Veiled Empire (11 page)

Mevon’s laughter shattered the ice.

Gilshamed turned to Yandumar, hoping to find . . . something. An answer, perhaps. Hope. All he saw was despair as the Hardohl bellowed, sucking in another lungful of air to lend continued exuberance to his cackling.

Finally, the laughter tapered off. Gilshamed drew himself up straight. “I can see why that amuses you. You are the empire’s most fearsome instrument of death, after all, held in high regard even among your peers. By all accounts, you are a man who not only excels at killing but also thrives on it. What reason could you possibly have to turn against the mierothi?”

Mevon arched an eyebrow. “Is this what all of Jasside’s babble was about? Were her words somehow supposed to prepare me to accept your offer? Gods, what fools you are.”

“No, Mevon.” Gilshamed leaned forward. “She was merely meant to make you ready to listen.”

“That so? Well, here I am. Say what you have to so we can be done with this charade.”

“No.” Gilshamed placed a hand on Yandumar’s shoulder. “It will not be I who convinces you of anything.”

Y
ANDUMAR
STARE
D
AT
Mevon, motionless.
You’ve waited long enough, Yan. Don’t screw this up.

His gaze must have lingered too long. Mevon’s face grew impatient. “Well, old man?”

Yandumar took a deep breath.

“Thirty years ago, I was an Elite captain, serving under Kael. You knew him well.”

“Yes,” said Mevon, as if it had been a question. “He was like a father to me.”

“If so, then I’m glad. Old bastard owed me a favor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was only twenty-two at the time. Gods, how naïve I was back then . . .” he trailed off, closing his eyes as memory took hold. He could smell the burning flesh, taste the blood and salt of his tears. “Our Fist was out on assignment, tracking down Sanction violators who had been hiding out up north near the Taditali vineyards. It was in the hottest time of year, in the hottest part of the empire. We had all been taking a break in the shade. A messenger came for me. Told me I had visitors, sent by the emperor himself. I was nothing special. No reason to have that tyrant’s attention. I should have known what was coming. But I went. Alone, as instructed. Still armed and armored, though. Scorching scale-backs were too arrogant to think that little detail could make a difference.”

Yandumar opened his eyes. Mevon’s gaze was locked with his, and he seemed scarcely to be breathing. Good. At least he was paying attention.

Yandumar continued. “Three daeloth greeted me, there in that lonely glade. They were adjudicators, and their message was simple: Your wife and two oldest children are dead, and now . . . it’s your turn.” He saw the question in Mevon’s face. “Why? My wife was pregnant, full term, and . . .” he paused, struggling, “ . . . not a lick of sorcery could touch either mother or baby.”

Yandumar watched Mevon’s face, saw the wheels turning behind those green eyes. Eyes so very like his own.

“I discovered what Imperial doctrine was regarding voids that day: taking them—taking
you
—to be trained in their academy, turned into loyal killers. But those daeloth discovered something else: how terrible a father’s rage can be. It was their final lesson.”

Mevon opened his mouth, but it was several moments before words came out. “Are . . . are you saying . . . ?”

“Yes . . . son. I am.” Yandumar stepped forward with an iron key in his hand. He put it to the locks securing Mevon’s chains. “And I will prove it to you.”

It took longer than he expected. The chains were wrapped tightly around the majority of his body and were meant to hold against the strength of a Hardohl. When the last link fell to the ground, so did Mevon, slumping. Denying him food and water had been necessary, but Yandumar still cringed as Mevon—
My son!
—struggled to keep from collapsing.

He moved forward again to help Mevon stand.

Mevon grasped his tunic, pulling himself up. He stood still. Caught his breath.

He pushed Yandumar away violently and scrambled for the exit. Gilshamed stepped aside. Yandumar hurried out after him.

W
HAT
?

Mevon stared. There were no guards encompassing the tent. No wall of steel and flesh to keep him contained. He almost felt insulted.

He could see his men though, disarmed and sitting under guard a hundred paces away. Intact, as his captains had said. He wasn’t sure if they had been forced to lie on that point. Not that he expected them to.

Something else stood closer. He had dismissed it at first. It didn’t make sense. Quake was saddled and ready, and a soldier held out the reins in Mevon’s direction.

“You can go, if you want,” Yandumar said behind him.

Mevon spun. “What game are you playing?”

“No game.” Gilshamed emerged from the tent but stayed well out of the way and remained silent. Yandumar took a step forward, his hands open in a gesture of peace. “We won’t stop you and your men from leaving. But first, will you hear one more thing?”

Mevon grabbed the reins and shoved the soldier away. “What can you possibly say that would convince me to join you?” The words came out in a shriek.
What is happening to me?

“Just this.” Yandumar took one last pause, a deep breath. “Ragremos Remembers.”

A hammerblow seemed to crush the air from Mevon’s chest. His blood turned colder than the Frozen Fingers of the deep south. His eyeballs threatened to pop out of his skull.

“Where?” said Mevon. “How?”

“You were eighteen,” Yandumar said. “At your graduation. Kael handed you your
Andun
, then leaned in, and whispered, ‘Tell no one, and never forget these words.’ Then, he said, ‘Ragremos Remembers.’ He said that because I asked him to. Because I couldn’t be there to say the words myself.”

Mevon heard a rumble rise from behind him. It was faint at first, only a few voices. They had heard what Yandumar had said, and now repeated the words.

“
Ragremos Remembers. Ragremos Remembers.
”

It continued, becoming a chant and rising in volume. He thought he recognized some of the voices.

“Don’t you see, son?” continued Yandumar. “All of this has been for you.” He stepped up to Mevon and laid a hand on his shoulder, locking eyes. Eyes an identical shade of green as his. The face an aged mirror of his own.

Mevon shook.
I . . . I had a family
? The notion jarred him. He was married to duty and fought alongside his adopted brothers. He wanted nothing else.
Needed
nothing else. A dead mother and siblings he had never known had no place in his life or his heart.

But he felt his blood rising all the same.

The chanting grew louder.

“This is what happens to all Hardohl?” Mevon asked.

“Aye,” Yandumar said. “Think about it. Have you ever met a void that wasn’t carrying an
Andun
?”

Mevon didn’t need to think long. “No.”

Yandumar shook his head. “Of course not. The emperor is much too practical to let a resource like you just lie around without being used.”

“
Used.
” How that word stoked his rage. He had been loyal and obedient his whole life. Efficient, deadly, just as they had trained him to be. Yet, in the end, little more than a tool.
Rekaj, you have much to answer for!
He spotted Jasside in the distance, eyes rimmed red.
Much.

The whole valley now echoed with resounding cries. A third of his Elite had risen to their feet, lending their voices to the crowd.

He looked at Yandumar. The evidence seemed thin; yet, somehow, Mevon knew it for truth. They could have lured any Hardohl into their trap, but they hadn’t.
They did it for
me
. And at enormous risk to themselves, no less.
That, to him, was proof enough. The man’s claim . . . he could not deny.

But to turn his back on everything he had ever known? It was not something he had ever fathomed. He peered down the inevitable roads that led from this place, this decision. Veering destinies. One would pit him against the only family he had, fighting for people who had betrayed and used him. The other?

Mevon smiled. “Revolution, huh? Sounds dangerous. Bloody.” His men seemed eager enough. In truth . . . so did he. If nothing else, it promised to be a fight for the ages, and he could not conceive of a more worthy foe than the mierothi.

And if Mevon wanted to have
any
chance at discovering true justice, he could not turn back. Not from this.

“Though I will not lead my men into anything blindly, for now . . . you can count us in.”

Yandumar’s face lit up like a lightglobe. He clapped Mevon hard on the shoulder and held out his other hand. Derthon appeared. He placed Mevon’s
Andun
into Yandumar’s open palm. The old man then presented it to Mevon. “Ragremos Remembers,” he said once more.

Mevon took hold of Justice. He faced his men and held it up over his head.

The chanting stopped. Silence struck the valley like a hammer.

Mevon shouted, “Ragremos Remembers!”

Thousands erupted into cheering.

Mevon, finally, returned Yandumar’s embrace. “This saying . . . you’ll have to tell me what it means.”

“Of course, son. Of course. I have so much to tell you.”

PART II

Chapter 7

T
HE
WOODS
WERE
quiet and still, but Draevenus remained wary. He, of all people, knew better than to trust that silence meant emptiness.

In the wilderness, it usually meant the opposite.

His hands worked automatically, placing another trip wire, and pulling it to just the right tension before securing the tie. Soon, he would be vulnerable, and such precautions served to ease his mind. No sorcerous wards though. They drew more attention than they were worth.

And attention was what he always strove to avoid. Now, more than ever.

He had been traveling southwest out of Mecrithos for three weeks, avoiding the main roads in favor of lesser paths. The forest here was taller, thicker, and greener than the patches of trees visible from the capital’s thick outer bastion. Wilder. He felt more at ease here than he did in any city or town.

Draevenus circumnavigated his campsite, giving his web of traps one last check. He had spent several human lifetimes inventing new ways to cause death. Doing the opposite was vastly more difficult. He checked twice to make sure he saw nothing that would give him away.

Ready.

He sat down and leaned back against a tree with his legs crossed. He had always been a creature of solitude. Assassination, by its very nature, broke down life into its most rudimentary physicality. He could not even get close to anyone without noting the places where pulsing veins strayed closest to the skin. Yet here, in these woods, he felt a stab of loneliness. It took him awhile to determine its source.

Draevenus shook his head.
Oh, Voren, what did you do to me?

It had been centuries since he had last called any of his mierothi kin a friend, and no humans could overcome their fear of him. Only a single valynkar, just as lonely as he was, finally staked a claim within him. Draevenus wished he could have lingered longer but knew that he had work to do that could not wait.

He closed his eyes. Breathing deep, he energized for half a beat and grabbed hold of just enough power to do what he needed without drawing notice. He hoped.

In his mind, Draevenus formed his will into a sphere of darkness. Slowly, it flattened out, spreading into a thin disc. A portal. He took his consciousness, his truest self, and stepped through.

Into communion.

An expanse of static white, unending in all directions, came clear in his mind’s eye. Pricks of darkness dotted his view, like the night sky reversed and spread out on a vast plane.

Here, he had no body—unless he wished to—but he could still move as he pleased. He floated upwards to get a clearer view. The dark stars each represented a caster. The largest ones stood for his kin, while those less substantial indicated daeloth and any others with diluted mierothi blood.

Placement of the spots in this place depended upon physical location. There, ahead of him, the thickest cluster of them stood for Mecrithos. Nowhere in the empire was there a greater concentration of mierothi and other casters.

No. That wasn’t quite true.
Don’t think about that. Not yet.

He floated forward, leaving behind the representation of the capital. He sought another. She would be found farther ahead, currently near the continent’s edge. Draevenus could almost feel the leagues passing by as the occasional blotch of darkness came and went.

Only a few dots now remained between him and the void beyond, and he began to feel resistance to his movement, pressure and a kind of buzzing. The Shroud. Invisible, here as in the waking world, but it still proved an impervious barrier to anything wishing to get in. Or, get out.

By Ruul, what fools we were back then.

His eye spotted what he was looking for. A single negative star, alone, darker than all the rest. And larger. He brushed up against it, then pulled back. As he waited, he formed for himself a body, clothed in a simple black robe. He might as well be presentable.

A mark later, the star pulsed, and he felt another’s presence in communion with him. In beats, she had formed herself a body, complete with a form-hugging gown and a glass of wine in her hand.

Draevenus looked down on her. “Sister. I trust you are not too busy?”

Vashodia smiled. “For you? Never. But do make it quick. Paen just broke the seal on a cask of his father’s private reserve. It’s going to be a rousing evening.”

If he had a real spine, a chill would have just climbed up it. Even after all these centuries, he still disliked the notion of his baby sister getting . . . intimate. With anyone. Especially given her appearance.

“Very well. I’ll try to be brief,” he said.

“And you’re doing a marvelous job so far.”

He sighed. “How are things progressing out there?”

“Splendidly.” She took a sip of her wine. “All the little puppets are dancing their steps in tune.”

“And your personal marionettes?”

She shrugged. “Satisfied, for the moment.”

Draevenus nodded. “You will let me know if the need arises for more . . . direct involvement?”

“There won’t be. I’ve planned far too well for that.” Vashodia’s face held confidence, as always. And, as always, he couldn’t help but wonder what madness lay hidden there.

“Sister . . . you can’t—”

“What? Drop a pebble on a mountaintop and expect the planet to change its turning?” She laughed. “Yes, dear brother. Yes I can.”

Draevenus sighed. He formed a small black dagger and began dancing it across his knuckles. Silence hung between them. Vashodia took another sip.

Be brief.
“I’m going after them,” he said. “Will you not reconsider?”

She laughed again, but the tone held no mirth this time. Instead, it cut to his bones. “Don’t be such a sentimental fool.”

“But she’s—”

“Nothing to me!”

Draevenus stared at her. Even here, there was fire in her eyes.
Do you see me the same way? I am tool as well, just like everyone you touch?

He shook the thoughts loose from his head. Such thinking led only to despair, and he’d had enough of that in his life to know how pointless it was.

“Well, I’m going. With or without your assistance. Be so kind as to keep me apprised?”

Vashodia scrunched her face up. “Fine. But don’t dawdle about on your little sideshow. We can’t have you missing the grand finale, now can we?”

“No guarantees. I’ll be alone, after all. Anything could happen.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is this some pathetic last attempt to garner my sympathy?”

He shrugged.

Her face lit up. “It worked! I give you my most heartfelt blessings, dear brother. Go and make Ruul proud.”

“That’s cruel, Vash. Even for you.”

“Ah. Right. I take it you and our beloved ‘deity’ still aren’t in each other’s good graces?”

Draevenus tossed the dagger to the side. It vanished in a puff of black mist. “No. We are not.”

She stepped up and patted him on the cheek. He glared at her. She giggled and retreated a few steps in mock concern for her safety, then held her hands behind her back in a gesture of utter innocence. She almost looked convincing. Draevenus fought the urge to smile. Failed.

Nothing more need be said, so he nodded once to her, then turned away. He began dissolving his body, and with it, his perceptions of communion. He said nothing as she faded. She forbade him from saying good-bye, and from expressing what was always on his heart. She couldn’t stop him from thinking it, though.

I love you, dear sister. Take care.

The white void vanished, replaced by a foggy darkness. Draevenus inhaled. Real air. He blinked open his eyes, taking stock of the forest around him.

Something was wrong.

He leapt into a crouch, daggers in both fists. He didn’t energize. Not yet. He could summon what power he needed at a moment’s notice. His blades were usually enough.

He held his breath, closed his eyes, and listened. There it was again. A faint sound. Rustling, and something else. A whimper?

He rushed in the direction of the noise, keeping low and silent. His eyes darted. Muscles bunched, ready to spring in any direction.

He came within sight of one of his outermost traps. Something was lying there, tangled and bleeding.

A boy, no more than ten years old.

Scorch me!

Blades went back in their sheaths as he rushed forward.

T
HE
HONEY
BLOOMS
filled Voren’s nose with their scent, sweet yet subtle, their vines hanging down over the hedgerows. He strolled past marble benches and carved stone friezes, potted shrubs and dwarf trees of every variety imaginable, and beds of flowers in colors so vivid, his eyes watered if he stared too long. Sparrows and bluebirds chirped a symphony as they flitted about, snatching up insects in their beaks.

The palace gardens were his favorite place. Were it not for the dark cloud hanging over his thoughts, he would almost be content.

Voren lifted his eyes to the stark face of the Imperial Palace. “Is it not humorous how something so beautiful as to make Elos weep can rest under the gaze of that which is most foul?”

Kael grunted. “Feeling poetic are we?”

As ever, for his outings, the aged Hardohl marched at his side, attached at the wrist by his fleshly tether. His very presence was a reminder of Voren’s fears and regrets.

“Always,” Voren replied. “But I shall try to refrain from boring you too greatly.”

“Good.”

They turned a corner, passing beneath branches pruned into an archway and dotted with white blossoms, and began down a path lined by sentinel hedges. The tall, verdant plants, trimmed at sharp angles, blocked all light from the setting sun. Voren realized belatedly that they had entered the hedge maze.

“Did you want to turn back?” Kael asked. The question did not surprise Voren. He usually avoided the maze. It was the one place in the gardens that he did cherish.

“There is no turning back,” said Voren. “Not now. We might as well see our way through.”

“Whatever you say.”

They marched on. Kael lagged behind a step and let Voren choose the path, which he did without hesitation. After a few turns, however, they came to a dead end. Voren quickly backtracked, choosing the opposite path from their last juncture. After a few more splits, they came again to another aborted path, and Voren was forced to retreat once more to their last intersection. The very next turn ended in a solid wall of hedges.

Voren felt the heat of both frustration and embarrassment rising. It didn’t help matters when he spied Kael’s undisguised amusement.

“Well, I suppose you know exactly how to traverse this place, then?” Voren said.

“Eh?” Kael said. “Well, maybe I do.”

“Then tell me, Kael. Tell me how to get out of this mess. Tell me!”

The Hardohl stared at him, eyes blank, for several beats. “We ain’t talking about this maze anymore, are we?”

Voren closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He shook his head.

“Come on,” said Kael.

The old man stepped forward, tugging Voren along at a gentle pace. He maneuvered through several turns with confidence. A few marks and half a dozen intersections later, when they had yet to come to any dead ends, Voren admitted to himself that the Hardohl most likely knew his way. When he voiced this observation, Kael merely shrugged.

“How do you do it?” asked Voren. “How do you take every step with such assurance?”

“Simple. I actually know where I’m going.

“And why.”

Voren eyed Kael sideways. “And how exactly is that supposed to help me?”

“Did I say it was?”

Voren gritted his teeth. He held out his hand, feeling the branches scrape across his fingertips as he walked.

“You upset about the child?” Kael said.

Voren cringed, remembering the terrified squeals of the infant. “Partly,” he said. Voren realized he was shaking.

“Thought so. You get like this every time you inscribe a blessing.”

“Do I?”

“Twelve times in as many years. Same reaction.”

Not quite the same. Not this time.
“Is it worth it you think?”

Kael smiled and grunted. “I’d be long dead if you hadn’t done the same to me.”

“True. I just wish the procedure were not so barbaric.”

Kael held up his arm, pinching the flesh of his forearm between his fingers. “Only way past our defenses.”

Voren allowed himself small smile. At least the child had healed itself after they were done. At least the screams had finally ended.

“What else?” asked Kael.

“Hmm?”

“You said ‘partly.’ What else is bothering you?”

Voren exhaled, loudly and slowly.
How can I tell you of it all? Of centuries spent keeping everything inside? Of a love I could never have and a hate I could never act upon? Of an unexpected friend who, without meaning to, did just about the worst thing imaginable to me? How can I speak of my guilt and pride, which are both, inexplicably, tied to the same event?

Yet somehow, when he next opened his mouth, it all came out. It was jumbled at first, as he kept skipping backwards and forwards in time in an attempt to explain all the relevant history, but eventually he got his points across. When he finished, Voren felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Kael had remained silent throughout his avalanche of words. “I think I hear what you’re saying, but what is it that you
want
?”

“I am done,” Voren said. “I want . . .
out
.” He stopped, shocked yet relieved to finally hear those words escape his lips. “What would you do if you were in my place?”

Kael studied him. Voren held his breath. After several long beats, the Hardohl nodded, as if coming to a decision, then turned and began walking forward once more.

“Change,” Kael said. “It’s never easy.”

Voren knew that. Change had led him to this. But he also knew that he could not go back to the way it used to be. “I’m prepared for whatever hardships may come.”

“Are you now?” Kael chuckled. “So, what would
I
do? I suppose I would have to have a goal first. Then, a plan.”