Revelation (60 page)

The royal encampment and the rebels were situated a short distance east of the line of pillars, separated from each other only by a line of low hills. The rebels had the superior position, a wide plateau pushed up when some upheaval fractured the earth around it. To reach them, the Prince’s troops would have to climb a short escarpment. They would be vulnerable the moment they came over the edge. If the rebels had good bowmen, a great number of Aleksander’s men would die.

I swooped low toward a small forest of fluttering standards on the barren summit of a hill halfway between the two camps. A cluster of men stood posturing at each other, airing their grievances, no doubt, making demands, stating terms. I passed very quickly near them, only long enough to glimpse angry faces and to hear indecipherable snatches of their bellicose rumblings. One man strode away from the group to the crest of the hill, the sunlight glinting off his red hair and the gold trappings of his rank. I circled and cried out to him, the harsh screech echoing from the hills. He stood, arms folded tightly across his breast, his anger rising like the heat shimmers from the dry ground.
Hold, my Prince. Hold. This is not real. You are meant for better things.

I continued to circle until the negotiations broke off. The rebels mounted and rode away first, an inconceivable insult to the Emperor’s son. Aleksander threw himself onto his horse and spurred the beast furiously down the hill to the north. He was seeing blood, no doubt, yet I didn’t believe he would fight that night. Derzhi valued their horses too much to drive them on a long journey, then risk injuring them in the dark. Dawn would bring the killing. And the night . . . they had no idea. The night would bring the demons.

It was difficult to abandon my watch on the encampments. However sure I was of Derzhi custom, who knew what to expect when festering resentments had been manipulated by rai-kirah? I needed to meet with Aleksander, but he would be busy for the next few hours, planning for the assault—I had not the least hope that any other solution would present itself—and I needed him alone. To get him to listen to me would take some persuading, and to allow his subjects to observe the process would be unwise. I just prayed I could think of some way to convince him to forego this battle.

Despite my anxiety, I had to give up my vigil at last. My mind was turning to porridge.

I was too tired to attempt an answer. I flew back to Dasiet Homol, grabbed my discarded cloak, and sprawled out in the shade of the first pillar, unable to worry or plan or weigh the future. For a nervous moment I wondered what dreams might infest a demon’s night, but, in truth, I slept like a dead man.

 

I believed it was a lamp shining in my face that woke me, or perhaps a demon who had shaped a single round bright eye, but then waking memory struck, and the world settled into its proper shape . . . and I recognized a gloriously beautiful full moon hanging huge on the dark edge of the east. With newborn awe I examined the silver-edged shadows and the transformation of the stark landscape into luminous mystery, so different from the day’s brilliance just fading into the west. Every rock and scrubby tree, every blade of grass, even my own hand was made clean and new when washed in silver. The pillars towered above me in eerie majesty.

But there was no time to contemplate the scene. Though I had slept no more than two hours, something had changed. As I sat in the shadows of the Kir’Navarrin gateway, I felt an uneasy pulse in the veins of the world. I needed to get to Aleksander. The demons were coming . . . and the Ezzarians would soon follow . . . and I had no solution for any of them.

Sometimes a seemingly impenetrable wall is so precariously built that to move but a single pebble will cause it to crumble. So it was with the first of my dilemmas. A simple, fleeting image gave me the solution for Aleksander. Before setting out to find the Prince, I took stock of the enchantment I had constructed, to make sure that no unseen hand had intruded on its fragile perfection while I slept. The key, glinting silver, hung in the dark center of my mind like a sword of light. Yvor Lukash . . . Like a dying star, the name blazed through my consciousness. Of course. Aleksander needed something to give his rebellious nobles, and I had just the right thing for him to offer.

Soon I was in the air, in the bird shape again, gliding northeast through the warm, heavy air into the heart of the Derzhi royal camp. I perched on one ridgepole of Aleksander’s tent, and contemplated the two heavily armed Derzhi who stood beside the door flap.

But I was too impatient to learn another form; it required more concentration than I wanted to spend. Instead, I used a less sophisticated tactic. I spread my wings and flew right into their faces, one and then the other, screeching loudly, flapping wings in their eyes, and catching their braids in my claws. Only a moment’s assault, then I flew to the top of an adjacent tent, leaving the two cursing and flailing. I didn’t give them time to think, but flew at them again. Noisier. More vicious. I raked their faces with my talons. The third time, they came after me. I led them a short distance into a crowded row of tents, so that they were crashing over men’s legs and weapons, stumbling through the watch fires, and kicking over the supper pots, then left them explaining to their fellows what they were hunting, while I circled back to Aleksander’s tent. With one thought, I returned to my own form. With one gesture I snuffed the blazing torches. And with one look over my shoulder, I slipped quietly into the royal tent.

A single candle flame cast its soft glow over the thick, richly colored rug spread throughout the small enclosure. This rug was the only luxury Aleksander allowed himself when riding to war. He refused to be slowed by wagons filled with the vast tent, gold dishes, and elaborate furnishings available to the Emperor’s son, but he hated sleeping on bare ground. The Prince was brooding, sitting with his back against his war saddle, his long arms propped on his knees, one soft boot tapping furiously on the blue and red rug like a woodpecker on a dead oak.

I held still, wrapping my dark cloak about my face and sitting in the deepest shadow of the corner by the door until his guards begged entry and reported that the commotion outside had only been a mad bird. “A demon bird, Your Highness. I’ve never seen the like, attacking a man.”

“I hope you were victorious. If you can’t wring a bird’s neck, how will you gut a traitor?”

“We will destroy the insolent Hamraschi, my lord.” The guard didn’t mention that the bird had escaped him—or that the vicious bird was Aleksander’s own symbol. Wringing its neck would have been the worst of omens.

Aleksander dismissed the man with a jerk of his hand, then drew his knife, laid it on the rug beside him, and stretched out on his back as if to sleep. I moved quickly. Before any harm could be done, I had a firm grip on his wrist, making sure his gleaming blade was nowhere near my vital parts.

“A sneaking rebel assassin!” Despite my tight hold, he twisted in my grasp and aimed a knee at my gut, but before he could get any leverage, I had him in a less comfortable position—on his face with my knee in his back and both of his arms pinned behind him. He didn’t like it in the least, and it took more force than I wanted to use to persuade him to lay still. He still refused to give in. “Hamraschi bastards! First you turn on your rightful Emperor, and now you stoop to cowardly murder. Your hands should be cut off for touching your anointed Prince. How can you claim to be Derzhi warriors? May your fathers and grandfathers rot—”

“I wish you no harm, my lord. Listen to my voice. I am not your enemy.” We were never going to get anywhere if he didn’t listen.

“Bloody Athos . . . ” I tried to convince myself that there was some hint of relief or pleasure in his surprised recognition, but, if so, it was quickly dismissed. Though he no longer fought me, his flesh was rigid. “So you’ve joined the rebellious vermin. Were the pitiful outlaws not followers enough?” His disgust swelled into monumental fury. “By my father’s head, if you’ve had a hand in this, I’ll enslave every last Ezzarian that breathes. I’ll—”

“Please, my lord, I need you to listen.”

“I warned you—”

“Neither the Ezzarians nor I have violated your commands, my lord, and I care only for your good. All I ask right now is that you hear me out.” I kicked his knife well away, then let go of him, retreating to my shadowed corner of the tent while he sat up, rubbing his wrists. I motioned him backward to lean against his saddle again. I kept my hood drawn up, and hoped he remembered enough of my warrior’s skills not to test me further.

Though his face was scarlet, he remained well behaved, folding his knotted arms across his chest, as if daring me to breach the wall between us.

“I’ve come to help you out of your dilemma.”

“Ah, you’re going to ‘serve me’ again! Will you lead Hamrasch and his traitors into battle? Kill a few of my warriors, steal a few more of my horses, put these villains in control of my father’s throne? Such service as yours, an empire could do without.”

“This battle must not happen.”

“Your outlaw rabble has held quiet these past weeks. I’d think you needed more excitement.”

I wondered yet again if there was any man born more stubborn than Aleksander. “Tell me, my lord, what would it take to send these nobles on their way without bloodshed and without dishonor to you or themselves?”

“If you’ve turned craven at your treachery, you should have considered asking such a question a bit earlier.”

I tried to hold patience. “Leave your pride behind for just one moment, my lord. Think back to the Khelid, to the things we experienced and the things we learned together. As vast and powerful as your empire is, the universe is much larger, and its right ordering is far more important. When we last spoke, I was searching for answers to some of the questions the universe had presented to me . . . and I’ve found a number of them. Not all. Far from all. But I’ll swear on the blood I shed for you, on the lives of my wife and my son and my people, that this conflict is not of human making. These nobles have been goaded into action against you. Yes, they have grievances with you and your father, and I have no doubt that injuries have been done on both sides that seem irreconcilable, but you must believe me that only evil purpose will be served by bloodshed.”

“You think you can explain away treachery with more of your demon stories? These rebels have insulted their Emperor. Disobeyed him. They will die for it.”

So onward to my only play. “If you gave them the Yvor Lukash, my lord, and said that you had put down the outlaw raiders and that your nobles would be bothered with them no more . . . would that be enough?”

“You are vile.” He spat toward my feet. “Have you no honor, even with outlaws?”

“I am not betraying them. Rather, I’m going to convince my friends that there are larger issues facing us, and that humans do nothing but set back their goals by pecking each other into frenzy. I’m going to convince them of
your
honor, my lord, and that you’re looking for ways to make the world better. I believe I can make them listen. Will that help you?”

“You think you can persuade your ‘friends’ to give up their leader to Derzhi barons? If you’re not the thieving traitor I’ve named you, then you are a fool and a madman.”

“I promise you’ll have someone to give them. Someone who fits the description of the Yvor Lukash in a most convincing manner. The activities of the outlaws—those that violate your trust and prevent your working for good—will cease. I swear it.”

The flush of anger on Aleksander’s face cooled instantly. He peered into the darkness that I had drawn deeper about myself. “You. You’re saying you’ll give yourself up to stop a Derzhi war . . .”—his curiosity unsatisfied, he settled back against the saddle—“and then escape, no doubt. Work some sorcery to stab me in the back.” But he didn’t say it as if he believed it. I had breached the wall.

“Think back to a few moments ago, my lord. I’ve no need to work sorcery to stab you in the back.”

I had thought his skin could get no brighter red. “What kind of warrior sneaks up on a sleeping man?”

I could not help but grin at his grumbling. “I’ve a number of other things I must do tonight. But if you can find a way to convince your unhappy countrymen that you’ve resolved their grievances as you always said you would and that you’ll give them their enemy to prove it, I’ll come back at midday tomorrow and do whatever you ask of me.”

“They’ll cut out your heart.”

“There are things worse, my lord. They can’t put it back and do it over.”

The hairs on my arms rose and fingers of dread brushed my spine. Darkness crept underneath the door flap, and my mind was filled with whisperings . . . searching . . . hunting . . . fearful . . . From the deep quiet of the sleeping war camp came a muffled cry of terror . . . and then another and another.

“Druya’s horns, what’s happening?” Aleksander leaped to his feet, poised to run out of the tent if the alarm was called. He rubbed his bare arms as if the wind of Kir’Vagonoth had penetrated the canvas walls. “I’ve not felt anything like since . . .” He turned wide eyes to me. “ . . . since Parnifour . . . .” Since our encounter with the Naghidda, the Lord of Demons.

“Your Highness! Message!” The urgent call came quietly from beyond the door curtain.

Glaring sideways at me—fiercely, as if daring me to stop him—the Prince stuck his head out of the door curtain and spoke with the guards.

Soon,
I said, trying to fend off the demands in my head and restrain my feet that were trying to take me away without my consent.
Learn of him.