The Keeping Place

by Isobelle Carmody

  “Who is coming?” Gevan asked.

  “As usual, Malik does not see fit to let anyone know if he will appear or not,” Brydda sighed. “It is a favorite tactic of his, but I think in this case he will come, because it is the last meeting we will have before the rebellion begins. He will not want anything to be decided without his hearing it. He distrusts his own people almost as much as he distrusts his enemies.

  “Lydi of Darthnor and Vos of Saithwold are here already. They’re cronies of Brocade’s, and the three of them are thick with Malik, of course. Also Elii of Kinraide is on his way with Zamadi, who was one of Malik’s too, but they had a falling out. Cassell and Serba have come from Halfmoon Bay and Port Oran, but both Radek and Yavok sent seconds, as did Tardis. You’ve met Gwynedd before, of course. It was he who swayed the White Lady in your favor.”

  “White Lady?” Gevan echoed.

  Brydda smiled. “Well, groups tend to give their leaders informal titles. So, as I am the Black Dog, Tardis is the White Lady.”

  I gaped. “Tardis is a woman?”

  Brydda smiled. “Until the Battlegames, we all thought Tardis a man, which was as she wanted. But you saw her in Sador. She was the very beautiful, severe-looking woman with long fair hair.”

  “What is Malik’s title?” I asked softly.

  The big rebel’s smile faded. “Generally, titles are bestowed as a sign of affection and respect. Malik’s people fear him, so none would dare risk angering him by giving him a title that suits him. But I saw you frown when I named those rebel leaders who would not be coming to the meeting. I would not regard that as reason to suspect them of being kidnappers. Especially in the case of the west coast rebels. They often do not come to meetings this side of the Suggredoon. They claim with some justice that it’s unfair that most meetings are held here, though they can see it makes more sense to have them where fewer need to travel far.”

  “I take it you don’t object to our probing the rebels who are here,” Gevan said.

  “We have no desire to pry into rebel business, private or otherwise, nor to work against your people in any way,” I said quickly. “We will only be looking for thoughts connected to Rushton.”

  “I don’t object because I trust you, but I’d not let the others know you would enter their minds for your purposes, if you take my meaning.”

  Gevan explained our decision to offer limited aid to the rebellion.

  “A sound ruse to test how close an eye these kidnappers are keeping on you. If they dislike this limitation, I’m sure they will let you know, and how long that communication takes and what form it comes in might give us a lead on where they are holding Rushton. But I haven’t had a whisper of anything that would suggest any of the rebels had aught to do with the kidnapping. The only unusual occurrence is that Domick seems to have disappeared as well. No one has seen him since Rushton came to Sutrium.”

  I stared at him. “Are you saying Domick had something to do with Rushton’s kidnapping?”

  He looked taken aback. “Of course not. I am saying only that when two men vanish about the same time, it is curious. I don’t imagine the lad crept after him on the road, but…Well, it nags my mind that maybe somehow there’s a link.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, and then closed it again, for I had long suspected that Brydda had latent Talents that he drew on unconsciously, calling them a “knack.” And it was odd that Domick had vanished around the same time as Rushton. Or before, in fact, since he hadn’t responded to Rushton’s note.

  “Brydda, you made a good point about using the offer of limited alliance to force the kidnapper to show his hand again,” Gevan cut in, “but you should understand that when we talk of limited help, we mean it. We are prepared to help with communication between rebels, and in finding your traitors as well as with healing, but we will not fight.”

  Brydda looked from the coercer to me. “You mean to offer us aid in reality?”

  “Limited aid, unless we manage to flush out Rushton’s kidnapper today, and somehow I doubt that will happen,” I said. “What is the rebel purpose of this meeting anyway?”

  “Not a lot. To clarify a few aspects of the first part of our plan. The meeting is more an expression of final solidarity than anything else.”

  “The first part of your plan?” Gevan asked curiously.

  “That’s right. There are three distinct phases. The first deals with this side of the Suggredoon. That’s another reason you should not worry too much about west coast rebels not coming to the meeting in person.”

  “Why three phases?”

  “We do not have the numbers to attack everywhere simultaneously, so our plan will be like a snowball rolled down a hill. It will gather mass and force as it moves. But tell me one thing—if you do join us and then find Rushton, will you immediately withdraw your help?”

  Gevan and I exchanged a glance and a brief mental dialogue.

  “No,” I said at last. “If we commit ourselves, we will remain until we are not needed.”

  Brydda nodded his approval.

  The rebel meeting took place late in the afternoon when the sun was as fat and golden red as a ripe peach suspended above the horizon. The barn was old enough that the daubing had crumbled away between the horizontal boards, leaving gaps that allowed a multitude of crisscrossing beams of sunlight to stripe flesh and bales of hay and illuminate the dust rotating slowly in the air. The gaps meant that although no one glancing at the barn would realize it was full of people, we would see anyone long before they came close enough to hear us.

  As Brydda had predicted, Malik attended the meeting. When we entered, he was deep in conversation with the silk-clad Brocade. Tardis’s representative, Gwynedd, sat a little apart from the rest, his muscular arms crossed and his long fair hair loose except for a plait on either side of his austere face, in the Norseland fashion. Dardelan smiled and lifted his hand in greeting, looking subtly older than the year before, and I wondered idly where Jakoby’s daughter Bruna was. Beside Dardelan was Elii, and I let my eyes rest for a time on the stern face of the young Kinraide rebel leader, wondering if he truly had no memory of me as one of the orphans he had led in search of the deadly whitestick.

  Gevan and I seated ourselves near Brydda just as the prematurely white-haired Cassell came in looking frailer than ever beside a handsome, heavy-browed woman with a mass of crisp black hair: Serba.

  Before the meeting began, several more unfamiliar men and women arrived and seated themselves on hay bales or stood lounging against the thick frame beams that supported the roof. The barn was near to full when Brocade rose to give a flowery speech of welcome. He then invited Gevan and me to speak on behalf of the Misfits.

  My mouth dried instantly, for I had not expected to be named at once. Since Gevan had suggested I do the talking while he coerced and probed those assembled, I stood and took a deep breath, then explained that we were representing Rushton, who was ill. I was trying to be alert to anything untoward in people’s faces, but I saw only what one might expect if they had known nothing of the kidnapping. Surprise, interest, disinterest, but no furtive guilt or glee. No half smiles. Malik and his cohorts sneered of course, but that was as much a reflection of innocence as anything else.

  “Is Rushton mortally ill?” Elii asked with a bluntness I remembered from childhood.

  “No,” I said, thinking, Not mortally ill, but maybe in mortal danger.

  “Would you have us heal him?” Malik sneered.

  “I do not think you would have more skill than our healers,” I said. “In fact, I come to make an offer. You met with Rushton and proposed an alliance, which he had to refuse given our oath of pacifism. But we are prepared now to offer limited aid.”

  “Limited aid,” Malik mimicked. “I think any help your people could offer would be limited.”

  “I do not think the limitations we impose on our offer will trouble any but you, sirrah,” I said coolly, “since they are designed to prevent mindless slaughter.”
/>
  “What exactly are you offering?” Elii demanded impatiently.

  “We will not kill or fight. We will nurse and help to heal your wounded. We will aid in capturing enemies where this can be done without bloodshed. We will pass messages between your groups so that you can remain in constant contact. And, last but not least, we will seek out the traitors in your midst.”

  There was a stir at this, which I had anticipated. I let them mutter and mumble until Gwynedd asked how we knew about the traitors.

  “Brydda told them, of course,” Malik snapped. “He tells his pet freaks everything.”

  “We learned about the traitors by chance in the course of our own activities,” I said.

  Elii called immediately for a show of hands as to whether our offer could be accepted. Predictably enough, Malik and his allies voted against us, while the rest voted aye. Vos cursed Zamadi, who growled an insult back at him, and as a babble of argument and recrimination rose, I took the chance to farsend to Gevan to see if he had found anything.

  “Not yet,” he sent.

  Serba rose, demanding silence in a contemptuous voice. “We did not come to squabble. Surely, on the eve of war, we are beyond that. The show of hands means we accept the Misfits’ offer. Of course, any rebel leader may refuse the offer of aid if they wish. I, for one, will be glad of help in flushing the traitors out of Port Oran. My only question is how soon before one of your people can arrive?”

  This was directed to me.

  “It will take a minimum of three days for someone to reach Port Oran,” I said. I turned to Gwynedd. “It will be five days for Murmroth, if you want our help.”

  “I voted aye,” Gwynedd said levelly.

  “How long will it take for your people to reach Guanette?” Malik demanded. When I gaped, he said, “I did not want Misfits with us, but I will obey the decision of the majority.”

  I realized the need to obscure that we would be coming from the mountains. “It would take three days for one of our people to come to you there,” I lied in a flat, unfriendly voice. “But you will remember our aid does not come free of obligation, Malik of Guanette.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” he agreed so smugly that my mind churned with suspicion.

  Brocade gave an exaggerated sigh and said he supposed he could bear having Misfits around if it would flush the maggots from his band, and Vos concurred. I boiled inwardly but only repeated that we would send Misfits to all who desired our aid.

  Serba rose and suggested tersely that we proceed to the next matter. I resumed my seat beside Gevan, careful not to let my anger show.

  “I would like to go over the first stage of the entire plan one last time,” Serba began.

  “Are these Misfits to remain and hear our plans?” Vos interrupted in a voice as thin and hard as his frame.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the rebel woman spoke first. “Fool. How can you keep the Misfits ignorant of the very information they will be passing on for you? Do you blindfold your horse when you would gallop?”

  Vos gave her a look of intense malice, but she out-stared him, hands on hips, until his eyes dropped. She reminded me very much of Jakoby, and I could not help but admire how smoothly she had assumed control. Malik made no effort to prevent it. He seemed more inclined to jeer and heckle, which might simply be evidence that the dynamics of the rebel struggles had altered radically since the Battlegames. Yet the mocking half smile he wore troubled me. I could easily believe he was up to something, though I could not convince myself that he had kidnapped Rushton. It just didn’t make sense.

  “None of them did it, far as I can tell,” Gevan concluded, catching my unshielded thought. “I can’t read Gwynedd, because his mind is naturally shielded, but my instincts rule against it. And your Elii’s mind is too sensitive to meddle with inconspicuously. Other than that, nothing.”

  “Malik?”

  “He is wearing one of the demon bands, and very pleased it is making him, too. I agree that he’s unlikely to be Rushton’s kidnapper, but he must have something to hide.”

  “Probably he’s plotting to take over the Land after the rebellion and doesn’t want us warning Brydda.”

  I shook my head fractionally then, for I wanted to listen. Serba was speaking in detail about the rebellion, saying that phase one was to begin after dusk, with each group taking control of the Councilman’s holding and cloister within their area. The cloister cells were to be used to hold prisoners, because these could be secured by only a few guards. If possible, the local populace were to be kept in ignorance of what was happening in their midst. At midnight on the same day, the soldierguard stronghold below the Gelfort Range would be targeted.

  “The aim of phase one is to consolidate all the territory this side of the Suggredoon, excepting Sutrium. It would be disastrous for Sutrium to get wind of what is happening, because the soldierguard force in the two camps outside the city is formidable enough to give us trouble, especially if they manage to get messengers over to the west coast. Of course, as agreed, we will not discuss plans about the individual operations each of you has evolved even at this eleventh hour, for security reasons, but it is vital that you contain your areas,” Serba said.

  Someone asked what was to be done with the prisoners already in the cloister and Councilcourt cells.

  “They will have to be held until after the rebellion, although they should be separated from our prisoners. It is unfortunate, but the last thing we need is to free a brigand chief who will see the opportunity for a bit of looting,” Serba said.

  She went on to remind everyone that the soldierguard encampment would be the focus of a two-pronged strategy. First, a diversion organized by Malik would draw the majority of the resident soldierguard force out of the camp and up into the White Valley, where they would be surrounded and taken prisoner.

  Malik signaled his desire to speak, and Serba ceded her place to him. “As you know, the problem of creating a diversion has occasioned much discussion. My idea was to use a rumor that Henry Druid’s people have been seen massing in the White Valley to draw the soldier guards into our trap. Some of you have mewed and squeaked in horror at the idea, because it would require human decoys, but no one has come up with a workable alternative. I now propose an alteration that should please the most squeamish pacifists among you.”

  There was a murmur as Malik glanced around the barn. “I propose that these Misfits who have offered us aid gather a group of their people in secret outside the soldierguard encampment the night of the rebellion and use their powers to lure the soldierguards out. They can then ride and lead the lot of them into our ambush in the high country.”

  I blanched. It seemed Malik would waste no time in putting us in harm’s way.

  22

  “YOU PROPOSE TO use the Misfits as bait after opposing them as allies?” Serba asked.

  “Why not?” Malik said with a bland smile. “I have already agreed to honor the majority decision to allow their inclusion. And no harm would come to them. They can use their powers to slow the soldierguard horses and confuse their riders’ minds to prevent their acting violently. I suspect that with their aid, the loss of life in the entire operation will be nil. That should please them and the rest of you,” he added with a hint of a sneer. “I don’t care about the soldierguards’ lives, but I will be glad to know that no rebel will die.”

  I thought of the ease with which Malik had sacrificed his followers in the Battlegames and doubted he truly cared for anything except winning. I could not fault his argument, though, for it was true that a group consisting of empaths, farseekers, and coercers would be easily capable of leading the soldierguards into a trap.

  “The plan is sound,” Elii said slowly. “Zamadi and I are to lead our people to take over the encampment once the majority of soldierguards have gone, but there was always a danger that not enough would ride out to render the place vulnerable. If the Misfits can do as Malik suggests, my people could attack without fear of meeting a
n impossible force….”

  “I do not like the idea of using anyone as bait,” Dardelan volunteered in a troubled voice.

  “Nor do I,” Elii said. “But someone must do the decoying, because our whole strategy depends on taking that camp. If we fail, we will have a war at our front and rear, and the rebellion will drag on for months with no certainty of victory. Given the Misfits’ abilities, it seems to me that Malik is right in saying they would be in less danger than anyone else.”

  “This is not fitting,” Gwynedd said.

  “Why?” Malik asked with a cold smile for the Norselander.

  Gwynedd rose and said with quiet dignity, “It is not meet that we should discuss the merits of this idea until the Misfits have been asked if they will do it. They are not servants but free participants and allies.”

  “Truespoken,” Serba said. “What say you to Malik’s proposal?”

  Gevan and I conferred.

  “Why not agree?” the Coercer guildmaster sent. “We can do this without violating our oath and with as little risk as that bastard Malik says. Think of it—if we do this and find their traitors, the rebels will have trouble discharging their debt to us in any way other than to give us the right to live in freedom in the Land. They have said outright that their entire strategy could fall if this phase fails.”

  “I don’t trust Malik, but I think you are right,” I sent.

  I told Serba that we were willing to decoy the soldierguards as proposed. “But I want Malik’s word that the soldierguards will not be summarily slaughtered once we have brought them to him.”

  Malik smiled. “My oath on it, Misfit. Not one rebel I command will be permitted to harm any soldierguard.”

  Instead of feeling reassured, my misgivings redoubled. “What penalty would there be for breaking such an oath?” I asked Serba.

  “Death or exile from the Land,” she answered promptly. “That is the fate of any traitor who would break a sworn oath to an ally.”