Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

“It is,” Lehav replied.

Adare chewed the inside of her cheek. “But make sure they keep their weapons close,” she said finally.

Lehav considered her a moment more, then nodded, wheeling his horse around, back toward the column still halted in the woods.

“What’s going on here?” Adare demanded, glancing at il Tornja’s messenger, then turning her attention toward the town below. “Why is the army stopped? Are you preparing for a siege?”

“Stopped to destroy the dam, Your Radiance,” the soldier replied, gesturing toward the wide berm of earth that loomed at the lower end of the lake. A wide, artificial sluice punctured the berm near the center. Water from above emptied through it and past a series of waterwheels, then into the channel beneath. If Adare remembered her geography, Scar Lake was, in fact, just a place where the Black River paused, widening to fill the huge natural basin, before narrowing again and flowing east to join the White. The people of Aats-Kyl had dammed the southern end of the lake to control the flow and make use of it, work that il Tornja’s soldiers were busy destroying with pickax and shovel.

Adare shook her head. “Why?” She was no hydraulic engineer, but it was clear that a major breech in the dam would endanger a quarter of the town below.

“Not my place to say, Your Radiance,” the soldier replied. “The kenarang gives the orders, and we carry them out. Not to worry, though. The Urghul are crafty, but no one’s smarter than the general.”

The claim gave Adare scant comfort.

“Where are the Urghul?”

“Not quite certain, Your Radiance.”

“And il Tornja?”

“Maybe overseeing the work, Your Radiance,” the soldier replied, gesturing toward the dam again. “After I escort you to your lodging, I have instructions to find him and bring him to you at once.”

Adare had a dozen more questions, but it was clear that her young escort lacked the relevant answers. Instead of pestering him pointlessly, she focused her attention on the dam. Maybe two hundred men were at work there, just a fraction of the Army of the North, but the most that could effectively maneuver in the limited space. At first glance, she couldn’t make much sense of the rising and falling shovels and picks, but as she watched, she realized there was an order to the labor. One group was carving a network of wide ditches, while another carted the excess dirt into the town, where still another knot of soldiers was at work on a series of dikes that would protect against the worst of the flooding. It was a complicated operation, and, as the dam grew weaker and weaker, a dangerous one. Sooner or later the earthen wall would give, and the whole weight of the lake above would come thundering down.

Adare’s palms sweated just watching it. Partly she worried for the soldiers. Partly she worried because once again il Tornja was hard at work on a project she didn’t understand, his men tearing apart the only surety between the tiny log town and the weight of the massive lake that waited, heavy and silent, above.

“This is the time, ” Triste insisted. “Adare and il Tornja are away, off in the north. It’s just Adiv in the Dawn Palace. You’ve got to strike now, while they’re away with their armies.”

“Strike,” Kaden said, shaking his head wearily. “I don’t even know what that means. There are only four of us, Triste.”

Dusk had stained the sky outside the tall windows indigo. He and Triste, Morjeta and Kiel, had suspended their conversation while doe-eyed women in silent slippers lit the dozens of red paper lanterns hanging in Morjeta’s chambers, then again while still more leinas -in-training-graceful young men and women, silent and gorgeous-brought platters artfully arranged with succulent fruit, thin glass flutes brimming with wine. Kaden had stopped after the first glass, wanting his mind clear as he tried to untangle il Tornja’s knot. He might as well have drained the carafe for all the good his thinking did him.

It was one thing to discover that Ran il Tornja, the general who had murdered Kaden’s own father, was one of the Csestriim. The claim was shocking, but not beyond belief. To learn, however, that il Tornja was not bent simply on the overthrow of the Annurian line, that he had murdered gods in the past and aimed now at the murder of others, that his ultimate purpose was the annihilation of humanity itself-that was a thought almost too large to comprehend. Kaden had tried for a while, and then, overwhelmed by the effort, by the implications, set it aside. For now, it was enough to know that il Tornja and Adare were the enemy, that they were to be defeated. Whatever the unknown details of il Tornja’s plan, he clearly needed control of Annur, which meant Kaden’s goal was to deny him that control. He could effectively consider a problem of that scope, although considering a problem and solving it were two different things.

Over and over again he had followed the same trails of thought, always arriving back at the same grim starting place: his enemies had the political power, the military might, and the coin, leaving Kaden with two burning eyes and the clothes on his back. It didn’t seem like much, but Triste was convinced he could make use of those eyes.

“You’re the Emperor,” she insisted. “People can see it if they just look at your face. Everyone can’t be part of the conspiracy.”

“Tarik Adiv is part of it,” Morjeta said. “You said so yourself. And the kenarang left him in control of the Dawn Palace.”

“Then you go take it back!” Triste exploded.

Kaden shook his head. “How? What would I do? Walk up and pound on the Godsgate? Throw back my hood and display my burning eyes?”

“Yes!” Triste said. “Exactly!”

“No,” Kaden replied. “Adare and Adiv are not stupid. Il Tornja is not stupid. They have considered this possibility. They have prepared for it. I would be admitted, ushered in with as little fuss as possible, escorted somewhere dark and discreet where men with knives would finish the work that Ut and Adiv began. You heard what Kiel told us: this is more than just a coup against my family. It goes beyond politics. Far beyond.”

Kiel nodded. “Tan’is has taken a great risk in acting so openly. He would not do so without the possibility of an equal reward.”

The thought chilled Kaden, and so he did not allow himself to linger on it. Il Tornja might be immortal, implacable, bent on an almost inconceivable level of destruction, but the problem facing Kaden remained a political one, political and military, almost commonplace in its outlines.

“I can’t go back to the Dawn Palace,” he said. “I won’t.”

“So … what?” Triste demanded. “You’re just going to give up? You’re going to let her win?”

“You could collect allies,” Morjeta said quietly. “Assemble a force of your own. In secret.”

Kaden considered the idea. “Who? What allies?”

“There are factions,” she replied, “inside the court. Ministers bitter about Adiv’s promotion. Generals vexed at having been passed over…”

Kaden looked over at Kiel.

“It could work,” the Csestriim said. “Your father was well liked in many quarters. If we could assemble a list of old-guard loyalists…”

Morjeta nodded. “I don’t have all the names-not everyone seeks solace in our temple-but it would be a start.”

“Yes,” Triste said, leaning in. “You work fast, force Adiv out before your sister and il Tornja return. When they get back to the city, you’re seated on the Unhewn Throne. Killing you then would be open treason!”

“Yes,” Kaden said, the word heavy on his tongue, “but they already murdered one emperor, a man girded far better to withstand their attacks than I am. I might be able to get past Adiv, but even then, what would I have? The throne and a group of old men who knew my father. Il Tornja controls at least some of the Kettral. I’d probably find poison in my water or a knife in my back just days after entering the palace.