Knite

Helena sat in the backroom running a small whetstone down a sword of black metal. I stood by the door. Sanas and Ilinai stood behind me, both of them hungry and tired and slouching against the wall.

“The boy?” I asked.

Helena didn’t bother looking up. “Safe.”

Sanas brushed past me and deeper into the room, falling into the chair beside Helena, her smile weary. “It’s good to see you.”

Helena nodded a greeting, eyes never leaving the dark blade.

Sanas slumped in her chair and let her eyes fall closed. “Still as reticent as ever I see.”

“I am who I am,” Helena said.

“Tell me,” I ordered, interrupting their reunion.

Helena shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I may grant you the courtesy of keeping your soul private, but do not treat me like I am blind for it.”

She was slow to look up and answer. “He’s alive.”

“And?”

Her eyes shifted to my left, falling on Ilinai. “The priestess, I presume.”

“Helena,” I said, my tone more forceful.

Her gaze returned to the sword, the whetstone screeching across its length. “I’m afraid he’s been unconscious since his fall.”

“What happened?”

“He’ll wake from it. His condition hasn’t deteriorated much since—”

“Answer me.”

Helena signed. “Why do you never—”

I lanced a matrix of pain into her. Just for a moment. Just enough to let her know I was running out of patience. She jolted from her seat, mouth open in a soundless scream, sword in one hand, a whetstone in the other. Never before had I the need to punish her for disobedience.

“I was being watched, Lord,” she said, the words pushing past gritted teeth. “He spent more time underwater than planned.”

I took my usual seat. Ilinai stepped in behind me and sat to my right. I paid her no mind.

“Why are you punishing the boy for the deeds of his mother?” I asked Helena.

“As I said, I didn’t plan for him to stay under for so long.”

“And Aki?”

“We didn’t have the time.”

“And you’d imagined I’d believe you. You are usually hard to read, Helena, but your intent in this is rather obvious. How is punishing innocents any better than what godlings do?”

“Do not compare me to them.” There was an edge to her voice. Almost anger. Almost disrespect.

“If you think them all beyond innocence, then you must count me guilty. Or have you forgotten that I am one of them?”

“You are a rare exception. A singular exception.”

“And Sanas?”

“She’s more Root than Leaf.”

“And you seek to rob godlings of the opportunity to stray from their heritage as she and I have? As you and Roche and the others have? Do not let your hate bleed too far from its source, girl.” She bristled. She’d always hated it when I called her ‘girl’.

“If we've stooped to scarring Farian’s soul for the sake of our mission, I’ll damn well do worse to them.”

“There is a difference between what we must do, and what we choose to do.”

“I know, but the danger is too great. What will they think when we pull their trees from the world, roots and all? What would they become? Saviors? Would they suddenly grow virtuous or retire into obscurity? No, they would dig into our very souls and plant new roots, then blight the lives of the next generations for all of posterity. I will not let that happen.”

I shook my head. “Spare me your embellishments. Your reasons are not born from magnanimity. In that, we are alike. But I will not act without just cause. Extenuating circumstances mitigate the dishonor of murder, they do not negate it. And remember, Farian is far from innocent.”

She gave me a hard, defiant look. “I will not let that happen,” she repeated.

I waved her argument away, done with my attempt at persuasion. “Frankly, you may murder royal babes and gnaw the flesh of their bones for all I care. That is not my issue—though, considering my fondness for wicked souls, it could become yours. My issue is with your disobedience. You will not skirt my orders again. You will do as I say and exactly as I say. Anything less will not do. Is. That. Clear?”

“Yes,” she said.

I leaned forward, staring into her eyes. The voice that followed was entirely my own, unfiltered by mask or restraint. “Truly hear me, Helena? Because I will not warn you again.”

Helena flinched. It had been a while since she’d heard my voice. “Yes, Lord,” she said, her words a tired whisper. I took them as truth. I mightn't have if they had come easy.

I nodded once, leaned back into my seat, and turned my gaze to Ilinai. She watched us with rapt attention. When she noticed my stare, she smiled, but the slight quiver in her lower lip ruined her intent. She was afraid.

“That is an interesting venture you’ve embarked on,” she said, hoping to mask her dread.

“I see you amassing fantasies of what Lorail will give you when you bring this to her,” I said. “Rest assured, that will not be happening.”

Her eyes narrowed but her smile endured, the quiver of her lips allayed by some source of confidence. “You would not have dragged me from The Bridge if you intended my death.”

I shrugged.

Ilinai raised an eyebrow. “Are you not the weaver of words famed for his art of influence?”

I shrugged again. “A skill not needed is a skill not used.”

“A skill not used is a skill no more,” she said, proud of herself. She didn’t realize she was quoting me. “Without the promise of death or the ability to tunnel me, how exactly are you planning to have me cooperate?”

I laughed. Hard. Hard enough to almost fall into a fit of coughs. “I met a soldier half a moon’s cycle or so ago. It was on my very first day as a prisoner of The Bridge in fact. He was a hapless fellow locked away for opposing his commander's order. I quite liked him. He too was partial to assumptions.”

Her cavalier attitude fell a little, a frown fighting its way onto her brow. “Assumptions? What assumptions?”

I held up my forefinger. “Thinking I need or want your cooperation.”

“Then why keep me alive?”

I chuckled. “The soldier was also fond of asking questions.” My middle finger joined the first. “Thinking I want you dead.” Her frown deepened. I raised a third finger. “Thinking I am unable to break past your defenses.”

A grey pallor befell her, fear draining the blood away. “You can’t. She told me you can’t. She said none but she could.” Ahh, I thought, the source of confidence.

I got up and approached. She leaned back until her chair tilted on its hind legs. Clerics and Named Painters, of which she was both, rarely faced the dangers of a scrying. Yet by the simple yet supreme credence of my assumed godhood, I was, in her eyes, one of the rare few who could place her soul in peril, the rare few who could contest the words of a fellow god.

I leaned forward, bending down to place a finger and thumb to her chin, then gently pushed her face up so our eyes could meet. “Like young Jonar, you will disobey your commander.”

“You’re the Knite, are you not?” she asked, fake bravado pitching her tone. “Your fabled honesty has made your name interchangeable with the trait. Is that but a myth? Are you trying to coerce me into cooperating despite having said you did not need nor want to?”

“Do not lie to me Ilinai. I am well aware that my name has become synonymous with half-truths and intricate, deep-rooted deceits. I do not begrudge the practice; I am rather deceitful.”

“And how have you deceived me?”

“By not trying to deceive you at all,” I answered. “Well, maybe a smidgen, but not nearly as much as I usually do with enemies and friends alike. You see, I do not need nor want your cooperation; I want you to want to give your cooperation.”

She pulled her face brazenly from my touch, nearly toppling backward before her waving arms purchased her balance. “My lady was right about you,” she said, flustered red with embarrassment.

I stood to my full height. “Likely. She is my sister after all.”

“And why would I want to cooperate?”

“For the same reasons I want you to want to.”

“And what reasons are they?”

I turned to my guards. Sanas had fallen asleep, head awkwardly resting on her shoulder, arms and legs splayed, and face free of stress for the first time since our reunion—maybe the first time since her imprisonment. Helena seemed trapped in her thoughts, the whetstone sliding down the sword rhythmically, her eyes looking but not watching the process.

“Helena,” I called, “please take our guest to the skeleton cage. I assume you and Roche acquired one?”

Roche returned late in the evening. He wore his caretaker disguise: face dirtied, back hunched, hair unkempt, and gait frazzled by a limp. As long as no god was actively searching, the man could infiltrate anywhere he so wished, whether the dry deserts of Af’titala, the dense forests of Kolokasi, or the rocky mountains of Golodan. I half-suspected he could do the same in the lands to the far east whose customs were foreign to our own.

“You are a wonder among Tunnellers,” I said.

Roche stood at the doorway, transfixed, his gaze locked onto Sanas, my words barely registering. He watched her sleeping form for a timeless while, frozen with dreadful rapture. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“Scars?” he asked.

“Those on her body are as expected: both small in number and size.”

“And her Soul?” he asked.

“None by Tunnellers.”

His head spun in my direction. “By Tunnellers?”

I sighed. “Her soul has some, but none were caused by the touch of another’s sensus.”

At my words, he rushed to her. She stirred, rubbing her shoulder against her cheek. Such a deep sleep was unlike her. I wondered how long The Bridge must’ve kept her from resting true.

“Who?” he asked, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand as he held it in his own.

“I do not think she is ready to speak of it.”

His jaw twitched and a soft growl played from the back of his throat. “Are they dead?”

“Some.”

“May I attend to those who aren't?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. You would need my help and we must soon leave the city.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t leave?”

He shook his head. “You know I’ll do whatever you instruct. What I mean is I wouldn't need your help. As you said, I am an excellent Tunneller.”

“Too many eyes, Old Roche. Too much risk.”

“Do you know why, as a Tunneller, I excel at infiltration and subterfuge?”

“You need not tell me, Roche. I’m aware you are an excellent Tunneller.”

Roche carefully let go of Sanas’ hand and stood. “One of the best. Excuse my rudeness, but again, that is not what I meant. I mean do you know why I excel in those fields more than even the best Painters? It is because I’m an expert in subtlety. While others pride themselves on their heavy-handed tunnels, I caress auras and people fall within my control without knowing it. For me, tunneling is not a skill of dominance, but of manipulation. The prisoners and guards would have no clue why I was there. More than that, they would welcome me and forget they had. A few gentle tunnels here, a few there, and I’d be in the most protected parts of The Bridge, free to do as I wished. Then a slice here, a slice there, and her tormentors would cease to exist. In and out. Easy as that.”

“I did not say you were likely to fail.”

“And she's worth it,” he said.

“Worth what?”

“The risk. She’s worth it.”

“Alright, Roche, but ask yourself this: Would she want you to?”

His silence was answer enough. He knew her as I knew her—better in some ways. She would not forgive him if he took vengeance in her name. I doubted she would forgive herself for the little she’d taken on our way out.

Roche went to Sanas and picked her up. He carried her upstairs. Slow. Careful. Like she was made of smoke and would dissipate if he moved too fast. He returned after a time, his face slack, a large skin of wine clutched to his chest. I remained silent as he came and sat.

“Where’s Helena?” he asked, eyes fixed on the wine.

“Downstairs with Ilinai.”

“The priestess?”

“Yes.”

Silence. He watched the wineskin. I watched him. We sat for near an hour, him saturating in his thought, me waiting for him to finish absorbing them.

“I haven't stopped,” he finally admitted. His eyes hadn't left the wineskin, fingers fiddling with the stopper as if reflecting his indecision.

“I know,” I said. “Is it because you can't or because you don’t want to?”

“It’s because I'm afraid to find out which of them it truly is.” He looked up at me. “But you know that already, so why ask?”

“Because you needed to admit it, to say it out loud and make it more than just a thought.”

Roche nodded, then looked back down at the wineskin, his fingers never having stopped fretting over it. “My indulgence has to end.”

I shrugged. “I had merely suggested you curb the sea of intoxicants you dull yourself in.”

“It has to,” he repeated.

“Only to see that you can.”

He nodded again. “Are we going to Partum?”

“With the change in events, Halor is the better choice. Too many have congregated in Partum because of the war. Halor, weakened by the absence of Lorail and under attack by a covert revolution, is prime and ripe for our needs.”

“Then I really do need to stop.”

We lapsed into silence again. Roche stared into space pensively. I let him stew with his thoughts some more. When I saw his emotions settle, I asked the question I’d been meaning to since his arrival.

“How’s Aki?”

Roche threw the wineskin to me and his empty hands went about finding something new to fuss over, first pushing back his silver hair, then dusting off his garments, and finally settling for rolling a coin over his knuckles.

“I assume he passed the assessment,” I said.

“Barely.”

“Was my advise so deficient?”

“No, not at all. There was a vast improvement once I’d given it to him. No, it wasn’t a lack of skill, but an abundance of idiocy that nearly cost him. The fool almost ruptured the streams in his right hand.”

I smiled. “I’ve learned never to underestimate how much he’ll pay for what he wants.”

“Stubborn child, that one. Angered me that he so nearly failed you.”

“It’s of no concern. Lorail is aware of his potential. Enough to ensure he enters The Royal Academy irrespective of his performance in the assessment.”

“I assumed as much, but I was speaking of him failing you, not your plans. I know you hold him in high regard.”

“Failing to be invited to The Royal Academy would’ve been akin to death for him,” I explained. “His choice was made with that in mind.”

I opened the wineskin and took a pull. It wasn't wine, but mead. A strong mead. A very strong mead. The bitter honey was a welcome surprise. It’d been a time since last I had any. The taste tickled my nostalgia. Not since, I thought, but then shook my head, running from the memory.

“You flaunt my vice before me just after I quit?” Roche asked, a wry smile on his face. Though he enveloped it tight behind a barricade of resolve, he couldn’t hide his unease, his fingers still nervously fidgeting with his coin.

“What did you expect when you threw it to me?”

A real smile broke through his dark ruminations. “Yes, your right. Certainly, there was no other course of action.”

“Tell me of Lorail?”

He winced as if caught in a lie. “You saw?”

“I felt your emotions surge when I mentioned her name.”

Roche leaned forward, elbows on knees, face buried in his hands. “I must stop.”

“What happened?”

He slumped back and sighed. Deeply. “She came. One of my assessors is one of her bounded.” He spat the word in disgust. “A fellow by the name of Kurash. He told me she would be coming to see me. I thought I could handle it. It’s been so long since…” He sighed, again, like he was trying to exhale the thought without forming the words.

“So, they’ve met?”

Roche looked at me, a tinge of surprise in his eyes. “You're not worried I gave myself away? Us away? You away? Though she didn’t mention it, and though we’d never met during my youth, she most definitely saw through my disguise.”

“My sister is arrogant. She likes to think she’s not, but she is. As long as you appeared submissive, to which you’ve already admitted, she will not trouble herself with suspicion. Besides, I felt no fear come from you, just—”

“Shame,” he finished. “I was nervous. Drinking seemed the only cure.” He rubbed at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, then brought them together to pinch the bridge of his nose. His right hand lay on his knee, fingers tapping the beat of a horse’s gallop as the coin spun seamlessly from knuckle to knuckle.

“Tell me,” I said. I could feel there was some weight he carried, some admission he wanted to make. I knew succumbing to his vice was not it; he had offered that much without much encouragement.

“I was drunk when she came,” he began. “Assessments were imminent and admissions for the new cycle would soon follow, so I was in my office, organizing schedules and reviewing applicants. The wine had taken the edge off and I was not nearly as nervous as I was in the morning. That’s when she came. She came in that way I’d heard so much about but never quite understood. She came and it was like she had always been there.” He shook his head. “I…”

“Say it.”

“I wanted nothing more than to please her, alright! Every command she gave was a pleasure to my ears. She wanted me to shock Aki with death and pain and decay. I arranged it without hesitation. She wanted me to pressure him for answers. I threatened him with no thought for you and your plans. Our plans. She wanted me to leave. I skipped away like a lovesick boy. I would have told her our secrets if she’d asked, if I had not been so busy fawning over her shadow. She was in her child form, and like a depraved degenerate, I could do nothing but marvel at her with lust and worship.” He buried his face again, and in a muffled cry, said, “A child, Master! A fucking child!”

“It is not your fault,” I said. “There was nothing you could do.”

“Exactly!” he said, his face leaping out from behind his hands. “Nothing has changed. I am still that little boy. Lura’s boy. Nothing has changed. Absolutely nothing.” His voice cracked.

“You do not give that boy enough praise. It is fine to remember the hardships of his failures, but to do so without balancing them with the heights of his successes would be a travesty.”

A faint smile graced his lips. “Yes, I am rather proud of the mischief I caused.” Then, just as quickly, his smile was gone. “But her effects on me were too great. I had thought that after all these years my scars might’ve scabbed and healed into tougher skin.”

I allowed him another stretch of quiet. It is always best to contemplate such issues in the quiet of safety, lest the brooding topics invade your thoughts in less opportune times.

After a long spell of contemplation, he said, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, she met with Aki. From what I gathered, he did well enough. His soul remained untouched when next I saw him.”

“When do we leave?” a voice asked. I turned to the doorway and saw Helena leaning against the door. As always, neither of us had heard her approach.

“How long?” Roche asked.

“This room’s floor and the basement’s ceiling are rather thin,” she said. “We should see to that. We wouldn't want her screams and moans to be overheard.”

They shared an uneasy moment then, their glares clashing into sparks of conflict. I interceded before it could kindle into a fire.

“Tonight,” I said. “Hopefully, when the stillness of the city is at its greatest, sometime between drunks stumbling home and servants scurrying to work.”

“If we leave then,” Roche said, amenable if not pleased by the change in subject, “we’ll miss the guard shift for the gates. Easier to cross when those tired from their shift head home early and those pulled from sleep drag themselves to their posts. They always leave it unattended for a time.” Roche rubbed his wrists, stroking his near-invisible weapons. “Though I wouldn’t mind quietly killing our way out of the city.”

“With you there, I doubt we’ll need to resort to that,” I said.

“And our prisoner?” Helena asked.

I took a swig from the mead, appreciating its sweet thickness. “Leahne will be keeping an eye on her. Illinai is rather powerful; her soul will take time to starve.”

“You're putting a great deal of trust in this unbound woman.”

“Her soul is tied to me in ways greater than any I could impose. Like yours, like each of you who've joined my guard, there are reasons she will not betray me.”

“And our other prisoner?”

“He’ll be coming with us. Or more specifically, with you. Until he wakes, he is your responsibility.” I turned to Roche. “Prepare for our departure. Get the supplies we need for the journey, including provisions for Sanas—clothes, weapons, and whatever else she might need. Hand in your resignation to The Bark council while you’re at it. An inquiry into your disappearance would be a nuisance.”

Roche stood. “Why are we going to Halor?”

I smiled. “Well, to take the city of course.”

Roche returned my smile, his fingers suddenly calm and still. “Of course. What else is there to do.”