At last the sky brightened enough that he dared risk entering the shattered remains of the House itself. The main doors stood slightly open, shadowed from the sun by the remaining bulk of the House. Soen stood there for a time considering them.
“Master Soen.” The words were soft, deferential.
“Yes, Assesia Jukung,” Soen responded without looking at the assassin.
“The remaining slaves are ready for transport.”
The sound of flies filled the space of a breath.
“The Centurai of House Megnara has been returned, and a special Devotion has been arranged for each of their warriors. . as you directed. None of them will remember this.”
“Thank you, Assesia,” Soen said but did not move. “Have you considered these doors, Jukung? The delicate and intricate carvings crafted no doubt in the Imperial City itself by skilled artisans of the Fifth Estate. What must it have cost old Timuran to have them brought to this remote place? Now they look tired to me, as though they feel the weight of what is behind them.”
“Master,” Jukung urged, an impatient edge to his voice, “Keeper Ch’drei is awaiting our report.”
“Then we had best give her a complete one,” Soen responded as he stepped quickly through the gap between the main doors. “We do not yet know who this House Timuran is. . or why its fall brought down nearly the entire frontier. But I know where to look for at least some of the answers. Coming?”
It was the smell that was worst, Soen decided. The sights of the blood and carnage, torn limbs and broken, jutting bones one could analyze from a safer, more objective position of the mind, but the putrid, cloying smell of rotting flesh could never be put at a distance. He choked back his bile and took a single step into the garden.
Or what little remained of the garden. The avatria had crashed down into it before the structure folded sideways, collapsing into the northeast wall, slicing down through the subatria curtain wall and buildings, burying them in a hopeless pile of unrecognizable rubble. It was there, Soen noted with detachment, that the fire had burned most fiercely, but the off-shore winds of the evening must have kept the flames burning away from the southern and western sections of the subatria.
“What happened here, Master?” Jukung’s words were heavy, as though he were having difficulty speaking.
“The House fell. . quite literally it seems. Here it is, Jukung; this is the center-the root. Everything that fell on the frontier-every Well that failed-started with this event.” Soen turned to face Jukung. “The answer is here, Assesia. Have Qinsei and Phang discovered what I sent them to find?”
“I am only an Assesia, Master. I am not privy to. .”
“Have they or not?” There was no question in Soen’s voice.
“Phang reports that the Impress Scrolls are lost-apparently burned and scattered beyond recovery,” Jukung answered though his eyes were fixed anywhere but on Soen.
“And Qinsei?”
“She has recovered most of the Devotion Ledger for the last eight months.”
“Well, that’s something that may prove useful.” Soen began picking his way around the southern edge of the garden wall. Here the debris was minimal although it was also unfortunately easier to pick out individual bodies or their parts. Soen dutifully noted a large concentration of warrior and Guardian bodies choking the hall that led back to the Hall of the Past on the far side of the ruined garden. In his mind, Soen pictured the Guardians gathering for their mutual defense against a suddenly insane and desperate enemy, trying to back into the corridor and find a more defensible position.
Just before this pile of dead, a glint caught his eye near the base of the curving wall. Soen looked up again at the smoldering mass of the avatria that loomed above him. He could make out only a handful of plates from the underside of the structure; it was unstable to say the least. Soen hoped to the gods that it would hold long enough to satisfy his curiosity.
Soen moved quickly around the remaining southern wall of the garden. There were more slave bodies here; some had been crushed under the debris from the collapse while others had died from sword and dagger wounds. Their blood had mixed with the dust in dark, solid stains. Still he kept his eye on his prize, moving as quickly as he dared.
At last he stopped. He stood under the archway that opened into the Hall of the Past, but that history did not interest him just yet. He reached down and plucked the shining object from the dust.