Aides scrambled to push the figures into place.
She reached for another golden thread, this one tied to a foot-lieutenant whose name she couldn’t remember. Even so she knew by instinct it was the right woman, the second to Brigade-Colonel Iman with the 42nd, on the far west flank, approaching the Gardens.
Bloodcurdling shrieks pierced her ears as soon as the tether snapped into place.
Howls of pain, and ululating cries like nothing she had heard before. Her vision came into focus just in time for her reflexes to take over, hefting the musket she carried to parry the thrust of a bayonet. A hulking man filled her vision, his skin the color of bronze painted with bright colors, garbed in the furs of some kind of animal she didn’t recognize.
“Uluv’a cha’be!” he shouted, diving at her.
She pivoted, reaching for Body by instinct only to find nothing there. Gods damn it but she wished she had access to her ley bindings while she used Need. She managed to get out of his way, dancing backward toward the line of friendly soldiers.
Only there was no such line. A panicked look over her shoulder revealed blue coats fleeing before an onslaught of tribesmen dressed and painted like the man in front of her. She was alone, and surrounded.
Gritting her teeth, she wheeled her musket around, swinging it like a club. Her soldiers hadn’t even managed to fix bayonets. What had happened here?
Her musket connected with the tribesman’s head, putting him off balance and sending him crashing into the cobblestone. That drew the attention of two of his fellows, nodding in her direction as they leveled their guns. Behind them she heard laughter, high and rich. A woman stood watching them, her face painted white with a red stripe down the center. The same woman she had seen at the barrier? Erris stepped back, squaring her feet, and felt musket shot pierce her gut.
Pain.
Need faded, and she sucked in air.
“Sir?” the aides exclaimed, one of them managing to catch her before she fell forward.
“What is it?” d’Agarre said from the opposite end of the table. “Is there some kind of—?”
“The Forty-Second is broken,” she managed, coughing as her senses came to accept the fact that the shots had not actually pierced her own flesh. “We need to reinforce the west flank. Binders, I need binders. What do we have close to the Gardens?”
Her aides scrambled to find the information, poring over deployment reports and scanning the figures on the table.
“The tribesmen, right, Commander?” d’Agarre asked, looking thoughtful as he considered the scene-in-miniature.
“Assemblyman, due respect but I have a battle to fight,” she snapped, turning her attention back to her aides as they worked.
“Was there a woman among them?” he asked in an even tone. “Their leader perhaps?”
Shock ripped the words from her throat. “What—?” she managed, then swallowed to recover her breath. “How could you know that?”
He smiled, nodding as if she had given him news of a victory. “Leave the tribes to me, Commander,” he said. “My people can stand against their magic.”
“Are you mad?” she said, even the aides turning to regard him with a measure of disbelief. “I just told you they broke a full regiment of my soldiers.”
“Save your binders, Commander,” d’Agarre said, his eyes shining as he wheeled about to make for the exit. “The left flank is mine.”
He was a madman. Did he want to die? She’d seen it before among soldiers in hopeless situations, suicidal charges to bring death at a time of their choosing rather than wait for the inevitable. He boasted great numbers in his militia. She couldn’t countenance him sending innocent men and women to die for a vain dream of glory.
“No,” she said. “D’Agarre, that’s an order. Stop at once.”
He did, turning to face her with a cold stare in his eyes.
“You do not command me, Erris d’Arrent. Unless you mean to fight a battle here and now, I suggest you turn your attention to the conflict you know. Deal with the Gandsmen. Leave the rest to me.”
The entire chamber fell silent by the time he was through. One did not hear—or countenance—that sort of talk to anyone in the military, let alone the High Commander of the army.
“Sergeant-at-arms,” she said, loud enough for the room to hear. “Clap that man in irons.”
D’Agarre laughed. No one in the room moved.
She cast a glare at the sergeant, finding him standing stock-still and frozen, looking back at her as his body trembled. If she didn’t know better she would say the man was overcome with terror, the sort that raw recruits got when they were forced into a line of battle for the first time. What under the Gods?
“Don’t waste your efforts, Commander,” d’Agarre said. “And don’t presume to believe you know all of the mysteries in this world.”
He left the chamber.
The air seemed to rush back into the room, her aides and officers sharing looks of bewilderment and anger.
“Is anyone hurt?” she said.
“No, sir,” mumbled the voices standing nearby, as the rest of the room shook their heads.
They looked as if they couldn’t believe what they had just seen, and she couldn’t blame a one of them. What in the Nameless’s twisted mind had she just witnessed? D’Agarre was an assemblyman, and a member of the Council-General before his coup d’état. Not the sort of man known for martial prowess, and he had just spoken to a fullbinder as if she were a child, inspired a room full of soldiers to a state just shy of full-blown panic, then walked away. Was he a binder after all? Is that what the tribesmen were doing, some version of whatever she had just seen from d’Agarre?
“Sir,” one of her aides piped up, “you wanted reports on binders near the west flank …?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling her mind refocus on the details of the battle, never mind d’Agarre’s madness. “Yes, what do we have?”
“A contingent of Shelter binders with the Sixth Division, sir, currently with the Twenty-Second Infantry two leagues from the Gardens, and another company of Body binders with the Eleventh Light Cavalry to the east.”
“Vassail’s brigade?” she asked.
“Yes, sir, that’s right.”
“Foot-Captain Marquand is with her,” she said.
The aide frowned, looking down at the reports he’d been reading. “Sir, are you certain?” he asked. “I have no mention here of any of our Entropy binders with—”
“He’ll be with her, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” said the aide. “Will you order them to the west to cover for the Forty-Second?”
She glanced down at the table, taking in the details of their deployment. She’d given Vassail a company of binders, knowing the brigade-colonel could make full use of them even without her direct guidance. The west flank was a weak point—if the enemy swept around it, the Gandsmen could pincer her line from north and south, cutting off her ability to reinforce with the reserve now pouring into the city. She didn’t have the strength to hold the bridges directly, but so long as her men held in Southgate and the Gardens, the enemy had to deal with her before he moved. For all a collapse in the west would expose her, she had to concentrate strength to be in position to respond if he tried the attack anyway. And with d’Agarre about to unleash some sort of madcap chaos on the left wing …
“No.” She made a snap decision. “No. We give d’Agarre what he wants. A distraction on the west flank serves our strategy. We’ll pull the line eastward after we give up the Gardens.”
“Very good, sir,” the men and women around the table murmured.
Only one thing remained.
She reached for Marie d’Oreste, one of the few vessels she had not committed to the fighting.
Her vision slid into place in an open square, surrounded by men and women in thick coats, carrying muskets held aloft as they listened to a man shouting from the base of a statue at their center.
“—come to our city, and invade us?” the ma
n shouted. “No! We will fight them all, show them we are willing to bleed for our ideals. Who is with me?”
The crowd roared around her as she felt a musket in her own hands, Marie’s hands.
The woman had joined d’Agarre’s militia.
“Marie,” she said softly, knowing the woman would remember her words even if no one in the crowd could hear, “I need you to find Reyne d’Agarre to the west of the city, and stay close to him, or at least stay with his people. I need to see what happens there. If it gets bad, I will send reinforcements.”
It would be enough. She let Need go, returning to the high command, studying the map to plan for a sequence of ambushes as the battle lines pushed back through the Gardens. She could do this. The enemy commander had Need, with the advantage of numbers and twenty thousand screaming tribesmen besides, but this was her city. She would see to it the Gandsmen paid in blood for every block of every street they took.
56
SARINE
District Boundary
Maw District, New Sarresant
She’d passed four more militia companies massing in the streets as she made her way west through the city, each one crying out for égalité, hoisting homemade banners sporting various sigils and designs as they tromped through the remains of the snow. A trivial thing to avoid them, now that she’d seen her charges safely aboard the Redoubtable. But still, the militia’s presence on the streets was alarming. D’Agarre’s people had already driven the nobles into hiding, if not outright spilled their blood in the mock tribunals. What was the purpose of a second revolution?
Was he moving against the army now?
A bitter thought, made worse by the raw pit in her stomach. Bitter and sweet, her exchanges with both Donatien and Zi. And all of it punctuated by a stream of thunderclaps and smoke coming from the northwest.
Her pace quickened, moving toward the chapel, hearing the booms grow ever louder, ever closer. Little chance it was a training exercise, going on for so long, and with d’Agarre’s people massing in the streets. The smoke was rising over the Gardens again, and for all the Maw was separated from the chaos by the bridges of the Riverways, still a knot of worry grew on her uncle’s behalf. Her Shelter held through the warding—remarkable how little effort it required to sustain it, with the blue sparks—and so did Faith. But still, having reached the rusted iron gates that marked the district boundary, her heartbeat quickened to match her steps as she raced toward the Sacre-Lin.
Faith snapped into place by reflex as another company of d’Agarre’s militia came roaring into view. She heard them before she saw them, shouting and whooping as if they embarked on some grand adventure. They held their muskets high as they ran in a disorderly pack, more akin to feral dogs feeding from the leavings at the butcher’s shop than to men.
She let them pass undisturbed. More important to be certain her uncle was safe.
She arrived at the chapel, dropping her bindings for long enough to race up the steps and throw open the main door.
“Uncle,” she called, stepping into the atrium court. “Is everything all right?”
Her heart spiked as no reply came. She crossed the atrium and called out once more as she made way into the central nave.
“Ah, my child, you’re back,” her uncle said, smiling as he rose from one of the pews. “And you never told me your friend was a Trithetic scholar.”
Axerian stood beside him, a glimmer in his eye.
“I trust all went well with the nobles?” her uncle said.
“Yes. They’re safe.” She cast a look up and down the chapel, detecting no sign of distress in her uncle or the stone- and glass-work of the Sacre-Lin. “Everything is all right here? D’Agarre’s people are everywhere outside, I was worried for—”
“I’m fine, child,” her uncle said. “Your protection has worked wonders these past days.”
Axerian offered a bow to her uncle. “If you’ll excuse me, Father, we’ll have to settle the matter of the essential virtues of the Veil on another occasion, if it pleases.”
“Of course,” her uncle said. “Yes, of course. I’ll need to catalog the larder with our guests gone, take stock of what we’ll need to make it through till spring.” He shuffled toward the back rooms, turning back to regard her with a fond look. “You take care, child, and bring this one around more often. Most stimulating conversation, most stimulating indeed.”
“I will, uncle,” she said. “I’m glad to see you safe.”
“Everything settled at the docks?” Axerian asked after her uncle had closed the door behind him.
“Yes,” she said. “And thank you for your help.”
“It was no inconvenience at all,” he said, eyes shining.
“How did you get into the chapel? My bindings held. You shouldn’t have been able to see it, let alone enter.”
“I have my ways. And I’m not so sure your Zi would approve of my sharing the details.”
He used Black, Zi thought to her.
“Zi says you used Black.”
Axerian gave a short laugh, walking out from behind the benches and gesturing for her to follow. “Let’s get moving,” he said. “We have some rather important business to which we must attend.”
“Wait.” He stopped, turning to her with a questioning look. “You know I had to kill the militiamen. When the kaas-mage attacked us in the Riverways.”
“Yes, and my thanks for dispatching another of their number. We’re close, now. So close to ensuring we avert disaster.”
He said it reverently, with a passion she couldn’t summon for herself. Always before there had been fire in her belly at the thought of striking back at d’Agarre, but now she was left with her failure in the Riverways, a weight that settled behind her eyes, raw and laced with guilt.
“I felt something, when they died. It distracted me.” Memories came back, of blood and broken bodies, and she closed her eyes to ward them away before she spoke again. “Zi said it’s part of our bond.”
Axerian’s manner shifted, from carefree passion to heartfelt concern. “Yes,” he said. “Black. It can be intense.”
“Zi also said that is the manner you corrupted d’Agarre, and the others.”
Axerian winced, affecting an exaggerated look of pain. “True. I won’t hide from it. A regrettable thing, and one for which I am here in part to make amends.” He eyed her as if making sure she’d heard his words before he continued. “Zi was right about your bond. You must take care not to expose yourself to too much of any of the emotions he collects. There is no danger so long as you proceed with caution, and temperance. It’s why my path was named Balance, years ago.”
She nodded slowly.
“As to the rest,” he continued, “there will be time enough after to explain, in as much detail as Zi will allow.” He smiled, offering a slight bow as if he could see Zi there to offer deference. “For now, you should know there is real danger here in the city.”
“Danger? D’Agarre’s people? The cannons?”
“Only the first part of it. It seems my onetime fellows—yes, your Exarch and Oracle—have accelerated their plans here on the Vordu continent, that is to say, your New World.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean their influence has been cast here, and in force. Paendurion’s troops are attacking the city even as we speak. Your Gandsmen, I believe. And Ad-Shi has brought—”
“What?” she started. “You mean the smoke, the soldiers … Oh, Gods.” She turned toward the main door. “We have to get out there, I have to defend the city, I—”
“Wait, Sarine, remember Zi’s warning. You cannot throw yourself into the fighting.”
“Uncle, we’re leaving,” she called, rounding on the door, then pivoting back. “Wait, no, he has to go, he can’t stay here.”
“Sarine, please,” Axerian said. “Hear me out.”
“What?” she demanded, a rising panic in her belly.
“This is what d’Agarre wants, him and the other k
aas-mages. Ascension is …” He trailed off, eyeing her with a pointed look.
“What? What is it?”
“Zi?” he asked, making her companion’s name a question, clearly a request for permission to speak. Despite it all, anger simmered again. He had no right, no more than Zi did, to withhold information from her. No right to—
Tell her, Zi thought to them both.
Axerian’s eyes lingered for a moment before he nodded. “Ascension is the product of amassing power enough to trigger passage to the Gods’ Seat. For the kaas, the true path is a depth of experience, an abiding knowledge of the various facets of life—but there are shortcuts.”
She said nothing, waiting for him to speak.
“Killing,” he said. “Ordinarily a kaas would find such a path abhorrent. But in light of certain … influences”—he bowed his head, gesturing toward himself—“d’Agarre and the others will not balk. They will be sparks to powder in the heat of a battle, whether they know it or not.”
“So what would you have me do? You say I can’t fight. Am I to just watch the city burn while I hunt down Reyne d’Agarre?”
“More than just a city will burn if any of them ascends, Sarine,” he said, his eyes filled with pain. “Please.”
“I need to see my uncle to safety,” she said numbly.
“Nowhere in this city is as safe as this chapel, protected by your gifts through a warding.”
Her objections crumbled as another wave of cannon fire rattled gravel in the chapel windowsills. Shelter would keep her uncle safe. Damn him for not being on board the Redoubtable. Damn her for not putting him there herself.
“All right,” she said finally. “How do we find the kaas-mages in the middle of a battle?”
Axerian’s eyes shone once more. “Listen to Zi—he’ll warn you if any kaas powers are used nearby. We’ll each go our own way to cover more ground. But take care if d’Agarre or his fellows are close to ascension. They will emit fields of Yellow and Green like nothing you’ve seen, swelling to drive half the city mad, before the end. If you encounter such a thing, even the beginnings of it, do not attempt to confront them alone. Come find me, and we face them together. Otherwise”—he gave a grim smile—“take them down.”
Soul of the World Page 58
