Beyond The Shadows (14 page)

“Do you know what it is to refuse to be satisfied with the meager portion life hands you? I think you do. Can you imagine
me squatting in a field next to my one servant with my trousers rolled up, picking rice? These hands were not made for a hoe.
You took this name Kylar Stern. Why? Because you were born with an iron sword, too.

“My men need food, but they need victory more. With me or without me, they are here for the winter,” Lantano Garuwashi said.
“The tunnels we widened to get through the mountains are rivers and ice now. If you expose me, the sa’ceurai will kill me,
but then what? They will vent their fury on your people. For everyone’s sake, Night Angel, let that go. Go instead and tell
this queen to surrender. I give you my word that if she does this, not a single Cenarian will die. We will take nothing more
than food and a place to winter. She will be granted her throne once more when we leave in the spring.”

And you won’t ask for anything else once you have Cenaria and Ceur’caelestos both, right?

Kylar shook his head. “You’ll surrender.”

“I can’t,” Garuwashi said through gritted teeth. “In surrender, even Cenarians lay down their swords at the victor’s feet.”

Kylar hadn’t thought of that. It wasn’t the thought of surrender that was impossible for Lantano Garuwashi, it was the physical
act.

“Maybe,” Kylar said, “maybe there’s a third way.”

When Dorian’s half-brother Paerik had brought his army to Khaliras to seize the throne, he had abandoned a vital post. The
general who had served under him, General Talwin Naga, stood in front of the throne, explaining how the wild men would invade
in the spring.

“Sixty thousand of them?” Dorian asked. “How could they raise so many?”

“Raise may be exactly the word, Your Holiness,” the tiny Lodricari man who had accompanied General Naga said.

“Who are you?” Dorian asked.

“This is Ashaiah Vul,” the general said. “He was your father’s Raptus Morgi, Keeper of the Dead. I think you need to hear what he can tell you.”

“I’ve never heard of such an office,” Dorian said. And “raptus” didn’t primarily mean keeper, either. It meant taker, stealer.
Dorian’s stomach turned.

“By your father’s order and his father’s before him, it was a quiet office, Your Holiness,” Ashaiah Vul said. He was utterly
bald, with a knobby skull and a pinched face with nearsighted eyes, though he looked barely forty years old. “I was known
only as the Keeper. Your father’s Hands discouraged questions.”

The Hands. There was another problem. Whoever led the informers, torturers, spies, and guards who served as the Godking’s
thousand hands had yet to show himself. Regardless, Dorian doubted Ashaiah Vul would dare lie about them.

“Go on,” Dorian said.

“I think you may want to come with me, Your Holiness. I suggest you leave your guard here.”

Is this the first attempt on my life? If so, it was rather clumsy. That made it all the more impossible to refuse. When the attempts on Dorian’s life began, he
had to defeat them ruthlessly. Then they would end. “Very well.” Dorian signaled the guards to stay and dismissed the general.

In the hall, they immediately ran into Jenine. “My lord, I’m so glad to see you,” she said, giving him a version of a Khalidoran
bow mixed with a Cenarian curtsey, chin up, eyes closing demurely only for a moment, right hand sweeping into the Khalidoran
courtiers’ flourish while the left hand flared her skirt as she curtsied. She made the mixed curtsey look graceful, too. Obviously
she’d practiced it. It occurred to him then that there was no Khalidoran form of a woman’s salute to an equal male. Khalidoran
women who were equals would nod to each other, but were always inferior to men in the same social rank, and invisible to men
of lower rank. And all women prostrated themselves before a Godking. This was Jenine’s offering of a middle ground. He smiled,
pleased with her solution.

Dorian nodded more deeply than any Godking before him would have. “My lady, the pleasure is mine. How may I serve you?”

“I was hoping to spend the day with you. I don’t want to be in your way. I just want to learn.”

Dorian glanced at Ashaiah Vul. The man, of course, had his eyes averted. He wouldn’t dare to disapprove of a Godking’s decisions,
or to even look at a Godking’s woman. “I’m afraid I’m going to go see something remarkably unpleasant. You don’t want to see
it. I don’t want to see it. You should probably wait in the throne room. I’ll be back shortly.” Dorian turned.

“I do want to see it,” Jenine interjected. Ashaiah Vul gasped at her audacity, then studied the floor once more as both of
them looked at him, his face going red.

“A thousand pardons, my lord, I spoke hastily. Forgive my rudeness,” Jenine said. She chewed her lip. “I—My father never looked
at things he didn’t want to see, and it got him and my whole family killed, our country laid waste. Dealing with things we
don’t like is part of ruling. My father refused to do it because he was weak and venal. How else am I to learn if not from
you?”

“What I’m going to see is beyond anything your father had to deal with, real or imagined,” Dorian said.

“Even so.” Jenine was unmoved, and Dorian couldn’t help but smile. He loved her strength, even as it surprised him.

“Very well,” he said. “Ashaiah, show us what you were going to show me alone. All of it.”

Ashaiah Vul said nothing, pretended to have no opinion—and maybe, in fact, had no opinion. A God-king’s unwelcome order was
like a day of unwelcome weather. You might not like it, but you didn’t have any illusions that you could change it, either.
So Ashaiah took them deep into the bowels of the Citadel, and then into the tunnels of the mountain itself. Dorian could smell
vir on the man, though not much. He was at best a meister of the third shu’ra.

Finally, Ashaiah Vul stopped in front of a door that looked like any of the hundreds of others this deep in the Citadel. The
dust in this hall was so thick it was more like soil, and it was plain that this room hadn’t been visited any more recently
than any of the others. He unlocked the door and opened it.

Dorian held his vir as he followed the Lodricari into the darkness. His first sensation was that this room was huge, cavernous.
The air was musty, thick, fetid.

Ashaiah mumbled an incantation and Dorian snapped three shields into place around both himself and Jenine. A moment later,
light coursed up the arch where Ashaiah held his hand against the wall. It spread from arch to arch, across a painted ceiling
over a hundred feet above. In a few seconds, light bathed the chamber.

This had been a library once, a place of beauty and light. The walls and pillars were the color of ivory and lace. The mural
was like something out of a forgotten legend, light coming out of darkness, creation. It gave a sense of divinity and purpose.
Long cherry shelves had once held both scrolls and books and tables had been arranged with space for scholars to study.

Now, it held clean, white bones. The chamber was hundreds of paces long, and half as wide, and everywhere, the books and scrolls
had been removed. In their place, on every shelf, on every table, were bones. Old, old bones. Some shelves held entire skeletons,
labeled with tags tied to their wrists. Some held skeletons of human bones but arranged in inhuman shapes. But mostly, the
shelves held matching bones, with boxes for the small ones. An entire shelf of femurs. Boxes of finger bones. Pelvises stacked.
Spines whole and in boxes for each vertebra. And skulls in a large central area: mountains of skulls.

Dorian dropped the shields. This was no attack. At least not on his body. “What is this?”

Ashaiah glanced at Jenine, then, obviously deciding he must speak the truth, said, “Should the wild men invade, this is your
salvation, Your Holiness. It is your corpusarium. When General Naga speaks of the clans raising an army, this is what he means.
Two years ago, a barbarian chieftain found an ancient mass grave and discovered a secret we had long thought was ours alone.”

“Raising the dead?”

“Sort of, Your Holiness.”

“Sort of?”

“The souls of men are inviolate,” Ashaiah Vul said.

“I always liked purple.”

Ashaiah blinked, not daring to chuckle. Jenine was too busy staring around in wonder. He didn’t think she even heard him.
“We don’t have the power to bind men’s souls to their bodies. Your predecessors tried to make themselves immortal doing that,
but it never worked well. This is different. We call it raising because we use the bones of the dead and unite them with a
kind of spirit we call the Strangers. The result is the krul. They were originally called the Fallen because whenever they
fall in battle, they can be raised again if a Vürdmeister is present.”

“Take me one step at a time,” Dorian ordered, his queasiness increasing.

“It starts in the pits. It always has. The Godkings have always said that the ore beneath Khaliras was powerful, and that
that’s why the slaves and criminals and captured enemies are forced to work there. It’s a lie. We don’t need their service;
we don’t need the ore. We need the prisoners’ bones and their agony. Their bones give us a frame. Their agony draws the Strangers.”

“What are these Strangers?” Dorian asked.

“We don’t know. Some of them have been here for millennia, but despite the length of their experiences, we are a puzzle to
them. They don’t have physical bodies—though my master said that once they walked the earth, took lovers, and had children
who were the heroes of old, the nephilim. The southrons claim the name was because the Strangers were once children of their
One God who were thrown out of heaven.” He smiled weakly, clearly regretting saying anything about a southron religion.

“What happened?”

“We don’t know. But the Strangers long to wear flesh again. So we take the bones of our dead and sanctify them for the Strangers’
use. Incidentally, this is why Godkings have themselves cremated; they wish to avoid our use of their bones.”

“And then?”

“Real bones are necessary but not sufficient to give the fallen a sense of embodiment, and it is for embodiment that they
trade their service. We give them flesh. It doesn’t have to look human. Some Godkings believed that any shape is possible,
putting human bones into a horse’s or a dog’s shape. It makes binding the fallen more difficult as they wish to be men, not
horses, but it makes a fine horse.”

“And the musculature, the skin and so forth, does it need to be crafted as painstakingly as the skeletons?” Dorian asked.
He’d trained as a Healer, and he couldn’t imagine the intricate magic necessary to create a whole living body.

“Given the correct skeleton and enough clay and water, the Strangers help the magic form muscles and ligaments and skin. They’re
never as sturdy as man. Godking Roygaris was able to craft krul that lived for a decade or more, but he was a brilliant anatomist.
He was able to make krul horses, and wolves, and tigers, and mammoths and other creatures we no longer have names for.”

“They function like living beings?”

“They are living beings, Your Holiness. They breathe, they eat, they . . .”—he looked at Jenine again—“defecate. They just
don’t feel as men do. Pain that would incapacitate a man will do nothing to them. They won’t complain about hunger. They will
mention it if it’s gone long enough that they are about to stop functioning.”

“They speak?”

“Poorly. But they can see better in the dark than a man, though not as far. Eyes are difficult to make correctly. They make
poor archers. They have emotions, but the palette is different from men’s. Fear is incredibly rare. They know that as long
as the line of Godkings survives, if their body is destroyed, they will most likely be put into another sooner or later.”

“Are they obedient?”

“Perfectly, in most circumstances, but they have an incredible hatred toward the living. They won’t help build anything, not
even engines of war. They only destroy. Experiments have been tried where a krul was put in a room with a prisoner and told
that if he killed the prisoner, he would be killed in turn. Every time, the krul killed the prisoner. It was tried with women,
with old men, with children: it didn’t matter, except they killed children more quickly. You couldn’t ask them to take a city
and not kill those who surrendered. They also hunger for human flesh. Eating it seems to make them stronger. We don’t know
why.”

“My father gathered these bones, but never used them.” That was odd. Dorian turned it over in his mind. Perhaps Garoth Ursuul
was too decent.

“Your pardon, Your Holiness. Your esteemed father did use them, once. When Clan Hil rebelled. Afterward, he noted that the
Hil fought to the last man when they knew they would be eaten and profaned. Your father said he wished to have men left alive
to rule; the krul wished only for ashes. He held them off for a great emergency. The emergency never came, so there’s quite
a stockpile.”

“How many do we have?”

“About eighty-five thousand. When we organize them, we have to preserve their hierarchy. Their number system is different
than ours.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even our words for numbers are predicated on multiples of ten: ten, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand,
a million. Their number system is based on thirteen—my master said that was where our superstitions about thirteen come from.
They’re rigidly bound to those numbers. A meister can lead twelve krul himself, but if he wishes to lead thirteen or more,
he must master a thirteenth, which is different—a white krul called a daemon. The white krul are faster, over six feet tall,
and take more magic to raise. Platoons are thirteen squads—a hundred sixty-nine krul. So after you raise thirteen squads,
if you wish to add a single krul, you must raise a bone lord. Bone lords speak well, they’re smarter, tough, and they can
use magic.”

“Vir?”

“No. It’s either the Talent or very similar. Thirteen bone lords make a legion. If you don’t lead it yourself, a legion needs
a fiend. Thirteen fiends make an army, twenty-eight thousand five hundred sixty-one krul. Your Holiness has enough for three
armies, if you can master two arcanghuls to lead the other two armies. All told, that gives you a force of more than eighty-five
thousand.”

“What would happen if I had thirteen arcanghuls? What is that? Close to four hundred thousand krul?”

“I don’t know, Your Holiness.” The man looked fearful, however, and Dorian thought he was lying.

“Has it ever been tried? I won’t have you lie to me.”

The man blinked furiously. “The only rumors I’ve heard about that are blasphemous, Your Holiness.”

“As Godking, I pardon your blasphemy.”

The man blinked again, but after a few moments seemed to master his fear. “My predecessor, Keeper Yrrgin, said that the first
of your line, Godking Roygaris, tried. He needed hundreds of thousands of skeletons for the attempt, so he invaded what is
now the Freeze. Keeper Yrrgin said it was once a great civilization, filled with mighty cities. Roygaris took it with little
difficulty, for they thought him their ally. And then he put them in camps and killed them all—an entire civilization. Keeper
Yrrgin said that above the thirteen arcanghuls, Godking Roygaris found a rank he called night lords. With one night lord,
Roygaris conquered the rest of the Freeze, and his armies only grew. He couldn’t be content. He thought he was closing in
on the mysteries of the universe. He thought if he could master thirteen night lords, he would master God. I can’t imagine
that there were ever so many people in all the world, but my master told me that he succeeded in capturing and putting to
death almost five million people, and that there, above the night lords, he found . . .” the man face was pasty and sweating,
his voice low and hoarse. “There he found Khali. She destroyed him and became our goddess. She gave us the vir to bind us
to her and to make us destroyers. This is why agony is worship to her, because like all the Strangers, she hates life.”