Shadowblade Page 3

  Whoever this girl really was, someone with her talent, someone important enough for the high-standing Chall to risk their lives, surely deserved better than being expelled from the Jaihar Order for a minor case of insubordination?

  “Just before I came to your audience chamber,” Gassan said, “I met an unusual trainee on your lower grounds.”

  Arsat’s gaze flickered, showing that Gassan’s casual tone didn’t conceal the importance of the topic. “Unusual, how?”

  “She has an exceptional talent with weapons. Yet, as I gathered from a brief conversation with her, she is not considered for Jai training.”

  “The Har trainers surely have their reasons.” Arsat shrugged. “Perhaps she simply isn’t good enough?”

  “She caught six throwing daggers at a close range, in under a second.”

  The headmaster measured him with a long look.

  Gassan waited. The Jaihar normally gave outsiders like him no credit at all when it came to evaluating anyone’s weapon skill. But the headmaster knew better. Gassan saw evidence of it in the length of the pause, even if Arsat chose not to show any other reaction.

  “Catching daggers is not something the Har teach on the lower grounds,” Arsat said.

  “That’s what I thought. As a matter of fact, she did not look as if she was familiar with the exercise. This makes the skill she showed even more impressive, doesn’t it?”

  “What’s this trainee’s name?”

  “Naia.”

  Arsat let out a sigh. “Oh, her.”

  “You know her?”

  The headmaster pointed to his desk. “Her case was submitted for my attention last night. It’s rather long, so I only had a chance to take a brief look so far, but it doesn’t very promising, I must tell you. The Har trainers recommend expelling her from the Order, effective immediately.”

  “Do they now?”

  “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “Well.” Gassan held a pause. “She did mention serious problems with her superiors.”

  “Did she mention attacking her trainer?”

  “She did, yes. We didn’t get into her reasons, though.”

  “Her reasons don’t matter. The fight got ugly, and very violent. This girl, Naia, suffered injuries so grave that, following her recovery and the formal inquiry into the matter, we had no choice but to reassign the trainer involved to another compound. The other Har on our lower grounds didn’t take kindly to it.”

  “Weren’t these grave injuries she suffered punishment enough?”

  Arsat shook his head. “Not nearly, no. Her insubordinate behavior is simply incompatible with our chain of command.”

  Gassan looked away. He was willing to bet there was more to Naia’s story – if only because, despite their best efforts, Gassan’s informants in Haggad had been unable to find out anything about it at all.

  “Isn’t there anything to be done for her, Jai Arsat?” he asked. The headmaster frowned. “Is there any special reason for you to care?”

  Several, but none of them suitable for the purpose of this conversation. Gassan smiled. “Only the fact that she is very talented. Her trainers choose to downplay it for some reason, and she is deeply aware of it. She also seemed very level-headed, at least to me. A reasonable person, willing to own up to her mistakes. I couldn’t speak for the Jaihar, of course, but in the Daljeer Circle we would have found a way to evaluate her more thoroughly before signing off on a decision that would ruin her entire future.”

  Arsat paused. Gassan waited. The silence itself was encouraging, the way it stretched on and on, like it sometimes did when Arsat was working out a difficult shatranj move in his head.

  “Very well,” Arsat said. “I will look further into her situation. With no guarantees, of course.”

  “Of course, Jai Arsat. Forgive me for taking so much of your time with this minor matter. The reason for my visit here is different, and much more important on the great scale of things. I traveled here from Zegmeer to show you this.” Gassan fumbled in his robes and handed Arsat a tightly rolled scroll.

  The headmaster opened it and read through it slowly, his face betraying no emotion at all.

  “This is a report from the top Daljeer physician that treats the imperial family,” Gassan said.

  Arsat’s eyes hovered on the densely packed lines of the spidery writing that covered the entire page. “I’m afraid I am not familiar with some of the medical terms here.”

  “I apologize. The document was prepared for internal use. It appears that His Majesty suffers from a rare progressive condition that will be certain to claim his life in a matter of a few years.”

  “How few, exactly?”

  “Three or so.”

  Arsat cocked his head, looking at him thoughtfully. “Are you referring to a naturally occurring condition, Dal Gassan? Or is this sudden ailment manmade?”

  “A natural one, of course. I’ve always believed that the manmade ones are more within the Jaihar’s expertise.”

  “Not the ones that take three years to work, no.”

  Gassan leaned forward and carefully rolled up the document, tucking it back into a deep pocket of his robe. “Picking up on a conversation you and I had at some point, I felt this illness could be our window of opportunity.”

  Arsat stiffened. “Hardly. Death by an illness would be no better than an assassination, the course of action we decided against seventeen years ago.”

  Seventeen years ago. Gassan remembered that conversation as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. And yes, at that time, he would have agreed with Arsat. But he had learned a lot since then.

  “Death by an illness, progressing slowly and visibly in the months preceding the end, gives everyone a chance to prepare,” he said. “You can count on every province ruler, every high noble and every member of the High Council, to be in the palace when it happens.”

  “So what?”

  “So that a succession contest, if evoked, has an actual chance of being backed up by a majority vote.”

  “A succession contest?”

  “Yes. A plausible alternative to the bloodshed and chaos that would erupt if the emperor were to die suddenly.”

  Arsat kept very still, his eyes trailing to the distant mountain view visible through the window. Gassan had a good idea what was going through the headmaster’s head. This fear of chaos was the reason they had originally decided against drastic measures like this, no matter how despicable Shabaddin’s actions had been, no matter what losses both Gassan and Arsat personally suffered in the wave of the Challimar Royal Massacre. The headmaster’s own brother died in the aftermath, as well as a few of the Daljeer scholars Gassan had been looking up to. The decision to stand back and rein in their anger had not been easy.

  Would they truly get their chance for a redemption, after all these years?

  “How exactly do you plan to do it?” Arsat asked.

  Gassan smiled. The excitement rising in his chest resembled the one he felt a few days ago when he’d first thought of the new shatranj gambit. And now he was about to uncover a real-life version of it, or as close to it as one could play out with the powers involved.

  “The ancient succession tradition requires all the imperial princes and rulers of the provinces to pledge allegiance to the official heir.”

  “A formality, no more.”

  “Not if one of the province rulers claims succession rights and challenges the official heir.”

  Arsat frowned. “Impossible. All provinces are under a treaty, which precludes them from putting a succession claim forth.”

  “All except one.”

  “You can’t mean…”

  “I do.” Gassan held a dramatic pause. “The kingdom of Challimar.”

  Arsat leaned back in his chair, his long fingers playing with the hilt of the dagger at his belt. A black blade, one of the distinctive signs symbolizing his Shadowblade rank. Gassan found himself absorbed in watching the movements, fast and precise above w
hat seemed humanly possible.

  “Am I the only one here,” Arsat said, “who sees a problem in the fact that the entire Challimar royal family was killed in a massacre?”

  “Yes and no. The massacre happened before their queen had a chance to sign away her succession rights. This means, if a member of the Challimar royal family were to miraculously survive…”

  “…which didn’t actually happen.”

  “But if it did, no law would prevent this heir from putting a claim forth.”

  “No written law, perhaps. But there’s also the cutthroat law, the one Shabaddin uses so widely at court. How long do you think this newly discovered heir of Challimar can actually survive in the imperial palace?”

  “Longer than you think, if this heir, purely coincidentally, also happened to be a Jaihar-trained blademaster.”

  Arsat shifted in his chair again. His fingers resumed their dance, even though now they were moving almost too fast to trace.

  “Very well,” he said at length. “Supposing a plan like this does have merit, what would you do once the succession contest is evoked?”

  “We will stack the vote to ensure our candidate’s victory.

  I’m certain many council members would be more than happy to back up anyone who challenges the current order of things. Once this is settled, and Shabaddin’s immediate heirs are out of the way, all our candidate would have to do is pass on the crown to an heir of our choice.”

  “Which is?”

  “It could be anyone at that point, assuming that this person carries at least a measure of the imperial blood.”

  “You’d be hard pressed to find anyone decent from Shabaddin’s bloodline.”

  “We have three years.”

  Arsat nodded. His eyes briefly trailed to the dramatic skyline of the distant mountains out of his windows.

  “Back to your Challimar heir, then,” he said. “How are you going to convince anyone that he’s the real thing?”

  Gassan smiled. “It all comes down to storytelling, something our scholars are exceptionally good at.”

  “You can’t get far in politics by telling stories.”

  “You can, if they are the right ones. Imagine, for instance, a tale that goes like this. A dark night descending over the Challimar royal palace. The queen and her family, summoned urgently to the throne room where the assassins are waiting. She has a premonition about this late-night visit from the imperial envoys, so before rushing to follow the summons, she entrusts her lady chamberlain with a precious bundle: her newborn child. The lady takes an elite unit of the Redcloak guards to deliver the baby to the Daljeer serai outside the city walls, where she knows they would be offered sanctuary with no questions asked. She succeeds, but, along with all the guards, dies of the wounds they’ve incurred while fighting their way out of the palace.”

  “Fascinating,” Arsat said. “But a bit too wild.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “The episode I’ve just described actually happened – at least its public part, give or take some minor details.” Perhaps not so minor, given that Gassan could find no evidence whatsoever that the queen bore a child, or was even pregnant at the time. Her love affair with her guard captain made pregnancy a possibility, but there was simply no evidence of it.

  The scene in the Challimar serai surfaced in Gassan’s mind with frightening clarity, down to the smells – creosote, tinged with a faint, metallic scent of blood. The lady chamberlain’s rugged breathing. Her words. Protect her… No matter what, they must not find her… When the time comes… She can set things right… Seeing Naia this morning added one more piece to the picture in his head, so perfect that his skin started to prickle as he thought about it.

  “What exactly do you mean by the public part?” Arsat said. “The lady chamberlain, along with the Redcloak guards, did deliver a baby to the Daljeer. I was the one who met them at the doors. I treated the lady’s wounds – unsuccessfully, to my dismay. I also took charge of the baby and helped to hide it from the imperial guards.”

  Arsat’s eyes widened. “What happened to this baby?” “She is safe, at least for now. The Daljeer have kept watch over her all these years.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes. All the better for my story, since the royal succession in Challimar goes through the female line.”

  “And you have proof of her identity?”

  “Unfortunately not. However, given that she exists, it would be easy enough to start the rumors. The actual girl we found doesn’t even have to factor into this.” Even though it would be so perfect, wouldn’t it? Gassan forced the thought away.

  Arsat leaned forward over the table. “So, you want me to find a girl among our trainees, about seventeen, whose blade training would enable her to defend herself against the empire’s worst?”

  “Do you have one in mind?”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  “We could think more broadly, at least for now. Rumors can be twisted. Age, for one, doesn’t have to be precise. Gender, too. Any plausible survivor would be guaranteed to ignite rumors.”

  A man fitting the bill would be far easier to find among the Jaihar. Gassan was sure that Arsat had at least a few warriors that could play this role. But he simply couldn’t stop thinking about Naia. She had the talent to be trained for the role, he was sure of it. She was also of the right age and appearance – not to mention the possibility that she was actually the real thing. But his instincts told him this wasn’t the right time to bring it into the conversation. Arsat would likely take issue with the fact that none of this had been disclosed to him when Naia was first brought into his Order for training. Gassan couldn’t afford to risk jeopardizing his ally’s trust at this vulnerable moment, or appear as if he was piling up the stakes to manipulate the Jaihar’s rigorous process of trainee evaluation. He had to let the Jaihar play this part out on their own, before suggesting her candidacy at all. Which meant, for the moment, he had to act as if she didn’t even exist.

  “Very well,” Arsat said. “I think the Jaihar Order can work on finding a warrior you need.”

  Gassan’s lips twitched into a grin. Dethroning Shabaddin and his dynasty had been personal to both of them in many ways. But the excitement he felt, one also reflected in Arsat’s face, had nothing to do with these old ghosts. It was all about the pleasure of playing a good match to achieve a clean victory.

  “Give me a few days,” Arsat said.

  Gassan nodded. “Of course. I’ll need some time too, to research the possibilities. It would be good, though, if by our next meeting you put together a list of candidates. Young warriors who have some acting talent would be best. Once we make this choice, we should begin the training as soon as we can.”

  “The training?”

  “There are many essentials this person would need to learn to impersonate Chall royalty. Language, history, traditions – as well as royal manners and bearing. I intend to provide a special Daljeer tutor, chosen from one of our top scholars.”

  “What about appearance?”

  “Appearance?”

  “Resemblance of the royal family members. They all had a particular eye shade, didn’t they?”

  “The ‘desert kiss’, yes. Many Chall have it, actually. The feature can be quite subtle, visible only at a close range. It would be a bonus, but it’s not strictly necessary.” Once again, Gassan’s thoughts trailed back to Naia. When he saw her this morning, her eye color gave him an extra shock. Dark amber, with a fiery rim around the iris, like rain clouds lit up by a late sunset. The shade seeped into her hair too, a deep mahogany tint that graced only the very few. Despite her tomboy looks, she could be so perfect, if cleaned up and dressed in Challimar royal garb. He forced down this thought before it had the danger of surfacing in the conversation.

  Arsat’s fingers twirled around the hilt of his dagger again, then came to an abrupt standstill. “I’d like to share this plan with the senior members of t
he Jaihar command.”

  “As long as they are sworn to secrecy.”

  “Of course. It may also be advisable to keep the head of the Jaihar Imperial Dozen informed, at least in broad terms.”

  The Jaihar Imperial Dozen. Twelve of the Jaihar elite under the command of one of their top blades, whose ceremonial duty consisted of serving as the emperor’s personal bodyguards. After the emperor’s death they would go into a brief hiatus, stationed at court but not formally sworn to service. It could make them valuable assets to the plan.

  “Closer to the time,” Gassan said. “I assume it will be Jai Elad?”

  “No, actually,” Arsat said. “Jai Elad’s term at court is nearly over. His replacement for the next four years is leaving for Zegmeer very soon.”

  “Who?”

  “Jai Karrim.”

  “Oh.” Hard as he tried, Gassan didn’t quite manage to keep the distaste out of his voice.

  “You’ve heard of him, I see,” Arsat said.

  “I have, yes.” And not in a good way. Well, to be fair, the rumors left no doubt about the man’s blade skill, reportedly exquisite, even for a Shadowblade. This wasn’t the part Gassan had such problem with, though. The talk that bothered him came mostly from the court ladies, who tended to turn mistyeyed whenever Karrim’s name came up. Gassan wasn’t privy to what the man actually did to feed these rumors, but assuming they had at least some substance to them, Karrim wasn’t the kind of man Gassan preferred to deal with, especially for a plan of this magnitude.

  “I don’t suppose you can reconsider this choice, Jai Arsat,” he said.

  The headmaster’s face hardened. “He’s the best we have. In fact, the best we’ve seen in years on these grounds. His recently earned title of our top blade is but a small testament to his superb blade skill.”

  “It’s not his blade skill I’m worried about.”