Mayhiros Xenon
A child did the last of the work, beating an iron nail into a post with a hammer too large for her hands and an oversized grin. When she had finished, Mayhiros Xenon hefted her off his shoulder. She ran back to her parents, laughing, while the Dragon Blood turned towards the 300 gathered people of White Stone. “The Stables of the Smaller Circle,” he said, “rebuilt and good as new, thanks to your help.”
The crowd cheered and poured outside to laugh beneath the softening Water-season sky. They broke up into little groups and ate rich sausages, softened by sweet mochi, and drank thick koumiss as the Dragon Blood made his way from group to group, thanking each man for his help in turn. As he clasped arms with Cambyses, a wood-cutter who'd provided most of the lumber for his manse's reconstruction, Xenon felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned to see a man equal to his own height, dressed in simple riding gear and with a rice hat hiding the features of his face. “I need to speak with you,” the man said, and Xenon recognized his exiled cousin Ruja's voice.
Xenon bit his lip, but Ruja was family, so he said "of course” and lead the way back into the Stables and to a private stall held aside for his horse, Runner. He shut the gate behind him. “You shouldn't be here, cousin. Exile is a serious crime.”
“My exile is soon to end.” Ruja's eyes blazed eagerly and Xenon saw much of himself in that face. They shared the shape of their ears, the lines of their nose, but while Xenon's hair had the rich browns of wood aspected caste marks, Ruja's skin tinted orange and his hair a powerful red, showing his closer connection to their family’s founder. “Even now my father rides back to reclaim control of Celeren.”
“Under what auspice? Have the Anathema granted either of you clemency before the law?”
“We need no clemency from them!”
“Perhaps not, but you do from the circuit riders. It was our cousin Clineas that passed judgment against your father, remember. By rights, I should force you from the land myself; I’m a Lightning Hoof of Hiparkes, remember, and sworn to uphold Marukani law.”
“Clineas is a traitor to our clan. Force me away and you’re no better than he. But lend your strength to your family instead and we all stand to profit.”
“You can’t plan a raid against them, Ruja. Even with our whole family together we wouldn’t have enough men. It’s no range town they have in those mountains, it’s a city to rival Celeren. They’re fortified. They’ve got an army.”
Ruja’s smile was both conspirational and full of dark glee. “So do we. The Roseblack and her Vermillion Legion sit in Celeren even now, and my father –”
“The Realm has occupied Celeren?!” Xenon flexed his fingers, torn between throttling details from his cousin's throat and grabbing his spear to make straight for the fortress-manse.
“Only for a time.” Ruja held up a placating hand. “The Roseblack needs to rest her troops before she marches again, and to decide who she marches against. It seems her orders are to move for the Mask of Winters, but my father hopes to see her march further east, instead.”
“Into the heart of the Marukan Alliance. Would you have the Roseblack war against our own people?”
“Against the Anathema, Xenon. And if our clan supports her, we too can reap the profits.”
Xenon shook his head and stepped back, until he was pressing against the cool wood of the stables. “Where is the profit in betraying your own people?”
“Think of it. Heroes across The Realm plot to seize the Scarlet Throne, and everywhere the name Tepet Ejava is whispered as one of the most likely to succeed. She only needs an edge to hold it; an edge that can come from the Immaculate Order’s support, if she brings the heads of a band of powerful Anathema to the table. If she can claim the Marukan Alliance as a loyal and wealthy satrapy, as well…”
“Satrapy!” Xenon’s breath caught in his lungs.
“With the Mayhiros clan at its governors, my father at the head. When we have tax rights, we’ll all be wealthy men.”
Xenon turned away, swallowing hard against the bile in his throat. His vision swam as he stared into shadows. “You would sell our people into slavery for the sake of wealth, skimmed away from those you raise up as your masters.”
“Would you rather the Anathema be our masters, then? Without the Roseblack and the Realm, that’s what things will come to. At least this way we’re riding the horse instead of crushed beneath its hooves.”
“What a bitter choice.” Xenon placed his hands on Runner’s flank and looked again at his cousin. “Do I see my people used and changed by one set of outsiders, or do I see them become servants to another?”
“The Roseblack, at least, is a daughter of the Dragons. Like me. Like you.”
“No.” Xenon shook his head. “Don’t pretend to the Immaculate faith with me, cousin. Even if you’ve taken up that sash, Hiparkes is still my god; ‘Anathema’ is just another word to me.”
Ruja bristled. “One of your ‘just words’ stole my sword, and another turned it against my own father, your uncle. Will you turn your back on your family?”
Xenon sighed. He was silent for a while, considering. But in the end, what choice did he have? Though they seemed to be going mad, though they surrendered their own people to an age-old foe, Ruja was right. Family came first. “I will stand with you, Ruja,” he said. “But know that I have no heart for this fight. I fear betrayal and worse from the Realm in a way I do not fear the Solars, and Hiparkes may yet stay my hand. But for now, the Black Thunder Lancers will ride when you call.”
“Be ready, then. My call is not far off.” Ruja strode out of the stables and away.
Xenon stayed in the stable for a while, his hand on Runner’s flank. The horse gave him a sad, soulful look, and he wondered at the pace of the world, that it should come to this.
