Canticle

Chapter 4

Rudolfo

Rudolfo paced the plush carpet of his private study and replayed the evening’s events behind his eyes. He and his men had been taken unawares by a threat he’d not conceived of in his wildest imaginings, and that reality fed his wrath. The faintest traces of their attackers’ magicked blood faded on his uniform now, smudges that seemed more like shadows next to the darker patches that belonged to Hanric, Ansylus and their men.

He paced the room and stroked his beard alone, waiting for the boy and for the girl who now had the weight of grief upon her alongside a difficult decision.

No matter what she chooses, it will go hard for her. There was no way around that truth. But whatever she chose, Rudolfo would keep his kin-clave with the Marsh girl-the Marsh Queen-and would extend his support of her.

She and her people kept the secret well. Rudolfo and Gregoric had known. And certainly, the boy Neb. Beyond that, the Named Lands would all believe the Marshers were without a king.

The unrest may prove a blessing to her yet, he thought. With all eyes on the fires in the south, few would care that the Marshers’ Wicker Throne seemed suddenly vacant. Still it would be a challenge for her at such a young age, though she was older than Rudolfo had been. And she had the added benefit of being from a people who were despised, feared, avoided, misunderstood-vastly more so than Rudolfo’s Forest Gypsies.

But what of Turam? The Crown Prince’s father had lain at death’s door for nigh on a decade, his life preserved by Androfrancine medicines no longer in easy supply. Ansylus had functioned as his proxy, and now that nation would be at profound risk to forces within or without. Rudolfo dug deep into memory but could not recall the name of the younger brother, though it mattered little-the boy had been killed at the Battle of Rachyle’s Bridge during the War for Windwir. There was an uncle, however. Turam just barely balanced itself against the tide of insurrection that swept the Named Lands with the Androfrancine Order’s collapse. This news could tip the scale.

And why now? Why his house? And, darker still, why not him? Two of the three most influential men in the room had fallen, and one had been left entirely unharmed. An uneasiness gripped him and would not let him go. When the dust settled from this tonight, he would seek counsel with his betrothed, Jin Li Tam.

He’d looked for her in the crowd that had gathered outside the Great Hall. She had been noticeably absent, and he doubted that the River Woman’s admonitions of bed rest had truly trumped her curiosity. He’d meant to ask after her or to check in on her, but the whirlwind of orders to give, people to direct, investigations to launch had caught him up and carried him until this moment.

He looked up at the knock on his door. “Yes?”

It opened a crack and Neb looked in. “I have Lady Winters with me, General.”

Rudolfo smoothed his uniform by habit. “Send her in.” His eyes narrowed and he studied Neb’s face, reading what he could there in the redness of the eyes and the pallor of his skin. When Neb met his gaze, Rudolfo’s hands moved quickly. Find Aedric. Tell him to bring me an update. When Neb nodded his understanding, Rudolfo continued. And check on Lady Tam. Tell her I will brief her when I can.

Neb nodded again. The young man held open the door, and Winters stepped through. Then it closed behind her.

The look on the girl’s face stopped Rudolfo’s pacing. She looked smaller than she had earlier today, her eyes red and hollow, her mouth drawn tight with grief. There were pale track marks from the tears that had scrubbed away the ash and mud of her people’s lament.

Rudolfo waved to a small sofa by a banked fire. “Please sit with me,” he said. She moved slowly and sat, folding her hands in her lap. He joined her. “Neb has told you, then?”

She glanced up, then dropped her eyes and nodded. “He has. And I have told my people.” She swallowed. “At least those who are here. I’ve instructed them to find a bird and pass the word home to Hanric’s kin.”

Rudolfo’s eyebrows raised. “Do you think that prudent so soon after?”

She stared at him. “Prudence does not enter into matters where love is concerned.”

Rudolfo smiled, then signed to her in the House language of Xhum Y’Zir. Prudence especially enters into matters where love is concerned. “Your life has changed, Lady. You may need to think in different directions now.” He remembered those early days, the days when Aerynus, Gregoric’s father, had briefed him secretly so that Rudolfo might command with experience beyond his years. And he remembered the first man he’d ordered beneath the salted knives of the Physicians his father left to him. Their penitent torture was a knife he chose not to pass forward to his own son. But they had served their purpose, even if the redemption they drew out in blood was not true penitence. The single insurrection in the Ninefold Forest Houses-the event that had cost Lord Jakob and Lady Marielle their lives-was met by young Rudolfo with ruthless, merciless atonement.

She swallowed at his words and nodded.

He looked at her, small and frightened, and saw himself so many years ago. He leaned toward her. “You have my kin-clave, Lady Winters. The Ninefold Forest Houses will plumb this treachery. You have my assurance of assistance in all matters.”

Her eyes met his. “I am grateful, Lord.”

Rudolfo reached for the bottle of firespice on the table and raised his eyebrows toward an empty glass. “What will you do?”

Winters nodded, and Rudolfo poured a small portion of the liquor for her. “I will declare myself,” she said. “It’s early, but perhaps it’s supposed to be.” She looked perplexed now, her eyebrows furrowing. “Only. ” Her words trailed off, and she reached out for the glass, lifting it to her lips and sipping. She looked up again. “I did not see this in my dreams.”

Rudolfo poured himself a drink. “How could you?”

Winters shrugged. “I saw Neb in my dreams. I saw Windwir fall. Neb and I have seen our promised home. And many of our Dreaming Kings have seen these days, too, and written them in their Book.”

“Perhaps,” Rudolfo suggested, “these dreams are not always reliable.”

“And yet,” Winters answered, “the moment before we went into Third Alarm a premonition took hold of me.” Rudolfo leaned forward as she quickly recounted it.

“A wind of blood?” he asked. He whistled and the door opened. A Gypsy Scout poked his head in. Find out what manner of blades the assassins carried, he signed. The scout nodded and closed the door. He looked to Winters. “I’m not given to superstition, but this bears inquiry. I will ask Isaak to look into it. Perhaps it is something referenced in the library’s holdings.”

A night of inquiries, he thought. He still had the matter at the Keeper’s Gate to resolve.

There was a knock at the door-this time, firmer. Rudolfo looked up. “Yes?”

Aedric stepped into the room. “I saw Neb on the landing. I’ve sent him to pack for tomorrow.”

Winters looked up at this, and Rudolfo noticed the surprise on her face. It alarms her that he is leaving. But of course, Rudolfo knew she would not ask where he went.

“I do not think I will be joining you,” Rudolfo said. “I’m needed here.”

Aedric nodded, closing the door. He looked to the girl now, as if seeing her for the first time. The First Captain looked surprised and then suddenly uncomfortable. You may wish to hear this news alone, he signed.

Rudolfo saw Winters following his hands, but saw no comprehension on her face. “You truly meant what you told me?” he asked her. That you mean to announce yourself? he added in the Wizard King’s sign.

“Yes, Lord,” she said in a quiet voice.

Rudolfo motioned to a chair across from them. “Sit, Aedric, and pour a drink.” He inclined his head toward the girl. “Things are not what they seem.”

Aedric sat and poured firespice into a cup. “They are not, indeed,” he said.

Rudolfo nodded. “This is Winters,” he said.

“Yes, our young lieutenant is quite taken with her.”

“Well, she is more than she appears. May I present Winteria bat Mardic, the Marsh Queen.” Rudolfo offered a tight smile as Aedric’s eyebrows shot up. “Hanric was her. ” Rudolfo reached for the word but couldn’t find it.

“Shadow,” Winters said, her voice heavy. “He was the image we needed to convey to the rest of the Named Lands until I reached my majority.”

Aedric paled, looked to Rudolfo, then back to the girl. He looked troubled.

“What is it, Aedric?”

Aedric looked away. “We are in pursuit of the attackers. The Gypsy Scouts are magicked and trailing them at a distance. Half-squads are searching every structure in the town and every room in the manor. And the River Woman is here to tend Lady Tam. When she’s finished, she will autopsy the dead assassin and look for traces of the magicks in his organs.”

Rudolfo nodded. “Summon the Chief Physician for the cutting.”

Aedric inclined his head. “I’ve done so already, General.”

Winters interjected here. “Where is Hanric?”

Aedric glanced to Rudolfo and he nodded his assent. “He lays where he fell. We did not wish to offend your custom.”

Winters nodded. “Thank you, First Captain.” She looked to Rudolfo. “Would you honor us by hosting Hanric’s rest?”

Rudolfo knew little of the Marsher ways. Until the war, he’d encountered them infrequently. Most notably, his father had once captured Winters’s father and brought him before the Physicians of Penitent Torture to teach him respect for the Forest Gypsy’s borders. He knew what most did-that the Marshers wore dirt and ash, did not bathe and scratched out lives of violent subsistence in the infertile north. They were mystics, caught up in ecstatic utterances and prophecy, bellowed out with magicked voice by their king in his long-winded War Sermons. He knew of their promised home. And he knew that they buried their dead immediately-and buried their dead enemies as well. To not do so was a grievous insult.

“Certainly,” he said. “His rest may be anywhere you choose.”

She inclined her head to him. “I am grateful, Lord.”

Aedric cleared his voice, and Rudolfo looked to him now. “There’s more, General.”

Here it is. Here is what troubles him. “Go on,” Rudolfo said, glancing towards Winters.

“We brought the axe down to get a look at one of the bodies.” Aedric looked both to her and then to Rudolfo. He signed the words first. They were Marshers, he said.

Rudolfo looked at the girl.

This is where your heart is broken. The weight of this, of learning that the one you loved as a father was cut down by your own kind. Images flashed across his mind. Memories of fire and Fontayne the Heretic-the seventh son of Vlad Li Tam-shouting at the mob as it beat Rudolfo’s father to death. He studied the last traces of Winters’s innocence and then spoke the words to condemn her.

“Tell her, Aedric,” Rudolfo said.

And then he closed his eyes so that he would not see her change.

Vlad Li Tam

Vlad Li Tam met his sixth daughter when she stepped from the long-boat that brought the first load of children. He extended a fresh mango to her and she accepted it with the slightest inclination of her head.

“Thank you, Father,” she said. She’d aged gracefully, her once-red hair now white as she neared her own sunset. She wore the saffron robes befitting her rank in his House.

He returned the slight bow and turned to the boatload of children. “And how are you all this morning? Did you sleep well?” He tried to make eye contact with as many of them as he could, trying just as hard to hear them as they talked over one another in their enthusiasm. “Good, good,” he said, clapping and smiling. Then, he pointed to the trailhead that led to the village. Drums announcing the new kin-clave were already pulsing through the jungle, and smoke from the massive cook-fires smudged the morning sky. “Go and find friends,” he said. “But don’t forget your manners and your lessons.”

Laughing, they spilled from the boat and raced up the beach, the oldest hanging back to keep their eyes on the youngest. Vlad Li Tam watched them go as the oarsmen pushed off and turned back for the anchored ships in the harbor.

Three of his ships were already steaming farther south, each adding to their maps and gathering the data necessary to determine their next stop. He would send another three now that kin-clave here was established. They would find the largest, most populated islands, observe the inhabitants from a distance and compile those findings for his inspection.

The remaining half dozen vessels would take what maintenance rotation they could without a dry dock and guard House Li Tam’s work in the village.

His daughter smiled at him. “How did it go?”

“It was fine. I will need more powders soon.”

She shook her head. “Strange customs,” she said.

Not so strange, he thought. He’d sent his sons and daughters into hundreds of beds to form alliances and gather information. Their courtesan activities were not even well-kept secrets in the Named Lands. “Perhaps more straightforward than we’re accustomed to,” he said as he looked out across the water. He looked back to her. “What are your plans?”

“Baryk and I will attend the feast together,” she said. “Then he will scout the island with our oldest sons.”

Baryk had been a warpriest on the southernmost tip of the Emerald Coasts, the massive peninsula that was home to House Li Tam and a scattering of tropical city-states and loose confederations. When Vlad had announced his family’s retreat from the Named Lands, they had given away their possessions and lands to join him. All but one of his children-even those who’d left his service to pursue independent lives with their own families-had returned home at his call. And he was grateful for it. It spared him the grief of assassination.

“Perhaps I will join them,” Vlad Li Tam said.

Rae Li Tam smiled. “You may be too busy honoring kin-clave.” She patted her satchel. “Meanwhile, I’ve pharmaceuticals that are running low and a list of flora samples to collect.”

He nodded. “Keep an eye out for kalla plants,” he said.

“Of course I will, Father.” She inclined her head and, once he returned the gesture, set off down the beach slowly, passing the trailhead and moving west along the coast.

Vlad Li Tam sighed and stretched, then turned to the next long-boat that approached, also full of children. Behind it, others came bearing the Tam contribution to the feast. It would take most of the morning to disembark the first shift of his family. They would go slowly, letting the Dayfather’s tribe have time to accustom themselves to the pale-skinned travelers from the northeast. By tomorrow, the Tams would outnumber the tribe on the island, but all knew to underemphasize this fact, staying aloof and keeping their large numbers spread out over the island. They would also make many gifts over the next fortnight, and there would be other pairings among his sons and daughters and the Dayfather’s people. These were not required for kin-clave but would certainly strengthen the bonds. And at no time would the Tam presence here give way to violence or compulsion.

While intimidation had its place, it was not always conducive to gathering intelligence.

A flash of light caught his eye, and he looked to the bow of their flagship, The Serendipitous Wind. He read the second half of the coded message and waited for it to repeat. He followed the code, deciphering the words and numbers quickly.

His First Son’s vessel, Spirit of the Storm, had found something four days to the south. Something, it seemed, that required his attention.

He drew his mirror and replied. Even before he’d finished, he saw a boat lowered and watched his First Grandson take the oars. He came alone, his long red hair flowing behind him on the wind.

He will be a worthy successor. At some point, the mantle would pass to his First Son and, when his First Son was ready to lay it down, Mal Li Tam would take it up. He’d had the best education the world could offer, spending his early years in the Orphan School of Windwir. Introspect had arranged it for him during the first year of his papacy, not long after helping Petronus escape the city and the Order under a shroud of deception. At the time, Vlad Li Tam had had no idea that his own father had set those wheels into motion before turning House Li Tam over to Vlad nearly two decades earlier.

Armed with wits and cunning that perhaps only matched Vlad’s own father, Mal Li Tam had made his mark in the Named Lands quietly. He’d brought about a dozen unlikely alliances and broken half as many-some stretching back to the Days of Settlement-as he served his grandfather and father in the House business. Named for a pirate that had saved his father’s life, Mal Li Tam was the sharpest in House Li Tam’s quiver of arrows.

What will you inherit when my work is done? It was hard to say. Time was a cipher that Vlad Li Tam understood well. The precepts of T’Erys Whym, upon which his House had been built, were that with enough time and pressure even a river could be moved in such a way as to appear without design. But time was an enemy as well as an ally. He was seventy-two now and knew that he was measuring the depth-line in spans now, not leagues. He had closed down House Li Tam, donating the majority of his vast holdings and wealth over to the Order, knowing full well that Petronus would pass the Order’s holdings and wealth, in turn, over to Rudolfo.

And my forty-second daughter. She should be delivering soon, he realized. He’d counted the days and had started a dozen poems to honor the little Lord Jakob’s arrival into a troubled world.

He watched Mal Li Tam hop easily over the bow of the skiff and drag the boat up onto the beach behind him. He was barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only a pair of loose-fitting silk pants. He smiled as he approached.

“Grandfather,” he said, inclining his head.

Vlad returned the bow. “And how is my First Grandson this morning?”

Mal looked at the empty hammock and the hastily constructed lean-to, his smile widening. “More rested than you, I’d wager, Grandfather.”

Vlad chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll nap today.” He glanced back to the ship. “So what have they found?” he asked.

“Father didn’t say.” He reached into a hidden pocket on his pants and drew a stained and crumpled scroll.

Vlad took it and opened it, reading the coded message twice before handing it back. The handwriting was true, though the note had been written hastily with a shaking hand. And the note itself had little to say. The dots and smudges of the Tam cipher script pointed to a set of coordinates beyond their current maps, and there was a buried urgency that whatever they had found bore Vlad’s personal inspection. But the urgency didn’t speak of danger.

He looked up, meeting his grandson’s eyes. “We’ll leave when the feast is over tonight-just one ship. But send a bird to the other two southern patrols and retask them to meet us there. You will be joining me.”

A look on Mal’s face betrayed something that the old man could not place. “Do you think three vessels are enough?”

Vlad Li Tam smiled and patted Mal’s shoulder. “If there had been any significant threat your father would have said so. Still, see to the armory and pick a crew that can hold their own by sea and by land. I intend you to captain this voyage.”

Mal Li Tam bowed more deeply. “Thank you, Grandfather. You honor me.”

Vlad Li Tam returned the bow. “And make an appearance at the feast,” he said with a wink. “You never know when you’ll be called upon to do your part for kin-clave.”

Smiling, the young man nodded and turned back to his boat. Vlad watched him as he pushed the skiff off the sand and hopped lightly inside. Pulling at the oars, he rowed against the tide and Vlad Li Tam watched, taking pleasure in the sight of his grandson rowing in the morning sun. He would have watched him longer, but more longboats were landing around him now-more grandchildren, more sons and daughters. The heat rose, shimmering over the sand and hazing the jungle.

Soon, he would nap in his hammock and gather strength for the coming feast. And maybe, in his dreams, he would see his newest grandson, Jakob. The first of his grandchildren who would not take the name of House Li Tam, and the only of them to remain in the Named Lands.

Another arrow launched at the world.

He felt a stab of remorse and suddenly hoped desperately that his sixth daughter would find the elusive kallaberry on this island. He missed the comfort those berries gave him when the past lurked at his door. He craved the forgetfulness and focus that his pipe brought him when he thought of all the arrows he’d lost or seen broken against the world along the way.

Vlad Li Tam forced his attention back to the beach. A handful of great-grandchildren and grandchildren played in the surf while their parents unloaded the boats.

Laughing, he chased after them.

Winters

Winters sat on the floor of the Great Hall and held Hanric’s cold hand while she wept and wondered what to do.

My own people have done this.

Stunned by Aedric’s words, she’d been unable to keep her focus as the conversation turned to speculation. Hanric was dead now. So was Ansylus. And she’d seen for herself. She’d left Rudolfo when the River Woman poked her head in to tell him that Jin Li Tam’s labor had begun.

She’d held the Firstfall axe and looked at the dull reflection of a dead Marsher scout, still under magicks that her people had not used or seen for two thousand years. Certainly, they used blood magicks for other rituals, but the scout potions had been lost-or kept hidden by the Androfrancines-after the Old World fell.

And now, she sat by Hanric, holding the axe of her office in one hand while she held his lifeless hand in the other.

The half-squad of Gypsy Scouts had removed the others from the room and guarded the doors now so that she could be alone. Already, birds raced westward to her people. Soon, she would will herself to stand, to leave his side and go with her people into Rudolfo’s gardens to find Hanric’s rest.

They had left him where he lay, though someone had closed his eyes, and she could feel the coldness of his congealed blood seeping through the rough fabric of her dress.

She would wear his blood even as she wore the ash and mud of the earth that he would be given back to.

He’d been fearsome, they told her, taking at least two of his attackers before they overpowered him. And these attackers were faster, stronger than the traditional earth magicks employed by most. They’d stormed a room of armed men, killed their targets, and withdrawn.

Yet Rudolfo had been spared. She wondered at this and a sudden dread gripped her, then evaporated into gratitude. Neb had been here, too. His uniform was torn and bloodstained. The realization set her lip to quivering, and the water filled her eyes again.

The Francines had taught that all losses were connected to one another, and she saw that now. There in the shadows cast by the fireplace of Rudolfo’s Great Hall, amid the scattered remains of an interrupted feast, Winters found herself feeling as small and alone as she’d been eleven years ago when she sat with her father’s body.

Of course, she’d never truly been alone in those times. Hanric had kept that vigil with her. Hanric had closed her father’s eyes and had held her on his lap as he leaned against the wall and wept loudly for his fallen friend. With his own hands, Hanric had dug out King Mardic’s rest in the Caverns of the Sleeping Kings. And he’d followed his friend’s instructions to the letter, climbing the Spine and declaring himself her shadow in the dark tongue of House Y’Zir, commanding the loyalty and love of the Marshfolk and pledging himself to the Homeward Path on her behalf until she reached the age of her majority. Until she was old enough to rule in a way that would strike fear in the heart of the Named Lands and, in that fear, hold their respect and keep the Marshlands apart from the interlopers and home-thieves.

Now, once Hanric was in the ground, she would return home to her people, climb the Spine and drink from the horn. For the first time in her life, she would feel the burn of the blood magick as it shored up her voice and gave it the span of a hundred leagues. Then, she would announce herself as Winteria bat Mardic, ward of Hanric ben Tornus, Queen of the Marsh. After that, she would give her first War Sermon and set herself to make this right.

She sniffed, wiping her nose with a sleeve.

Beyond the room, she heard the clatter of activity. Despite the approaching dawn, the Seventh Forest Manor had not quieted. Jin Li Tam, Rudolfo’s betrothed, was hard at her labor, and the halls were alive with the hustle of servants bearing fresh linens and whatever other supplies the River Woman and Rudolfo’s medicos required. The scouts, magicked and unmagicked, were stationed throughout the massive pine-and-stone house. Winters’s own people were waiting outside the Great Hall.

Waiting for their queen to lead them down this Fivefold Path of Grief. An involuntary shudder washed over her and she stifled another sob. She wanted to contain this grief, to set it aside so that she could think outside of the fog it wrapped her in. There were questions that needed answering.

In all their years of sojourn in the New World, certainly factions had arisen and insurrections had emerged. But never anything like this. Why would Marsher Scouts, under blood magick, attack and kill the man the rest of the Named Lands believed was their king? To what end? Could they have been acting alone? The assassination of the Crown Prince led Winters to believe not. This had been planned, and whoever was behind it commanded Marsher Scouts and had need of the Named Lands to believe the Marshers were without their king. An ache at the pit of her stomach told her that these would not be the only deaths this night.

A wind of blood to cleanse. She remembered Aedric’s reply to Rudolfo’s question.

“What kind of blades were used?”

She’d known before the First Captain could answer. “Iron.”

A pruning, then, she thought.

But Rudolfo had not been scratched. That meant something at the heart of this, she wagered.

The Marsh Queen sighed and squeezed Hanric’s hand. “I will miss you,” she said. Then, she dropped his hand and stood. She hefted the Firstfall axe, feeling the solid ash handle thrumming in her hands, and turned toward the doors. “It’s time,” she called out in a louder voice.

The doors opened, and her people came through. The women bore shovels and the men bore a stretcher. A half-squad of Gypsy Scouts accompanied them. Winters stepped aside as they all approached. The men gentled Hanric onto the stretcher and grunted beneath the weight of him when they finally lifted him from the floor. The lieutenant of the scouts stood before her and bowed. “Lady Winters, Lord Rudolfo sends condolences and apologies that he is unable to join you at this time. He bid me relay that he vows upon his father’s sword that each year on this night, he will tell his son Jakob of Hanric the Marsh Queen’s shadow.”

She blinked. “Tell the Gypsy King that his hospitality and his vow honor me and my people in this darker moment of our sojourn.” She turned to the door and stopped.

Neb stood there, dressed now in a fresh uniform. He shuffled from one foot to the other, awkward now before her. But he’d come. At the sight of him, Winters felt the hot tears pushing at her. She held them back and walked to him. Behind her, the scouts fanned out, whistling low and long to magicked counterparts she was certain watched. Her people walked slow behind, the women beginning the death psalms. When she stood before the young man, she reached over and took his hand, pulling him alongside. “I’m glad you came,” she said.

Walking beside her, he glanced down at her. “Have you decided on his rest?”

She nodded. “I have.” They were leaving the Great Hall now, standing before the massive doors that would take them out into the winter night. As the door creaked open, she saw that it had started snowing. The flakes were small and dry, and the wind spirited them along the ground. She looked up at him, watched the wind drift his hair. She squeezed his hand, then spoke. “He will rest at the heart of Rudolfo’s Whymer Maze, in the shadow of Library Hill.”

T’Erys Whym had made the labyrinth popular during his brief papacy in the New World, but Winters knew its darker heritage. A circular maze that could only be solved by returning the way you came or enduring the pain of climbing its thorns to find its hidden secrets. High sport of the Cutters of Old. Rituals of the Wizard Kings, their Surgeons working the knives for pleasure and blood magick bargaining, bent by time into Physicians of Penitent Torture, who worked the knives for redemption.

At the heart of that Whymer Maze, Hanric would rest.

For Winters, it was a reminder of the thorny walls that she knew waited ahead of her. Perhaps after Hanric’s spirit found its way to their new home he would send her some of his strength and courage for her bloody climb.

In her heart, Winters knew that her own would not suffice. Biting her lip, she walked out into the snow and tried not to cry.