As expected, tracking their quarry had been easy. So easy, in fact, that Draevenus had started to grow bored.
He almost would have welcomed it if the crippled bird-thing had joined up with another pack along the way. Such an encounter would have at least led to a little fun. But the beast stayed arrow straight on its path, veering only to avoid other creatures. And they, in turn, steered clear of it. The dark animal hobbled along despite its injuries like a creature coerced, as if some force outside itself drove it to keep moving, keep striving for something it could not explain or deny.
It was a feeling all mierothi knew well.
Ruul’s power had changed them, all those centuries ago. And not just in the more obvious ways. Indecipherable at first, they only become more apparent as those so inclined among their tribe began testing the limits of their newfound abilities, putting them to use against those who once oppressed them. It had seemed a good idea at the time.
History had proven otherwise.
In all that time, Draevenus had come to learn that adversity was such an easy thing to overcome; next to the burden of power, it weighed little more than a feather.
“Might be trouble,” Mevon said.
Shaking to clear his reverie, Draevenus returned focus to his senses. “What is it?”
“Listen.”
He closed his eyes and held his breath. A moment later, a faint conglomeration of noises reached his ears, coalescing into an unmistakable image that chilled his bones: the roar of a bestial crowd.
“Trouble indeed,” Draevenus said.
“Should we check it out?” Mevon asked.
Draevenus glanced up the path. The dark blood of their quarry, though diminished in quantity, still left fresh stains on tree trunks and leaves hanging across the trail. They’d have no difficulty resuming their hunt.
“Very well,” he said. “But let’s make it quick.”
“Do we know any other way?”
Draevenus shared a smile with his companion before crouching and turning off the path.
Stalking forward, he angled towards the haunting sounds. He pushed aside branches with care, avoiding tangled patches of brush when he could and stepping lightly over them when he couldn’t. Mevon, for all his bulk, did a fair job of following his lead. They arrived at a shallow ledge overlooking a glade, crawling the last dozen paces to avoid being seen by whatever was making the grotesque sounds just below them.
Poking his head over the crest, Draevenus was not prepared for what he saw.
A score of stick-and-grass huts formed a tangled web in a tree cluster at the glade’s edge. Below it foamed a pack of dark men and beasts larger by far than any they’d yet seen. At least fifty black-furred bodies crowded around the base of the elevated village, circling and roaring in displays clearly meant to threaten. An occasional arrow zipped upwards to little effect except to make their presence felt.
Movement, at last, began showing among the huts.
“What are they doing?” Draevenus asked. “Can you see anything?”
“Aye. I can.”
“And?”
Mevon shook his head. “You’ll see soon enough.”
His companion’s words became prophetic a mark later when the villagers began lowering something by rope from the center of the huts: a bundle wrapped in darkly stained cloth.
“Some kind of tribute, maybe?” Draevenus said. “Or . . . ?”
The bundle twitched.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Mevon said. “Oh? That’s all you can say?”
Draevenus shrugged. “What do you expect of me?”
“They’re sacrificing people over there, Draevenus. Living people. Shouldn’t that matter to us?”
“It does. But we didn’t come here to involve ourselves in local affairs; we came to find Ruul. We can’t let ourselves get distracted when we’re so close to achieving our goals.”
Mevon didn’t respond. Draevenus peeled his eyes from the scene below, finally glancing at his companion.
The man quivered with rage.
“What?” Draevenus demanded, feeling his own anger spike. Must I deal with your reticence yet again? “Do you want us to march down there now and try to put a stop to this, just the two of us?”
Mevon remained silent yet tilted his head slightly. Draevenus could almost see the words why not? written across his friend’s mind.
“No,” Draevenus said. “Even if we could prevail—which isn’t guaranteed—there are other packs besides this one. Not to mention the fact that it’s half made of men. Are you willing to put aside your vows for what may amount to a pointless gesture?”
Mevon shuddered, lowering his eyes.
“I didn’t think so.”
“But we must do something!”
“We will. But not here. Not now. Once we find Ruul, we’ll make him answer for everything he’s done, this included. If we stopped to help everyone he’s hurt, we’d just be applying bandages to a bleeding wound, and we’d never have time to actually repair the ruptured vein.”
Mevon furrowed his brow, returning his gaze towards the sickening scene below. He sighed. “I suppose that makes a kind of sense. Still, I can’t help but feel guilty—”
“Yes,” Draevenus interrupted. “You can. Guilt lies with those who caused the injury. No one can be held at fault for another man’s sins.”
Unhesitant, Mevon nodded.
Finally, a point we can agree on.
They crawled backwards away from the ledge, readying to leave and resume following the injured beast. Draevenus forced himself not to look back as the bundle finally crashed into the ground, and the pack’s howls reached a fever pitch, a chorus of savagery accentuated by a single, human scream.
“The main force is in position,” Daye said. “They’re only awaiting your signal.”
“Make sure they do,” Jasside said. “If Chase assaults too early, the coalition artillery will tear his army to shreds. Too late, and we’ll be caught inside a very angry city, with fifty thousand enemy soldiers chasing us down.”
“Sceptrine will do its part. I have absolute faith that you’ll do yours.”
She and the prince exchanged smiles.
“Done with the chatter?” Vashodia asked. “Or can we go ahead and capture this highly strategic location?”
“A city full of helpless people, you mean,” Jasside said.
The mierothi waved the sentiment away. “This is a choke point. All enemy supplies and reinforcements come through here for distribution. Cut this limb off, and the whole beast writhes.”
“And almost half a million civilians languish under Panisian martial law.”
“If they actually cared about their freedom, they’d have won it long ago. Are we going to have this same old argument every day?”
Jasside took a deep breath. “I suppose not.”
“Good.” Vashodia peered up at Daye. “Be a dear and guard our backs through this?”
He furrowed his brow. “You want me to come along? I thought you said I would stand out, or worse, be recognized?”
“Oh, none of us can hope to avoid that. But my apprentice and I don’t know this city half as well as we should. If we run into any trouble, we’d have a hard time finding our way back to our targets. Plus, having a void in tow has certain . . . tactical advantages. You don’t seem to know quite how to use your skills to their fullest advantage. But believe me—I do.”
“I see,” Daye said. Jasside could tell he struggled to say even that, much less anything else. Compliments from Vashodia were rare enough to have that effect.
“Ongshaith awaits liberation,” Jasside said. “I’d say the city has waited long enough, wouldn’t you?”
No further deliberation seemed imminent. Together, the three of them descended a hillside strewn with thick brush towards the southern wall of Ongshaith.
Jasside marveled at their success so far. She and Vashodia had stormed three other forts in the last month, and King Chase’s army had dealt critical defeats to the coalition’s westernmost position, which had been relying on aid from the very places she and her mistress had struck.
As much as it pained her to admit, Ongshaith was every bit as important, strategically, as Vashodia claimed. The whole war could tilt in Sceptre’s favor if they were successful today. And Jasside knew they would be. It was, perhaps, that very confidence that ensured it.
She reached the wall ahead of the others and energized. Gesturing forward, she rearranged the particles in front of them, spreading them apart just enough to allow them passage through. They couldn’t risk the gates, and this small use of energy would go unnoticed this far away from the military-controlled zones. They slipped through the gap and continued on. Vashodia gave Daye the lead.
They slunk through the winding streets of the city, turning to avoid dead ends and paths too choked with civilians or coalition soldiers. The prince instinctively avoided crowds, a decision Jasside could find no fault in. Though they’d likely be able to blend in better, any confrontation would mean increased collateral damage. And more dead Sceptrines would defeat the purpose of their coming here.
Several times, they were forced to duck behind market stalls or into doorways as enemy patrols passed by. Jasside watched, horrified yet enthralled, every time they did. The coalition soldiers marched in a close knot, surrounded by Sceptrine citizens who were chained hand, foot, and neck. A wall of humanity between them and the rest of the populace. It would make any dissidents think twice about assaulting them, for they’d have to carve down their own people first.
The brutal practicality of it sickened her. Though, not quite as literally as it did Prince Daye, who vomited after seeing it for the first time.
By all reports, the enemy held positions in a cluster at the very center of the city. As they drew nearer to the heart, signs of the occupation grew in frequency. And intensity.
Houses, and sometimes even entire blocks, lay in burnt-out ruins. Screams erupted with regularity as whips fell over those pressed into forced labor. Raucous male laughter and soft female whimpers leaked out of second-story windows. Fewer people who weren’t also in chains roamed the streets.
Avoiding patrols became nearly impossible on the main streets, so they stuck to the alleys, carefully sneaking from shadow to shadow. After what seemed an eternity, they at last drew near to the place occupied by the Panisian military. Daye paused at a corner, peeking around.
“Five men,” he whispered back to her and Vashodia. “One of them is a caster. An entrance to the main compound is just behind them. What should we do?”
“We can’t do any casting,” Jasside said. “Not this close. That will alert them to our presence too early. We need to know the layout before we make any overt strikes.”
Daye turned to Vashodia. “Please tell me you have an idea?”
“Perhaps. But I doubt you’ll like it.”
“I’m all ears.”
Vashodia flipped up her hood, gesturing for Jasside to do the same. Once both of their faces were properly concealed, the mierothi did the last thing she expected.
She reached out and grabbed Jasside’s hand.
“Come, ‘mother,’ ” Vashodia said. “Let’s go on a little trip to the market, shall we?”
Too stunned to disagree, Jasside and her “daughter” waltzed past an equally surprised Daye out in the open space of the alley.
The coalition squad noticed them immediately.
“What have we here?” one of them said.
“A couple of lost souls, I’d wager,” said another.
“Best show them the way home, then,” said the first.
Jasside spied two of them rushing their way and began dragging Vashodia as fast as she could. They reached the opposite corner with only ten paces separating them from the approaching men.
Vashodia dropped her hand and spun, eying Daye behind them and pointing down the adjacent alley. He nodded.
“Ready your dagger,” the mierothi said.
Jasside flattened herself against the wall, pulling the small blade from her waist. “A little warning next time?”
Vashodia shrugged, lifting her claws. “That would only give you time to start thinking. You’re no good at killing when you think too much.”
Jasside opened her mouth to retort but lost the opportunity. The guards came around the corner with vicious smiles on their lips.
She pounced.
Vashodia had been right. It was easier with no time to think.
Jasside pulled her dagger free from the man’s neck, then stepped back as he fell to the ground, gurgling. She looked over to see her mistress wiping her claws clean. A spatter of blood painted the wall next to her victim. She heard a noise from the alley.
Daye!
She spun towards him, but he was already gone from his spot opposite them. Jasside dashed around the corner.
She found him, chest heaving, as he stood over three corpses. Enemy blood dripped from his blade. His eyes seemed far away.
“Did their caster get off a spell?” she asked.
He peered down at the sword in his hand. “I did it,” he said, ignoring her question. “I found my courage again.”
Jasside froze. She hadn’t realized this had even been an issue for him. Looking back, however, she didn’t know how she could have missed it. She had been too wrapped up in herself, in the mission, to notice even the simplest truths and needs about the people around her.
“You did well,” she said, slowly edging closer. “But keep your blade ready, prince. There are more enemies ahead.”
He nodded.
“Done with the emotion session?” Vashodia snapped, coming round the corner. “Or can we get on with our business?”
“Yes,” the prince said. “Finally.”
Jasside drew near to him and gently laid a hand on his arm. She gave him a smile. “Lead on, prince.”
He marched forward without another word, and Jasside noticed something in his stride that hadn’t been there before. Confidence. A sense of purpose. Pride. It almost seemed a new man was there before her. Or, perhaps, it was the old one rising once more. Either way, she was glad of the change.
The prince pushed open the door mounted on the recently erected wall ahead of them, which served as a barricade for the coalition forces at the center of Ongshaith. He bounded through alone. Jasside heard a short struggle ensue and came inside to find two more fresh bodies at his feet.
The warrior in him had indeed returned. And not a moment too soon, by the looks of it. Four more enemy soldiers converged, and they were still out of sight of the main yard. She still couldn’t risk a casting.
Daye charged in among them, slashing high. One man ducked the swing, but another caught steel in his throat and spun to the ground, dead.
The one who’d dodged staggered towards her, then turned towards Daye. Jasside lunged at him and sank her dagger in the back of his head. The body fell, bringing her with it. By the time she managed to untangle herself, one of the remaining enemy soldiers was on his back, clutching a bleeding leg, and the other was skewered on Daye’s sword.
Vashodia strolled in behind her and stepped on the downed man’s leg. He screamed. She leaned down, putting the tips of two claws a scant breath away from his eyeballs.
That shut him up quick enough.
“Numbers and disposition,” Vashodia said. “Answer true and fast, and I’ll make sure—”
“You live to see another day,” Jasside interrupted. “You have my word.” Vashodia rolled her eyes at her apprentice, but Jasside ignored it. “Fail to satisfy, however, and I’ll leave you to her.”
The man made a choking sound and began shaking. Jasside took that for consent.
“A little space for our guest?” she said.
Vashodia sighed but withdrew her claws.
The man swallowed hard. “Please, I’ll tell you anything. Just spare my countrymen.”
Jasside inspected the beaded armor dangling from his chest and guessed him to be among those soldiers hailing from Phelupar, some island nation beyond even Panisahldron itself.
“Why so afraid?” Vashodia asked. “What harm can we two little girls do?”
“I know who you are,” the man said. “Word’s gotten round about some witches knocking over every fortress in their path. If you aren’t part of that group, I’m a blind man.”
“What other words have been going around about us?”
“That you kill without mercy. That you take no prisoners except those you keep around to eat later. That you made deals with devils from beyond the abyss, and that’s where you got your powers from.”
“ ‘Devils from beyond the abyss?’ ” Vashodia giggled, that trill familiar sound Jasside had come to know so well. Jasside almost couldn’t help snickering herself. “My, my, that is a new one. Yet, ironically, dangerously close to the truth.”
Jasside felt her jaw drop. “What?”
“Why should we spare your countrymen?” Vashodia asked, ignoring her.
“We’re all conscripts, my lady. None of us wants to be here, but the coalition treaties demanded troop tributes. Nearly all the men of age from every village back home are taken. We’ve no stake in the war. No purpose. We don’t want to die for nothing.”
“What about the other nations?” Jasside asked. “Are they all as innocent as you?”
The man shrugged. “Fasheshe has been skirmishing with Sceptre for centuries. I’m sure they’ve no qualms about this invasion. Can’t speak for the others.”
“So,” Vashodia said, “we’re to spare your people, kill the Panisians and the Fasheshish, and ignore all the rest, hoping they’ll do the same to us. Is that all?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard if the rumors about you are true. Besides, they’re all laid out neatly for you.” He gestured deeper into the compound. “Bad ones to the left. Everyone else to the right.”
Jasside nodded, turning to Daye. “Mind guarding him?”
“For how long?” Daye asked.
“Until stealth is no longer a factor.”
“How will I—?”
“You’ll know soon enough.”
He nodded. “Be careful in there.”
“I will. And thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being concerned. It’s been awhile since anyone has cared what happened to me. It’s comforting.” She swallowed. “Especially coming from you.”
Jasside brushed past him, chin held high, without waiting for his response. She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear it yet. Vashodia was right on her heels.
They came free of the alley into an open space that looked to have once been a park of some kind. It had since been repurposed and was now the staging ground for the main enemy force occupying Ongshaith. At least three dozen of the massive, magically charged artillery pieces rested in two long rows, pointing tubes in all directions so that they could rain down destruction within or without the city walls.
They would have to be destroyed first.
Jasside began energizing, then stepped to the right.
Vashodia grabbed her elbow. “This is war, girl. No time for playing nice. I won’t lose my most promising apprentice in ages because she died from a fit of conscience. Understand?”
“I’ll be careful,” Jasside said. “But I only kill those who deserve it. You’ll do well to remember that.”
“Throwing my own words back at me?” Vashodia laughed, not her normal high-pitched giggle but something throaty and unnervingly adult. “So be it. Your fate is your own. Don’t come crying to me when your own foolishness comes back to bite you in the ass.”
Vashodia released her and stomped off to the left, energizing. Jasside finished filling up her own reserves, then began eying her targets. The double row of artillery pieces gave her a perfect opportunity for surgical obliteration.
Head down, she strode quickly between the two nearest tubes. It wouldn’t be long, anyway, until the enemy casters felt their presence. Might as well make the best use of the surprise she could.
Thrusting her hands to each side, Jasside released some of her dark energy. The four nearest artillery pieces erupted into molten flames.
She ran forward, not bothering with a shield. The massive weapons themselves provided a barricade between her and whatever lay beyond. The enemy would have to get extremely lucky to hit her with either arrow or spell. At her tenth stride, she reached outwards again, setting another group of artillery pieces alight with blue fire.
A crewman stumbled into her path. Without thinking, Jasside elbowed him in the gut, then shadow-dashed past. She landed in perfect position to destroy a third group of the huge weapons. Running, she now realized, made her an easier, more predictable target. Dashing worked better, and faster. And she had plenty of energy to spare.
Inhale.
She shadow-dashed forward again. Pulsed destruction outwards at the malign weapons placements. Dashed again.
Exhale.
It took less than a mark to vanquish the last of the artillery pieces on her half of the compound. The signal had gone up with the very first, the flames themselves a beacon to her allies outside city. King Chase and his army should begin their assault any moment, and the coalition would find itself lacking the most potent tool in its arsenal.
A job well done, Jasside, she told herself. You should be proud.
The moment she emerged past the last flaming ruin, arrows and spells began streaking towards her.
Jasside threw up a shield, barely warding off the first blows. Soldiers converged on her position. She sent a pulse outwards, flinging them all to the ground. It bought her a moment. She closed her eyes, sensing for the enemy casters. Two, four, ten, a score. Now, a lot more. It didn’t matter. Vashodia had been right about one thing. This was war. Jasside wasn’t sure the morality of killing mattered when people were doing their best to tear you to shreds. Never mind that she was the one who had initiated things here—Panisahldron had started it all when they chose to cast blame in the face of Sceptre’s denial. Undoing that great wrong was the whole reason she was here.
She would do her best to kill as few as possible, but with the casters, she had no choice. Power such as this could not be easily contained. And, she guessed, no one with sorcerous blood in his or her veins who strode within a war zone could ever be entirely innocent.
That she herself fell into that category bothered her. But only a little.
She had work to do.
Jasside reenergized, then prepared her spells. One by one, she funneled her energy towards each of the enemy casters. One by one, they fell. Some, probably sensing the scope of her power, formed their own shields in defense, but they provided little protection. Her spells ripped right through them like a sword through cloth.
More soldiers raced towards her now, hundreds of them. She recognized many of them to be their captive’s brethren, fellow Phelupari. Had she given her word to spare them? Right now, she couldn’t remember. But, based on his testimony, she wasn’t sure they were deserving of the same fate as the casters.
She peered back over her shoulder. The artillery pieces lay in smoking ruins behind her. Farther back, the other half of the encampment writhed in furious swaths of chaos and death. Vashodia, apparently, hadn’t been nearly so restrained in her use of sorcery. Jasside heard what seemed like a thousand screams from as many paces away, a discordant sound that chilled her to the bone.
Disengage.
Wherever the thought came from, Jasside had no problem obeying. They’d done their part, and now the Sceptrine army would do the rest. She couldn’t let the fact that these men might very well still die in the coming battle affect her decision. War was an ugly thing. Until they got to the root of it, this was the best they could do.
Jasside turned around and shadow-dashed back the way she had come. Other than the occasional crewman futilely trying to salvage an artillery piece from her flames, she ran into no resistance.
Sighing, she walked back towards the alley just as Daye came out, pushing their captive ahead of them. Before she could say even a word, Vashodia strolled towards them, explosions and cries of agony still erupting behind her.
“Is it finished?” Daye asked.
“More or less,” Vashodia said.
“Let’s get to the rendezvous point,” Jasside added. “Your brother can handle the rest from here.”
“What about him?” Daye said, giving the Phelupari man a gentle shake.
Jasside met the man’s eyes. “Release him,” she said. “The Sceptrines will win the day, with or without his kinsman’s involvement. Perhaps he can convince them that surrender is the best option.”
“Without question,” the man said.
Daye sheathed his sword. The limped man ran off without another word.
“Let’s go,” Vashodia said, casting cold glances towards both Jasside and the prince. “I’ve had enough of your sentiment for one day.”
“This. Is. Pointless!”
Arivana threw down the book she’d been reading.
Tassariel lowered her own book to her lap as Flumere dutifully picked up the queen’s discarded pages. She sighed, wishing she could find some reason to disagree. The bookcases held too many empty spaces, bereft of even a hint of dust. Anything useful had been hastily removed.
“You’re probably right,” Tassariel said. “I’m sorry this turned out to be a waste of time.”
“We suspected as much coming in. I guess I just hoped those fears would be proven false.”
“I was a fool to trust the consular personnel simply because they were my kin. I should have known better. All the worst people I know are valynkar.”
“You just haven’t met enough humans, then. Give it time.”
Tassariel chortled at the joke.
Flumere looked aghast, darting her eyes back and forth between Tassariel and the queen. “You—” she began then paused, shaking her head. “We aren’t all that bad. Many are choked by greed and lies, only thinking of themselves, but there are still good people out there. Selfless people who think only of the welfare of others. Who are . . . compassionate.”
Arivana leaned back in her seat, folding her arms. “Name one.”
“Arivana Celandaris,” Flumere said without even a breath of hesitation.
The queen squeaked, then fidgeted in her seat. “You really mean that?”
“Absolutely. I’d not be going this far beyond my duties for just any old queen, now would I?”
Moisture glistened under Arivana’s eyes. The girl reached out to Flumere and clasped her hand. “Thank you, Flumere. It means so much to me to hear you say that.”
Tassariel wondered at the exchange, marveling that these two people had managed to look beyond their respective stations and, somehow, become friends. They were both exceptional people, in their own way. No wonder Elos had brought her to the two women.
Even if he had tried to kill one of them.
“Shipping logs.”
Tassariel flinched at the sound of her god’s voice. She hadn’t heard it in a while. Hiding her mouth behind a fake cough, she whispered, “What?”
“Sorry. Couldn’t see the covers from here. Had to wait for the right angle of sunlight to bounce off . . . oh, abyss, you don’t care. Look, up there on that shelf past the queen’s right shoulder.”
Tassariel glanced up. A pile of ragged parchment, ancient by the looks of it, sat atop a bookcase she hadn’t even seen before. They’d been in here long enough that the shifting sun had finally deigned to drench the spot in light. In shadow, it had been all but invisible. She supposed he wanted her to fetch them.
She stood.
Arivana’s eyes whipped towards her. “Ready to leave? I’m about done with this charade as well.”
Tassariel made a show of stretching, touching her fingertips above, then behind, her. “Not quite. I’d like to do one more sweep. See if they missed anything that could be useful to us.”
“Good luck,” Flumere said. “I’ve searched about every bookcase in this section already. If there’s anything to be learned, I doubt it will be here.”
“I don’t know,” Tassariel said, edging closer to the place Elos had indicated. “Maybe we just need to redefine our parameters. Look in pages we haven’t previously thought would hold the information we seek.”
“That implies we actually know what we’re looking for.” Arivana sighed. “Which means our systematic approach has been worthless. Anyplace really is as good as another.”
“Exactly,” Tassariel said. She reached out for what Elos had called shipping logs, moth-chewed parchment wrapped in frayed leather, and blew dust free from their top. “Abyss, even these old rags might hold the hint we need.”
The queen shrugged. “Might as well. Bring them over, and we’ll have a look.”
Tassariel returned and plopped the crinkled mess down on the table between them, kicking up a cloud of dust and setting them all to coughing. What she’d blown off the top had only been a fraction of the whole.
“Trying to kill us?” Arivana said as she waved the air clear in front of her.
“Slowly, maybe,” Flumere said. “These pages are as likely to give our lungs the rot as they are a clue.”
“Sorry!” Tassariel said.
“Get going,” Elos said. “There’s something in here. I know it. Read!”
She passed out the first three of the six bundles. All three of them set to the sacred task of poring over pages packed with tedious accounts of goods shipped, including buyer, seller, shipper, price, package, procurement, origin, destination, all planned stops along the way, and some categories she didn’t even recognize. After half a toll of silent skimming, replete with many yawns and sighs and droopy eyes, they all seemed to reach the last page about the same time.
They’d found nothing.
Tassariel handed out the other three.
Within a mark, Flumere sat up straight. “Hold on a minute.”
“A what?” Arivana said.
“Nothing. Look at this.”
Tassariel leaned in close on the handmaiden’s right side, as the queen did the left. She peered where Flumere’s finger rested, on the “package” column of the very first entry.
“Tuleris,” it read.
“What’s that?” Tassariel asked.
Arivana had gone pale. “A common Panisian surname.”
Tassariel felt a cold grip her, one that had nothing to do with her god’s calculations. “What else does it say?”
They studied the lines together. Next to Tuleris was a kind of shorthand that was easily worked out. “M–34” translated to a thirty-four-year-old male, probably the father of the family, shipped to a noble household in Fasheshe.
“It doesn’t say why, though,” Arivana said. “What would they send him there for?”
“If they’re treating people like cargo, can it be anything good?” Tassariel stated.
No one seemed in the mood to answer.
Skimming down, the next four entries also had the main package title of Tuleris. By translating the markings, they discerned that a woman, age thirty-one, and three girls—eleven, ten, and eight—were also moved, though none to the same place. The picture that formed presented a startling parallel to Arivana’s trip to the lower parts of her city.
And then they read the year of shipment.
It was 11,079, AF.
The queen hissed. “This is over seven hundred years old!”
“That only means this has been going on for a long time,” Tassariel said. She sat back, rubbing her temples. “And that the consulate has had a hand in it.”
“Can we know for sure what any of this means?” Flumere asked. “I can’t help shake the feeling that all this is just speculation run wild.”
“I know someone who could tell us for certain,” Arivana said.
“Who?” Tassariel asked. “Minister Pashams?”
The queen scoffed. “He’s too busy trying to get me to open up my legs to the prettiest boy in the land to give me a straight answer.”
“Then . . . ?”
“Claris.”
Flumere shook her head at Arivana. “Out of the question.”
“Claris,” Tassariel said. “Your aunt. The one who tried to kill you.”
“And nearly succeeded, I might add,” Flumere said. “It’s foolishness to expect any straight answers from her. And impossible besides.”
“It might have been both except for two key facts.” Arivana held up a finger. “One. We have dire need of her knowledge, and she’s in no position to deny us answers. Two.” She held up another, wiggling it towards Tassariel. “We have you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Flumere’s charm might be enough to get us into the dungeons, but not enough to get us out undetected. With your aid, I’m confident we can do both.”
“I’ve never broken into a prison before. What makes you think I’ll be any use?”
The queen smiled. “You’re older than my grandmother, you know. Lots of people have heard of you. It didn’t take much asking around to find out about your Calling.”
Tassariel raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“If the accounts are true, you’re well versed in all manner of martial arts. Including Phelupari stalking and subduction techniques. I’ve every confidence that, coupled with detailed information about guard locations, patrols, and schedules, you can get us into and out of the dungeon without doing any permanent harm to my dutiful jailers. And, failing that, there’s always your magic.”
Tassariel sighed. She let her eyes glaze over, looking inwards. If you’ve got any wisdom for me, Elos, now would be a good time to impart it.
But her god kept his lips shut, churning with frosty fury. She knew he couldn’t hear her thoughts, but it still irked her to have to make this decision on her own.
Peering at the girl across from her, it wasn’t hard to see how great a woman—and queen—she would someday become.
The ice inside seemed to spike as she spoke. “Well, I did promise you my aid, did I not? I can’t very well back out now.”
Arivana smiled. Flumere threw her hands into the air.