by Glenda Larke
Worse, from what he could determine, the Reduners had either put many of the men of the city to the sword, or taken them as slaves. They had been particularly vicious toward the richer citizens of the upper levels. Many Level Three and Four families had been wiped out to the last child. The luckier ones had escaped only because they had taken refuge in the hidden tunnel and escaped the initial slaughter that had followed Jasper's escape from the city.
Although the fate of individuals did not interest Taquar, he was worried whether there would be enough labor to rebuild and replant. One of his first concerns was the water situation. When he checked, he found to his relief that the main cisterns were half-full and water was still trickling in from the mother wells. With the population substantially reduced, the amount was adequate.
Over the next few days he set his men to locating all the city's water sensitives, rainlords and reeves. Their reports further dismayed him. There were no more Breccian rainlords. Ryka and Kaneth, as well as Ryka's father and all the aging rainlords of his generation-they were all dead or missing, and so were all the rainlord priests. Even the priest who had hidden the people down in the tunnel had eventually been caught and killed. Taquar had half-expected that, but he had not thought to find many reeves had been dispatched with ruthless efficiency as well. A handful of lowly water sensitives did report to Breccia Hall on his request, but he knew they were pitifully few to assert control of the city's cisterns and water distribution. Theft was already rampant.
Fortunately, the talented children he and the other rainlords had found in the Gibber had been scattered throughout the Scarpen just before the invasion, not that any of them had shown signs of developing stormlord talent.
None of that angered Taquar. His ire was directed at Jasper. How could he ever replenish Breccia's water if the little wash-rat had disappeared? The men he had sent out in all directions to hunt the stormlord down and persuade him to return had not yet reported back. In growing fury, he had to admit to himself how badly he had miscalculated.
With an effort, he replaced his anger with cold dispassion, and decided he had no choice in his next move. If he dispersed his men and his water sensitives and rainlords over two cities, they would be stretched pitifully thin. Better, he decided, to make sure he could hold Scarcleft, to develop his own city as the center of Scarpen commerce and power. And hope that Jasper would never cut off the water because the people would suffer. Breccia would have to wait.
He spread the word that any man who wanted to join his armed forces would be welcome to return with him, and that artisans and skilled workers were welcome in Scarcleft. The number who answered his call was pitifully small. He knew why; he saw the fury in Breccian eyes as he passed in the street.
When he rode out of the city at the head of a disparate selection of artisans and young men, a silent crowd watched, their collective gaze spilling misery and hate.
***
Taquar had left Laisa in Scarcleft. She was content to leave the rule of the city to Harkel Tallyman, who was more than capable of ruling without any recourse to her advice. When he came to her looking both shocked and at a loss, therefore, she was taken aback; when he told her what had happened, she stared at him in consternation.
"What?" she asked, wondering if she had understood his unusually garbled account. "Did you just say your contacts in Pediment and Portfillik have been seeing messages written in the sky with clouds?"
"That's correct."
"That's impossible. No one can have that much control over clouds!"
"Jasper?" he asked, and his tone indicated the question was a genuine one; he did not know the answer.
"Especially not Jasper. He cannot even draw vapor from salt water." Or can he? No, of course he can't. We've seen no signs of storm clouds drawn from the sea since he left.
"But he can manipulate clouds," Tallyman pointed out.
"Yes, but he doesn't have access to clouds without Taquar's help!" And I wouldn't have thought it possible to have such finesse, though someone obviously does.
Tallyman was silent.
Laisa licked dry lips and felt a cold dread. It was Jasper. Of course it was Jasper. He had been deceiving them.
She had trouble forming her next words and Tallyman had to lean forward to hear them. "And these sky messages ask the cities of the Scarpen to unite under the banner of Stormlord Jasper and to march on Scarcleft and Breccia to free them from Highlord Taquar, the traitor who invited Davim to invade?"
"Yes. Not quite those words, but-yes. And they were signed 'Bloodstone.' "
How the pickled pede did Jasper know Taquar had gone to Breccia? The answer came as soon as she had framed the question. He'd felt their water, of course. The water of Taquar and his men. He must be camped somewhere close enough for his powers to sense such things but just far enough away for other rainlords to be oblivious. The little wash-rat, they had been underestimating him all the time. He was probably capable of watering the whole sandblasted Quartern if he put his mind to it. But how had he made clouds without other rainlords being aware of their formation? Could he have taken fresh water from a cistern somewhere? She had no idea, and surely Basalt would have said something had he sensed something like that.
Gathering together a semblance of her normal calm, she asked, "What's your reading of the situation in the other cities, seneschal? Will they take any notice of clouds spelling words in the sky?"
His thin face usually wore a cynical expression bordering on mockery. She saw none of that now. Harkel Tallyman was worried, worried enough to treat her with respectful seriousness.
He said slowly, "A quarter-cycle ago I would have laughed at the notion of the cities of the Scarpen achieving any sort of unity. They were each scrambling to keep their own rainlords and their own guards to protect only their own cities, in case Sandmaster Davim turned his attention to them. But things have changed since then."
One by one he enumerated the changes, raising a finger with each new point. "First, the Reduners have left Breccia. Second, people are afraid of thirsting to death and they will examine any means of preventing that, even a war. Third, all of a sudden here is proof we have a real stormlord. He can arrange the very clouds in the sky to suit his own convenience. That sends a powerful message. If he can do that, he can surely supply them with water. We might tell them differently-that Jasper needs Highlord Taquar-but who will they believe?" He raised his fourth finger. "Alas, Taquar now represents a target for them to throw stones at: the traitor who sold them to the Reduners and brought Breccia and Qanatend to their knees. Cloudmaster Granthon kept that dirty little secret while he was still alive, but too many people have heard about it since. The tale is out there now, the gossip is a wind-whisper everywhere." He waggled his thumb at her. "And what do you think the final difference is?"
"Iani," she said after a moment's consideration. "That dribbling old fool with his mad ramblings about his lost daughter."
"Iani," he agreed, showing her his five spread fingers. "A different sort of hero. Husband of a martyred heroine, driven half-mad because he lost his daughter, murdered, so he says, by Taquar. A man now gathering an army from the cities of the Scarpen. I've heard wind-whispers saying people are looking to him for leadership. Lord Laisa, I think we may be in a lot of trouble."
She regarded him thoughtfully. "Harkel, are you perhaps suggesting we, um, desert our present pede foundering in sinking sand and… somehow find another?"
"If another mount were possible, I would definitely suggest it would be a good idea."
"I think I hear a 'but' coming."
"But there isn't going to be another mount for either of us, my lord, I regret to say. You became Highlord Taquar's wife after he threw in his lot with the Reduners. You can't plead innocence." He smiled faintly. "And me? There are too many people out there ready to rend me to pieces for what I have done in the highlord's name. We ride this mount, my lord, because there will never be another for us."
He started to walk up
and down as he spoke. "We were all safe enough while we had Jasper on our side. But now?" He shook his head. "Our only hope is either to hold fast here, or hold Breccia and abandon Scarcleft. I doubt we have the resources to do both. Or we could flee and take a ship across the Giving Sea. There is something to being a small, well-fed mouse in a large city, as opposed to a very dead rat elsewhere. That should be your advice to Taquar. It is certainly mine. But he is not a man to take kindly to advice going against his dreams."
Especially not his dreams of far-ranging power, Laisa thought, but she didn't say the words. "Send a message to the highlord telling him of these cloud messages. And ask Lord Gold if he would be kind enough to attend me at his earliest convenience. Make it clear his earliest convenience had better be very soon."
He bowed and let himself out of the room.
She sat very still after he had gone, regretting her past decisions. Yet… there must be a way out of this mess. There's always something one can do.
When Lord Gold arrived, she had to repress a desire to grimace. She had never liked him. The previous Quartern Sunpriest had been a good man-irritatingly so sometimes, but one could always use a good man's scruples to manipulate him. This man was bigoted and vicious and had no scruples at all. Worse, he was sure he was right and treated any criticism as an attack on his religion. Which might have been laughable, except that it wasn't wise for a rainlord or a ruler to be seen by the populace as despising the one true faith. His disapproval of her was manifest; he even whisked the fabric of his robes away if it seemed the hem would be contaminated by the touch of her skirts. Oh yes, he could do her a lot of damage if he put his mind to it.
"Lord Gold," she said sweetly, "so good of you to drop by so soon."
"I am delighted to be of service," he said, although his expression implied anything but pleasure. "The spiritual concerns of my flock are always my immediate concern."
"It's not so much a spiritual problem that concerns me as one related to water-sensing ability. I've called on you for aid as I know you're a rainlord of considerable skill. And also that you've been monitoring-at Taquar's request-the storm clouds shifted by the stormlord."
His face took on a wary cast. "Yes."
"Have you noticed anything unusual since Lord Jasper left Scarcleft? I confess, I've not been paying as much attention as I should have been."
"No, I can't say I have, my lord. I was keeping track of where he sends the rain-that's what the highlord wanted me to do-but there've been no new clouds since Jasper left. And so I told Lord Taquar before he left for Breccia."
Laisa frowned and muttered, more to herself than to him, "So what the sweet water is he up to?"
"Well, he has been shifting the old cloud around. I can't imagine why. Practicing, I suppose."
She pounced on the strangeness, "Old cloud? What old cloud?"
"Why, the one he and Lord Taquar kept over the Warthago. They used to add to it every day, to make it bigger. Lately, though, they-well, Lord Jasper, I suppose, shifts part of it to make it rain somewhere."
"Did you mention this cloud to Lord Taquar?"
"No. Why should I? Didn't he know about it?"
She was silent.
"Ah. I see. The cloud is large, or it was, and heavy with water. However, it is tucked down inside a valley. I suppose that makes it hard to detect. I knew it was there because I was following the clouds Lord Jasper moved." He made the comment sound like a reproof of her laxity.
She changed the subject abruptly, embarrassed to say she'd had no idea the cloud existed. But then, she had never bothered to look at the Warthago. "And Jasper has been accessing this cloud since he left the city?"
"Yes. In fact, he seems to have been sending bits of it all over the place, without actually making it rain. Or at least, someone has. I have no way of being sure who, of course, although my understanding is he's the only one of us who can cloudshift."
"You're saying Lord Taquar helped him to make this cloud?"
Basalt looked bewildered. "Don't they always make clouds together, my lord? I assumed-"
"But you never actually told Taquar it existed."
"Er-well, no. I assumed-"
"You never talked to him about parts of it being moved, either, did you?"
"Well, no. I mean, I assumed-"
"When he returns, I think Lord Taquar is going to be very angry about your assumptions, my lord. It seems Jasper has been saving a little every day to build up a reserve. And you never thought to mention it."
Basalt paled.
"Thank you, Lord Gold. That will be all."
He blinked at her abrupt dismissal and hesitated. In the end, he lifted his hand in blessing, then-his voice heavy with meaning-uttered a prayer to the Watergiver to accede on behalf of all sinners. When she glared at him, he bowed and left.
Spindevil take the blighted bastard of a Gibber grubber. He tricked us.
She was still considering what the consequences might be when Seneschal Tallyman was ushered in with another message. "From the highlord," he said, and handed it over. "He says he is returning to Scarcleft."
Quickly she scanned what Taquar had written. "Ah. So he has abandoned the idea of holding Breccia."
Tallyman gave a grim smile. "He has indeed. He told me to send out water enforcers and pedes to steal water from the Breccia tunnel."
Laisa stared at him. "Watergiver save them."
Tallyman gave a bark of laughter. "I doubt he will. Seems they have no rainlords to tell them if we steal their incoming water. Although I suppose rainlords in other cities might sense what we are doing."
"Too far for a rainlord. You know, seneschal, mostly we water sensitives don't sit around trying to trace the movement of water throughout the land. Mostly we try to ignore water. It is too easy to become overwhelmed by all we feel otherwise."
"Ah."
Bastard has filed that bit of information for future use. "Stealing Breccian water-well, I am hardly going to object, not if Jasper fails to return or send rain to the mother wells."
"What is he up to?" Tallyman asked. She didn't reply, so he added morosely, "One would almost think he was in league with Sandmaster Davim, intent on returning us all to a Time of Random Rain. But who can read the mind of a Gibber grubber?"
I can. He's been using the cloud stored in the Warthago to send messages, that's what he's been doing. Because he still can't make his own clouds. Damn! There is something here we are not understanding…
There was a knock at the door followed immediately by the entrance of the steward. Obviously flustered, he had not waited to be granted leave to enter.
"Yes, what is it?" Laisa asked, annoyed.
"It's Stormlord Jasper, my lord. The guards at the South Gate sent a message to say he has returned and is on his way up here."
"Us, read Jasper's mind?" Laisa murmured to Tallyman. "Not a hope."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Red Quarter Dune Watergatherer, Ravard's encampment Time slowed.
Or perhaps it was just that Ryka's thoughts speeded up and her heartbeat raced. But everything else seemed sluggish. And Sunlord knows, she needed the time. To save her life, to save Kaneth's, to kill Ravard-she didn't know which. Not yet, and she had that sliver of time granted her to decide.
Kaneth was staring at her, almost as if he had forgotten Ravard was there, as if he didn't care. Perhaps he didn't. His expression was all misery, a new misery burrowing deep into the man he now was. He didn't remember her, and that failure was devastating. He was father to a son he had forgotten, lover to a woman he could not remember-and the lack appalled him. His inability to change anything shook the foundations of the man he was.
She knew all that without being told. What she needed to consider was: would he leave with her now if she killed Ravard? She thought he would. No, she knew he would. They could escape. It would be difficult, though. She couldn't use her rainlord power because Ravard could hold onto his own water.
Those thoughts skittered
at speed through her mind and were discarded as fast as they came. She couldn't ask it of Kaneth. If he escaped with her now, it would be a duty, and she didn't want to be anyone's duty. What he wanted to do was stay until he could free the slaves. And there were mounted men all around them not far away. Not the best time to kill the heir to the sandmaster.
Ryka concentrated on Ravard. "He has forgotten me," she raged, waggling a hand at Kaneth to make it clear he was the one who had riled her. "He said he'd love me until time ended. He seduced me away from my husband, took me to bed, got me with child-and now he doesn't know me from-from a street whore or a snuggery girl! Uthardim? Him? He's no hero! He's just a metalworker with a fine set of muscles to entice a woman from her husband and the will to cast her off like a sleeping shift discarded with the dawn." She spat on the sand at Kaneth's feet, the greatest insult a Reduner could offer.
She allowed her voice to soften, her gaze to mellow, her mouth to lift in a rueful smile as she spoke to Ravard. "We women are so foolish. We allow our glances to wander and our hearts to follow, forgetting that there is more to a real man than a fine pair of buttocks and the muscles in his arms and thighs." She gave what she hoped was a penitent shrug and lifted her hands. "I do not know where your tent is, Kher." And if fear doesn't make me puke, this conversation will…
She bent to pick up her bundle but a boy who had been standing nearby forestalled her. He was a lad of thirteen or so, old enough to have his hair braided, but not yet of an age to wear a weapon. "I'll carry it for you," he said in Reduner. She didn't dare reply for fear she'd give away her understanding of what he said, so she just smiled instead.
"Come with us," Ravard said roughly to Kaneth. He took Ryka by the hand and pulled her, without any semblance of gentleness, across the camp. He stopped in front of a large red tent, erected slightly apart from the others. At the back was a canvas privy, at the side a shade roof over the cooking area, both places standing free of the tent. The lad put the bundle down and scampered away, suddenly less a youth and more a child; Ravard pushed her under the shade of the tent's canvas front veranda and turned on Kaneth, his look filled with rage and frustration. "You will kneel before the dune god's shrine tonight," he said. "All night, from sundown to sunup, unmoving on your knees, praying for his forgiveness."
