The Science of Power

by Emerson, Ru

  “Yes.” If Vey was worried about any of that, it didn’t show on his face; he’d always been fairly good at concealing what he thought, though. “Why Grelt and Dahven handpicked his personal company, of course.”

  That and the fact Vuhlem’s men might well have foreign guns. “And why Dahven put himself right out in the middle of things,” Jennifer said tiredly.

  “It won’t be like that,” Vey reminded her. “He’s commander; he has to be able to see what’s happening and direct the company.”

  “You yourself said it first,” Jennifer shot back. “Things happen, and we know what Dahven can be like. Good against Eprian doesn’t guarantee good against half an army.”

  “Or guns. He’s aware of that. And he has a powerful set of reasons to stay where he belongs: Seventy-five of us, not to mention everyone else in the Central Army.”

  “I—thanks,” Jennifer said. “All right. That stone goes with you. I’ll be waiting in Hushar Oasis, with that northern village woman. Don’t look at me like that, there’s a caravan there, Green Arrow and its grandmother. I’ll have enough people to guard my back.”

  “They’re not armed guards,” Vey protested faintly.

  “No. They have a stake in seeing Vuhlem brought low, and they’re more useful against magic than brutes with broadswords.”

  “They weren’t—” Vey hesitated.

  “Didn’t do much last time? No. But that was a surprise attack, there were old and children to evacuate, and a roof coming down on them. This is different—planned. Once the stone is near enough for me to use, you’ll know; it’ll become warm, and when it does, you drop it. I’ll give you time for that, and anyway, I’ll be able to tell when it’s safe for me to access it. I’ll find the Triad, destroy it if possible, neutralize it otherwise.” And if I can’t do that, I’ll distract it long enough for someone to break the door down. Vey didn’t need to know that; he’d be horrified and probably give her away. “There, see? It’s reasonably safe.”

  “I suppose,” Vey replied dubiously.

  “It’s not graven in stone, no. There are some ifs, some holes, but there are in what Dahven’s doing, too. And this: Someone has to, Vey. Do you actually want to attack that palace, knowing there’s a Triad?”

  “Of course not. Well.” He considered this, shrugged. “Hushar Oasis, though. You’d be safer here, truly.”

  “Perhaps. Two things, though: Most important, it’s a matter of distances. I might be able to work that focus from here, but from Hushar, it’s certain. And the Triad will be occupied; it won’t have time to search for trouble beyond Holmaddan—or even beyond the palace once those ships are in place.” Vey still hesitated. “I know something about big guns: they’re loud, highly destructive; unnerving and distracting when men expect them. This will be new and therefore doubly terrifying.” Silence again. “That’s the other thing, of course: this palace during the day—there’s enough noise around here, anywhere, to be a possible dangerous distraction for me, and Ryselle’s much less capable of dealing with noise than I am.”

  “Well—” Vey got to his feet. Jennifer watched him. “I’ll do what you ask. I won’t say anything to Dahven. I hope,” he added mildly from the doorway, “you mean that, about being careful. He’ll cut off my remaining fingers.”

  Jennifer patted her stomach. “I have a very good reason to be careful, remember?” He merely nodded and went.

  Nearly an hour later, she was scowling once more at the fabric squares; she’d talked herself into laying out patterns. Nothing looked right. “I never was good at the color thing,” she mumbled, swept the bits up, crammed them into the basket under the thread, and set it aside. Check the watch—not much longer till midday. No pending crises in the office at the moment; Afronsan had sent her nothing in days.

  You’re still too busy to play seamstress, and you don’t want a tatty homemade quilt for this baby. Pack that stuff up, send it to Lizelle’s twins; didn’t Robyn say she was bringing them back to the Fort? It had been a nice thought, the quilt; it wasn’t going to be a practical one, unfortunately.

  Once the current crisis was past, Afronsan would be burning the wires and his messenger-riders would be eating up the road, keeping her entire office piled halfway to the ceiling; crazier than things had been before, now he was fully in charge and poised to open Rhadaz to greatly expanded trade. At the moment, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d had vast tracts of cleared desk, and most of her staff was just pottering along, cleaning up loose bits of paperwork.

  She slid her feet off the bed. Several of the standard contract paragraphs needed minor revisions, there were other tasks that kept getting put off, it would be nice to have an hour or so to just get better at that typewriter—it was nearly time anyway. But she scooted back against the pillows at once, tucked her feet under her. Voices out there—Siohan, talking to someone. A moment later, Siohan’s familiar tap at the door. “The grandmother of Gray Fishers, her heir—”

  “Fine,” Jennifer said. “Something to do,” she mumbled. Siohan heard, of course—her ears were nearly as good as Robyn’s. She smiled cheerfully, let the women into the room and stepped back.

  “I’ll have tea brought.”

  “And coffee,” Jennifer reminded her. She indicated chairs; the grandmother took one and Ryselle stepped back to give Sil the other, taking up a place behind her. “Frankly,” she added to the grandmother, “I didn’t expect you to return, certainly not right away.” Not quite a question. The grandmother nodded and tugged at Ryselle’s skirt.

  “I could tell this child intended something; it seemed likely Sil was involved somehow, and on reflection, I thought it more proper the sin-Duchess be accompanied home by at least one ranking caravaner. I sent messages on to Podhru with the main wagons, and went instead to Zelharri.” She glanced sidelong at Sil, who was quietly plaiting her fingers. “I got the entire matter from them last night.”

  “Oh,” Jennifer said. She considered this; the grandmother sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, and waited. “And—you rule Sil, of course. I hope you don’t intend to stop me?”

  “Oh, no,” the grandmother replied calmly. “I’m going with you.”

  Jennifer stared, then held up a hand for silence as one of the kitchen girls came in with a tray. She waited until the girl was gone, edged over to hand out mugs, and set the basket of muffins where the older woman could easily reach them. “You—madame, you’re Gray Fishers’ leader, I can’t let you—”

  The grandmother shook her head, silencing the other; she sipped tea, set the mug aside. “You cannot stop me, you know. Caravaners and particularly the grandmothers do largely as they wish. I suggest it, though; I don’t demand. But I think you’d be glad of my aid.”

  “A Triad—” Jennifer began. The grandmother shook her head again.

  “We haven’t been tested against them since the civil wars.” She set the cup aside, held a hand over it when Jennifer lifted the tall, thin clay pot. “But what I offer is practical assistance: the physical protection and support of several wagons and myself, as well as the grandmother of the subclan of Green Arrow—the four wagons that traveled largely within Holmaddan. They’re in Hushar at present; she’s one of the strongest of our kind.”

  “I know Green Arrow is there; I was hoping they’d—strongest?”

  Sil set her elbows against the chair arms and levered herself upright. “Twelve children,” she said gloomily.

  “Oh. But, if we don’t know that you or she can help—”

  “Practical aid,” the grandmother said once more. “If messages come here for you—particularly from the Thukar? Silver Star can pass them north to me, I can send your reply to her.”

  “Oh.” Jennifer stared at her hands. “I hadn’t considered that possibility. I’ll leave a message here, for Siohan—my maid—and for the midwife, telling them where I am, warning them to keep that quiet. I’d prefer Dahven not ever know, really, but if he—thank you.” The grandmother nodded. Jennifer turned to
Ryselle. “Are you still willing to help me?”

  “If there’s a way,” Ryselle replied flatly. “Any chance at all. I owe her that much.”

  “All right. Now, how much did Lialla have time to teach you? How good are you?”

  For a moment, she thought Ryselle wasn’t going to answer. Afraid I’ll turn her down. The woman’s shoulders sagged then. “Not very,” she mumbled. “We only had fifteen days altogether. I can Shape,” she added defiantly. “But—I can’t do very much with it, and I—I can’t Shape at all when I’m upset or angry.”

  “I can dampen emotion for you,” Jennifer said. Old Neri’s soothing thread worked just fine on Lialla, it should work for Ryselle. “You do feel Light, though. You see it?” Ryselle nodded. “Good. I can see it myself; I’ve dealt with it once or twice in dire need but only within actual reach.” She turned to the grandmother. “You’re comfortable where you are? I can arrange rooms in the palace, if you’d prefer.”

  “We have my wagon, and our usual place at the Crown and Pitcher,” the older woman said. Sil handed her to her feet. “When you are ready, send. We’ll come at once.”

  “Two days from now—and it’ll be well after dark,” Jennifer warned.

  Sil shook her head; her eyes were amused. “So you can sneak out of the palace without raising an alarm? Better to go at an hour nearer this, don’t you think? So many people everywhere—who’ll miss you until too late?” Her eyebrows went up; Jennifer was laughing.

  “I’m years out of practice, this kind of thing. You’re absolutely right. Thank you, all of you. I’ll—I’ll send.”

  COMMANDER, WESTERN LAND FORCE TO EMPEROR: TOOK DRO PENT CITY WITHOUT MUCH FIGHTING. ONLY TWO SHIPS IN HARBOR, ONE CASIMAFFL’S, OTHER VUHLEM’S, BOTH SURRENDERED AT ONCE. HARDLY ANY HOLMADDI ANYWHERE. WUDRON IN CONTROL OF DUCHY AS OF THIS HOUR; CONFIRMS VUHLEM OVERWHELMED DRO PENT, THEN TOOK HIS SON AS SURETY. SMALL COMPANY LEFT BEHIND WITH WUDRON, SENDING SHIPS AHEAD AND GOING NORTH AT FULL SPEED

  COMMANDER, CORNEKKAN/ZELHARRI FORCE TO EMPEROR: MUCH LESS RESISTANCE THAN ORIGINALLY EXPECTED, FOUR COMPANIES KNOWN TO BE IN AREA LAST MOON-SEASON. ATTACK YIELDED ONLY SPORADIC RESISTANCE, LARGE NUMBER OF GREEN VILLAGE BOYS THROWING DOWN SPEARS AND SURRENDERING. MANY CLAIM VUHLEM HOLDS SONS OR ENTIRE FAMILIES HOSTAGE, WILL KILL IF THEY DO NOT FIGHT FOR HIM. HAVE LEFT ONE COMPANY TO GUARD PRISONERS; REST GOING NORTH AND EAST AS AGREED

  THUKAR TO EMPEROR: ONLY A FEW SEASONED FIGHTERS AT BORDER; MOST OF FORCE RANGED THERE UNTRAINED, POORLY ARMED AND FRIGHTENED. SENT HALF COMPANY TO MAKE CIRCUIT OF NEAREST VILLAGES, MAKE CERTAIN VUHLEM DOES NOT HOLD CLAIMED HOSTAGES, ALSO ASSURE NO SEASONED TROOPS BETWEEN US AND BORDER. REST RIDING NORTH TO CITY, DAHVEN

  DAHVEN TO JEN: EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT?

  JEN TO DAHVEN: HORRIBLY BORED BUT FINE. WATCH YOUR BACK.

  Dahven’s very teeth felt gritty at the moment; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone so long without bathing, without warm, clean water. Playing Thukar’s spoiled you, he told himself flatly. None of the men around him seemed to feel anything but a heady excitement over the way things had gone so far; the predawn air was electric with anticipation.

  The air in his tent was cold, mist laden, and the damp and dirt were getting into everything.

  But they had done well, thus far—no loss of life among his own men, only one or two minor injuries. He’d lost count of the number of Holmaddi who’d dropped visibly unfamiliar pikes and spears and quickly rigged-up colors at the sight of his small company to throw themselves flat and beg to be taken away. Most of them wanted nothing more of life than what their fathers before them had had, and their grandfathers two hundred years back: a little land, a share of a fishing boat. Probably very few of them had ever considered another option. As for all those reports of companies of well-trained mercenaries, Vuhlem must be holding them—and any guns he possessed—close.

  Uncomfortable thought this far from the planning tables back in Sikkre; back there, it had simply been one more thing to prepare against. But one way or another, it should all be over by nightfall. They couldn’t be more than two hours from the city at this point, and therefore, only an hour’s easy ride to the low ridge where they were to wait for the East and West armies. At that point, he’d relinquish control of his Central army to Grelt and Gyrdan, retain command only of his small, handpicked company. And gladly. I’m even less comfortable playing commander than I am at playing Thukar.

  He glanced up from the low-burning fire and his bowl of hot oats—inevitable bowl, Jennifer would have called it, and laughed at him for it—as Vey brushed past the flap and let it fall behind him. “They’re ready out there.”

  “Good. Almost light?”

  “Just barely. It’s—” Vey’s nose wrinkled. “It’s all they say of Holmaddan: no sun, thick cloud, but it is growing lighter in the east. Drizzling, of course.”

  “Of course.” Dahven laughed quietly.

  “No wonder Vuhlem has such a bear of a temper,” Vey grumbled. “I’d go mad myself living in such a climate.”

  Dahven laughed again. “Yes. You wouldn’t take in a Triad, ally with a crazed Frenchman, send deadly liquors to your fellow Dukes, and murder an admittedly irritating sin-Duchess.” He finished the hot oats, set the bowl aside, got to his feet. “Still—even I never meant her physical harm beyond a good shaking. Vuhlem’s twice over a fool.” He sighed very faintly. “I suppose I have to give the usual talk at this point? All for your Emperor and honor above all?”

  Vey grinned, shoved hair from his forehead. He looked odd, Dahven thought, in the reinforced leather breastplate and crossed sword-belts of a soldier. No doubt I look as odd to him, all that as well as the Sikkreni colors on my sleeve. Something out of his grandfather’s books; that far, at least from Sikkre’s lower markets for both of them. “Well—it’s you, after all, Dahven,” Vey said mildly. “They expect some rallying cry.”

  “And you had nothing to do with that, of course. Go ahead, I’ll follow in a moment.” Dahven waited until Vey was gone; he picked up the bowl again, turned it in long-fingered hands. Duchy against Duchy. It was madness; nothing like it since the Hell-Light Wars. No one but a Vuhlem would be at the root of the affair, either: arrogant, self-centered, and ambitious. Everyone knew that—Shesseran aside, of course. Still, who would have thought he wanted all Rhadaz? And that he’d go to such lengths to obtain it?

  Dahven set his bowl aside. If things went the way they were supposed to, Vuhlem would no longer be a threat to anyone, after today. He squared his shoulders, got to his feet, and went out to talk to his army.

  Two hours later, the sky was a smooth, dark gray bowl overhead; rain fell steadily, a fine mist that looked like no rain at all from any distance but still got under the best waterproofing, made ruddy rivers of the ditches on both sides of the main Holmaddi road—and turned the road itself to a mire. Dahven’s hair was plastered to his brow; his britches stuck to the saddle. Ahead of him, half a dozen men, Vey at his left, and two more of the household guard on his right side; the rest rode behind. Those he could see looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Aletto will be truly miserable, all this chill and damp. He ran a soggy glove across his eyes once more, drew his horse to a halt as one of the lead men stood in his stirrups, and held up a hand. “City,” the man called back, and pointed.

  The hills were deceptive; they looked low but they’d hidden all sight of Holmaddan City until now. The rain became a fine mist, then stopped altogether; Dahven shook out his hat. From this point, the road was covered in a rubble of small stone, and dropped down swiftly toward the city, which lay below them, perhaps a league ahead and a little to the west. Just within its boundaries, they could see the blackened, twisted wreck of the caravaners’ building, which stood out starkly against low houses and brightly colored awnings.

  Vey came up beside him. “There’s the palace,” he said. “Off side—to the east. See it?”

  Dahven shifted his eyes. “Mmmm.” He did, all at once; treeless, bright green land lay flat, perh
aps a half-league between the far edge of the city and steel gray water, the brace of dull, dark towers blending into both sky and water. No movement out there—not on the straight, broad road that ran from city to palace, none near the palace walls, either. The city might have been deserted; people were lying low, no doubt. His eyes came back to the Duke’s palace and the sea beyond it. “Vey—look. Out there. Ships.”

  Vey shielded his eyes with his hand as enormous raindrops pelted all around them very briefly. “English; isn’t that their banner?”

  “Think so. Four—five—”

  “Lasanachi,” someone behind him muttered; it sounded like a curse. Dahven’s eyes touched the long, sleek ship, the distinctive black-and-red-striped flag, then winced away from the water entirely. Movement to the west, where Vuhlem’s port and public docks lay: as he stared, a bright flash of fire shot skyward, brilliant against gray sky and water; a sooty, smudgy billow of smoke followed.

  Dahven gripped Vey’s arm. “Look—that’s Grelt, firing the ships! We’ve got him!”

  “That much of him,” Vey replied cautiously, but he was grinning broadly. He turned the other direction. “There—there’s the last of us, the missing part to the puzzle!”

  A cheer went up as wet and chilled Sikkreni saw the long, triple line of riders coming at an easy trot from the east, the banners of Cornekka and Zelharri snapping in a rising wind, several wagons in their midst to hold spare weaponry and the cooks’ supplies—and two of the bright caravaners’ carts. The other way: Along the narrow road that led from the public docks and skirted the northern edge of the city, banners casting bright colors against a plume of black smoke, the East army.