'Don't be melodramatic,' Asara said. 'You merely wish to protect your investment.'
Anger blazed in Cailin's eyes, but Asara met her gaze with an insouciant stare.
'It is only two more, Cailin,' Mishani said. 'You have asked Asara and I to go because you need us. I am the only noble you have who is willing to set foot in Axekami again; Asara is an experienced handmaiden. But I will not go unless Kaiku goes. And Tane, if he wishes. You said yourself that we four trod a braided path. Perhaps it is braided more tightly than you think.'
Cailin framed a retort, then swallowed it. She rounded on Kaiku. 'Is your mind made up in this?'
Kaiku shrugged, an imitation of her brother from long ago. 'I have no choice. I made an oath.'
'Oaths can be interpreted any way you see fit,' Cailin pointed out archly. 'Very well then. We leave for Axekami tomorrow. All of us. If we do not move soon, we may lose our chance. The danger to
Lucia grows daily, and we have little time remaining, if my sources tell me true.' She swept around and stalked out of the room, her black dress trailing behind her. 'We will steal the Heir-Empress from under their noses,' she declared as she left.
Kaiku gave a smile of thanks to Mishani, and wondered what she had let herself in for.
Twenty-Eight
The armies of Blood Kerestyn and Blood Amacha faced each other across the grassy plain to the west of Axekami. The morning sun beat down on them, already cruelly hot and not even close to its zenith. It glinted off swords and rifles, sheening down the edges of pike blades and making men shade their eyes and squint. To the west, Blood Kerestyn, their gold and green standards limp in the windless humidity. To the east, Blood Amacha, a swathe of brown and red mingled with the colours of other, lesser families. Fire-cannons brooded in the swelter, their barrels fashioned into the likenesses of demons and spirits, their mouths open to belch flame. Between the armies was the killing ground, a great strip of untrampled grass where they would meet if it came to conflict.
The sheer weight of numbers was immense. Amacha's army had been swelled to over ten thousand, and Kerestyn had more than that, a wave of soldiers that had washed over the land and now teetered on the edge of breaking. From the city walls, they melted into two huge pools of blades and guns and armour. The front ranks were foot soldiers, horses pawing at the dirt and manxthwa loping back and forth, the soldiers standing ready, hair damp with perspiration. Behind them were riflemen, most in rows but some gathered in little clusters, cleaning and checking their weaponry. Further from the front ranks, the tents began, angular polygons of colour ranging from simple and utilitarian to complex and grandiose. Where the battle lines were still, the rear of the armies was a swarm of activity, a constant shifting of supplies, troops, and information. Tents were being erected; cannons were being repaired; armour was fixed or handed out. To the east, the enormous beige walls of Axekami were a frowning barrier that dwarfed them all to insignificance, stretching to either side of the battlefield and curving out of sight, a bristling mass of guard-towers behind which the jumble of the city's streets could be seen cluttering their way up the hill towards the Imperial Keep, its gold walls paled by distance.
The two vast forces shimmered in the heat haze, waiting.
The armies of Blood Kerestyn had begun their march on the capital some days ago, but they were slow, detouring to amalgamate with other, smaller forces on the way, minor families who had allied themselves with the Kerestyn cause. A further delay was caused by the need to skirt Blood Koli's lands around Mataxa Bay. The Barak Koli had firmly allied himself with Sonmaga, for better or worse.
Blood Kerestyn had been ousted from the throne by Blood Erinima over a matter of dishonour, not warfare. The last Kerestyn Blood Emperor, Mamis, had lied to the council of nobles over a matter of great importance and been discovered. He had done the sensible thing and abdicated, for the council had given a unanimous vote of no-confidence in their ruler after that; Anais's father had filled the void. But though Kerestyn had lost the might of the Imperial Guards, which were sworn to protect the Blood Emperor or Empress regardless of their family, they had retained the vast strength which had won them the throne in the first place. And they had bided their time, waiting for an opportunity just such as this.
Sonmaga tu Amacha was no less ambitious, but his ambition outstripped his means somewhat in this matter. He believed passionately that the Heir-Empress should be removed from the line of succession, even if Anais stayed as Empress. If only that cursed Mishani woman had done what she was supposed to, then all this could have been averted. He didn't want a civil war, principally because he suspected he would lose it. In ten years, when he had enough support, when his plans had come to fruition… maybe then would be the time to strike. But getting rid of the Aberrant Heir-Empress would solve all their problems. Kerestyn would no longer have a righteous cause motivating them, and their support would swiftly peel away if they chose to press their suit upon the capital. He wished he'd just had Purloch kill the little bitch when he had the chance, instead of settling for a lock of her hair; but Purloch had disappeared the moment he was paid, and had not been found since.
Sonmaga's tent bulked out of the sea of armour, an island of brown and red surrounded by other smaller, lesser islands. The constant convection of soldiers and horses flowed around them in a grubby tide, relaying messages, reporting from the front line. The smell of rank sweat was overpowering, and the din was a constant background babble, so loud that it was only when people shouted at each other to be heard that they realised how their ears had adjusted to block it out. Sonmaga's tent was near the rear of his forces, his back towards Axekami. He had crossed the Zan and placed himself squarely between the forces of Kerestyn and the capital. He didn't want a civil war, but he'd be gods-damned if he'd let Blood Kerestyn walk into the capital without a fight.
The emissaries from Blood Koli came at mid-morning, twenty soldiers with the hardened leather of their armour dyed black and white. The newcomers arrived on horseback, their eyes narrow beneath the black sashes tied around their heads to avert sunstroke. Heading them was the Barak Avun tu Koli himself, his balding head held high as he rode, his omnipresent expression of weariness temporarily banished for the benefit of appearances.
The forces of Blood Amacha parted to let them through. That he had come out personally spoke of a matter of great importance. They passed through the ranks to the tent of the Barak Sonmaga, and there Avun dismounted and was shown inside.
Barak Sonmaga stood as Avun entered. He had been sitting on one of the woven mats placed around the centre of the tent, studying a map. At the edges were low tables of refreshments, chests of clothes and charts, and a rack where Sonmaga's battle armour hung. It was stiflingly hot in here, but being out of the direct gaze of Nuki's eye was a blessing, and the tent walls somehow managed to muffle the worst of the noise from outside.
'Avun,' Sonmaga said. 'What news?' It was almost insultingly informal, but neither was much concerned with ritual greetings at a time like this.
Avun looked him over, the tired cast returning to his hooded eyes. 'You already know,' he stated.
Sonmaga raised a black eyebrow, impressed at Avun's reading of him. 'Yes, I do. Sit down, please.'
Avun joined him in sitting on another of the floor mats. Sonmaga poured cups of dark red wine for them both. Avun waited until Sonmaga had drank from his before taking a sip.
'The forces of Blood Batik approach the city from the east,'