The Usurper's Crown (26 page)

Again Iakush shook himself. He felt as if his mind had been as tightly swaddled as his body. For all his protection, the spell leaked through, making concentration difficult. Of course what the emperor said was true. Iakush had read the empress’s declaration. He knew her words and hand very well and …

No. That did not happen. That did
not
happen. We only sat and listened to the emperor speak. That is all
.

“It is unlawful for a sorcerer to impersonate any person of name,” Iakush said, choosing his words with care. He must not say too much, not now. His tongue might run away with him, clouding his mind yet further. He must speak only in absolutes. “Should any who is not utterly mad have the temerity to say that they are the empress herself, it must surely be judged an act of treason.”

“Even if she be mad,” growled Lord Master Seasta, the muscles on his thick neck standing out from the force of his feeling, “it were better she was killed on sight, than that she be allowed to spread lies and treason, especially at such a time.”

“There is much wisdom in those words, Lord Master Seasta,” mused the emperor with a nod. “What say you to that, Lord Sorcerer?”

Iakush could barely speak at all. His collar choked him, his own magic drawing close and trying to stave off the spell that permeated the air and wormed its way into his blood. “With respect to His Imperial Majesty, I say that a thorough and openly witnessed examination will spark fewer rumors during this delicate time.” Delicate time, time of birthing, the empress lying in surrounded by her doctors and ladies, as they had seen her, looking up at him, trusting him, finally, as she had once trusted Avanasy …

No. No. No. I never left this room. I never saw her. I see only Kacha, I know only that we are bespelled
.

“That is also a worthy thought, Lord Sorcerer,” said the emperor approvingly. “I will relay this counsel to Her Imperial Majesty. In the meantime, my lords master, and my lord sorcerer, I ask you to spread word of these matters among your people, and take counsel with them. Tomorrow at this hour we will meet again. I will have Her Imperial Majesty’s words, and we will together decide on the best plan of attack.”

Tell him I am in danger
, Medeoan had ordered Iakush. Now he understood. She had couched that message as a lie to convince him to lure back Avanasy. Now, though, Iakush knew it to be no less than the truth. Avanasy’s impending death sentence was the lie. She had done this thing so he would not only obey her, but so that he could not betray her.

Iakush clenched his fist. She had not felt she could speak plainly to him, and whose fault was that? He had, after all, done nothing but stand by and watch as Avanasy was banished on a charge he had known could not be true. He’d been too bound up in his search for power. Too much love of power was a danger for any sorcerer, and Iakush had fallen to it without even noticing.

That is what he tried to tell me. Tell him I need him
.

He’d told himself then that it was Avanasy who had been greedy for power, that Medeoan would come to trust him, Iakush. She did trust him, she looked up to him, he’d seen her handwriting, heard her speak, weak but flushed with inner delight as women with child often became …

Iakush heaved himself awkwardly to his feet. Around him, the lords master made their reverences and departed in twos and threes, whispering urgently about what they had heard.

Vyshemir’s knife
, he told himself sternly, as he crossed his hands to reverence.
From here you will go retrieve Vyshemir’s knife from Keeper Bakhar. Holdfast to that thought, Iakush, if no other
.

Vyshemir’s knife was in the keeping of the keeper of the emperor’s god house, but in the hands of a sorcerer who knew the proper words to say, it could be used to cut away illusion and bring truth to light. It could save him now.

“Lord Sorcerer,” said the emperor. “Stay but a moment.”

Wants to keep me here. The empress has some message … No. No. Vyshemir’s knife. From here I must go get Vyshemir’s knife
.

“Imperial Majesty?” Iakush made himself turn, made himself stay on the carpet with its power that reached out its magic to poison his thoughts. With an extreme effort of will, he made himself see Kacha. Kacha, not Medeoan. Kacha of Hastinapura. Kacha son of Chandra. Kacha who had been bargained away for peace, and was secretly harboring thoughts of conquest.

The emperor had risen, and he walked casually down the dais to stand beside him. “Her Imperial Majesty particularly asked that you look deeply into this matter.”

“I will do my best, Imperial Majesty.”

Emperor Kacha clapped Iakush on his shoulder, and steered him toward the door, forcing him to walk down the carpet. “She knows well she is young in her power, and relies heavily on your judgment.”

Vyshemir’s knife. Vyshemir’s knife will cure me of this affliction, will open my eyes
.

“She regrets that she has not said so before now, but her old teacher wounded her grievously, and she has not yet recovered from that.” Kacha paused in his stride and shook his head. “She asks you to forgive her this failing, and says that when she is able, she wishes to continue her instructions under your guidance. She assures you that none other will be named lord sorcerer while you remain true.”

It would have been so easy to give in. With or without the enchantment, he could see that the emperor was giving him a chance for the prestige and responsibility that he had longed for. He now spoke the words Iakush had ached with his whole being to hear since the death of the old emperor and empress.

It was in hope of those words that he had kept silent during the capricious exile of one who should have been as a brother.

And now she was saying them. Now, she finally saw his worth and his position was secure. Now, he would be able to … to …

No. Kacha speaks, not my empress. The knife, the knife, the knife, I must go claim the knife
.

“I am deeply honored, Imperial Majesty,” was all Iakush could make himself say.

Kacha faced him squarely, looking Iakush straight in his eyes, laying his hand again on Iakush’s shoulder. “I also am trusting you, Lord Sorcerer. Once my lineage is secure, there will be numerous preferments and titles to be awarded. The empress needs no mere magical advisor. The duties, and the rewards of the office of lord sorcerer needs must become much greater during our reign.”

The pressure of the spell was almost unbearable. Iakush fought to keep himself from shuddering as his mind and soul were squeezed as if by an invisible hand. “I live to serve.”

“To serve your master and mistress, the emperor and empress of Isavalta,” said Kacha. The emperor did not blink as he watched Iakush.

Iakush forced his shoulders to straighten. “I live, as we all do, to serve Eternal Isavalta.”

“As we all do, Lord Sorcerer,” said the emperor. “You may go now. I will expect you here tomorrow with your fellows.”

Iakush reverenced. Relief washed through him. He could get away from this. Vyshemir’s knife would save him. It would cut away this enchantment and restore his right memories.

A cold pressure touched his side, and Iakush straightened, startled to see the emperor right beside him.

“Did you think I would not know?” sneered Kacha. “Did you think I would be sent here if I could not see?”

The emperor stepped back, and Iakush felt something warm and wet against his shirt. His hand sought it automatically, and came away covered with something red. He stared at his stained hand mutely. What could this be? No wine had been served. He had spilled nothing. What could be so red?

The knot of his sash almost completely obscured the dagger’s hilt.

“I should slit your throat,” said the emperor casually. “But you will be much easier to bury with a hidden wound. Far fewer people will have to be bemused. Now then, while you die, I will fetch you a physic. Perhaps you will live long enough to succumb to a fever.”

Blood. Still staring at his hand, Iakush dropped to his knees. But his knees would not hold him, and he sprawled against the carpet. Blood. His blood. Stabbed by the emperor. Dying. He was dying in the thick puddle of his own blood.

Why? What had happened? He couldn’t remember. He had been obeying the empress. She had wanted him to go get Vyshemir’s knife …

Vyshemir’s knife. Proof against enchantment. The pain began now, lancing up his side, clenching jaw and throat, burning hotter than the blood that spilled. Enchantment. Emperor. Treason and greed, and blood, everywhere so much blood. He couldn’t move, couldn’t stop the pain or the blood. He was dying for his foolishness, dying for his empress …

No, not for her. She was not here. She was elsewhere, and she had asked him to take word to Avanasy.

But he had no words, only blood.

With one trembling hand, Iakush reached out and drove his finger into the blood. Haltingly, he tried to spit, and managed to drool a little spittle into the redness. He stirred them together. He coughed for breath. Mortal blood, mortal breath. These were the sources of the greatest power a single sorcerer could give. It would be enough. It would have to be.

“Beyond life there is a forest,” he whispered, forcing his finger to move through the blood, drawing a wave that was the river, was a snake, was a ray of light, was all his hope borne on all his pain, was his last act, and he would complete this last act. “Within the forest there is a river. At the end of the river is another shore. On the other shore, there walks Avanasy Finorasyn Goriainavin. Breath and blood, carry me to the river. Vyshko and Vyshemir carry me to the river’s end. My heart’s blood, my breath, my life, carry me to Avanasy.” He retched. Pain burned hotter than his blood, but he was so cold. His hand shook, and he could not feel it anymore, let alone make it move. The room was going gray. “My heart’s blood, my breath, my life carry me to Avanasy Finorasyn Goriainavin. My heart’s blood carry me …”

The room around him darkened, and vanished.

The Land of Death and Spirit is a land of eyes. This is the first thing taught to any sorcerer of Isavalta. It is not possible to pass through it unobserved. There is no true distance there, no true shadow and no true light. Anything may be shown to those who wish to see. The places that do not shift and change are few, and they offer nowhere to hide beyond the boundaries of the mortal world.

Inside a fence mended with bones, there stood a cottage on crooked, scaled, taloned legs. The cottage was called Ishbushka, and in it, an ancient witch with iron teeth sat at her loom of bones and spoke to her cat.

“What do you see?”

The cat sat on the windowsill, staring unblinking out the window. “I see another sorcerer walking from Isavalta.” The cat twitched its tail. “If this continues, soon Isavalta will have none of them left.”

The witch stilled her shuttle, which was made of an ancient jawbone. She perused the pattern of her weaving, reading what was written there in a language only she herself knew. “What else do you see?”

“His blood flows red.” The cat turned and began to clean its shoulder nonchalantly. “He has come early to the land of Death, but the grandfather waits for him. He will not reach the far shore.”

The witch grunted and laid her long, bony finger a moment on her weaving. She nodded, satisfied with what she saw. “You will go to the grandfather, cat. You will send my greeting. You will ask him in my name to let the sorcerer pass.”

The cat used its paw to smooth down its ears. “Grandfather Death will not be pleased to neglect one of his grandchildren so.”

“Say it is a delay only,” said the witch. “This one has an important message that must be delivered. Say that in my name.”

The cat turned to groom its shoulder.

“There will be those who say you do this to protect the right and the order of things.”

“They will be wrong. His message will bring the woman here. I have need of her.”

The cat narrowed its emerald eyes as it gazed at her mistress. But the witch offered no explanation, and the cat asked no questions. She only leapt from the perch and silently padded out the cottage door.

The morning after Leo Loftfield was injured, Avanasy returned gladly to his work. It was something to occupy him until the sun set, for there was still plenty of brushwood to be cut and cleared. Even so, his mind was distracted enough that he abandoned the scythe as too dangerous and contented himself with bundling the cut brush and stacking wood. The news from Ingrid’s home had been good. Leo would keep his leg, and was in fact awake, though he was still weak. He had stopped by the kitchen door this morning to speak a moment with Ingrid and say he would be back tonight. Perhaps it would be a good time to speak with her father, perhaps it would not, but he meant to sound the man out, so Ingrid’s parents would know without a doubt that his intentions were honorable.

He would need to change his shirt, before he went to visit the Loftfields, and wash, and shave. Should he bring the ring with him? Ingrid had not said. He would have it, in case. The ring waited at the bottom of his chest. His mother had given it to him when he had gone to be apprenticed. It was a golden band, set with coral and rubies. Perhaps it was too much for a fisherman’s wife, but she would have it anyway. He would pass it off somehow, perhaps as an heirloom, or as paste, but he would tell Ingrid that it was real, and what its origins were. It would become one more tie between them. She’d smile when she saw it.

Or would she? It was beautiful, but in the Isavaltan fashion. Even riches were much plainer here. Perhaps she would only find it garish.

Avanasy had to laugh at himself. He was as nervous as a plowboy sending a bride gift to a milkmaid’s mother. It was ridiculous. Of course, Ingrid would smile, because it was a gift freely given, and that was her way.

“You’re quiet,” said Everett Lederle, breaking in on his thoughts. Lederle worked beside him, gathering up newly trimmed branches and stacking them together to be bundled up and hauled away.

“Things on my mind,” answered Avanasy. He stepped on the pile of branches in front of him so he could more easily loop the twine around it and tie the bundle securely.