Crown of Smoke Read online

  He’s alive.

  Ash is alive.

  A soft hand takes mine. Nisai. He looks straight ahead, but I have no doubt what the gesture means. I’d never spoken about any specifics of the bond Ash and I formed on the road, but I always felt Nisai knew our grief was shared on a level that words would struggle to describe.

  “Perhaps,” the Magister begins, “the Conclave would see fit to have the Shield brought to the Sanctuary. Where if needed, he can be … managed.”

  Managed? What does that even mean? Whatever it is, the Order doesn’t like it. Murmurs of irritation have erupted around the terraces.

  An elderly Order member climbs to her feet. Payuz moves to help her, and my mind goes to the day we arrived. The Administrator. “You say this is Sandbloom’s missive?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Then I trust Sandbloom’s capacity to locate and deal with the problem. This spawn of the Lost God won’t be left to roam long.”

  Spawn? I’m starting to feel as fond of this woman as I am of the reek of back-alley latrines.

  The Magister clasps her hands in front of her. “If what is truly happening in the capital is an attempt to understand the old magic, to harness it for ill use, it seems foolish for us to throw away our only chance at understanding it ourselves.”

  “We understand all too well,” sputters an outraged voice from somewhere in the seats behind me. “He is an abomination. ‘Mercy until maturity’ is the code all of us must live by when it comes to the Children of Doskai. If you don’t recognize the dangers they entail, perhaps you’re no longer fit for your office.”

  “Agreed!” Another voice.

  This time a shout. “He must be destroyed!”

  The Conclave descends into a sea of squabbling.

  I rise to my feet, steadier now that the shock has been replaced with determination. “I would speak for Ash!”

  All heads turn towards me. It’s what I needed, but I suddenly feel like I’m pinned down by their stares. I take a deep breath, and push through. “Any violence he has ever committed has been to protect Nisai. Or me. I saw it, in the capital. It’s only when the lives of those he cares for are in danger that … that the shadow takes over.”

  “You’re drawing this conclusion from a single incident?” the second woman to interrupt the Magister earlier now scoffs.

  “There’s another one I can vouch for,” Nisai says, standing with the help of one wooden crutch. “A long time ago, but I bore witness. And nothing has made me doubt ever since.”

  “With all due respect to the First Prince, he is but young. He does not grasp the gravity of the situation. One of the Lost God’s children roaming free is anathema to the delicate balance of our peace.”

  I exchange a glance with Nisai, then Barden. When I look back to the Prince, he makes the barest movement with his hand. Guess he wants to see this play out.

  “Curing the Affliction must be our highest priority,” the old woman continues. “Cases are at an all-time high. The contagion is rampant. The next Days of Doskai are imminent. If they come about again without a cure, then so many children born during those days will draw their first breath from the stench of death. Within a generation, the Brotherhood will have their wish – an army for Doskai, enough to force the masses into the Lost God’s worship, opening the door for his return. Then we are all lost.”

  An army? Of those like Ash? Do they actually believe that’s possible?

  The Magister spreads her hands low at her sides, making a tamping down motion. “That is true, my colleagues. But if we don’t do something now, we might not even have until the next occultation of the moons,” the Magister urges.

  Stink on a stick. They truly do believe it.

  “Magister, your sudden change of view surprises me, We must focus on the larger, longer-term ramifications, not the immediate and the individual. The Shield is but one aberration. He should be dealt with as any other Child of Doskai we missed in the past. I see no reason to act any differently.”

  “I admit I used to be convinced that the only way to prevail was to take a long-term view. To measure life not by turns but by generations. Epochs, even.” Her eyes single me out in the crowd. “But I have learned through recent moons that there is a false choice between the individual and the bigger picture. They are one and the same.”

  The rumbling in the terraces suggests they don’t agree, and another green-robed Order member rises to her feet.

  “The Procurator,” Nisai murmurs. “That’s two out of four of their elected officers. If this is anything like the Council—”

  “Magister, you of all people know our resources are finite!” the Procurator all but shouts. “What you suggest is the height of irresponsibility! Our lands are on the brink of seismic upheaval, and the steady hand of measured leadership is what will be required to allow us to continue to serve our dedication to the Primordial’s will – it takes patience and perseverance to maintain balance in these troubled times.”

  The Magister’s palms slap down on the glass-like table, the sound reverberating around the partially empty terraces. “Patience and perseverance is what I’ve given for the past seventeen turns! I gave up my life to serve. And my…” She looks to me. “My family.”

  “Why, Magister.” The Administrator steeples her fingers. “This seems uncharacteristically animated of you.”

  There’s a murmur of approval from the onlookers.

  The Procurator whispers something in the Administrator’s ear. The latter nods, and whispers something in turn to the woman next to her. The third woman stands.

  “The Preceptor,” Nisai breathes.

  “I suggest that an additional vote should be added to the ballot for this meeting.”

  “And what might that be?” The Magister all but sneers.

  “Whether as an Order, we need to elect a new Magister. One who can keep her eye on the true stakes. I call for a vote of no confidence. You’re too close to everything, you’re no longer fit to fulfil your position.”

  “Please. I simply want us to scrutinize the problem, to make sure we’re considering every angle against the full body of information available. When so many lives are at risk, when the very balance that holds the Empire together teeters on a precipice, I fail to see how that is no longer ‘fulfilling my position’?”

  Another of the Order members rises to their feet. “I second the motion of the Preceptor.”

  A rumble passes through the terraces, but nobody else stands or objects.

  “Then,” the Preceptor says, dusting off her hands, “may I simply remind the Conclave that a vote of no confidence is a matter of conscience, and thus a conscience vote we will today make. Administrator, please prepare the ballots. We shall resume session in an hour for the results.”

  As sure as smoke rises, each member of the Order gets to their feet and files out after the other office bearers. All except the Magister. She crosses to where we all sit.

  “I have seen enough of these moments to know how this will go,” she says, bending down so her voice doesn’t carry in the now-empty chamber. “They’ve lost their humanity. When one’s life is expected to extend well beyond a century – you develop a different view of time and of the world. I thought I could stomach that attitude for the sake of the greater good. I no longer feel I can. We should leave. Now.”

  “Huh,” I scoff. “Why now?”

  Nisai glances at me, questioning.

  “It’s true,” I say. “You were right. They had the cure all this time.”

  He looks as if he’s weighing that up. What it must be to be able to keep your feelings from showing on your face. I know if my father could have been cured and had died, I’d be absolutely fuming.

  “There would,” Nisai begins, “seem to be a sort of coincidence here – at the point your authority is being challenged, you turn away. Forgive my bluntness, Magister, but how can we trust you?”

  “Only you can answer that, my Prince. I suspect the Order will
want to keep you here, to ensure your safety until the situation has been fully assessed and debated. But I can get you free of this place and to your mother so that you can find a way to divert the impending political disaster. There are some guards loyal to me. They would see you safely to your family in Aphorai City.”

  “And what about Ash?” I raise my eyebrows at her pointedly. If she doesn’t come out with it, I’m not going anywhere.

  She swallows. “It’s possible we’re already too late.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not giving up on him. You want to make up for seventeen turns of neglect, you help me find him.”

  The challenge hangs in the air between us.

  Finally, she lowers her chin in assent. “We only have a small window of opportunity. Once they’ve voted, it becomes as good as law among the Order. They may try to prevent us leaving as it is, but if the Conclave sanctions it, everyone here is obliged to bar the way. Prepare to depart. And quickly.”

  CHAPTER 11

  ASH

  Ami refused to be drawn into discussion as I rowed us down the river. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, and then in as few words as possible. It was probably for the best. With only one waterskin between us, we’re both quickly parched, and even though I’m the one sweating I don’t take my full share.

  The river’s current did some of the work to carry us towards the Aphorain border, but it slowed to a crawl when the waterway widened, and at other times threatened to beach us on the banks. I attempted to focus on the task at hand, inwardly praying to Riker for strength, though my energy didn’t seem to wane. Night or day, I braced mentally and physically, but the muscles in my back and shoulders only protested in a slow, satisfying burn. It’s something that didn’t escape Ami’s notice – her furtive glances a mix of suspicion and disbelief.

  We leave the river in the company of a trader caravan, striking out across the scrubland and dried-up canals that used to service Aphorai’s farms before the Great Groundshake of 614 shifted the course of the river. Ami uses some of Esarik’s silver to hitch herself a ride on one of the pack camels – striking the bargain is the most she’s spoken in days.

  I take the opportunity to do some trading of my own with the guards, piecing together a practical set of leathers. Perhaps if Ami doesn’t have to see me in Esarik’s clothes, it will blunt the edge of being in my company. Regardless, I’m relieved to be shedding the fine tailoring and wrapping a linen scarf around my head. Though my hair’s grown in enough to cover most of the inked parts of my scalp, and my beard masks much of my face, I can only hope the tails of fabric that drape down over my neck and shoulders are enough to obscure the remainder.

  On the third day, the great walls of Aphorai City loom up before us. The plan is that we’ll only enter long enough to pick up supplies.

  In the market, it’s noticeably subdued compared to when I was last here. More Rangers patrol the streets with the provincial guard, and hawkers stay behind their stalls rather than spilling over into the plaza, no longer brazenly announcing that their wares are the finest in all Aramtesh.

  My neck prickles with the feeling of being surveilled. Whether it’s paranoia or instinct, I make the necessary purchases as swiftly as possible. Dried rock figs that I used to think I would be happy to never lay eyes on again. Some coarse barley bread. I avoid the desiccated strips of horse meat, purchasing smoked sandsquab instead.

  Ami blanches.

  “Don’t like game?”

  “I don’t eat any flesh on principle. Or anything from an animal.”

  I regard her quizzically. “But you work in a vocation built on parchment. Does that bother you?”

  “I don’t dine on books and scrolls,” she huffs.

  I shrug. We all have our ways.

  Regardless of Ami’s principles, the stallholder has an open and honest demeanour about him – so I enquire where I can get a map. I’m not about to venture off the main trails in the Aphorain desert without knowing where I’m going. Doing that once was enough, and back then, I had Rakel. Even if she would rush into trouble, she’d always find a way out of it. Though I secretly came to admire that, it’s not my preferred way of being.

  The baker points us to a map stall, where we find intricately illuminated works that take Ami’s breath away. It’s a relief to see her focusing on something else, however fleeting, while I almost feel like it’s an insult to ask the cartographer for the cheapest, simplest chart they have. But who knows when we’ll next find funds.

  When I’ve handed over coins from Esarik’s purse, Ami clears her throat.

  “We’re looking for a friend,” she says, fidgeting with the collar of her smock. “You’d know him if you saw him.”

  The map seller raises curious brows. “Oh?”

  Ami opens her mouth to speak but I beat her to it. “They live outside the city. Hence the map,” I smile. “It’ll be great to see them again. And this will help. Thank you.”

  I take Ami by the arm and physically steer her away from the store. She shakes my grip, anger sparking in her eyes. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me. Ever.”

  “Then don’t start drawing attention to us,” I grind through my teeth as we rejoin the crowds of shoppers.

  “We need information! This many miles from the capit—”

  “And we’ll get it,” I say as calmly as possible while shooting her a warning look. “I know you don’t trust me, but surely you can understand that fueling marketplace gossip is the last thing we need to do right now.”

  I take her silence as assent. Or at least acceptance.

  My next stop is at the barracks at the edge of the Eraz’s estate. If anyone knows where Rakel’s village would be, it’ll be those who knew her father. But I’m not about to go asking for either of them directly. Once, I thought Aphorai so provincial that barely any influence from the capital reached its borders. That smoke’s long gone to the sky. Perhaps there’s nowhere in the Empire that’s truly safe for me.

  Or for Nisai.

  Or, with Zostar’s knowledge of her, perhaps there’s nowhere even for Rakel.

  The scene at the barracks is comparatively relaxed. There’s not a Ranger in sight. Several archers practise their aim on reed-woven targets, a girl younger but nearly as tall as me clearly the best of them. A pair of men, stripped to the waist in the heat, spar with blunted spears while their comrades look on, cheering and hollering when a particularly good strike lands. Beside the door, a thick-bodied guard in Aphorain livery sits with his back against the mud-rendered wall, oiling a studded leather kilt.

  “Wondering if you could help me,” I begin, letting my accent revert to the melody of the slums, not the measured tones of the imperial court.

  He squints up into the glare. “Who’s to say, stranger.”

  “Looking to make a trek. Thought someone around the barracks would be in the know about where I’d find a reliable mount. Been through the auction pens.” I punctuate my words by hawking and spitting in the dust, however abhorrent I find the action. “Pack animals for the most part. Know where I can do better? Horse, even?”

  He frowns as if he thinks I’ve been out in the sun too long. “A horse?”

  “Aye. Speed suits me.”

  With a shrug, he sets aside the kilt and disappears into the barracks.

  Ami clasps her arms around her, as if she’s somehow feeling cold amid the heat. “I really think if we just…”

  She trails off as another soldier emerges from the barracks.

  The newcomer’s face is deeply tanned, a jagged scar on her forehead standing out all the more for the sun she’s seen. “Help you, traveller? Traz said you’re after a horse?”

  I incline my head. “Aye.”

  “Ha!” She’s clearly amused, though it seems good-natured. “Never heard the Mulreth Saga then?”

  I remember asking the same of Rakel on the night we fled Aphorai. “I’m not planning on riding it into battle with camel cavalry. Strength and speed is a
ll I’m after. And I prefer their gait.”

  She waves a hand. “No judgment here. Though afraid your options are limited. And you’ll pay through the nose for it.” She eyes me up and down, does the same to Ami.

  I shrug and reach for my purse. “I’m prepared to invest.”

  “Keep your coin.” She waves my hand away. “But are you prepared to go out of your way?”

  “For the best I am.”

  “Then you’ll want to head out of town. Commander—” She shakes her head. “Old habits die hard. Hab Ana is the man you’d want to see. Surly old bloke, but he’ll see you right.”

  Hope flares in my chest. I’d never asked Rakel her father’s name, but how many former Commanders could there be who breed rare horses? It has to be him.

  I produce my map and a stick of charcoal. “Mark it for me?”

  “Sure. And tell old man Ana I sent you. Lozanak’s the name. Don’t know if it’ll count for much in a haggle, but we go back some ways.”

  I manage to stop myself from saluting her. “My thanks.”

  “And traveller?”

  “Aye?”

  “Don’t look now, but I think you’ve got a tail. Done something to get the attention of the Rangers, have you?” Her hand rests casually on the hilt of her sword. By the look of her, I don’t doubt she can well wield it.

  I glance to Ami; her eyes have taken on a wild cast, too much white showing. There’s no way to bluff through this. A wager on province loyalty, then. “I’m not in their good graces of late. A man for the First Prince, I am. Only rightful heir.”

  “Calm,” she says. “They’re not in the good graces of any self-respecting Aphorain these days. You hotfoot it to the gate, none of us will stand in your way. Though it is about time we stepped up the patrols for the evening.” She waves over the guard called Traz and sets out towards the two Rangers.

  Movement flickers in my peripheral vision. Another pair of men seated at a nearby kormak stall make a pretense of playing shnik-shnik, but I haven’t heard the cup rattle with game pieces for too long.

  “We need to go,” I murmur to Ami, trying not to keep from too obviously mouthing the words. “Now.”