"We can use that," Gift said.
"What do you mean?" Scavenger asked. "Use what?"
"His fear of magick, of this place. If he doesn't know what's in here, we could make it seem more terrifying than it is." Gift stood up. "We could use his fear against him."
Coulter smiled slowly. "And he'd never get inside."
"That's right." Gift grinned back, then apparently caught himself, and stopped.
Coulter didn't seem to notice Gift's withdrawal. "We can plan this. We could scare him away from here for good."
"That'll help," Adrian said. "I really don't want to make that trek through those mountains any time soon."
"We might have to anyway," Leen said. "This man doesn't give up. If he did, he'd have died weeks ago."
"What are you saying?" Coulter asked.
"I'm saying," Leen said, "that if we scare him away from here, he might come back with more people. He might not ever give up."
"He left the Tabernacle," Adrian said. He looked at Gift. "There were two rumors. The first was that your father met with him and killed him in retaliation for your mother's death. The second was that your father threatened to kill him, and he ran."
"He clearly ran," Gift said.
"Or your father tried to kill him, and failed, just like I did," Leen said.
"The point is," Adrian said, "he never went back to Jahn."
"He was there when we met him," Gift said.
"Twenty years later."
"Twenty years," Scavenger murmured. "Isn't it odd how this man turns up when the Fey reappear?"
"It's the magick," Coulter said.
"So maybe the magick will draw him here," Leen said.
"Or," Adrian said, "it'll convince him to stay away."
"Or maybe we should just kill him," Scavenger said.
"It won't be easy," Leen said.
"For you, maybe. But Coulter can do it."
Adrian looked at him. The killing weeks ago had damaged something inside Coulter, created a wound that hadn't healed yet.
"If I have to," Coulter said, "I'll kill him."
"I hope it doesn't come to that," Adrian said, not wanting Coulter hurt further.
"Oh, I do," Gift said from the cave's floor.
They all turned to look at him. Gift, the one who seemed to have the most trouble with leadership and the difficulties it entailed. Gift, who was gentle and the least warlike among them.
He shrugged. "Sometimes," he said, "people need to pay for the evil they've done. He murdered my mother and prevented any hope of avoiding the war we're in now. His action cost hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. Don't worry about killing him, Coulter. If you don't, I will."
Adrian had seen that darkness only once before in Gift. That was the night they had met, the night Gift had learned what the Black King had done to his adopted family and his friends.
The darkness disturbed Adrian, on a deep level. It was as if there were a part of Gift that was as yet untapped, a part that was — as Coulter put it — slop, which might affect them all.
Might harm them all.
Or maybe it would save them.
Adrian didn't know. But he was sure he was going to find out.
SIXTY-THREE
The Audience Chamber no longer had the fripperies of the ruling house of Blue Isle. Gone was their coat of arms. Gone was their gaudy and fairly ugly throne. Gone were the suits of armor and the weaponry decorating the walls.
Gone too was the bloodstain from Rugad's near-fatal wound.
Instead the room had been transformed into a working war room. A long table, brought in from the banquet hall, stood in the exact center. Maps of Blue Isle, some found in the secret war room upstairs, others made by Wisps, Bird Riders, and Domestics working together, covered the walls. Rugad had them color in the areas held by his troops.
The only places his troops had yet to go were the mountains on the country's east, north, and northwestern sides.
Mountains.
His great-granddaughter had been in the mountains.
He had concentrated his troops on the highly populated areas. Those areas were secure now. He could afford to move troops to the mountains, to take care of the rebels, see what was in the villages there, and to discover any treasures that the Isle might be hiding.
He clasped his hands behind his back. Of course, he would have to send to Nye for reinforcements. And he would have to be careful about how he worded the order. The last thing he wanted was for his grandson Bridge to think that the great Black King of the Fey could not conquer Blue Isle.
Instead, he would have to let Bridge think that Rugad was preparing to go to Leut, to the next continent over. Rugad had readied Bridge for this; he had even chosen the secondary invasion force before he left. Bridge could make a few modifications on the Infantry level, but he could not touch the upper echelons. The last thing Rugad wanted was his not-so-sly grandson to try to strip the secondary force of its power.
If only Bridge had had the brains of his sister Jewel. Then he and Rugad would have come to Blue Isle together.
The door to the audience chamber opened, and seven Foot Soldiers entered. They were in uniform, but the uniforms were clean. It was clear that the Fey had not seen fighting for weeks. Their hands hung at their sides, and their fingers, with the extra set of fingernails, were curved. Four women and three men, loyalists all.
They nodded to him, and he nodded back. None of them looked at him long enough to note the cuts on his face or the rips on his clothing. If they did, they were too professional to let their gaze linger.
He indicated the back of the room with his head, and they walked there, climbing the dais, then lining up against the wall, single file.
Rugad continued studying the maps. Behind them, in the listening booths, were trusted guards. He wouldn't need them. His people were well trained, and none of them would dare cross him.
Especially after this afternoon.
The door opened a second time, and some of Rugad's generals entered. First Onha, head of the Beast Riders, promoted after her successful attack on the Tabernacle. She had a long nose and short, bristly hair. Her eyes were a bit too close together, and her walk was stiff. Her alternate form was as a mastiff, and she had some of that breed's characteristics.
Behind her was Slaughter. He headed the Foot Soldiers. He had risen to that position rather young. He had a L'Nacin name, like Rugad's grandchildren, but unlike the surviving grandchildren, he had an understanding of war. Rugad had promoted him as a very young man, at the conclusion of the conquering of Nye. Like other Foot Solders, he let his arms fall to his sides, and kept his hands cupped. He was as tall as Rugad, with lips that turned down and dark eyes that glowed.
The third general, the last in this group, was Kendrad, head of the Infantry. She was the oldest and highest ranking general he had brought on this trip. Only a few years younger than he was, Kendrad had taken her first blood beside him in the Battle of Hiere. She commanded the most troops, and had done so with an even hand for more than fifty years. He had thought of leaving her on Nye to watch over Bridge, but he hadn't fought without her since he was a boy, and he didn't want to leave her behind now.
She looked no older. Her body was still trim and muscular, her face unlined. The only sign of her growing age were the strands of silver woven into her black braid.
She took a seat against the wall. The others did as well.
Rugad didn't acknowledge them. They were here on his whim, and they knew it. He would wait until the others arrived before talking with them.
The other seven generals entered piecemeal, as they received the word. Frad'l slipped in, unnoticed by the Foot Soldiers, but all of the generals saw him. Frad'l led Rugad's Spies, and had the same shimmering, changing appearance as most of them.
An Islander wearing chef's clothing and carrying a small apron entered. Without looking at his eyes, Rugad knew it was Dimar, the head of the Doppelgängers. Rugad had brought so few Doppelgängers t
hat he really didn't need a general to lead them, but Dimar was one of the very best, and had always been beside Rugad. Rugad did not want to change that either.
A shadow slipped across the wall, and the Foot Soldiers in the back stirred but did not move. Even the most courageous of the Fey were uneasy in the presence of a Dream Rider. Black, the shadow, led a troop of over a hundred Dream Riders. Rugad had brought more than usual, knowing he would need them as time progressed. They were the best at keeping populations in line or causing unexpected — and seemingly natural — deaths. Occasionally a Fey would pay a Dream Rider to kill another Fey. Such murders were rarely obvious. If they were, the procurer and the Dream Rider were brought before the Black King. Eight times in his reign, Rugad had ordered an execution based on evidence of such crimes.
Five times he had set the couples free.
The shadow made its way across the wall, slithered onto the floor, then became a full Fey, standing among them. Even then, Black seemed darker than the rest. A Dream Rider's body absorbed light, and even without flattening itself could pass for a shadow to someone who wasn't paying attention. He sat next to Kendrad, who patted his hand. Of all the Fey Rugad had known, only Kendrad accepted Dream Riders as normal.
The Healer Seger entered. Her eyes widened when she saw Rugad's face. He waved her to the wall, out of the way. She would have to wait until he was through with some of his business.
Landre, head of Rugad's Spell Warders, entered, ducking his head as he came through the door. He wasn't as tall and lean as Boteen, but they were built similarly enough to be brothers. Landre wasn't a general, not in the military sense, but Rugad had learned in earlier campaigns to keep the Spell Warders on top of military procedures. They often had suggestions that made campaigns smoother.
Behind Landre came Ife, the Wisp in charge of the troops. Rugad had toyed with making Tuft leader after his courageous discovery of the golem, but then canceled the idea. Ife, for all his prissiness, had a military mind. He did not like to fly, and was not as useful in battle as he was in consultation. He had hurt a wing in one of the Nye campaigns and it obviously pained him. It curled against his back like a small child in need of comfort and it made him walk hunched.
Quata, one of the ship's captains, also entered. He was short for a magickal Fey, and stocky. Rugad had heard that Quata had a Red Cap in the family tree. But he was a good man, and he kept the Sailors informed. It was time to use the ships again instead of leaving them idle in the Infrin Sea.
And finally, behind him was a Charmer, Selia. She was slight for a Fey, but tall, with a beauty that was uncommon even among the her race. She had rarely spoken to Rugad, and probably had no idea why she had been summoned.
She would understand shortly.
She was the only one he smiled at. As she walked into the room, he pulled out a chair for her. She looked at him in confusion.
The others watched. They knew something was about to change.
Finally Wisdom entered the open door, and pulled it closed behind him. Rugad wondered if he had deliberately waited until everyone had arrived. He must have quizzed the guard who had summoned him. But Wisdom wouldn't have determined everything through that guard. In fact, he didn't seem to know that one member of their party was still missing.
He started to take a chair, when Rugad said, "I prefer it if you stand."
Wisdom turned to him. His hair was newly braided, and his scarification stood out against his skin. He had oiled it. He had guessed that this was somehow a crucial moment.
He would have had to have been blind not to see it.
He raised his chin slightly, so that he could look Rugad directly in the eye.
He had courage. Rugad had always liked that about Wisdom. It was the misplaced ambition that he had disliked. It had become a habit since Rugad's injury, and for the benefit of the generals, for the benefit of Selia, he would prove it.
Rugad spoke slowly, letting his voice sound fainter than it actually was. "You have been my adjunct since — ?"
"The beginning of the Nye Campaign, Sir."
"And you have spoken for me when you had to, always seen to my needs, and made certain everything ran smoothly?"
"Yes, sir," Wisdom said.
"And since my injury, this power became, in your mind, yours. You spoke for the Black King who could not speak, so therefore you were the Black King. Your Charm magick made things seem so much easier. People scrambled to do your bidding, did they not?"
Wisdom's eyes narrowed. He was smart. He realized quickly that this was not a session in which he would be praised, or rewarded for his service.
"Did they not?" Rugad repeated, letting all the strength he had come into his voice. It still wasn't more than a rasp, but it would do.
"It was your bidding, sir," Wisdom said. He held his position, chin up, back straight.
"Was it?" Rugad whispered. "Was it indeed?"
The silence in the room was unnatural. Usually when a group this large gathered, there was stirring, an occasional cough, the sound of someone breathing.
No one made a single noise. It was as if they were afraid to move, afraid to be noticed.
Good.
"You have countermanded me in private no fewer than twenty-five times. I have since discovered that you 'augmented' my orders on at least fifteen occasions, all while we were waiting for my throat to heal. You have told the Domestics that you are the voice of the Black King, and they should react accordingly. Haven't you?"
Wisdom did not move.
"Haven't you?" It was the closest Rugad could get to a yell. The words sounded like a harsh cough. Seger, the Healer, took a step toward him, then seemed to think the better of it.
"I have only done what is best for the Empire," Wisdom said.
Rugad took a step closer to him. Wisdom did not move anything except his eyes. They widened slightly. Even though he hid it well, Wisdom was afraid. He smelled of it.
"Have you now?" Rugad said.
"Yes." Wisdom swallowed. "Someone had to maintain order while you healed."
"I maintain order. I was never ill enough to stop giving orders. Just because I couldn't speak didn't mean I couldn't think." Rugad took another step toward Wisdom. Now there were only a few feet between them. Wisdom had to adjust his head slightly so that he could continue looking Rugad in the eye.
"I carried out your orders," Wisdom said.
"And augmented them."
"The paper — the written orders — weren't always explicit. People had questions — "
"Which you never referred to me."
"They were simple questions—
"There are never any simple questions," Rugad said.
"I beg pardon, sir, but—
"There are never any simple questions," Rugad repeated, and then smiled. With that smile, he looked at his generals. They were watching, eyes wide. Rugad's gaze fell on Selia. She looked like a trapped rabbit who was pretending to be a lion. Her posture was rigid, her face expressionless, but her eyes were too wide, and her nostrils quivered.
"Do you see how he contradicts me?" Rugad asked her.
She swallowed. Then nodded. Once.
Rugad clasped his hands behind his back, and paced around Wisdom in a wide circle. When he reached his starting point, he went around again, and then again, each time making the circle smaller.
Wisdom tried to watch at first, then must have realized how ridiculous he looked, and stared straight ahead. His mouth was so compressed that his lips were turning white.
Finally Rugad stopped before him, standing less than a hand's length away. "You have sullied the chain of command. You have undermined my authority. You have tried to take the power of the Black Throne as your own. Do you deny any of this?"
"I was acting in the best interests of the Fey Empire," Wisdom said. "I—
"So," Rugad said softly, "it is in the best interest of the Fey Empire to have someone not of Black Blood sitting on the Black Throne?"
"No," Wisdom
said. "I wasn't saying that. I was just trying to help. I was trying to do what you wanted."
"Had I told you I wanted that?" Rugad asked.
"No," Wisdom whispered, and for the first time bowed his head.
"What did I tell you at the beginning of the Nye Campaign, when I replaced my previous adjunct with you?"
Wisdom turned his head slightly, as if silently cursing. He had forgotten. Rugad knew he had, and now Wisdom had just realized that he had. He had forgotten to abide by the most important admonition.
"What did I tell you?" Rugad repeated.
"That from henceforth I was to stop thinking for myself. That if I had questions, large or small, I should come to you. If I had any doubts at all, it would be better to clear them with you. If I encountered problems, questions, or difficulties with my fellow Fey, I was to bring those items to you." Wisdom spoke in a whisper. He closed his eyes midway through his small speech as if he were just beginning to realize the magnitude of his failure.
"And?" Rugad asked.
"If I should ever fail in these duties, my sanity, my health or my life could be forfeit."
"Because?"
"There is and always shall be only one ruler of the Fey Empire." Wisdom dropped his head so far that his chin rested against his chest.
"Your reasons for your disobedience?" Rugad asked.
Wisdom shook his head.
"Your reasons?"
"I have none," Wisdom whispered.
"You disobeyed me without reason," Rugad said.
"Yes, sir."
"The truth is that you forgot," Rugad said, making his voice gentle. The rasp left when he spoke gently.
Wisdom raised his head slightly. He was as easy to lull as a victim of a Charmer. The Charmers were as susceptible to easy words as the rest of the Fey.
"Yes, sir. I did."
"You forgot the most important injunction I had given you," Rugad said. He glanced over his shoulder. Three of the seven Foot Soldiers had their hands hidden under their armpits. They understood what Rugad had been thinking. They knew that Wisdom might be theirs to kill.
Through the corner of his eye, Rugad watched Wisdom. His gaze followed Rugad's and the mask fell off his features. Beneath it, was total panic. Wisdom managed to cover it before Rugad turned to face him again.
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 39
