Outside the carriage window, the city lay eerily quiet. Snow flurries were gradually filling in the ruts cut from yesterday, and the few carriages they passed were taxis, wandering empty.
As they neared the Shivari district, plumes of smoke from the surrounding buildings coalesced into a dirty brown fog. Burnt-out structures peppered the streets, some in rows, others isolated, but no one was out clearing debris.
A low chatter, a murmur that Liv felt before she could hear, grew as they approached the embassy. The first group she saw were men carrying Norian battle flags: a white ‘X’ on a field, the bottom and left filled red, the top and right filled blue.
Another group were throwing rocks over a wall barely taller than their heads, made of pink stone. Behind it sat a compound, three buildings with the curved tiled roofs of Shivar: The tallest four stories, the others three.
There were more groups surrounding the compound, too many to count, and young boys ran up and down the streets, gathering stones for the throwers.
“Recognize anyone from last night?” Liv asked Thelemule.
He snorted. “It seems they’ve moved on to easier prey.”
“I’m guessing that’s where we’re headed, the war zone?” Liv asked Rina, and the princess nodded.
Rafe called back, “Road’s blocked. They’ve noticed us. Any ideas?”
“One,” said Thelemule, and he hopped up from his seat and lifted a padded cover off it, producing two canisters from underneath. “Don’t worry this won’t kill anyone. They’ll just wish it had.” He handed one up to Rafe. “If I heard correctly, you’re good at throwing things. Pull this,” he tapped at a knob, “Then throw.” He pointed to a position in the mob.
As Liv stuck her head out to watch, Rafe held the canister, examining it for a moment, then gritted his teeth, pulled the knob, and threw.
It landed a quarter of a block up, near a group of men with flags. “Damn traitors!” one of them cursed. Another picked up a rock and threw it at the carriage while pea-green smoke puffed from the canister.
Nothing happened, not right away. Then one of the men picked up the canister and started examining it, all the while, the air filling with smoke.
A sudden boom and a flash, and then more flashes within the smoke. The men fell to the ground, pressing their hands over their eyes. Some coughed in fits, others vomited, but they all picked themselves up and ran for the nearest alley.
“Now! head for the gate,” yelled Thelemule.
Rafe glanced back, his eyes bulging, then turned and whipped the reins, charging the horses forward.
Up ahead, most of the crowd was running, diving for cover, but a few stood their ground. Liv ducked back inside, and the window next to her cracked as a rock struck the glass. A second rock hit, and the glass spider-webbed but did not break.
She ducked down, out of sight, as screams came from outside. The horses whinnied, and the carriage slowed to a stop.
“Again?” Rafe asked.
“Again!” Thelemule handed up the second canister.
A few seconds later, Liv heard the bang, the cries of the crowd, and the carriage lurched into motion.
“They’re not opening!” Rafe screamed.
“What?” asked Thelemule.
“The gate, they’re not opening.”
The carriage jolted over a bump, sending Liv flying into Thelemule’s lap.
“What do we do?” Rafe’s voice was desperate.
“I don’t know!” yelled the wizard.
Gripping an overhead handle, Stephan pulled himself up and kicked the door open. He pulled himself through and, holding onto the frame white-knuckled, yelled something like, “Rool-key ka-ja-room-see!”
“Freaking open!” screamed Rafe.
Hoof beats pounded from below as Liv bounced on the floorboards. A hand, Rina’s, grabbed her, trying to pull her up, but the carriage went over another bump, and Rina’s head smacked into Liv’s, sending them both to the floor.
“Rool-key ka-ja-room-see!” Stephan yelled, and again, “Rool-key ka-ja-room-see!”
“Bastard’s Verse! Open!” screamed Rafe.
A volley of rocks hammered the side of the carriage. One caught Stephan’s shoulder, another grazed his forehead, a line of blood streaming in the air as he yelled yet again, “Rool-key ka-ja-room-see!”
The floor shook with the impact of steel, and a shadow passed overhead. They’d crossed the threshold of the embassy gate.
Stephan jumped down as Thelemule helped the girls up, and Liv peered out the back window to see guards in green silk uniforms throwing themselves against the gate, slamming it shut.
Still shaken, Liv stumbled out of the carriage. There were around twenty guards below the walls, all watching, a few with swords drawn, though no one looked like they were going to attack. She staggered her way over to Stephan. “What were you yelling anyway?”
“I believe it translates to ‘Open Princess,’” a man’s voice answered. In the middle of the courtyard, on the edge of a fountain with three stylized stone fish spraying water into a pool, sat the man himself. He wore a blue-gray silk suit and was neither young nor old, early middle age. Tall, but not too tall; strong but not bulky; his dark hair was tied back in great braids. He was Shivari.
“Is that you?” he asked Liv.
“No, her,” she motioned to Rina, who was stumbling down the carriage stairs.
“To what do I owe this great honor, Your Highness?”
Rina gave Liv a glance, then spoke, “Marco told me you had something to tell him, something important. Assuming you are Ambassador Chanda?”
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The man nodded, giving Rina a careful looking over. As he did, Liv heard something on the wind, a strange melody. It was coming from him; he was whistling under his breath.
“Why does he not come himself?”
Rina shivered. “He’s… dead, or close to it, murdered. But I was helping him, and he was helping her.” She nodded to Liv.
Though Chanda’s eyes trembled at the news, he managed to give Liv a courteous bow. “And you are?”
Liv hadn’t expected to talk, much less do the talking, but all eyes were on her. She felt her face scrunch. “The fire witch’s apprentice.”
Chanda’s face twisted. “The bomb-maker?”
Liv shook her head. “Ex-bomb-maker. She had nothing to do with the clock tower. And this is…” She pointed around the group. “My brother Rafe. Thelemule the… somethingth of wizards, and Stephan his…”
“Butler, but not really. He’s my… boyfriend.” Thelemule shrugged. “Since we’re being honest.”
An uncomfortable pause later, Liv added, “Our plan, I guess, is to free Scaggs, and recover the bombs.”
“Bombs? There’s more than one?”
“Drake has fifty.”
“What?” Chanda went pale.
“Not that we can prove it, but he’s the one who blew up the clock tower,” said Liv, really wishing someone else would say these things so she didn’t have to. “To frame Shivar.”
“Did he kill Marco?”
“No,” Rina spoke, “That was Ulbrecht.”
“But he killed me,” Rafe grumbled.
“What?” asked Chanda.
“Drake. He killed me.” Rafe scowled. “I just ain’t died yet.”
“So, why not arrest him?” Chanda was working very hard to sound calm.
“Because Ulbrecht threw me off the palace roof, maybe on the king’s orders—So, can we hear what you were going to tell Marco?” Rina asked.
Mouth agape, the ambassador nodded. “Yes, but better I show you something first.”
They followed him into one of the side buildings, an exhibition hall with display cases of Shivari artifacts: intricately carved bowls and plates, curved swords, and a collection of mechanical clocks.
As he led them through hallways covered in mosaics of colorful tiles, Liv swore he kept whistling to himself. It was an odd tune, continuously changing, but kept returning to the same melody.
“What’s that song?” she asked. “The one you’re whistling.”
“You can hear that? Can you all hear it?” Chanda glanced at Rina, who shook her head, looking confused.
“It’s traditional, part of my religion.”
“Like a vow of silence?” Liv asked. “Only in reverse?”
He gave a slight smile. “I never thought of it that way. But yes, very much so.” Chanda opened a door onto a dark room, a small library with rough sandstone walls. He went to a cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a candle.
“Oh, let me.” Liv sparked the candle to life.
Chanda snapped his fingers, and a whole row of bronze oil lamps lit up, the flickering light revealing them to be shaped like tiny creatures, one a goat-fish, an Eluru.
“I thought the Shivari didn’t have sparks?” she asked.
“It’s rare. And those who have them, hide them for good reason.”
“Why?”
“I’ll show you.” Chanda got a grip on a bookcase and nodded to Stephan. “Help me, will you?”
The pair slid the case to the side, revealing a large oil painting.
On the canvas: a red sun shone through clouds of smoke, a great palace below with a blood-soaked field in the foreground. Corpses, part human, part animal, were impaled on pikes, while their heads, screaming in terror, lay at their feet. And in the center, knelt a great Eluru, an elephant-headed man with four tusks, two of them broken. His arms, elephant trunks, gripped one of his remaining tusks. Standing over him was a giant of a man, fair-haired in black armor. At the Eluru’s throat, he held a sword with a chain linking it to his waist.
Liv recognized him immediately. “Ulbrecht?”
“My ancestors called him Shamasaut, ‘The Silence of Steel.’ This painting depicts the moments before his ultimate defeat.”
“How? He doesn’t look defeated.”
Chanda pointed to the elephant. “Bahdur, the Eluru prince, was granted four, how do you call them? Miracles. One for each tusk. He sacrificed his third that day.”
“When was this painted?” asked Thelemule.
“Around Sixteen hundred.”
“Over two hundred years ago?” Thelemule’s voice cracked with apprehension. “And the style… isn’t very Shivari.”
“Bahdur painted it himself. He spent lifetimes traveling, learning the arts of different cultures.”
“Wait, are you saying that he, Ulbrecht, is over two hundred years old?”
“I’m saying Shamasaut died two hundred years ago. Rumors of his return began thirty years ago when the Eluru started disappearing, and six years ago… they became more than rumors. The remaining Eluru were wiped out in a year.”
“How?” asked Thelemule.
“Most were assassinated in the night, beheaded, but the last died aboard the Capsan.” Chanda pointed to the warrior in the painting. “That monster landed on deck, carrying a burning stone. The crew and the last Eluru died in fire.” He gave a mournful sigh. “I know, because I was aboard. Thrown clear by the blast, only I survived.”
Chanda lifted his shirt, revealing a rough burn covering his left side. “When I went to warn the king that the monster was on your shores, imagine my horror to find them standing together. That day, my job became twofold, to find out what the king really knows about his champion, and to earn the trust of the mages. Enough to warn them. I took my time, thinking it wise. Now, it seems I was a fool.”
“We need to warn the king,” said Rina. “…Unless, he already knows.”
Chanda nodded back. “You’re closest. What do you think?”
“I have no idea. He never told us how Ulbrecht came into his service. He’d go quiet whenever we asked, so we just stopped. And he wants war with Shivar, now more than ever. But sometimes… the way he talks, he seems forced into it.”
Liv’s stomach twisted as she stared at the painting, at that sword. “Lord Parris. The dead first of mages. Split in half, either by magic or a guillotine or… What if Ulbrecht killed him? If he was the one hunting mages, and Chanda was about to warn Marco… that would have alerted the king.”
Thelemule nodded. “Which would make a lot more sense than the king ordering Ulbrecht to murder his family over a witch.”
Rina let out a breath of relief. “So, Grandpa didn’t order him to kill Marco and me—We’ve got to warn him.”
“Unless,” said Thelemule, “Ulbrecht was protecting the king from being exposed by Marco. We have to be careful, but we have to act.”
“There is another matter,” said Chanda, rubbing his chin. “Drake sent me a message this morning. Said he’s looking forward to seeing me at the party. That it will open up many diplomatic opportunities.”
Rina’s brow twisted. “He’s still doing that?”
“What party?” asked Liv.
After clearing his throat, Thelemule spoke, “The wizards’ idea. Allsongs falls on the old pagan winter solstice. Drake wanted to remind everyone that you can have a holiday without the Church, and Firstsong is mostly for the clergy anyway. So, on that night, he suggested throwing a party, for I believe as he put it, ‘the powerful elite who support the wizards.’ He said he didn’t want to make people choose between the Church and the wizards, so I expect that’s exactly what he was doing.”
He continued, “So tonight, he’s got fifty blooms and everyone who he thinks are killing mages packed together in one building while he throws a party for everyone who chooses the wizards over the Church safely absconded in another?”
Liv looked to Rina. “Was anyone in the royal family invited to that party?”
“I was… and actually, I was going to invite you as my guest, that’s the envelope I handed you before the um… kidnapping. And Grandpa, he wanted to go too. I heard him plotting to get out of Firstsong.”
“He’s always liked the mages, right? If he had to pick a side, would he choose them or the Church?”
“The mages, easy. He resents the Church… for the past.”
Liv gave her a funny look. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Rina gulped. “He had a spark once. The Church made him… let it die.”
There was a pause at that.
Then Liv asked, “If Ulbrecht and the Church are both killing mages. What if they’re working together? And what if the king is in their way?”
Thelemule answered, “Then they’ll have everyone they want to murder in one building at the same time. Assuming Ulbrecht would escort the king to that party?”
Rina shuddered. “That’s a good assumption. Can’t we just warn everyone? Get both canceled?”
Thelemule shook his head. “If we sent notes, there’s only a small chance they’d reach anyone in time, and even if they did, the Church would think it a ruse, Ulbrecht might kill the king as soon as he read it, and Drake would just attack sooner.” He looked at Rina. “And if we sent you, and you showed up at the palace, Ulbrecht would be waiting.”
Another pause.
“So,” said Liv, “We need to go to the party and warn Drake and the king about Ulbrecht, and at the same time, we need to stop Drake and the king from attacking Firstsong… if that is their plan. And tonight’s also our best—last chance to save Ms. Scaggs.” She groaned. “We’re going to have to split up, aren’t we?”
“Always a good idea.” Thelemule snorted. “I think we’ll need a plan… or two.”
Rafe turned to Liv. “Can’t you just turn into a cat and climb the tower?”
Rina did a double take. “Wait, you can turn into a cat?”
“No,” said Liv, “Scaggs needs to turn me into one. I can’t, not without her.” She looked at Thelemule. “Unless you can? We have the book.”
“Given a couple weeks to study?” The old wizard sighed. “…then maybe.”
Chanda snapped his fingers. “I think I can help with Drake’s party. I’m supposed to be the entertainment. Shivar still has a few mages, and our magic, though considered ‘exotic,’ may be of some use.”
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