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'You have made him only more cautious of your position.'

The truth-weaver was right, but Kiet was in no mood for a lecture. The sky had cracked into a light drizzle, the upper half of his robe already darkened with rain. He had a hunting sword out, hacking at ivy and brambles, cutting a path through the thicket. The trees here were denser, greener, the ground softened by a trickle of running water where the slope took them east.

'I hope you are aware we are being followed.'

'Of course.' Kiet brushed a twig off his hair. 'Never would Khaisan risk me finding the bird in his absence.'

They had been riding for close to another hour since they left Khaisan and his company. If Kiet's calculations were correct, they should very soon catch the first glimpse of Lake Spiderseye between the trees.

'How do you even begin to track down a durumi, anyway?' Akai's voice was full of frustration where he rode some paces ahead.

'The red king crane mates this early in spring, and they like to breed in shallow waters or wet grounds. Bogs, marshes ...'

'Then we should have gone with Maharaj Persi.'

'Lake Spiderseye makes for as good a breeding ground as any.' He stopped short at the penetrating call of a bird, low-pitched and rattling like a bugle. It was loud enough to startle their horses. Loud enough for Judhistir to hear. He should be only miles away. Kiet unsheathed his hunting sword, dropped his voice, though the call came from a distance yet. 'We are headed the right direction. Ride gently.'

He took the lead, weaving between trees, their march masked beneath the soft patter of rain over the canopy.

Before long, Spiderseye glistened into view; dark, muted blue between an intersperse of green and brown. They came upon the eastern edge of the lake, parted from the woods by a ring of pampas and reeds, and far across the wide pool stood the Water Palace.

A marble dome guarded its northern entrance, pale and bleached under the clouded sky; stark white against the blue, upturned roofs that rose and fell in tiers behind it. Layers and layers of pagodas—each bridged by arches and walkways and wooden perrons—surrounded the dome and made the entirety of the palace. Its bridges were spotted green and blue with moss and wild lobelias, its windows glowing gold beneath the rising mist.

'Beautiful,' whispered Taeichi behind him.

'Wait until you see the girls inside.' Akai smirked. 'It really is too bad I've not a drop of noble blood and you must hide yours, otherwise—'

'I thought you had other priorities at this time.' Kiet interrupted with a hand for silence. The grass before them were tall and dense enough to hide more than a pair of mating red king cranes. Between the rustling of the wind and the increasing rainfall, it was difficult to much see, but he could swear from here the call did come.

'There, maharaj.' Again Akai with his keen sight.

And there, indeed. A spot of red amidst the bright blue clusters of lobelia that grew wild between the pampas.

Slowly Kiet unclasped the bow from his quiver. The bird rose, threw back its head, and called again. At full height, it stood no less than five feet tall. It was as red as a bleeding sunset; all save for the pearly white of its neck and cheeks and the circular crest atop its head.

Kiet nocked an arrow.

The bird spread its wings in its ritual dance, raised its crest.

Curse you, Father. He let his arrow fly.

But the air buzzed, raising the hairs on the back of his head, and before the arrow landed, it took a sharp and impossible turn, burying itself deep into the marshy ground at the crane's feet.

Bastard.

The durumi's cry was sharper this time, higher and more abrupt. It rose higher still—thighs and neck upright, feathers ruffled back, crest expanding into bristles, its whites now flaring red.

Before he could pull another arrow, a shadow shot past from behind. Khaisan rode into the field and flung his spear, his cuffs gleaming silver with the force of his theurgy. The spear cut through wind and rain; fast and bold. But the red king crane had already taken flight, feet outstretched, claws out. By providence or design, it kicked the weapon in the air, sending it flying off course, blasted still by Khaisan's theurgy.

Right for a pair of riders who came breaking in through the line of trees.

Silver and black fluttered in the breeze.

Kiet turned his horse in a panic, but he would never make it. 'Khaisan!'

His nephew saw them just in time. He reached out, clenched his fist, and the spear stilled, quavered in mid-air before dropping with the weight of an anchor.

But the damage was done.

Judhistir's horse reared, snorting into the wind. Djuro behind him could not much do; his own roan turned tail and ran paces back into the trees before he regained control of it.

Kiet leapt off his djarwadi, ran towards the Rama. It was too late. Perhaps the aqhla clouded his better judgement, perhaps he was himself caught off guard, but Judhistir pulled on the reins instead of keeping it wide, and the horse flipped on its back.

'Rama!'

There was a stunned silence, broken only by the snorting of a horse.

'I am fine!' Judhistir's voice was small, choked, his face wide with shock.

Kiet reached him before any of his or Khaisan's men, crushed under the weight of the still-braying horse. 'Stay still.'

'I am fine! Get the bird!' He heaved, waving at the men to scatter. Most complied, if uncertainly, but some jumped off their own mounts to attend to the Rama.

'I will claim it for you, My Rama!' Khaisan slowed long enough to say before thundering off after the red king crane, the spear already back in his hand.

Kiet's chest warmed with the call of theurgy. He slid his hands beneath the horse and pushed it high enough for Akai to pull the Rama out from under it.

'The crane, you fool!'

'Let me first inspect you.'

Judhistir swatted his hand away. 'Is Tsunai so magical a realm that it gifted you with therapeucy during your stay?'

'The saddlehorn landed on your chest, Rama.' What will you do? Feed him as you fed Nagha? At least the fall was cushioned by the grass and soggy ground.

He searched the faces of the remaining men, found Djuro still on his roan, Andaru and two other of Khaisan's guests standing with the Water Palace at their backs. There would be therapeuts, there, of that he was certain.

Judhistir grappled against a tree to prop himself up, nursing the soft section below his chest. Kiet knelt before him, parted the yi-sang to reveal the Rama's abdomen. Faint as it was, already Kiet could see the bruise beginning to blossom. His legs, too, seemed limp and weakened.

There was no other way about it. Kiet drew his kalis. Khaisan's men rushed forwards, stopping when they saw him run the blade against his own palm.

'What are you doing?' Judhistir wheezed.

Kiet gripped his blade, letting his blood run through it.

This was precisely why he required a kalis—forged with fire and essence of the very epperstrom itself—and no ordinary steel. His sword must be able to contain whatever Kiet drank but had nowhere to feed. How often had he fallen upon it for relief? When he took from a gumara with nothing into which he could release the serpent's force, or the countless assassins he had drank in the night, in the middle of nowhere ...

Who knew how much of them the blade now contained; all Kiet knew was that it was time to claim some back.

The blow of his saddle, the crushing weight of his horse; there was no way the Rama could for long survive.

Kiet gripped the blade and drank from it.

Just enough.

Perhaps what he fed to Nagha had been a little too much—but at least he knew now that it was possible to survive a feeding. And like the little swiftlet had been, Judhistir, too, would not much longer be for this world.

'Kithrel,' Judhistir warned between grit teeth.

Kiet clasped a hand over the Rama's swelling ribs. Whatever the consequence, it was better than the alternative. His father would survive, whether it be through him or the impending interventions of the Water Palace's many talented therapeuts. But if a therapeut laid his hands on Judhistir, he might detect the aqhla in his veins.

Judhistir gasped. Warmth fell into him, burning through the palm of Kiet's hand.

The men looked on, eyes wide, oblivious to the rain that had started to pour around them.

Kiet pulled back, and Akai was by his shoulder, offering a strip of linen with which to bind his wound.

Judhistir's legs twitched. Soon he was patting himself all over, searching for a pain no longer present. He barked out a laugh and shot to his feet.

'Easy, My Rama.' Kiet held him back. 'My pranopeucy heals no wounds, only restores vigour and masks the pain. It should be enough to get you to the Water Palace.' He nodded at Djuro, still standing, agape, on his horse. 'Ride ahead and have them prepare for the Maha Rama a chamber and therapeut.'

Djuro was off in a heartbeat. Andaru offered Judhistir his own horse, and between him and the rest of Khaisan's men, they hoisted the Maha Rama onto the sandalwood.

Kiet watched as they led his father through the grass, slow and steady until the trees swallowed them. He turned, at last, to his own men and djarwadi. The horse snorted as he rubbed his forehead, but neither Akai nor the truth-weaver looked pleased.

'What have you done,' said the latter. It was no question, so Kiet gave no answer. 'Did your swiftlet not teach you enough?'

'I gave him only a drop,' Kiet snarled. 'Perhaps you care not for my father's survival, but his death now would all our plans make futile, and surely you at least care for that. So yes, I gave him a drop. Enough to get the Rama through it. Enough to mask the drug in his veins, or did you forget that our heads are on the line?'

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↝ END CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO ↜

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☆ this chapter is dedicated to csimm99 ☆

Video: earthfm: nature sounds for sleep, calm, connection
Image: Left images—original artist unknown; right image—© Jane竹名君 at weibo

We finally learn what that fancy sword is for . . . but do you think it was a good idea for him to use his theurgy on his father?