The Garden Of Stones Part 31

The Quorum Stones flared with frosted radiance where the faces of the sayfs of the Hundred Families hung in monochrome. Their images stuttered in the striated quartz. Femensetri's Sq had worked fast to get the message out to sympathetic ears. Even so, there were many faces Mari recognized as among her father's allies.

Nazarafine stood in the center of the amphitheater, beside Femensetri. Rosha was perched on the edge of a bench beside a wide-eyed Vahineh, who chewed upon already bloodied fingertips. From what Mari could tell, Vahineh still struggled with her Awakening. It seemed, from the rapid changes in her expression and posture, as if all her Ancestors vied for a moment in her mind. Many rahns, particularly those who had been Awakened without the proper training, died from the experience. Or went insane. No wonder the enormity of it had caused her to act so rashly in murdering Yashamin. Mari doubted Vahineh had even known what she was doing at the time, possessed by the rage of her father's spirit.

Na.r.s.eh sat spear-straight in her gray-green armor of crablike plates, her austere face devoid of expression. Ziaire stood near her, as did a number of those sayfs of the Hundred Families who had come to Amnon to depose Far-ad-din. Even without those who had been invited to the Parje-Sin revel, many of those who attended this small session of the Teshri had either been bought by her father or were voters of opportunity.

"We've answered your summons, Speaker," the brittle echo of Hadi said in its crystal lens, one of the sayfs of Erebus Prefecture. "What's so urgent you needed to speak with us on such short notice?"

"Thank you for your indulgence." The Speaker bowed to her peers. "I've called this emergency session of the Teshri to vote on two separate writs of deposition, both against Asrahn-Elect Erebus fa Corajidin-"

"Preposterous!" Hadi snapped. "What nonsense is this?"

"Let her speak, Hadi," came the gla.s.sy echo of Iraj from Sela.s.sin Prefecture, a supporter of the late Vashne. "Nazarafine is the Speaker for the People, as well as a rahn. Show some respect."

"Why do you suggest we depose the Asrahn-Elect, Speaker?" Bijan of Nasarat Prefecture asked over the cracking-ice din of the other members of parliament. "This is a serious action you propose. I hope you can satisfy the burden of proof."

Ziaire stepped forward, hands open. "We have eyewitness accounts from Vashne's heir-"

"Such testimony is inadmissible in any Arbiter's Tribunal," Hadi gloated. "The pa.s.sage of memory from rahn to rahn through Awakening is not always perfect, especially when the event has been traumatic."

"There's also the eyewitness testimony of Knight-Colonel Ekko of the Nasarat Lion Guard," Rosha snapped. "Now, Hadi, if you and anybody else who's been bought by Corajidin would be silent, the Speaker can finish what she has to say."

Mari grimaced as Hadi and quite a few others protested. Their images juddered in crystal pillars. Rosha would not win any friends with her att.i.tude. Like Vahineh, she must be struggling with the turmoil of her own Awakening.

"I'm satisfied as to the legitimacy of the evidence," Nazarafine said firmly. "Enough to risk calling you all together. There are a number of charges we'll lodge, though the most serious are treason, conspiracy to commit treason, and regicide. Copies of these records have been sent to Arbiter Marshal Kiraj of the Family Masadhe, for his action."

Kiraj's regal, spectral image nodded politely.

"Ludicrous!" Hadi snapped. Kiraj's expression remained fixed.

"There's nothing ludicrous about it." Femensetri faced the ghostly image of Hadi where it floated in scratched gla.s.s clouds, streaked through with frosted light like a winter's sun. "The Asrahn-Elect hasn't acted in the best interests of Shran."

"Through his direct actions," Nazarafine said, her voice flat with suppressed anger, "without the sanction of the Justice Marshal, Corajidin caused the death of our head of state, Vashne's wife, and second son. He also abducted Rahn-Ariskander and Pah-Daniush-"

"Then let the witnesses to these crimes speak!" Hadi demanded.

Mari gestured to Rosha from where she hovered at the edge of the chamber floor. Rosha came over as quietly as she could in her armor. "What is it?" she whispered.

"There are troop movements in the city. So far as we can tell, the Erebus army remains encamped outside the city. Four companies of Iphyri, as well as the Anlki and some nahdi are headed here, no doubt under the command of my brother. How long until we have a decision here?"

"This may take longer than expected." Rosha looked back over her shoulder to where Nazarafine paced the Tyr-Jahavn floor, reciting her allegations against Corajidin. "Honestly, I doubt we've either the time or the numbers to carry the day."

"I can testify as to what my father-"

"Nazarafine won't have it." Rosha grimaced, clearly uneasy. "She doesn't want you involved, Ancestors only know why."

"Then if I can't help you with the numbers, I can do something about giving you the time you need," Mari muttered. "Don't let the Speaker stop until this is decided in our favor, understand? This will all be for naught otherwise, and I fear the future my father will bring if we fail."

"Femensetri has decided to remain here, just in case. As Scholar Marshal she can't involve herself unless it's to defend the Teshri."

"I'm hoping that's an unnecessary precaution."

"As do we all. Yet your father's forces still gather."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

"How can I lead a nation of conscience, if I am not guided by my own?"-High Palatine Navaar of Oragon, 495th Year of the Shranese Federation Day 325 of the 495th Year of the Shranese Federation "What do you mean they are not there?" Corajidin felt his pulse throb in his temple. The air in his office was stifling. A drop of perspiration trickled down his brow. Though Wolfram had healed the wound in his shin, Corajidin still felt the deep ache.

"Guita, matriarch of Family Parje-Sin, invited those of the upper castes in Amnon to a revel outside the city." Wolfram leaned on his charred stave. He took a folded piece of parchment from within the folds of his robe. "The revel promised a few days of delights hosted at Guita's country villa. Her guests were taken by pleasure-ship from Amnon late yesterday evening."

"I know that duplicitous cow," Corajidin snarled. "She was one of Far-ad-din's half-blooded creatures, as well as an old friend of Vashne."

"There are no communication devices there. I sent messengers by wind-skiff to recall your allies, though the Parje-Sin estate is hours away even by skiff."

"Then send somebody else!" Corajidin thundered. He regretted his outburst immediately as pain shot through his head. He opened the top b.u.t.ton of his tunic to cool himself. "I expect my allies to honor their obligations even after they have spent my gold."

"There's no point in sending anybody else, and we don't have another wind-skiff to spare." Wolfram crumpled the invitation in one large-knuckled hand. "The one we used to escape the Rmarq barely flies, thanks to Indris, and Kasraman has the other. I warned you bought loyalty would last only so long as the shine on the coins. Your allies are opportunists all."

Corajidin felt his stomach heave. He leaned over his desk and vomited. It was with some horror he saw blood mixed with the bile. The sour combination of tinny blood and stomach acid in his mouth was disgusting. He made the mistake of inhaling, and the scent of his own juices on the floor made him heave again. Wolfram creaked around the table to help Corajidin to a couch. The old witch's gaze was troubled as he felt Corajidin's brow, looked into his eyes, measured his pulse.

"You're worse than before, my rahn," Wolfram murmured. "Your hearts beat far too quickly, and you're burning up. Loath as I am to say this, perhaps we need to retreat and fight another day?"

"No!" Corajidin grunted through the pain. "There is no tomorrow for me!"

Corajidin doubled over in his chair. His hands spasmed, the fingers curling against his palms. Wolfram took Corajidin's hands and ma.s.saged the muscles until the fingers could straighten.

Belamandris strode through the door, than dashed to where his father lay curled on the couch. "Father! What is-"

"Why are you here?" Corajidin asked. "You are supposed to be holding the Tyr-Jahavn."

"Our enemies have been industrious in our absence," Belamandris replied. "The Tyr-Jahavn is occupied. I noted the colors of the Great Houses of Nasarat and Sun, as well as those of the Family Bey. The chambers are well guarded and will be difficult to take."

"You're the Widowmaker!" Wolfram said incredulously. "Surely you're not going to be-"

"The Feya.s.sin are also there," Belamandris said flatly. "And the Stormbringer. Father, I advise you to make alternate arrangements."

"I order you to take and hold the Tyr-Jahavn!" Corajidin snarled. His vision blurred, Belamandris's face becoming a smear of sun-bright gold. He reached out to rest his hands on Belamandris's shoulders. His face felt numb, his words slurred, when he spoke. "Do this for me, my beautiful son. You are the only one I can trust now."

Belamandris stood, bowed to his father. "If that's what you desire, then far be it from me to deny you. I suggest you see to your safety until this is resolved."

"Wait!" Wolfram held up his hand. "Can your forces take the Tyr-Jahavn? Speak from honesty, rather than pride, if you would."

"Can I do it? Yes. Is it worth the risk or the cost in lives? I doubt it. I'd prefer to have my Anlki take my father to safety." Belamandris look was forthright. "Were we to take the Tyr-Jahavn, what use would it be to Father in his current state? Even with the weight of the Iphyri and the nahdi in our employ, taking the place will be b.l.o.o.d.y work, and not done quickly. Our opponents aren't to be taken lightly."

"Very well." Corajidin's voice sounded tinny in his ears. "Let the Iphyri and our nahdi a.s.sault the Tyr-Jahavn as planned. Perhaps they will be victorious. Send word for Knight-Colonel Nadir to take the best of our leadership and what soldiery he can, and fly the Art of Vengeance to the Parje-Sin estate. We will meet them there. Belamandris, you and your Anlki will remain to protect me."

Wolfram shifted in his seat. "What of the treasures we have in the cellars? We can't lose them after so much effort."

"Take what you can, Wolfram. Our future may rest in what we have found."

"Mari?" Belamandris asked.

"She has made other choices," Corajidin replied sourly.

"And this place?" Belamandris turned toward the door, his expression troubled.

"Burn it," Corajidin ordered. "Let nothing remain which reveals our purpose."

"Can you sense where Omen is?" Shar asked. They peered over the villa roof at where armored Anlki stood guard around the burned wind-skiff. Indris smiled at the charred heap. Parts of it had fallen away, burned or broken. The Tempest Wheels in the prow did not spin regularly, the disentropy stream vague where it wove on spinning bronze platters. Frayed ropes of silken light lashed the hull, scouring it. He doubted the wind-skiff Corajidin had escaped the Rmarq in would get far. Even now entropy slowly tore the damaged sky ship apart.

"Not sure," he replied thoughtfully. "I can sense the presence of the witch, as well as a lot of other peaks and troughs of entropy and disentropy. Ancestors only know what's gone on here."

"Probably blood magic," Hayden muttered with revulsion. He gripped his bolt-rifle tightly. "Angothic animal!"

"There's no such thing as magic," Indris murmured as if by reflex. He smiled an apology at his friends. "Well, it's true. There isn't. It's all reason of one kind or another."

"How do you plan on getting in?" Shar's eyes were bright yellow in the afternoon light, her pupils no larger than pinheads.

"Quiet in and quiet out, same as always." Indris grinned.

"'Always' usually ends up being noisy." She smiled back.

"And usually ends up with one of us getting carried out." Hayden chuckled. Shar patted Hayden on the hand before she rose fluidly to her feet. She prowled to where a grimed skylight was set in the roof. She slowly opened the skylight, then dropped down. After a few moments of silence, Indris and Hayden followed her.

They had entered the villa via a dusty old room of the north block that was much in need of repair. The walls and ceiling were water damaged, scented with must and rot. Wooden floorboards were bleached in a track from the pa.s.sage of too many seasons of sun. The windows were filthy, matted with cobwebs.

Shar listened at the door, then opened it as she beckoned the others to follow. In truth Indris had no idea where they would be keeping Omen. All he could do was focus on the swirls and eddies of disentropy caused by the Wraithjar. There were some unusually strong tidal forces of disentropy, which was all he had to go on.

The north block was mostly abandoned. There were few soldiers here; the people they avoided seemed to be bound-caste servants. They crept down a narrow stair. They saw n.o.body else as they came to an old wooden door so covered in dust and spiderwebs it was obvious it had not been used in years. Shar brushed the webs away with her gauntleted hand and gently opened the door.

Despite her efforts the door sc.r.a.ped against the rough stone floor. Tarnished oil lanterns hung by rusted chains from the ceiling of a narrow storeroom, the exposed wooden beams blackened by years of smoke. The air was thick with the ingrained odor of rotten meat. Hayden covered his nose with his hand, eyes narrowed in disgust. The door at the other end of the storeroom hung from its hinges. Through the gap they could see a dimly lit cellar, which stretched away into a blackness broken only by the wavering sequins of lantern flames.

Indris led them out. The place reeked of feces and urine, with an aftertaste of blood that lingered in the back of his throat. Several open chambers had instruments of torture and tall dark cupboards whose doors were probably best left closed.

At what Indris figured was the center of the cellar there was a wide chamber. He opened himself to the ahmsah. Raw disentropic energy swirled around the chamber, ethereal water circling an invisible drain. The flow was interrupted by small burlap bags hung by new ropes from the exposed ceiling beams, one at each point of the compa.s.s. Indris felt a chill trickle down his spine. He had seen such things before, in the supposedly abandoned Stone Witch coven of Felvyrden, in Angoth.

Shar must have seen the expression on his face. "What is it?" she murmured.

"Can you cut one of those down?" he whispered. A serill knife appeared in Shar's hand. A supple movement of her wrist, then a bag was in her palm.

She untied the bag, then held it open for Indris to see. He blinked against sudden vertigo, his fingers and toes going slightly numb. Inside there were filings of dark, blue-black steel amid thick grains of blackened sand.

"What is it?" Hayden asked.

"An Entropic Sump," Indris replied bleakly, stepping back. "It's made from filings of salt-forged steel and the sand from burned-out mandalas. They absorb and nullify disentropy. There are Awakened Empire relics known as ahoujai-or sinks-that do the same thing. People wearing them are immune to the effects of the ahmsah. For somebody like me, an ahoujai is like shackles of salt-forged steel. At a distance it's tolerable. When it touches the skin..."

"I'm figuring that ain't good at all," Hayden murmured.

"Not by a very long way, no. Somebody hid something very powerful here."

Shar kicked the chamber wall with one split-toed boot. "Only one way to find out what."

Indris walked to the solid wooden door. Unsurprisingly it was locked. The proximity of the Entropic Sumps pulled at his mind, made it harder to concentrate. He turned to Hayden, who produced lockpicks from inside his deerskin shirt. The skirmisher manipulated the lock with nimble fingers. After a few seconds it gave a satisfying click.

Mari danced away from the broad stroke of a nahdi sworn to her father's service. The Tyr-Jahavn steps were b.l.o.o.d.y and littered with the dead. Most were those who had tried to take the Tyr-Jahavn by force, but a few white-robed Feya.s.sin lay facedown among them.

Mari spun low. Sliced through armor and thigh. Her enemy screamed. Collapsed. She spiraled high. Her sword flew. Hunted. Dropped between neck and clavicle. She was already moving before her enemy hit the floor. With a quick gesture, she plucked a crossbow bolt from the air. Hurled it back. Took a nahdi in the eye.

Clear of enemies for the moment, she took stock. Her father had sent most of the nahdi in his employ to a.s.sault the Tyr-Jahavn. They had killed many, but there were more to come. Of course her father could deny they acted under his orders. The Iphyri, however, were a different matter. One full company of them stood, tall and magnificent, hooves stamping, in the Tyr-Jahavn courtyard.

Mari spared a glance for Knight-Colonel Qamran. The man dodged between his enemies, sword a blur. His shield belled with the impact of swords, axes, and arrows. Mari doubted her father had ever suspected appointing the Feya.s.sin as the Teshri Guard would come back to bite him so soon. Mari caught movement from the corner of her eye. She took a step backward as a severed head bounced down the stairs, then into empty air, where it tumbled before it struck the flagstones with a wet-meat thud.

"Arrows!" one of her comrades hollered. The Feya.s.sin grouped together into a sh.e.l.l formation, shields raised high to form a dome of scratched metal. Mari ducked behind a crystal pillar as arrows scythed the air where she had stood. She could hear the iron-hail clatter of the arrows where they struck metal. Her own shield had been lost, cloven in two by a nahdi's battle-ax.

She surveyed the melee. A number of good people had died. More would die before the day was out, including her, most likely. In truth she had been living on borrowed time since Vashne had been killed. The universe had come to collect on the debt she owed. Mari planned on the world remembering how expensive she had made it before she fell.

Mari caught the eyes of four other Feya.s.sin as she picked up a replacement shield. They looked at her with resentment. Whether they liked it or not, she was here now and they needed each other if they were to survive. The warrior-poets shared a moment of quiet before one of them nodded, and together they hurled themselves down the stairs in formation. As one, they leaped high over the nahdi, who cringed to see them come. They landed sure-footed amid the wreckage of armor and weapons, flesh and blood. Backs to each other, the five points of a star, they unleashed havoc. With a tempo born of practice, they struck, then shifted to the left. Struck, shifted, struck. The formation rotated upon its center. Mari's blade seemed to sing with the impact, while her shield boomed in protest. She gave the order and they climbed four steps in quick succession. Enemies overbalanced. Heads, hands, arms, legs were removed.

"Qamran!" Mari yelled as her position rotated away from combat. The Knight-Colonel looked at her, expression battered. Like her he knew there was no escape. All they could do was sell their lives as dearly as they could. "Leave ten of the Feya.s.sin here! Take the rest and be ready with Ekko to defend the members of the Teshri!"

"But-"

"But nothing!" She would rotate back into combat soon. To her right one of the Feya.s.sin fell, armor plates on his chest sluiced with blood. Another stepped in to take his place. "We can hold the stairs."

She did not have the chance to hear his response as she stepped back into the fray, her blade flashing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

"It is through failure in the face of adversity, through the loss of that which we hold dear, we come to realize what we have taken for granted. With our eyes open, we will learn more about ourselves with every loss, and gain wisdom in return."-From The Seeds from the Tree of Knowledge, by Mahram-shar, Sq Magnate and Arch-Scholar, 767th Year of the Awakened Empire Day 325 of the 495th Year of the Shranese Federation Corajidin shuffled as quickly as he could through the long halls of the villa. He carried Ariskander's and Daniush's heads in burlap bags. Belamandris led the way, the ruby scales of his armor bright in the light streaming through the tall keyhole windows. In contrast, the fell Anlki were dark as dried blood and shadows. The witch limped slowly with his creaking calipers and clacking staff.

"I'll collect what artifacts I can," Wolfram said. "The Wraith Knight Belamandris brought back might also have answers as to how we can prolong you."

Corajidin leaned close to the witch, who reeked of old incense and musk. "Don't forget the Destiny Engine!"