5

  Shotsukiabe

  The days passed uneventfully. Kivaan and his companions covered good ground every day, although a heavy rain blew in off The Bay of Separation on the second afternoon so that Kivaan, with a heavy heart, had made the difficult decision to make camp rather than press onwards for the full day. They were nearing one of the handful of port towns along the coast, from which they would set sail for the islands that were home to Kivaan’s family. Collectively, the three major islands were known collectively as Yomian to those on the main continent, but they all had their own names and were ruled by ancient families that had lorded over their apportioned lands since – some claimed – the very beginning of time.

  On the third morning they came to a place that had been scorched and torn up by the struggle of a beast with great strength. Oniwa’s eyes narrowed as he tasted and smelled the wind. The identity of whatever had disgruntled him eluded the big lad, but he did swing himself down from his mount and walked for a time. Every now and then, he would pause to examine something on the road or nearby it, and Jiriou more than once pressed him on what was irking him.

  “I will make it known when I know,” Oniwa growled, little patience for his more impulsive fellow.

  Kivaan tried to see what Oniwa was seeing – he knew already he had no hope of smelling what the Hill Folk smelled. They were trained from infancy to detect the slightest hint of scent on the breeze and identify it. There were some scuffs on the ground, Kivaan thought, as well as a blast of blackened earth, as if scorched by fire.

  “Witchery or Chuho?” Kivaan ventured, a frown on his features as a blurry tale began to unfold before his amateur gaze.

  “They are one and the same,” growled Oniwa. “This one … was apprehended.”

  “Another tall tale,” Jiriou scoffed. “My clan believe in no such mystical beings. The Dark Storm is a place of shadows and strange sounds. There are more than enough explanations for any of the supernatural threats our leaders would have us fear.”

  “Go on claiming to be a great wit,” Kivaan bit back. “We are not the hapless fools you take us for. We have all seen these things with our own eyes.”

  Oniwa stared back in the direction they had come.

  “What is it, huntsman?” urged Tsukio. “What do you see?”

  Oniwa growled something under his breath, as if his theories were being coaxed from him untested and not to his standards. Nevertheless, he ventured his opinion in his measured fashion.

  “The Chuho is less my concern than the ones that took it. They are not Eres Niwa.”

  Kivaan turned to stare at Oniwa, but the hunter was already taking his steed by its harness and guiding the great beast’s nose to the scuff marks, and then to a tattered and dusty scrap of fine material. The great lizard’s spines rattled with its anticipation, and it growled low in its throat, a noise that put Kivaan and Tsukio’s big cats on edge, but only seemed to excite Jiriou’s canine.

  Oniwa made a short gesture to his animal before the dragon-kin turned its tapered snout pointedly across the rolling moors on a tangent that would meet with the White Towers Road as it passed into the Dark Storm.

  “Do you mean to tell me that foreigners have entered Eres Niwa and made off with one of her citizens?” Kivaan demanded.

  “They wear the boots of the Nation of White Towers,” Oniwa grunted. “And Riho is unsettled by the scent. This means it is not known to her.”

  “Pah, let them take the witch,” snorted Jiriou. “If they are indeed foreigners, they will be slaughtered by my clan as they travel through the Dark Storm.”

  “Yet they made it through on their initial journey,” Tsukio pointed out tactfully, and with great thoughtfulness. “Such a thing is practically unheard of. They have crossed the full width of our nation undetected, and that is a slight.”

  “A grave slight,’ Kivaan said with annoyance. “And we have no one to report it to.”

  Oniwa looked up questioningly and Tsukio shrugged his resignation. Kivaan grit his teeth.

  “You would take it upon yourself to follow them?” laughed Jiriou.

  “I am obliged to,” Kivaan corrected the other lad. “Do not for a moment think that I wish to do this. It will put me moons behind reaching Hotsukiyoem when I wished to. It may even prevent me from reaching my father until the snows melt.” He growled his very obvious displeasure before gently nudging Vashti around on the spot. Tsukio followed his lead. “Any who are willing to serve their nation, follow now or go your own way.”

  Oniwa hauled himself back up onto Riho and with one last, disbelieving, laugh, Jiriou turned his giant wolf to face back in the direction they had come.

  “As you will, lordling,” he chuckled. “I am not unwilling to see what trickery this witch uses to deceive the gullible of this nation. Let us be about it.”

  “Let it be so,” Kivaan nodded dismissively. “Remember that we ride in hunt. Take no chances. Challenge all we come across. Be prepared to spill blood. Oniwa. How long since they passed?”

  “The tracks are made in mud that is not yet dry from the rain that slowed us before making camp. Even if they travelled all night, they could be no more than half a day’s travel.”

  “No sign of mounts?”

  “None. They travel on foot, and likely have made speed and stealth their highest priority. If they are indeed from White Towers, there will be no pretending that they belong here.”

  “Then let us go,” Kivaan urged, moving Vashti into a smooth lope that she would be able to sustain for some time. “Let us purge this incursion and then see how much time is left to us.”

  “A man of honour never rests, and dies of exhaustion,” Jiriou quipped.

  “Far better than dying because a dung beetle flew into my always-open mouth,” Tsukio observed innocently.

  Jiriou sneered but took the hint and fell silent. No one else spoke for some time, the companions putting all their concentration into searching for new signs or listening for any hint that their pursuit was anticipated. As Oniwa had predicted, whoever had invaded the sanctity of Eres Niwa was now focussing solely on getting out. In any other nation, a waiting boat would have been the wisest option, and born the intruders to a ship waiting offshore. The Bay of Separation, however, was patrolled rigorously by the elegant hunting sloops that hailed from Yomian, and watched somewhat more sedately from the war barges of Eres Niwa. And the only places of any merit for coming ashore – even by oar – were watched closely by the First Guardian’s many watchtowers.

  They slowed to a more appropriate pace upon coming once more to the White Towers Road. Having pursued at speed over the roughest terrain, they must have closed the distance significantly between themselves and a group travelling with prisoners and on foot. The Dark Storm Forest was clearly visible now, as it was never far in Eres Niwa.

  “Shall we barge in after them?” asked Jiriou, with spite.

  “We will do what we must for our nation’s security,” Kivaan replied curtly.

  “Should not Jiriou and I go ahead?” Oniwa offered, asking it as a question as was custom when advising nobility.

  “He knows the forest, and you are a skilled huntsman,” Kivaan agreed. “The idea is sound. Speak to us as the hunting kitsugesa, for they do not hunt above the forest. We will know immediately that it is you. Set off now and enter the wood off the road, making your way in secret. Perhaps we can surround them.”

  “It will be so,” Oniwa nodded firmly.

  “Have I no say in this?” Jiriou asked obstinately.

  “No,” Oniwa said immediately, a deep frown on his face. “You have attended to the security of your nation, and so you are under the command of the highest-ranking warrior present. That is Kivaan, son of the Second Guardian. Now come.”

  With a little growl at the irrefutable truth in Oniwa’s words, Jiriou spurred his beast to follow Oniwa’s, and the two first found the trough of one of the moorland’s undulations before making haste along it. It would take them in more or less the correct direction, while also being their only cover on the barren plains.

  “Let us follow at a more sedate pace,” Kivaan said to Tsukio. “If we are seen, it is better to be thought either travellers or a routine patrol. I do not wish our quarry to think themselves pursued quite yet.”

  “Agreed,” Tsukio nodded. “What do you intend to do with this Chuho?”

  “We must recover it first,” Kivaan said evasively.

  “Are we not of one mind and heart? Are my thoughts not as yours?” Tsukio laughed. “We will recover them. We are on the trail and have passed Raashim’s Trials. Our quarry has no hope of eluding us.”

  Kivaan laughed. “You are far more optimistic than I, Tsukitsuyoem. Questions must be asked. I am cautious in my confidence as Eres Niwa rarely sees invaders. Whoever these are, they have pursued one of our citizens almost across the width of the nation – and this undetected. Beyond that, why do they want this citizen so desperately to risk open war between nations?”

  Tsukio pursed his lips, looking more serious than he generally liked to. “You believe the purpose of the hunt is the target’s bloodline?”

  “I fear that, yes,” Kivaan nodded tersely. “And if that is their purpose, then this fight becomes complicated. The only organisation I know of that actively seeks to purge the Chuho and other demikind from existence is the Cult of Raashim.”

  “And they would not hesitate to send agents into a sovereign nation,” Tsukio observed.

  “We must face those agents,” Kivaan pointed out. “And they are likely veterans. This is the source of my caution. We must tread carefully, or we will find ourselves beneath the blades of Raashim’s Brides with a certainty. We have spurned them once. Twice will have bitter consequences.”

  “What then,” asked Tsukio carefully, “if they are justified in apprehending the Chuho?”

  “There is no justification for them to cross sovereign borders and do this thing,” Kivaan replied flatly. “If the Chuho has broken laws, whether somewhere else or here, we will deal with them. But it is not the obligation of the Cult to swoop in and pluck citizens out of their homes without telling anyone what they are about.”

  “Will you challenge them?” asked Tsukio.

  “Of course,” Kivaan nodded. “I am Eres Zoru and will not suffer invaders and will not attack from behind. I will demand explanation and authorisation, and if neither of those satisfy me, they will be brought to battle. Only the seal of the First Guardian permits foreign agents to remove a citizen from this nation, and I do not believe that the First Guardian would give them free reign in hunting across his kingdom. This situation reeks of subterfuge. Unlike them, I am obligated to act in this situation.”

  “Your father would approve,” Tsukio grinned.

  Kivaan snorted good-naturedly. “Then perhaps he will leave off his talk of finding a wife for one moon!”

  “Now who is the optimist?” Tsukio laughed.

  The pair rode along the White Towers Road in this fashion, the Dark Storm spreading further and further across the horizon as they returned nearer its grim embrace. The Crooked Spine had finally reared its craggy peaks beyond the forest’s far border, and snow layered its many spires. It frustrated Kivaan to be travelling in the opposite direction to that which he wished, retreading ground already covered at a brisk pace. A stiff breeze soared through the forest and out to greet him and Tsukio, bringing with it the rich, spicy, smell of the lance-like nivaan trees mixed with the loamy, musty, textures of the undergrowth that was almost thick enough to be a taste. As the trees blotted out the sky above them, another smell entered Kivaan’s nostrils, and Tsukio rapped a wordless communication on his saddle at the same time.

  Fire.

  Kivaan tapped back an affirmative. If they could smell it, very likely a sentry knew of their presence. It was important to keep up the pretence of having no agenda save their own travels. Any conversation must be completely unrelated to their true intentions from this point on.

  Off the road, south, Kivaan tapped, assessing the approximate location quickly. They made camp early.

  Foolish, was Tsukio’s assessment. There are still two watches left before talk of camp.

  Hard going with a Chuho captive, Kivaan surmised. They may have injured with them. We must continue on to avoid suspicion. We will await Oniwa’s report. Let the enemy believe the danger is passed.

  It was gloomy as dusk beneath the tall nivaan trees, and even though it was still some time until the sun went to its rest, the atmosphere was that of the early evening. Animals that would have fled at the first sight of any travellers moved about, just out of eyesight, without a care in the world. Only on the road was there any real range of vision, for the trees clustered so thick on either side that it was impossible to see anything beyond bowshot, and even that was being generous. Especially if one considered Oniwa’s monster of a bow.

  “Have you heard news from home?” asked Tsukio idly.

  “Do you look for word from your betrothed?” asked Kivaan loftily, well aware that his foster sister – technically his cousin – worshiped the ground on which Tsuki walked.

  “What young knight would not?” Tsuki confessed with a laugh. “She does me great honour with her interest.”

  Kivaan smiled, his fondness for his younger cousin reaching his eyes. “It is you that honours her,” Kivaan said sadly. “She cannot hope for a better match, given the disgrace of her parents. Even so far from the reach of the Cult, none of the noble families would risk reaching out their hand to her. It may be for the best, regardless. I know you will treat her well. I look forward to being your brother in more than spirit and arms.”

  “It cannot hurt that she seems to like me a great deal as well!” Tsuki grinned.

  The cry of a great bird of prey on the hunt pealed from somewhere far away, and Kivaan glanced at Tsuki.

  “That sounds like the cry of a kitsugesa on the prowl,” he noted with a positive turn to his voice. “A good omen.”

  “Always a welcome sound,” Tsuki nodded.

  Jiriou emerged from behind one of the nearer trees, his blades drawn and slick with blood. Casting a quick glance back over his shoulder, he delivered his report in a low voice.

  “Their watchers are accounted for. The last few were so intent upon your conversation I simply walked up behind them and drained their blood. We must take their camp before the sentries are missed. Oniwa still watches them.”

  “You took it upon yourself to kill agents of the Cult?” demanded Kivaan, cursing the savage’s bloodlust. “What if they are authorised?”

  “They are not authorised to leave the White Towers Road in my family’s lands,” Jiriou retorted self-righteously. “You know this.”

  “Did you at least identify their allegiance?” asked Tsukio caustically.

  “As Kivaan said,” Jiriou sneered back. “Agents of the Cult.” He turned accusingly on Kivaan. “I am as obligated to cut them down simply for leaving the road as you are to track them. Do not lord it over me!”

  Kivaan compromised with a terse nod but said no more on the matter.

  “Where are they camped?” he asked.

  “Just beyond the third rise from our position,” Jiriou replied. “They travel close enough to the road to know its travellers, but far enough away that the travellers are unaware of them. And far enough to be obvious trespassers. We should fall upon them as they sleep, as they have done to our nation.”

  “That is not Eres Zoru,” Kivaan said softly.

  “I am not Eres Zoru,” Jiriou shrugged ambivalently.

  “But you are under the command of Eres Zoru,” Tsukio reminded him, “and I know your clan has respect for the Second Guardian, if only begrudgingly.”

  “They are invaders,” Jiriou accused, “and agents of the Cult! We do ourselves no favours by facing them in battle.”

  “How many are they now?”

  “Five.”

  “Did you determine their level of experience?”

  “Not far above our own in education,” Jiriou allowed with annoyance. “Vastly outmatched by the hardness in our spine from a life as Eres Niwa. The Cult would never waste true veterans on an assignment with such an unknowable outcome. They are striplings, looking to prove themselves.”

  “Mixed allegiance?”

  “They are all born of White Towers.”

  “Is not the Nation of White Towers known to back the cause of Raashim’s City?” Tsukio asked. “And they are ever at odds with Eres Niwa. Perhaps the Cult did not even bother to ask one of their agents from Eres Niwa out of fear of compromising the mission.”

  “It would be typical of those foolish book-wielders,” Jiriou sneered. “If they had sent one of our own, they would never have dared take more than ten steps off the White Towers Road.”

  “There are many questions to be asked in this situation,’ Kivaan mused. “They must, however, wait. Jiriou. Lead us to the invaders. If they will answer questions, so much the better for our own sake. If not, we will do our duty by our nation.”

  “You are not merely a beautiful face,” Jiriou teased. “What you say is sound. Come. But leave the mounts as Oniwa and I have done.”

  Kivaan and Tsukio dismounted before shedding their travelling cloaks and strapping them to the saddles. They must now move with as little hindrance as possible.

  “What of the prisoner?” asked Kivaan, as they began to follow the woodsman.

  “Prisoners,” Jiriou corrected. “They are three, and they are richly garbed. All females. Two are younger and look near identical. Twins, I reckon, and only some winters since they bloomed first. The last is older and not as comely as the younger two. Their nanny, perhaps, although still very young for such a role. But they are stolen from some Eres, of that there is no mistake. The cost of one set of their garments would buy new weapons and cloaks for every man and woman in my clan.”

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  Kivaan knew better than to ask if any heraldry had been evident. It would only serve to insult Jiriou, who had no interest in noble house identification. His clan recognised other Dark Storm clans by dialect and password, and had as little interest in the identities of the mountain folk as they did in the noble houses that watched over the plains. If there was any heraldry to be seen on the girls’ robes, it would remain a mystery until Kivaan saw them with his own eyes.

  They moved in silence now, going out of their way to avoid undergrowth where possible. The noise of their feet was masked by the thick blanket of nivaan needles on the forest floor that allowed them to pass like ghosts. Beneath the thick canopy of the Dark Storm, it was practically night.

  Kivaan tensed when Jiriou let out a series of clicks that seemed far too loud for their surroundings, but eased again when he recognised it as the native song of a common forest bird. Similar clicks replied from somewhere further away in the gloom, and Jiriou made a series of condensed gestures to pass along whatever Oniwa had said.

  Captives bound. Guards watch captives only.

  Kivaan nodded. A part of him felt drawn to Jiriou’s prior tactic. It would be so much easier to fall upon the enemy by surprise. In a way it would even be just, as they had infiltrated a great and honourable nation with subterfuge and deceit. And yet, he could not bring himself to do it. After all, he was the oldest son of the clan head of Eres Zoru. Perhaps they did not have the ancient history of many of the other houses, nor even the noble blood. Eres Zoru had been founded by a band of brigands hired by a desperate princess some generations past, and who had risen heroically to the occasion. Their leader had been rewarded with land and title, and ever since then, their House had been characterised by honour and martial prowess. They were known even in other nations as warriors to be both feared and respected for their skill at arms and chivalry in battle.

  Kivaan went down on both knees and closed both hands into fists in front of him.

  Jiaduni, Master of all Creation … god of the First and Second Guardians. Reveal yourself to me if you do indeed hold power over Raashim. Make my spear arm strong and sure. Make my feet swift and steadfast. Let me die rather than bring my family into disrepute. Let me deliver these captives from these predators. I hold on to you with both of my hands this day.

  He looked up to see Jiriou staring, albeit with more curiosity than censure, which was a welcome change.

  You pray? signed the other lad.

  Less than I should.

  Jiriou’s thin lips pulled to the side in humour and he nodded his understanding. Kivaan looked at first Jiriou, then Tsukio.

  Let us go.

  Both lads nodded once, and Jiriou stepped out of Kivaan’s path to allow him to go first.

  They advanced now with even more caution than before, their breathing slowed, and every footstep was carefully measured. While it was Kivaan’s intention to challenge the agents face to face, he had no interest in forewarning the enemy of their arrival. The agents of the Cult were encouraged to use every advantage they could grasp, be it deceit, the element of surprise, or weight of numbers. It had been those very teachings that had first begun to make Kivaan wonder if he had made an error in taking on the Trial of Raashim.

  They came at last to the crest of a shallow rise, and Kivaan stopped a moment on the very fringe of being able to see the campsite that had been struck in a small clearing just below. Monstrous, black-barked, trees still towered all around, but in this one area, an exceptionally large tree had at last been toppled by a combination of disease and the elements, and in turn destroyed several younger trees in its descent. Amongst the many natural ruins nestled a campfire, over which huddled a warrior in a full-time battle to keep it alive.

  Fool, grinned Jiriou. White Towers know nothing of fire-starting with nivaan.

  Kivaan nodded his dour agreement. Nivaan wood was famously difficult to set ablaze, although when it took at last, it burned with a steady, long-lived, intensity and was notoriously difficult to extinguish. The body language of the hapless warrior clearly showed a man frustrated with repeated failure.

  Do you make five? asked Kivaan of both companions.

  Jiriou’s hand appeared in his field of vision as the woodsman hovered over Kivaan’s left shoulder. As Kivaan followed the guidance, he saw two more agents at the task of preparing food, while the last two tormented the prisoners. The taller of the three girls had an iron collar about her slender neck, and a heavy chain ran between it and a heavy stake that had been driven into the ground. Both of the younger girls had been manacled on both ankles and wrists, and were staked on their backs on the ground.

  So it is one of the younger two that is Chuho, Kivaan mused, absentmindedly signing his thoughts to his fellows. Or both. They look to be twins. If they are both Chuho, we are about to either make powerful allies, or powerful enemies.

  It may be one followed by the other, Tsukio signed. If one of us can make their freedom a priority, so much the better in the coming fight.

  How will a pair of noble brats help us in the fight? Jiriou signed sharply.

  Regardless, Kivaan signed, putting both suggestion and question behind him, we must first serve our nation, then the captives, then ourselves. Our first order is to subdue or slay the intruders, and that is dependent on them. The captives’ wellbeing comes second.

  Jiriou nodded, his mandate a welcome one.

  Hear me, Kivaan went on. You both will accompany me when I show myself. Jiriou on one side, Tsukio on the other. If they attack us at any point during the meeting, respond with intent to kill. Have you heard?

  I have heard, both lads signed as one.

  Then follow, Kivaan ordered, and walked forward.

  It was both a relief and irritating beyond measure how long it took the distracted agents to notice that they had company. The two at the food bags were the first to look up and summon their blades in a hurry, and their scramble prompted the two teasing the captives to turn and likewise make a hasty attempt to appear professional and intimidating. At long last, the one trying to keep the fire alive was called to his post, and turned with offended surprise.

  “Welcome to The Dark Storm,” Kivaan announced in the language of White Towers, his voice carrying clearly through the clearing. “I am Kivaan du Tuvaan, oldest son of the Second Guardian, Knight Ascendant of Red Sky, and therefore obliged to request your authorisation to travel the roads and lands of The Dark Storm unguided.”

  “Well met, Kivaan,” replied one of the agents, as if they were not in the least well met. “We are Executioners of the Temple City, as you are yourself, if I am not mistaken in your identity. What do you mean by diverting the assignment of your comrades?”

  “Your information is old,” Kivaan noted. “I was unable to pledge my allegiance to Raashim after completing The Trials, but have instead returned to my nation to be of service here. Now, I mean to ensure that not even the Temple is above the law of the land,” Kivaan stated. “Lack of accountability breeds corruption. Your names and ranks.”

  Kivaan was well aware that he had insulted them by demanding that information, for not only had he confessed to not knowing them when they clearly knew him, but he had also insinuated that they had forgotten common courtesy.

  “I am Donteague,” groused the spokesman, still rudely keeping his lineage a secret. “With me travel Righa, Horugh, Lod, and Korsa As you see before you.”

  No mention of the sentries that Jiriou and Oniwa accounted for … he intends to keep their presence a secret, Kivaan mused to himself. Treacherous from the beginning.

  “Please present your authority to travel unattended in these lands,” Kivaan repeated.

  “Very well,” said Donteague unhappily. “These were given us by the First Guardian’s ambassador to Raashim’s City.”

  Kivaan nodded at Tsukio to take the proffered parchments, and his friend did so and immediately began to check them. Being the oldest son of a stronghold’s castellan, he knew exactly what to look for.

  “What is your business in Eres Niwa?” asked Kivaan, as Tsukio examined the highly valuable papers. He noted with his peripherals that all of the captives lay frozen, although their eyes moved as if seeing some horror invisible to everyone else. A deathshroud charm, then, he thought to himself. They will be of no help to us after all. They likely do not even know we are here.

  “We have come to bring back apostates and abominations to be cleansed at Raashim’s feet,” Donteague allowed. “Do our documents not reveal this?”

  “No,” Tsukio responded flatly, seeming to have read all he needed to. “The ambassador has given you papers with warrants of great authority attached, but for them to be binding, you should have come before the First Guardian to receive his seal. Your documents allow you safe passage along the White Towers Road and Guardian Way with the express intent that you would make yourselves known to the First Guardian and receive his final approval for your activities. You have not received his seal. You have no authority to be so far removed from either White Towers Road or Guardian Way.” Tsukio’s eyes narrowed. “You have no authority to hold citizens of Eres Niwa against their will.”

  “Is this in jest, Kivaan?” demanded Donteague. “You would knowingly thwart the service of Raashim, not once, but twice!”

  “If this is Raashim’s service, show me the seal of the First Bride,” Kivaan laughed mirthlessly. “And yet, save your breath, Donteague. I know she would never put her name to such a treacherous pursuit, despite no doubt pulling at the strings from as far away as Raashim’s City. I know at a glance that your captives are taken from Ironstone itself, for you have not seen fit to replace their raiment with something more common. What did she promise you in exchange for this fool’s errand that you are clearly not qualified to undertake?”

  “I need no reward for carrying out the justice of Raashim,” Donteague sneered. “Are you with us or against us?”

  “Submit to being brought to Ironstone,” Kivaan said firmly, the unravelling of the situation making him more irritable by the minute. “My plans are put far enough out now as to be irrelevant, so I would not test my patience any further. Submit, and you will at least be treated with dignity.”

  “Heilteague!” snapped the agent, and the spirit armour favoured by those of White Towers encased his brawny frame. It blazed with the righteous gold of a holy warrior, but Kivaan knew enough by this time to understand that appearance had little in common with the state of the soul.

  In the same breath, Donteague’s companions were sheathed in varying suits of their own spirit armour, with spears of rippling gold glittering in their hands. They waited for what proved to be a decisively poor beat, and Kivaan knew that they had been counting on a preliminary volley from their sentries. Instead, there was the sharp crack of a longbow snapping to, and one of the males spun violently into the nivaan needles, face-first, a grotesquely over-sized arrow protruding from just beneath his left shoulder-blade. Spiritual armour was far less effective against physical attacks, and theirs had seemed particularly weak at the back regardless. It had not crossed their minds that their sentries were accounted for.

  “Treacherous curs!” exploded Donteague, and he charged with a reckless abandon that Kivaan had seldom seen in any but the most degenerate of gamblers.

  “Advance,” Kivaan commanded with a grim resolve, and he stretched out his hand. “Asaan,” he commanded, and it was echoed by his companions.

  Kivaan’s broad-headed spear was suddenly in his hands, and Tsukio’s near-identical weapon was levelled beside him. Jiriou let out a crazed whoop as he clashed his twin curved blades together in a shower of dark sparks.

  Tsukio met Donteague’s spear with his own, forcing it wide, as was his agreed-upon role when he and Kivaan fought side by side. Jiriou had already leaped ecstatically into engagement with the pair on Donteague’s flank, taking a very hostile approach that was clearly intended to draw attention. He more than held his own once he had closed the distance, as his short blades made it difficult for the cultists to use their spears effectively. The remaining cultist on the other side of Donteague toppled like a felled tree as another arrow lodged itself in the same place as Oniwa’s previous target.

  Even as Donteague tried to compensate for his violent thrust being parried, Kivaan was already taking full advantage of the opening provided by Tsukio. His own precision thrust was only dodged by the barest of margins, which in turn put Donteague in a poor stance that Tsukio immediately pressed. Donteague huffed and puffed like a bellows as he was forced to choose between following up on his retreat or sprawling on the ground. Kivaan heard the catch of breath as one of Jiriou’s opponents suffered a painful, if minor, wound, and then Donteague shuddered and staggered to one knee. One of Oniwa’s arrows protruded from his back, although Donteague’s constant dodging and stumbling had prevented Oniwa from his former precision execution.

  Neither Kivaan nor Tsukio were so green as to pause with surprise or relish the moment. As Donteague’s face grimaced in pain and then bewilderment, Kivaan hefted his spear and thrust it on a downward slant through the other warrior’s shoulder and expertly found the gap between what bones offered any sort of security to the vital organs. His spear plunged down and lacerated all around it, and blood dribbled steadily from the lethal wound immediately.

  As he withdrew his weapon to allow Donteague to rest at last upon the nivaan needles, Kivaan turned to see Tsukio already aiding Jiriou in finishing the remaining two. Only the last thought to attempt a surrender, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth than her head burst into a brilliant, golden, flame that soon engulfed her entire body. The short engagement ended with her screams of panic and agony, and Kivaan noted that the flames had no effect upon the volatile nivaan needles.

  “Somehow I doubt they were aware of that part of the bargain,” Jiriou laughed shortly.

  “To trust those removed from reality with your best interests is foolishness,” Oniwa grumbled, emerging from the forest at last.

  “Would that I had the arms to heft that longbow of yours,” Jiriou sighed. “I might stay well out of harm’s way as well!”

  Oniwa frowned. “After you left I discovered and cut the throats of three sentries,” he noted. “You are the one who went for a leisurely woodland stroll to fetch our comrades.”

  Jiriou looked set to take umbrage, but even he seemed to realise that he had provoked this altercation, and instead chose to cackle it off.

  “Tsukio, with me,” Kivaan commanded, moving to assist the captives. “Jiriou, Oniwa. Be watchful. We do not know why these three were so valuable to the First Bride. Treacherous she may be, but she does nothing without reason.”

  Oniwa wordlessly nocked another arrow while Jiriou swung his blades in a couple brief exercises as if to limber up for another battle.

  “Can you hear me?” Kivaan called to any of the girls who might answer.

  There was no reply. The identical girls still lay, staring in horror straight up into the canopy above, while the older girl held her head in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Kivaan frowned, and did his best to recall what he knew about spell craft. Whatever charm held the twins was clearly more potent than what bound the older girl.

  With another step forward, the older girl finally opened her eyes and looked around in wonder. For one so clearly scared, her face still radiated a fierce pride and authority that was not something Kivaan generally associated with a nanny. She was robed in the forest greens and charcoal blacks of Eres Shikyo, and where her garments had been pulled out of position, he caught sight of black underthings of the finest material.

  “Make known yourself, warrior,” she commanded, her voice shaking only marginally.

  Kivaan thought her pleasant enough to look upon, but whatever her lineage was, it had not bestowed beautiful teeth upon her, nor beautiful ears. The former grew almost like the Crooked Spine in places, while the latter jutted out from her head at an unflattering angle.

  “My name is Kivaan du Tuvaan, oldest son of the Second Guardian,” he responded with a curt politeness. “Whom do I have the pleasure to serve?”

  “Kivaan du Tuvaan,” mused the girl, an attractive frown upon her features that served to distract from her teeth and ears. She winced as the cold steel around her neck shifted. “Your name is known to me. You have the pleasure to serve Tsuzumiyu, firstborn of the First Guardian, and heiress to Eres Shikyo.”

  Kivaan was not generally given to surprise or speechlessness, but even he felt his mind falter and readjust before he fell abruptly to his knees and bowed forward upon his hands. Tsukio did the same, like a shadow. Behind him, Kivaan heard Oniwa and Jiriou copying their obeisance, although without the same sense of urgency.

  “I ask your pardon of my rough manner,” Kivaan said, his upbringing saving him where his surprise hindered. “Please accept my service, Lady Tsuzumiyu. We are yours to command.”

  A visible and beautiful relief flushed across her face, and it became evident to Kivaan that she had not been as fully confident of their assistance as she had appeared. It occurred to him that some vile betrayal must have taken place for her to be abducted from the heart of her home and from under the watch of The First Guardian himself.

  “Please rise,” the princess murmured. “And … please release me of my bindings.”

  Kivaan rose quickly and bent to his task, gesturing for Tsukio to see to the handmaidens.

  “Stop,” commanded Tsuzumiyu, one slender hand outstretched to Tsukio in gentle urgency. “I must see to them. They are charmed with a void cage, and can neither hear, smell, touch, taste, or see what we do. Mine must be the first face they see, or they will attack.”

  “Are they not just girls?” scoffed Jiriou, despite an elbow to the ribs from Oniwa.

  “They are the Chuho,” Tsukio pointedly reminded Jiriou. He bowed low to the princess. “It will be as you say, Princess.”

  Kivaan examined the unremarkable circlet of iron that was fastened about the princess’ narrow throat. He frowned as he honed his senses to detect the slightest devilry enacted upon it, but it was the most mundane of iron. It had rubbed the soft skin of the princess’ neck raw, and so he knew it had sat heavily upon the princess for the duration of her abduction.

  “May I bring my hand to your skin, Princess?” he asked.

  She nodded self-consciously.

  Easing two fingers beneath the iron collar, Kivaan closed his eyes and allowed his senses to become focussed entirely upon the material in his hands. Everything to do with its construction was laid bare before his concentration.

  Common material. But not built for a common purpose. This was made mundane specifically for one intended prisoner. There is no spell-craft involved. This was crafted between natural fire and a hammer also made of mundane iron. It is conspicuous by how normal it is. There would be finer bindings in the lowest dungeons of The Cult … but perhaps those could be traced. Did they go to this much trouble to erase their touch from the operation? I feel as if that is not the entire answer.

  Kivaan’s thumb pressed lightly on the top of the collar, and the piece of iron separated as if snapped at a weak point. Centring himself for added strength, Kivaan took either end of the divide in his hands and pulled it apart with physical strength. For a moment he wondered if he would need Oniwa’s muscle to make the gap large enough to fit the princess’ neck through, but he was pleased to see that he had managed the distance himself as he slipped the collar off and cast it to the ground.

  “You are skilled in unbinding, my Lord,” Tsuzumiyu nodded graciously. “I am in your debt.”

  “I have done my duty, Princess,” Kivaan objected. “And I beg of you … I am no Lord. Merely Knight Ascendant.” He smiled ruefully. Perhaps not even that when I return to my father.

  Tsuzumiyu smiled to herself. “There is nothing mere about you, Knight Ascendant Kivaan,” she said. “I thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

  She rose shakily to her feet, and bowed low at the waist to the young knights. Then, with a sad frown, she turned to her handmaidens. Kivaan looked on with interest to see what manner of education in the spirit the crown princess of Shikyo had received. The fact that she was attended by twin Chuho was impressive and disturbing enough. It meant that – whether explicitly or in secret – Shikyo had gone directly against the policies of the Cult of Raashim.

  Tsuzumiyu went first to one, and knelt down at her head to kiss her gently on the forehead. With a deep sigh of relief, the girl’s eyelids closed over her frenzied stare, and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. The same was done for the other, and then Tsuzumiyu arose once again, turning toward Kivaan.

  “Knight Ascendant, would you lend your assistance once more?”

  “Of course, Princess,” Kivaan nodded dutifully.

  “It is now safe to unbind them. Please release them.”

  “Is that wise?” asked Oniwa bluntly. “They are Chuho. Surely answers about their nature must precede their release.”

  “Peace, Oniwa,” Tsukio responded calmly. “You must trust the judgment of the Princess. I am as wary as you are, having never before witnessed a living Chuho, but she is served by them. We must trust in her experience.”

  Jiriou’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. His surely posture made Kivaan think he would not believe they were indeed Chuho until he had been thrown through the air by a frail-looking girl. Perhaps not even then.

  Oniwa, meanwhile, nodded his head in respectful deference.

  “May I ask from which legacy they come?” Kivaan asked, moving forward to do as the princess had asked.

  “It is best you know as little about them as possible,” Tsuzumiyu said softly. “For all our sakes. Until now, they have been as hidden as myself in the depths of Shikyo. Thanks to your efforts, our existence remains unconfirmed rumour.”

  Kivaan frowned.

  Indeed … I did not know her face because she has never been shown to society despite being some winters past the age of presentation. Why the secrecy surrounding her? Are the rumours true? Is she truly the First Guardian’s child to a creature of another Realm? And which Realm?

  He cast off the desire for further questions. He was but a Knight Ascendant and had no business knowing the secrets of the First Guardian’s family. Instead, he diligently went about his task of unbinding the nearest handmaiden, while Tsukio saw to the other. Neither moved, but continued in their peaceful slumber.

  “When will they wake?” asked Kivaan, something else occurring to him.

  “We should move from this place,” Tsukio nodded, understanding his direction immediately.

  “I … cannot be sure,” Tsuzumiyu admitted. “They have been under heavy mental strain in their charm. They … they could slumber for days.”

  “With respect, Princess, we do not have days,” Kivaan said. “We do not know who else they have in the area, or what contacts they have in our land. We are also deep within Dark Storm, and all manner of creatures will be drawn to the corpses. Even now, the shadows lengthen. We must move. We will carry your handmaidens if we must, but we must move. Now.”

  “Who would carry a Chuho?” asked Tsuzumiyu sadly.

  “I will carry one,” laughed Jiriou shortly.

  “Why would you of all volunteer?” demanded Oniwa, annoyed suspicion on his features.

  “You cannot, you must go before us to scout. And I will not take the shame of going unburdened should Kivaan and Tsukio carry them. Let the lordling go unburdened, it is only right.”

  “Peace, Jiriou,” Kivaan sighed. “I will wait here with Oniwa. You and Tsukio must retrieve our mounts, then there will be little glory to be had from carrying handmaidens. Our way will be easier with steeds.”

  “A sound decision,” grumped Jiriou.

  “As you say,” Tsukio nodded happily. “Let us be about it. By your leave, Knight Ascendant?”

  “Go quickly,” Kivaan agreed. “We should not linger here. We will depart. You will both find our scent and catch us as soon as possible. Our going will be slow. It is near full dark. These are not ideal conditions.”

  Tsukio bowed quickly, once to Kivaan, and once to the princess, and then disappeared into the dense trees, Jiriou hard on his heels. Before Kivaan could address the problem of who would carry whom, Oniwa deftly manoeuvred both handmaidens – one onto each shoulder – and was back on his feet again.

  “They are frail for Chuho,” he said, as if doubting they were indeed so magically endowed. “This will not be a problem. My footing is surer than yours in such conditions.” He looked at Kivaan. “You must protect the princess.”

  “You must stop reminding us all of your physical might at every opportunity,” Kivaan laughed with humour. “Very well. It is wisely said. I will devote my attention to the princess’ safekeeping.”

  Tsuzumiyu bowed low again. “Jiaduni smiles on me,” she said, and Kivaan thought he caught the slightest trace of a break in her voice. “My last remaining hope was to be discovered when crossing the Crooked Spine, but even that hope dwindled as I understood the extent of my captors’ connections. I will ensure you are richly rewarded for your actions when we return to Shikyo, Knight Ascendant.”

  “Please think nothing of it, Princess,” Kivaan replied uncomfortably. “I am only one who takes his vows to the First Guardian and my nation seriously. You have no need to offer material incentives to me. The branding iron of my own conscience motivates me far more.”

  Tsuzumiyu straightened, the shimmer of happy tears in her eyes mirrored by the tremble in her smile.

  “You are a rare breed of man in these days, Knight Ascendant Kivaan,” she said with feeling.

  “We must leave, Princess,” he said, hoping she would take the hint and stop her misplaced compliments and gratitude. “We will walk ahead of Oniwa this time, as he is the more burdened. Please keep close, Princess.”

  “I do not believe I could be safer if I were surrounded by the walls of Shikyo,” Tsuzumiyu smiled brightly.

  Kivaan did his best not to look at her teeth.

  Translates into “when stars/destinies meet/align”.

  Translates into “World’s Edge”. These large islands are the last land before uncharted seas.

  Translates literally to old blood. Used as a noun, it refers technically to the dragon kind, although these have fallen mostly into myth and superstition. It has come to refer colloquially to demihumans with draconic lineage.

  The largest bird of prey in the lands east of The Crooked Spine. English equivalent: sun spirit.

  Asaan: English equivalent is come spirit blade. This is a basic summoning phrase for those trained the arts of spiritual warfare. The strength of the blade is wholly reliant on the summoner’s expertise, and its form is influenced by the summoner’s character and method of conflict resolution. The spear is a common contemporary manifestation, as most warriors trained with spirit weapons are encouraged to keep their foes at range.

  Generally used to refer to a specific type of stone, it is also the name of the stronghold belonging to The First Guardian. Kivaan translated it to Ironstone when speaking with foreigners.