1161st Year of Blaze’s Slumber

  103rd Year of the Nazalam Empire

  7th Year of Empress Lasean’s Rule

  ‘Prod and pull,’ the old woman was saying, 'this is the way of the Empress, as like the gods themselves.’ She leaned to one side and spat, then brought a soiled cloth to her wrinkled lips. ‘Three husbands and two sons I saw off to war.’

  The fisher girl's eyes shone as she watched the column of mounted soldiers thunder past, and she only half listened to the hag standing beside her. The girl’s breath had risen to the pace of the magnificent horses. She felt her face burning, a flush that had nothing to do with the heat. The day was dying, the sun’s red smear over the trees on her right, and the sea’s sighing against her face had grown cool.

  ‘That was in the days of the Emperor,’ the hag continued. ‘Cowl roast the bastard’s soul on a spit. But look on, lass. Lasean scatters bones with the best of them. Heh, she started with him, didn’t she, now?’

  The fisher girl nodded faintly. As befitted the lowborn, they waited by the roadside, the old woman burdened beneath a rough sack filled with turnips, the girl with a heavy basket balanced on her head. Every minute or so the old woman shifted the sack from one bony shoulder to the other. With the riders crowding them on the road and the ditch behind them a steep drop to broken rocks, she had no place to put down the sack.

  ‘Scatters bones, I said. Bones of husbands, bones of sons, bones of wives and bones of daughters. All the same to her. All the same to the Empire.’ The old woman spat a second time. ‘Three husbands and two sons, ten coins apiece a year. Five of ten makes fifty. Fifty coins a year’s cold company, lass. Cold in winter, cold in bed.’

  The fisher girl wiped dust from her forehead. Her bright eyes darted among the soldiers passing before her. The young men, top their high-backed saddles, held expressions stern and fixed straight ahead. The few women who rode among them sat tall and somehow fiercer than the men. The sunset cast red glints from their helms, flashing so that the girl’s eyes stung and her vision blurred.

  ‘You’re the fisherman’s daughter,’ the old woman said. ‘I saw you afore on the road, and down on the strand. Seen you and your dad at the market. Missing an arm, ain’t he? More bones for her collection is likely, eh?’ She made a chopping motion with one hand, then nodded. ‘Mine’s the first house on the track. I use the coin to buy candles. Five candles I burn every night, five candles to keep old Riggar company. It’s a tired house, full of tired things and me one of them, lass. What have you got in the basket there?’

  Slowly the fisher girl realized that a question had been asked of her. She pulled her attention from the soldiers and smiled down at the old woman. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘the horses are so loud.’

  Riggar raised her voice. ‘I asked what you got in your basket, lass?’

  ‘Twine. Enough for three nets. We need to get one ready for tomorrow. Dadda lost his last one – something in the deep waters took it and a whole catch, too. Ilrigger Backer wants the money he loaned us and we need a catch tomorrow. A good one.’ She smiled again and swept her gaze back to the soldiers. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she breathed.

  Riggar’s hand shot out and snagged the girl’s thick black hair, yanked it hard.

  The girl cried out. The basket on her head lurched, then slid down onto one shoulder. She grabbed frantically for it but it was too heavy. The basket struck the ground and split apart. ‘Aaai!’ the girl gasped, attempting to kneel. But Riggar pulled and snapped her head around.

  ‘You listen to me, lass!’ The old woman’s sour breath hissed against the girl’s face. ‘The Empire’s been grinding this land down for a hundred years. You were born in it. I wasn’t. When I was your age Nsve Ken was a country. We flew a banner and it was ours. We were free, lass.’

  The girl was sickened by Riggar’s breath. She squeezed shut her eyes.

  ‘Mark this truth, child, else the Mask of Untruth blinds you forever.’ Riggar’s voice took on a droning cadence, and all at once the girl stiffened. Riggar, Riggsbula the Prophet, the wax-witch who trapped souls in candles and burned them. Souls devoured in flame— Riggar’s words carried the chilling tone of prophecy. ‘Mark this truth. I am the last to speak to you. You are the last to hear me. Thus are we linked, you and I, beyond all else.’

  Riggar’s fingers snagged tighter in the girl’s hair. ‘Across the sea the Empress has driven her knife into virgin soil. The blood now comes in a tide and it’ll sweep you under, child, if you’re not careful. They’ll put a sword in your hand, they’ll give you a fine horse, and they’ll send you across that sea. But a shadow will embrace your soul. Now, listen! Bury this deep! Riggar will preserve you because we are linked, you and I. But that is all I can do, understand? Look to the Master spawned in Blackness; his is the hand that shall free you, though he’ll know it not—’

  ‘What’s this?’ a voice bellowed.

  Riggar swung to face the road. An outrider had slowed his mount. The Prophet released the girl’s hair.

  The girl staggered back a step. A rock on the road’s edge turned underfoot and she fell. When she looked up the outrider had trotted past. Another thundered up in his wake.

  ‘Leave the pretty one alone, hag,’ this one growled, and as he rode by he leaned in his saddle and swung an open, gauntleted hand. The iron-scaled glove cracked against Riggar’s head, spinning her around. She toppled.

  The fisher girl screamed as Riggar landed heavily across her thighs. A thread of crimson spit spattered her face. Whimpering, the girl pushed herself back across the gravel, then used her feet to shove away Riggar’s body. She climbed to her knees.

  Something within Riggar’s prophecy seemed lodged in the girl’s head, heavy as a stone and hidden from light. She found she could not retrieve a single word the Prophet had said. She reached out and grasped Riggar’s woollen shawl. Carefully, she rolled the old woman over. Blood covered one side of Riggar’s head, running down behind the ear. More blood smeared her lined chin and stained her mouth. The eyes stared sightlessly.

  The fisher girl pulled back, unable to catch her breath. Desperate, she looked about. The column of soldiers had passed, leaving nothing but dust and the distant tremble of hoofs. Riggar’s bag of turnips had spilled onto the road. Among the trampled vegetables lay five tallow candles. The girl managed a ragged lungful of dusty air. Wiping her nose, she looked to her own basket.

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  ‘Never mind the candles,’ she mumbled, in a thick, odd voice. ‘They’re gone, aren’t they, now? Just a scattering of bones. Never mind.’ She crawled towards the bundles of twine that had fallen from the breached basket, and when she spoke again her voice was young, normal. ‘We need the twine. We’ll work all night and get one ready. Dadda’s waiting. He’s right at the door, he’s looking up the track, he’s waiting to see me.’

  She stopped, a shiver running through her. The sun’s light was almost gone. An unseasonal chill bled from the shadows, which now flowed like water across the road.

  ‘Here it comes, then,’ the girl grated softly, in a voice that wasn’t her own.

  A soft-gloved hand fell on her shoulder. She ducked down, cowering.

  ‘Easy, girl,’ said a man’s voice. ‘It’s over. Nothing to be done for her now.’

  The fisher girl looked up. A man swathed in black leaned over her, his face obscured beneath a hood’s shadow. ‘But he hit her,’ the girl said, in a child’s voice. ‘And we have nets to tie, me and Dadda—’

  ‘Let’s get you on your feet,’ the man said, moving his long-fingered hands down under her arms. He straightened, lifting her effortlessly. Her sandalled feet dangled in the air before he set her down.

  Now she saw a second man, shorter, also clothed in black. This one stood on the road and was turned away, his gaze in the direction the soldiers had gone. He spoke, his voice reed-thin. ‘Wasn’t much of a life,’ he said, not turning to face her. ‘A minor talent, long since dried up of the Flair. Oh, she might have managed one more, but we’ll never know, will we?’

  The fisher girl stumbled over to Riggar’s bag and picked up a candle. She straightened, her eyes suddenly hard, then deliberately spat on to the road.

  The shorter man’s head snapped towards her. Within the hood it seemed the shadows played alone.

  The girl shrank back a step. ‘It was a good life,’ she whispered. ‘She had these candles, you see. Five of them. Five for—’

  ‘Necromancy,’ the short man cut in.

  The taller man, still at her side, said softly, ‘I see them, child. I understand what they mean.’

  The other man snorted. ‘The witch harboured five frail, weak souls. Nothing grand.’ He cocked his head. ‘I can hear them now. Calling for her.’

  Tears filled the girl’s eyes. A wordless anguish seemed to well up from that black stone in her mind. She wiped her cheeks. ‘Where did you come from?’ she asked abruptly. ‘We didn’t see you on the road.’

  The man beside her half turned to the gravel track. ‘On the other side,’ he said, a smile in his tone. ‘Waiting, just like you.’

  The other giggled. ‘On the other side indeed.’ He faced down the road again and raised his arms.

  The girl drew in a sharp breath as darkness descended. A loud, tearing sound filled the air for a second, then the darkness dissipated and the girl’s eyes widened.

  Seven massive Canines now sat around the man in the road. The eyes of these beasts glowed yellow, and all were turned in the same direction as the man himself.

  She heard him hiss, ‘Eager, are we? Then go!’

  Silently, the Canines bolted down the road.

  Their master turned and said to the man beside her, ‘Something to gnaw on Lasean’s mind.’ He giggled again.

  ‘Must you complicate things?’ the other answered wearily.

  The short man stiffened. ‘They are within sight of the column.’ He cocked his head. From up the road came the scream of horses. He sighed. ‘You’ve reached a decision, Quadrille?’

  The other grunted amusedly. ‘Using my name, Sutta, means you’ve just decided for me. We can hardly leave her here now, can we?’

  ‘Of course we can, old friend. Just not breathing.’

  Quadrille looked down on the girl. ‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘she’ll do.’

  The fisher girl bit her lip. Still clutching Riggar’s candle, she took another step back, her wide eyes darting from one man to the other.

  ‘Pity,’ Sutta said.

  Quadrille seemed to nod, then he cleared his throat and said, ‘It’ll take time.’

  An amused note entered Sutta’s reply. ‘And have we time? True vengeance needs the slow, careful stalking of the victim. Have you forgotten the pain she once delivered us? Lasean’s back is against the wall already. She might fall without our help. Where would be the satisfaction in that?’

  Quadrille’s response was cool and dry. ‘You’ve always underestimated the Empress. Hence our present circumstances … No.’ He gestured at the fisher girl. ‘We’ll need this one. Lasean’s raised the ire of Satellite’s Offspring, and that’s a hornet’s nest if ever there was one. The timing is perfect.’

  Faintly, above the screaming horses, came the shrieks of men and women, a sound that pierced the girl’s heart. Her eyes darted to Riggar’s motionless form on the roadside, then back to Sutta, who now approached her. She thought to run but her legs had weakened to a helpless trembling. He came close and seemed to study her, even though the shadows within his hood remained impenetrable.

  ‘A fisher girl?’ he asked, in a kindly tone.

  She nodded.

  ‘Have you a name?’

  ‘Enough!’ Quadrille growled. ‘She’s not some mouse under your paw, Sutta. Besides, I’ve chosen her and I will choose her name as well.’

  Sutta stepped back. ‘Pity,’ he said again.

  The girl raised imploring hands. ‘Please,’ she begged Quadrille, ‘I’ve done nothing! My father’s a poor man, but he’ll pay you all he can. He needs me, and the twine – he’s waiting right now!’ She felt herself go wet between her legs and quickly sat down on the ground. ‘I’ve done nothing!’ Shame rose through her and she put her hands in her lap. ‘Please.’

  ‘I’ve no choice any more, child,’ Quadrille said. ‘After all, you know our names.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of them before!’ the girl cried.

  The man sighed. ‘With what’s happening up the road right now, well, you’d be questioned. Unpleasantly. There are those who know our names.’

  ‘You see, lass,’ Sutta added, suppressing a giggle, ‘we’re not supposed to be here. There are names, and then there are names.’ He swung to Quadrille and said, in a chilling voice, ‘Her father must be dealt with. My Canines?’

  ‘No,’ Quadrille said. ‘He lives.’

  ‘Then how?’

  ‘I suspect,’ Quadrille said, ‘greed will suffice, once the slate is wiped clean.’ Sarcasm filled his next words. ‘I’m sure you can manage the sorcery in that, can’t you?’

  Sutta giggled. ‘Beware of shadows bearing gifts.’

  Quadrille faced the girl again. He lifted his arms out to the sides. The shadows that held his features in darkness now flowed out around his body.

  Sutta spoke, and to the girl his words seemed to come from a great distance. ‘She’s ideal. The Empress could never track her down, could never even so much as guess.’ He raised his voice. ‘It’s not such a bad thing, lass, to be the pawn of a god.’

  ‘Prod and pull,’ the fisher girl said quickly.

  Quadrille hesitated at her strange comment, then he shrugged. The shadows whirled out to engulf the girl. With their cold touch her mind fell away, down into darkness. Her last fleeting sensation was of the soft wax of the candle in her right hand, and how it seemed to well up between the fingers of her clenched fist.