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Authors: J. Gregory Keyes
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explain it to you soon, Hercule.”
“I think I see an explanation,” Crecy said. “The tsar has been in China, yes?
And Vasilisa Karevna with him. You well know how jealous she has become of you. Suppose that the coup, the sending, the disappearance of the tsar are all connected to her?”
“You have a suspicious, devious mind, Veronique. You really think Karevna would betray another Korai?”
“The Korai is a sisterhood, Adrienne, and sisters can be the most bitter rivals of all. I think this all a trap. If the malakus failed to kill you, then Golitsyn lulls you into a falsasense of security until he murders you here. Or you run off to China, in search of your long-lost son, and they catch you there.”
“You should have told me all of this,” Hercule hissed. “How can I captain your spies if—” He stopped, too angry to continue.
Adrienne got up and crossed back to the window. “I think Veronique is right,”
she said, after a moment. “I think this is all an elaborate trap of some sort. But set by whom? I think it beyond Karevna, frankly.”
“More important,” Crecy said, “what will you do about it?” Adrienne looked at them both and smiled fiercely. “Why, walk into it, of course.”
EMPIRE OF UNREASON
6.
The Scalped Man
Red Shoes prowled to the edge of the valley. The ghost country had long since swallowed the moon, but to his owl eyes the stars burned brightly enough to let him see each leaf on the scraggly trees along the ridge. Below, there were no trees—only endless waves of tall grass, rolling hills fading silver, then gray, becoming stars again at the horizon.
He strained, listening for sounds few men could hear, and that none could perceive with their ears. A faint call, or the memory of a call, lingered in the still air.
A chill breath of wind sighed across the grass, and Red Shoes shivered. He was far, far from home—two weeks past the Wichita village, almost two months from the village of his birth.
It might be best to return to camp, and Tug. But something was out here…
Across the prairie, the something stood up from the grass, the shape of a man.
In all that vastness, it seemed both tiny and gigantic.
“You do not belong here,” the shape told him. At such a distance, even a loud shout would have gone unheard, but this was a whisper, carried by the winds behind the world.
“Nevertheless, I have come,” Red Shoes replied.
“For what purpose? To die far from your kind?”
EMPIRE OF UNREASON
“My purposes are not yours to ask after,” Red Shoes replied. He was aware of his shadowchildren, gathering near in his defense.
“Walk back over your footsteps,” the creature said, “or I shall walk over them. I shall walk over your soul.”
Red Shoes laughed. “Better you walk on fire, on the spine of a lightning bolt.”
The shape said nothing more. It vanished back into the grass. The wind stilled.
Red Shoes waited.
His shadowchildren warned him, as the thing came up at his back. He turned to find it hurtling toward him.
It looked like a Wazhazhe warrior, eyes circled with black, the arc of a tomahawk gleaming above his head, cleaving toward Red Shoes. The warrior’s eyes burned like hot coals, and his lip was twisted into a sneer. He had been scalped, and his bald head was mottled with scars. Red Shoes dodged nimbly aside, drawing his own ax. He was fast enough to avoid the stranger’s weapon, but the two of them still crashed together. It felt like running full force into a tree. He caught hold of the man’s weapon arm and tried to swing his own around and lay open the back of his enemy’s head, but his own wrist was caught. They strained there for a moment, muscles taut as wires. Then, slowly, he began to feel his own strength give way. The scalped man was very strong.
Red Shoes pushed forward and then jerked back, kicking his foot up into the scalped man’s groin. Falling backward, he threw his antagonist over, then scrambled up, ax at the
“I think I see an explanation,” Crecy said. “The tsar has been in China, yes?
And Vasilisa Karevna with him. You well know how jealous she has become of you. Suppose that the coup, the sending, the disappearance of the tsar are all connected to her?”
“You have a suspicious, devious mind, Veronique. You really think Karevna would betray another Korai?”
“The Korai is a sisterhood, Adrienne, and sisters can be the most bitter rivals of all. I think this all a trap. If the malakus failed to kill you, then Golitsyn lulls you into a falsasense of security until he murders you here. Or you run off to China, in search of your long-lost son, and they catch you there.”
“You should have told me all of this,” Hercule hissed. “How can I captain your spies if—” He stopped, too angry to continue.
Adrienne got up and crossed back to the window. “I think Veronique is right,”
she said, after a moment. “I think this is all an elaborate trap of some sort. But set by whom? I think it beyond Karevna, frankly.”
“More important,” Crecy said, “what will you do about it?” Adrienne looked at them both and smiled fiercely. “Why, walk into it, of course.”
EMPIRE OF UNREASON
6.
The Scalped Man
Red Shoes prowled to the edge of the valley. The ghost country had long since swallowed the moon, but to his owl eyes the stars burned brightly enough to let him see each leaf on the scraggly trees along the ridge. Below, there were no trees—only endless waves of tall grass, rolling hills fading silver, then gray, becoming stars again at the horizon.
He strained, listening for sounds few men could hear, and that none could perceive with their ears. A faint call, or the memory of a call, lingered in the still air.
A chill breath of wind sighed across the grass, and Red Shoes shivered. He was far, far from home—two weeks past the Wichita village, almost two months from the village of his birth.
It might be best to return to camp, and Tug. But something was out here…
Across the prairie, the something stood up from the grass, the shape of a man.
In all that vastness, it seemed both tiny and gigantic.
“You do not belong here,” the shape told him. At such a distance, even a loud shout would have gone unheard, but this was a whisper, carried by the winds behind the world.
“Nevertheless, I have come,” Red Shoes replied.
“For what purpose? To die far from your kind?”
EMPIRE OF UNREASON
“My purposes are not yours to ask after,” Red Shoes replied. He was aware of his shadowchildren, gathering near in his defense.
“Walk back over your footsteps,” the creature said, “or I shall walk over them. I shall walk over your soul.”
Red Shoes laughed. “Better you walk on fire, on the spine of a lightning bolt.”
The shape said nothing more. It vanished back into the grass. The wind stilled.
Red Shoes waited.
His shadowchildren warned him, as the thing came up at his back. He turned to find it hurtling toward him.
It looked like a Wazhazhe warrior, eyes circled with black, the arc of a tomahawk gleaming above his head, cleaving toward Red Shoes. The warrior’s eyes burned like hot coals, and his lip was twisted into a sneer. He had been scalped, and his bald head was mottled with scars. Red Shoes dodged nimbly aside, drawing his own ax. He was fast enough to avoid the stranger’s weapon, but the two of them still crashed together. It felt like running full force into a tree. He caught hold of the man’s weapon arm and tried to swing his own around and lay open the back of his enemy’s head, but his own wrist was caught. They strained there for a moment, muscles taut as wires. Then, slowly, he began to feel his own strength give way. The scalped man was very strong.
Red Shoes pushed forward and then jerked back, kicking his foot up into the scalped man’s groin. Falling backward, he threw his antagonist over, then scrambled up, ax at the
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