Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (42 page)

Kipri had been right; the rebels were going to repay the emperor in kind for the death of their Voice of Tilaa.

That vagary back in Marghebellen did kill himself, to protect the plan. I didn’t kill him, after all!

Ahead, Bayan saw the sign for the Gyre’s Breath. “You need to clean up and stay out of sight.” Bayan directed the eunuch through the inn’s door and up the stairs to his room. While Kipri sat, Bayan soaked a clean cloth in the basin on the counter, wrung it out, and handed it to Kipri, who pressed it against his wounded nose.

“We need to tell someone about their plan. The assassins are already on their way.”

Bayan shook his head in confusion. “Could it be a lie, a trick? Low Spring is in three days.”

Kipri’s face turned a sickly shade. “No… wait. When Anuq spoke to Lord Eshkin, he didn’t say ‘Low Spring’. He said ‘the Feast of Tuq’. On the old Raqtaaq calendar, that’s today. No one ever thought of that, not even me. I guess I made myself too Waarden. Bayan, it’s true. They’ve already gone.”

Bayan felt as if he’d been kicked in the guts. “We’ll think of something. You stay here. If anyone survived that house, I don’t want them hunting you down in the streets.” He nodded a farewell and closed the door.

Once in the hallway, though, Kipri’s words began to sink in. Bayan made it out of the inn, but he paused at the entrance to a tidy alley and slipped into the shadows, hot thoughts pounding through his mind.

Even a horse courier who left at this instant couldn’t beat the assassins to the Kheerzaal. Is there any point to warning anyone about anything? What if… what if I just let the emperor die? Won’t that give me everything I’ve always wanted? Isn’t this the opportunity I’ve been waiting for?

The alley dimmed. His darkness had thrust itself out around him. Inside the dark cloud, Bayan stood stock-still, ideas forcing their way into his consciousness.

Emperor Jaap is the only fertile member of his generation of the imperial family. If he and his sons die, the empire dies with them, torn apart by feuds and power struggles. The Aklaa lands will pull away from the empire and establish their own rule again. Just like Qivinga and her eunuch princes wanted.

Is that so bad?

The darkness smiled. It only did so when he was angry, or when he was enjoying the sensation of casting magic.

I am angry. I’m never not angry. I love my magic, but I don’t want to serve the emperor. I want my life back. I could simply make my way home during the confusion after the assassination. Imee might still take me back. And even if she doesn’t, I’d take being a Skycaller in Balanganam over being a Duelist any day.

A doubt swirled through the darkness, cutting its intensity.

Or would I? Could I leave Calder, Eward, Tarin, or Kiwani behind? They’re imperials, but they know me. They accept me. They’re nearly the only friends I have. And I could never see them again, because if I did, they’d have to turn me over to the emperor. If there was one.

Unless they went to war against the Aklaa.

This new thought chilled him. His hexmates were Elemental Duelists, eligible for war; they’d be sent off to battle against the Raqtaaq rebellion. And Qivinga had said her rebels had a whole army equipped with steel weapons. How had they gotten it? Bayan had no idea. But the woman had seemed just sane enough to blurt the truth when it showed her advantage.

They’ll all die against an army like that. My hexmates, Taban, the newniks, the instructors. No one can stand up to that much steel.

I’ll be free. But every duelist in the empire will die. And the Second Waarden Empire will fall.

Bayan felt cold. Tingles shot down his entire body. A hot tear pooled in the corner of one eye.

Do I save myself, or do I save the man who imprisoned me in a life of magical servitude and battle?

His mind emptied entirely. No thoughts came to him, no solutions. He couldn’t choose.

Then the rage boiled back into him. But for the first time in his duelist career, it was directed inward. He shuddered with the strength of it, bracing a hand against the alley wall, gasping, groaning for mercy.

Am I so selfish that I’d let my friends die so that I could escape? Do I shun the duty they’d embrace? If I do nothing, they will die in my place. What sort of person does that make me? Could I live with that, alone on my mountain in Balanganam? Alone with the silence of their voices?

No. I can’t let them die for me, when they believe they’re dying for their emperor. I don’t know him, but Kiwani does. He’s just a person, like us. And she’d never forgive me.

Bayan inhaled, sucking the darkness into his lungs, letting the hot rage burn away his shame and doubt. His feet lurched into motion, pounding out into the street.

Bhattara na. I am a Duelist of the Waarden Empire. Bhattara na.

Kiwani sat with Tarin in her cozy cell inside the duel den, working on weaving slender stems into a basket using tiny Wood arcs.

“It’s really coming together; too bad it won’t last.”

“We could always try to manipulate real wood,” Tarin began. Thundering footsteps interrupted her.

“Calder! Kiwani! Where are you?” Bayan shouted. “Anyone!”

“Now what’s he gone and done?” Kiwani slipped off Tarin’s bed and opened the door.

Calder and Eward had opened theirs, too. “What’s going on, Bayan?” Calder asked.

Bayan skidded to a stop, panting. “Someone’s going to assassinate the emperor.”

“What?” Kiwani felt icy shock freeze her bones.
My godfather! No… not anymore…

“And they left Muggenhem this morning.”

“Oh, no!”

“Well, that’s not very considerate.” Calder drew his pale brows together. “How do they expect us to stop them that way?”

Bayan panted, still catching his breath. “It’s a very good question. Are the den duelists here? Maybe they have an idea.”

“They’re out for the evening, being wined and dined at various nobles’ homes,” Kiwani explained. “It’s a long-standing tradition around here.”

“Bhattara!” Bayan growled. Then his expression saddened. “The rebels killed Strider.”

“What?” Tarin gasped. “How?”

“Steel. I felt him just tear away from me and vanish.”

“Steel?” Calder echoed angrily.

Eward was wide-eyed. “They can kill our avatars? How do we fight that?”

“I don’t know. But we have to try. We have to think of something. If the emperor dies, we’re all going to find ourselves on the front lines of the Second War of Steel.”

Kiwani and the others stared, shocked into speechlessness.

“Go on, then,” Calder finally managed. “Tell us the bad news. Don’t hold back; we can take it.”

Tarin sat down against the hallway wall, staring blankly. “The empire is going to crumble, and we can only sit here idly and wait for it to crush us.”

“Oh, aye, that’s the spirit,” Calder said, but he sounded just as defeated.

Kiwani’s heart lurched. No! He may not be my godfather in truth, but he is still my emperor, and it is my duty to serve. As Kiwani struggled for an idea, Tarin’s words came back to her. Idly. Idle. Yes!

“I know how we can try to reach Akkeraad before the assassins!”

“How?” asked Bayan.

“Everyone into the arena, now! It’s time for an avatar class.”

~~~

Bayan stood a distance from his hexmates as they each tried to manifest an avatar that could get them to the Kheerzaal.
No pressure, no pressure.
He tried to summon a Wood avatar.
If only I could resurrect Strider. No, he’d have a terrible time carrying all of us with those long spindly arms. What I really need is…

“Is that even possible?” He paused in his Wood summoning, letting the half-formed spell and its attendant green mist slip. He looked around; no one was having any success yet. But he had been successful with an Earth avatar. And with Strider dead…

Bayan invoked Earth, then performed the avatar summons, curious whether anything at all would happen.

A cloud of silver surrounded him. The arena floor shuddered in a circle before him, rumbling like a massive earthquake. A massive stone paw pushed up from the center of the leaping sand, followed by the rest of the avatar’s body as he clambered into the air and shook himself, flinging sand particles everywhere.

On the other side of the creature, his hexmates paused and stared up at Bayan’s new Earth avatar.

The enormous canine form was lean and rangy, formed from Bayan’s memories of his dog back home. Light orange in color, his stone skin caught the late afternoon light like sleek fur.

“Meet Timbool.”

“It’s a dog,” Eward stated.

“Yes, he is. Strider may be dead, but my Earth avatar skills aren’t. Timbool can get us to the Kheerzaal quickly. Now, everyone up.”

“Up? Your dog has an up?” Tarin asked.

Bayan willed the avatar to lie down. He did so, wagging his stone tail, which flung gouts of the arena sand into the air. The others discovered the sunken pit lined with stone seats that Bayan had formed in Timbool’s back. Bayan clambered up after them, placing his feet on Timbool's paw and haunch, struggling to keep his balance while holding his arms in position.

Once he was seated with the others, he had a better view of where Timbool was pointed. He ordered the dog avatar to its feet. As the dog obediently stood, Bayan’s eye level rose from halfway up the arena stands to even with the top of the arena wall.

“Hold on, everyone. Next stop, Akkeraad.”

Timbool leaped forward into a sprint, bounding over the arena wall and onto the street beyond. His paws crushed cobbles; his tail broke sign poles and statuary. Pedestrians screeched and bolted for safety at his approach. Timbool turned left from the main road and ran for the hills, leaving undignified squawks and cries of confusion and amazement in his wake.

~~~

The hours flew by as swiftly as the scenery. Calder and the others had opportunities to look at passing towns, imperial coach depots, and surprised bystanders while there was still daylight, but once the sun set and the color left the sky, there wasn’t anything for Calder to do but brood on the imminent crisis.

He found himself examining every large group of people they passed on the road, wondering if it might be the Aklaa assassins, even though he knew there was no way they would still be anywhere near Muggenhem.

How far ahead could they be? Are they halfway? Closer? Are we going to be too late no matter what?

The depth of the chilly night pressed in on him. They hadn’t passed anyone on the High Way for some time, and the isolation of the dark made his world feel unreal. Then, in the dark hour just before dawn, Timbool flashed past a caravan of night wagon trains delivering perishables overland to the Akkeraad markets by morning. The jingle of the wagons’ traveling bells and the surprised cries of the wagon drivers were oddly reassuring.

He glanced at Bayan. His friend’s head was dipping in sleep. His arms were slipping—

Calder lunged out of his stone seat to grab Bayan’s arms before the cross broke, but it was too late. Bayan slipped fully into slumber, slouching sideways and banging his head against Timbool’s back.

The avatar crumbled as he rounded a bend with a grassy slope on the outer curve. Calder shot one frantic glance toward the grass, hoping he flew that far rather than scudding along the road. Then he was airborne. The others cried out as they fell, and together, everyone skidded down the dew-damp grass of the slope, tumbling out of control toward the river that wended its way through cattails at the slope’s base.

Finally, Calder came to a stop, face up, head toward the stream. Adrenaline shot through him as his body frantically took stock of itself. Pain hadn’t started yet; was he badly injured? He vividly remembered the moment of bewilderment before the pain of his severe burns had kicked in over a year ago. He wouldn’t be caught surprised again.

He braced himself for agony, but discovered only a few scrapes and bumps. Carefully, he climbed to his feet, testing his joints. Finding himself relatively whole, he looked around for his hexmates. Tarin pulled Eward out of the river shallows, and Kiwani stirred slowly a few strides from Bayan, who wasn’t moving at all.

“Bayan!” Calder ran over and knelt beside his friend, shaking his shoulder. “Bayan, are you hurt?”

“Shh,” Bayan said. “Sleeping.”

Calder snorted and stood up. “Everyone else all right?”

“Aye.” Tarin came up beside Kiwani. “Eward’s gotten his morning bath, though.”

“Bayan needs to sleep,” Kiwani said. “If he drifts off again, we’ll just crash, and probably into something much less forgiving than a nice grassy slope.”

“We’re almost to Akkeraad; we don’t have time for him to sleep!” Eward shivered with the cold water that soaked his legs.

Tarin pointed toward the sound of a distant rumble mixed with jingling on the road above. “The night wagons could take us.”

Eward shouted as he ran up the steep slope, and Tarin and Kiwani joined him. But the noise from the approaching caravan grew very loud; the drivers probably couldn’t hear a thing over their own wagons and bells.