Chapter Eight
Eight
Swords & Daggers
The Messenger was in danger.
Worse, Shadach didn’t know where to find her.
Worse still, she was in danger because of him.
Shadach scoured the city, asking after the Messenger, asking after Aristen. No one had seen them. At least, no one that was willing to talk to Shadach. He went from door to door, from bystander to bystander, from shopkeeper to shopkeeper.
He was running out of time.
If the God truly had intervened, truly had chosen Shadach, then it would be easy enough for the priesthood to deny Shadach’s claim.
After all, he was untrustworthy as a Halcin and his only witnesses were slum dwellers.
But the girl. The Messenger. Hundreds of people of all social standings had seen her chosen.
If she was fool enough to support Shadach’s claim, the priesthood couldn’t simply deny it.
Which meant she’d have to be dealt with.
Shadach had to find her before that could happen.
She might have lied to him last night, she might have been trying to tease out his power, but she still didn’t deserve what Aristen would do to become Emperor.
She didn’t deserve death.
“The General came looking for her,” Shadach heard a woman say. He stopped hard and turned, searching for the woman behind the voice. He was in the hospitality district, where travellers far and wide came to find good food and good drink. Or perhaps just a good time.
“Couldn’t believe it,” the voice continued. “Seemed like such a nice girl, if not a little odd.”
He spotted the woman behind the voice outside the Night Keeper’s Inn, wearing a crimson dress so faded it was nearly black.
“Which way did they go?” Shadach didn’t realise he was out of breath from running through the city until he’d spoken.
“That way.” The woman said hesitantly, pointing to the forest beyond the city as she eyed up Shadach’s tattoos with passionate judgement. “Wonder what she’s done,” the woman said to a man next to her. “Hope there’s something about it in the morning news.”
Shadach ran until soft dirt hit the bottom of his boots.
He slowed, dark trees looming overhead like a death threat.
The Halocene Forest went on for hundreds of miles.
How was he supposed to find Aristen? Shadach was no tracker, no woodsman.
He’d spent his life learning to survive people, not nature.
His heart squeezed in his chest, his lungs heavy as what-ifs crowded his mind.
What if he didn’t find her?
What if he failed?
What if she died?
Shadach looked for footprints, double-checking his knife was still at his waist. Not to mention one in each of his boots.
And the one up his sleeve. A man could never be too careful.
Unfortunately, Aristen would have a sword and as much as Shadach hated to admit it, blade-to-blade, Aristen would always win.
But knife-to-blade … they’d never tried that particular combination before.
Were those footprints? Shadach made quick work of studying the forest ground. No. He didn’t even know if the Messenger and Aristen had come into the forest this way.
“Over here.” The words clanged in Shadach’s head. As if they were afraid Shadach would ignore them if they did not give him a headache. He turned left. Turned right. Nothing.
“Who’s there?” he said.
He turned again. Stopped. Yellow eyes watched him from the forest floor.
A cat. The cat. The one that had brought the Messenger to him.
Shadach went very still. The priesthood disagreed on who, or what, the cat was.
Some said it was the God himself in feline form.
Some said it was merely a vessel. Either way, it was sacred, appearing when it pleased and disappearing in the same fashion.
Are you just going to stand there? echoed in Shadach’s mind.
The cat bolted through the forest and Shadach followed. Sticks and stones crunched beneath his boots, the threat of rain roiling in the chilly air. Shadach ran after the cat for what felt like hours. Hours the Messenger didn’t have.
Hurry, Shadach thought. And the cat’s tail twitched as if it had heard him.
The cat dashed around trees and up hills until it reached a stretch densely populated with ash trees.
A raindrop fell on Shadach’s head. First one then another.
“I acknowledge this isn’t your fault.” That voice. Aristen.
A half-conscious groan was the response.
“But it has to be this way.”
Through the clustering of trees, Shadach saw her. The Messenger. She lay on the forest floor, struggling to pick herself up, her long, red hair clinging to her neck and shoulders, her dress of deep rouge caked in mud. Her bleary eyes watched Aristen’s face.
Daring him to look her in the eye.
Aristen didn’t meet her challenge. Coward.
He raised his blade and Shadach shot from the trees, knife in hand.
He sliced Aristen’s blade hand, the knife cutting through muscle into bone.
Thick red poured onto the dirt, a strangled curse whispering from Aristen’s lips.
Aristen may have been a god with a sword, but without one he was mortal once more.
Shadach grabbed the sword, keeping it from Aristen’s reach.
“I didn’t give you enough credit,” Aristen pressed his bleeding hand to his sleeve, “I never thought you could bribe your way to the top, but I guess you did.”
“What in the Shadows are you talking about?” Shadach turned his head towards the girl, trying to hear her breathe. Trying to make sure she was alive. He heard a faint tremble of breath.
“You. Her.” Aristen nodded to the Messenger, still nursing his bloody hand. “I don’t know how you managed to get yourself chosen, but colour me impressed.”
“Aristen, you idiot, I didn’t get myself chosen. When I said I didn’t want to be Emperor, I meant it.”
Silence.
Aristen stared at Shadach, hard, as if pure determination could reveal Shadach’s Shadows. Or lack thereof. But Aristen didn’t need to see Shadows to know if Shadach was telling the truth. Just like Shadach didn’t need to be Halcin to know when Aristen lied.
They’d known each other too long.
“This is a mistake,” Aristen said. Half-question, half-statement.
“Yes.”
“You’re not trying to become Emperor.”
“Shadows, no.”
A moment of nothing, nothing but the rain pouring overhead, drenching everything it touched. Aristen laughed. He flexed his hand, seeming to make sure all the bones were still in tact.
“That is excellent news. Hurry,” Aristen nodded to the sword in Shadach’s hand, “help me get rid of her.”
The sword hung loose in Shadach’s hand. “What?”
“Get rid of her. They’ll have to do the Choosing again, no mistakes this time. And when I’m Emperor, I’ll give you a place in my court.” Aristen’s smile was boyish, innocent. “It’ll be just like the old days.”
The rain poured over Shadach’s body, weighing him down. He had known all people were fallible. All people corrupt. All people eager to lie and take and destroy. He had hoped Aristen could be an exception. He should have known better.
“I’m not going to help you kill someone,” Shadach said.
Aristen’s innocent smile faltered, but his eyes still held hope. “You said it yourself. You don’t want to be Emperor. I do. So what’s the harm?”
“The harm is someone’s life.”
“You don’t even have to kill her. I’ll do it, just stand aside.”
“No.”
“Stand aside. Or I’ll make you.” Aristen’s voice was hard, but pleading. “I have been preparing to be Emperor my entire life, forfeited so much of what I wanted, everything I wanted. I am not letting all that be for nothing because of a mistake.”
“You can’t be seriou—”
Aristen wrenched a dagger from his belt and threw it at Shadach’s head.
But Aristen was a poor shot with a dagger and Shadach dodged easily.
Shadach hoped Aristen had been counting on that, and hadn’t truly meant to pierce his skull.
Shadach had thought their bond unbreakable after the years and years of being there for each other through laughter, through sorrow, through love and folly.
Again, Shadach should have known better.
Aristen pulled a dagger from his boot. Shadach held his own dagger tighter in his hand.
Both men watched and waited, hoping for the other to glance away, for a moment of hesitation.
Shadach only needed Aristen distracted or hurt long enough for Shadach to grab the Messenger and run, whereas Aristen needed Shadach severely incapacitated.
Or dead.
Shouts. One. Two. Ten. Shadach recognised the cadence, the tone, the dialect. Soldiers. They had a way of moulding their mannerisms, their speech, their expressions into something uniquely military no matter what part of the Kingdom they’d come from.
Aristen smiled. “Soldiers are nothing if not loyal.”
“What are they supposed to do? Kill the Messenger for you?” Shadach’s laugh was humourless. “They may worship you as their leader, but they’re not more loyal to you than to the God. They would never kill the Messenger.”
“Don’t be silly.” Aristen shook his head as if Shadach was a naive child. “They’ll arrest you for killing the Messenger.”
“She’s not dead yet.”
“Yes. I rather do need to hurry this up.” Aristen feigned to the left, but Shadach recognised it for a fake and went right, throwing his dagger straight and true into the sliver of defenceless body between Aristen’s chest plate and his arm plate.
Aristen stumbled back, giving Shadach just enough time to hoist the Messenger onto his shoulder and run.
Run. Run. Run.
~*~
Shadach blew on the ember, trying to bring it to life.
His wet clothes clung to him, soaking him through again and again.
The cave was sheltering him and the Messenger from the rain and wind, but not the cold.
The ember died. Shadach hurled a piece of kindling across the cave, the soft wood falling to the cave floor.
Useless.