Sylvan dropped his hand and snapped, “Very well.” He hated waiting. Still, in ten minutes the horses would be there and he could leave on his “hunting trip.”
The shop would remain closed and the bodies of the guards would go into the oubliette. It was tight enough to contain the ether fumes so it would contain the smell of decomposing bodies for quite some time.
Operation Commitment was proceeding nicely.
Dexter’s small remnant of fugitives was down to five men. In the last four days they’d moved barely thirty kilometers, and Cotswold forces were still combing the district. Twice they’d almost been taken; the second time it took sunset and the lives of five men to buy them the distance necessary for escape.
This can’t go on.
They’d eaten only twice; once a sheep missed by the invading troops and the second time, partially burned ears of corn taken from a torched storage crib. This part of Laal was rain shadow barrens with tiny, scattered pockets of fecundity suitable for single homesteads at best. Very few people lived here, and those who did were captured, dead, or driven into the mountains, their dwelling places burned, their livestock and stores taken.
Where are the Pikes?
His men weren’t dressed for the high country. In fact, every night was a trial as the temperatures dropped after dark and they couldn’t risk fires.
The night before, unable to walk any farther, they’d found an overhang and, stuffing dried grass around themselves, had huddled through the night. It was the coldest night yet. Now, in the morning, if the enemy were to come across them, they couldn’t even run. Their muscles were cramped from the cold and they moved like arthritic ancients, seeking a sun-washed slope where they could warm themselves without being detected.
A half hour later they found a boulder field on an eastern slope and crept into the maze. The rocks not only caught the sun but intensified it, reflecting the light into warm spots. They crept in gratefully and collapsed, spread like lizards in the sun.
Someone should keep watch, Dexter thought. He considered asking one of the others but they’d already given so much. He straggled to his feet and leaned against one of the boulders, raising his head just above the rock.
The slope overlooked a shallow valley, rocky, with sparse yellow grasses and thorny succulents. There was a wagon track, two thin lines weaving between boulders, paralleling the dry wash at the bottom. He checked the ridge tops, watching each section carefully, looking for any movement, before checking the next section.
He was about to sit again when he heard hoofbeats.
It was a small patrol, seven mounted men, moving their horses at a walk because they had prisoners, three women and a man, hands tied behind their backs with a rope up to their necks, as they couldn’t lower their hands to their waist without choking themselves.
Cruel.
He dropped back down. “Simon, Leon,” he whispered. “Are your bowstrings dry?”
Only two of his remaining men were archers, but they were good ones—district champions who’d been assigned to his person for that skill alone.
His men had heard the hoofbeats now and crouched, moving closer to him.
Leon said, “They’re dry, but if we don’t get our muscles warm, we won’t even be able to hit the ground.”
Dexter nodded. “We’ll need some time to set up. They’ve got prisoners and they’re moving even slower than we are—especially if we cut over the ridge. By the time we get in position, we’ll all be warmed up.”
His coronet said, “Are you sure we should risk it? From the way they’ve kept after us, it looks like your capture is a priority with them.”
Dexter shrugged. “They’ve got clothing, horses, and food. And their prisoners are civilians—a man and three women.
“Our people.”
The message came uncoded, over the heliograph network, and, even though it was addressed to Arthur directly, it took awhile to filter up through the network of clerks and secretaries. He read it after entertaining friends from the country for dinner.
Arthur,
I’ve been thinking about the wedding plans. Marilyn’s input would be invaluable.
Arrangements already made should stand, of course, but close consultation with Marilyn would enhance that.
Siegfried.
Arthur frowned as he looked at it. What on earth is he talking about? He thought about sending back a note asking for clarification but didn’t want to appear stupid. He’d been thinking about the events in the Plain of the Founders, and it took him a minute to shift perspectives.
Arrangements? Ah, the agreement—to wipe out the house of Laal. What does that have to do with Marilyn?
Marilyn hadn’t been at dinner but Arthur suspected her of not liking some of his guests, whom she called yes-men, so he wasn’t surprised. She’d probably eaten alone or at the library.
He’d never intended to let the betrothal stand. He planned to break it in outrage when he officially found out about the invasion of Laal, but by that time, the snows would cover most of the passes and he’d be forced to wait for the spring. Then Siegfried’s forces would give him a token resistance and fall back to the Black and the status quo would be preserved.
Except Dulan will be dead, Noram City will again be the center of technology and culture, and I’ll have my own man governing Laal.
He sent a servant for his daughter. When he learned that she’d left Noram House with Sylvan, he sent for her maid.
“To a bookshop, High Steward. On Stellar Way. Guide Sylvan found a rare book and the gentle guide wanted to see if there were others.”
“What’s the name of the shop, Dora?”
“She didn’t say. She was getting her cloak. I asked her if she would be back for supper and she said she would.”
Dulan looked at the darkness outside his window. “And she hasn't returned?”
“No, High Steward.” The woman was worried. Even Arthur could see that.
“Don’t worry, Dora. I’ll make inquiries.”
After she’d left, he sent for Sylvan. The servant he asked told him, “Guide Sylvan left this afternoon to visit Guide Lance de West.”
“Oh, that’s right. Hunting, wasn’t it?” De West’s estates were north, about forty kilometers. Perhaps Marilyn had decided to exercise some of the latitude shown betrothed couples. Without Dora?
He considered the message again.
Arrangements already made should stand, of course, but close consultation with Marilyn would enhance that.
It was after dark so messengers had to be sent rather than use the heliograph. By the time they returned from de West’s estate with the news that Sylvan had never arrived, Arthur felt he knew what Siegfried meant by “close consultation.”
What have I done?
I should just end it.
PERHAPS YOU SHOULD.
Dulan lifted his head from the straw mattress, surprised. Against all odds—despite his capture, the deaths of his son and friends, the occupation of his land by Siegfried—he felt the corners of his mouth tug up. It hurt.
Long time, woman. Thought you were gone.
JUST DORMANT.
After all this time, I’d begun to think you weren’t really ever there.
THEN YOU HAD SOME VERY STRANGE “NOTIONS” WHEN YOU WERE TWENTY-EIGHT.
I guess so. Lillian certainly thought so.
IT’S HARD TO SHARE YOUR HUSBAND WITH ANOTHER WOMAN. THAT’S ONE OF THE REASONS I WITHDREW. BESIDES, I COULDN’T DO THAT MUCH WITH YOU—YOU SHOULD’VE WORN THE IMPRINTER YEARS BEFORE YOU DID.
Depends on which agenda I wanted to follow—yours or mine. I could barely resist you as it was.
OUR AGENDAS WEREN’T DIFFERENT AT ALL. IT’S OUR METHODS.
Dulan shook his head. He didn’t know. Would doing things her way have led to this same place? I’d be willing to go back and try it your way.
NOT EXACTLY POSSIBLE, IS IT?
Dulan sighed. He rubbed a dry tongue over cracked lips. His tempe
rature was up and he’d hadn’t been able to summon saliva since the day before, something that happened with between six and eight percent of body-weight loss from dehydration. He felt a stab of paranoia. You aren’t the beginning of my delirium, are you? The first psychotic episode? After ten percent, physical and mental incapacitation waited.
NO, BUT IT’S NOT THAT FAR BEHIND. THE LOOSENING OF YOUR SELF-IMPOSED BARRIERS IS WHAT BROUGHT ME AWAKE. THE BARRIERS BETWEEN YOUR CONSCIOUS AND SUBCONSCIOUS WILL FALL SOON.
And I won’t be able tell reality from fantasy—won’t know who I’m talking to or what I’m saying. That’s what Siegfried’s waiting for.
WE BOTH KNOW WHAT HE WANTS WITH THE HELM.
I can’t let him get it.
THAT WOULD BE BEST.
He tried to laugh but it came out as a painful rasp. You pacifists are always the most bloody-minded.
YES.
You can depend on me.
I KNOW.
What about the key?
FOR LELAND?
Yes.
GIVE IT TO SIEGFRIED.
Dulan thought about it. Yes. Make anybody who came into this cell a messenger, willing or not.
Well, it’s nice to have someone to talk to.
I WON’T LEAVE YOU AGAIN.
Dexter had a light cut on his shoulder, but it was bandaged and he was warm. He wore a full set of enemy clothing over his own, and his stomach, filled with captured trail rations, wasn’t grumbling.
The prisoners let them know the worst of it.
“Yes, I’m sure. My cousin came through three days ago. They occupy the station and Brandon-on-the-Falls and hold the passes into Noram. He said the Pikes and Falcons are together, pushing up from the southwest.”
Dexter asked all the obvious questions, but they didn’t know the answers. “No, Guide. I don’t know about your father, brothers, or sister.”
Dexter gritted his teeth. I thought I knew what fear meant these last five days. And from fear came rage. I’ll kill that double-dealing Siegfried.
His first impulse was to go north, straight to Laal Station.
And straight into the enemy’s teeth.
They had seven horses, relatively rested, and they could double up on the two largest.
“We go west—to the army.”
“Why me?”
Siegfried smiled. “He doesn’t know you betrayed him.” You and Arthur. “By now he’ll be completely disoriented, delirious, but your voice, familiar and, most important, not mine, can mislead him. Comfort him. You’ll take water in with you. Bathe his face and give him enough to drink so he can talk. Tell him that Dexter’s troops are in the castle but the fighting is hot and he needs to know where the Helm is, to keep it safe.”
Carmen shuddered. “I don’t want to do this.”
The smile dropped from Siegfried’s face. “Don’t even imagine you have a choice.” He spread his hands. “Well, perhaps you do. I can let it be known what part you played in the current state of affairs and put you out of the Station. How long do you think you’ll last?”
Carmen paled. “All right. When?”
“Now, Gentle Guide.”
He led her to the cell without further conversation, then provided her with a small pitcher of water, a cup, and a rag. “Do you understand what I want?”
“Yes!” She spat the words, her face contorted.
Siegfried nodded. Who do you hate more—me…or yourself? He motioned to the guard to open the door and stood back, out of sight, while she entered. They left the door ajar, to listen.
The first sound was Carmen’s scream. The second was the sound of the earthenware pitcher breaking on the cell floor.
What the hell?
His guards went first, to make sure, but there was no danger.
Carmen, hysterical, had to be taken up to her rooms. Siegfried waited until her sobs had ceased echoing down the hallway before he asked, “How did he do it?”
The guard who’d examined Dulan stood. He was pale and he looked sick. “He chewed through the brachial artery on the inside of his elbow. The mattress is soaked with blood.”
“Well, not all of it,” Siegfried said tightly.
“No,” agreed the guard. “Not all of it.”
They fell silent, staring at the wall. In meter-high letters of his own blood, Dulan had written NON OMNIS MORIAR.
Siegfried sent the Guard commander up to the library for the Latin dictionary.
When he returned, Siegfried sat in the chair across from the body and looked up the phrase.
Loosely translated, it meant “I shall not completely die.” Siegfried said it aloud, shut the book, and dropped it to the floor, disgusted. “I don’t want any word of this getting out—not to his people and not even to ours, ‘cause they’ll talk. You make sure about your men!”
“Yes, sir.” The man glanced back at the bloody words. “Was he mad? What possessed him?”
“I don’t know.” Siegfried ground his fingernails into the palms of his hands and clenched his teeth together until his jaw muscles bunched to rock-hard clumps on the side of his face.
Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?
Chapter 19
MA AI: PROPER DISTANCE
Zanna waited for Charly in the private parlor of Charly’s townhouse. She wanted to pace, to stretch, perhaps even to break something, but held herself still, in seiza, arms crossed.
There were footsteps on the stairs and Charly entered, serene and smiling. “I saw the guards.”
Zanna’s frown finally faded and she smiled. “How could you miss them?”
They entered each other’s arms like coming home. Zanna inhaled deeply, her face hidden in Charly’s hair—woodsmoke, a touch of incense, and a whiff of sweat. “You didn’t bathe after class, did you?”
“No. And you’ve been riding all day.” Charly held Zanna out at arm’s length. “What’s the matter?”
Zanna sighed and the corners of her mouth turned down.
Charly pulled her close again. “I know that look. What has your father done now?”
“I’m not sure…”
Charly led her over to the couch and sat, pulling Zanna’s head down to rest on her shoulder. “You suspect something. Is it merely stupid, or is it awful?”
“I think he’s betrayed an entire stewardship of Noram.”
Charly stared at Zanna, silent for a moment. “That would be in the ‘awful’ category. Laal?”
Zanna nodded. “I think he cut a deal with Siegfried. Leland said he’d received word that Cotswold has invaded Laal, but my father says it’s not true. That weather in the Cloud Scrapers is just keeping the heliograph from getting through.”
“Maybe he really believes that?”
She shook her head. “I sent a message to Perry Sensei, in Acoma, and asked him how the view of the Cloud Scrapers was.”
Charly nodded. Perry’s small dojo was near the border between Laal and Acoma. She’d stayed with him on the way to Red Rock ten months before. “And?”
“The weather is crystal clear. They have a high-pressure zone over them and no hint of bad weather.”
“This doesn’t mean your father is lying. What do the messages from deeper in the mountains say?”
Zanna shook her head. “Why do you think I sent the message to Perry? The signal staff said that no messages were to go to Laal without my father’s authorization.”
“Oh. That does look bad. What does Marilyn think?”
“I don’t know. She’s disappeared. Apparently with Sylvan. My father thinks they’ve eloped.”
“Eloped? She doesn’t even like him.” Charly shook her head. “Where are her guards?”
“Nobody knows. Father didn’t want to but I finally got him to start a quiet investigation using the city police.”
Charly frowned. “Marilyn said she would be at practice tonight. She wasn’t, but I just thought something came up.” She stood and stared absently at the corner.
Zanna, curled in on
herself, watched Charly. Did you do this thing, Father?
Charly turned back to Zanna. “My father is in the city. I want to tell him about this.”
Zanna flinched. Charly’s father was the current chairman of the Council of Noramland and, after Dulan de Laal, the man the most respected by the council members. “It feels like betrayal,” she said.
“Whose? If your father is merely mistaken, the council can save him from disaster. If your father is right about Laal, then it can do no harm. If your father has betrayed Laal…”
Zanna closed her eyes. “…then the council should know.” She wrapped her arms around herself.
“Very well—do it.”
If I don’t get out of this land soon, I’m going to dry up and blow away. Leland licked his perpetually dry lips and tasted dusty grit. He felt like a sun-dried tomato, leathery and weathered. With all my sugars concentrated.
The farther west they rode into Cotswold, the drier the conditions. After taking the forts along the border, the main task of the Rootless army had been to find enough water and fodder to continue their ride into Cotswold.
Gahnfeld, beside him, pointed. “There he is.”
Roland’s scouts arrived first, followed by his personal guard, then Himself and the Cricket, Donald Dobson.
“Your Majesty.” Leland bowed in the saddle.
“Sure you won’t change your mind?” Roland asked. “Your Eight Hundred going up against Siegfried’s nine thousand aren’t going to do much, but helping us take his capital will surely hurt him.”
Leland shook his head. “It’s not that desperate. My father’s forces are nearly intact—over five thousand men. And we’re fighting on our ground. We know our mountains better than these southerners.” Leland’s signal staff had been able to keep contact with Miyamoto’s secret heliograph line and, the second day of their journey, started receiving messages from Captain Koss himself.
Leland didn’t mention the bad news also received over this line—Laal Station and his father captured, his brother Dillan dead, his brother Dexter and sister Lillian’s fates unknown.