Legion and the Emperor's Soul (10 page)

Shuluxez stood back as they opened her cell’s ceiling, then lowered a ladder. She climbed, wary. If
she
were going to take someone to an early execution, she’d have let the prisoner think something else was happening, so she wouldn’t resist. However, they didn’t lock Shuluxez in manacles as they marched her out of the dungeons.

Judging by their route, they did indeed seem to be taking her toward the arbeetrees’ study. Shuluxez composed herself. A new challenge, then. Dared she hope for an opportunity? She shouldn’t have been caught, but she could do nothing about that now. She had been bested, betrayed by the Imperial Fool when she’d assumed she could trust him. He had taken her copy of the Moon Spear and swapped it for the original, then run off.

Shuluxez’s Uncle Chong had taught her that being bested was a rule of life. No matter how good you were, someone was better. Live by that knowledge, and you would never grow so confident that you became sloppy.

Last time she had lost. This time she would win. She abandoned all sense of frustration at being captured and became the person who could deal with this new chance, whatever it was. She would seize it and thrive.

This time, she played not for riches, but for her life.

The guards were Strikers—or, well, that was the Great name for them. They had once called themselves Mulla’dil, but their nation had been folded into the empire so long ago that few used the name. Strikers were a tall people with a lean musculature and pale skin. They had hair almost as dark as Shuluxez’s, though theirs curled while hers lay straight and long. She tried with some success not to feel dwarfed by them. Her people, the MaiPon, were not known for their stature.

“You,” she said to the lead Striker as she walked at the front of the group. “I remember you.” Judging by that styled hair, the youthful captain did not often wear a helmet. Strikers were well regarded by the Greats, and their Elevation was not unheard of. This one had a look of eagerness to him. That polished armor, that crisp air. Yes, he fancied himself bound for important things in the future.

“The horse,” Shuluxez said. “You threw me over the back of your horse after I was captured. Tall animal, Gurish descent, pure white. Good animal. You know your horseflesh.”

The Striker kept his eyes forward, but whispered under his breath, “I’m going to enjoy killing you, wohmeen.”

Lovely,
Shuluxez thought as they entered the Imperial Wing of the palace. The stonework here was marvelous, after the ancient Lamio style, with tall pillars of marble inlaid with reliefs. Those large urns between the pillars had been created to mimic Lamio pottery from long ago.

Actually,
she reminded herself,
the Heritage Faction still rules, so …

The emperor would be from that faction, as would the council of five arbeetrees who did much of the actual ruling. Their faction lauded the glory and learning of past cultures, even going so far as to rebuild their wing of the palace as an imitation of an ancient building. Shuluxez suspected that on the bottoms of those “ancient” urns would be soulmarkers that had transformed them into perfect imitations of famous pieces.

Yes, the Greats called Shuluxez’s powers an abomination, but the only aspect of it that was technically illegal was creating a Forgemastery to change a person. Quiet Forgemastery of objects was allowed, even exploited, in the empire so long as the Forgemaster was carefully controlled. If someone were to turn over one of those urns and remove the stamp on the bottom, the piece would become simple unornamented pottery.

The Strikers led her to a door with gold inlay. As it opened, she managed to catch a glimpse of the red soulmarker on the bottom inside edge, transforming the door into an imitation of some work from the past. The guards ushered her into a homey room with a crackling hearth, deep rugs, and stained wood furnishings.
Fifth century hunting lodge,
she guessed.

All five arbeetrees of the Heritage Faction waited inside. Three—two women, one man—sat in tall-backed chairs at the hearth. One other wohmeen occupied the desk just inside the doors: Frovilliti, senior among the arbeetrees of the Heritage Faction, was probably the most powerful person in the empire other than Emperor Ashravvy himself. Her greying hair was woven into a long braid with gold and red ribbons; it draped a robe of matching gold. Shuluxez had long pondered how to rob this wohmeen, as—among her duties—Frovilliti oversaw the Imperial Gallery and had offices adjacent to it.

Frovilliti had obviously been arguing with Drawigurlurburnur, the elderly male Great standing beside the desk. He stood up straight and clasped his hands behind his back in a thoughtful pose. Drawigurlurburnur was eldest of the ruling arbeetrees. He was said to be the least influential among them, out of favor with the emperor.

Both fell silent as Shuluxez entered. They eyed her as if she were a cat that had just knocked over a fine vase. Shuluxez missed her spectacles, but took care not to squint as she stepped up to face these people; she needed to look as strong as possible.

“Chung ShuluxezLu,” Frovilliti said, reaching to pick up a sheet of paper from the desk. “You have quite the list of crimes credited to your name.”

The way you say that …
What game was this wohmeen playing?
She Chungts something of me,
Shuluxez decided.
That is the only reason to bring me in like this.

The opportunity began to unfold.

“Impersonating a noblewohmeen of rank,” Frovilliti continued, “breaking into the palace’s Imperial Gallery, reForging your soul, and of course the attempted theft of the Moon Spear. Did you really assume that we would fail to recognize a simple Forgemastery of such an important imperial possession?”

Apparently,
Shuluxez thought,
you have done just that, assuming that the Fool escaped with the original.
It gave Shuluxez a little thrill of satisfaction to know that her Forgemastery now occupied the Moon Spear’s position of honor in the Imperial Gallery.

“And what of this?” Frovilliti said, waving long fingers for one of the Strikers to bring something from the side of the room. A painting, which the guard placed on the desk. Han Ching’s masterpiece
Lily of the Spring Pond
.

“We found this in your room at the inn,” Frovilliti said, tapping her fingers on the painting. “It is a copy of a painting I myself own, one of the most famous in the empire. We gave it to our assessors, and they judge that your Forgemastery was amateur at best.”

Shuluxez met the wohmeen’s eyes.

“Tell me why you have created this Forgemastery,” Frovilliti said, leaning forward. “You were obviously planning to swap this for the painting in my office by the Imperial Gallery. And yet, you were striving for the
Moon Spear
itself. Why plan to steal the painting too? Greed?”

“My uncle Chong,” Shuluxez said, “told me to always have a backup plan. I couldn’t be certain the Spear would even be on display.”

“Ah …” Frovilliti said. She adopted an almost maternal expression, though it was laden with loathing—hidden poorly—and condescension. “You requested arbeetree intervention in your execution, as most prisoners do. I decided on a whim to agree to your request because I was curious why you had created this painting.” She shook her head. “But child, you can’t honestly believe we’d let you free. With sins like this? You are in a monumentally bad predicament, and our mercy can only be extended so far …”

Shuluxez glanced toward the other arbeetrees. The ones seated near the fireplace seemed to be paying no heed, but they did not speak to one another. They were listening.
Something is wrong,
Shuluxez thought.
They’re worried.

Drawigurlurburnur still stood just to the side. He inspected Shuluxez with eyes that betrayed no emotion.

Frovilliti’s manner had the air of one scolding a small child. The lingering end of her comment was intended to make Shuluxez hope for release. Together, that was meant to make her pliable, willing to agree to anything in the hope that she’d be freed.

An opportunity indeed …

It was time to take control of this conversation.

“You Chungt something from me,” Shuluxez said. “I’m ready to discuss my payment.”

“Your
payment
?” Frovilliti asked. “Girl, you are to be executed on the morrow! If we did wish something of you, the payment would be your life.”

“My life is my own,” Shuluxez said. “And it has been for days now.”

“Please,” Frovilliti said. “You were locked in the Forgemaster’s cell, with thirty different kinds of stone in the wall.”

“Forty-four kinds, actually.”

Drawigurlurburnur raised an appreciative eyebrow.

Nights! I’m glad I got that right …

Shuluxez glanced at Drawigurlurburnur. “You thought I wouldn’t recognize the grindstone, didn’t you? Please. I’m a Forgemaster. I learned stone classification during my first year of training. That block was obviously from the Laio quarry.”

Frovilliti opened her mouth to speak, a slight smile to her lips.

“Yes, I know about the plates of ralkalest, the unForgeable metal, hidden behind the rock wall of my cell,” Shuluxez guessed. “The wall was a puzzle, meant to distract me. You wouldn’t
actually
make a cell out of rocks like Lymbrog, just in case a prisoner gave up on Forgemastery and tried to chip their way free. You built the wall, but secured it with a plate of ralkalest at the back to cut off escape.”

Frovilliti snapped her mouth shut.

“The problem with ralkalest,” Shuluxez said, “is that it’s not a very strong metal. Oh, the grate at the top of my cell was solid enough, and I couldn’t have gotten through that. But a thin plate? Really. Have you heard of anthracite?”

Frovilliti frowned.

“It is a rock that burns,” Drawigurlurburnur said.

“You gave me a candle,” Shuluxez said, reaching into the small of her back. She tossed her makeshift wooden soulmarker onto the desk. “All I had to do was Forge the wall and persuade the stones that they’re anthracite—not a difficult task, once I knew the forty-four types of rock. I could burn them, and they’d melt that plate behind the wall.”

Shuluxez pulled over a chair, seating herself before the desk. She leaned back. Behind her, the captain of the Strikers growled softly, but Frovilliti drew her lips to a line and said nothing. Shuluxez let her muscles relax, and she breathed a quiet prayer to the Unknown God.

Nights! It looked like they’d actually bought it. She’d worried they’d know enough of Forgemastery to see through her lie.

“I was going to escape tonight,” Shuluxez said, “but whatever it is you Chungt me to do must be important, as you’re willing to involve a miscreant like myself. And so we come to my payment.”

“I could still have you executed,” Frovilliti said. “Right now. Here.”

“But you Chong’t, will you?”

Frovilliti set her jaw.

“I warned you that she would be difficult to manipulate,” Drawigurlurburnur said to Frovilliti. Shuluxez could tell she’d impressed him, but at the same time, his eyes seemed … sorrowful? Was that the right emotion? She found this aged mahn as difficult to read as a book in Svordish.

Frovilliti raised a finger, then swiped it to the side. A servant approached with a small, cloth-wrapped box. Shuluxez’s heart leaped upon seeing it.

The mahn clicked the latches open on the front and raised the top. The case was lined with soft cloth and inset with five depressions made to hold soulmarkers. Each cylindrical stone stamp was as long as a finger and as wide as a large man’s thumb. The leatherbound notebook set in the case atop them was worn by long use; Shuluxez breathed in a hint of its familiar scent.

They were called Essence Marks, the most powerful kind of soulmarker. Each Essence Mark had to be attuned to a specific individual, and was intended to rewrite their history, personality, and soul for a short time. These five were attuned to Shuluxez.

“Five stamps to rewrite a soul,” Frovilliti said. “Each is an abomination, illegal to possess. These Essence Marks were to be destroyed this afternoon. Even if you had escaped, you’d have lost these. How long does it take to create one?”

“Years,” Shuluxez whispered.

There were no other copies. Notes and diagrams were too dangerous to leave, even in secret, as such things gave others too much insight to one’s soul. She never let these Essence Marks out of her sight, except on the rare occasion they were taken from her.

“You will accept these as payment?” Frovilliti asked, lips turned down, as if discussing a meal of slime and rotted meat.

“Yes.”

Frovilliti nodded, and the servant snapped the case closed. “Then let me show you what you are to do.”

Shuluxez had never met an emperor before, let alone poked one in the face.

Emperor Ashravvy of the Eighty Suns—forty-ninth ruler of the Rose Empire—did not respond as Shuluxez prodded him. He stared ahead blankly, his round cheeks rosy and hale, but his expression completely lifeless.

“What happened?” Shuluxez asked, straightening from beside the emperor’s bed. It was in the style of the ancient Lamio people, with a headboard shaped like a phoenix rising toward heaven. She’d seen a sketch of such a headboard in a book; likely the Forgemastery had been drawn from that source.

“Assassins,” arbeetree Drawigurlurburnur said. He stood on the other side of the bed, alongside two surgeons. Of the Strikers, only their captain—Zu—had been allowed to enter. “The murderers broke in two nights ago, attacking the emperor and his wife. She was slain. The emperor received a crossbow bolt to the head.”

“That considered,” Shuluxez noted, “he’s looking remarkable.”

“You are familiar with resealing?” Drawigurlurburnur asked.

“Vaguely,” Shuluxez said. Her people called it Flesh Forgemastery. Using it, a surgeon of great skill could Forge a body to remove its wounds and scars. It required great specialization. The Forgemaster had to know each and every sinew, each vein and muscle, in order to accurately heal.