The False Martyr (4 page)

The portal closed behind
him.

With a long, slow exhale,
Ipid turned from the closing portal and watched the few remaining
warriors disperse around him. Somewhere, he knew that he should be
moving, should be dodging the warriors and their horses, but he was
too overwhelmed to save himself. If, in that moment, he had been
knocked down and trampled, he likely would not have even registered
the horse’s hooves smashing the life from his broken body. His mind
spun around the devastating collection of questions that had been
laid upon him, bouncing from topic to topic as fast as they could
register.
Arin knows about Dasen? He knows
my title, wants me to negotiate the Kingdoms’ surrender? He has a
son? He’s going to kill Dasen? He’ll destroy more cities? Dasen had
a boy with him? Arin’s wife and mother will set the terms of
surrender? Dasen can use the magic of the te-am ‘eiruh?

Unable to make sense of
any of it, Ipid looked up. His heart stopped. A warrior and eight
horses were nearly on top of him. He had no hope of moving from
their path. And even worse, his eyes met those of the warrior. He’d
be lucky to be alive long enough to be trampled. He waited for the
beating, the blade that would finish him, the hooves that would
crush him. They didn’t come.

His eyes rose. Again, he
caught the warrior’s eye. The man nodded. He turned, adjusted his
course, and led the horses around with only the slightest look of
annoyance. Stunned, Ipid watched the other warriors do the same.
They did not bow or defer to him, but they recognized him, treated
him like a fellow human being rather than a rat. He watched as
warrior after warrior, huge men clad in leather with strips of red
to mark their wounds, moved around him, led their horses from his
path, acknowledged him, who a day before they would have just as
likely killed.

One day, one battle, one
judgment,
Ipid thought,
and everything has changed. As fast as that, we
are people again, we are worthy of their recognition and
respect.
In the Darthur social hierarchy,
the recently completed Battle of Testing had elevated the people of
the Unified Kingdoms from te-adeate, ‘those to be taught’, who are
treated as less than slaves, to k’amach-tur, ‘those who battle with
honor’, who are respected as near equals to the Darthur. It was a
miraculous, instantaneous transformation in the prejudices of an
entire people. Ipid could not imagine how it was
possible.

“
Come with me. You are not
safe here” broke the deadlock of Ipid’s thoughts. A hand clenched
his elbow and pulled him away. His face spun. He saw no one. He
could feel the hand on his elbow, the chill of it through his
sleeve. He had heard a voice, could sense a presence, but no one
was there.

“
Do not look at me!” Eia
demanded. “If someone follows your eyes and looks directly at me
while you are, my spell will be broken. If you must look at
something, look to your left.”

Somehow, Ipid managed to
turn his eyes from the invisible woman at his side. He looked left
and saw Arin’s cousin, Üluth. Ten paces away, the warrior was
staring at him with purest loathing. Clearly, he had not forgotten
Ipid’s unintentional role in his humiliation two weeks prior. He
watched the remaining warriors disperse, gripped the blade of a
knife at his side, and followed.

“
He will kill you,” Eia
said from beside him and increased their pace. “Now that Arin is
not here to protect you, he will get you alone or simply make an
excuse. No one will doubt his word. He is still a te-ashüte. And
though you are now k’amach-tur, do not think that will protect
you.”

Eia led Ipid toward the
buildings of the village at as fast a pace as he could manage. A
glance behind, showed Üluth keeping his distance but following
nonetheless. He was just waiting for his chance, waiting for Ipid
to be alone, out of the view of prying eyes. Then with an easy
slash, he would have his revenge on Ipid and, to some small extent,
his cousin.

“
Shouldn’t we stay around
people?” Ipid whispered to his companion as they reached the first
buildings. The streets were abandoned. The Darthur were tending
their horses. The other men had not yet returned from their
ceremonies. This was Üluth’s chance. Ipid would be perfectly
positioned, and Eia was leading him into the trap. He tried to pull
his arm away, to change his course back to the warriors who were
about to disappear behind the walls of the buildings.

“
Trust me!” Eia held his
arm in her, somehow, iron grip. “You cannot stay away from him for
seven days. I am your only chance.”

Eia led Ipid around a
building. The streets were abandoned, close-spaced houses empty.
They turned into an alley. It was the perfect place for Üluth to do
his work – it would be days before anyone even found his body. Ipid
looked back to see the knife that would end him, stumbled, and felt
bone-numbing cold followed by skin-charring heat. He was torn
apart, piece-by-piece, only to feel the pieces slam back together.
He fell. His hands hit the ground but rather than the alley’s
stones, they came down on grass.

Rolling over, he found
Eia, now visible, at his side. Her hood was pulled down over her
face so that only her delicate hands showed the robe to have a
human occupant. And past her, covering the whole of Ipid’s vision
was a house. It stood three stories, stretched a hundred paces to
either side, shining marble, sparkling granite, dark wood, and
brown brick. It was his home.

Ipid stared at the granite
columns, the marble steps, the brick façade, the large cut-glass
windows, the great oak doors in disbelief. His eyes turned to the
surrounding gardens, the rose bushes, lilies, carefully trimmed
hedges, benches, manicured lawns, fruit trees. He shook his head.
There was no doubting it. He was home. How was that even possible?
But the answer was no farther than the tiny figure standing above
him.

Eia looked down at him
then threw back her hood to reveal pale skin, dainty features,
liquid black eyes, and frizzy translucent hair. She smiled, thin
pink lips spreading to show perfect teeth. “I told you that the
sie-eium taloru gets easier. You remained conscious this time. I’d
say that’s progress.” Ipid was not so sure. His head and stomach
swirled. He was fighting to keep his breakfast down. “Now that we
are here, are you not going to invite me in? I have long wanted to
see how a lord lives in this land.”

“
But how did . . . how are
we . . . how is it still . . . ?”

“
Lord Ronigan, you have
seen the sie-eium taloru too many times to not know what it is or
how it works. I have transported you here, because it is here that
you will be safe.”

“
But I need to be with my
people. I need to help . . . .”

“
And how do you think that
would go? I am sorry for what happened and more so for the part my
people played in it, but I am charged with protecting you. I know
that you were betrayed more than any other, but your people won’t
see it that way. Rather, you will be seen as an extension of the
Darthur. But without their swords, armor, and skill to protect you,
they would have their vengeance even if it is a tiny consolation.
The Belab thinks you have an important part to play in defeating
the Darthur and does not want to see your life wasted. You will be
of little use from one of those great pits, so I cannot allow you
to take that risk.”

Ipid had considered that
same possibility as he sat on the hill watching his countrymen dig
the graves that would hold their fellows, but he had hoped that he
could show them through his effort that he was not a traitor, that
he could prove his loyalty with his sweat and tears. Reality was
with Eia. The wounds were too fresh. The village boys might vouch
for him, but the city folk would be desperate to vent their rage.
They would beat him, hang him, quarter him, gut him and throw him
into the pit to die slow. It appeared that Eia had saved him twice
this day: once from Üluth and once from himself.

But could he forgive what
she had done, the part her people had played in the destruction of
his city, slaughter of his people, and betrayal for which he would
be blamed? Belab had said that the apology he had received from
Arin was worth the cost, but how? And what about Dasen? Could he
trust the te-am ‘eiruh with his son? And if he didn’t, if the
Darthur caught him, killed him, or he used his powers to kill
thousands of innocents? Beyond the deaths, Dasen would be
devastated. Could Belab spare him that? Or was it all another of
his machinations? In the end, it was all too much. Ipid could not
hope to sort it out now. But what then to do with Eia?
You need her
, a voice
advised.
You need information. You need
allies
.
But that
does not mean you have to trust her. Keep her close, take what she
gives but remember what needs to be done.
Only a fool throws out a hammer because it smashed his
thumb.
Ipid could almost hear his friend,
Oban Markovim, Thoren’s governor, giving the advice, capping it
with one of his favorite adages.

He looked up at Eia
standing above him, at her slight smile, her warm eyes, and he
matched her expression. He held his hand out to her. Her smile grew
as she helped him to his feet. Was he overreacting to think that
her smile was a bit too familiar, that she stood a bit too close,
that her soft fingers moved on his in a way that was a bit too
intimate, that her eyes stared into his in a way that made his
heart beat just a bit too fast? For a moment, they stood like that,
looking at each other. Then Ipid cleared his throat, turned toward
the doors of his house, and held out his arm. Eia wrapped hers
through it. “It appears you have saved me yet again,” he said.
“Welcome to my home.”

As he led her to the door,
the voice sounded again in his head,
Of
course, not everyone was meant to be a carpenter. And only a bigger
fool keeps hitting himself without seeing that.
The remainder of Oban’s advice was lost in the mire of Ipid’s
distracted, overwrought mind.

Chapter 3

The
14
^th
Day of Summer

Teth remembered the river.
She remembered being wet and tired, remembered clinging to that
shield, hanging on the quarrels stuck through it as if anchored to
a cliff. Dasen had been there. He’d told her to kick, to escape
from what they’d seen, what they’d done. Then he’d told her to
sleep and she had.

Everything after that was
a blur: there were robed figures lifting her from the water, the
bouncing images of being carried up winding steps, of being
stripped from her soaked clothes without the energy to fight or
even fear the consequences, of mumbling her protests as her pants
were pulled away and expecting something terrible she could not
hope to stop.

But there had been nothing
terrible – at least not that she could remember or feel now. She
laid in a small room, on a straw mattress, covered by a single wool
blanket that made her naked body itch in a million places. She hurt
everywhere – her toes were sore; her fingers throbbed. And she knew
that moving would only make it worse. So she stared at the stone
ceiling a suffocating distance away, traced the lines of mortar
between the smooth stones, and tried to remember. She hoped that
remembering might tell her whether she should muster the energy
required for fear – though she was not even sure if she had it in
her, as if even that secret store of energy had been consumed by
the battle.

Slowly, she considered
each part of her body. Lying on her back in the bed, feeling her
limbs like lead sinking into the mattress beneath her, she
considered that she might be paralyzed. Could she move? Certainly,
she could feel her limbs burning, aching. But Himmel Burch had said
the same thing after the falling tree broke his back. Teth had been
there with her aunt, had heard him complain about the aching in his
legs even as they laid there lifeless.

As a sort of test, she
moved her thumbs, made them shake the blanket that covered her.
Cramps consumed her hands, curling them into balls. She gasped,
fighting to stretch her fingers back, but that only gave her arms
and shoulders their own reasons to protest. Grunting, she grew
still and searched for something to occupy her. Her eyes stood
open, her ears searched for some indication of place, her swollen
tongue searched for moisture in her desert of a mouth. And her body
ached, itched, and sagged into the mattress as if she had been
buried in it.

Turning her head slowly,
painfully to the side, she found a small desk and a wooden chair,
the rooms only other furnishings. With the bed, those items would
barely leave enough room for the wooden door to open. The floor
below was bare, stones worn smooth by what must have been eons of
feet pacing across them. The ceiling was low, rising only as high
as the door. Light filled the room from a single, small window set
at the top of the wall above the bed. Teth had just enough of an
angle to see a sliver of blue. A slight breeze stirred the air,
unconstrained by the open shutters, but it was a hot, dry breeze
that only seemed to drive more moisture from her mouth and deposit
it on her damp, itching skin. A mere arm’s length away sat a neatly
folded brown robe, a pitcher, and a plate. Running a swollen tongue
over cracked lips, listening to her stomach rumble, feeling her
exposed skin above them all, she tried to muster the will to
fulfill her needs, but even those discomforts could not spur
anything more than the tiniest, throbbing bend of a
knee.