You’re still in here, I realised as the awareness diminished and retreated into the morass of memory, taking the gem of knowledge with it. What are you hiding from me?
I blinked, seeing the woman’s bright, pleading eyes still locked on mine as the edge of the warrior’s dagger pressed into her skin. “Stop!” I snapped, bringing the Stahlhast’s blade to a halt. They all stared at me as I moved closer, waving a dismissive hand. “Get you gone. I have business with this one.”
The crouching warrior let out a half snarl as he rose, face tense and brows dark with the frustration of the born killer denied a victim. “You don’t command me, southland fucker!” he said, fingers twitching on the dagger’s handle.
“You were at the Three Rivers,” I said, angling my head in recognition. I saw his fury falter slightly at the sound of his own language, spoken with a fluency that should have been beyond a southlander’s tongue. The fury, however, returned in full measure as I smiled and added, “You ran from Obvar’s blade. He could smell the shit leaking from your craven arse.”
The veteran woman reached out a restraining hand, but it was too late, the warrior’s lunge was automatic and impressive in its speed, the dagger blurring as it jabbed at my unarmored chest. I had intended to bat the thrust aside and beat him unconscious, but my shell had a different notion. Moving of their own volition, my hands ensnared his wrist, twisting and breaking it like a twig before forcing the weapon to a vertical angle and stabbing it upwards. The dagger pierced the warrior under the chin, the long, triangular blade penetrating all the way to the brain. In combat, action must surrender to well-honed instinct, I thought, grunting in satisfaction. This shell might not be mighty of stature, but it definitely had its uses.
I tore the dagger free, letting the corpse fall and whirling to face the other Stahlhast who had all retreated a step, hunching with sabres half-drawn.
“You fight me,” I said, levelling the bloodied blade at the Stahlhast woman’s scarred face, “and you fight the Darkblade. Is that what you want?”
Her jaws bunched as she glared in response, but good sense soon overcame rage and she looked away. “She still has to die,” she muttered, gesturing for the others to gather up the body of their unwise comrade. “He decrees it.”
I waited for their footsteps to fade before crouching at the tall woman’s side. Her bright, beseeching gaze had darkened into suspicion now, and she shuffled back from me. “Brother?” she said, dust-covered brows creasing as she searched my face.
Her name came to me then, plucked free of the mess of memory. As it did so I felt a faint trill of anger deep in the recess of my mind where the soul of this stolen shell still lingered. “Mother Wehn,” I said, holding out my hand. “Let me help you.”
Her eyes flicked to my hand then back to my face, suspicion becoming certainty. “I have known Sho Tsai for two decades,” she said in a low, angry murmur. “You wear his face, you have his voice, but you do not have his soul. I know my brother.”
A rueful smile played over my lips as I lowered my hand. “No, I do not have his soul. But I do have his memories.” She drew back as I inched closer, impressing me with her defiance despite the fear that set her trembling. “The Temple of Spears,” I said. “My old . . . teacher. Once gave me something. What was it?”
She took a breath and closed her eyes, the lips moving in a whisper as she resumed her prayer litany. The words were different now, but spoken with even more intense certainty. “The true servant of Heaven knows no fear. The true servant of Heaven knows no pain . . .”
A crosscut to the soles of the feet, I thought, grabbing hold of her ankle. Always a good place to start.
Her litany continued even as I pressed the edge of the blade to the bare flesh of her foot, the words continuing to flow, absent of the barest whimper. I found myself holding the dagger in place for some time, baffled by the fact that my hands refused to make the cut. Is this you? I asked Sho Tsai, wondering if he had somehow infected me with his southland scruples. Mercy is weakness, I reminded myself. Compassion is cowardice. Wisdom is falsehood. The priests’ teachings—for me they had always been true to the heart of the Stahlhast despite the Darkblade’s injunctions against speaking them aloud. But now, I found them empty, incapable of forcing my hands into motion. I simply had no desire to cause this woman pain. Death brings changes, even in mighty Obvar.
“Just tell me,” I said, releasing my hold. “Please.”
Her litany stopped and she opened her eyes. Fear had begun to master her now, the tears streaming from her eyes to carve rivulets through the dirt on her cheeks, her body shuddering in terror, but still she shook her head. Perhaps it was the tears that did it, finding some echo of this woman in Sho Tsai’s mind and stirring sufficient emotion to lead me to the required memory.
“You were there,” I realised as the images resolved into clarity. Mother Wehn stood close by wearing a broad smile on younger features as she regarded the youth at the tutor’s side, a youth this shell had known and loved for all the years that followed.
Guide him, teach him, the tutor said. Above all, protect him.
“No sign at all?”
A shiny tendril of sweat trickled down the neck of the Redeemed as he bobbed his lowered head in response to Kehlbrand’s question. “None since we found the collapsed tunnel, Darkblade.”
“And the canal?”
“Only the bodies, Darkblade.”
I watched Kehlbrand turn his expressionless face back to the tubular contraption on the tripod, pressing his eye to the narrow end. “The bodies,” he murmured, “but not the horse.” He swivelled the device back and forth, scanning the landscape below. I had climbed the many steps to the top of this tower to find him in conference with this sweating man, a borderlands native judging by his clothing, which was hardy but lacked any martial accoutrements. He was a few years my junior, or rather Sho Tsai’s junior, and had the lean but sturdy look of a man who spent his days in the wilds.
“I,” the Redeemed began, swallowing before speaking on in strained tones, “I divined that the foreigners became separated, Darkblade. Those I tracked to the Tomb Road; the others are still on the canal.”
“He is not on the canal,” Kehlbrand said, turning back from the viewing glass. “Hence the absence of the horse.” He stared at the Redeemed for the space of a few heartbeats, which I knew must have felt much longer, before his gaze slid to me.
“General,” he said. “Give greetings to Master Lah Vo, most famed huntsman of the Northern Prefecture.”
I exchanged a shallow bow with the Redeemed who seemed no keener to meet my gaze than he was Kehlbrand’s.
“It is said Lah Vo can smell a dagger-tooth from five miles upwind and as a boy felled a bear with but a slingshot,” Kehlbrand went on. “And yet he can’t catch the smallest scent of my sister or the Thief of Names.”
“Send me,” I said. “I’ve an account to settle with him, as you know.”
“You have an army to train.” Kehlbrand moved to Lah Vo, provoking a shudder as he clapped him on the back and guided him to the stairwell. “Worry not, my friend. The Thief of Names is cunning and so is my sister. Rest and restore yourself. I’ll have fresh quarry for you soon enough.”