rosh.

Klay said, “I doubt he knows we have her.”

“He knows. And he will not allow Ironwall to surrender. You have not seen his clemency. The bone lords purge a city of its strength, cull out the strong, and divvy the rest like cattle. They turn them into beasts. You haven’t seen—”

“I watched Shinar fall. I’ve seen plenty.”

“Then help me. You know these lands better.”

“Which is why I’m telling you to stay. There are things worse than beasts and lords in the Lost Lands. There are old terrors from the Second War of Creation and the Age of Chaos. There are grigorns out there. You’d need an army of guards. Trust me, there is a reason we built all these walls.”

“How many guards?”

“You’re not listening.”

A knock interrupted them. Einin expected more of Dura’s students pestering the woman about runes. Instead, she saw Annrin, a female ranger wearing the same green cloak as Klay. She wore her hair in a long braid and seemed at ease carrying a small arsenal of weapons.

“I completed the last sale.” Annrin handed a purse of coins to Einin. “Hard to find anyone who would not barter, but a breeder wanted the last charger enough to pay in coin.”

“Thank you.”

Einin judged the weight of the purse. Annrin had helped her sell the five Roshan chargers she had escaped with. The horses were the pinnacle of Roshan breeding and had netted a small fortune.

Klay asked a question in Nuna. Annrin answered him, and the conversation quickened with stern expressions. Einin picked up one or two words, but they spoke too quickly. Klay repeated the words
money
and
errands
, or at least Einin thought so. Annrin repeated a phrase that meant
to help
. Einin picked up more negatives than anything else.

She hefted the purse before placing it on a table. How many mercenaries would that hire? The idea of commanding people again, of being closer to the top than the bottom of a hierarchy, gave her a strange pleasure. She was accustomed to influence, not childcare. The better question was how to negotiate a deal with mercenaries. Tyrus would know but had pledged himself to a lost cause. Why didn’t anyone understand what was marching toward them?

“I apologize, Einin, but I must leave,” Klay said.

“What is wrong?”

“Samos wishes to see me.”

“That is all?” Einin had heard an argument. “What is going on?”

“Nothing important.”

After he left, Annrin watched Marah and attempted a conversation about the child’s health, but Einin was more concerned about people plotting behind her back.

She said, “I caught a few words. Klay spoke of errands. You spoke of help.”

“Your Nuna improves.”

“What is going on?”

“Klay wanted to know how much gold you have.”

“Did you tell him?”

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“A noble needs lands, income, but I don’t understand the politics or the market. My family traded in rice, not livestock or mines.”

Annrin waited, but Einin would not volunteer more.

“I see. You want to
farm
.”

Einin wanted much more. She wanted freedom from the tower and control of her life. She wanted enough influence to command the gates to open so she could run when the Roshan arrived. But she kept the ideas to herself while Marah clashed blocks together, and the wooden clunking filled the silence until Marah smashed one of her fingers and cried. Einin went to comfort her, and Marah rested her weight into Einin’s shoulder. She needed a nap.

“I don’t understand the Gadarans,” Einin said. “I need an advisor who speaks my language.”

“Dura speaks Kasdin.”

“She has her own plans.”

“I’m not much help. The nobles don’t like rangers, and we don’t care for them. Rangers do the king’s dirty work.”

“Would it be easier to find land outside Gadara?”

“What do you mean?”

“Those other kingdoms.”

Annrin smiled. “And I suppose you’ll need guards to make the trip or maybe work your land?”

“Fine. I need a means to escape when Rosh comes.”

“The walls will hold.”

Einin clucked her tongue as she patted Marah’s back. These fools thought they would be the first kingdom to defeat Rosh. She had seen dozens of other cities make the same mistake. The fact that no one would listen to her was infuriating. She needed a better tactic, a way to discuss the surrounding area without an argument. She paced with the child while Annrin watched.

“There must be other kingdoms.”

“Of course. Remote and as gated as this one. The problem is traveling between them. Long ago, there was a standing army that kept the roads open, but that was before the Norsil came. Now, you need a heavy escort to visit the old kingdoms.”

“How heavy?”

“More than you can afford.”

“Rosh is coming.”

“I know it.”

“Where will we run when they come?”

“We won’t run.”

“How can you say that?”

“This is our home.”

Marah’s breathing slowed into a soft pattern. The girl lingered before sleep. Best to let her nap, or the afternoon would be a mess of tantrums, but Einin wanted to make sure she had Annrin’s support.

“We need to discuss a plan, for the worst. The three of us: you, me, and Klay. Dura won’t talk about it, and Tyrus is pledged to her. When Rosh comes, and the walls fall, I don’t intend to become a beast.”

“Einin—”

“We can talk later.”

Einin sat in a rocking chair, Marah limp in her arms. Annrin nodded and slunk out the door. Einin whispered lies about the pleasantness of the world while watching for black monsters or flyers. She had solved one problem: a penniless beggar had become a refugee with means. Next, she needed to convince the Gadarans that she was noble born. Einin claimed an empress as her cousin and came from one of the oldest families in Sornum that traced its lineage to the Old Sassan Empire and beyond to the ancient Kassir Empire. Yet Dura treated her like a serving wench. If she won their respect, she’d have the influence to escape, but the people who spoke her language could be counted on one hand. Language, more than walls, imprisoned her. Students filled the Red Tower, though, hinting at a network of towers.

There were other places to hide.

Einin carried a limp child into the small room they shared. The space was big enough for a small bed, a chest, and a couple of shelves. Einin laid Marah down on the bed and balled up blankets to keep her from rolling off. She backed away and closed the door behind her to find Dura standing in the main room. Tyrus stood with her, looking strange in woolen pants and a shirt. His size and scars still menaced, though.

Dura said, “King Samos wants to have a Blue Feast. They have not had a Reborn in Ironwall for almost eighty years.”

Einin thought of parading Marah through the streets, surrounded by cheering crowds of Gadarans who hated the Roshan. She struggled to question a royal decree.

“But they don’t like the Roshan.”

“The Reborn are without nation,” Dura said. “She will be revered.”

“But it’s a year late. Marah is a toddler.”

“There’s no rule about when the child is honored.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You can complain to the king, but since Shinar fell, they have had little to celebrate. He hopes to boost morale.”

“Who stands for her at the claiming ceremony?”

“You and Tyrus. It might help him become accepted if people know why he betrayed Rosh.”

“What will they think when they learn she is Azmon’s daughter?”

“She is a refugee from Narbor, nothing more.”

Einin wrinkled her face. There were no Narboran refugees, and anyone who knew anything about the continent of Sornum would see the lie. Narbor had surrendered to Rosh when Ishma married Azmon.

Dura seemed to read her mind. “It sounds plausible enough.”

“Her family should be honored. Ishma sacrificed everything for her.”

Tyrus said, “And Azmon tried to kill her. No need to muddy the waters. She’ll be safer if her lineage is a secret.”

She wanted him to defend Ishma, and he sided with Dura instead? “Who lies during a Blue Feast? Her family should be written in the histories. She is my cousin. Her birth honors Narbor more than it honors Gadara.”

“You need your sleep.” Dura patted Einin’s shoulder. “The histories can be amended later. These are little details for scholars. No one will care. How much sleep is the child leaving you?”

Einin shrugged her off. “I’m not tired. This is serious. These people should know that Empress Ishma rescued the child from Azmon.”

“All things in time, Einin. Think of the child as an ambassador. The more people accept her, the more they will accept you and Tyrus. Her heritage can be revealed when the people become more familiar with her.”

Einin blinked. The Butcher of Rosh accepted by the masses? She didn’t believe that at all. She walked to the map. Her finger traced Ironwall and drew a larger circle around the Gadaran mountains.

“How far out will the decree go?”

Dura could not read her mind, Einin reminded herself, but she knew every gambit Einin devised. Dura shuffled to the rocking chair. Einin noted that she walked more slowly, playing up her limp, when she lacked interest in things. Should Marah do something praiseworthy, the old girl had a bounce in her step, but if Einin wanted help, she became a teetering crone.

“The clansmen will come in to pay homage. There are many clans throughout the ranges.” Dura talked to herself. “King Samos will spend days organizing the procession so as not to slight anyone’s honor. The largest of the clans wield considerable power outside the walls.”

“The Gadarans organize in clans?”

“An ancient custom, popular with the Hill Folk.”

“Aren’t the Norsil organized in clans?”

Dura rolled her eyes, and Einin regretted the awkward transition. She had to learn more about the lands outside Gadara, and whenever she brought it up, Dura became distant. Tyrus stood silent and useless. He had to see through Dura’s game, Einin hoped, because the sorceress was marginalizing them to further her own ambitions. Einin’s family, and Marah’s family, should be recognized at the feast. Instead, Dura elevated herself as Marah’s benefactor.

Dura said, “There is no place for Marah in the Norsil lands.”

“They control all of this?” Tyrus stepped closer to the map. “Uncontested?”

“No,” Dura said. “They share that with the half-giants and the purims. The Lost Lands are a kingdom on a map only. Those lines mean nothing.”

At least Klay had told her the truth. While Dura and Einin repeated old arguments, Einin hoped Tyrus would say something, anything, but he scratched his jaw and studied the map. His lack of interest condemned her to be Dura’s maid. The rocking chair creaked back and forth.

Einin said, “We should have a plan for when the walls fall.”

“Azmon has stretched his forces to the point of breaking. We’ve talked about this. Ironwall and Telessar will not fall like Shinar.”

“But this city, Westrend. What languages do they speak?”

“This is the end of civilization. The Norsil destroyed what was left of the Old Gadaran Kingdom. They finished a decline that was hundreds of years in the making. No one can reclaim the Lost Lands.” Dura rocked her chair and kept her gaze on the window. “Tyrus, it is time for you to train the champions.”

“Of course, mistress.”

He left them alone, and the silence dragged. Einin busied herself studying the map, but she knew most of it by heart. She made mental notes of all the little clues people gave her.

“You will not take Marah from me,” Dura said. “She is too important, and Ironwall is the best place to keep her. She should be in Telessar, but Azmon moves against them.”

“She is my child.”

“You are not her mother.”

“I am a Lady of Narbor and her cousin.” Einin controlled her temper. Dura Galamor was a commoner by birth with power and the ear of the king, but Einin refused to be her slave. “The empress entrusted her to me.”

“The seraphim brought her to me. Peace, girl, I won’t argue it. You risk her life if you take her beyond the walls. Azmon is dangerous but overextends himself, and while we fight him here, the continent of Sornum rebels. This is a game of patience.”

“We should make plans in case—”

“You never listen. This is why your lessons are so slow. You refuse to learn, trying to bend everything to your will. Any fool can wear a crown, but a true ruler understands the value of patience.”

“Why won’t you tell me the truth? Where are these students coming from?”

“Do you know what they risk to come here? Have you any idea how difficult it is to travel to Ironwall safely? No. Because you will not listen.”