The Shadow’s Curse (29 page)

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but once he saw the Khan’s seal on the ring, he nodded. Wadi knew he wouldn’t risk incurring Khareh’s wrath by
not
bringing her straight to him. In his mind, if she were truly a threat, Khareh would kill her straightaway.

Her heart beat wildly as she walked her horse into the camp. She no longer kept her head covered, wearing the indigo-dyed hood wrapped around her long neck, framing her dark, oval face. She caught the gaze of the soldiers who stopped their work to watch her, and boldly held eye contact. She was not going to be afraid any more. She was not going to be a captive any more.

Khareh needed her, and she knew it. She was going to make sure everyone else knew it too.

It was Lars who came out to meet her. She prepared herself to be led to the platform where Khareh received his visitors – prisoners or warlords or messengers – but instead Lars said: ‘The Khan would like to see you, in private.’

When she entered Khareh’s yurt, he was working at his desk, Altan and Garus standing behind him. If looks could kill, she would have died from both of their glances. Khareh, on the other hand, didn’t lift his head to look at her. He continued to sit at his desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment with a quill. For a while, the only sound was the scratching sound of the nib as it etched across the paper.

‘So, you came back.’

‘Yes,’ said Wadi.

‘And without a fight, or so I hear.’ He put down his quill and finally lifted his eyes to look at her. ‘Good thing my search party didn’t find you first,’ he said. ‘An
unauthorized
search party, I might add. I told Erdene you would be back of your own accord, but I turned my back on her for a second and she had gone after you.’

Wadi lowered her eyes and stared at the pattern on the carpet. ‘She did find me,’ she said.

‘Oh.’ The silence stretched out, once again. ‘And you made it back.’ There was a hint of a question in his voice, but Wadi knew her silence would speak volumes.

He slammed his hands down on the desk, standing up so abruptly his chair crashed to the ground, its back breaking in two. ‘I told her not to go after you! Idiot girl!’ With a flying jerk of his hand, the inkpot flew across the yurt, smashing into one of the wooden posts at the far end, black liquid staining the carpet and cushions. In one swift motion, he vaulted over the desk.

His hand snatched at her neck, and only her quick reflexes jerking her head back stopped him from grabbing her throat. Instead, his fingers closed tightly around her forearm, which she held defiantly in front of her face. ‘Why did you leave?’ he hissed.

She wanted to cry out in pain, wince, yelp, anything – but she held her expression impassive. ‘It’s not
me
you should be lashing out at, Khareh. It’s
them
.’ With a jerk of her head, she indicated to Altan and Garus. ‘They’ve been lying to you.’

‘And why should I listen to you, savage?’ he said, but his grip on her arm loosened. She was winning him over. Despite his harsh words, he was listening.

‘The Southern army is coming. You know it’s true, Khareh. You need to get to Lazar now, or else he will beat you to it. What are you waiting for? You have everything you need – your shadow-army, your regular army. You are the undisputed Khan of Darhan.’

He dropped her arm brusquely. ‘You know what I am waiting for. I want to own Lazar, and the routes through the desert. To do that I must have all the pass-stones. Garus said—’

‘Well, you will be waiting a very long time.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Garus has been lying to you all this time, stalling you. He knows full well that one of the stones went to the South! Without that, you will never have the complete set. You could have searched Darhan ten times over and never found it.’

Khareh stared at her for a few seconds, and then he spun on his heel and rounded on Garus. ‘Is this true, old man?’

Garus trembled like a leaf in the wind. Even Altan took several steps back, not wanting to be caught in the wake of Khareh’s anger. Garus stroked his long beard, running it through both hands. ‘You would trust this savage over me?’ he stuttered out. ‘She has already proven to you that she bears you no loyalty – she tried to run away, she murdered your Protector, she is a dirty Alashan—’

‘She saved my life!’ Khareh growled. ‘I asked you a simple question. Is this true?’

‘Please, my Khan, I have always served you . . .’

Khareh looked up at his shadow, who was swirling a dark grey. They seemed to be having a conversation that only Khareh and Garus could hear, as Khareh grew even more angry (if that was possible) and Garus lost more of his colour and began to shake his head and mutter the words ‘no, no, no’ over and over. ‘I just thought if you would just stay in Darhan a little longer, you would become stronger, my Khan,’ said the man. His excuses were weak, Wadi knew. He just didn’t want to return to Lazar under any circumstances. He knew what his reception would be once he got there.

‘Enough!’ said Khareh. ‘Garus, you have lied to me. For anyone else, the punishment would be death. But for you . . . you deserve something worse than death. A punishment you have experienced once before. Exile.’

‘No—’ Garus dropped to his knees.

‘Stripped of title. Stripped of this clan. Stripped of everything you own. All of it shall pass to me – including your pass-stone, and the pathetic excuse for a spirit that you possess. You shall make her join my spirit-army, and your name will be less than dirt throughout Darhan.’

‘You cannot do that to me! I have not broken any vow to you – I am no oathbreaker!’ He tried to stand his ground as Khareh’s spirit approached him, but he was beaten down by the shadow. Wadi knew the shadow had won once Garus’s pendant began to lift from around his neck, seemingly of its own accord. The spirit brought it over to Wadi. She tentatively reached out and grabbed it, then put it around her neck – adding to the two that were already there.

Khareh continued: ‘You are worse than an oathbreaker to me. You were my teacher. My adviser. Now . . . go!’

But Garus stood firm. ‘No! If you want me to leave this camp, you will have to drag my dead body out of here. Kill me if you want to be rid of me.’

‘What, so you can spend your final moment in a position of privilege? No, I want you to crawl out of here with nothing. And I want everyone to see it. Outside: now!’

It was as good as a death sentence. With no clan, no title, and no spirit – Garus was nothing. He would never survive out on the steppes.

‘My people!’ said Khareh, as he stepped outside. ‘I pronounce this man an exile of Darhan. Anyone caught harbouring him will be put to the sword. Anyone offering him kindness will see their hands cut off. He has betrayed me, and he has betrayed Darhan. Now, march!’ Khareh stamped his foot on the ground. When Garus didn’t move, he stamped again, and again.

The crowd picked up the cue from their leader and a steady beat began to rise. Wadi felt an itch in her foot to join in, but she did not. She just watched as Garus was forced to stumble through the crowd and out, out beyond the edge of the army camp and into the wilderness of the steppes beyond.

The beat grew, until it became a thunderous roar. Khareh stood in the centre of it, allowing the noise of the crowd to wash over him.

This was the storm, and when Wadi stood next to Khareh, she stood in the very centre of the hurricane. Khareh turned his face away from Garus then, and looked in the opposite direction: south.

They reached Aqben, and Raim saw how wrong he had been to mistake the last town for this.

Rooftops sprawled in front of him as far as Raim’s eyes could see, and they kept going. They piled on top of each other, a jumble of brick and tile. And the people! He had never seen so many in one place. Normally, he would be glad to be out under Naran’s sky. But he felt less comfortable out in the open in the South than he ever had before. Something about the sheer number of people just set him on edge. Even when he had been part of an army as a child, or as part of his Yun apprenticeship, there had been many Darhanians in a single place. But they didn’t feel as crammed in as here.

Raim had never known claustrophobia before. He had never known a place where he couldn’t ride for a mile to find a stretch of open grass – or even open sand. Here, not even people’s eyes seemed open. They walked around as if in a haze, ignoring the sea of humanity all around them.

A sea of humanity. That’s what it felt like. It felt as oppressive and strange to Raim as the ocean had. And it seemed as easy for Raim to drown in it.

The only place he could compare it to was Kharein, and Aqben was nothing like Kharein. They passed through entire neighbourhoods that were more downtrodden than anything he had seen in Lazar or Darhan. It was squalor he could barely imagine. The streets were lined with the detritus of everyday life – rotting food, torn rags, hunks of twisted metal – and suspiciously dirty water ran in rivulets between the houses.

Raim’s stomach twisted at the sight. He thought to Draikh:
Has the king seen this? Does he know?

Draikh shook his head, and Raim knew he was just as shocked. ‘It would seem the king has other concerns.’

Concerns other than his people?

Draikh shrugged.

It’s like everything I thought Lazar would be . . . but it’s worse. The South is cursed.

‘You know they call the North cursed?’ said Mei, and Raim looked startled – wondering if Mei could read his mind – or somehow hear his thoughts. But she was reacting to his obvious disgust. She continued: ‘Because of the promise-magic that binds you all.’

‘They don’t knot here, do they? Like the Alashan.’

Mei shook her head. ‘It is only the North. The North is sealed by its promise-magic. The sages did that.’

‘When they burned down Lazar.’ Raim had learned about story when he’d stayed with the Shan, Lazar’s governors and the guardians of all knowledge relating to sages.

‘Exactly. They burned down all knowledge of how sages were created. But they also sealed the North in the process. That’s why there are the seven pass-stones.’

Like the one Wadi owns
, thought Raim.

‘If you possess a stone, you may travel freely between the North and Lazar. And the Alashan are able to bring exiles from the North, through the desert, to Lazar. Or South, as they brought Lady Chabi here.’

Mei’s eyes appeared to mist over, and her voice took on a dreamlike quality. ‘When we came out of the desert and entered the South, you cannot believe the welcome we received.’

‘You were with her?’ asked Raim.

‘Yes, I was part of the Council assigned to her protection. She was – as she is now – barely alive, a shell of her former self. The Council knew they could never keep her safe in the North but here, we thought we would have a chance.

‘Several events in the South fell in our favour. We found out soon after we arrived that King Song’s father had just died after an attempt to cross the Sola desert to reach Lazar. He too believed that capturing Lazar would be key to conquering the mysterious lands to the north, and all their riches.

‘Much of his army was wiped out. Many women lost their sons and husbands. Faith in his dynasty’s leadership was shaken, and his son – King Song – came to power.

‘The Council knew this was our chance to strike. The people were already in awe of us for surviving the desert crossing, a task that no Southerner has done in recent memory. We told them that one day a man would come who could restore the South to its former glory. We made King Song swear to help us, and we would – in turn – help him. He’s been building an army, ready for you.’

Raim gripped the reins of his horse even tighter.

‘Are you starting to believe this?’ asked Draikh.

Maybe. It seems like they have it all figured out.

‘They do, and you do. This is going to be your chance,’ said the spirit.

As they rode further down the winding streets, the atmosphere changed again. Abject poverty had given way to a more prosperous district. There was a series of low buildings roofed with warm red ceramic tiles. The window frames were carved in intricate patterns, and every now and then there would be a perfectly circular door through which could be seen a serene garden just beyond. Raim had never seen anything so beautiful and peaceful, even despite the sheer numbers of people that must surround them. At one point, a woman stood in a doorway. She was dressed in a colour so vibrant Raim couldn’t remember seeing anything like it before in his life. The fabric shimmered and glinted, even though it was a cloudy day, as if it had been washed in silver, or somehow woven from a Yun sword. The pattern – even the brief flash of it that Raim saw – was more intricate than anything he had seen Khareh wear. He thought she was stunningly beautiful – until Raim realized he had never even caught a glimpse of her face. The opulence of her clothes had blinded him.

‘Where are we going?’ Raim asked again.

‘I told you, to the Council home inside the palace. That is where we will find your mother.’

‘And what about King Song?’ Raim’s stomach clenched at the thought of meeting the king.
What kind of leader waits for an outsider to come and take his crown?
thought Raim.

‘A weak one,’ said Draikh.

‘King Song is with his army. We will take you to him as soon as we are finished at the Council. Once you are rid of your scar.’

At that, Raim grew light-headed. He couldn’t really believe that he was on the brink of achieving the goal he had set out with. So many things had happened to him on this journey: mastering his sage powers, falling in love with Wadi, losing his brother. But through everything, his main purpose loomed over him. He would never be able to do anything right while he was scarred as an oathbreaker.

Soon, he would be an oathbreaker no longer.

When they pulled up in front of the palace gates, Raim was strangely disappointed. The walls were tall and imposing, painted bright red and thick enough for men to walk along the top of them – he could see the helmets of soldiers patrolling the perimeter – but they didn’t seem to impart any of the glamour he had seen in fleeting glimpses of other parts of the city.