The Last Warrior (2 page)

“Perhaps,” Markam said, “it is a little of each.”

A prickle of unease crawled down Tao's neck. He might not care much for politics, but he recognized its
dangers.
Tread carefully.
Everything he said could go right back to the king. “No one need gauge my ambition. Once I've had my fill of feasts and parties, I'm stepping out of the public eye for good.”

Tao conjured a favorite, infinitely pleasant dream of tending the ancient vines on his family's estate in the hills, and the simple satisfaction of adding his own vintage to the rows of dusty bottles in the wine cellar, a task he couldn't wait to steal from the hands of estate caretakers. He would grow old with his family around him. It was the kind of life his military father and grandfather had dreamed of but never lived long enough to realize. A life no one seemed to believe he desired. “I'll retire as soon as the king grants me permission.”

“General Uhr-Tao—retiree? At
twenty-eight?
” Markam threw back his head and laughed.

“My officers had the same reaction. I'll remind you as I did them that a soldier's life ends in only two ways. Retirement is a far better fate than the alternative.”

“Don't be so sure. Retirement requires a wife. If that's not life-ending, I don't know what is.”

Just like that, they fell back into their usual banter in the way of men who'd been friends since practically infancy, as if four years hadn't passed since they'd last spoken.

As if he didn't just offer me the throne on a platter,
Tao thought, squinting in the glare of the suns. “Life-
ending? Only if one doesn't go about the process of selection properly. I simply won't settle for a female incompatible with my desires.”

“The
process of selection?
” Markam lifted a skeptical brow. “Courtship you mean.”

“That is how some describe it, yes.”

Markam's teeth shone in the sun. “Since when did you become an expert on the subject, General?”

“Courtship requires a sensible plan and the discipline to stick to it. I'll acquire a wife the same way I've conducted my military campaigns—with logic, careful consideration and without emotion getting in the way.”

Markam laughed. “Good luck.”

A flash of long, bright coppery hair caught Tao's eye. A pretty young woman navigated her way through the crowds, a blue skirt flapping around her ankle boots, a bag slung over one shoulder.
Kurel,
he thought in the next instant, watching her devote more attention, and certainly no less distaste, to the steaming mounds of horse manure in her path than she did to him and his army.

Well, that's one female I can comfortably remove from any list of potential mates,
he thought with an inner laugh.

As he rode past the simple Kurel gates, more of her kind emerged from the ghetto, their faces just as cold, wary, even downright hostile. K-Town was a city
within a city, stretching out to the distant southern wall, a teeming warren of people and buildings that had for generations served as a haven for immigrants from the Barrier Peaks.

A people as frosty as their cuisine was hot, it was said. The biting spice of their cooking hovered in the air, a tantalizing whiff of foods he'd never tasted and likely never would, just as he and that woman would never speak. He'd visited nearly every corner of the known world, but he'd never once set foot inside K-Town. No Tassagon in his right mind would, lest they fall under a spell.

Shouts dragged his attention back to the streets. A pair of home guards on patrol blocked the redheaded woman's path. One was swaggering a bit as if to flirt with her while the other guard pulled open her bag for inspection, spilling a book as he rifled through the contents. She crouched to retrieve it, brushing off the cover as if the thing were more precious than gold.

More Kurel formed a bottleneck behind her. Their agitation made the air crackle with sudden tension, a needless escalation of the situation. Tao put his fingers to his mouth and blew out a quick, sharp whistle. The home guards jerked their focus to him, and he shook his head, motioning at them to move on. They had better things to do than pick on Kurel women, especially today, his homecoming.

The redhead's slender arms hugged the bag closely
and protectively. Her cheekbones turned pink enough to cover freckles that were a scant shade darker than her skin. Tao gave her a jaunty wave in advance of her gratitude at his aid. But the look she gave him contradicted all delicacy in her appearance. Those contemptuous blue eyes could have ignited stone.

“Are you all right?” he called.

She blanched at his attention and wheeled away without a word. Chiron clip-clopped along the same path, but the redhead kept walking, her attention fixed straight ahead as if he were a stray, possibly vicious dog she mustn't provoke.

He pulled Chiron back, setting the horse to prancing on the cobblestones, their enormous shadow looming over the other ghetto dwellers who had gathered around. As soon as they saw him looking their way, they, too, averted their eyes—as if afraid he'd single out one of them next. Ridiculous. He wasn't going to hurt them. Nor would his men. The idea of their thinking so annoyed him even more.

“The Gorr are the monsters, but in Kurel eyes I'm a monster,” he snarled at Markam. “Distaste, I'd expect, but fear? Guards stopping innocents in the streets? That's not the way it was when I left.”

Markam's gloves tightened around the reins. “Xim initiated a crackdown on K-Town as soon as King Orion was buried and you were back to the front.”

“Your messengers mentioned nothing of the sort. Why?”

“Distract you when you held the fate of all humanity in your hands? I refused.”

“Do you think I would have gotten this far if I didn't know how to prioritize?”

They glared at one another. Markam broke ranks first. “Xim fell ill, a fever. He refused treatment by a Kurel physician, fearing sorcery, and relied on a Tassagon healer. In his delirium, he fretted that the Kurel thought him weak, that they liked his father more and had therefore created a spell to make him sicken and die like so many did in the epidemic.”

Tao clamped his jaw against an image of his parents' fevered suffering. “Go on.”

“When Xim recovered, he said the current laws against sorcery were too vague and too lenient. He had the Forbiddance redone to his liking.”

“The entire oral code?”

“Yes, all of it. He had everything transcribed into writing by Kurel and for them. Orders were given to shoot on sight any Kurel practicing the dark arts. Uhr-Beck's regiment was given the job of enforcement.”

Old one-eyed Beck. Tao had sent him home five years ago, gravely wounded, never expecting he'd walk out of the Barracks for Maimed Veterans. But Beck had regained sight in one eye. Sidelined ever since, the old warrior chafed at having to serve inside
Tassagonia's walls, training recruits instead of fighting at the front. It was a valuable contribution to the war effort in Tao's view, but not Beck's apparently. He acted as if Tao had sentenced him to the worst kind of hell. The Uhr's resentment had turned into an obsession to prove he was still a potent warrior. Xim's handing Beck an order to quell Kurel would have been like pouring fuel on a long-smoldering torch.

“A few violent incidents occurred inside the ghetto gates,” Markam continued.

“He sent his men inside?” Aghast, Tao wondered how Beck had convinced his green recruits to dare it. Even experienced soldiers were leery of risking a sorcerer's curse.

“Not very far inside, I assure you. A few Kurel came forth to reason with them. Stories vary. We'll never be sure what happened, but at the end of it, there were casualties. I did what I could to restore calm. There hasn't been a repeat, but the Kurel haven't forgotten.”

The redhead's reaction to his homecoming confirmed it. Xim wasn't the man his sire was, anyone would agree, but it seemed the kingdom had fallen into the hands of a boy who didn't ponder the consequences of his deeds. Tao was only a few years older, but he'd acquired a lifetime of experience compared with the king. It was clear Xim needed support and guidance in a more sensible direction, but it would have to be done tactfully. Markam's insinuation that Xim had lost the
respect of the public was a warning that others might see Tao as a candidate to usurp the king.

Politics. Was there no escaping it here in the kingdom?

“Ah, no frowning, my friend,” Markam cried. “Not today. Look at the people. Feel the love. This is your day!”

Tao couldn't fault Markam for changing the subject. This moment of triumph had been many hundreds of years in the making. He was once again aware of the crowd crying out for him, but his thoughts inevitably returned to the angry Kurel woman and Markam's words. Had he returned from battle only to find war brewing in his own backyard?

“U
HR
-T
AO
, U
HR
-T
AO…”

Chanting for the general chased Elsabeth all the way across the moat bridge and into the coolness of the palace, where servants hurried this way and that, carrying enormous trays of breads and fruits to tables already groaning under the weight of food set out for the banquet.

Her heartbeat hadn't slowed since the home guards had harassed her. She hadn't been afraid for herself. She'd been too worried that the books in her bag would be traced to Queen Aza. The Home Guard reported to Colonel Uhr-Beck, who reported to King Xim.

She worked to calm herself, lest she encounter anyone who'd notice her agitation. Her role in the palace was safe only because of her ability to keep from being noticed. Any nervousness on her part could very well be translated as guilt, and then it would be over for her.

“What's your hurry, Kurel?” the guards had de
manded, wanting to search her bag—and more, had she not given them the reasonable expectation of a good fight if they dared try—all because she'd drawn attention to herself by failing to fawn over Uhr-Tao.

“Show the general some respect!”

Respect, when soldiers like Uhr-Tao won acclaim for wielding swords but wouldn't have the first idea what to do with a book or a pen, let alone proper eating utensils, or anything else associated with civilized human behavior. Respect, when every time she looked at a Tassagon Army uniform, she relived her horrifying race through the ghetto, only to discover she was too late, because her parents had already been shot like animals for no more crime than standing in the street.
Respect, when the soldiers responsible for killing them walked free, rewarded for their actions.

Even now, three years later, her heart clutched with the memory of her parents' murders, and her vow to oust Xim for the crime was no less determined. She wasn't arrogant enough to believe she'd have gotten this far, spending her days within an arm's reach of the man, if not for discovering friends amongst her enemies. Some Tassagons were just as disillusioned as she was with King Xim, including the mutineer chief of his palace guards.

“There you are, Elsabeth.” As if bursting from her very thoughts, Field-Colonel Markam stood in the entrance to the nursery, wearing dress blue-and-whites
and gleaming boots. His features were too strong for him to be considered handsome, his nose too long and his chin too sharp, but with his sheer intensity and unfailing self-confidence, he attracted willing women by the droves. He gave them little notice, so devoted was he to his career.

Elsabeth planted two fists on her hips. “You couldn't have called off those battle-ax-wielding thugs yourself? General Tao had to do it?”

“It was the perfect way to introduce you as someone I wouldn't go out of my way to help. Just another Kurel.”

Not one shred of apology accompanied his simple explanation, nor was the reasoning behind it something she could argue. No one must guess they were working together, or for what purpose.

Like a hawk folding its wings, he placed his hands behind his back and strolled the nursery, perusing toys and the other evidence of children with the same neutral observation she'd seen him use when inspecting troops passing in review. But it wasn't reflective of his true feelings. Whenever she saw his eyes light up at the sight of Aza, she knew that he cared for the queen and the children as much as she did.

He turned to her, grim. “He's afraid. Xim is. Thousands of soldiers have entered the city, loyal to their general, and none familiar with their king. I'm going
to try my damnedest to reassure him, but this kingdom won't be big enough for the two of them.”

“Would it be too optimistic to hope King Xim is the one who moves out?”

“If only it could be that simple.” The tendons in his lean jaw worked. She searched his face, looking for clues. Any unrest would surely translate to action against her people. “Beck wants to take over as general of the army.”

She swung to him. “You can't let him—”

Markam cracked a smile. “Oh, ye of little faith. Tao has confided his interest in retiring. I'll leave that to him to tell the king, but I've already suggested to Xim that the soldiers not be garrisoned in the capital proper. There's a region outside the western wall where they can settle, take on wives and farm. Xim likes the idea, but Beck, well, he won't want anything to do with that sort of life.”

“His ambition would rust from disuse,” she muttered. Markam seemed to have stabilized matters. Still, Uhr-Beck wanting to jump into Tao's place was worrisome.

“Until all this is settled, Tao must tread carefully. I need you to keep your ears and eyes open for any hints his safety is in jeopardy.”

“Helping the man who never helped us.” She found it hard to show sympathy for the general who ran the army that had murdered her parents. “He was off doing
the king's bidding like a favored hunting dog. You're the hero, Markam. You stopped the violence in Kurel Town, not General Tao.”

Markam spread his hands. “Tassagons see Tao differently than you do, Elsabeth.
I
see him differently.”

A legend. A hero. Had he not proved it by shooing away her tormentors, a couple of thick-skulled bullies, in the midst of
his
homecoming parade, and doing it with a single flick of his hand? It had been a generous, unexpected deed.

You should have thanked him.
The acknowledgment of her rudeness to the general came with a pang of guilt. Her parents wouldn't have approved of her behavior. They'd raised her to be tolerant, their silly liberal views preaching unity and acceptance, but every time she glimpsed a Tassagon Army uniform, she remembered her parents' brutalized bodies. If she scratched the surface, would Tao be any different from the rest of the thickheaded ax-throwers who populated the Tassagon Army?

Markam ignored her stubborn expression, his voice firm but patient. “We can use Tao. Turn him to our side.”

“There's no guarantee of that.”

“Perhaps not. But without Tao alive as a counterbalance, Xim will gain even more power. His ambition will know no bounds. He'll find excuses to send the army to destroy the Riders and Kurel. With Tao dead,
the Gorr will no longer be afraid to regroup and attack. We'll be too weak to defend ourselves because we'll be warring human against human, blind to the coming danger, as is warned in the Log of Uhrth.”

“I know what the prophecy says.” She shuddered every time an elder read that passage from the precious volume. “If humans turn on each other, darkness will consume us and we will be lost to Uhrth forever,” she whispered and narrowed her eyes at the spectacle outside.

Markam wanted her to help keep General Tao safe. Of all the Tassagons, he understood most what this promise would cost her. Inside these walls, the chief of the Palace Guard knew everyone's strengths and weaknesses. He had to. His life depended on it.

As now did so many others in the palace.

A glove belonging to Aza lay on a table. Elsabeth picked it up, savoring its softness between her thumb and index finger. Thick, sumptuous satin, such luxurious fabric was never seen in the ghetto. It held the woman's perfume, a whiff of fresh flowers. In the palace, the queen's presence was colorful and unexpected, like a beautiful, fragile flower poking up between the cold, hard slabs of a fortress.

Elsabeth turned Aza's glove over and over in her hands, then crushed it to her chest. “Damn it, Markam, if I'm caught doing anything that appears to protect
Uhr-Tao, if he suspects anything, Xim will blame Aza. He'll say she put me up to it, and he'll—”

“I know,” Markam cut in bleakly, and with real pain. If he thought his unrequited love for Aza was a secret, he was a fool. He ran a finger along the inside of his collar. Beads of perspiration glittered on his furrowed brow as he regarded her. It was warm in the palace, but not that warm. He was nervous, a condition unprecedented for him that she could recall. “Can I count on you, Elsabeth? Will you put aside personal feelings about the general and stand ready to help if necessary, for all the reasons we've pledged ourselves to?”

To keep the darkness at bay…

She wiped suddenly cold hands on her skirt. “Yes. You can count on me.”

A quick nod, a squeeze of her arm, and Markam strode away to complete more secret meetings with other collaborators, all of them treasonous by definition, and all of them at risk of discovery and capture with General Uhr-Tao's unexpected, utterly complicating return.