At the top of the stair, Hazad slumped against the wall, still bearing Kian, while Azuri took the keys and moved to the door. Knowing Hazad could not do anything more than he already was, Azuri looked at Ellonlef. “Make ready. If Durrin and our gold did their work, only Ixron will stand against us. If not, then we fight until either they are all dead … or we are.”
She nodded, even as Azuri began pounding on the locked door.
After a few moments the lock clicked, and Ixron swung the door open a few cautious inches. His eyes widened at the sight of those before him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
Understanding belatedly dawned, and Ixron tried to slam the door in Azuri’s face, who in turn jammed his shoulder against the heavy wooden door. Although he was slender for an Izutarian, Azuri was no wisp of a man, and his strength proved too much for the Aradaner. Azuri leaned into the door, easing it open, inch by inch. Outside, Ixron’s feet scrabbled in the loose, sandy soil. He knew he was losing ground, and called over his shoulder for help.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Azuri’s hand flashed through the opening, caught hold of the gaoler’s neck, and violently jerked his face against the doorframe. There came a crunching thump, and Ixron fell away. Sword coming to hand, Azuri burst through the door, ready for anything, but there was no one to fight. Hazad carried Kian into the open, with Ellonlef coming last.
Durrin moved into view, sparing a regretful glance for Kian. “I have horses and a wagon ready, but you must hurry. The change of guard is due any moment.”
“What of the others?” Ellonlef asked.
“Have no fear of them.”
As proof of his assurance, a pleased looking pair of guards approached with two saddled mounts, while a third led a horse-drawn wagon. All the rest of the guards made a show of studying the frigid, night-shrouded street beyond the wall.
Azuri and Hazad hastily placed Kian into the back of the wagon, and Ellonlef drew Azuri’s cloak off her shoulders and covered him. Without hesitation, she crawled into the wagonbed next to him, trying to force her warmth into his cool skin. She felt a queer tingling in her fingers, which spread outward through the rest of her body. Strange as that was, it seemed somehow familiar, but she concentrated on keeping Kian warm.
After the pair hurled a groggy Ixron down into the stairwell and locked the door, Azuri leapt into the cart’s seat and took the reins, while Hazad and Durrin mounted the horses.
“Are you joining us, then?” Hazad asked.
Durrin drew himself up, his lined face hard. “I am leaving. With the rise of this new king, my soldiering days have come to an end. After we pass through the gate, I will go my way, and you will go yours.”
“And these others?”
“Thanks to your gold, they will take their leave, as well. If not, they are fools that deserve the punishment King Varis will deliver onto their heads for allowing Kian’s escape.”
Azuri nodded in acceptance, and clucked the horse into a rattling trot that would take them quickly back to the Chalice and Hya’s shop.
Chapter 42
After dismissing his incompetent counselors, Varis continued to study a huge and detailed map stretched taut across the banquet table. Its bright inks seemed to glow within the well-lit Golden Hall. The map was made from a hundred pieces of the finest vellum, each square of soft lambskin stitched together so precisely that the seams were nearly invisible. West of the island kingdom of Kelren, north of Izutar, east of Aradan, and south of Geldain, artfully painted clouds filled the map’s edges. Beyond those clouds lay mystery. Some thought nothing waited beyond, save danger and death leftover from the creation of the world. Varis silently vowed to discover the truth.
First, however, he had many familiar kingdoms to conquer. The Suanahad Empire, under the rule of Emperor u’Hadn, had subjugated all the known world after defeating and uniting the multitude of sand kings of northern Geldain. In ships barely suitable for the crossing, he had struck north for mysterious lands of plenty, sailing his fleet across the Sea of Drakarra and landing on the shores of what became the kingdom of Tureece. Of lush lands, the emperor found few enough, but of gold, silver, and precious stones, there had been an abundance.
In time, Emperor u’Hadn led his armies farther north, vanquishing the Grendahl clans, driving them into the inhospitable and icy holds of Falseth and Izutar. For the briefest time, u’Hadn held the known world in his palm, and ruled from the great city Kula-Tak, on the northernmost point of Geldain.
Then Varis’s greatest ancestor Edaer Kilvar, the First King, grew tired of bowing to an uncle who demanded the blood of his subjects and the wealth of the new world, all for the promise of nothing, and wrested the lands that would become Aradan away from the emperor. In time, Edaer’s rebellion left the empire and its vast armies shattered, and the long-subjugated tribes of southern Geldain finished what he had begun, sweeping aside the last remnants of the retreating cohort of sand kings, to the point that even the memory of what u’Hadn had built became more myth than accepted truth.
For centuries, Aradan ascended, growing in power and influence until becoming so bloated, rich, and apathetic, that she had to resort to filling the ranks of her armies with the very peoples the fallen empire had conquered long before, the offspring of the Grendahl clans, the barbarians of Izutar, more ignorant animals than men. Straight away, Varis meant to wash clean his kingdom with the very blood of those lesser peoples.
And I have already begun, he mused, sipping sweet summer wine from a golden goblet studded with amethysts. By now, Kian was surely dead, and more, the food of men and vermin. The thought pleased him.
Thinking of Kian, who had been a thorn in his side for a short but lingering season, led Varis’s eye across Izutar on the map. His councilors argued that Izutar had grown stronger since their war with Falseth, some two decades prior, and were now more united against their enemies. Be that as it may, Varis considered them little more than witless brutes who preferred rutting with hounds rather than women. They spoke of honor and duty, but in truth they readily sold both for gold. They were easily manipulated fools, and as such, they would fall to ruin in short order. Moreover, a good many of the Izutarian population lived not in Izutar, but in Aradan. Already, he had commanded that all Izutarians be secretly identified, located, and marked for slaughter. And if, by chance, Izutar proved more formidable than he allowed … well, then, he would gladly destroy them with fire and shadow drawn from the very heart of Geh’shinnom’atar. By sword or by the power of gods, all that mattered in the end was that Izutar cease to be.
He took another sip of wine, already savoring the sound of the lament Izutarian women and children would one day sing. Such would be a paean to him, to be sure, but it would not still his hand against them. To the last, he would utterly destroy all remnants of the late Grendahl clans. They were not even fit to serve as slaves, to his mind. The utter annihilation of Izutar would serve as a lesson to the world that they dare not stand against him-
One of the throne room’s doors banged open, and a guardsman entered, nearly bent double in humility. Or is it fear? Varis wondered, trying to dismiss a sudden sense of unease.
“What is it?” he demanded.
The guardsman stammered something inarticulate, swallowed, then began again, his words halting but understandable. “Sire, the head gaoler of the Pit, Ixron, has come. He has word of Ki-” the guardsman cut off in a choked garble. Varis had forbidden the use of Kian’s name, not only in Ammathor, but in all of Aradan. To do so earned the penalty of death. The guard gulped a breath then stammered, “Ixron brings word of the … ah … the prisoner … ah … the Izutarian.”