❖ ❖ ❖
     

It was the vibrating that tipped them off, and the black smoke cloud that billowed high in the east, visible from the windows behind the Emperor's tribune.

Sindhu had located the rajini.

Kiet hoped Akai would be there quick enough to intercept, but the quakes—

'Is Dhvani being assisted by a Divine Gyok?' This he asked the Emperor, who had led him down a private passageway that cut through the castle.

'No. She had a man with her, a loyal servant. He, too, is terrakin.'

A silver-servant. Of course she would. Kiet was surprised she had not more.

His soldiers pushed on a piece of the wall ahead and it opened to clear sunlight. Kiet blinked through the filter of his fingers and stepped outside into the sugi trees.

'Keep walking until you find a path. It should take you straight to the Hokudo Gate. Haruse-himi should have sent some soldiers ahead by now.'

He used the false name only for his guards' benefit.

Kiet nodded. This was the extent of the Emperor's assistance; not that he or his brother were in any form to chase down a fleeing refugee themselves.

The wall closed with a low grind. Gyoseong and his men disappeared.

Kiet found the path soon enough. He followed it east, running as fast as his feet allowed.

In his earlier days, his daemologs had him experiment his theurgy on various creatures. He had drunken everything from alpine ibex to lowland stallions, experienced their vigour and speed coursing through his own veins.

His daemologs had always made him feed them back out, but he was young, he was curious, and there were times he kept things for himself. The illness was a small price to pay, he had thought; until he spent months lying in bed, haunted by fever-dreams, racked with nonsensical thoughts and an uncontrolled desire for more.

Eventually the illness passed, but its effects remained. Not as strong as before, admittedly. Fresh from its source, he could run miles without tiring, matching the speed of a racing chariot. It made him fast even now, twelve or so years down the line.

He passed the Hokudo Gate in no time, outpacing the Emperor's soldiers who waved at the gate guards to let him through. Only another quake stopped him, though it was nothing compared to Fukuhei's outburst.

Dhvani's silver-servant may be terrakin, but Kiet doubted he was first- or even second-rank. It was not even so much a quake as it was the aftershocks of something large being extracted from the ground.

The rajini herself only was a third-rank fasapeut—in the right conditions could she change the state of certain matters: melt a blade into liquid steel, sublimate tungsten arrowheads into thin air—but nothing that posed great danger to Akai or his men.

Another explosion of smoke filled the air about three streets ahead. Men and women clamoured against the gates, demanding to be let through. Soldiers pushed between them, carving a path for Kiet to follow. The streets were narrow, winding between earthen hovels and the occasional brick establishment. Many had cracked after the previous day's quakes, few reduced to mounds of dirt and clay, but none of the Emperor's men had bothered clearing or even evacuating the area.

A woman slammed into Kiet, kept running without even looking back. She smelled of smoke and ash. Kiet took the alley from which she appeared, following the sounds of screaming.

He emerged in a near-deserted street, all broken and harrowed as though it had been freshly ploughed. A man was running towards him, Akai hot on his trail. Kiet stepped from the alley, catching both by surprise.

The man raised both hands—seemingly by reflex—and a loud grinding came from the hovels before Kiet.

'Maharaj!' Akai yelled across the distance. 'He's a terrakin!'

'Way ahead of you, soldier,' muttered Kiet under his breath. He drew his kalis, charged at the silver-servant just as the building crumbled from its base.

Clay and stone spilled over the street, chunks came flying towards him in rapid succession. Kiet shielded himself with an arm. Earth shattered against him, dust splaying his neck and face. He was faintly aware of the pain, but already had his theurgy taken over, drawing from a decade-old pool.

He ducked as a larger boulder went flying overhead. It crashed into the opposite house with a force that triggered an eruption of brick and dust.

The silver-servant was close now, eyes wide with desperation. With a swift movement of his palms, he sent the ground at Kiet's feet plunging five feet down.

Kiet fell in the blast, rolling and landing on his knees. A shockwave of stone and dirt rippled around him, encaging him in sharp, earthen spires. He brushed off the dirt as more came raining, his patience wearing thin.

Another building collapsed in the aftershock, blocking Akai's path. Kiet climbed out of the depression as fast as he could, finding his bird attacking the silver-servant from above, slowing his escape.

The man had his blades out, swiping at the swiftlet. One of his daggers came spinning. Kiet dodged; felt it whistling past his cheek. He met the silver-servant's other blade with his kalis, ripping it from his grip, but the man was fast.

Within seconds he had a short sword pulled off his hips, swiping at Kiet with movements sharp and firm. A fuller ran the length of his blade, catching the rays of the midday sun. Despite his wiry frame, the man had all the aggression of a wrestler and the confidence to match.

His thrusts were few but precise, favouring swift upper cuts while blocks of earth rose and fell with the charm of his offhand. A southerner, then. Perhaps a man of the Mrabu himself. No wonder he was devoted to Dhvani, if she had him brought from her own hometown.

Kiet smashed through another earthern wall. Dirt crumbled to their feet, leaving the silver-servant's arm open.

One touch and all would be over, but Kiet was enjoying the game. It had been too long since he had a worthy opponent. This one was good, but he had not the senses of a wildcat to give him an edge.

Kiet ducked and side-stepped, following his movements, catching each blow before it landed. The southerners were averse to feints, almost as much as they were averse to retreats; it made him predictable, boring. Kiet parried one last time and lunged, twisting his kalis and driving its pommel into the man's open throat.

He crumpled at his feet, vomiting and choking until his face turned blue.

'Where is Dhvani?' The silver-servant was in no position to answer, but still Kiet asked. He kicked the man's weapon away, stepped on the wrist of his theurgic hand.

The man twitched, retching still. His fingers tensed, but he had no strength left to turn even a pebble.

Kiet leaned closer, intrigued. If the man's core was in his palm, would amputation remove also any access to his theurgy?

He mulled over the question. It seemed now an obvious one. How could he have never considered reading up on the subject, before? Surely someone throughout history had experimented upon the thought ...

'Maharaj!' Akai appeared off a branching alley, surrounded by his men. He eased when he saw the silver-servant at Kiet's feet.

'Good of you to finally join.'

'What are you doing?'

Kiet looked down. Blood was drawing from the man's wrist. He eased the pressure on his kalis. 'Only asking a few questions.'

'We have her. The rajini is with the Emperor's soldiers.'

Dhvani. Kiet regarded his captain. He seemed roughed up, but not seriously injured. 'Alive?'

'And kicking, maharaj. A little too much, if you ask me.'

Kiet sighed in relief, feeling himself ease. Slowly the heat left his head, the pounding left his chest, replaced by a great aching all over his body—but especially in his arm. Kiet fought the urge to nurse it.

'What are we to do with him?' Akai nodded towards the silver-servant.

'Bind him.' Kiet let his men drag the prisoner to his feet. 'The runesmith had a theurgic cuff amongst his possessions. Find it and bring it to me. Until then, if this man so much as flips a teaspoon of dirt, you cut off his hand.'

'Yes, maharaj.'

Kiet watched as his men tied and dragged the silver-servant away. There was no emotion on the man's face. Did he know not the fate that hovered over his head?

'Wait.'

His men paused.

Kiet stepped closer, the muscles on his thighs straining with every movement. Akai kicked the silver-servant behind his knees, bringing him to a kneel before the maharaj.

'What is your name?'

'Arya.' Even his voice was even, as though Kiet had spent the last few minutes not slicing him left and right.

'Arya. The rajini you serve murdered my mother in her own home.'

To this he gave no response.

'Of course as silver-servant you do only as your employer commands. But your silence here will help her not, nor will it when it comes to trial. I'll waste no time attempting to convince you to attest against Dhvani; so tell me only why she did it, and we will be more lenient in our sentencing.'

Arya lifted his gaze to meet his eyes. His silence aggravated him. Kiet's hand edged to his sword and there rested.

'I know you were there. I know she shares with you things she would tell no other. That is why you are here with her, not any other of her servants. Your life in the dungeons, or slowly hang beside the master to whom you are so devoted—the option is yours, but I will ask not twice.'

'Your mother was a liar and serial child-murderer. My rajini did only what any other mother would have done.'

There was a dull thud as Akai slammed his hilt into the back of Arya's head. The silver-servant slumped forwards.

At once everything moved around Kiet as though through a slowing fog. His men carrying their unconscious prisoner away, the Emperor's soldiers appearing to clear the streets, and Akai speaking to him—though what, Kiet could not hear.

Rajini Dhvani was avenging the death of her own son.

Whatever Isla thought she heard, there surely must have been some kind of mistake.

Your mother was a liar and serial child-murderer.

Clearly Dhvani had spread this malicious fiction to justify regicide. It made no sense—none of it made any sense! His mother was Judhistir's favoured consort, Kiet was the first of his progeny to settle at first rank; even now he remains only one of very few. She had no reason to be murdering his half-brothers or cousins or nephews. What possible motive could there be? If she wanted more power, rid them of their rivals, it would be Khaisan in the ground, not some second-rank non-contender and his eight year-old child.

'Maharaj!' Akai was so close, he may as well have yelled it in his ear.

Kiet leaned against a broken pillar. It had been a tiring day, a tiring year.

'Don't listen to the words of a traitor,' continued his captain. 'We've got her. Justice can finally be served! You should be celebrating!'

Kiet winced as Akai slapped him across the shoulder. 'You're right. It appears we've many reason to celebrate this evening.'

'What do you mean?'

Kiet pulled a bitter smile. 'You should congratulate me again, Akai. You're looking at an engaged man.'

❖

↝ END CHAPTER NINETEEN ↜

❖

☆ this chapter is dedicated to nkpcharming ☆

Video: Audacious Cues
Image: © Polarisworkshop at ArtStation

Well finally Kiet's search is over . . . but maybe his troubles have just begun. How do you think Isla will take to the news of his engagement?