Sword of the Deceiver (44 page)

The emperor Chandra had rolled off his pile of carpets at some point during the fight, and now crouched behind it, his hands up, ready to defend himself as best he could. Natharie looked at the ruler of the empire that threatened to bring her home to ruin, the one who had almost taken her life from her, and thought he looked like nothing in that moment so much as a cornered rat.

“Natharie,” said Samudra softly. “I must speak with my brother.”

“How dare you bring her here?” spat Chandra. “She killed our mother!”

Still clutching the pole arm, Natharie stalked forward. Fear widened Chandra’s eyes and he scooted backward from her approach. “No, Great Emperor,” she said. “Queen Prishi’s death is far more yours than mine.” She had so much more she wanted to say to this man, curses and taunts and accusations, and all of them merely spiteful now. “She poisoned herself to bring on illness and senility so that your wife would not kill her to keep her from influencing you.”

All blood drained from Chandra’s face. “You lie!” he cried out.

Natharie did not bother to answer. She turned her back to the former emperor. “I will await your word, my husband,” she said. Then, she walked out into the night, and there with the aftermath of the fight boiling around her, she stationed herself outside the pavilion like a guard, leaned on her stolen weapon, and tried with all her might to stop shaking.

“Husband?”

Samudra turned to face his brother. The trappings of empire had been stripped away from Chandra, and he had been left only a plain vest and trousers, his hands lying useless in his lap.

You are a wrestler and a fighter, and we’re in a tent full of stray blades, and all you could do at this time was sit there
, thought Samudra wearily. It seemed to him that even with all that had happened, he did not know the depths of his brother’s weakness until this moment, because now he understood that Chandra had been waiting to see if he, Samudra, would conquer or be killed.

Chandra lifted his bound hands and Samudra gave an impatient grunt, and knelt to cut the cords.

“Will you kill me now, Brother?” asked Chandra casually as the thongs parted.

Samudra felt the knife in his hand. It was slick and warm. The odor of blood filled his nose and the taste of it was harsh in his mouth. He looked at his brother sitting before him, who had been the cause of this slaughter, who had driven him from his path and place where he had been happy and safe. Samudra looked at Chandra sitting there, calm and defeated and splattered with the blood of the enemy Samudra had killed.

Samudra stood up. “No.”

Chandra lifted his head, and Samudra swore he saw contempt in the other man’s eyes. “Squeamish?”

Samudra just stared at him.
How can you do this? Here and now after all you have done and I have done, how can you?
“Brother, I swear, even now, I would give you back all that has been taken if you would just acknowledge that you have done wrong.”

“You know nothing,” said Chandra contemptuously. He picked himself up off the carpet and stepped over the body of Tapan Gol. To Samudra’s utter surprise, Chandra threw himself into the Huni chief’s great chair, sprawling on the carved seat as if he had all the right in the world to be there, and rubbing his wrists to bring the feeling back to them. “You know nothing of the burdens of the Mothers or what it is to be betrayed by those who should uphold you.” He looked up at Samudra with jaded eyes. “Kill me, Brother. Rid yourself of me and seal your guilt.”

All at once, Samudra knew what his brother was doing. Chandra was trying to shame him. Chandra believed if he heaped enough of the blame on Samudra, Samudra would accept it, would believe that it was his own weakness that had borne his brother down into defeat and with his heart breaking he would embrace Chandra and swear never to doubt him again.

Oh, my brother, I am not the only son of Mother Deception in this place
.

“I will not kill you, Chandra,” he said. “You will stand before the men outside and give me the Throne, and then you will retire to the small domain.”

Their gazes locked, and Chandra slowly straightened up in the bloody seat where he had dropped himself. This time, Samudra saw fear, and this time it might just have been real. He also thought somewhere in there he saw sorrow, for their mother’s death, and perhaps even guilt for his part in it.

“Brother, please, do not do this thing,” said Chandra softly. “Have mercy. Do not leave me humiliated like this.”

Samudra turned the knife over in his fingers. His brother ducked, cringing. Kill him. It made sense.
Don’t leave him alive to challenge what had been done. Don’t leave him alive to betray
.

Kill my brother. Let the fear win. Let destruction win over creation. Let death win over life
.

But if he chooses death over this dishonor, can I deny it to him? He is still my brother. He is still of royal blood
.

“Brother, I’m going outside and give my orders. If you truly wish to die, that is between you and the Mothers.” Samudra laid down the knife and walked out of the tent.

Outside, in the heavy air of the false dawn, he took a deep breath. Natharie stood there, the only still figure in a milling ring of soldiers, all being directed by her father. Of course she was. She would never leave him alone at such a time. Wordlessly, he took her into his arms and held her close, savoring her warmth and her strength. He needed that strength so much now. His legs were about to give out under him. So many had died so needlessly already, and one more might die yet. He did not look back. His ears strained. He wanted to run back inside and strike the blow himself. He wanted to run back inside and snatch the knife away and embrace his brother and swear never to doubt him again. He wanted … Mothers All, he wanted to lie down and go to sleep.

Cloth rustled. Samudra loosened his hold on Natharie just enough to turn and see Chandra walking from the tent, his hands empty and loose at his side. Their eyes met, and Samudra knew, without any joy at all, that he had been right. His brother did not have the strength to take his own life with his own hand.

“Well.” Chandra smiled a ghastly, ghoulish smile. “It appears you win, my brother.” He raised his voice and all around them voices went still. “I Chandra
tya
Achin Harihamapad, who was the Beloved of the Mother and Protector of the Pearl Throne, do hereby renounce that throne in favor of my brother who was the first prince Samudra.” Smoothly he made the salute of trust, but he peered over the tips of his fingers. “You have what you want, Brother. I hope you enjoy it more than I.”

Samudra reached forward, but Chandra backed away, retreating beyond his reach. With his old, slow, lazy smile, Chandra knelt to his brother, pressing his brow against the muddy ground. Then he stood and turned, and walked into a fold of uncertain Sindishi soldiers, who closed around him, protecting him and preventing the escape Samdura knew he had no intention of making, yet.

Samudra made to step forward, but all at once, Natharie was beside him. “Let him go,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Let him also breathe for a space.”

But even as he spoke those words, a new shout went up. A dozen different arms were pointing toward the river where the darkness roiled and then opened like a flower. Light spilled out, solidifying into the form of a silver road shining so brightly that the firelight dimmed. Shadows moved on that road, accompanied by a great singing that lifted his heart even as it drew tears from his eyes.

Then the shadows poured off the silver road, spreading out to the sound of cheering and crying. Samudra’s heart swelled with relief and he wiped the fresh sweat from his face. A final small cluster of shadows stepped from that road onto the earthly soil. Samudra’s first thought was to kneel, for surely these were celestial beings come to set seal on this time of miracles. But even as the silver road faded away, taking the beautiful droning song with it, that sound was replaced by human voices. Human voices crying aloud in praise and wonder, in fear and dismay. Samudra realized that these were the Sindishi being returned to their home. The last few shadows stepped onto the riverbank and beside him Natharie stiffened.

Then she ran.

She ran with her skirts hiked up around her knees. Pushing past soldiers, cursing and pounding on them when they did not get out of her way fast enough, she ran toward the shadows. Someone else ran beside her. It took Samudra’s dazzled eyes a long moment to see this other was King Kiet.

A man nearby lifted a torch. Samudra snatched it from him and raised it high. He felt the pavilion’s door move at his back, and Hamsa came to stand beside him and witness the unfolding joy and chaos. The newcomers ran into the crowd of soldiers, shouting out names, receiving embraces of brothers, husbands, and sons. King Kiet held a woman in his arms, kissing her as if he never meant to stop and Natharie … Natharie was engulfed by a crowd of children as she tried to embrace them all at once. While he watched, she looked over the top of their heads at the woman, her mother, who had stepped a little away from the king.

They did not move toward each other, Natharie and her mother, but neither did they look away. It would be a long time before there was peace between them. Samudra understood that, just as it would be a long time before he fully understood and forgave what his own mother had done. But at least now they would both have that time, as she and he would have time to remake their lives and their lands and make good on the promise of the debts and wagers and miracles that had brought them to this place. Then she and he would return to the Palace of the Pearl Throne. Bandhura still waited in the small domain. What would she do when she found her husband had fallen? Would she stand by him? Samudra found himself inclined to believe she would. In her own way she loved him and he did not believe she would forsake him now.

What then would he do with the both of them? And what would he do with the whole of Hastinapura, which was now his to guide and guard until Death came once again to stand him before Mother A-Kuha?

Samudra sighed. He had been wrong before. This was not the end.

It was the beginning.

Sarah Zettel, author of numerous fantasy and science fiction novels, won the Locus Award for the Best First Novel for
Reclamation
(1996), and was runner-up for the Philip K. Dick Award for the best paperback original SF novel for
Fool’s War
(1997).
Sword of the Deceiver
is the fourth fantasy novel in her Isavalta series. She lives with her husband and young son outside Ann Arbor, Michigan.

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Copyright © 2007 by Sarah Zettel
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Published in association with Athans & Associates Creative Consulting

Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 10: 1-4405-4861-7
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4861-1
eISBN 10: 1-4405-4377-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4377-7