“None taken,” I assured him.
“That’s a provocation,” he continued, paying me no mind. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Tarvissi start gathering their armies next to the merge with Dahls right now.”
“Should we move our forces there?” asked the older guy.
“No, we need all the people here to quell the rebellion,” protested Myar Mal. His face was locked in a dark, determined expression, and once again I was struck by the intensity of his gaze. “But we should warn the Directory—advise them to prepare for evacuation.”
“And we should contact Tayan,” added Tayrel Kan. Tayan was another big world merging with Dahls, and the tension between it and Tarviss was what kept Dahls safe for millennia; they were both too busy with themselves to pay any attention to their tiny neighbor. “The Republic of Yth, the Nine Kingdoms, Muraan country—see what they have to say about Tarviss’s supposed movement against us.”
“Sanam Il,” called the kar-vessár.
The half-tanned guy straightened his back, and I felt stupid joy at the fact I just learned his name.
“Yes, Myar Mal?”
“Send couriers to Sfal; we need to prepare diplomatic missions to Tayan. And Xin Nyeotl.”
“Yes, Myar Mal. What about the rebellion?”
“The plan remains the same,” barked Myar Mal sharply. “When is the next sun opening?”
“In sixteen hours,” replied Sanam Il.
“We attack in fourteen.”
Chapter 6
“What troubles you?”
Taneem jerked, almost slipping from the windowsill he was sitting on. He glanced nervously toward Karlan before returning his attention to the outside.
“Nothing,” he lied.
The weight of the young lord’s hand settled on his shoulder, and he barely stopped himself from flinching.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Taneem. I know you don’t approve of our actions here.”
As if any sane person could approve of them. The corpses of the peons had started rotting in the ditch they had been thrown into, belching noxious gases and feeding swarms of fat, black flies. No one had thought about moving them away or covering them with anything more than a few inches of dirt. And now it was too late. If the Dahlsi didn’t kill them, miasma would.
And the few who had agreed to serve them were locked up in the cellars, since they couldn’t even be sent out to work on rebuilding what Karlan’s thugs had burned down.
“It’s just…,” started Taneem finally, “Not what I expected.”
Karlan sighed, then sat on the sill next to him, and this time Taneem wasn’t able to hide his flinch.
“War can get messy sometimes,” said the young lord with elation, “but you know this is no different than what befell our parents in Nes Peridion. We’re doing what they did to us; repaying our debt, restoring the natural order—”
“We’re not in Nes Peridion,” cut in Taneem, unable to listen to this crap anymore. “These were not the people who killed our parents.”
And even if they were, Taneem couldn’t find it in himself to justify the slaughter. He left Nes Peridion cycles ago, trying to build a new life away from violence, bloodshed, and class warfare. The only reason he agreed to follow Karlan was because Kiraes came and fed him some crap about claiming their legacy. He never said a word about murder and… whatever the fuck was happening outside.
Karlan watched him intently, and Taneem clenched his fists. He realized he was shaking.
“If there was any chance of keeping Nes Peridion from the hands of the tyrants, we would be there; you know it.”
Excuses, Taneem thought. The sorcerer mumbled something about flickering merges, but the truth was, the people of Nes Peridion were tough—and wary—while those in Maurir spent their entire lives in peace and safety. They never expected the attack.
But he didn’t say anything. He just swallowed the bitter taste that had been filling his mouth for days, and nodded. “Of course.”
“Besides, old Haneaith is dead. We can only get to his idiot son. And we will.”
His tone left no doubt that he regretted the fact. Taneem thought that if Haneaith were still alive, he would grab Karlan by the scruff of his neck and tan his backside before kicking him back to Tarviss. This whole moronic project would die before Dahls even got involved.
A shame his son didn’t take after him.
“It will be over soon, my friend,” continued Karlan, and Taneem felt something inside him break.
“Yes, as soon as his Dahlsian friends breach the gate and kill us all,” he snapped. He realized what happened, and for a moment his heart stopped, seized by panic. He glanced at Karlan, but the lord seemed too shocked to say anything. With nothing to lose, Taneem decided to press on: “You said it was going to be different. You said they were going to run as soon as they smelled blood.” He pointed toward the Dahlsi camp, less than a league from the walls of the mansion. “Well, it doesn’t seem to me like they’re running.”
Karlan composed himself and followed his gesture with a disinterested gaze. His lips flickered in disgust.
“They will. If not now, then after the first battle.”
A hysterical laughter escaped Taneem’s lips. “First battle? Last time you said there wasn’t going to be a battle! Make up your mind, Karlan!”
“Enough!” The lord sprung to his feet so suddenly, Taneem reeled in shock. “Even if we’ll have to fight—so what?! Are you afraid of them, Taneem? A bunch of fags and junkies? They may seem imposing, but I assure you half of them will flee before dusk, and out of those who remain, half will be too high to pose any danger. We’ll crush them, all of them if we have to, and restore the rightful rule in Maurir. After that, in Nes Peridion. Then we’ll cut our way to Tarviss and nothing will stop us!”
He looked manic, with cheeks flushed and teeth bared. But as soon as it flared, his wrath settled. His eyes rested on Taneem, and
