She guessed that Biswal wouldn’t keep the swords in his makeshift office at the top of the tower. But she knows where the officers’ quarters are, and due to the lack of available space in Fort Thinadeshi, odds are Biswal’s is there as well.
She knows she’s right when she walks down one empty hallway and hears a voice in the back of her head:
“…and our swords will fall like rains…”
She grits her teeth and keeps moving. The awful, babbling sound of the swords intensifies in her mind. The doors get more and more ornate until finally she comes to one thick oaken door with a bronze handle.
She tries the handle. It’s unlocked. She pushes it open.
The whisper of voices becomes a blast. The room beyond is wide and spacious, with a large fireplace set in the wall. To her surprise, there’s a fire going—but then she sees the room is not unoccupied.
Lalith Biswal looks out of a bay window at the far end, hands clasped behind his back. Between him and Mulaghesh are the racks and racks of Rada’s swords, all of them whispering and muttering in Mulaghesh’s head.
She stands there for a moment, not sure what to do. She thought he’d be up on the walls with everyone else.
Then Biswal says aloud, “They only speak to people who have killed, don’t they.”
Mulaghesh hesitates, then walks in, shuts the door, and locks it. She takes the pistol from its holster and turns to face him. “Yeah. That’s right.”
“I thought as much,” he says. “Most of the soldiers here think they’re a figment of their imagination.” He turns around and looks at her, head cocked, listening to the voices and the rise and fall of the sirens. “It’s happening.”
“Yes.”
“So what are you here for, Turyin? I’ve started it. The first shot in the war. One that should have been fought long ago. There’s no going back now.” His words are soft and airy, and his eyes have a glazed-over look to them, as if he’s on some drug. He looks at the pistol in her hand. “Are you going to shoot me?”
“Not if I don’t have to.” She scans the area, looking for the sword of Voortya. His living quarters aren’t as sparse as she’d imagined them to be: he has a comfortable-looking couch, a few paintings, a nice table, and a half-full bookshelf.
“Are you looking for this?” he asks quietly. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out something small, black, curved, and strange-looking—something that could resemble a human hand clutching at air if you looked at it the right way.
Mulaghesh goes still when she sees the sword.
“What is it?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer. She can’t tell if he’s armed or not: she doesn’t see a sidearm on him, which is odd.
“What is this thing you had, Turyin? We found it on you at Smolisk’s house.”
Mulaghesh slowly begins moving toward him.
“I felt it ask me a question,” he says softly. “It spoke to me as I carried it in my pocket, when the sirens started going off, when I knew what was coming. It was so startling I had to walk away.”
Mulaghesh’s grip on the pistol tightens. “What did it say, Lalith?”
“It asked me something—it asked if I was it. It asked if I was this…this thing, this thing I was holding, or maybe it asked if it was a part of me or if I was a part of it. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know how to answer. What is it, Turyin? What is this thing you found?”
“Something that doesn’t belong to you. Give it to me. Now. And I’ll leave peacefully.”
“And if I call for the guards?”
“I know there aren’t any. You’re alone here.”
He considers it. “No,” he says. “No, I won’t give it to you.”
She raises the pistol and points it at him. “I’m not joking, Lalith. I don’t have time for this, not while those ships are closing in.”
“I know you, Turyin,” he says. “To murder one’s commanding officer…That’s something you can never come back from.”
“But it wouldn’t be the first time that I killed a comrade,” she says softly.
“I see,” he says. “But I will still not give this to you. Did you think I wasn’t willing to die for this?”
“And all your soldiers with you?”
“I remain confident,” he says serenely, “of our inevitable victory. We are soldiers of Saypur. We have never lost a war.”
“You’ve gone mad.” The pistol trembles in her hand. “Is that why you had Signe killed?”
“Harkvaldsson? It was an accident. An unfortunate casualty.”
“You suffer so many of those, it seems.” Mulaghesh is breathing heavily. “She was my friend.”
“She was a Dreyling. She was in a hostile region. Both you and she were acting against the orders of the Saypuri authority here. But I am attempting to serve the greater good.”
“Your idea of the greater good involves far too many innocent deaths, Lalith,” says Mulaghesh. “Give me the sword, or I swear I will shoot you dead.”
“A sword?” He looks down at it. “Is it a sword? For a second, when it was in my pocket, I got the strangest feeling that it was a human hand….And then when I held it, I looked out on the world, and imagined I saw seas of fire, and thousands of banners in the air….” He looks at her. “It’s not just a sword, is it. It’s more than these things that Rada made. What is it?”
“I’m going to give you one more chance.”
“I’ll tell you what,” says Biswal, suddenly eager. He stows the sword back in his coat. “I remember when you trained under me almost no one could beat you in a sword fight. You used those wooden swords, and I could tell when someone had tangled with you. They’d be moving slow and covered in livid bruises. I remember that.” He walks to one of the racks and picks up a sword—it must be a crude one, one that didn’t work, because he isn’t instantly possessed by a sentinel.
Lucky for him, thinks Mulaghesh, and lucky for me.
“I never contested you, of course. It would have been unseemly for me to do so, an officer so high above your rank. But I did wish to. To test my mettle against the best fighter under my command…We’re both creatures of battle, Turyin, here at what might be the greatest battle of our lives. It seems only just for us to fight for the possession of this thing, this strange, whispering trinket.”
Mulaghesh keeps the pistol pointed on him but doesn’t speak a word.
He smiles and whips his sword through the air. “Rada’s workmanship seems quite capable. Will these things break skin?” His smile dims a little. “Will you still be a worthy opponent, despite being one-handed?” He walks to one side of the room and kicks the couch away, clearing some space. Then he turns to face her, a strange light in his eyes. “Come on. Test yourself. Let the art of combat decide who is the righteous one.”
Mulaghesh pulls the trigger.
The bullet punches through Biswal’s chest and smashes the window behind him. A cold, chilly breeze comes pouring in.
Biswal stares down at himself in astonishment. The wound is bleeding freely, his blood striking the floor below him.
He looks up at her, outraged, shocked. “I can’t believe you…you…”