Read The Straits of Galahesh: Book Two of The Lays of Anuskaya for Free Online Page A

deeper in his chair. He looked defeated as he stared into the fire. “It is unfortunate what has become of us,” he said, though he seemed to be saying it more to the darkness of the room than he was to Nikandr. “But what are we to do? The empire looms to the west, and here we are five years after the conflict, weaker than we were before.”
    The conflict was how most referred to the Battle of Uyadensk and the blockade that preceded it. Most had never heard of Nasim or what he’d done, or if they had they didn’t believe that he’d saved Khalakovo from ruin. All they knew was that they were worse off. Hungrier. Less safe.
    Nikandr swirled his vodka and clacked the mazer down on the arm of his chair. “It would not be so if Zhabyn did not tax our coffers bare and demand every stone we mined.”
    “You sit in a different seat than I” — Anatoliy bowed his head respectfully— “of this there can be no doubt, but from what My Lord Duke tells me, there is little choice in the matter. The tributes have become more dear.”
    “The Kamarisi has become greedy.”
    “Perhaps, but Yevgeny tells me they are in little position to make unreasonable demands. It is their war with the Haelish, not greed, that forces their hand. The war is twenty years old if it is a day, and now news has come that late this summer much of the bountiful land to the west was raided or burned. They are not desperate, but they must be careful, now more than ever, with the food they grant. So if the Grand Duchy comes to them yet again, our hands folded, asking to be fed, it will cost us, and dearly.”
    “I suppose I should not be surprised, but you would think the Kamarisi would have long ago settled a dispute that is nearly as old as he is.”
    “It is not a simple matter of pride. If they lose the land to the Haelish, the Wredes will become emboldened.”
    “If they would merely ask for our help…”
    Anatoliy’s smile was suddenly fierce. “Such a thing the Kamarisi will never do. Within a fortnight he would find a knife in his back and a cousin upon his throne.”
    Nikandr raised his mazer in salute. “We learned much from them, did we not?”
    “Traditions handed down are difficult to set aside.”
    Nikandr finished his vodka and stood. “Come. The elixir will have done its work by now.”
    Anatoliy, for the first time since Nikandr had entered his home, showed vigor as he stood and lit a small lamp. He led Nikandr up the creaking stairs to a small bedroom with a single bed. Lying there was a girl of fourteen, bedcovers kicked away, her blonde hair and shift damp with sweat. She was calm, however—the primary effect of the elixir he’d had delivered to Anatoliy earlier in the day.
    “I’ve said it in letters, Anatoliy, but I say it again. This may kill her.”
    Anatoliy’s eyes searched about the room, looking for courage, or insight. Like so many others Nikandr had seen, he was making a decision for his daughter knowing it was risky, but knowing as well that doing nothing was just as dangerous. Those taken by the wasting did not heal of themselves. At least, not often. Nikandr could see in him the same sense of desperation that Nikandr himself had felt years ago, first when he’d been searching for a cure for Victania, and then again as he’d searched for himself. It was strange to Nikandr, the feeling that he himself had now become a potential cure, another of the long list of things that Anatoliy had no doubt tried. It was a measure of Anatoliy’s desperation—in some ways no different than the grub Nikandr had eaten, and in other ways much worse—that he had contacted Nikandr in the first place.
    “She will die if I do nothing, Nischka.” He motioned to Mirketta, a simple but tender gesture. “Do what you can for her.”
    “I will,” he said, gripping Anatoliy’s shoulder. “Now, please, leave us. I must have peace and quiet.”
    “I would stay, Nischka.”
    “ Nyet ,” Nikandr said. “If I do this, I do it