This is the thirty-first chapter of Wealthgiver, an alternate history serial romance about nationalism and cave-Thracians. For the back-of-the-book description and an index of chapters, click here. For the beginning, click here. For the previous chapter, click here.
Andrei stood on the balcony of Arsen's house and watched his Bessian army march south. Except "march" wasn't the right word, and neither was army.
There were no flags, no columns, not even any uniforms unless one counted the vest-with-sash-and-cap of all men in this part of the possibly-former Ottoman Empire. There were quite a lot of weapons, but the most important ones were hidden.
They had won these men over, but they were not soldiers. At best they were gang of assassins, all sneaking in the same direction.
Andrei snuck a glance at Kori. She stood beside him, waving grandly, but her expression was stony.
He leaned closer to her. "Kori? What's wrong?"
"Kori." Her voice was a grating whisper. "Why keep that name?"
"You want me to call you My Mistress? I refuse. People would get the wrong idea."
She did not smile. "No, I am something else. Or I soon will be."
Andrei could tell she had some religious lecture prepared, but he wouldn't indulge it. "Is this what you want? To be grim, rather than happy?"
She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Should I pretend to still be their Persephone? Prance about the fields, scattering smiles and wildflower seeds? It would be a lie."
"I thought lies were truth."
Andrei expected for Kori to snap at him, but she placed her hand over her face and breathed deep. Her fingers curled as if tearing. She wasn't focusing on her breath or shading her eyes from the Sun. Kori looked as if what she most wanted to do was claw grooves down her cheeks. Her voice was flat when she said, "And the mask is the truest face."
Andrei put his arm around her shoulders and leaned toward her, lowering his voice. "Whatever you're doing to yourself, stop it."
Of course, his words had the opposite effect. Kori's hunched, not away from him, but toward her inner torment.
Andrei tried to get a grip on his own fear. His wife had suffered some kind of mental attack after the assassination attempt, something he had both caused and was unable to cure.
"You want me to be happy," she said, "but what does happiness matter? We only do what we must.:
"What we have to do is turn and fight."
Kori winced, and Andrei realized his voice had risen, as if by volume of sound he could force her out of her mood.
He loosened his grip on her and repeated himself more quietly. "We turn and fight."
"Metaphorically of course. We are Bessians."
Cenk seemed to have materialized from the empty air behind them. Andrei decided to believe that the man had heard him yelling at Kori and had snuck over to investigate. Either that, or he'd been eavesdropping since before the conversation began. The darkness knew itself, even in broad daylight.
Andrei turned back to view the street, Kori a leaden weight at his side. "I hope there is a still a chance to keep this fight metaphorical."
"Yes, My Master, I share your worries, but we cannot love our men more than we love victory. If the distraction they provide wins us the Sacred Depths, their sacrifice will have meaning."
"Meaning," echoed Kori, her tone hopeless.
"What are you talking about? Distraction?" Andrei craned his neck around. "This horde is a message," he reminded them. "They're the brothers and cousins of the priests. Nikolai will be forced into welcoming them."
"I know, My Master," said Cenk. "You're giving him yet another chance."
At the price of all these men's lives. Andrei tried to remember why this plan had seemed so good yesterday.
"The war comes," said Kori. "It's no use trying to run from it."
"Which is why we're sneaking up on it."
Kori didn't seem reassured. And Cenk was being awfully quiet.
Andrei glanced around. The spy appeared to be watching the departing army. His expression was extremely neutral.
"Agent Cenk?" Andrei asked. "What do you know?"
One of the man's mustaches lifted fractionally. "Nothing yet, My Master."
Andrei let go of Kori. "What have you ordered done?"
Cenk's smile vanished. His eyes darted to the wall of the house.
"Do we not trust Arsen's household? Do you not trust me?"
"Trust," muttered Kori, but Cenk bowed.
"My Master. With luck the work is already done. Our men will arrive to find the Sacred Depths open and welcoming."
"Because you've had Nikolai assassinated." Andrei let go of Kori and turned around, the better to berate his subordinate. "Oh, you're surprised at my leap of logic, are you? I thought of that plan and I abandoned it!"
Andrei knew his anger was a distraction. He was using it to hide from the much more frightening necessities of understanding his wife and disciplining a man he respected.
"Agent Cenk," he said. "You were thinking like a spymaster. Worse, you were thinking like a spymaster commanding agents embedded in enemy territory."
Which he supposed must now be the case.
"All right. We are at war," Andrei said.
"We were already at war," said Kori, but Andrei ignored her. He still didn't know what to do about her and had a point he wanted to make.
"We can't afford to play these games in the dark any more," he said. "Which is why, Cenk, I'm demoting you to general."
"Demoting? What was I before?" He swallowed. "My Master."
"You were some kind of free agent, it seems. Now, General, you take orders from me. Escort me and Your Mistress around the mountains and to Peshtera as we planned, and collect us our second army."
"That was already our plan."
"Our plan hasn't changed. It's just risen in price. What happens if we try to assassinate the Madman of the Mountain and we miss?"
Cenk straightened his shoulders. "What if we don't?"
"Then everyone will wonder who's next. Yes, we may find ourselves welcomed into the Mountain again, but it will be by the one priest who murdered all the others. And who is that likely to be? Brother Bogdan?"
"Yes," said Cenk immediately. "He's a true craftsman."
Andrei snorted. "I'll concede that, but Nikolai has something that none of the rest of the priests have." He made a fist and raised it. "Certainty. Nikolai doesn't seek to know the will of the gods. He doesn't ask or wonder or even assume. He knows. He reaches into the depths, grabs what's there and hangs onto it. It's…Haven't you seen how powerful that makes him?"
Cenk grimaced in distaste. "My Master, you're describing a zealot. The sort of people we use as patsies and cannon fodder."
Kori spoke without turning around, as if at the men trailing down the street. "Nikolay is the Orphan. No song is more beguiling than his." She put her hand to her chest. "He might warm even the heart of Death."
"Yes," said Andrei, "but in the end, his head was torn off his—"
"Yes!" Kori rounded on him. "Death could not defeat the musician, but Madness!" she shouted. "The Raving Ones ripped him apart."
Andrei realized his hands were raised in self-defense and lowered them. "Raving Ones?"
"Demons," said Cenk. "Women possessed by the God of Wine."
Andrei remembered his Greek mythology and his cell back under the Mountain. Odd, that he would feel nostalgic for his lessons with Nikolai. "Yes. The Bacchae. The women who kill every man and male animal."
Kori rocked her head forward, as if nodding. "Their minds are swept away. Not thinking, they feel. Not human, they destroy," said Kori. "Bacchae, Maenads."
"And in Bessian?"
Cenk hissed air between his teeth and Kori hid her face in her hands.
"I spoke their Good name to you once before," she said. "Now the Drunkard has been well and truly summoned."
Andrei breathed deep and called the voice in his head by its name. "Fear," he said. "I've let it guide me for too long."
Kori made a sound between a chuckle and a sob. "Cowardice. Courage. What does it matter? We still ride toward the underworld."
He put his arm back around her. "By the longest way," he said, "I promise."
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