86. A phoenix always rises again

Yes, maybe death did exist, but Dashvara quickly noticed that his arm still hurt and that, in truth, he was still alive and well. He needed a little more time to accept the fact that he wasn’t likely to die any time soon. And another moment for the disbelieving smile that lit up his face to fade.

“I’m alive,” he whispered.

He did not dare to say it too loudly, as if the observation might cease to be true at any moment. The red snakes were as treacherous as the Essimeans, and who knows how their venom worked. He knew it was lethal… and he also knew that it was very difficult to obtain that venom. He doubted that a mere vindictive steppian could have obtained it. Someone must have given it to him or sold it to him. But who? No matter how hard he looked for a name, Dashvara couldn’t find one. Well, actually, he could think of several, but all of them had good reasons not to kill him. Todakwa had no interest in cooling his relationship with Kuriag. The enslaved Shalussis had no interest in drawing Todakwa’s ire. In Dazbon, Lanamiag Korfu had vowed to finish off the Xalyas to avenge his father’s death, but he was supposed to be back in Titiaka with Fayrah, and he doubted he would dare to do anything that would upset his wife. In the end, Dashvara was unable to say for sure which of the three groups had been the culprit: the Essimeans, the Shalussis, or the Titiakas.

He shook his head and stood up. There was no point in turning this over in his head: the case was that he was alive, and the murderess had failed. He walked to the door, and a smile stretched his lips as he imagined the look on his brothers’ faces when he opened it. He reached for the handle… and stopped.

Wait a second, he thought. He took a step back, and excitement gradually overtook him as an absolutely brilliant idea blossomed in his head: what if he made Todakwa think he was dead? A dead man was free, he was nobody’s slave, a dead man was left in peace!

Holding back a laugh, he stepped away from the door and began to plan. First, he needed to get a message to the captain without the Essimeans finding out. And, under the present circumstances, there was no better messenger than Tahisran. With a little luck, he would show his nose during the night through one of the loopholes. The shadow was curious by nature… and Dashvara bet that the Xalyas would encourage him to take a look inside the tower. If by chance he wasn’t mistaken, and if by chance the Essimeans respected the Xalyas lord’s desire to rest in peace at the Feather until morning… and if by chance this crypt of Nabakaji’s actually existed and he could hide in it while he found a way to escape… then, yes, maybe his plan would work. However, so much “by chance” worried him a little. He felt like he was stacking too many wobbly stones.

Nevertheless, it was worth a try.

Light still came through the narrow loopholes, but it was getting dimmer and dimmer, and Dashvara needed it to search for the entrance to the crypt. He hoped Xalya’s books weren’t lying… He crouched down and quickly probed the mosaics on the floor and the statues on the wall before examining everything with increasing scrutiny. As the light seriously faded, he began to fumble with his hands, looking for a hole that could serve as a lock. He was at this point when he heard a mental gasp.

‘Dash?’

Overcome with relief, Dashvara turned his head and murmured happily:

“Hi, Tah.”

He saw the shadow. It was moving step by step in the growing darkness, obviously incredulous.

‘You’re not dead?’

Dashvara smiled quietly.

“Precisely, I am dead. Or at least that’s what we’ll make the Essimeans believe. Otherwise, I’m in relatively good shape except for this damn arrow in my arm. How are the Xalyas?”

Tahisran made a muffled mental sound.

‘You mean, it was all a show? The arrow wasn’t poisoned?’

Dashvara rolled his eyes.

“It was, it was. But since when can red snake venom kill a lord of the steppe?” He smiled broadly and repeated, more seriously, “How are the Xalyas, Tah?”

The shadow cleared his throat and sat down on the mosaics. Dashvara continued to grope the floor.

‘Well, what do you expect,’ Tahisran sighed. ‘They’re sad.’

Dashvara nodded to himself, and the shadow added:

‘Tell me, Dash. I hope you’re not going to ask me not to tell them you’re alive. That would be awfully nasty… What are you doing?’ he asked, intrigued.

Dashvara straightened up, huffing.

“I’m looking for the crypt. Kuriag has the key. It is golden, with signs drawn on it… If you could bring it to me now…”

‘By stealing it from him?’ Tahisran replied, reluctantly.

Dashvara pouted and looked in its direction. He hesitated, then said:

“I’ll tell you the plan. The trick is to convince Todakwa that I am dead. My people will ask to be allowed to take my corpse to the foot of Mount Bakhia, as tradition dictates… Well, actually, there is no such tradition, but Todakwa will swallow it: he knows that mountain is sacred to us. If Kuriag manages to convince Todakwa to let my people accompany me, problem solved: the corpse is transported, I hide in the crypt and, say three days later, when my people are already far from Essimea, I will escape from the tower without anyone noticing.”

He nodded, convinced and excited by the idea. Tahisran stirred and shifted.

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‘What corpse?’ he asked.

Dashvara made a vague gesture.

“Whatever. We build it, add a little pheasant meat, whatever, and it’ll stink as bad as a real corpse.”

‘Mmph. And, according to you, Todakwa will not demand to see you dead?’

The question drew an embarrassed pout from Dashvara.

“It can go wrong,” he admitted. “But anything in this life can go wrong. The good thing is, if it works out, Kuriag will do quite well, and I’ll have a better chance of getting out alive. That is, dead but alive,” he observed, much amused. “But to carry out the plan… I need you, Tah.”

The shadow did not answer immediately. After a moment, Dashvara perceived its mental smile.

‘I’m glad you’re alive, Dash. Of course I’m going to help you. I’ll bring you that key. But it will be better if I tell Kuriag everything…’

“No,” Dashvara cut him off. “Only if you can’t find the key… You understand, Kuriag is an awful liar. Todakwa would see right away that there’s something weird going on. Tell the Captain and Sashava the plan. Only them. If the captain feels it necessary to tell the others, let him, but… I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell… all my brothers. Just a few so they can block the view and hide my corpse. It’s about finding a way to convince without letting anyone see. And to ask Kuriag to enforce the Xalya tradition: no outsider should see the face of the last lord of the steppe,” he pronounced with a small smile. “Not as long as this one is dead. And if Todakwa insists on seeing me before we leave… I can always play corpse for a while until…”

His ramblings were suddenly interrupted when his hand fell on a small hole at the foot of the statue of the Eternal Bird. He groped and shook his head, muttering:

“I can’t see anything at all, but it could be the entrance.”

He felt a slight energy beside him. Tahisran had come closer. Suddenly, a light appeared, as faint as the butterflies of light his naâsga was invoking, and Dashvara could see five black fingers supporting it… Swallowing his fear, he quickly examined the hole. The light disappeared.

‘Damn,’ Tahisran growled. ‘I’ve never been very good at harmonies.’

Dashvara smiled.

“That’s all right. Bring the key and we’ll see if it fits.”

Without answering, Tahisran moved closer and finally commented:

‘I may be a bad harmonist, but I’m a good perceptist. And that’s odd… This hole is strangely shaped.’ After a silence, he blew out a mental breath. ‘There’s a spell in there. A rather subtle spell. And a complex one.’

Dashvara arched an eyebrow. According to Kuriag, the golden key was enchanted. In that case, it was not surprising that the lock was enchanted as well. What struck him as odd was that the Ancient Kings used magical locks, even though they had so little love for magic…

And what do you really know about the Ancient Kings, Dash, you who didn’t even know they were demons. Books don’t necessarily tell the truths.

He smoothed his beard for a moment, and then finally reacted.

“So, are you bringing me that key, Tah?”

The shadow made an amused sound. The riddle of this lock seemed to have motivated him.

‘I’ll be right back,’ Tah promised.

And off he went. As soon as he left, Dashvara regretted not asking him to bring some instrument to remove the arrowhead. He’d never done it by himself, and he doubted he could do it, but… bringing Tsu along might arouse suspicion.

At the same time, if you’re losing all your blood here, Dash, you’re not going to have to fake this dead body thing.

He rolled his eyes, glanced at his wound again, and winced. He didn’t even have a knife to cut the blood-soaked sleeve and remove the leather armor. He tried to peel it off the skin… and almost immediately gave up. It was useless and only made the pain worse. Until Tahisran returned, he sat at the foot of the Eternal Bird, near the lock, dizzy, exasperated, and thirsty. His spirits lifted a little when the shadow placed the golden key in his palm.

“Thank you, Tah,” he murmured. “What would I do without you…”

‘Well, you’d probably be out of the tower by now, and they wouldn’t all be mourning your death,’ Tahisran chided him.

Dashvara swallowed. Damn. Tahisran was right, in a way, but… Without answering, he straightened up heavily and, taking the key firmly, was about to insert it into the lock when Tahisran insisted:

‘You know, Dash? The Xalyas are standing guard outside… And it’s possible they’re surprised I haven’t come out and told them yet… whether you’re dead or not. You should let them in. At least Tsu. You’re hurt. Your plan won’t work if you leave a trail of blood wherever you go.’

Dashvara frowned, thought it over, and nodded tiredly. Once again, Tahisran was right.

“Okay,” he yielded. “Talk to the captain and let him and Tsu in.”

He perceived Tahisran’s relieved smile.

‘I’ll do that right away.’

Dashvara shook his head and put the key away. Faster than he expected, the tower door opened and several figures entered. More than two, he noticed with some exasperation. The captain came first, a lighted candle in his hand. Miflin closed the door. In all, a good dozen had entered. Sensing the shadow on his right, Dashvara muttered in a whisper:

“For the discretion, bravo.”

Tahisran gave an innocent, mocking growl. Then, as the captain moved forward, squinting, trying to see in the darkness, Dashvara called out in a voice from beyond the grave:

“The Eternal Bird of Nabakaji greets you, Xalyas.”

He saw them tense up, and he laughed out loud, standing up.

“Does anyone have a flask? I’m dying of thirst, brothers. And, by the way, that arrow, Tsu, if you’ll take it away…”

Dashvara’s words generated gasps, comments, curses, and blessings. Tsu was soon at his side, begging him to lie down so he could be treated. He sent Miflin to fetch water, Arvara was assigned the task of holding Dashvara still as the drow began the operation, and in the meantime, the captain, crouching beside him, commented:

“Tah explained your plan to us. Honestly, Dash, I don’t think it will work. Todakwa is an Essimean. A Death Wizard. Who knows, maybe he can even tell from a distance that the corpse we’re taking is not yours. And we would raise suspicions right away, you know how your people is…”

As Tsu palpated his arm, Dashvara gave a muffled grunt, ceasing to listen to the captain. Damn, it hurt a lot. Someone handed him a belt, and he bit down on it. The operation was carried out as quietly as possible. While Tsu tinkered with his arm and filled cups with blood, Dashvara tried to focus his thoughts on something else. His plan to leave Aralika as a corpse seemed more and more far-fetched, and at the same time, he couldn’t think of a better one. Sending his people safely to Mount Bakhia under Kuriag’s protection would have been a masterstroke.

As he felt himself fainting, he feared he would lose consciousness, and with effort, he removed the belt from his mouth and croaked:

“Captain…”

Zorvun had stayed close to him, holding his healthy arm for support. His expression became more animated when he heard Dashvara.

“Yes, son?”

Dashvara gritted his teeth, breathed in, and managed to say:

“Take the key I have in my pocket. And open the door to the crypt. Tahisran will show you where it is. Maybe… there’s something interesting inside.”

A flash of pain drew a muffled cry from him, and he hastened to bite the belt again. Zorvun shook his head, looking at him in amazement.

“The crypt?” he murmured as he reached into his pocket. “Nabakaji’s crypt?”

Dashvara nodded silently, and the captain took out the key. At that moment, Tsu said in a voice charged with tension:

“I’m going to pull it out, Dash. Lumon, can you hold him down too? Hang in there.”

Dashvara huffed and dropped the belt. He replied in a voice that was both strained and ironic:

“What does it matter if I die? I’ve already been resurrected twice, and they say all good things come in threes…” He gasped for breath with watering and feverish eyes. “Oh, Lia-dir-lá… Are you going to pull it out now?”

He saw Tsu’s dark look. The drow picked up the belt and put it back in his mouth, replying:

“Stop talking, lord of the steppe.”

The steppe lord stopped talking. And as Tsu began to withdraw the arrowhead, his mind flew like a bird and stopped even thinking. The darkness crushed him.