Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(190)

“We might learn something.”

“We will learn that there are five of them with two swords apiece. Making ten swords, if you’re keeping count. They will also carry belt knives and at least two will have bows, maybe all five. By my count, that gives them rougly fifteen more weapons than we have, not counting, of course, whatever explosives they’ve brought.”

“You’ve studied the Kettral.”

“I’ve studied everyone I might have to kill,” Pyrre replied, “and they will be harder to kill than most. I don’t need to look at them to know that.”

“Well, I want to see,” Triste said, wriggling forward on her elbows, shouldering past the drowsing assassin.

She raised the glass, frowned, then slowly shifted it, following the bird as it approached. Kaden watched it with his naked eye, squinting as it landed. He could make out the dismounting soldiers, shadows in the gathering dusk, but nothing more.

“The new soldiers don’t seem to be getting on as well as the first ones did,” she said after few moments.

“Meaning what?” Kaden asked.

“I’m not sure. There seems to be some sort of standoff. Here.”

Kaden took the long lens and trained it on the far pass. It took him a minute to sort out the new Kettral from those already there.

“This Wing has a woman, too,” he said, “long red hair. And … two women, although the second one doesn’t look like she’s much older than you.”

“Is she wearing blacks?” Pyrre asked.

Kaden nodded. “And she’s carrying a bow. The thing is practically as big as she is.”

“Don’t let her size fool you,” the assassin replied. “A killer doesn’t always look like a killer. The girl may be young, but if she’s flying missions for the Eyrie, she can probably put an arrow through your eye at three hundred paces. You know, the Kettral tried to clear out Rassambur once—one of your revered ancestors decided he didn’t like the idea of a church of Ananshael up in the Ancaz. They sent ten Wings, ten veteran Wings…”

The assassin continued talking, but Kaden had ceased to hear the words. He had brought the long lens around to the commander of this second Wing—a tall, sun-darkened youth with short hair, a grim set to his mouth, and eyes dark as pools of pitch. At first he’d been paying more attention to the youth’s altercation with Micijah Ut. The two were arguing about something, the Aedolian had his blade drawn, and other soldiers were drifting toward their commander as though sensing a fight. Kaden was about to take another look at the bird when something drew him back to that face. The sun had all but set and the light was poor, and at first he thought the shadows were playing tricks on him, but then the commander chopped downward with a hand, a curt, exasperated gesture, and Kaden knew. The eyes were darker, somehow, and bleaker. The mischievious boy had become a man grown, with a man’s height and a soldier’s build, but Kaden knew that gesture and he knew the face, even after eight years. He struggled to make sense of what was happening on the far pass, but even as he watched he felt the cold blade of betrayal take him through the gut. He lowered the glass.

“It’s Valyn,” he said, his voice hollow. “It’s my brother.” He set the long lens down wearily and lay back against the rough stone. It seemed, suddenly, that the assassin was right, that lying down and getting some rest before the end was all they could hope to do. “At least now we know who’s behind this whole mess.”

“Your brother?” Pyrre asked, suddenly interested, propping herself up on one elbow. “Are you sure?”

Kaden nodded wearily. “I spent half my life racing around the Dawn Palace with him. He’s bigger now and there’s something … more dangerous about him, but it’s him.”

The assassin picked up the long lens and peered through it for quite a while, pursing her lips as she watched.

“Well,” she said finally, a grin spreading over her face. “If the reception he just received is any indication, it looks like he’s on our side.”

Kaden shook his head. “Why would you say that?”

“Once again, I find myself underwhelmed by the Shin powers of observation. Micijah Ut, may Ananshael gnaw the flesh from his overlarge bones, has just stripped your brother’s Wing of their weapons. His men are currently trussing them up. The woman with the red hair and the beguiling figure just took a bite out of one of their ears, and, if your brother’s face is anything to go by, he’d like to go quite a bit beyond ears.”

A sudden, fierce hope leapt in Kaden’s chest. “They’re fighting?”