by Myke Cole
“They fell on us as soon as we left you. Brought us here with them. Tone recognized me, wanted to bargain with me, but the Sojourner was for sending me on to the capital. They were still arguing when the devils came.”
“And you fought?”
“Not at first. They had me tied up in their chapel tent, but once they started getting the worst of it, they armed every groom, page boy, and sutler. At last they cut me loose and gave me a spear, promised me freedom if I’d fight. Looks like the bastard made good on it.”
Heloise looked back up at the Pilgrim. His cloak was little more than stained rags hanging off his battered armor. Only his eyes matched the man Heloise knew, and even they were … changed somehow. Moving too quickly, trying to see everything at once.
“Heloise Factor.” Tone’s voice was still haughty, but Heloise could hear the strain in it. “I see you have taken service with the Emperor’s enemies. I should not be surprised. Heretics are all the same.”
She knew she should step forward to face him, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away from her father. “We’re not heretics.” Heloise gestured to the banner Florea had made. “We’re just people, tired, hungry, sick of this cold. Same as you.”
“You are not the same as us,” Tone said. “You are still a dog of hell, and I am still the Hand of the Emperor.”
“If you are the Hand of the Emperor, then tell me, why are the devils here?” Heloise asked. “Tell me what happened.”
“Do not presume to—”
“Tone!” Heloise’s shout stopped his words. “The devils attacked both of us. Answer me. Help me. Why would the Emperor let this happen?”
Tone was silent for a long time. At last his shoulders sagged, and he leaned heavily on his flail. “I do not know. I must return to the capital to ask Him. I have restored your father to you. For that alone, you must let me go.”
“Your cloak is gray,” Samson said. “Will the Emperor speak to a mere Pilgrim?”
“He may,” Tone replied, “but if He will not, there is the Congregation of the Faithful.”
“The who?” Heloise asked.
“He is a lying brigand,” Samson hissed. “Do not listen to him.”
Tone gave a short bark of a laugh. “Even before you succumbed to heresy, Heloise Factor, there were mysteries of the faith you did not know. You prayed to the Emperor before you slept at night. I devoted my every waking moment to His service. There are reasons why the veil might be torn, and means to Knit it. Heretic though you are, whatever you think of me and my Order, the devils are much worse. Your father is with you. He is unharmed. Let me go and I will do what I can to repair this.”
“Barnard, no!” She heard Wolfun’s shout from behind her, turning to a grunt as the huge tinker ripped free of him and came racing for Tone.
Heloise stood in a rush, blocking his path. Barnard’s eyes were shining, his breath coming in tight gasps that left no doubt he recognized the man who had killed his son.
“Your eminence”—Barnard’s hands were white knuckled on his hammer’s haft—“you know who that—”
She had no time to make Barnard understand that killing Tone would no more restore his children to him than her mother to her. She thought of Sigir, kicking as he burned, of the Song, gurgling as the light left his eyes. She thought of the yawning gulf the first death had opened, and how the second one had only made it wider. “I know who it is, Barnard.”
“He dies!” Barnard shouted, then took a step toward Tone. Heloise moved the machine to intercept him.
“Your pet tinker is right.” Heloise turned to see Onas approaching with the Mothers of all three bands. “We place the lives of more than twenty Traveling People at that gray-cloaked bastard’s feet. We did not agree to quit our ways and fight the Order only to let them run. He owes for what he has done. They all do. We are agreed on this.”
“We are not agreed,” Mother Florea said, “and it is for the Mothers to speak on this, not some boy.” The Sindi and Brock Mothers looked uncomfortable but said nothing.
“You speak now of the old ways?” Onas sounded every bit as haughty as Tone. “Look around you, Mother. Everything has changed. We are no longer traveling. We move like villagers, fight like villagers. Who is to say a man cannot speak for the band, as villagers do?”
Xilyka went to her mother’s side. Her voice was a bare whisper that was still somehow loud enough to be heard by all. “You are no man.”
Onas ignored her, drawing one of his hooked, silver-handled knives and pointing it at Tone. “He dies. All the cloaked ones do. We can let the soldiery go once we have plundered their goods.”
Tone raised his flail. “This is how you repay the release of a prisoner in good faith? Come, then. You heretics love dancing and drinking and rutting like dogs. The Emperor’s Own love only death.”
Barnard advanced again and Heloise moved to block him, watching helplessly as Onas approached the Pilgrim.
“Let me go, your eminence!” Barnard shouted.
“Onas, no!” Heloise shouted, but the Sindi boy ignored her, eyes locked on Tone as he moved toward him.
“I regret I must deprive you all of the brawl you so clearly desire.” Sir Steven’s voice was long-suffering, exhausted. He waved his sword and a line of his infantry spread out between the army and Tone’s circle of carts. “Captain, both parties will keep to their sides of your skirmish line. Should either attempt to cross, kill them.”
One of the Red Lords’ knights trotted his horse to take up a position on the right of the line. “Aye, First Sword.”
“That man’s life is forfeit!” Onas gestured fiercely with his knife.
“It is,” Sir Steven said. “He will most certainly die in the fullness of time, as we all do. But he will not die at this moment. And if he does, then so will you. Heloise Factor, a word.”
Heloise turned to her father. He was safe now, but the thought of leaving him after he had just returned to her …
Sir Steven saw the direction of her eyes and shook his head. “A word alone, Heloise. You bested an army in that machine. You have nothing to fear from one man.”
Xilyka made to follow as Heloise turned away, but Florea clutched her elbow and she reluctantly stayed put. Sir Steven walked his horse just out of earshot and awaited Heloise.
He studied her face for a moment. Heloise was surprised to see that he looked every bit as exhausted and wan as Tone. War is a sickness, she thought. Even in victory, it eats you slowly from inside.
“When first we met,” Sir Steven said at last, “you asked for a man, presumably to dispose of him as you did the Emperor’s Song. Here he stands, nearly close enough to touch. Your people are calling for his blood. Why do you not press to the attack?”
“He gave my father back to me.”
“He gave your father back to you after taking him in the first place. I would not call that a kindness.”
Heloise searched her heart. The numbness, the fatigue, threatened to overwhelm her, and it was a moment before she could master it enough to speak. “I have had enough killing.”
Sir Steven frowned. “You have more killing ahead of you, I think.”
“I know,” Heloise said, “and I’ll do it when I have to.”
“And now?”
“And now I have a choice. I’m fighting to bring down the Order.”
“Tone is of the Order,” Sir Steven said.
“He is,” Heloise sighed, “but he can’t hurt anyone now.”
“Until he returns to the capital and is reinforced.”
“Then we fight him at the capital. What’s one more flail?”
“He took your eye, Heloise.”
“Killing him won’t grow it back.”
Sir Steven shaded his eyes, looked off to the north. Somewhere just beyond the horizon, the capital squatted astride the Imperial Way, what folk still called the “old king’s road,” over which all the trade wagons bigger than a Traveling Person’s cart must travel sooner or later. At last, he shook his
head. “You are wise beyond your years, Heloise. I have known many great commanders with less patience than you.”
“Last council, you said I wasn’t a commander.”
“War is a great teacher, and a quick one. I agree with you, Heloise. The enemy are the monsters now. I cannot say how many there are exactly, but it is enough to be more than a match for us, with each one of them strong enough to take on any ten of our warriors.” He pointed to the banner Florea had made. “It’s as your Kipti girl says: we are all people, and there are precious few of us to face this threat. How much weaker will we be if we bloody ourselves against one another now?”
“Are you sure there are so many devils?”
“I am,” Sir Steven said. “My outrider spoke true. A score, at least. You saw what a handful of them did to our combined force. And even more of them were here. And they have gone north. If we want to reach the capital, we are going to have to fight our way through. Alone, I’m not sure that we can do that. But together, we might have a chance.”
“What good will a few more men do?”
“This is no mere few. These are the ones strong enough to fight off a horde of those things. Far more than assailed us. As hard done as they look, they are not to be lightly turned aside. And if they are with us when we reach the capital, they may be our strongest advantage if we wish to parley with the garrison.”
“Why?” Heloise asked. “If the devils are free and the Order smashed? What’s the point of taking the capital now?”
“Because if the Imperials somehow win out,” Sir Steven said, “things will go back to the way they were. And because my people charged me with the task, and I will see it through. And lastly this: Tone may be right. He may be the one person among us who knows how to close the veil. And if that’s true, we need to keep him with us.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in the veil, or in the devils.”
Sir Steven was quiet for a long time. “After all I have seen”—he would not meet her eyes—“I do not know what to believe.”
“All right.” Heloise exhaled a shaking breath, looking back at Onas and Barnard. “Barnard might listen to me, but Onas will not.”
“Then he will die,” Sir Steven said.
Heloise nodded, walked back to where Tone stood atop his cart, still crouched and awaiting an attack, eyes darting between her and the angry crowd around Onas and Barnard. Her stomach churned. Between Tone’s, Onas’s, and Barnard’s gazes, she felt as if a weight lay across her shoulders, heavy enough to challenge even the machine’s great strength.
“We will not let you go,” Heloise said.
Tone tensed, and she could hear mutters of approval from the army behind her.
“But you gave me back my father, so you will not be harmed,” she went on. The mutters turned to gasps.
Tone frowned. “What then? Will we sit here swapping stories? Shall we stare at one another until we freeze?”
She shook her head. “We march north. To the capital. Together.”
Shouts rose from both sides now. She heard Onas take two steps toward her, draw up short as Xilyka interposed herself between them.
“Do you think,” Tone’s voice was tight with rage, “that I will have my people unlock the gates for you?”
“We’re going to the capital. So are you. The Traveling People have a saying”—she glanced at Onas—“that there is no place so safe as the road when it is taken in company, and no place so perilous, when it is taken alone.”
“Your eminence,” Barnard said, low and dangerous, “you cannot ask me to travel with that man.”
Onas brandished one of his knives, pointing at Tone. “That man dies!”
“No!” Heloise bellowed, facing him. “He lives! He and all his men! There are a score of devils between us and the capital! Maybe more! It’s not a fight between us and the Order anymore! It’s a fight between people and the armies of hell! I do not like these men”—she pointed to Tone—“any more than you, but if we’re going to win, we need everyone able to hold a weapon.”
“They are a rabble,” Onas seethed. “Not enough to make a difference.”
“They made a difference to an army of devils,” Heloise said. “Enough of a difference that they’re still alive.”
“Your eminence,” Barnard began.
“You are always calling me a Palantine!” Heloise spun on him. “You go on and on about how the Emperor speaks through me! Well, He is speaking through me now. He is telling you to obey me and leave Tone alone!”
Barnard gritted his teeth so hard that Heloise feared they would crack, but he made no move toward Tone.
Onas, however, advanced on the cart, forcing Heloise to move the machine between him and Tone.
“Get out of my way!” Onas shouted. Xilyka stepped forward, stopped only when Heloise raised her knife-arm.
“How can you stop me?” Onas shouted at Xilyka. “Have you become a villager already? That man murdered your people!”
Onas made to move around Xilyka. The Hapti girl flicked one of her throwing knives at his feet, sending him dancing back a few steps. A cry went up from the Sindi behind him, and a few of their knife-dancers moved forward, stopping at a gesture from Onas.
Onas backed away, spreading his hands, and Xilyka retreated toward Heloise. But Heloise could see the calm in his eyes, the set of his mouth. “Xilyka, no!”
But it was too late. Onas reversed himself, leaping forward. Xilyka’s hand flashed to her waist, snatching another knife, but Onas was as fast as a lightning strike, already kicking out, catching her in the hand hard enough to send the blade spinning. Xilyka cried out and fell back, clutching her wrist. Onas leapt, vaulting clear over her head. He landed behind her, dodged past the Red Lord infantryman who tried to intercept him, then sprang again, landing on the cart’s edge as nimbly as a cat on a branch, crouching, hooked knives glittering before him.
One of the Pilgrims beside Tone rushed him, flail held high over his head. Onas kicked the man in the chest, sending him tripping backward into Tone, who in turn knocked the third Pilgrim off the cart. Tone righted himself and snarled, swinging his flail crosswise at Onas. The Sindi boy danced sideways, so close to the cart’s edge that his heels were out over empty air, sweeping down with his knives, knocking the iron head away. Tone twisted his wrists and the chain jerked, entangling one of the hooked blades, ripping it out of Onas’s hands.
The Red Lords troops surged on the cart, but Heloise pushed through them. “Get back! Don’t hurt him!” They looked to Sir Steven, who raised a hand, gesturing them back.
The remaining Pilgrim tried to rise, and Tone stepped over him, raising his flail. “What will you do now? With only one of your little knives?”
“I don’t need two knives to kill you,” Onas said, reversing his grip on the blade and crouching. Heloise raced to the edge of the cart and froze. The machine was incredibly strong, but it was not subtle. She didn’t know how she could intervene between the two fighters without harming either one.
And then a shape vaulted past her and landed on the cart, sending both Onas and Tone stumbling back. The figure turned, giving his back to the Pilgrim. “That’s enough.”
Samson, a spear in his hands.
“Get out of my way!” Onas hissed, raising his remaining blade.
Samson leveled the spear at Onas. “You heard my daughter. She leads here, not you. We will march north together. The Pilgrims and you. All of us.”
“Why is your back to him?” Onas pointed his knife at Tone. “Do you love the Order so much?”
“He didn’t attack you, boy,” Samson said. “Get off this cart, and I’ll give you my back too.”
“I said get out of my way!” Onas launched himself at Samson, slashing with the knife. Heloise’s father raised the spear haft, parrying the blow, overbalancing and falling backward, toppling into Tone and the remaining Pilgrim and sending them both over the cart’s edge. Onas seized the spear with his free hand, kicked Heloise’s father in the k
nee. Samson grunted, falling onto his back. Onas ripped the spear from his hands and threw it away, seizing Samson by the throat. “Stupid old man!”
Heloise launched herself at the cart, heedless of hurting anyone now, sending the bottom of her shield skidding across the top, packed earth flying. She felt the shield’s bottom collide with Onas, heard the Sindi boy yelp as he caught the full force of it, sending him tumbling into the snow on the cart’s far side.
Heloise leapt after him, vaulting the cart easily, and caught a glimpse of the handful of Imperial soldiers who crouched inside the ring before she landed astride Onas, the machine’s metal feet planted a handspan’s distance from either side of his head. The metal creaked as she bent the machine at the waist, bringing the visor as close to Onas’s face as she could. “Touch him again,” she said, “and I will kill you.”
Onas scrambled back from her on his hands, and Heloise straightened. He leapt to his feet as Samson reached her side. “Are you all right?” Heloise asked, not taking her eyes from Onas.
“I’m fine.” Samson rubbed his knee. “Some fight in these old bones still.”
Samson stabbed an angry finger at Onas. “The Order didn’t kill your mother, the devils did that. And even if it had been Tone what took your mother, killing him won’t bring her back. Won’t bring my Leuba back, either. Or your boy, either, Barnard. Might make you feel fine for a moment, but only for a moment, and then we’re down a pair of hands that can swing a stick against the real enemy.”
Heloise looked over at Barnard. The giant man stood on the other side of the cart, arms folded across his chest, tears running down his face.
“I’m sorry, Barnard,” Samson said, “but you know I speak true. This isn’t a war between the Order and the villagers and the Kipti and the Red Lords anymore. It’s a war between people and devils, and from what I’ve seen, we’re going to need everyone fighting if we’re to have a chance of hanging on.”
Onas gestured at Tone, who leaned on his flail, watching Samson in shock. “Hanging on for what? To see animals like this walk unpunished?”
Samson shook his head and straightened, some of the fire coming back into his eyes. “To save the ones that are left to us. I have a daughter, and a village. Barnard still has a wife and son. You have your band. Would you throw all that away just to sate your grief?”
