Kadaar’s foot lifted from the mercenary’s throat, but the threat remained. “Three days,” he rasped, his voice a gravel slide, “to seize every silo and well.” He straightened, glancing towards the distant shimmer of the eastern horizon where the frontier gap cut a narrow scar. “They’ll bottleneck there, then spread across the central flats.”
Annexation. Not a surgical purge, but a brutal, territorial gutting. The Emperor wanted their land, their nascent bounty. “The Vashni Dam,” she stated, pulling Kadaar’s gaze to her. “It controls the northern flow of the Oakhari River. If we breach it, the ravines north of the ridge will be impassable.”
Kadaar understood immediately. “Flooded fields. No alternative route for an army, not with heavy siege engines.”
“Exactly. They’d be forced to march through the southern gorge, or starve. And the southern approach… that’s where our Sun-Silk Wheat will thrive.” Her mouth hardened. “They will rely entirely on Vosh crops, or they will die.”
Zarifa packed her remaining satchels of dried saltpeter paste and a coil of fuse wire.
They rode toward the Vashni Dam before the moon sank. Kadaar rode hard, Tazien clinging to him, the wind whipping her hair across his face. The dam, a weathered stone structure built by ancient hands, loomed against the pale pre-dawn sky, a stoic sentinel holding back a vast, dark reservoir. The air grew colder here, damp with the river's breath.
“Where’s the weakest point?” Kadaar shouted over the rushing water, dismounting. He scanned the ancient masonry with a practiced eye, not of a builder, but of a man who understood how things broke.
Tazien pointed to a section of water-worn stone near the base, where a network of thin cracks spiderwebbed outwards. “The eastern abutment. Water pressure has compromised the mortar. We place the charges there, the force of the river will do the rest.”
Zarifa, surprisingly adept, worked quickly, carefully molding the sticky, pungent paste of her explosives into the fissures. Her hands moved with a focused intensity, a stark contrast to her usual fidgeting. “This will hold,” she mumbled, pressing the last block of paste. “But it will take time for the water to build. The detonation needs to be precise.”
Kadaar took the fuse, his calloused thumb testing its length. “Just enough to get us clear.” He lit the end with a flint and steel, a spark catching with a hiss that was swallowed by the roar of the water. “Run!”
They galloped back across the rocky terrain, the thud of their horses’ hooves a frantic rhythm against the silence. A distant, muffled thud echoed behind them, a deep rumble that vibrated through the ground. They risked a glance back. A geyser of water erupted from the dam’s base, followed by a torrent of white foam as the ancient stone groaned, then buckled. The reservoir’s dark surface began to churn, a hungry beast unleashed, sending a wall of water surging towards the northern passes. The river, once a placid artery, was now a weapon.
The army would now be funneled along the valley road or starve.
They returned to the Vosh farmstead as the sun began to paint the horizon in hues of bruised purple and orange. The air, still acrid with the faint scent of smoke from the previous night’s skirmish, seemed to hum with a new tension. As they approached the gates, Kadaar reined in his mount sharply. A lone figure stood before their scorched entrance, her silk robes torn, her hair disheveled, a single travel-worn trunk at her feet.
Nisari. The architect of her exile, the woman who had taken Omariyan. But this Nisari was not the preening peacock of the court. Her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. A fresh, livid bruise flowered on her cheekbone.
“Tazien,” Nisari croaked, clutching her collar. “I need asylum. Omariyan… he cast me out. Publicly. Declared our marriage a farce, a manipulation. He said… he said I was a viper. He threw me out onto the street. They laughed, Tazien! The whole court watched him divorce me for my ‘toxic influence’!” She held out a trembling hand. “Family. You must take me in. You owe me that.”
Tazien dismounted, her movements slow, deliberate. She studied Nisari with an unnervingly calm gaze, a predator observing a wounded stray. Kadaar’s hand rested on the hilt of his short-sword, his face a thundercloud of contempt. Zarifa, behind them, hissed softly, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone.
“Asylum?” Tazien’s voice was even. “Of course. She stepped closer, her expression unreadable. “A Fashar always cares for her own. Especially when they’ve fallen so far.” Her eyes, however, held no warmth. Instead, a cold amusement flickered within their depths.
She gestured towards a small, sturdy shed tucked away behind the main barn, the same quarantine structure she had used to first treat Kadaar’s poison, its bars still visible on the small window. “We have just the place for you. Clean, private, and secure. You wouldn’t want any… lingering contagions from the city to spread to our healthy stock, would you?”
Nisari’s face crumpled further, but she was too desperate to argue. Kadaar, without a word, dismounted and strode over, his powerful presence dwarfing her. He picked up her trunk with one hand and propelled her towards the shed with the other, his touch brusque and unyielding. The heavy wooden door creaked open, then slammed shut with a resounding thud, the bolt sliding home with a metallic clang. Nisari stumbled inside, a choked sob escaping her lips.
Tazien watched, her face impassive. Then, she smiled. It was not a kind smile, but a cold, triumphant baring of teeth. She turned to Kadaar. “She thought she could humble me.”
Nisari, pressed against the bars of the shed’s window, suddenly stopped sobbing. A low, guttural laugh escaped her, growing in volume, echoing eerily across the scorched yard. Her eyes, no longer tear-filled, glinted with a maniacal glee. “Humble you?” she shrieked, pressing her face against the metal. “You’re too blind, Tazien! You’re too late! While you were playing war games with that barbarian, I ensured your perfect little haven would wither from the inside! The main well, Tazien! I saw where you drew your water! That was my real wedding gift! A slow, agonizing death for every drop you drink!”
Tazien’s smile vanished. The well. She had been so focused on the Dam, on the army, on Nisari’s dramatic arrival. Her gaze snapped towards the stone well-head near the center of the courtyard, glinting innocently in the rising sun. A lethal capital poison. Her blood-quickening serum for Kadaar, her blighted fertilizer, her entire intricate game of survival – all dependent on clean water. Nisari’s laughter grew louder, more deranged, a siren’s song of death.
“It’s already in the water! I dumped it while you were riding out!”
Kadaar’s hand flew to his mouth, tasting the lingering dryness from their journey. Tazien recalled the clay cup Kadaar had offered her before they mounted their horses.
Nisari’s triumphant cackle filled the air. “You’ve all drunk it, haven’t you? Every last one of you!”