‘Even the grand khans of the world will fear a peasant who holds a knife to his throat. I was the peasant and you the great khan,’ I whisper. ‘Now die by my blade.’
Nur lights up my knife and I thrust the light into the emperor. The nur slams his skull on to the ground. Pink tendrils split from the middle.
My fists smash into his nose.
I deserved the pain he inflicted. That was not hurt, that was consequence. But the bodies out there, that is unfathomable evil. And it is my fault.
My father is not the first nor the last monster. Warlord Akashun today. Another will arise tomorrow. These men perceive themselves as deciders of fate, but who declared them gods?
Nur punctures through him until his skull is caved in and planks of bone jut out. His body droops in prostration as if our roles have reversed, and I am his master. Sorrow carves through me.
It is not real. It is real. Neither and both. And for that reason, both must die. I sear this memory with fear, so at no time will I forget that he’s irrevocably dead.
Then No-Name is before me again, staring in shock. I wait for my mind to clear, to feel unburdened and light. My body throbs all over; my teeth clank together.
No-Name is calm because I am not. ‘Tell me, what will you do?’
‘Do?’
I made this Mitra.A magick... created by my jinn-poisons. A weapon used to massacre Sajamistan and subjugate the tribes of the Camel Road.
‘I-I – my brother.’
Yun... he is up north. He is close. But is he involved with Mitra?It would be so easy to take the knowledge from Za’skar, including plans for an invasion into Arsduq, and give the intelligence to my clan as an advantage against Sajamistan. To earn my rightful place as their vizier. But I think of my role in this. And my vow to Eliyas.
An understanding breaks like bitter foam cresting the sea. My eyes shut in disbelief. ‘I cannot defect without ensuring Sajamistan knows about Mitra being used in these villages. Helping them feels wrong. But Mitra existsbecauseof me.I need to kill him– Akashun.’
If I defect right away to Azadniabad, I fall into my clan’s hands. Did Hyat Uncle know of Mitra – and for that matter, which clansmen are supporting it? I cannot be sure. If I inform them of Sajamistan’s invasion into Arsduq prefecture, I will be powerless to stop those loyal to Akashun from escaping with Mitra. And it’s the borderlands – and their bodies – that are raided for Mitra, inflicting damage on the larger empire of Sajamistan.
I cannot be sure who is right or wrong, and I don’t think there will ever be a clear answer in the annals of history. The Veil has been lifted and the world is rearranging into meaningless lines of borders, dividing and conquering. But I do know what Akashun intends will always be at the expense of the Camel Road.
‘What of Warlord Akashun?’ No-Name asks.
‘I still intend to defect from Za’skar – not yet, but soon,’ I say,making the decision. ‘Farzaneh explained that Warlord Akashun is the sole wielder of Mitra. If I am to destroy it, I must kill him. Perhaps then we will have an end to it.’
Fleeting hope crosses No-Name’s eyes. ‘How would you kill him?’
My mind drums with possibilities. I think of the Great Flood, a symbol of Divine decree controlling us, even now.
‘Destroying Mitra means you might never return to Azadniabad,’ she adds. ‘The great clans would order you dead. Mitra is their hope against the rest of the continent.’
I do not know which clans have sided with Warlord Akashun. My heart tugs at this. If my clan has chosen Mitra, I must cut the thread between myself and my kin.
A low sound whistles through the air and the partition of my chamber curves inward before bursting in a spray of rock and dirt.
Alif Adel stands there, fingers bending to funnel – what I see to be -his affinity, Afflicter, to manipulate the currents of the planet through the angels.
‘I found you,’ he says and I baulk at the blood drenching his tunic. Unintentionally, my soul stirs, sensing the rippling bonds of a Seventh-Slash, still strong despite the unholiness of these caverns.
In two long strides, Adel reaches me. He leans in, forehead pressing against mine, so I have no choice but to peer into his trembling brown eyes.
‘They will die,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Every single one of them who partook in this filth will die.The Divine have mercy, I will make them scream.’
32
‘We have seconds before the scholars see this damage,’ I say.
‘We cannot escape without collapsing this outpost; it seems to be beneath the monastery. They have more across Azadniabad, but at least in destroying this one, it is one less evil.’ Adel paces about.
