by Don McQuinn
Gan was less charitable. Sylah was taken aback by his cold, formal fury. “My friends—two of them your tribesmen—risked their lives to help Sylah find that treasure. I stand accused of heresy for siding with Sylah in her belief that it will make Church better, make us a better nation, a better people. You took it on yourself to risk it without the simple courtesy of discussion? You insult.”
Neela nudged him. He continued to glare. Bernhardt dropped her gaze to the ground, seemed to shrink within her voluminous Church robes.
Leclerc said, “They’re needed because they can help me defeat Moonpriest. I told Kate I had to see them.”
Sylah blinked astonishment, her gaze sparking from Kate to Leclerc and back again. Wonder of wonders, she thought: Was there ever a better day for lies and undercurrents? Not only was Leclerc lying like a fish merchant, he hated doing it. Sylah glanced at Jaleeta. Composed, the younger woman feigned disinterest. Her body betrayed her. Thumb and forefinger methodically pinched a blouse cuff. Her torso pitched forward; the intrigue was that the covert belligerence was aimed at Leclerc, not Bernhardt.
Bernhardt covered up a flush of confusion with a look of pure gratitude. Then she grinned appeal at Gan. “I know it was wrong to just walk out of the abbey with them. I only brought the chemistry and physics. I thought no one would suspect. I’m just a Priestess, riding by myself.”
Gan was still angry. “That alone is dangerous. There are tigers in the forest, Kate. Winter makes man eaters of some. Hunger has made even some men desperate, far more dangerous than tigers.”
Bernhardt lowered her gaze, made no reply.
The stablehand saved her further scolding. He dashed around the corner, one eye on the dogs, and took Bernhardt’s reins. She dismounted swiftly, eager to get the conversation onto any other subject. Everyone withdrew into the warmth of the house. Jaleeta unobtrusively sought Leclerc’s side. When she brushed against him, he bridled like a colt.
Memories, images of Clas na Bale, burst through Sylah’s carefully objective observations. Tender, exciting memories of similar moments, secret contacts shared by lovers. Hands brushed, shoulders touched; the inconsequential bumps of human proximity, but for two particular people, a private shiver. Of promise. Of anticipation.
Longing threatened to overwhelm Sylah. For one terrible instant she hated Jaleeta as she’d never hated any other woman.
Jaleeta asked the question in everyone’s mind, eyes bright with false innocence. “How can Sylah’s treasure help you defeat Moonpriest and Windband? Or the Skan?” Sylah was a bit nonplussed when Jaleeta’s expression turned haunted. Truth softened the words that followed. “I hope it can. I can’t be captured by the Skan again. I can’t.”
Neela threw an arm across the younger woman’s shoulders. “You’re safe with us.”
Jaleeta flashed her a wink of a smile. Her thankful simper was for Leclerc.
He reacted predictably. “I promise no one will take our castle.”
Nalatan said, “Bold words. Assume you destroy the wallkiller. What can you do about weapons that kill without drawing blood?”
Uncomfortable, Leclerc looked to Bernhardt. “It’s got to be electrical. But how? He can’t have reliable batteries. He can’t transmit enough power to enough people. Is he depending entirely on terror?”
“I have some ideas.”
Jaleeta spoke again, sweetly astonished. She cut her eyes at Leclerc. “About weapons? But everyone says you and Anspach and Carter won’t even carry a shortknife.”
Leclerc looked questioningly at Bernhardt. “You worked on improving crops, soils, stuff like that. That’s not war.”
Jaw set, Bernhardt said, “I worked in appropriate technologies. I know about basic electrical generation and application. Basic chemistry, too. Probably more than Moonpriest. How about you?”
“Maybe. I mean, yes. Me too. Probably, that is. I probably know more than him, too. So what’s he got, you think?”
“We ought to discuss it between us. When we’ve got a plan, some sound answers, we make recommendations to Gan. Our job is to give him a response, not clutter his mind.”
Gan laughed. “Listen to her. She may not be a warrior, but she understands what a leader needs.” He slapped her on the back hard enough to touch off a wince. Still, her eyes never left Leclerc’s. Gan continued. “Pay attention to this one, Louis. She’s deeper than we know. Your tribe produces truly remarkable women.”
Acutely embarrassed, Leclerc covered the moment by bustling about the generator. “We haven’t seen this work yet. Who wants to turn the handle?”
Everyone but Bernhardt looked at him as if he’d asked who could fly. He rushed on. “Kate, you do the honors. I’ll show what happens. Go slowly; this puts out an astonishing charge, considering the size and my crude handiwork.” He pushed the wired grips closer. Whirring, whispering, the generator performed. Tiny bits of blue fire spat across the gap. Leclerc joked with Gan. “Hear it? It’s telling us we have a friend.” He put his finger on top of the wires and whooped at the quick jolt.
After seeing Leclerc survive, the others dared the wires. Yells, yips, and hilarity proved the quick adaptability of all. Still, apprehension lingered. Except for Gan. A taint of unease tightened the corners of his eyes, soured his smile. “This thing tickles. Maybe you can make it sting. I need weapons that kill. This is useless.”
“What use is a bucket of water? Drink from it, it quenches thirst. Hold a man’s head in it, he drowns.”
“Conway says Moonpriest’s lightning roars. It has a large blue flame, not little specks. Where it touches, men die. This is nothing.” A belated try at manners fell flat. “I appreciate what you’ve tried to do.”
“Like men, Gan, what’s most dangerous is the least obvious. This will do what I say.”
“Turn the handle.” Gan glared. Leclerc’s mouth fell open, and Gan repeated himself. “This can hurt me? Prove it.”
Leclerc waffled. “It’s untested. I don’t know how strong it actually is. But it’s deadly.”
“Show me strength.” Gan’s jaw jutted. Antagonists now, he and Leclerc matched stares.
Bernhardt interceded. “This is unnecessary, Gan. Louis, we can run some tests.”
Gan shook his head. “Not now, Kate Bernhardt. If I’m to make plans, I must have faith in those who make claims. If there’s power in this toy, I must see it.”
“Damned well you will, then.” Rushed, Leclerc grabbed the wired grips, separated them. Immediately, he leaned into the crank handle. The small generator whined delight at increased speed. It tasted power, longed to express it. Even Gan was thoughtful, as though the altered sound warned him of his folly. “Go ahead, grab the leads,” Leclerc said. Stress and anger made the words a snarl.
Gan reached. Contacted. For an instant, he was rigid. His back arched, head snapped back. Then so swiftly it was part of the same action, he lifted. As if thrown by a giant hand, he flew across the room, crashed into the wall. Impact rattled the windows, shook the house. Neela screamed. She raced for her fallen husband, a howling Coldar clamped to her bosom. Jaleeta retreated, flattened herself by the door. Nalatan raised his sword. Bernhardt threw herself in front of Leclerc.
“No.” Gan’s croaking order stopped the warrior-monk. Carefully, Nalatan stepped back, head swiveling to keep both Gan and Leclerc in view. Gently, firmly, Leclerc pushed a resisting Bernhardt aside.
Gan’s eyes wavered. He rose sloppily. Leaning against the wall, he said, “It didn’t kill. Certainly hit.” His lopsided smile was sheepish. “Can you improve it? And speak loudly, please. There’s a bell in here.” He tapped his head with the heel of his hand, looking bemused.
Nalatan eased his sword back into the scabbard as Neela wrapped herself around her husband. Her glare at Leclerc was poisonous. Coldar continued to snuffle. With his father upright again, he was more curious than concerned.
Leclerc said, “I’ve got some ideas. I still say I’m giving you a weapon that’ll clear attackers off the wall
s. Are you all right?”
“Fine. Now. There may be killing power in this, after all.” He gestured warily at the generator, and Neela yanked his hand back. Gan continued to smile, but his next words carried significant consideration. “You said something else I’ll remember, my friend. You said ‘most dangerous when least obvious.’ I’m indebted to you for your wisdom. Twice. I apologize for my stubbornness.”
A relieved Leclerc was generous. “Friends can disagree and remain friends.” He put his hand on the machine. “Power.” The word was a hymn. “This is power.”
Gan nodded. Stepping forward, he extended a slow, determined hand. The flesh around his mouth paled. Sweat beaded on his lip. But he touched the generator. “Make these for the Three Territories, Louis. We must have them.”
“You will, Gan. Bigger and better.”
Gan nodded, watching the generator as if expecting it to join the conversation. He went on. “You’re a good man, Louis. A blessing to us. You’ve given us so much.” He looked deep into Leclerc’s eyes. “Without you, my path would already be over. My wife, my son, would be slaves. Someday I will find a way to thank you. That is a promise.”
Bernhardt stepped forward. “We need some answers from you and Nalatan.” Gan’s eyebrows flew upward at forceful demand from such an unexpected source. Bernhardt continued. “We have to know the city’s, the castle’s weak points, the strong points. How would you attack? Why? Tell us what a warrior can be expected to do; we can advise you on a reasonable defense and attack.”
“What does that have to do with the new weapons Moonpriest is supposed to have?” Gan’s earlier bantering with her was gone, replaced by solid earnestness.
“Make us see Moonpriest’s mind work. Make us think like Skan.”
Neela stopped rocking the still-upset Coldar and sniffed. “That no one can do.”
Leclerc reverted to the genial host. “Well, we’ll never get it done on an empty stomach. I’ve got soup, cheese, fresh bread. Let’s eat, then talk.” He started for the kitchen. Jaleeta leaped to follow, cutting directly in front of Bernhardt. To Leclerc, she said, “I’ll help you get everything ready,” then, over her shoulder, looking directly into Bernhardt’s stricken eyes, “The rest of you keep out, now. Louis and I insist. Be comfortable. We’ll bring the food as soon as it’s ready.”
Leclerc’s gaze, too, went to Bernhardt. It broke quickly, sliding down to Jaleeta, now beside him. He smiled.
“Brainless fool.” Sylah didn’t realize her muttered imprecation could be overheard until, from the corner of her eye, she saw Bernhardt’s head turn her way. Instantly, Sylah looked to see who else might have caught the mistake.
Bernhardt’s low voice answered the unspoken question. “Don’t worry; I’m the only one close enough to hear. And he’s not really brainless.” Her wry smile acknowledged the decision not to contest the other half of Sylah’s judgment.
“Are we the only two who see what’s going on? Is she really all that clever?” Sylah led Bernhardt to a window, pretended to look out over the snow-laden branches of the orchard.
“We’re the only two who see she’s a woman. To everyone else, she’s a brave, beautiful, unfortunate girl.”
Time passed silently. The voices of the others mumbled behind them, occasionally spiced by Coldar’s now carefree, childish laughter. Finally, Sylah half turned, watching Bernhardt with a sideways, speculative look. “What fools. We stand around this table, talking of saving kingdoms with strange and dangerous tools. We’ll be cursed for our power, Kate, called terrible things. There’s the terrible irony. You understand this force Leclerc can unleash. But what do we do about your happiness, my sweet friend? How do we protect the soft-hearted, like Neela, while we rescue the soft-headed, like your Louis?”
“Oh, Sylah.” Bernhardt’s eyes glistened, her voice wavered. She was back in control immediately, forced a tight chuckle that was almost genuine amusement. “If Louis was really mine—and you’re a darling to say what you said—I think the first word that would come to my mind would be ‘kill.’ How’s that for a sweet, Priestess-y Church attitude?”
Both women laughed, softly, sharing.
Sylah hated it, because she heard the pain, the longing, the absolute truth in Kate Bernhardt’s misery.
Chapter 42
“That woman! She has no shame.” Jaleeta practically threw pottery soup bowls onto the carved wooden tray. Leclerc grabbed her wrist as she prepared to fling plates, as well. The pottery had a sturdy, workmanlike attractiveness, with its glossy yellow-on-blue fish scale motif. Still, he doubted the thick ceramic would take more of Jaleeta’s abuse. Leclerc asked, “What woman? Who?”
“Who?” Pitying disbelief replaced agitation. “You men. A conniving woman makes a fool of you, and you grin and say ‘thank you.’”
“What’re you talking about? You mean Kate, don’t you? She’s working with me. There’s no conniving.”
Gently, Jaleeta covered Leclerc’s restraining hand on her wrist with her own. Smooth as oil, the imprisoned wrist rotated. Leclerc’s grip was transformed, his fingers intertwined in Jaleeta’s. “You’re such a good man, Louis. You think the best of everyone. Can’t you see she’s working against you, setting a trap?”
“Trap? Against me?”
Jaleeta sighed, pulled away. She studied him quizzically. “What makes you so blind? She loves you. You saw that, at least?”
“Loves? No. That’s… Well, I mean, no, she… Who said…?”
“Stop it.” The command snapped. Jaleeta continued whispering. “You even missed that. Kate Bernhardt loves you. You do know about women disappointed in love?”
Leclerc shied away, mumbled, stirred the soup.
Jaleeta went on. “She knows I want you and you want me. She’s mad with jealousy. And she has help.” Leclerc twisted to look over his shoulder at her. She was waiting. “If someone truly walked off with the treasure Sylah risked her life to find, would she just dismiss such a crime? Would she let you defend the thief after Gan himself accused her? Of course not. Sylah and Bernhardt planned for Bernhardt to come here with it. Sylah pretended to forgive her.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because Sylah can see you’re more intelligent than Gan Moondark, that’s why. But she controls Gan. She wants you to remain the loyal helper. Only you and Bernhardt know the magic of the book things, so she arranges for Bernhardt to bring them here. Kate Bernhardt wants to make you hers. If she takes you from me, the three of them—Kate, Sylah, and Gan—will own you forever. I’ll have nothing. Except a grandfather for a husband.” She ducked her head almost in time to hide a tear.
“That’s monstrous. They’re not that ruthless or cruel, Kate Bernhardt’s a fine woman. No one who interests me, but no one who wants to enslave anyone, either.”
“So I’m monstrous? Ruthless? Are you interested in me, Louis? Does that mean I want to enslave you? Because I would be your slave. With joy.” Fat tears wobbled down Jaleeta’s cheeks, oddly water-green in the tinted light streaming through the crude window glass.
Slowly, tenderly, Leclerc kissed her. Jaleeta was unresponsive. When he backed away, her eyes were open, fixed on his. She resumed where she stopped. “They need to control you, Louis. You’re too strong to be free.”
Leclerc threw back his shoulders. “We’ll tell them we’re getting married. What can they do about it?”
Her wise smile ignored his bravado. “More to the point, Louis, what can you do?” The sudden reversal confused him. Jaleeta pressed ahead. “Gan would give me to you, if forced. But I won’t spend my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for his vengeance.”
“He wouldn’t dare.” There was a loaf of bread on a wooden slab on the table. A long, serrated knife rested beside it. Leclerc snatched it up.
Jaleeta came to him. Taking the hand holding the knife in both of hers, she lifted it. Her expression was resigned, almost placid. She guided the point of the blade to her breast. Bright steel dimpled the soft bei
ge leather. “Take Bernhardt for wife, if that will help you become the leader you must be. Just never let them give me to Emso.”
“No one’s going to belong to anyone.” Leclerc’s words came as if dragged through gravel. “We’ll fight.”
Freeing one hand, Jaleeta raised it to trace the hairline at his temple. “In here is your weapon, Louis. Your future.”
“Our future.” He dropped the knife on the table. She stepped into his embrace, returned his kiss with a straining, climbing passion. When they separated, sweat was a sheen on his brow.
“Someone’ll come, catch us.” Jaleeta stepped back. Catlike, immaculately unconcerned, she raised the knife over the bread as Neela opened the door. Jaleeta called gaily, “You’re just in time. We need someone to prepare some cheese. Where is it, Louis?”
Stammering, Leclerc indicated a door set into the logs of the wall. Neela opened it. The storage cabinet was a wooden box that extended outside the house. Daylight entered through small ventilation holes in the outer container. The inner one, also fitted with a tight lid, was a finely woven cedar-bark basket. In response to Neela’s quizzical look, Leclerc said, “It’s a food storage. It’s roofed to protect it from rain and direct sun. It’s vermin-proof, cool in the summer. In the winter, heat through the cabinet door keeps it from freezing, The holes let air circulate.”
While Neela rummaged, Jaleeta lavished praise on Louis for his ingenuity. Moments later, carrying a wicker tray loaded with sliced bread and wooden boxes holding various cheeses, Neela turned at the door to shoot a conspiratorial grin at Jaleeta. The younger woman dropped her gaze to the countertop, immediately shy. Neela was chuckling softly as the door closed behind her.
Ladling soup with an unsteady hand, Leclerc said, “We’ve got to be more careful.”
Eyes narrowing, Jaleeta spoke to his back. “Just before the door opened, you were going to fight for me.”
“I am. Was. You know I would.” The soup bowl in his hand clattered against the copper kettle.
Jaleeta used the bread knife as a pointer. “If we waver once, we die, Louis. You, quickly. Me, the lingering death-in-life of a slave.”
