30. THE DRY MOTHERS

Tyentso’s story

The imperial war camp

Evening

The advantage of having the fanatical devotion of most of the men around herself, Tyentso discovered, was that no one questioned it when her orders changed from “kill on sight” to “capture all the morgage you can, unharmed, especially any old women.”

Not that old morgage women proved easy to capture.

But by early evening, a messenger relayed that such an old woman had been located and was even expected to live now that they’d gotten her to the healers.

Lovely.

Even before Tyentso’s arrival, the local garrison had set up a prison camp for captured morgage on those rare occasions when they didn’t fight to the last person. As they passed through the bedraggled and sorry-looking prisoners, the empress turned to one of the wardens who had shown up to escort her. “I know that the morgage aren’t the most well-behaved prisoners, but if I find out that any soldiers have been assaulting any of them, abusing any of them, I will personally see that soldier executed. Do you understand?”

The warden turned gray. “Uh, yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good,” Tyentso said. “Now take me to this old woman.”

The morgage woman in question sat on the only piece of scrap that might generously be considered a chair. She was decrepit, her side bandaged and bruises visible on her face. Her coloring along her back side was dark gray, with a lighter color, almost white, along her face and neck.

“Do you understand Guarem?” Tyentso asked.

Another morgage woman—younger but by no means young—looked up. “She does not. I do.” This woman was an indigo blue, almost black, color, with a swath of delicate silver scales striping across her head and down her side.

“What’s your name?” Tyentso asked her.

Neither woman answered.

Tyentso sighed. Both women had sullen, uncooperative expressions on their faces.

“Fucking bitches,” the warden said as he raised a whip. “The empress asked you a question!”

Tyentso used magic to rip the whip from the man’s hand. “Touch either of them and I’ll use this on you.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and then he bowed. “Uh … yes. Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Leave us,” Tyentso ordered. She really should have learned the man’s name. Threats were so much more effective when made on a first-name basis. “Now.”

He backed away, still bowing.

Tyentso grabbed both women by the arm and teleported them to a different location.

No sooner had she done so than the younger woman twisted her hand and set red-hot, burning fingers against Tyentso’s skin. At the same time, the old woman attempted to boil the blood in Tyentso’s veins.

Of course they both knew magic. They’d just been waiting for the right opportunity.

And it would have been the right opportunity—with someone else.

Tyentso broke the younger woman’s arm before pushing her away so hard it sent her flying. As soon as she landed, the rocks turned liquid and mud-like around her before hardening again, trapping her. Tyentso turned to the older woman and glared as she pulled the moisture from the morgage priestess’s lungs. The morgage collapsed in the middle of an asthma attack.

Tyentso snapped her fingers and let the old woman breathe properly again. She knelt next to her while she gasped for air.

“Let’s try this again,” Tyentso said. “I am the Empress of Quur, Tyentso, holy daughter of Thaena. And you are?”

Despite the younger woman’s claim that the older woman couldn’t understand Guarem, the old morgage woman began to chuckle, a thick, wheezing noise. She put a hand to her chest as her lungs heaved. “I am Durgala…” More laughter. “Also a holy daughter of Thaena.”

A chuckle forced itself free before Tyentso could stop it. Ah. Yes, there was some humor in that.

“Mother—” The daughter called out. She was in a particularly uncomfortable position, trapped on her back, unable to move any limbs. Which had to hurt considering the angle of her broken arm.

“Would you free my child?” Durgala asked. “I vow we will cause you no more trouble. As one angel of Death to another.”

Tyentso waved a hand and lowered the spell. “If you’re lying to me—” She smiled. “It will be no great effort to recapture you. But I thought we might talk woman-to-woman.”

The younger morgage woman muttered something in a language Tyentso didn’t understand.

“What was that?” Tyentso asked.

Durgala said, “She said, ‘We’ve been waiting five hundred years to talk woman-to-woman. What kept you?’” She tilted her head and gazed around them. “Where … are we?”

A fair question. They were nowhere near Khorvesh, that was certain. They rested on an island of lush, green grass, but all around them, dark water shimmered in the moonlight while frogs croaked out mating calls from lotus pads. A forestlike maze of trees grew from the water in the distance, limbs hanging heavy with moss. The air was sticky and humid, the shadows full of secrets. It probably looked worse in the daytime, but at night, this was an enchanted sort of place, both dangerous and beautiful.

By human standards, this place was a pit. Tyentso could understand now why Ninavis had openly mocked the idea of offering it to the Yorans. But compared to the Korthaen Blight? Where any liquid was either a poison or an acid and the air itself hurt to breathe?

Paradise.1

“This is the Kulma Swamp,” Tyentso said. “Do you like it?”

The daughter reached down to the water and pulled up a handful of swamp water. She smelled it, then let the water trickle through her fingers. Her eyes were very bright. “So much clean water,” she murmured.

“All this life, just … here. Out in the open.” Durgala shook her head. “Is it poisonous?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Tyentso said. “Do you want it?”

Durgala scowled and started to stand, anger clearly overwhelming any good-natured camaraderie their earlier fight had engendered. “How dare you mock—!”

“No mocking,” Tyentso said. “I’m offering your people the Kulma Swamp.”

Both women paused with stunned expressions.

“We don’t use the place,” Tyentso explained. “It’s too wet, too hot, too wild. Gods, I’m not sure you can take a breath without swallowing a mosquito out here. I’ve been told that there’s one Marakori tribe that lives here, but they can be moved.” She made a gesture toward the trees. “The Kulma Swamp is massive. Large enough for every morgage. And if you and your people are willing to help me, it’s yours.”

Durgala’s expression was disbelieving. “You’re going to just … give … us the Green Lands?” She scoffed.²

Understandable. Tyentso too would be a bit skeptical of an offer that seemed too good to be true.

“No,” Tyentso corrected. “Oh, not at all. You’ll earn it. The ‘helping me’ part is fucking dangerous, and I guarantee that a great many of your people will die. But the way I see it, a lot of your people are going to die no matter what happens, and at least this way, there’s something worth fighting for at the end—a new home in the Green Lands. Which is fucking dangerous and full of disease, and if you don’t really watch yourselves, a lot of your people will die just trying to survive. But you’ll be here and Warchild won’t.³ Help me, give me your finest warriors and witches, and in return, I’ll give you the Kulma Swamp.”

“For how long?” the other woman asked suspiciously.

“Really, what is your name?”

“Sighoris,” she answered.

“All right, Sighoris,” Tyentso said. “Until you don’t want it anymore. I’m granting it to you for you to rule as you see fit. Now personally? I would strongly suggest that you stay with the empire just so no future emperors decide to win themselves fame and glory by reclaiming it, but that’s your call. The point is, our peoples don’t have to keep fighting. If you can convince the rest of the Dry Mothers to stand down, I’ll give all this to you.” She waved a finger. “But no more attacking us. No more of your men proving their worth by assaulting our women. In return, you’ll have water again.” She pointed to the east. “The Kulma Swamp goes right down to the ocean. So you’ll have access to that too if you want it. I’m sure you have some cousins living out there who would love to see you again.”

Sighoris murmured something to her mother.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Durgala snapped. “None of that matters anymore. Our vows are fulfilled. We have done what we promised.”

Tyentso hoped that they hadn’t vowed to keep Vol Karoth imprisoned, because if that were the case, then they’d also failed at it. Probably best to just keep that to herself.

Durgala turned to her. “I will have to ask the other Dry Mothers, but I already know what they’re going to say.”

“And?” Tyentso raised an eyebrow.

“They’re going to say yes.”