by Scott Rhine
“Sounds like they’re watching for fires. What kind of trees?” asked Pinetto.
“Spruce, really tall ones,” answered the prince.
“But the map labeled this area ‘Cedar Hills,’” Sajika said, seizing the discrepancy.
“Workers said the Pretender has been actively cultivating these specific spruces for years.”
“Why?” asked the smith.
Legato shrugged.
Pinetto thought out loud, “They make long, light-weight beams.”
“Ships,” deduced Sajika.
“He’s going for all-out war, world conquest?” guessed the smith.
“Maybe,” she allowed. “Perhaps he’s just preparing for an assault on the Inner Islands.”
Pinetto nodded. “He could force the endorsement of the College of Wizards to become emperor for real.”
“Go back to our immediate problem. Soldiers talk,” said the smith. “With one garrison so close to another, the troops at the spruce farm might know something about the grotto.”
Legato stared at Sajika. “If only we had an expert who could question the guard in that tower we have to pass.”
“He could still signal the others,” said Pinetto.
“Not if he didn’t want to,” said the prince.
Sajika glared back. “No.”
“We can’t kill him or they’d all be after us when he missed his hourly all-clear report,” the smith said. “We can’t tie him up because he’d be able to describe a bunch of Kiaterans who asked him questions about the grotto. They’d be there waiting for us.”
“Not if he didn’t remember,” said the prince.
“I’m warning you,” said a.
“Read your orders, Ambassador. Your skills are required for the success of this mission,” said Legato.
“What skills?” asked Pinetto.
“Disguise, interrogation, persuasion . . .” said the smith.
“Seduction, memory erasure . . .” continued the prince.
“Would erasing his memory of the encounter really work?” asked Pinetto.
“Yes,” said the other three in unison.
“I don’t have any civilian wardrobe, no suitable costume,” Sajika insisted.
Pinetto held up a finger. “One of the women in the caravan had a dress that I admired, and she offered to sell it to me. A silver hour seemed expensive at the time, but I could get it for you.”
Legato stared first at Pinetto, then at his friends, unable to believe the naïveté. Sajika said, “I’ll get it from her myself. I’ll need some makeup, perfume, and gaudy earrings to complete my costume. I’ll also need to talk to her for about an hour to get her dialect and idioms down.”
Legato chuckled. “Her delectable what?”
“Her speech and mannerisms,” Sajika said with disgust. “I need to pass as a local. Any flaw in the illusion and the information session could end badly. What about my facial bruises?”
“Say you fell off a wagon, or the soldier who gave you a ride liked it rough,” suggested the prince.
“What’s he talking about?” asked Pinetto.
Sajika’s face struggled to hold its composure. “You know how much this will cost me. I want a place on your council of five.”
“Big mouth,” the prince said to Pinetto.
Sajika said, “We knew all about your traditions. Bablios has helped you get this far in your quest for the throne. We just want a voice in your rule in return for our contributions.”
“That’s extortion,” said the prince.
“That’s politics,” said Sajika.
The prince gave his grudging assent, and the former member of the Library Secret Police went off to prepare for her newest role. Pinetto watched her walk away with a sigh of longing.
“What’s wrong?” the smith asked.
“None of your business,” snapped the young astronomer.
“But I’m your best friend,” the smith countered.
“You wouldn’t understand, and Sajika would say it’s just between us.”
Legato snorted. “You’re my only wizard. If something affecyou, it means my men are in danger. That makes it my business, too. Besides, you two are the best source of gossip in the camp.”
Eventually, Pinetto explained, “She’ll never marry me.” His entire body sagged with the grief.
“She actually said that?” asked the smith.
“Well, technically, she said that she’d only get married by a priest of Bablios,” admitted Pinetto. “There aren’t many on this side of the Inner Sea and none where we’re heading.”
“Why the hurry? Is she pregnant?” asked Legato.
The wizard blushed. “No. That would be very rare in a mixed union like ours. Look, I’m an Imperial, and the priests of Bablios are opposed to the mingling of bloodlines. With her status as ambassador, King Borchart himself would have to approve the marriage.”
“So offer the old sot a bribe when you get back,” suggested Legato.
“Yes, with your outstanding war record . . .” the smith encouraged.
Pinetto interrupted, raising his voice. “My parents worked for the bureaucracy; I know how things work. King Borchart doesn’t change appointments unless someone dies or screws up so badly they have to be executed. If she succeeds, she’ll be ambassador for life. Either way, we’re never going back to Bablios. There’re no sacred vineyards for the ceremony in Kiateros.”
Legato smiled. “You mean she’s just stringing you along, using you? You must feel so cheap!” “Why ruin a good thing? You get the milk for . . . ouch!”
The smith had placed a firm hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Things will work out,” the smith asserted. “As king, Legato can have a vineyard planted. Those only take about . . .”
“Seven years to bear fruit, if they don’t freeze,” Pinetto said, having researched the idea.
“Enough nattering! Togg, you’ve got an hour to gather a team to back up the ambassador,” ordered the prince.
“Count me in,” demanded Pinetto.
Legato sneered. “This isn’t a night mission or one involving magic. It requires finesse.”
“I’m the only Imperial you have. If that guy in the tower is even close to my size, then I can take his uniform. Dressed as one of the Pretender’s men, I can walk straight into the grotto.”
“They hang spies,” noted the smith. “If you get caught in the enemy uniform, it’s a death sentence.”
“How’s that different than any other day?” asked the depressed former astronomer.
Legato answered, “They don’t torture you for hours first on the battlefield.”
****
Kasha, the knifeman from their encounter with the wind wizard, volunteered to go with them again. They selected two skilled Semenean archers and brought a rock climber along for good measure. The seven traveled a few hours ahead of the caravan, reaing the clearing at the base of the watch tower without being seen.
Dressed as a trollop and practically spilling out of her new dress, Sajika snapped orders. She had the archers pick points where they could see the Imperial lookout and had a chance to pick him off at long range if things went badly. She put the rock climber and knifeman in position to make a run for the tower stairs. “But don’t attack unless I use the trigger word—woozy.”
“What do I do?” asked the smith.
“Keep quiet and hold him back, no matter what happens,” she ordered. The smith took her literally and wrapped an arm around Pinetto’s chest.
“You don’t have to do this,” Pinetto told her staring at her hair, which was now down, curled, and flounced when she walked.
Sajika laid a hand on his cheek and said, “I love that you think that way. Now, hide. I have work to do.”
The smith dragged his friend into the brush.
As they watched, Sajika’s commanding appearance underwent a startling transformation. After rouging her lips, she took a skin of normal wine and sloshed it on her mouth, clothing, and ha
ir. Then, she messed up her hair, snarled it with a twig, rubbed mud on her facial bruises, and ripped the hem of her dress. Next, Sajika slung the skin of sacred wine over her shoulder and loosened her stance. When her face went vacant, Pinetto almost didn’t recognize her.
“Hello!” she bellowed in a spot-on imitation of the camp follower. “Commander, where are you?” Her voice was slurred as if she were intoxicated.
An eager, young soldier ran down to meet her. From halfway down the first flight of steps, he called, “Might I help you, miss?”
Sajika staggered to the foot of the steps. “My wagon wandered off and got lost. I’m Giselle.”
“I’ll bet you are. Where were you heading?” he asked. His uniform wasn’t buttoned properly. The impressions on his face and the hump in his long, black hair said he’d been sleeping on duty.
“Commander Cutie-Pants was giving me and a few friends a ride to Crystal Springs.”
“You don’t want to go there,” the soldier insisted. “That’s a plague town.”
“But he said his garrison was huge and he was going to show it to me.” Sajika leaned forward to dangle her wares.
“It’s not that big,” countered the soldier. “I’ve seen it. Since the rebels attacked the capital, all the remote garrisons have been cut to the bare bones. Worse, the floors there are cold stone.”
“No! I want to have a party,” she said, stamping her foot. “I even saved some of the commander’s wine.”
“They don’t allow alcohol there.”
“Aww. That’s no fun.”
“I have a room with a wonderful view up there, and I like fun,” said the soldier, smoothing back his hair.
The mith clamped his hand over Pinetto’s mouth.
“Would you have a drink with me?” she invited.
The soldier licked his lips. “I’ve got three hours, sure. Come on up.” He took a swig from her wineskin.
“Mmm . . .” she encouraged. “I think you’re going to have to help me. The steps keep moving.” She giggled when the trap door closed.
Pinetto squirmed until the smith hissed. “If he hears you, he’ll kill her.” When the astronomer calmed down, the smith signaled the knifeman and climber to sneak into position.
“Sajika’s pretty memorable,” Pinetto insisted, his voice cracking. “How sure are you about that wine trick?”
“It worked on you.”
“When were you planning on telling me?”
“It wasn’t intentional. I was the target—you practically threw yourself in her way. By then it was too late. If it helps, the attraction was mutual. She retired from that job after she met you.”
The fledgling wizard gazed upward to the observation platform. “Right now, nothing helps.” He remained silent for the next hour.
When Sajika finally walked down, her hair and dress were a little worse for wear. Her face was a mask as she handed Pinetto a pile of clothing.
“What—” he began. But she put a finger over his lips.
“Just hold my hand, or put your arm around me,” she said. “I need to feel that again. We can talk after I wash and change. The caravan will be along any moment.”
Chapter 36 – Ghost Story
After they made camp for the night, Pinetto closed their tent flap. Without turning to face her, he said in a low voice to Sajika, “I didn’t know you were
capable of that.”
“Do you like Giselle better?” she asked in a falsetto, posing.
“Gods, no. I want someone who can write her own name and knows mine,” the astronomer said with disgust. Facing her, he asked, “What is your real name?”
“Sajika. Why would you ask me that?”
“Because I obviously don’t know you.”
“You’re the only one who does. Everyone else sees masks, covers, and lies. I can only show what they need to see.”
“Do you even have a grandmother who taught you recipes?”
Meekly, she said, “No. My real grandmother died of the flux. I made up the rest at the orphanage. The Secret Police have been my family ever since—they educated me, fed me, and kept me healthy.”
When he saw the pain in her eyes, the anger drained out of him slowly. Closing his eyes so he wouldn’t be helpless, he asked, “Why did you seduce that sentry?”
“Legato ordered me to. I had to.”
“I find that had to believe. No one forces you.”
“Casualty estimates for this mission are 50 percent. That means, statistically, one of us won’t come back from the grotto,” she explained. “Given your inexperience, I’m betting I’ll be the survivor. I was trying to do everything I could to improve your odds.”
He snorted. “So you risked losing me to save me?”
“Yes.”
She put her forehead against him, and he melted. He wrapped an arm around her for a few minutes, not trusting himself to say anything. Only when he heard the smith’s heavy tread approaching did he say, “Get changed. I’ll stall the others while you prepare. You’ve got to give the team a briefing.”
When Pinetto and his friend arrived at Prince Legato’s fireside council meeting, Kasha was bragging to the others. “Prince, you would have been proud of the ambassador. Well, you would have been aroused and cheering. Hell, I think all of us were, secretly. She left the guy half-naked and smeared in almond butter. He won’t say a word about the missing hour. He was thrown off his last assignment at the grotto for drinking on duty, so no one will think twice about the memory gap.”
Stonily, Pinetto recited the mission report, finishing with, “There’s no sacred wine left. This was her last intelligence run.”
“I don’t know,” began Legato. “She’s pretty handy at . . .”
The smith reiterated for his friend, “Her last intelligence run.”
The prince grumbled, but reluctantly agreed.
Pinetto proceeded to map out a plan to burn down the spruce forest after they had transported the throne safely to Kiateros. The prince nodded. “Sneaky and vicious. I like it. I’ll send a copy of the plan to central command for the resistance movement, in case we don’t make it. The same messenger will carry an order to the Forge to send as many men as possible to meet us at the border. If we can make it there, they can escort us safely to the capital. Even without me, they can hide the pieces of the throne for a hundred years if necessary.”
The men were cheering as if the feat had already been accomplished.
Sajika strode up in her stiff-necked collar, but she was more subdued than normal. “You may want to hear my side of the story before you celebrate too much.”
Pinetto brought her a chair, and the ambassador sat opposite Legato in the circle. She took a deep breath as the murmuring subsided to a dull roar. “As I’m sure you heard, the forester was a fountain of information. He was a drunk but had good reason.” She paused as silence fell around the fire. “In short, they have something ugly trapped there in the mine—something ancient, magical, and quite mad.”
Someone dropped a tin cup into the fire, and the clink and rattle was the only sound until Sajika continued. “Once upon a time, at the juncture of three cliffs, they built a town. It wasn’t much of a town, but it was highly defensible, a good military outpost. The natural caves at the base of the cliff were enhanced by miners for food storage. One hot summer, some local kids explored the caves to find a comfortable, private place to make out. No one cared until the mayor’s daughter disappeared.”
Pausing in her story, she grabbed the smith’s flask and helped herself to the liquid courage. “They found a copr bedroll in a shaft far in the back. It took a thousand yards of rope to reach the first ledge. Even that wasn’t the bottom. But the rescue team saw two things from their perch—the daughter’s body and sparkling in the depths.
“They’d discovered a huge cave full of gems—clusters of huge, six-sided rods in every color imaginable. They were rich. The town flooded with new workers, eager to profit. As they dug deeper, they found
bigger gems every year, some as long as your arm. The last cave was called the Crystal Grotto. It had active pools where new crystals were being formed. But the grotto was walled off from the rest of the mine by a fence of perfectly upright rods and a pool of steaming acid.
“During the Scattering, a few decades ago, there was an earthquake. A cave-in at the mine killed five, and several of the local springs turned acidic. Trees died. Animals shied away. Then people started disappearing. They’d always find the body a week later at the mouth of the grotto—without the head.”
The smith took his flask back and had a swallow of his own.
“People began to complain about a large creature roaming the woods. Miners fled with their families, hoping to avoid the doom. The king was petitioned. Nothing helped. The hunting only stopped after fourteen victims were killed.”
She looked at every man who had volunteered for the mission. “The king walled the mine off and struck it from the map. He posted signs that declared Crystal Springs a plague town. That’s what the masses believed: a sickness that caused hallucinations and violence, like rabies. Even so, the beast wakes every seven years near Emperor’s Day. They appease it by running a herd of cattle off the cliff top. It goes back to sleep, sated by the suffering and life-force offered.”
