Storm and Steel (25 page)

Five men emerged from the swamp. Four were soldiers in steel helms and armor. The two in front held broad-bladed short swords in their hands, which they used to clear a path through the underbrush. The pair in back held bows. They surrounded a young man.

Lord Ubar had changed a little since the last time Jirom had seen him. His hair, which had been long and usually pulled back in a queue, was cut short and flat on top in the style favored by Akeshian legionnaires. He wore a tunic and long skirt, both plain white. During the trek to Erugash, Jirom remembered the son of Isiratu being a quiet youth who did not draw attention to himself. But, as he entered the ruins of the fallen town, the young lord walked with the confidence of an older man.

Ramagesh strode forward to meet them. The soldiers started to draw in close around the young lord, but they backed away when Ubar gestured. Lord Ubar greeted Ramagesh with an extended hand, and they shook. Ramagesh introduced the captains, but Ubar's gaze settled on Jirom.

“I have seen you before,” Ubar said. His light eyes shone in the early morning light.

Everyone turned to look at Jirom, which increased his apprehension. “Yes, my lord,” he answered, adding the honorific at the last moment. It didn't hurt to be polite, and the young noble was quite handsome. “I'm Jirom, son of Khiren. I was the slave of your father, for a brief time.”

Lord Ubar had the good grace not to feign embarrassment, which impressed Jirom. The young nobleman merely nodded as if they were discussing happier times.

“Lord Ubar,” Ramagesh said. “We've gathered here at your request, though some of us are doubtful of your intentions.”

Smerdis scowled. “You've got that right.”

“Let me put your minds at ease,” Ubar said. “I have come to negotiate on the authority vested in me by the First Sword of Erugash and Her Royal Highness, Queen Byleth of House Urdrammor.”

“Negotiate what?”

“Your surrender, of course.”

Rurtimo Lom hawked and spat at the young lord's feet. Captain Smerdis dropped a hand to the war-axe on his belt. Jirom tensed, waiting to see which side would break the peace first.

However, Ramagesh shoved Rurtimo Lom back to the rear of their party and shot a hard glance at Smerdis. Hard enough to convince the captain to move his hand away from his weapon. “Forgive my brothers,” Ramagesh said. “But no one is considering surrender. Surrender means a return to slavery, and we would rather die than put on the collar again.”

Jirom wondered about that for a moment. What would he do if he were back in Pardisha again, faced with the choice of execution or slavery? He honestly couldn't say.

Ubar said, “You must understand that your cause is doomed to fail. However, the First Sword is prepared to be lenient with those of our subjects who have offered violent rebellion against their divine sovereign. Although each of you deserves death, these sins may be forgiven if this situation comes to a peaceful conclusion.”

“I'm not sure what all he said,” Smerdis said, “but I don't think I like it.”

Jirom agreed, though he was interested to hear more of what this envoy had to say.

“How can we trust your queen to honor this amnesty?” Ramagesh asked.

“Exactly,” Emanon said, entering the conversation. “What's to say you won't execute every one of us the moment we put down our arms?”

“Damned straight!” Rurtimo Lom said. “The minute we give over, you'll round us up and take our heads. You think we're stupid?”

“Unless…”

Emanon came over to stand with the other captains.

“Unless what?” Ramagesh asked.

Emanon looked to the envoy. “We'll consider your queen's offer, if our demand is met.”

“What demand is that?” Ubar asked.

“Freedom.”

“I've already granted that you and your men will be pardoned—”

“No,” Emanon said. “Freedom for every slave in Erugash and its territories.”

“What?”

Jirom almost echoed the envoy's astonishment. The queen would never accept such a condition. It was insane to even ask for it.
But isn't that what we're fighting for? The liberty of every slave. And not just in Erugash. All across the empire.

Ramagesh looked about to cut in, but Emanon kept talking. “We also demand a vow, sworn by the queen before her entire court, that she will not seek vengeance against any slave who rose up against her.”

Ubar's face contorted in an array of emotions from shock to outrage. Yet the young envoy kept his composure as he said, “Why would Her Majesty accept such demands from the likes of you?”

Emanon opened his mouth, but it was Ramagesh who answered first. “Because we're winning the war, your lordship. We harry your trade routes and threaten your holdings, and each day our numbers grow as more and more slaves leak from your grasp to join our movement.”

Both sides stared at each other for several long seconds. Then Lord Ubar said, “I am not empowered to discuss such matters. If you wish, I will deliver your demands to the First Sword.”

Ramagesh agreed, and the two men reached out to clasp hands. Jirom was watching the exchange when he detected a slight movement behind Emanon. A face appeared from the foliage, followed by an arm, holding up a short throwing spear. Jirom reacted without thinking.

“Down!” he shouted as he leapt toward Emanon.

They collided chest-to-chest and fell to the ground. Shouts echoed through the ruins. He looked up to see Lord Ubar staring down at him, the spear jutting from his side, blood spreading across his white tunic. He collapsed with a slight gasp.

More spears flew through the air. Three of the envoy's guards fell before they could strike a single blow to avenge their lord. The fourth fell to Ramagesh's mace, the weapon caving in the side of the soldier's helmet. The other captains stood still as the last soldier fell to the marshy ground, his eyes as still as glass.

Jirom started to get up until the point of a spear jabbed him in the shoulder. One of Ramagesh's fighters, a bearded rebel in his thirties, stood
over him with the weapon ready to stab. Jirom fell back to the earth beside Emanon, who likewise stayed where he was. “You all right?” Jirom asked.

“Not a scratch,” Emanon replied. “Yet.”

Other armed men had appeared from the surrounding forest. Jirom cursed under his breath when he saw Neskarig among them.

“Let them up,” Ramagesh said, and the spearman backed away. The rebel leader came over to them. “Jirom, Emanon. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about this beforehand, but I didn't know if I could trust you.”

Ramagesh bent down beside the young envoy and pulled free the spear that had killed him. Even smeared in blood and dirt, the silvery point gleamed. “This metal is a gift from the gods. For all his power, this wizard never had a chance. You understand why it had to be this way?”

Jirom understood all too well. Now the rebels were fully committed. There could be no peace now. No surrender. They either won, or they all died. “You had no intention of treating fairly with them.”

The rebel commander stood back up. “Of course not. Emanon convinced me.”

Emanon burst out with a grunt. “Me? I never said anything about betraying a peace talk.”

“You said we must be bold in our operations. No more fighting from the shadows. I agree, and this is how it begins. Victory lies before us.”

Neskarig came over to Ubar's body with a sword. The General bent down and began hacking at the youth's neck.

“So what will it be?” Ramagesh asked. “Are you with us?”

Jirom exchanged glances with Emanon. “It doesn't look like we have much choice.”

Ramagesh placed a hand on Jirom's shoulder. “Every man has a choice, son of Khiren. We want you with us, to share in our eventual triumph over the Akeshians. What say you?”

His words took Jirom back to another time, back to Pardisha when he'd been faced with the choice between slavery and death. In the end, it was no choice at all.

“We're with you,” Emanon said.

Ramagesh smiled. Behind him, Neskarig held up Ubar's head.

Twilight had slipped into darkness by the time Horace returned home. The silver sickle of the moon hung above the eastern skyline on its path through the stars. Torches burned in the front gate where two of his house guard stood sentry. They saluted as he approached.

“Any trouble?”

“No, sir,” one of the guards replied. “It's been quiet.”

He saw a few objects sitting against the front wall. Bundles of cut flowers, bowls holding some kind of liquid, and even what he assumed was an honest-to-goodness sheaf of wheat. More donations from his adherents, but at least there weren't as many as before.

Horace went inside. Candles illuminated the foyer. He peeked into the dining room to check on things, and saw that Mulcibar's body had been removed.

“Good evening, Master,” Harxes said as he stood up from a chair in the corner. He looked half-asleep.

“Where did the body go?” Horace asked.

“I had it taken down to the cold cellar, the better to preserve it.”

“I want to send a message to Lady Anshara to…make arrangements.” Horace didn't know what Akeshians did for their funeral rites.

“Mistress Alyra has already taken care of that.”

He nodded and started to leave when Harxes stopped him. “Is everything all right, Master?”

He was too tired and sick at heart to discuss it. “Fine. Go to bed, Harxes.”

“As you say.”

Horace went upstairs to his room, where he stripped off his sweaty robe and kicked off his sandals. He was tempted to call for a cool bath, but he didn't have the patience to wait.

Just as he was about to lie down on the bed, a voice startled him in the dark. “Where did you go?”

Alyra sat in the low-backed chair on the other side of the room.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” he asked.

“I was waiting for you. Are you all right?”

Horace sat on the end of the bed. “I don't know. I feel bad about Mulcibar.”

“That wasn't your fault. I told you before. Lord Mulcibar swam in dangerous waters. He knew the risks and he accepted them as the price of supporting the queen.”

He knew that intellectually, but no words could erase the guilt that welled up inside him every time he thought of his old mentor. “It feels like everything is distorted. Like my life has been twisted inside out. What happened? How did it get to this?”

“Nothing here was ever as simple as you wanted to believe, Horace.”

That's true. Not even us.

“You brought down the Sun Temple,” she continued. “But you couldn't change the reality that this city, and the entire empire, is corrupt right down to its core.”

Of course, it always came back to the queen with Alyra. It chafed at him, but he didn't want to fight. Not tonight. “So what can I do to make things right?”

“Maybe you can't.”

“So we can't get back to what we had?”

She looked down at the carpet. “I don't know. I care about you, Horace. But to be honest, I'm not sure what I want or where to go from here. We're on different paths.”

“Is there someone else? I wouldn't blame you if there was.”

“There's…is it all right if we don't talk about it tonight?”

So there
was
someone else, and now she was trying to spare his feelings. He had a choice. He could make it tough on her, force her to spell it out. Or…“Sure. I went to the Chapter House.”

“Horace! Why would you go there?”

“It wasn't the best idea, I know. But I had to strike back at them. The Order killed Mulcibar. I wanted them dead, all of them.”

“What did you do?”

He told her about his destruction of the fortress and ended up telling her more than he intended, about how he had admired Mulcibar and how his new duties as First Sword were overwhelming him. He even told her about sending Lord Ubar to deal with the rebels. That last bit seemed to surprise her.

“Did the queen consent to that?”

Horace shrugged and tried to hide a yawn. “Not exactly. But she told me to handle the matter. I took that to mean do whatever was necessary to stop the fighting.”

“Horace, Byleth will never make a deal with the rebels. You have to understand that.”

“How do you know? Has anyone ever tried? As far as I can see, the empire only has two ways to deal with anything, to kill it or lock it in a collar. I think it's time someone tried a different approach.”

Alyra threw her hands in the air. “Don't you think the network would have tried that if it had any chance of succeeding? You have to understand how someone like the queen thinks. She isn't seeking a peaceful resolution. She wants a great victory. No, she
needs
it, because that elevates her in the eyes of the other kings. And she's chosen you to lead this enterprise.”

“You think I would go along with such a plan? I shouldn't have to remind you that I actually wore an iron collar, and not one of those pretty golden chokers you got to prance around in while people were dying outside your gilded cage.”

Her lips parted, her eyes stabbing at him. “I can't believe you. You, of all people, should understand what I went through all those years. What I suffered for my beliefs. That is, until you came along and ruined everything. Just like you're doing now. You have no idea the trouble you're stirring up.”

Horace knew he was being unfair, but he was too angry to take it back. Especially after all the attacks she leveled at him. No one expected him to succeed, but he'd thought Alyra would be on his side. But what if she was right? What if everything he'd been trying to accomplish was impossible? Yet for some reason he couldn't let go of his anger. “And you've been shutting me out ever since that night at the Sun Temple.”

“Of course I did! How could I trust you now that you've gotten so close to
her
?”

“Her, huh? Did it ever occur to you that the queen deserves the chance to repair her realm? Or that I could help make that happen?”

“Because you're suddenly so important, right?”

That was it. He could see the truth in her eyes.
I've lost her. Maybe for good this time.

Harsh words hovered on his tongue, but he swallowed them. They wouldn't do any good. “I'm going to bed.”

Her face was ashen as she got up and went to the door. She paused at the threshold. “Horace, I…”

She didn't finish her statement, but just walked out and closed the door behind her.

Horace lied on top of his covers and stared up at the ceiling. His heart thumped in his chest like a restless animal. He'd been hoping to reconnect with Alyra, but that had been ruined one step at a time. And now he knew the awful truth, felt it burning deep into his bones no matter how much he wished to deny it.

He had lost her.

Alyra cursed under her breath as the hem of her cloak caught in the closing gate. It refused to come loose when she tugged, forcing her to re-open the iron postern, pull her garment free, and close it again. The resulting clang echoed down the lane behind the manor house, making her grit her teeth in frustration. She took off at a quick walk.

She tried to put Horace out of her mind, but it was impossible. He had hurt her with his words, flung so carelessly as if he couldn't be bothered to understand her position. She had been preparing to leave on an important errand when Horace came home bearing Lord Mulcibar's body. Then when he went out again, she'd waited for him to return despite having someplace else she needed to be, because she'd wanted to make sure he was all right. She'd known he was close to Mulcibar, though she hadn't realized how close until
tonight. Although she had never trusted Mulcibar, as she did not trust any Akeshian
zoanii
, she respected their bond. And more than that, Mulcibar's death troubled her. She was accustomed to political murders, but the lord of House Alulu had weathered so many storms, survived so many enemies as the queen's closest advisor, she'd honestly believed he was untouchable. His demise was a sober reminder that no one was entirely safe.

Alyra told herself to focus on tonight's task as she left the Cattle Quarter heading northwest, away from the city center into a series of older neighborhoods. The buildings she passed were more rundown than the newer areas, but the streets were broad with potted trees lining the gutters, and the architecture had a classic style that evoked a feeling of timelessness.

The new safehouse was situated on a smaller lane branching off the main thoroughfare, nestled in the shadow of a five-story tenement. She would've walked right past the innocuous little house if not for Cipher's directions. The entrance was on the side, at the top of a short stoop. She went to the door. It opened with her first knock, swinging inward. No old woman this time. Just a dark hallway beyond.

Enough with the creepy theatrics, Cipher.

She thought the house was empty until she noticed a faint shine of light along the bottom of the door at the end of the hall. Steeling herself, she crept forward. Doorways on either side led to dark rooms.

She got to the end of the hall and pushed the door open. Cipher stood in a large kitchen wearing an apron, humming as he sliced onions on a cutting board. He looked up at her. “Oh, you're early.”

“Yes.” Alyra let the door swing closed behind her. “I suppose I am. You cook?”

“I'm just making supper. I was hoping to be done before you arrived. Give me a hand, will you?”

He pointed to a second knife and a slab of lamb on the counter. Alyra hesitated. Part of her wanted to turn around and walk out. After the argument with Horace, she wasn't in the mood for games. Yet she needed information that only the network could provide. With a sigh, she picked up the knife and started cutting the meat into cubes without asking how Cipher wanted it done.
Screw you. You'll get what you get.

“So,” he said as he added the onions to a pot simmering over a low fire. “Did your mission go smoothly?”

“Smooth enough. Katara held up her end of the arrangement, though I don't think she's interested in assisting you anymore.”

“That's too bad. She's a good asset. But we can work around that. Here, let me have that.”

Cipher placed the beef cubes in an iron skillet and began sprinkling them with salt and other spices as they seared.

Alyra took out the letters from Lord-General Qaphanum's house and put them on the counter. “Here's the proof you wanted. At least thirteen houses have pledged their support of a coup in Erugash. Half of them have local ties, so you shouldn't have any trouble applying pressure on whichever side you want.”

Cipher picked up the skillet and poured the meat, juices and all, into the simmering pot. “This city is ripe to fall, Alyra. I think you know that. But what would be the repercussions?”

“The nearby cities—Nisus, Chiresh, Hirak—would rush in to claim some share of the spoils.”

“Exactly. The same cities that are marching to Erugash at this very moment. At the same time, the Cult of Amur works to undermine the queen from within.”

The realization struck her like a hammer to the forehead. “It's all connected. The war, the cult, and rebellion…”

Cipher stirred the pot, adding a handful of minced garlic.

“The network did all this?” Alyra asked.

“We had a hand in it, but we've been aided by some unexpected events that turned in our favor. Such as the arrival of your housemate and the curious effect he's had on several key players.”

Horace's elevation to the court. The ultimatum leveled on the queen, which led to the fall of the Sun Temple. Holy stars, they've been manipulating everything.

“You're starting a civil war,” she said. “It will start here, but other cities will be pulled into the conflict as everyone takes sides. Akeshia will be ripped apart.”

“Possibly, although it's difficult to make projections that far into the future. Still, enough turmoil to distract the empire for a generation. That is our mandate, after all.”

No, I haven't forgotten. But the cost in human lives will be astronomical. Is this what it takes to save a country?