Imprudent: Chapter 15: Knowledge

Whatever happened, we can only conclude that it happened a long time ago. And due to the fact that there has been no attempted relief mission or other intercession from the Empire, we are growing more and more certain that the Empire is no more, and that we might be all that is left of our society.

We are preparing for another attempted transit after investigating the Gateway. Hopefully this time we will reach the capital. We are bound to reach the capital. Lt. Alphonsoni has promised to do his best.

###

Lady Fiaswith of House Rechneesse

The pirate in the back of Fia’s mind was gibbering a little as she and her people were escorted into the Gehtun King’s palace. To say that the place was splendidly appointed would be an understatement. The floor was carpeted with rugs woven with expert care and splendidly dyed, while tapestries covered the walls, and exquisite pieces of sculpture sat in small niches and alcoves along the way. The wealth and taste on display was astounding.

Fia didn’t remember much of her childhood in Singharrow, but she knew that a lot of people around the Center Sea sneered at her homeland for its supposed backwardness and lack of culture. More than once, she’d used that to her advantage, letting people underestimate her.

Now the shoe was on the other foot. She’d heard ‘nomadic horsemen and herders’ and assumed that meant ‘backwards’ and ‘uncultured.’

More fool her.

The guardsmen were living men and women, dressed in polished scale-mail armor and a distinctive helm with a ridge along the top of the head and ending with a downward peak on the forehead, framing the eyes. They had swords, but those were sheathed, and carried horsebows and quivers strapped to their backs. They moved with the ease of training and familiarity, which shot another hole in her personal theory that the oathwalkers had been the king’s personal guard and retinue of soldiers. That’s how it was in most other lands that had oathwalkers, but apparently here the living did the work of safeguarding the royal line.

They were brought to a small side chamber—Raavi had to be told continuously to keep up, as he kept getting distracted by the art—where a table with food and drink was waiting, along with several cushioned chairs and couches. One of the guards spoke, his words broken by unfamiliarity, “You here wait. Drink. Eat. Safe be. Soon King meet.”

She bowed deeply. “Thank you.”

He nodded back, and for a moment—just a moment—his professionalism cracked.

And she saw terror… but also, oddly, hope in his eyes.

The moment passed, and he went out the door, closing it behind him.

“So we’re here,” Zoy commented, heading over to the table and picking up a pasty. “Damn, look.” She held it up. “Even their cookies are little works of art!”

Fia walked over and peered at it; the rectangular cookie had been stamped with the shape of a running horse and painted with what looked like berry juice such that a red roan stallion raced across the rolling grasses of the pasty.

“Beautiful.”

Zoy ate it and chewed. “Delicious. Sweet and buttery.”

That got Raavi’s attention, and he came out of his art reverie. Coming over to the table, he started perusing it. “Is it okay for us to eat these?”

“We were told to, and I don’t know how long it’ll take the King to be ready to see us,” Fia said. “Probably not too long, but I wouldn’t bet on it, and for all I know they have to get him out of bed and dressed. Which could take a while. So dig in.”

Raavi and Oksyna didn’t need to be told twice, and the pair of them started in as Fia poured herself a glass of what smelled like wine. She wasn’t worried about poison. If the Gehtun wanted to try to kill them, those swords would have been a lot more effective. Also, she personally could laugh off things like hemlock and nightshade—and had.

“Oooh, Raavi, you have to try this,” Oksyna said around her mouthful.

“What is it?”

“Some kind of flaky dough in layers, filled with chopped nuts and honey,” she said, and popped a piece into his mouth.

Fia hid a smile behind her goblet—which was a work of art itself. Metal, wrought around pieces of glass and what looked like slivers of horn, carved with delicate scenes of daily life. Weavers, herders, bowyers, sculptors…

A swallow of the wine proved that it was an excellent vintage, and she made a note that, if they survived all of this, she was going to have to ask for a bottle or better yet a small cask. While she couldn’t get drunk, she could still appreciate the flavor, and she and Faalk deserved a nice few hours in the summer sun to work their way through it.

Some cheeses—made with sheep’s milk, if she was tasting them correctly—complemented the wine wonderfully, and she made her way over to a chair with her plate and goblet.

Stylio joined her, also laden down.

“Something doesn’t add up.”

“This entire thing has more things that don’t add up than an underworld Kasmenartan accountant’s books,” Fia said.

“Oh no. Their public books add up beautifully, and so do the private books,” Stylio said with a small smile. “Of course, trying to reconcile the two is… interesting.”

Fia gave her a sidelong look. “Speaking from experience?”

“Perhaps. But inaccurate analogies aside, I agree with the spirit of what you’re trying to say. Just… why are the oathwalkers attacking? Why are the Gehtun treating us as they are? Why are they apparently grieving their efforts to attack?”

“Exactly.” She leaned back and took a bite of her cheese. “I am baffled and hope that we get some answers.”

She’d just finished chewing on her cheese when the door opened. A pair of servants came in, carrying several pieces of cloth—no, clothing. Speaking in their tongue, they looked around, and the older one, a woman somewhere between Fia and Stylio in age, motioned for her to rise.

Curious, she did so, and quickly found herself being posed by the women, who had a grip like iron tongs and a measuring string, wrapping around Fia’s arms, chest, legs, and up the length of her body. Then she was released, and the woman turned to her assistant.

As they spoke rapidly, going through the pile of clothes, Stylio said dryly, “I suppose that we need to be properly dressed before we meet with the king.”

Fia sighed. “Please, please let me get out of here without getting blood on whatever outfit they give me.”

As Stylio laughed, the senior tailor came back over, holding a gorgeous piece of what looked like embroidered silk; the base was red, with vivid oranges and yellows in the form of flowers and vines across it. Fia tolerated the fitting, and thankfully the tailor was quick and efficient.

Then it was Stylio’s turn, followed by Zoy. When they started pulling out knives from her clothing, the expressions on the faces of the two tailors was something to behold. Yufemya, Oksyna, and Raavi followed in quick succession, and then the two left.

“Well. That was… interesting,” Zoy said as the door closed. She stretched and started putting her knives back, and then she yawned. “Think we can sack out in here? I’m exhausted.”

Raavi yawned as well. “Damn those are infectious,” he said, stifling a second one.

“We probably have some time before they’re finished altering those clothes to fit us,” Stylio said. “And those couches and chairs look comfortable. Rest up while we can.”

Raavi didn’t need to be told twice, and was laid out on a couch in a matter of moments.

Fia smiled at him and patted his cheek. “You know you can let other people pilot the Lynx…”

He shook his head, but was asleep before he could respond.

#

Raavi ava Laargan

Stylio’s prediction turned out to be accurate… mostly. We got enough sleep to feel a little rested, but the Gehtun returned with our new clothes in just a few hours. I was dressed in a stiff woolen tunic and pants that were lined on the inside; the fabric felt weird and itchy on my skin, for all that it was soft, and I missed my usual tree-wool shirt and pants. But Lady Fia insisted, so I wore them and tried to keep my twitching to a minimum.

We were escorted up into a grand audience chamber; easily thirty feet high, probably forty at the highest point. It had a wood and gold throne at the far end, with an older man seated in it, dressed in fine robes that put mine to shame.

Next to him however, was something… else.

Oksyna gasped and bowed deeply to the six-and-a-half foot tall skeleton—dressed in worn but fine robes of its own, colored a deep blue-black with silver speckles—and it bowed to her in response.

And then it spoke. <Greetings to you, Signatory. But I believe that the King in whose chamber you stand has precedence.>

I blinked. How had I understood that? It hadn’t been in my language.

Oksyna nodded and straightened hastily before bowing to the King in his throne. He raised an eyebrow, and spoke. A man standing next to him started to translate into my language.

“‘Greetings to you, foreign envoys of Westernfellsen. We have been expecting you.’” The King nodded to Lady Fia. “‘You have questions. And I have answers. But first, I must ask you a crucial question.’” He rose from the throne. “‘Will you help us?’”

Lady Fia’s head jerked back a little. “But your people have been attacking us! Did you send them to attack us just to get our help!?”

The King shook his head. “‘No. It is complicated.’” He bowed his head slightly towards the translator, and spoke. The translator swallowed and turned to the skeleton, which, I noticed now, stood inside of a circle made of some kind of metal set into the floor, and dangling lazily around its neck and shoulders was a lynx spirit, its translucent blue body harder to see in the well-lit chamber. “Death Lord, hear and witness my oath. To these people here and now, I swear to tell the truth as I know it, or may my flesh break out in boils and my eyes cloud with blindness, until such time as they release me.”

<I hear your oath, freely made, and bind you to it, Hayri of the Tillkey Tribe of the Gehtun people.>

Oksyna stared at him, her eyes wide, as I asked, “Wait, what just happened?”

The man—Hayri—stepped forward. “What just happened is that my King understood that you would need a show of trust. I am Minister Hayri, his aide and companion, and now I must answer your questions or suffer pain and blindness.” His smile turned sickly. “Please keep your questions to the topic at hand?”

Lady Fia turned to Oksyna. “Explain what’s going on and why you look like someone’s stabbed you someplace painful?”

“I… I… I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Oksyna turned to the skeleton. “Death Lord. You are not the one who holds my binding, but I appeal to you to suspend my oaths of silence for the sake of justice and truth.”

The skeleton stepped up to the edge of the circle, as the lynx hopped off of its shoulders and down onto the ground. <And what would you offer to me, Signatory Oksyna of the Endanchoria? I spoke against you being given the Oath when you were a child. Too young, too rash. It would have been a mercy to let you pass. And now you ask me to loosen the chains you agreed to bind you?>

My eyes widened as implications started to go through my mind.

“What would you ask of me for this service?” she asked.

I saw the King watching and stepped forward next to Oksyna. “I can help you pay.”

She turned to me. “Raavi, you have no idea what you’re offering.”

“But I’m willing to help.” I looked to the Death Lord—whatever that was—and saw now that its cloak was shimmering, like stars in the night sky; it wasn’t just fabric. “I’m willing to pay what it is you want from Oksyna.”

<And what if it is your life I ask for, Raavi ava Laargan of the Hudejjaan tribe of the Kalltii people?>

I swallowed. “You wouldn’t ask for that, because if you wanted that much of a price, you would have just said that to Oksyna.”

<You are wise. Yes. Such a price would be too much for such a service. Well done. But what if my price is your peaceful sleep? Your youth? Your health? Five years of your life? Your skill with your hands? Knowledge of something you hold dear? The memory of a lost loved one? Would you still stand in lieu of this Signatory?>

Oksyna’s hand gripped mine, and I squeezed back. “I would. She needs to be able to speak freely if we’re to help my people.” I shrugged. “At the end of the day… I’m just the driver. And someone else could pilot the Lynx if they needed to.”

The Death Lord leaned down to stare me in the eyes, and, despite desperately wanting to look away, I met its gaze.

Infinity stared back at me through the empty eye sockets. I could see… everything. The death of people, of nations, of worlds, of stars…

Then it moved back. <You are brave in the literal face of death, young Raavi. Or foolish. I name my price. You are a craftsman. There will come a time when you must destroy something which you yourself have created, and you will do so. You will know when.> It looked me over. <Is that price acceptable?>

I swallowed. And nodded. “Yes.”

<Good. Signatory Oksyna of the Endanchoria. Your clause of silence, specifically, is lifted and void for those present here.> There was a bright, blinding flash of purple light between Oksyna and it. Then the Death Lord stepped back and nodded at me. <You may thank your associate for paying the price.>

I turned to her, and she was looking at me, horrified, before she swallowed and gave me a weak smile. “You…” She took a deep breath. “Fia… I can explain now.”

#

Lady Fiaswith of House Rechneesse

“Oh good,” Fia said, putting her hands on her hips. “So, first question: How stupid was Raavi just now? On a scale of one to ten.”

“A solid six.”

“Oh, well, that’s not so bad,” he said, and Fia rolled her eyes.

“Next, explain what Hayri did.”

“He bound himself to an oath. Like what I can do, but worse and more powerful.” She motioned towards the skeleton in the middle of the circle. “Death Lords like that are what make necromancers. We’re their oathbound and empowered representatives. Anything I can do, he can do, and make it look easy.” She motioned again towards the Gehtun man, who was waiting patiently—well, maybe a little anxiously, as Fia caught him bouncing a little on his feet—off to the side. “So if he lies to us, he’s going to hurt.”

“Yes. Exactly,” Hayri said. “And, if I may… while I understand that this drama just now was necessary, I feel that it is important that we return to the matter at hand.”

Fia nodded. “Yes. Please.” She took a deep breath. “I have a lot of questions… but since you have this oath and a motivation, why don’t you start explaining, and if I have any questions at the end, I’ll ask them?”

“That sounds fine to me.” He paused, as if waiting for the boils to break out, and when nothing happened, he continued. “As for what happened… last summer, the sacred Scroll of the Gehtun Ancestors was stolen from the deep vault under this tower.” He nodded towards Oksyna. “I believe the common necromancer term for it is the oath-gem.”

Oksyna blinked and her eyes went wide before she started to swear.

“Yes. About that bad.”

Fia glanced back and forth between them. “Oksyna, explain.”

She clamped her mouth shut like she was chewing for a moment before saying, in precise words, “It’s what makes an oathwalker, Fia. It’s the physical contract.” She motioned towards the Death Lord. “I can’t make them, but he can, as can others like him. If you sign it with your own real name, you become an oathwalker when you die. You’ll live until either you break your oath, your body is destroyed, or the contract is destroyed.”

“Yes. And whoever took it left a ransom. They would return the scroll—it is made of the finest foil of platinum, with two endcaps of peridot on a shaft of ruby and lead—if our oathwalkers attacked and harassed your kingdom this winter.”

“Ah. And if you didn’t…”

“Then they would destroy it. And that would destroy us.” Hayri wrung his hands together. “Our lands are not rich. We survive on trade and cunning use of what we have, and we depend on the unending, undying labor of our ancestors. They are the most skilled of us, the most dedicated and devoted. It is a sign of great honor and skill to be selected to fill an empty space on the scroll, an honor to which many aspire. To see their children’s children’s children’s children grow and thrive with their aid. Without them, we would die of cold and hunger, for they labor unceasingly through the summer and winter to provide for their families.”

“That’s why they’re all so good at crafting?” Raavi asked.

“Yes. Others use their oathwalkers for war and fighting. Our first king,” he motioned to the man on the throne, “Fakarat’s many-time great grandfather, when he came to negotiate with the Death Lord who forged the scroll, knew that if he were to word the contract for war, it would be the death of his people. So instead, they are bound to serve their families, their tribes, and their people using their skills.”

“So how do you even know that they’ll return the scroll?” Fia asked.

“We don’t. We cast many lots of prophecy, looking for guidance. And there was a slim chance that, if we went along with it… the scroll would be returned.” He looked to them. “You are our chance. The chance for the survival of our ancestors, who did not ask for this war, did not ask to be forced to kill, who would only like to return to their art and their crafts, the chance for the stability of our realm, for the loss of the scroll is sending mutterings through the tribes that the king is unfit and unworthy despite leading for thirty-two years, and the chance for the survival of our people, for we face war, famine and the bitter cold of winter.” He bowed. “Will you help us?”

#

Raavi ava Laargan

“So what do we do?”

I watched Lady Fia pace across the fine rug in the chamber we’d been given by the Gehtun King. We’d talked with Hayri until his voice had started to go hoarse, and then come back here.

“First, I suppose, the question is ‘Do we help them at all?’” Stylio asked from her chair. We all looked at her, and she raised her hands. “I am not saying that we should not—I fully plan on doing so myself—but…” she looked around the room and her eyes landed on me. “Raavi. You offered to help Fia, but this is far more than you bargained for. Why should you risk yourself more now?”

I shrugged and replied, “I already said that I was going to help. I’m not going to back out now.”

She nodded and turned, looking at Zoy and Yufemya where they sat together on one of the couches. “And Zoy—”

“Don’t you dare. You’ve been trying to get me to ‘stay behind where it’s safe’ since I was thirteen.” Zoy crossed her arms and looked at me. “And if Raavi is coming, then I’m also coming.” She flung a pillow at me, and I yelped as it impacted my nose. “I still can’t believe you went and offered yourself to that thing!” She glared at me and crossed her arms as she scowled. “You idiot.”

I gave her a weak smile in response. “Uh… it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

Oksyna poked me in the ribs. She hadn’t let me out of arm’s reach since we’d left the King’s audience chamber. “How someone so smart can be so dumb is beyond me!” She shook her head, her hair brushing against my arm, and then leaned against me.

Stylio cleared her throat. “Well. If you are all coming—” she glanced at Yufemya, who nodded, her mouth twisted up into a wry smile, “—then we need to figure out our next step.”

“I think that part is fairly obvious,” Zoy commented. “We know where the thieves came from. Let’s go and steal it back.”

“Do we know that? For sure?” Yufemya asked.

I frowned. “But Hayri said that they came from Sudlichreichweitte.” It was the Kalltii kingdom at the southern extent of our people’s range. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t felt betrayed when Hayri said that the thieves had come from there. They’d been a group of people posing as merchants who had spent the last few years building a trade relationship with the Siyahayi Gehtun tribe, a relationship strong enough that they’d gotten invited to the Gehtun Midsummer festivals, but had left a week before the summer’s peak.

“Yes, and he also said that their own attempts to probe the future showed them that attempting to invade would end with the scroll lost.” She shifted a little on the couch and leaned forward. “Look. I’m not saying that their conclusion is wrong. But I am saying that we should make sure before we go haring off to another kingdom and accuse them of instigating war and hey, can we have a powerful magical artifact back too?”

Lady Fia frowned. “That’s a good point. Do you have any suggestions on how to refine things?”

“Let’s look for clues and see if anyone was sloppy,” Yufemya suggested, leaning back.

“Hmm. It’s a long shot… but I’ve seen enough people be sloppy even when they were trying to be sneaky that I have to agree,” Lady Fia said.

“I agree as well,” Stylio said. “From what I understand, the Gehtun didn’t make a concerted sweep of the palace after the theft was discovered. We might be able to find something that can point us in the right direction if we are lucky. If we are not, then we have lost nothing but time.”

“Which we only have so much of,” Lady Fia said.

“Yes, but if we find a good lead, then we will have saved time. A kingdom is a very large area to search, after all.”

Lady Fia frowned, her lip twisting. “You are far too good at making sense.”

Stylio smiled. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t entirely a compliment.”

“I know.”

“All right. Raavi, you’re going to look over this vault and figure out how they broke in,” Lady Fia said. “It’s your wheelhouse and this way you won’t get distracted by all of the art.”

I laughed a little weakly, running my hand through my hair. “Sorry. It’s just… so well executed!”

“I know. But you’re like a squirrel between four piles of nuts. So vault for you. See if you can figure things out.”

Feeling a bit sheepish, I nodded. “Okay.”

“Stylio, I need you to cross-examine Hayri. Follow up on anything you can think of that can give us a clue. I don’t think he was holding anything back, but we need details.”

“Got it.”

“Zoy, Yufemya, the two of you and myself are going to sweep the palace and look for anything on the break-in method, route, whatever.”

“And what about me?” Oksyna asked.

Lady Fia glanced at her, and then at me. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that your skillset is going to be particularly helpful here, so I’m at a loss for what to do with you.”

“I agree. Can I help Raavi down by the vault?” She patted me on the shoulder. “I can make sure he doesn’t get distracted by some piece of sculpture or something.”

“What do you say, Raavi? Want Oksyna to help you?”

I glanced at her, but I didn’t see any mockery or joking in her expression. Just support and concern. I nodded. “Sure.”

“Good. Then let’s get to work.”

#

Collecting our escorts, I and Oksyna made our way down into the lower levels of the tower. Down here, the carpets were less rich, although they still muffled our steps. Down we went, past rooms walled in with the same sort of eternal glass that made up the main body of the tower itself, as well as the King’s Tower in my homeland, and other such towers elsewhere. In those rooms, I could see more art, but here they were being made. There were looms the size of small huts, sculptor shops, painting rooms, tailoring shops…

And nearly all of them were empty. The tools and materials were there, but the people who would have crafted the works I could see standing half-finished were missing.

I thought of the pile of burning oathwalker bodies outside of the town where we’d met Oksyna and wondered how many masterpieces would be left unfinished because of this unwanted war.

And then I saw something that made me give a double-take.

A young woman—somewhere between my age and Yufemya’s—was walking down the hallway carrying a large sledgehammer, large enough that she was having difficulty carrying it. She saw our guards and spoke in the Gehtun tongue, handing it off to one of them, who took it, but replied in a protesting tone.

After a moment, she responded, and then looked at the two of us. Then she spoke. “You the Kalltii are, yes? Saw you I did in the chamber earlier with the Death-Lord.”

I blinked in surprise, and nodded. “Yes. Well, technically, just me. Oksyna is Endanchorian.” I cocked my head in thought. “Now that I think about it, I’m the only ethnic Kalltii in the group—”

“Very good. Your guards I must borrow. Problem is? Will brief be.”

I shared a glance with Oksyna; she shrugged, her eyebrows knitted in curiosity. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

“Good. With me come.” She spoke to the guardsmen, who followed gamely, one of them holding the sledgehammer over his shoulder. We made our way down the hall following her, arriving one level down in front of an emptied glassed-in room; outside, there was a wooden frame as tall as me. It was nothing more than an open box with a bar across the top and weights holding up in place below; the bar, once I took a closer look, had a graduated angle measure attached behind it, and a bracket in the middle, along with a pulley system.

The woman took the sledgehammer back and, with a grunt of effort, held it in the middle of the frame, lining it up with the bracket as best she could, but it was clearly very heavy.

“Me help?” she said to me, looking at how I was watching.

“Me?”

“No, the other man with a belt of tools. Yes, you!”

Oksyna snickered as I stepped forward. “All right—”

“Hold while I tighten, or I hold and you tighten?”

“I’ll hold, I guess.” I reached out and helped socket the sledgehammer into the bracket, and held it there as best I could while she engaged the bracket.

Baffled, I stepped back and watched her put a second bracket on the shaft of the hammer, just below the iron block that was the hammerhead, and then attach the pulley system to it. Then she pulled up on the rope.

I eyed the arc of the hammer. It would smack dead into the eternal glass of the room’s window—but if this place was as old as the King’s Tower, then the glass was unbreakable.

…wasn’t it?

After a few moments of grunting effort from the woman, she tied off the rope to a loop on the side and picked up a sheaf of paper. Examining the angle measurement on the frame, she frowned, but shrugged and made a note.

“What is she doing?” Oksyna asked me.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” I said, and then noticed that there was a basket filled with smaller hammers sitting next to the glass, along with what looked like a ruler marked with inches. “Wait, no—”

She released the rope, and the sledgehammer swung down and impacted the window with a shattering reverberation.

I jumped, and then heard the woman exclaim in excitement. She was standing in front of the window while I was still trying to clear the sound of the impact from my ears, ruler in her hand, measuring the cracks she’d just inflicted in the ancient glass.

“What are—what did—how could—” I started sputtering, aghast at the apparent vandalism.

“You! Good! Help!” She tossed the sheaf of papers at me, and shoved a pencil in my hand. “Note time! Notes take!”

“I, what—”

“Quick, quick! First crack, sixteen and three quarter inches! Mark time!” She shoved a pocketwatch in my hands as well, and I fumbled it open and recorded the time. “Second crack, twenty-three and half inches, three forks, six, eight, and four inches!”

I scribbled as quickly as I could as she read off measurements of the remaining cracks around the hole in the glass. I’d ask questions when she was done.

Finally, she finished. “Broken section, two and one quarter inches by three and one half inches!” She held up a sliver of glass from inside the room, the surface of it looking spalled and cracked like a spiderweb, the whole thing smaller than the size of my palm. “Hole, two and one quarter inches by three and one half inches! Mark time!”

I wrote down the measurements and the time, and even grabbed the piece of glass from her to draw an outline of it on the paper. I didn’t know what was going on, but if she was breaking ancient pieces of this place for whatever reason, it would be a crime not to get as much information—and witnesses, I supposed—down on paper as I could.

“Time! What is time?”

“Uh… the sequence of events as they happen?”

“No—well, yes, but what time is reading?”

“Oh!” I read off the time from the pocketwatch even as Oksyna snickered again. “It’s been about ten minutes.”

“Good, good. First crack, measure. Fifteen and nine-tenth inches! Note time!”

I started writing, and then blinked. “Wait.”

“No wait! Record must!” she said. “Second crack. Twenty-three inches, three forks, five and one half, seven and nine-tenths, and three inches!”

I stared. “They’re healing?”

“Yes! Measure must! Rate of healing important to measure!”

“But, but… how?”

She gave me a look with her mouth a bit open in exasperation, her eyebrows half-lidded, and her hands spread out, the ruler waving in one of them. “If knowing that I did, do this not I need!”

“Oh!” I held up the papers. “Ready!”

“Good! Third crack…”

She read them off again, and in the space of those ten minutes or so, each of the cracks had healed by at least a quarter of an inch if not more, with the hole decreasing in size by a tenth of an inch. The piece that had been knocked free, though…

She held it against the outline I’d drawn on the paper and frowned before cursing under her breath. “No grow.”

I shook my head.

“So part of building must be?”

“For it to grow and heal? Makes sense… but I’d want to test that.”

“Agreed I am.” She abruptly stuck out her hand. “Finished I am for now. Paper, watch, please. I stay and time total heal, and you go to where you go.” She turned to the guards who had been watching the whole thing silently and spoke to them in their own tongue. They nodded and motioned for me and Oksyna to follow them.

“Did I understand that right?” Oksyna asked as we walked along behind the guards. “The glass heals?”

“Sure seems that way! But how? It’s not alive. It doesn’t have Breath, much less a life force…”

“Explains how these buildings have lasted so long, though,” Oksyna mused. “I mean, in my experience, everything can rot and break and die. But these buildings are so old…”

“Yeah, even the earliest histories we have mention them as already standing,” I said as we made our way down some stairs, and then I paused at the sight of a massive set of iron-banded stone doors at the end of the hall, more guards flanking it. “And this would be the vault.”

#

Evdoksia of the Nikelnemnos Dynasty of the Dormelion Empire

Evdoksia crept through the halls of the Gehtun palace. Fortunately, the sheer amount of tapestries and carpets filling the place made it almost ridiculously easy.

A shadow-that-was-not seemed to move across her vision, and she moved behind a tapestry. A moment later, the guardsman who she had Seen with her Sight walked past, his spear in hand.

She waited until he was around the corner and then emerged, going for the stairs.

For the moment, the others were focused on the lower levels of the palace, including the basements and lower levels where the vault that had contained the oath-scroll was. She had other goals.

The team that had taken the scroll had been professional, skilled, effective, trained specifically by her family to execute these sorts of operations. There would be no evidence left behind for Fia and Zoy to discover.

She took the stairs two at a time, knowing that she only had a brief window of opportunity to pull this off… and the Gehtun and many others were depending on her to do it.

Her lungs burning, despite her own fitness, she reached the landing she wanted. Outside of that door was the vast balcony formed by the statue’s thrust arms. The operations team had never been up here, she knew that.

But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t have…

She reached down to her pouch and pulled out a small object, rolling it delicately into a corner, where it could be easily overlooked… unless someone as skilled as Zoy was searching for it.

Opening the door, she went out onto the balcony, and placed another object.

And then, going back down the stairs, her time running out, she left another, where it wouldn’t be found until the first two were.

It was done.

She made her way back down, feeling things shifting around her, hearing her uncle whisper in the back of her mind.

She hated it. She hated what she had to do.

She hated herself for doing it. These people had become her friends. And here she was, lying to them, manipulating them…

But she didn’t have a choice.

Reaching the lower floors, she straightened up and resumed walking around, as if searching for any clues. A shadow heralding Zoy appeared around the corner, giving her a few moments with which to brace herself before the other woman appeared.

“Yufemya! There you are! I’m just about done sweeping this floor.”

“Find anything?”

“No. The maids apparently swept before me,” she said. “I’m going to start on the next floor. Coming?”

Evdoksia smiled, hiding her pain at Zoy’s own eager smile. She hadn’t expected to become such good friends with her. She hadn’t expected to have Zoy’s body leaning against hers in the Lynx to feel so right.

She hadn’t expected to feel her stomach flutter at the sight of that smile.

So she said, “Of course!”

For now, the future would attend to itself.

#

END OF PART ONE

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