In the chaos, she tried to keep her fear under control. Staying alive was her overwhelming priority and having that focus helped. It was not her own life she feared for, not really; it was the cadre she carried. It was at risk. If she died before she could pass it on to another, all the knowledge and power it comprised would be lost forever. The cadre would die with her, and that couldn’t happen. The time would come when the world would need it. She didn’t know when—only that it would.
Reflected heat began to increase, making her skin smart. The fire was raging closer. Realizing that she was cut off, she felt panic bloom in her mind, and she began covering herself in the humus beneath the vines. Mez’s gift seemed to shrink the more her fear grew, but she knew she needed it. She had to calm herself. With her face in the cool earth, she deliberately slowed her breathing and tried to tap into the cadre. She pictured the familiar tracks and supply points of the vineyard in a desperate search for an escape route. The scene unfolding in her mind was a memory, not the current scene of havoc. There was the Inspector, striding away through the staging area, with half-laden carts surrounding him. Yes, she thought to herself, follow him … remember.
Then, suddenly, the cadre was pulsing pinkly in her mind, once again available and ready to be of service. Mez’s memories were there, too. They flowed over her; the impression of him filled her senses. How sweet the memory of Mez was. Slowly the images unfurled, and she was able to follow the Inspector, further than her own memory allowed. A hint of what lay hidden blossomed like a flower. She saw the Inspector bend down, scrape the dirt with his boot and lift a trapdoor. So that was where he went, into the old vegetable storage hole, but would that serve as a hiding place?
The thrill of discovery, of understanding, made her breath quicken. That place could give her a chance to survive, would at least protect her from the flames. She let the vision drop away and put her mind to work. Low on the ground the air was still breathable. The cries of the prisoners were fewer now, as were the dragon calls. The beasts were likely sated on the dead and the dying. On all fours, keeping low to the ground, Salinda began crawling toward the disused area behind the winery buildings. That’s where the Inspector’s hideout was.
After an hour or so, when the sun dawned almost red on the horizon, Salinda thought she might survive. Remaining in the dirt at the base of the vines had saved her. A rain shower now battered the remaining flames and allowed her to quench her thirst and clear the soot from her mouth. She had made it to the winery itself, but feared to go out into the open while the dragons still hunted. The trapdoor was in an open area, a vulnerable place while there were dragons around.
All was quiet now. Gazing out on the black, skeletal remains of the buildings, she climbed gingerly to her feet. A quick assessment revealed that her skin was singed in places but there were no serious burns. The smoke, thankfully lessening now, had grazed her throat and left her with a cough. In the red-tinged light she saw isolated fires still burning, black and crumbling sticks that had once been vines and the occasional burned remains of prisoners. The dragons had fed well; there were fewer bodies remaining than she expected.
Another cloud of smoke enveloped her. She tried to hold her breath and wave it away, yet the further she trod the thicker it became. Just then a gust of wind dissipated the cloud, and she recoiled as she came face to face with a smoke-tinged Inspector.
“Well met, Salinda …” he said, then leveled an evil-looking smile at her, his white teeth flashing in his ash-stained face.
Salinda saw the gleam in his eye and the satisfaction brimming in his expression. She turned to run, but she was too late. The Inspector grabbed her arm. “Not so hasty.”
Throwing her body left and right, she searched for a path, any path that would allow her to flee. Ange’s figure loomed out of the white-gray haze, a kerchief wrapped around his face.
“Where…? How did you …?” she whispered harshly, and was then overcome with a fit of coughing.
The Inspector’s grip tightened while she struggled. Full-blown panic took hold.
His face loomed over her. “If anyone could survive this inferno I knew it would be you,” he said in her ear. “How lucky for me.”
Ange strode forward, his eyes puffy and red. Salinda edged away from him, ceasing her struggle against the Inspector and unwittingly choosing what she saw as the lesser of two evils. The Inspector’s grip slackened and he let her go. Warily she turned to face him. That smile, thin and knowing, widened right before he decked her with a backhand blow. Darkness filled with shooting yellow stars wiped out her perception.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Deeper Plan
After a day with Danton and his companions, Brill realized the camp had no facilities and no information. The rebels, who numbered around fifty, appeared to be half-starved and a much smaller group than he had expected. It was to the rebel leader’s credit that his band had survived at all after suffering several defeats at the hands of other rebels. From what Brill could see these men had barely anything left besides their will to live.
“I know it’s not much,” Danton said, seeing the direction of Brill’s gaze. “We lost our gunpowder and bomb-making tools a few skirmishes back.”
Brill frowned as he listened to the rebel, furious that other rebels rather than the incumbent government’s forces had attacked them. “I don’t understand the factionalism. We could achieve so much more if the rebel groups joined together instead of fighting each other. It’s like there is some orchestration behind it, something keeping us apart. If even some of the rebels joined up, they could be a force to be reckoned with.”
Danton ran his hand through his hair and signaled Brill to follow him. “Our nature, my friend. No grand plan as far as I can see.” He headed toward a cave, which he explained was the food store, holding the cask of dragon wine in the crook of his arm.
They passed a stocky rebel with short hair, who nodded to Danton before heading off to the tents. Brill did a double take when he realized she was a woman, though she was not like any woman he had encountered before. A scar ran from the corner of her eye to the edge of her mouth, giving her a perpetual sneer. “One of my deputies, Squab,” Danton said.
In the cave, Danton tipped the cask of wine into a large vat of drinking water. He scooped out two cups full and handed one to Brill, whose gaze swept around the food store. There were a few sacks of flour, and dried meat and orange cacti hung from shelves. This appeared to be all the food they had. Brill drank off his ration and Danton tossed him some hard bread and bade him eat it.
“Follow me.” At the cave mouth he hollered to his band. “Come and get a ration of watered wine.”
Danton’s campsite was a tent strung up between two dead trees, with large stones anchoring the sides. Danton eased himself down in front of it and coaxed a small fire. Brill accepted the rock he was offered and sat to survey the camp. After swallowing the last of his bread, he sighed loudly.
“You’re lucky we were here, you know. We only crawled back here to lick our wounds and consider our next move.”
Brill sat straighter. He had indeed been lucky.
“Regret leaving the vineyard?” Danton asked, producing the dried vine leaves from his pocket and crumbling them into some water he placed in a kettle over the flames.
Brill felt his face heat. “No, not at all. It’s just … well, I want to make a difference. You know what my father tried to do. I want to succeed where he failed. His vision was not flawed.”
Danton’s dark eyes glittered as his gaze fell on his men. “Yeah … making a difference is what counts, makes what we do make sense. I haven’t had a lot of that lately. We’ve just been staying alive.”
“I grew up with his vision and now it is my own. I saw the good that his confederacy achieved when people could work under the right conditions and with strong support.”
“Rumor has it that your father was betrayed from within. And that dream is gone now, isn’t it? Those good people are dead
or slaves or have reverted to how they were before. These days I fail to see what sense there is in any of it. I’ve tried all my life to make a ‘difference,’ and what have I done? My efforts have come to nothing. Things are worse than they ever were. Each successive government in Sartell is more extremist than the last and the towns just govern themselves, usually leaping from one radical thought to the next.”
“What do you mean the dream is gone?”
Danton’s expression became haunted and he spoke in a soft, low voice as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I see the signs … humankind will end soon. It’s not just the other rebels; it’s the people in the towns, the ones who will kill you as soon as look at you. We’ve sunk too low. There’s barely a soul worth saving.”
Brill clasped and unclasped his hands while he listened to Danton speak. Then the rebel met his gaze. “No, you’re wrong,” Brill said in an urgent whisper. “Good still exists in people’s hearts. With a world gone mad what else could an ordinary person do but defend themselves and take from others to survive? They need people like us to help them, make them believe there’s hope for a better future.”
Danton didn’t laugh, which is what Brill expected him to do. In a quiet voice, he said, “How can I offer them that when I have no hope myself?”
Brill reached out and clasped the older man’s shoulder. “Trust me. I will change things.”
Danton looked sadder somehow. “I can see why Salinda helped you.” They sat in silence for a few minutes then Danton said, “I’d better pour this vine-leaf tea.”
Brill nodded and then let his gaze roam over the camp. He noticed something strange when the men had finished their watered wine. They looked better, healthier. Danton edged closer, tossing a twig into the small, sheltered fire. “You see it, don’t you?” he said, following Brill’s line of sight.
Brill wrinkled his brow. “Something … like you’re all dying … the wine helps you somehow. I never thought about it before. Dragon wine is part of everyone’s staple diet, from lords to slaves.”
Danton nodded. “There’s a shortage of dragon wine everywhere. Less and less is finding its way to the market. West in Stuval province and north in Gunner there is nary a drop to be bought. You have brought our salvation, young Brill. Temporarily, at least. People are fading everywhere. If I had not seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t believe it, even though Salinda and Mez both tried to tell me.”
“Do you mean she is right? We need the dragons to survive?”
“Yes, strange as it seems. We eat bread, and meat when we can find it, although it doesn’t nourish us. I will continue to water the wine you brought, for even a hint of it provides more sustenance than a banquet.”
“I see—I saw a lot of dragon wine … at the … Inspector’s …” Brill’s thoughts abruptly returned to the day the Inspector took him down that hole for questioning. He wasn’t aware he’d stopped talking until he felt Danton shaking him.
Danton’s gaze darkened. “You don’t have to go into details, kid, unless you need to. By the source I’d like to kill that bastard.”
Brill sunk himself in the memory, recalling the pain, the sounds, the smells, and the glimpses of barrels in dark places. He opened his eyes, sweaty and trembling. “The Inspector has wine, barrels and barrels of it. I’m not entirely sure, but he seemed to be stockpiling it.”
Danton locked gazes with him for a moment then turned to spit in the fire.
“Figures … That bastard would kill the world just for the fun of it. If only there was a way to get to it.”
Brill slouched forward as words and memories shifted in his mind, forming and reforming into a pattern. The Inspector, his questions … the answers … jumbled together.
Next he heard Danton calling his name. “What is it? Are you all right?” the rebel demanded. “You’re not dust mad, are you?” His eyes glittered with speculation.
Seized by an awful certainty and panic, Brill blurted out, “The vineyard!”
“What?” Danton tensed, his mouth firming into a grim line.
“I think …” Brill stopped to draw in a shaky breath. “I’m sure … the vineyard is going to be attacked.”
Danton shook his head, tossed another twig into the fire and sighed loudly. “Attacked? Not in a million years.”
“No, listen,” Brill said, grabbing the rebel leader by the forearm. “He asked me about the Infra-pact rebels and where they were last stationed. Over and over again he asked me about the rumored sightings. I remember I told him that the guards at the garrison at the edge of Crawlers Gorge had talked about seeing them. Of course, I didn’t think anything of it. He hinted something about the dragon hatcheries and about how close they were to the vineyard—I thought his questions strange at the time. I could barely stop the words coming out of my mouth, let alone think logically about what he was asking me. But now it seems obvious. The Infra-pact rebels were sighted at the garrison, the supposedly secret garrison, which is the last port of call before the vineyard. The Inspector seemed to know they would be there, seemed to be expecting them, but maybe he didn’t know the exact timing. Could he be working with them?”
Danton’s eyes narrowed. Brill let go of his arm, and Danton stroked his beard with his forefinger. “The Infra-pact rebels?”
Brill nodded.
Danton frowned as he stared at the ground. “There’s lot of money behind Infra-pact, and as far as I know they are taking over or eliminating all the non-aligned rebel factions. They’re the ones who hit us, took all our materiel. When they are through, there’ll be nothing standing between them and the government.”
“That’s bad,” Brill agreed, thinking hard, putting two and two together. “So if the government in Sartell wanted to clear out all opposition, wouldn’t it pay to get rid of the smaller groups of pesky rebels who turn up everywhere? If it could control the largest faction and have them do this for them, then there would be no opposition to anything the Infra-pact did because they wouldn’t be independent.”
“Yes, but what if it’s not ‘the government’ as such but someone in government?”
“Another coup?” Brill squeezed his fists. “Wing dust! That’s too terrible to conceive. Really, I’m gobsmacked. My father talked about this, about how the government would be overturned but the same people would end up in charge. They would just appear to change their allegiance.”
“I agree, but the more I think about it, the more my gut’s telling me that is exactly what’s happening.” Danton ran a hand through his hair, then he looked Brill in the eye. “You’re sure about the stockpile?”
“Oh, yes …”
“It is no use to him at the vineyard.” Danton scratched his chin, deep in thought. He turned to Brill. “How specific was he about the dragon hatcheries?”
“At the time, I didn’t understand how close the hatcheries were to the vineyard. I’d only been there a day or so. He appeared to be counting the days from the Infra-pact sighting near the garrison to when they reached the hatcheries. Some comment about them taking their time. Would he meet them at the hatcheries? And if so, what for?”
“It does sound like there is some deeper plan. The Inspector’s audacious enough. He creates a stockpile of dragon wine then starves the world of it. Provided the rebels can get past the dragons and attack the vineyard, then the Inspector could have his way out. An attack would set him free, leaving him the sole source or at least the major holder of dragon wine stocks.”
Brill agreed and then thought of Salinda …
Obviously, the rebel had reached the same conclusion, as he bounded to his feet. “Salinda! By the source, I hope I am not too late.” Something in the rebel’s tone hinted at bitterness. Danton walked away and whispered to Didly, one of his deputies.
In a distinctive deep voice, Didly called out to the others. “Prepare to break camp at midnight. Pass the word on.”
Didly had everyone’s attention. Danton took the opportunity to speak. “I need volunteers to c
limb up over the range so that we can see across the plain,” Danton said. “I only want half of you to volunteer, the rest of you will go with Squab to rendezvous with me later.”
Squab came up to him and spoke in a low voice. Danton put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. The female rebel nodded a couple of times as she listened. Brill watched as she tapped selected rebels on the shoulder and nodded to them.
Brill watched the rebels down the last of their food and wine in readiness for departure.
“Why midnight?”
“If Salinda is coming that’s when she’ll be here.” He shook his head. “But I have a bad feeling that we’re too late.”
Brill felt a little uneasy. It was his gut instinct that had prompted this action. The last thing he wanted to do was head back to the vineyard. Yet they had to know.
Midnight came and went, and there was no sign of Salinda. Brill’s heart grew heavier with each passing hour. Finally, Danton let out an expressive sigh before calling for his second. “Squab!”
His deputy run up, signaling to her men, and in quick time they were ready to move.
“Where’s she going?” Brill asked Danton. The rebel leader watched about half his band follow Squab.
“She’ll rendezvous with us further down the line. If we don’t make it she can carry on the search.”
“So she’ll meet us in Sartell?” Brill knew that being downriver, Sartell was the only place of sufficient size to hide them well.
Danton frowned. “What you don’t know, Brill, you can’t tell. I haven’t set up a meeting time or place. Squab is good. She’ll find us when the time is right. Now, follow me. Let’s see if we can allay our fears about Salinda.”
CHAPTER NINE
Sundwellers
In the Barra gardens, Nils gnawed on what looked to be a lairn apple. The taste was tarter than he remembered, but the interior, when he reached that luscious, moist center, was the same. Even with that touch of familiarity, he felt like an alien in his own home. A wave of emotion enveloped him, tempting him to deeper depths of despair. Surrounded by death, even the stale shadows of it, was enough to make him want to join his kin at the source of all things.
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