Blade and Bone Read online

  Horace pulled out his knife. It slid free with a wet sucking sound. “And then sometimes we get up to fight again.” Then he looked Jirom in the eyes. His gaze was filled with suppressed anger. “I told you this war was bigger than the rebellion. We’re not fighting for freedom anymore. This is about the survival of humanity. You need to remember that.”

  Jirom thought of Emanon, who was probably on his way to the slave quarters to free more people at this very moment. Was this all for nothing? “Help me secure this building, and then we’ll decide what to do next.”

  They climbed to their feet. Jirom shook the gore from his blade while Horace wiped his knife clean and put it away. Then together they went out to find more enemies.

  “Is everything to your liking, my lord? Do you desire something to eat? Perhaps some shaved ice?”

  Standing on the balcony, Pumash shook his head. His gaze was focused on the palace. Its sloped tiers were awash in the radiance of a hundred lamps, torches, and burning braziers, tinting its marble façade in shades of gold and orange. Just a few bowshots away and yet seemingly beyond his grasp. He tore his eyes away. “No, thank you, Lord Nimuur. I am quite comfortable.”

  Pumash walked back inside the suite. He had been fortunate to find such a staunch ally upon his arrival in Thuum. The lord of House Lamipetra was eager to please. Perhaps too much so at times.

  “I merely stopped by to make sure you had everything you needed, Lord Pumash. Eh, may I send a slave to clean up?”

  Pumash glanced at the piles of gifts scattered about the chamber, tokens from Nimuur and his friends. “No need. My servant will take care of it.”

  “As you wish.” Lord Nimuur turned as if to leave but hesitated before taking a step in such an obvious display of showmanship that Pumash felt sorry for the older man. “Since I am here, my lord, I wanted to convey how honored we are that you chose to stay with us.”

  Pumash ground his teeth together. “Yes, so you’ve said. It is very generous of you.”

  Lord Nimuur smiled and made an expansive gesture with one hand. He was a tall man in the latter half of his fifth decade. His silk robe was trimmed in accordance with his ha’jun rank. “It’s nothing! We must all help each other in these troubling times, eh?”

  Pumash wanted to smash the man’s face into one of the frescoed walls. Instead, he went over to a sideboard table and refilled his glass. It was a robust vintage of northern wine that he found delectable. “Indeed, my lord. Neither I, nor my master, will forget your abundant generosity when Thuum joins the new empire.”

  Pumash grimaced as he said those words and hid his displeasure with a sip of wine. So far the king had refused to see him, and his entire scheme hinged on subverting the city before the Manalish found out what he was doing. Time was growing thin.

  “Yes,” Lord Nimuur said. “We have heard of the happenings in the west. We would greatly prefer to have a peaceful transition of power here in Thuum. There is no need for armies. Just pens and papyrus, eh?”

  Pumash forced himself to smile back at this pandering fool. “Precisely, my lord. When we take control of Ceasa, we will need new governorship in all the empire’s cities. Your House would make a fine . . .”

  YOU ARE NOT IN EPUR.

  Pumash dropped the wine glass and clutched his temples with both hands as the voice crashed inside his head. The excruciation made him cry out. His knees buckled.

  Lord Nimuur’s mouth fell open as he stepped back. “My lord, are you ill?”

  Pumash squeezed his skull tighter to keep his brains from spilling out. “Get out!”

  The nobleman stumbled in his haste to get to the door. “I shall send for a physi—”

  “Get out and stay away!”

  When the door closed, Pumash collapsed to the floor. The agony intensified with every passing second. “My lord! Please!”

  YOU WERE INSTRUCTED TO CONQUER THE CITY OF EPUR. INSTEAD, YOU HAVE GONE TO THUUM. EXPLAIN YOURSELF.

  “I sent your armies ahead, lord! With the queen! They will take Epur as you commanded. Oh, stop the pain! I beg you, lord! Please stop. . . .”

  His voice died down to a whimper as the torment subsided. Sweat ran down his face. His hands were shaking.

  You have a plan.

  Pumash nodded, and then realized no one could see him. “Yes, Great King. I will deliver this city to you without the need for invasion.”

  They will come to me of their own will?

  “Yes! An entire city. Intact and unblemished. You will need living servants when you take control of the empire.”

  I have you.

  The thought of being the last living person in Akeshia chilled Pumash to the bone. “Great One! Please! Allow me to do this for you, and you will see the value in—”

  You will go to the court. Command King Ugurnazir to surrender at once.

  Pumash swallowed, fearing to reveal how he had been barred from the royal presence since his arrival. “I have tried, but the king will not see me. He refuses to even meet—”

  YOU WILL DO AS I COMMAND!

  The agony returned, sharper than before. It drove Pumash down until his face was pressed to the floor. After several seconds it departed, leaving him weak and panting. He managed a feeble reply. “Yes, lord. I shall obey.”

  Then the presence was gone from his mind, vanished as quickly and completely as it had arrived. Pumash lay back on the cool floor and took several deep breaths. If the king of Thuum wouldn’t see him, he would have to try harder. He would put pressure on the nobles. He could stir up the commoners with fears of invasion. But he had to act quickly. Remnants of the pain still echoed inside his head.

  Climbing to his feet, he called for Deemu. Then he went to the table for more wine to fortify him. His hands continued to shake as he sloshed the dark wine from the decanter into a tall-necked glass. They didn’t settle until he’d taken a long gulp. As the alcohol warmed his throat, he took another deep breath and let it out.

  He was fully in control of himself by the time his servant entered. “Deemu, get out my best garments. We’re going to the palace.”

  The servant’s eyebrows rose as if he wanted to ask about the lateness of the hour, but he merely bobbed his head in agreement. “Yes, lord. Shall I have a messenger sent to request a formal audience?”

  “No. We’ll surprise them.”

  Half an hour later, he arrived at the royal palace in one of Nimuur’s palanquins. Pumash exited and climbed the semicircular white steps to the main entrance. Sentries on either side of the bronze valve bowed as they opened the door before him. With Deemu following a step behind, Pumash took a moment to straighten his robes and then entered.

  As he had several times already, Pumash crossed the vast atrium. The floor was made from river stones, a style that lent itself to the chamber’s earthy, welcoming atmosphere. The high walls were painted in majestic frescoes all the way up to a row of round skylights bordering the chamber’s ceiling.

  In Akeshian fashion, several chambers separated the royal presence from the outside world. This, the outermost foyer, was a place where petitioners and those hopeful for royal favor came to wait their turn. Beyond it was another sizable foyer for those with a better chance to see the king. There might be waiting rooms beyond that, but he hadn’t made it that far yet.

  His heart beat faster as they approached the large doors at the other end. A squad of royal guards stood before it. Pumash stopped a dozen paces away and signaled to Deemu. With a bob of his head, the servant rushed forward. He spoke to the sergeant of the guards for a few seconds, and then the sergeant went inside. Deemu returned to Pumash’s side. “He will deliver the request, my lord. But he believes the king has already retired for the evening.”

  They waited for several minutes. Pumash straightened his stance as the king’s majordomo finally came out with the guard sergeant. A heavyset man in fine robes, Hannumah always moved with purpose. Though his appearance was that of a soft court functionary, he could be as hard as iron when
the situation required.

  Deemu cleared his throat as he stepped forward once again. “Our pardon for calling at such a late hour. But my lord’s need to speak with your king is very great.”

  “Need or not,” the majordomo replied. “His Divine Majesty is retired. Come back tomorrow at the second hour with the rest of the petitioners.”

  Deemu sneaked a glance back at Pumash. “The matter cannot wait until morning. My master comes with an offer of peace and brotherhood between our lieges.”

  Pumash listened, but he could see the barely veiled contempt in Hannumah’s eyes. This venture was doomed. He suspected it would be the same when they returned in the morning. More pleading on their part, and more denying on the majordomo’s part. The man possibly wanted a larger bribe than what they had delivered to him so far. Pumash could have Lord Nimuur send another payment to the palace, but that wouldn’t help them now, and now was when he needed the audience. He stepped forward, aware that he was breaking protocol but not caring as the memory of the Manalish’s voice echoed in his head.

  “Excuse me, Lord Hannumah. I must see the king tonight. As my man has said, it is urgent.”

  The majordomo met him with a cool glance. “And as I have said, my liege is retired for the evening.”

  Hannumah gestured over his shoulder, and the guards advanced. They were being shown out. Desperation clawed up Pumash’s throat.

  “We must see the king!” Dread roiled in his gut, threatening to make him sick. “If the king won’t see us . . .” Pumash hesitated, grasping for an answer. “Destruction will rain down on this city!”

  The few people standing around the chamber looked over, but no one moved. Pumash held his breath, wishing for something to happen. For the Manalish to use him as a conduit as he had before, for the power to spill out of him. But nothing happened. His heart thumped hard against the inside of his rib cage. Master, why have you deserted me?

  As the guards edged closer, Deemu looked back nervously. “We can return tomorrow, Master.”

  Pumash didn’t move. Yes, they could try again tomorrow, but somehow he didn’t think the Manalish would care about contingency plans. His commandment had been clear. They had to see the king now. Or never.

  The sergeant reached out to take him by the arm. Pumash looked him in the eyes, unable to fight the despair welling up inside him. He had failed. It was over. Pumash groaned as a sharp pain rippled through his stomach. The convulsion wracked his entire body.

  Deemu rushed to his side. “Master! Are you unwell?”

  “I . . .” Pumash tried to swallow but found it impossible to fight his rising gorge. He was going to be ill.

  The pain ran up his spine, jerking him upright. His insides were burning. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to clamp his jaws shut, but he couldn’t hold it back.

  A jet of pure darkness erupted from his mouth, striking the guard sergeant right in the face. The officer staggered backward, dripping with black bile. Then the screams began as the darkness exploded from the sergeant in many directions like the arms of a squid lashing out. Each tentacle struck a guard, and they fell to the floor writhing, one by one.

  A peculiar sensation enveloped Pumash, as well. The pain had another edge, a tinge of pleasure that rippled through him like delicate fingers dancing along his nerves.

  The majordomo had backed away toward the inner doors. Pumash faced him. He felt the power bubbling inside him, ready to be released again, and allowed himself to smile. It must have made for a horrific expression, for Hannumah turned with a yell and tried to get through the doors. Pumash reached out—not with his arms but with this new power—and gave the majordomo some assistance. The stream of blackness surrounded the functionary like a second skin and then spilled away as he fell, leaving behind a withered corpse.

  Pumash stepped over the bodies on his way to the interior doors, which now stood open. Deemu huddled on the floor, quivering like a frightened child. Feeling generous, Pumash held out his hand. “Come. It is time to see the king.”

  Deemu took a long shuddering breath as he joined him. “Will they let us see him, Master?”

  Pumash reached out, again with his newfound power, and shoved the doors open wider. This is what it must feel like to be zoanii. To hold the power of life and death in your hands. No wonder they rule the empire.

  “Of course, Deemu. Nothing can stop us.”

  With his servant in tow, Pumash walked through the doorway as a new man.

  Alyra leaned out of the alley’s mouth for a peek, but there was nothing new to see. The plaza outside the royal palace was empty. In another few minutes, a patrol of soldiers would march past on their regular circuit, and then the area would be quiet for another half an hour. Gurita and Jin were positioned farther down the alleyway, almost invisible in their dark cloaks.

  She had chosen this spot between the Royal Scriptorium and the House of Elders for her lookout post because of its clear view of the palace gate. The royal abode ascended in tiers of massive stone blocks into the midnight sky. Her assignment was to watch the palace during the attack. If there were any signs that the royal guard was mobilizing, she was to send word to Jirom. What he would do about that, she had no idea. The rebels’ hands were already full. Not to mention that any raw recruit could have been tasked with this job. They want to keep me out of the fighting.

  She tried to console herself with the knowledge that her worth to the cause was more significant, but it didn’t help. She still felt isolated and shoved to the side. She was calculating how long she would have to stay in order to technically honor her obligation when a staccato of marching feet echoed down the plaza. Alyra peeked out from her hiding place and saw a palanquin borne by eight slaves crossing the plaza. It was heading toward the palace gate.

  She frowned. It was awfully late for an official visit. Did this have something to do with the rebel attacks? She turned to gesture for her guardians to remain in place and almost jumped when Gurita appeared beside her.

  “Pretty late for a social call,” he whispered.

  “Stay here,” Alyra said as she started to leave her spot.

  He clutched her elbow. Not hard but just enough to stop her from leaving. “Where are you going?”

  “For a closer look.” She twisted out of his grip. “I’ll do my job, and you do yours by watching my back.”

  Gurita drifted back into the shadows. Thankful for the obedience, Alyra slipped out of the alley. There wasn’t much cover in the plaza. Hoping that no one was paying attention, she sprinted across the pavestones. She didn’t stop until she reached the statue of a Thuumian general. Heart thumping, she ducked behind the wide marble pedestal. After counting to ten, she peeked around the stone base. Now she had a much better view of the approaching palanquin. Thin curtains covered the car windows, blocking her view of the interior.

  Alyra was considering her next move when the vehicle stopped at the gate. An older man in plain clothing stepped out from the other side of the palanquin to speak with the sentries, and Alyra realized she had seen him before. At Lord Hunzuu’s garden party, speaking to Lord Pumash.

  Alyra squinted at the palanquin window. The envoy of the Manalish must be inside. Why was he here? To finalize a deal with King Ugurnazir?

  Alyra sat back on her heels. There were too many guards present to attack the envoy. Even if she got to him before they could react, she probably wouldn’t survive the attempt. And if she had miscalculated and Lord Pumash was not inside the car, she would die for nothing. But I can’t just sit here.

  Alyra waited until the car was entering the gate. Then, while the guards were distracted, she bolted back across the plaza. The trip back seemed impossibly long. With each hurried step she waited for a call to halt or an arrow in her back. Relief washed over her as she returned to the safety of the alley.

  “That was risky,” Gurita said.

  Alyra caught her breath. “Yes, but I found out what I needed to know. Where’s Jin?”

  “Here,”
the other bodyguard answered as he leaned out of the shadows shrouding the other wall.

  Alyra fought to keep the rising excitement out of her voice. “I need you to go find Jirom. He’ll either be at the central armory or on his way to the militia barracks.”

  “What did you see?” Gurita asked, now peering out into the plaza. “Who is that?”

  Alyra kept talking to Jin. “Tell Jirom I left my post to investigate the envoy. He’ll know what you mean.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Gurita said. “We’re supposed to be making sure none of the royals come out to play.”

  Alyra nodded. “You will be. If you see any signs the royal phalanx is preparing to leave the palace, find Jirom’s group immediately.”

  Gurita’s bushy eyebrows rose. “I don’t like the sound of this. We have our orders, and Master Horace wants—”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Alyra interrupted. “I’m leaving, Jin is informing command, and you are keeping an eye on the palace. Understand?”

  The men exchanged a long glance, but they finally nodded. “Fine,” Gurita said.

  Jin took off, back down the alley.

  Alyra took a moment to place a hand on Gurita’s arm. “I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”

  He shook his head. “I’m going with you, milady.”

  “No, you have to keep watch on the palace.”

  “With respect, ma’am, I don’t have to do any such thing. My first duty is to protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do. Now, do you want to stand here arguing all night, or shall we get started?”

  Alyra held his gaze for a moment but finally nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”

  “And hope the boss doesn’t find out about this,” Gurita mumbled under his breath.

  He’ll just have to get over it.

  A measure of relief filled Alyra as she headed back down the alley. As much as she felt guilty about abandoning their post, this was the right decision.

  She was concocting a fresh plan as she stepped out onto the next avenue. First, she needed to make a quick stop at Natefi’s house, and then back to the noble district to execute her scheme. Lord Pumash was bound to have some kind of incriminating evidence about his mission. A missive with instructions from his master, perhaps. Or a journal that shed light on their plans. Something she could use against him.