Leger and Gern moved up the road with the rest, dim now but terrible to behold. The clatter of their armor was accompanied by the hissing flames of their entombed souls. The almond eyes of the ghostly Akal-Fell blazed red and they towered over us with soul-irons riding upright and proud.
I wanted to hate Fana. I wanted to hate them all for what we had done.
But how could I?
“Rest, dear king,” Fana said and kissed my forehead, before the friendly and familiar blue stole me away from my hurt.
49
Admiral Soma O’Nropeel
The 38th of Spring, 1197
The off-colored sheen upon the placid gulf lingered like an untreated wound. The remains of the flotilla and its many thousands had become a slurry of gray flesh and pulverized wood in the becalmed sea. The men of Aneth were convinced that the sea had forsaken us and was given up her dead. They refused to sail, but I had more to contend with than the superstitions of eastern men. A brisk wind, a hundred thousand ships, and a million valiant Chaukai would not have served me that day.
One glimpse of Dia fleeing west across the ice into Berm had rendered all our efforts as useless as the rotting remains of Yud’s fleet.
My officers stood apart from me, looking southwest.
“They are departing now, ma’am,” Tayler said and I moved from one grim scene to another.
The last of Aneth’s fit men were riding out upon the last of the province’s horses. Kiel’s led them and had gone with a promise to win a way through to Berm to rescue Dia. It was a wasted gesture born of guilt and desperation. Those good men and horses would be spent upon an army of Yud pikemen and the rot would spread from the sea up into the valleys.
“Barok will have started his move south, as well,” Graves said. His prompt was born of the hope that I would tell them how they could be useful, but we’d become irrelevant. We could not make a move south overland without strong horses, nor could we sail south along the coast against the rest of the Yud and hope to repeat my tactic against the massive flotilla blockading Hida. And even if we could make it ashore there, the armies of Yudyith blocked the route to Berm.
I’d won the battle I needed to in order to strike again at the Priest’s Home, but there was no one left there for me to rescue. I was too late.
“I am sorry, Dia. Run, girl, run.”
50
Dia Vesteal
Prelate Setaj
The iron tang of blood filled my nose as I took in the slaughter. The endless herd of caribou had nowhere else to go. The narrow gap of flatland between Verd’s wide lake and the tall ridge I’d climbed down funneled them to a river where the current was fast and deep. By the thousand they churned Verd’s river, a last terrible crucible, before escaping south into a forest of ancient pine. The weaker animals floundered and were washed toward long piers and a hundred club-wielding men. The carcasses drifted down to the wide, rocky mouth where another group waded through the red froth with hooks and tugged them to butchers in the shallows. The entrails washed downriver where catfish as large as a man gulped it all down. The fresh-skimmed caribou hides went straight onto racks, and the rest was carted farther into the town. It was a passionless slaughter.
None of these details existed in the epic accounts of Berm’s great hunts. The storybook version of Verd also bragged about sapphire mines and hot springs. One heavy road did run into the hills behind the forest, and white steam rose from some of the dingy town’s more substantial buildings, but the bloody spectacle could not be rivaled that day.
Normally I wouldn’t have made such a careful an examination of the scene, but there was nothing else for me to do. The herd was as wide as the Bessradi River and stretched north and south to the horizon. Going around was impossible. The ghosts of my enemies would have laughed to see me. My daring escape was blocked until the herd moved on. Geart would catch me and take Clea apart as mechanically as the hunters did the herd. The Ashmari would take control of Zoviya and hasten the terrible magic destroying the Earth.
I hugged Clea close. “I am sorry, my love. I have failed you.”
She did not like my fussing and belted out a full-mouthed cry. I had to put her on my breast to quiet her.
Below us, the near edge of the herd had come to a halt. A thousand white faces and every man with a club looked up at us.
I march down toward the stampede, even if it was to be our end. It was better, I decided, for our bodies and blood to be trampled into the red wash of the river than to be surrendered to the Shadow.
Several of the men ran into the town, and by the time I reached the bottom of the ridge, a large crowd had gathered. I lost sight of them when I reached the flat sheet of gravel between the town and ridge. The herd eyed me as it ran.
They moved too fast to keep track of any one animal and they crashed into the river with all the spray and thunder of a great waterfall.
There were no bulls in the herd. The detail made no sense until I got close enough to see the shapes of their bellies. Every one of them was with a foal and they were driven by one thought alone—my child must be born where it is safe. They ran for their unborn and would not wait for the bulls that had done their part.
I unfastened the breast of my coat and withdrew Clea’s bundle. The bright light and biting cold struck her and she screamed with a desperate fury that rivaled the great herd’s thunder.
I paced on toward the endless pounding of hooves.
One turned and charged me. A dozen followed her. I could do nothing but continue walking and hold my screaming child for the world to hear.
The lead caribou skidded to a halt, and the rest lurched to a stop behind her. They bayed, folded their ears back at the sound of Clea’s shrieks, and quieted. I walked passed them and the rest of herd began to shy away.
“Sorry, love, but mommy needs you to be loud. Sing for them child, sing,” I said and pinched her ear with my fingernail until it bled.
And, ohh, did she scream. The piercing cry shocked the herd back from us, and a great baying rose. I paced along the warm stones and all at once the herd along the water’s edge froze. Those in the river continued on, but above, they stood as if glued there, ears pressed back, heads lowered. They licked their lips and bobbed their heads again and again as if asking for my forgiveness. Clea wailed from the pain and the bright light.
I put one foot in front of the other, while the herd and the hunters looked on.
The river emptied and the rumble faded. Somewhere to the north, the rumbling grew. The herd would not wait, and Clea could not cry forever.
I would have run if not for the season of slow walking. I was as calm as a sheet of ice and cared not for the world’s many motives. I walked, and the herd waited for me.
I reached the far side, turned, and bowed to them. Clea hushed, the white faces rose, and with a flick of ears the herd charged. They struck the river and it broiled anew.
When I turned, the people of Verd stood as a single crowd. I could not see them all at once though the narrow gap in my hood. They were dressed down to their tunicas and britches, and the only difference I could see between them and those who worked in Enhedu was their rotund features. A small group of priests and Sermod stood out for their fine clothes and the swordsmen that sheltered them from the rest of the crowd. The senior priest came forward and bowed as if I was Bayen reincarnate, while all the rest got down and laid their foreheads upon the smooth rocks. The man wore a white silk robe sewn with sapphires and gold, and the thick red band upon his round hat had a gold fringe and hangers of gems and wolves’ teeth. Verd’s riches were well concentrated.
“Master,” he said with a pained smile and trembling bow. “We were not expecting you until after the hunt. We felt something stir upon the mountain. Is all well?”
They thought I was Aden. They’d not seen my face, and I had just walked through the herd unscathed. The eager crowd did not share his trepidation. They looked up at me with the same contented and confident expressions as Burh
n and his acolytes. Verd knew Aden, and they wanted what he was offering.
“I am not our master,” I said and opened my hood. “But, yes, plans have moved forward. Where is Master Burhn?”
He balked and the crowd murmured as I worked to vent the heavy sealskin. The warmth of the air there confused me, but I did not have time to ponder it. I forced myself to relax and focused upon the man standing before me.
The priest wrung his hands as he looked from me to my daughter. “And you are?”
I didn’t know what Verd worked on for Aden, and had no good plan of my own, but I knew the look of a man who was hiding something.
“You may call me Madam Vamindavida, I am our master’s first wife and this is his daughter. Show me to Burhn.”
“Oh, madam. I’d not known Master Aden had taken a wife. My apologies.” He fumbled for what to do next and then motioned the three Sermod forward. “Please allow me to introduce my wives. Perhaps you would care to—”
“You have not answered my question. Where is Burhn?”
His response came hard. “He returned during the height of winter, took his rest beside our hot springs, and then vanished into the forests.”
“He fled?”
“I would not guess his business or motives, madam.”
I growled to hide a cheer. Burhn’s conscience had caught up to him.
I recalled the brief conversation I’d overheard the day Burhn returned with the prussic acid. “It is as our master feared. That is why I am here. Is everything ready?”
“We are working to make it so, I assure you.”
“Show me,” I said and handed my coat to the youngest of the Sermod—his third wife undoubtedly.
The girl gasped as she recognized my swollen belly. Others noticed, and I left them to wonder at the strength of my magic for having climbed down the glacier and through the herd in my condition. The priest could not compose himself. The crowd waited on him.
“Our master sent me to make sure all was as he requires. He will arrive here in a matter of days.”
The crowd murmured darkly. I did not understand why until the dull rumbling behind me reminded me of the value of those days for Verd. We were interrupting the caribou harvest.
The third wife took advantage of the silence. “Will we be as strong as you ... after?”
This hushed the crowd and they moved closer. My blood went cold. Verd’s people stood ready to become Ashmari. Geart would do the same to them. I wished for words enough to convince them all to flee, but they would not hear me. They were thirsty for power, like so many others who had tasted it.
“Who in Verd can make the blue?” I asked but got no response. “Come, all of you. Our master is moving down off the mountain, and I am to pick those who will receive his blessing.”
Before the senior prelate could object, two of his juniors and several from the crowd stepped forward. Many eyed a stationary figure that stood with his arms folded around a large blood-stained club. His attention was upon the unoccupied pier.
So, not everyone in Verd wished to be Ashmari.
“You, sir,” I said to him. “I did not intend to interrupt your work. Please allow me to make it up to you. What is your name?”
“Harmond, madam. I’ll stand by and watch if it is all the same to you.”
“Aden’s daughter is injured, Harmond. Will you heal her?”
I started toward him and the chief prelate hurried after me, he did not have the courage to interrupt. The caribou hunter looked down at Clea as though she were a snake. I pressed her bundle into the crux of his large arms and took hold of his club. His grip was strong, but so was mine. I pulled until my girl’s cooing won me the battle.
“I am a poor healer, despite the stories you might have heard,” he said as he found her missing forearm. “This cannot be healed.”
“With the right words it can, but that is not the song I want from you. Her injury is a simple one.”
He found her bloody ear and his finger came away with a bit of blood. “Oh, that’s a shame. Got it caught on something did you, darling?”
I touched his arm, and said, “I grant you the boon of our lord’s grace. Sing your song and feel the power coming down from the mountain.”
He noticed the crowd’s attention and snarled at them to no effect. They were waiting on his song. He gave up his growl, cleared his throat, and began to mumble a broken verse.
I was the only one ready for what came next. The bit of blood crackled and a savage blast of white light knocked the men and women of Verd to the ground. Harmond’s head went back and his teeth shown like polished pearls as he screamed the verse. On it rolled, bashing at our ears until I put one finger onto his bearded lips and brought his song to a shuddering halt.
He was out of breath and smiling, but angry all the same. He seized me by the arm and pulled me close. “This is not the magic I have felt from those who walk the glacier. What are you?”
I kissed his cheek and whispered back, “I serve another. Stay close and you may survive the demons moving off the mountain.”
His eyes moved from mine to the glacier and back.
Loud enough for the crowd to hear, I asked him, “Great healer, will you carry my daughter for me?”
He looked at his hands once as if ashamed by things they had done. When he stood tall and nodded to me, I turned toward the priest.
He was closer than I’d thought and reached out to take hold of me. “That is more than enough. I don’t—”
“You would touch me?” I said and brought the blood-stained head of the heavy club around. It caught him on the jaw and he crumpled to the dry stones of the riverbank. I could not help but laugh out loud. It had not been that hard of a blow.
The crowd did not know how to react. Some were just getting to their feet and the rest were more interested in examining their healed flesh. The prelate’s first wife whimpered once in protest but it sounded hollow. His third wife hid a smile, and the swordsman nearest to me was the only angry face. He reminded me of Leger—a Bessradi man who’d failed there and was left to make what life he could elsewhere. His sun-tortured skin was as battered as his dusty leather armor.
I said to him, “You would be the Bessradi man my master has spoken so highly of.”
He looked around at his men, as if trying to judge which of them had betrayed his past to Aden. When he set his eyes back upon me, I knew I’d gone too far. He had as little desire to be made into a Hessier as the caribou hunter, and with Aden on the way, these men were just as likely to cut my throat, rob Verd blind, and disappear into the tundra. I tried to be cheered by this.
I choked down my first easy words and folded my arms across the top of my stomach to hide my nervousness. “I am to commission someone to go north and raise an army in the Lira Valley. The position is yours, if you wish it.”
His hostility did not fade. He pointed at the prelate. “He owes us coin. I’m not going anywhere until our account is squared.”
Mercenaries. Perfect.
“Would his clothing be enough to compensate you? My master is finished with this man, so he no longer needs his vestments.”
The bitter old soldier rubbed the top of his fist and eyed Harmond, as if deciding where to hit me and judging whether the caribou hunter would try to stop him.
One of the would-be singers shouted, “I’ll raise an army for you if the captain won’t.”
The old captain snarled at the man but this did not scare him back. The would-be singer stood in the center of the large group that had stepped forward. I stayed quiet while they eyed each other. I already knew the outcome. Verd’s day of reckoning had come, and the value of a mercenary sword was on the decline. Hessier and Ashmari were not known for how they compensated their soldiers.
“His vestments will do,” the captain said, knelt down, and began to remove the prelate’s clothes. His men gather like vultures and the small priest was stripped faster than a caribou lost its hide. All of the prelate’s juniors
and wives backed away, save the third wife who seemed more excited than scared. The mercenary captain went so far as to search the priest’s anus, and was reward when he found a pair of gems. His men laughed at his good fortune, and the crowd parted for them when they moved off. The captain said nothing in parting and I made no effort to extend the encounter.
I found I was holding my breath and struggled to turn my attention to those that remained. The priest’s third wife stood near.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Ghemma Setaj, Madam Vamindavida,” she said with a proper bow and practiced tone. Her brown eyes blazed with happiness. If no one had been there to see it, I am certain she would have slid a dagger between her unconscious husband’s ribs.
“You studied by a well and a graveyard?” I asked.
Her eyes flared at the mention of Dagoda, but she made no reply.
“You may call me Priestess,” I said and rest of the priests gave each other uncertain looks. I did not wait for them to disagree with me. “Is there time enough to make everything ready for out master’s arrival, Ghemma?”
She shook her head, and two of the priest began to claim otherwise. She said over them, “Can you not see that my husband’s fiction has already been uncovered?”
“Show me,” I said. “The rest of you may follow or go about your work as you please.”
Most of the crowd hesitated, but would-be singers hurried along after us. As we walked into the town, Ghemma’s happiness faded and her face went bright red. She tugged at the tight black braid that wrapped around her neck, and she found it difficult to match my easy pace.
She wanted to run. She was free of the man who held her, but here I was with new shackles upon her. Her agitation stoked my own desire to flee.
I took her arm in mine, pulled her close, and said, “Hush. Help me this day and you may go as you please. You belong to no one.”
She did not believe me, but her pace evened.
The Vastness Page 44
