3.

 

The Pale House was quiet when Ayae stepped into it, a contrast to the noise that characterized the city outside. Like the streets, the lobby held only soldiers—and while she doubted that the Mireean Guards inside had once been waiters and bellboys, their presence by the doors and flights of stairwells were a reminder of how militarized the city had become. There were no more citizens in Mireea. There were only soldiers.

Meina led her up the stairs to a narrow hall, two silent guards at the end. Behind them was a suite the size of the floor.

It was furnished in a light, modern touch, dominated by whites and blacks, with steel-framed furniture throughout. In the middle of the room was a large glass table filled with food and drink, the untouched excess of which sprawled obscenely before the occupants. Gazing at the table with a faint look of distaste was Lady Wagan, her clothing somber browns and greens. She was joined by a tired, white-clad Reila, while at the edge of the table, a short, scarred and armored man stood in mix chain and plate. Captain Essa, she assumed. Heast stood away from the center at the large, curtained windows; beside him was the sleeping Lord Wagan. At the side of the latter was Caeli, who stared quietly over the city, mirroring her captain’s gaze.

“Take a seat,” the Lady of the Spine said. “Both of you, help yourself to what is here. If only so I do not feel some crime has happened in my name. How has Steel fared, Captain Meina?”

“Fair.” The mercenary took an orange from the table. “We’ve been able to hold our part of the Spine without any real threat, but we haven’t been tested, yet. Not since the first night. We will be soon enough, however: the Leerans have been slowly making their way through the killing field.”

“Captain Essa?”

“Aye.” His reply was more a sigh than a word. “It’s fairly obvious their strategy is to make a series of paths, but with no easy way up the Spine if we go down, we can do little but watch.”

Meina began peeling the skin. “By tomorrow, I would expect to see bigger pushes.”

“Not tonight?”

“A night attack is a risk, especially for an attacking force who aren’t familiar with the Spine. The Leeran general pushed it once and it cost him. I doubt he would do it again.”

“It will be at dusk, tomorrow.” The Captain of the Spine did not turn from his window. “As the afternoon’s sun sets. It will be our first real test.”

No one disagreed, though Ayae wanted to do so: to her, all the attacks had been strong, all had been very real threats. She had watched men and women in both forces die. Yes, the Mireean losses had been easy to count, far smaller than the Leerans’; but the deaths had been real. Real people had died. They were not numbers, not a way to measure the intent of the enemy or a source for those in charge to support their theories.

But she did not speak. It was her first battle, her first war, even if the horror felt familiar.

“What about the talk of sickness in the city?” Essa asked. “I’ve had a few soldiers go to the hospital feeling ill, but I’ve yet to hear much.”

“That we are addressing now,” Lady Wagan said. “Reila?”

“There is a plague in the city.” The elderly woman’s white robe, so similar to Bau’s, was old and stained by blood and chemicals. “If anyone beneath you—or you yourself—begins to feel a pain in their bones, they need to come to the hospital immediately. There is a vaccine. Last night’s outbreak need not happen again.”

Ayae had not heard of any outbreak. She glanced at Meina, and the mercenary captain gave a faint nod.

“Word of this cure will get out soon enough to ease the panic,” Reila continued. “However, it is a difficult subject for two reasons. The first is the origin of the cure. When people learn where it comes from—and people will learn, as they always do—there will be resistance to it. It will especially be resisted by the Mireeans under your command. They will view it as a witch’s brew. A warlock’s blood pact. It is not, but—”

“Where does it come from?” Meina asked.

“Zaifyr,” Ayae said, quietly. “From his blood.”

“Yes. You all met him once, though you perhaps did not fully understand who he was.” The Captain of Steel snorted and the healer smiled in response. “Perhaps you understood some, then. He was once a man named Qian, one of the men and women who created the Five Kingdoms. He was also the man, historians argue, who began the destruction of those kingdoms. It is in the remains of Kakar that his capital was based. Because of him, libraries were burned, histories were lost and wars swept our world as those he called brother and sister were hunted, unsuccessfully.

“His reaction to the disease that infects him is unique, a testimony to the power within him. If you watch the blood when it is outside the body—and to do that, you will need a little magic—you can literally watch his cells divide and recombine and alter themselves, rapidly breaking down the infection within him. I do not know if it is unique to him, or if all those cursed (forgive me, Ayae) are similar. All I know is that I have never seen anything like it. However, the making of a cure from it is relatively simple. Due to the nature of his blood when it comes into contact with the infection, it is readily available. For reasons I don’t understand, the cells will cure nothing else within a man or woman, and react to nothing but this disease. For a lot of the people in Mireea, the idea of being injected with a serum that was made from the blood of a cursed man is going to be very difficult to accept.”

And for others, as well, Ayae noticed. While both Lady Wagan and Meina were unmoved, Kal Essa grunted unpleasantly and frowned. At the window, Caeli turned, mirroring the mercenary’s facial expression, a rare break in her discipline.

“Which brings us to the second point: the man who created the disease in our city.” Lady Wagan lifted a folded letter up from beside her, held the white paper up for all to see. “Our two Keepers are responsible for this disease, one more than the other.”

“You have proof?” Meina asked.

“Enough to make a case in Yeflam, if—” she tilted the paper forward “—we do it right.”

“That is from—”

“The Traders Union. I wrote to them yesterday explaining our situation with the Keepers. Their reply came much quicker than I thought it would, almost as if they were expecting it.”

“What do they want?”

“The Keepers in chains.”

“And if not?”

“There is no ‘if not.’ They will not promise us safety if we return with their bodies. They are saying that they do not have the political strength to defend us, with an army coming down the mountain after us, if we return with bodies.”

“They…” Ayae hesitated. Then, “Fo and Bau won’t surrender themselves.”

“No,” Lady Wagan said, “but that is why we are going to send you to Yeflam with the bird and all our civilians. With that, we can force the Traders Union’s hand, especially if you promise them that both the Keepers will be coming shortly.”

She made no reply.

“That task falls to Captain Meina and the Mireean Guard.” The other woman paused. “I want you all to know that I am not a fool. I know that they will not surrender. I know that blood will be spilled.”

“I should help.”

She shook her head. “This is not for you.”

“You’re wrong.” Ayae took a deep breath. “I am not the Keepers, and I am not Zaifyr. I can do nothing that they can, but I can do more than most people can. On the Spine I know I move faster than anyone else. I know I am as strong as the strongest person there. I wish I could do more, but I can do something. I can stand there against them, and tell them of their law, and if they break it, then I will break it with them.”

“You can lead our people to safety.”

“And when I got there, what would I do? I cannot barter with the Traders Union. If you think Illaan’s father will help me, you are wrong. He will not welcome me once he hears that Illaan is dead.”

“I would not ask this of you, Ayae.”

“You need me,” she said slowly. “You cannot send Meina to them alone. They will resist and if I am not there—”

“They may kill you all,” Lady Wagan said.

“That will let you into Yeflam.” She was aware that all eyes were on her. “They will be forced to hold a trial if I die. You know that as well as I do.”

Lady Wagan frowned. “This is not the way, Ayae.”

“It is.”

“Child, you do not—”

“I am not a child.” She did not like her words, did not want to say them; but they were right, they were what was needed. “If I was a child before Orlan’s shop caught on fire, then I stopped being so on that day. This is my home,” she said, “and I will not ask others to make sacrifices for it in my place.”