Rise of the Darkwitch (The Dance of Dark and Light Book 1) Read online

  ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ Daltec said.

  ‘We must also send messages to the Va Chressans and the Merr,’ Valentia continued, ‘and even the Kingdom of Khin.’

  ‘I do not think that will bear fruit,’ Daltec said, her mouth down-turned. ‘The Khinish made themselves perfectly clear last time—’

  ‘Last time, the Masvams had not penetrated our borders,’ Valentia snapped, pulling herself upright. ‘The Khinish can no longer sit in their mountains and pretend the Masvams cannot touch them. We thought we were safe. But the rules of the game have been rewritten. I imagine the Khinish will understand that well. If the Masvams are willing to cross the ocean to come for us, they will be willing to cross the Great Northern Range and take the Kingdom of Khin. I think that Queen Sarkin will understand that, even if her puppet Jaka Narr does not.’

  Mantos said nothing, focusing his gaze on his claws. She is right, he thought. Bandim will carry out our father’s plans. The Selamans have fallen and now the Metakalans. Next, the Althemerians. After that, the Linvarrans, the Merr, the Khinish… He shook his head. He will stop at nothing.

  ‘Have you something to say, Masvam?’

  Mantos’s head snapped up. It was Vnarr. She looked at him with her chin upraised and eyeridges drawn together. There was no attempt to hide her hate. Beside her, Fylica’s lips curled into a vicious snarl.

  ‘We understand you are prepared to give us information,’ Vnarr continued. ‘If you have something to say, you will say it, or I will cut out your tongue.’

  Beside him, Phen shifted in her chair. Mantos shook his head again and breathed.

  ‘Vnarr,’ the queen said, ‘do not speak such words. These Masvams are outcasts. We must treat them with respect, grudging as it may be.’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ the Master of Armies replied. ‘You have my full support.’

  All eyes were on Mantos. Princess Valaria waved a hand.

  ‘Well?’ she asked. ‘What have you to say? Speak or leave.’

  ‘I no longer know the limit of Masvam power,’ Mantos said at length. ‘You cannot be complacent. The emperor is carrying out a plan that has long been in motion, from as far back as the time of his grandfather. Do not underestimate the lengths he will go to get what he wants.’

  Vnarr snorted and turned in her chair, facing Mantos straight on.

  ‘And how do you know this, Masvam?’ she asked. ‘Why are you here? You could be part of this plan, here only to feed information back to your kin. You know what they say about Masvams.’ She pointed a wizened claw at him. ‘The only good one is a dead one.’

  There was silence after that. It weighed as heavy as the phantom crown on Mantos’s head, and the thoughts that plagued him. A stranger in the land, ensconced in a tower, trying to reconcile killing his own folk or being killed himself. I do not know what to do… Oh, how he wished for the simplicity of holding a weapon in his hand.

  ‘Speak, Masvam,’ Valaria growled. ‘I can only keep my sword in check for so long.’

  Licking his lips, Mantos spoke.

  ‘My military experience was gained in the reign of Emperor Braslen,’ he said. ‘He ruled with fist and sword, just like his father before him. Braslen continued the reign of destruction and finished the decimation of Selama, as you know, a vassal that existed alongside the Masvam Empire for hundreds of cycles. Now it’s gone, its government persecuted by Maram and finally crushed under the boot of Braslen.’ He sucked in a deep breath as the truth spilled out. ‘The Masvams are coming with the intent to kill as many Althemerians as they can, and to seize the land for themselves. That is always the Masvam goal.’

  The queen sat forward.

  ‘So, tell me,’ she said. ‘Have you made your decision? What are these plans? What is it that the Masvams have been planning all these cycles, skulking behind our backs, while smiling at us with painted faces?’

  In that moment, Mantos was at the edge of a cliff. Before him, a dark abyss stretched out. Behind him, a battle charge of swords and daggers. No matter what I do, I will do wrong, he thought. If I speak, I am a traitor. If I don’t, I become part of my brother’s malice.

  He turned as Phen placed a hand on his arm. She tried to smile, but it did not reach her eyes.

  ‘Tell them,’ she said. ‘Tell them so that we may save him.’

  Across the table, Fonbir mouthed words of comfort. Be brave, Toketa, and do what is right.

  Mantos held his gaze for a moment. Then he looked at his mother. Then he turned to the queen.

  And he told all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Lightfoot

  ‘Good, Charo, good! Keep your elbow up! Haldra, don’t drop that arm!’

  The master-at-arms’s voice rang across the camp as Charo and her opponent, Drenna Haldra, danced around the sunken pit, under the watchful eye of their trainer. A diminutive figure, Bara Stickslice was so-called for her habit of sticking her victim and slicing them in two. Emmy shook her head. I’ve never heard of anything like Althemerian Naming, she thought. They give themselves new names based on talents, or things that happen to them. I wonder what they’d call me? She winced. Maybe I don’t want to know.

  It was rumoured that Rel was also known as Bonebreaker. As yet, Emmy hadn’t had the courage to ask if that was true. It doesn’t sound like a healer’s name, she thought. But then, Rel is full of secrets… The campfire stories kept coming back to Emmy in waves. Uloni. I am Uloni, she thought. But what does that mean? All conversations with Rel generated more questions than answers. Tired of her thoughts running in circles, Emmy had wandered to the training pit, hoping the sight of combat would clear her head.

  With a fearsome grunt, Charo delivered a swift strike to Drenna’s stomach. Crying out, the female dropped like a sack of stones. Her ohza clattered away. Emmy winced.

  ‘That’s it for you, Haldra,’ Stickslice said, spitting. ‘You’re dead. Get out.’

  Drenna rolled over and clutched her middle, face pulled into a winded grimace. The crowd around the practice area chuckled, and Stickslice shook her head.

  ‘You’ll want to remember that if you were facing a foe with a blade, your wound would hurt a lot more than it does now. An ohza will leave a nasty bruise, but no more. A sword will kill you.’

  Charo slackened her grip on the hilt of her weapon and offered Drenna a hand. The butcher-turned-reluctant-soldier accepted it, lumbering to her feet.

  ‘Sorry,’ Charo mouthed.

  Stickslice’s eyes were sharp. She pointed at Charo, her eyeridges drawn low over her dark eyes.

  ‘Compassion will get you killed,’ she barked. ‘You cannot feel sorry for your victims, not even in practice,’ she added, stopping Charo’s protest. ‘You can be assured that the Masvams will have no compassion for you, or any respect for your body when you’re dead and gone. If they don’t gut you, they’ll eat you—and sometimes they’ll do both.’

  There was a ripple of disquiet through the crowd. Emmy’s stomach lurched. They couldn’t do that, could they? she asked.

  She received an unexpected answer.

  ‘That is a lie.’

  Emmy blinked. Rel stood to her left. When she had arrived, Emmy couldn’t say, for she had focused entirely on Charo as she took out one opponent after another. Rel had her cloak pinned at her shoulders again. A strange look passed over Stickslice’s face, an expression Emmy couldn’t understand. She looked part surprised, yet partly as if she had realised something.

  ‘The Masvams don’t gut or eat the dead,’ Rel continued. ‘That’s just a story, meant to scare their enemies. Pay no heed to it.’

  Emmy, whose insides had lurched at the thought, felt both at ease and foolish. It was something she had heard many times, but if Rel said it wasn’t the case, then it must not be the case. She had, no doubt, gained more experience in her cycles of travel than any Althemerian trainer could have.

  ‘Quiet your mouth, Medicine-Rel,’ Stickslice said.

  Her tone wasn’t quite angry.
It sounded hollow, like the emotion didn’t ring true. Emmy looked from one to the other, raising an eyeridge. What’s going on? she thought. Rel is up to something…

  In the pit, Charo raised her ohza as Stickslice pulled another recruit into the ring. The unwilling victim winced as Charo danced on her toes, looking every bit a warrior.

  Methodical as a war-worn soldier, she took her new opponent out in record time. There were many uncomfortable shuffles from the crowd as Stickslice berated the fallen Metakalan and scanned for another.

  ‘She is very good,’ Rel said. She folded her arms into her sleeves. ‘Are you sure she wasn’t a soldier before she came here?’

  ‘She was a slave,’ Emmy said, her eyes tracking the scars covering her friend’s body. ‘She thinks she’s from Linvarra, but she only remembers being enslaved in Etcha. The folk there must be evil to do such things.’

  ‘I’ve been there,’ said Rel. ‘It isn’t as simple as that. You think in straight lines, Emmy. There is no such thing such as ‘good’ and ‘evil’ or ‘dark’ and ‘light.’ There’s just a lot of space between.’

  Emmy twisted her lips. I doubt that, she thought. After the wave of Masvams crashed over Bellim, destroying everything she had even known, hacking and slashing and burning… She shuddered. That was darkness, pure and simple.

  ‘Does Medicine-Emmy want to try her luck?’

  At the sudden interjection, Emmy stilled. Her skin prickled as Stickslice’s words jarred in her ears. There was a wicked upturn to the master-at-arms’s lips. Charo was behind her, shaking her head and passing a hand over her throat, mouthing no. Emmy pulled her spine straight, stiffened her tail, and folded her hands behind her back.

  ‘I don’t have the talent for it, Master Stickslice,’ she called out. ‘I would more likely harm myself than harm another. And if I am hurt, who will tend the wounded?’

  She can’t argue with that, can she? Emmy thought. It’s logical.

  ‘I will fight in her place.’

  Emmy closed her eyes as Rel’s words washed over her. Well, now I look like a coward. She resisted the urge to throw the other healer a filthy look.

  Stickslice smirked and tossed Rel an ohza.

  ‘I have heard many things about you, Medicine-Rel,’ she said, ‘though I’ve never seen you tested. Didn’t you earn a name? Bonebreaker, I believe.’

  Colour sluiced from Charo’s face. Rel turned the weapon over in her hands and tested its balance.

  ‘I prefer the other name I was given,’ Rel said, tossing the ohza up and catching it by the handle. She descended to the pit. ‘That name is Hurthealer. But you’re right. I was Bonebreaker before I was Hurthealer.’ She jumped the last few steps, clouds of dust swirling from her feet. She slid into an attack stance and beckoned Charo forward. ‘Come. We will have a fair fight this time.’

  Charo’s expression steeled as she stepped forward. More onlookers encircled them, the spectacle gaining more attention as Rel hopped into the fray. Emmy spied Zecha’s face in the crowd. When he saw her, he mouthed something she assumed was a query: Why is this happening? Emmy shrugged her shoulders. I have no idea!

  Though she knew nothing about combat, even Emmy could see Charo was outmatched. She was smaller than Rel, nowhere near as strong, and while her greater speed assisted her, it meant little compared to the decates of experience the Belfoni had over her. I hope Rel doesn’t hurt her, Emmy thought. And I hope Charo sees sense and yields when she’s beaten!

  In less than a minute, Rel forced Charo to the ground. But Charo was too fast and slithered between her opponent’s legs.

  She landed a fast blow on Rel’s forearm before the larger female had the chance to turn. Emmy shook her head. I’ve seen Rel move faster than that, she thought. Why is she moving so slowly? Charo ducked the next swing, but Rel parried her blow. Charo received a hard slap to the shoulder. Emmy cocked her head to the side and watched more closely. Charo’s strikes weren’t making any such sound, and then she realised: Rel was using the flat of her ohza, not the point.

  ‘Oh,’ Emmy whispered, realisation dawning.

  No one paid her any heed.

  Charo leapt backwards and bounced on the balls of her feet, shifting from side to side. The desire to win consumed her, burning in her eyes. Around them, the crowd began to chant.

  ‘Charo! Charo! Charo!’

  The cheers for the little soldier-slave echoed across the camp, accompanied by the drumming of hands on chests. Everyone cheered—Metakalan, Linvarran, Selaman, Althemerian. In that moment, Emmy understood. From the knowing smirk on Stickslice’s face, Emmy realised that she did, too. She was probably in on the whole thing.

  If Rel put any real strength behind her strikes, Charo would have been on the ground. If Rel used the edge of even a wooden blade, Charo’s skin would be peppered with cuts. Rel was capable of greater speed, and there was no way Charo should reign victorious. Regardless, with one sweeping arc and a screech, Charo brought her ohza underneath Rel’s arm and struck her exposed ribs. Rel fell to her knees and threw her ohza aside.

  ‘I am dead,’ she cried, clutching her side. ‘I am very dead!’

  A tremendous roar erupted. The crowd’s cheers for Charo grew stronger, the drumming of chests now accompanied by the hammering of boots on the ground. They invaded the pit. Emmy beamed.

  Stickslice grabbed her student’s hand. She thrust it into the air.

  ‘Charo Lightfoot!’ she bellowed.

  As soon as the Naming had been done, the crowd screamed and chanted.

  ‘Lightfoot! Lightfoot’

  One voice rang out over all the rest: Zecha’s. He pushed through the swarm to get closer, still screaming Charo’s new name when he arrived at Emmy’s side.

  Charo called for them. When their eyes met, Emmy shook her fists in jubilation.

  ‘Lightfoot!’ she yelled.

  Her heart swelled as Charo was carried on the hands of the other soldiers. She deserves this happiness, Emmy thought, more than anyone I know. Charo was passed onto a pair of broad shoulders. Emmy smiled. It was Rel.

  ‘What is going on here?’

  The shout cut the happy clamour. Commander Pama was astride her vaemar. Dressed in green riding clothes, a longbow and a quiver strapped to her back, she struck an imposing sight. Her long braids were piled up on top of her head. By the dust on her cloak and boots, she had just ridden into camp. Several others joined her. All were stone-faced.

  One of her outriders dismounted and waded to Stickslice. They exchanged words. The master-at-arms’ expression grew dark. She hurried to Pama as Rel arrived at Emmy’s side, Charo still astride her shoulders, Zecha on her tail. She lowered the smaller female to the ground.

  ‘Something is happening,’ Rel said, the joy gone from her face.

  Charo was riding too high on elation to pay attention to Rel’s words. But Emmy did.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s not good,’ Emmy said.

  Another of the soldiers spurred her great beast into motion and padded towards them. The crowd parted The vaemar’s breath came in a gentle rumble. Its fur pulsed with its movement.

  ‘Medicine-Rel,’ the soldier said, ‘the commander requests that you come with me.’

  ‘Right away,’ Rel said.

  As she left, Zecha’s grin faded. Charo no longer focused on her achievement, but followed Emmy’s gaze, watching as Rel entered the commander’s barracks. Her face dropped.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘Where’s Rel going?’

  ‘The commander rode in and called Rel and Stickslice away,’ Emmy said. ‘Something has happened. They all looked grim.’

  ‘The commander always looks grim,’ Zecha said. His attempt at humour didn’t mask his concern. ‘But something has definitely happened,’ he continued. ‘What could it be?’

  The question went unanswered, and the cheers for Lightfoot gave way to uncomfortable murmurs. The crowd drifted off in pockets of uncertainty. Charo, Zecha, and Emmy lingered, adrift now that R
el was gone.

  ‘What should we do?’ Charo asked.

  ‘Wait for Rel,’ Emmy replied. ‘I think that’s all we can do.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Waiting

  As had become their wont, Charo and Zecha appeared at the healer’s tent as the sun began to fall. Nunako’s three faces loomed high. As yet, Rel hadn’t emerged from the commander’s meeting. The three friends waited in silence, warming their hands on the campfire.

  ‘I’ve realised something,’ Zecha said eventually.

  ‘What?’ Emmy asked.

  ‘In the short time we three have known each other, Charo and I have nearly died.’

  Charo nodded and turned her hands over to warm their scaled backs.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘First, you brought me from the forest and Emmy saved me.’

  ‘And then I nearly died on the boat.’

  ‘You’re both bad luck,’ Emmy groused. ‘My life was perfectly normal until you two showed up.’ Charo and Zecha’s twin deadpan expressions undid her, and she permitted a smile. ‘Alright, it wasn’t normal. But it was less dangerous.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Zecha said. ‘I remember what that old crone did to you. But I’ll grant you, it was a lot less exciting. And at least here, I get to do what I want to do.’

  ‘Blow on your excitement,’ Emmy said, the mirth from her voice gone. ‘I would give anything to be home again, even if it meant living with the old crone until she died.’

  There was a rustle behind them.

  ‘You can’t go backwards, only forwards.’

  Rel slipped from the tent flap and came forward to warm herself.

  ‘There is little point in worrying about what was. Focus only on what will be.’

  ‘I…’ Emmy started. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  Rel lowered herself onto a log and stared into the flames. Her tail was limp. Her expression was barren.

  ‘Well, Charo Lightfoot,’ she said, ‘it would seem you’ll get the chance to use your new name outside the training ground.’