Wait outside?
Claire blinked, coming alive to notice Errol hunched by the shelter, curled in a ball as he rocked on his heels. Ramiro stood beside her, concern etched across his face.
“Claire, did you hear me?” he repeated. “I asked if you’re all right.”
She stared at him stupidly. “Tired.”
He helped her down onto a blanket by a cook fire, then took a blanket to Errol. The light and heat sent waves of sleepiness across her. She wanted to lie down and pass out. When Ramiro returned, she clamped on to his arm, feeling the muscle beneath and drawing on his strength. “Don’t leave me.”
She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to ever say that aloud. By the Song, she was no better than a big baby. Next she’d be crying.
As if called, a tear rolled.
He brushed it away. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
“Tonight.” She locked the rest of the tears inside. “But you are going.”
His eyes shifted and she took that for yes. “It’s all right,” she said instantly. “Of course you have to go. I can stand on my own feet.” Part of her knew that was all true, the other part curled up like Errol and whimpered. Jorga could be dying. Whether she did or not, it was up to Claire to warn the other Women of the Song, women she’d never met and who likely wouldn’t believe her.
“I’ve been derelict of my duty for too long,” he said. His eyes looked over her and into the growing darkness, not seeing her, and not here. “Word has to be spread of our danger. I’ll take it one way and you the other.”
“You can tell them that the Women of the Song will stand with them.” She’d find a way to make that true. “You’ve impressed my grandmother. She said . . . she said at least if she were to . . . die . . . she felt she left me in good hands.”
“She said that?” Ramiro looked entirely skeptical.
“Well, she actually said I could have found worse, but close enough.”
He laughed and she relaxed at lifting his spirits, though hers were crushed. “Then you’ll leave in the morning?” she asked.
“I hope to be gone before Suero comes back from hunting. I really don’t want another run-in with that man.”
“Ah.” When had she missed that news? She gave herself a mental slap to pay attention from now on and not let tiredness be an excuse.
She closed her eyes for a second and opened them to find Ramiro nearer, her back leaning against his chest as his worry for her brought him closer. His scent filled her, so distracting. Stubble from his beard caught in her hair. She kept her head down, afraid to turn and become lost in the depths of his brown eyes.
He was leaving tomorrow and she might never see him again. Her anger at the injustice of that flared. He might not intend to say anything, but, by the Song, she could.
She slid away and turned, surprising him enough that his arms came up to encircle her. “Fronilde said I should leave this to you, but I can’t.” Her knees lifted her taller to kiss him, her hands fastening onto his shirt to hold him there.
He didn’t resist or turn his head aside as she feared. His lips met hers, just as ready. For an instant all was right. Troubles and fears melted. His hands stroked her hair, and her heart rejoiced.
Then it was over.
He set her aside. Worry for Jorga came pouring back along with fear of the future.
“I just wanted you to know how I feel,” she said. “Before you go. Just in case . . .” No more would come out on that subject.
“I want that, too.”
“You do?” Astonishment filled her chest with hummingbird flutters.
“I told Jorga so, but . . .”
“But?” she pushed, giving over that he’d talk to her grandmother about this subject, but couldn’t speak to her.
“I can’t drag you down with me.”
That again. She almost blurted out that none of that mattered. Maybe his people would want to arrest him or worse. They could run away from all that. She didn’t need to live with his people and neither did he. They’d do just fine on their own. But he could never be happy if his honor was tarnished. It was what made her trust him in the first place. He wouldn’t be Ramiro without it.
She seized his shirt again. “Then fix it and come back to me. As long as we understand each other, that’s all that matters.”
This time his kiss took her by surprise. It was hot and fierce and made her head spin in a most pleasant way, leaving her breathless as it stripped her inhibitions. Now, she held on to him to prop herself up.
“Go tonight. Don’t wait for morning,” she choked out when she could speak. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner you return. You don’t need to worry about me. I can protect myself.” That was a lie she hoped he wouldn’t catch. “Jorga has been helping me with the Song. I know more about pitch and intent now.” Or the theory of it at least.
He leaned close to whisper in her ear, his beard tickling her cheek in a way that sent shivers down her spine. “I knew you could master the magic.”
She slapped at his chest to find his eyes laughing at her. “You! No teasing. Now, you owe me a favor. Wear your armor.” It might keep him from accidentally bleeding and calling the demon.
“Day and night,” he said solemnly. “If it makes you happy. Even in the bath.”
“A bath would be a very good decision,” she said primly, trying desperately to pretend she wasn’t imagining sharing one with him. Her cheeks heated anyway. “I recommend it. Alone,” she added quickly.
“Alone, is it?” he shot back with a suggestive smile. “You mean you won’t join me. We’ll see about that—someday. Right now, your fragile and delicate stink isn’t so fragile and delicate. And I don’t think your heart is truly in it—not with your grandmother’s life in the balance.” He leaned in again to kiss her by the ear and whisper, “No goodbyes. I’ll find you as soon as I can.” The heat in his eyes held a promise. Then he was gone.
Claire clamped down on the sorrow that tried to cut her apart. She wanted to chase after him, bawl for him to take her with him. Her eyes turned with reluctance to focus on the mud shelter where they’d taken Jorga. This time, her place was here. Her mother used to say, “it would be well; given time, all things would be well.” She tried hard to believe it enough to make it true.
Chapter 33
Telo glanced up as the door to the wagon creaked open and held his breath in anticipation. Ordoño had summoned Telo twice over the last days, always after stopping early and always to play on the Acorraloar board they’d started weeks ago. With Santabe watching and Teresa confined to their wagon, Telo had found little opportunity to put his plan into action. Santabe would stop him from killing Ordoño before he even got started. He knew it was foolish to throw his life away when he should wait for a better opening. Yet, each hour he didn’t act brought them closer to Aveston, and Ordoño wiping out their small army.
So the last time they had played, Telo had committed little mistakes to make the game end early, all the while hinting how much more challenging it was to place stones in Acorraloar with more players. Players who understood the game: not Santabe and the grudging attention she paid to it, but a new player with university experience. Ordoño had both a respect and strange hostility toward anything about the universities. The Northern leader asked questions often about Teresa but failed to summon her, until now.
Telo’s prayers were answered. The guard waved them both from their wagon.
“Surely the Lord sent you to my aid,” Telo whispered to the heavyset woman as they left their rolling prison behind. More proof that his interpretation of God’s wishes was correct. His heart beat at a faster rhythm and his palm grew sweaty. Today, he could prove that letting him live had served a greater purpose. They might have failed to save Colina Hermosa, but he could spare the other ciudades-estado.
The huge Northern army would fall apart. With no rider on the wildcat, it would split in a hundred directions.
He wobbled, light-headed, and reali
zed his breathing had gotten too shallow, correcting it with deep, even breaths.
Enigmatic are the ways of the Lord. He glorifies the humble and casts down the mighty, Telo recited to himself. Even one as insignificant as myself can play a part in his design.
A calm settled over him. He would do what he must.
Teresa looked a little green, and he took her arm. “Be not troubled, my sister. Do your part and all will fall out as is meant.”
“I’ll say little and follow your lead. How close are we to Aveston?”
“Less than an hour.” Telo considered their location, a little village, now long abandoned. He knew it well from his time as a wandering friar. “This is the perfect place to hide and wait to rush into the battle at the last minute. Our side will be crushed. We have no more time.” The soldiers they passed looked like they could be ready for battle in moments. They wore their armor and weapons, waiting on their feet instead of lounging around cooking fires.
Even if pelotón scouts found the Northern army hiding here and managed to report, it seemed unlikely their forces could retreat fast enough to escape.
The guards took them to the wagon with the Acorraloar board. The roof was of canvas and half of it had been pulled back to allow fresh air to enter, while the remainder shaded the interior.
Ordoño and Santabe already waited inside. “Ah, the guests. Do you like the new board?” Ordoño asked.
Telo stood frozen in the doorway. The small two-player board had been removed and a larger two-foot by three-foot game installed in its place. It stood upon wide legs like sawhorses. In a larger room, it would swivel for ease of play. Instead of plain wooden squares, these were enameled in different colors and the playing area arranged in an organic shape to represent a real map with inlets and peninsulas. Whole squares of tiles along the sides were loose, to be lifted free and replaced in order to give the board a fresh shape. It was a showcase board, meant to be the center of a collection.
Ordoño moved to the side containing orange tiles, hefting his pouch of Acorraloar stones in his hand. “Choose your spot.”
The guards shut the door, staying outside. Ordoño had tested Telo plenty of times before, and Teresa appeared as no threat with her awkwardness and cumbersome weight. No, Ordoño had no fear his tame dogs would turn and bite.
Telo broke out of his trance and moved to the board.
It represented a map of the ciudades-estado. Ordoño had chosen for his base the westernmost land that depicted Aveston. At the northern point of the board, the blue squares stood for the burnt city of Zapata. Telo picked the brown bag of stones that went with Colina Hermosa in the center—the spot where he could stand nearest to Ordoño—while Teresa sat at the bottom of the board, taking Vista Sur and putting her seat closest to where Santabe fidgeted in the corner as a spectator. The priestess was again in her white robe, her hair brushed back and trimmed, wearing, not one, but two sun-shaped earrings. Telo took note of her promotion with unease. It could foretell nothing good. Oddly, she wore two Diviners, red and white, at each hip. The sight made his skin creep.
“Ah,” Ordoño said, pointing to the brown squares nearest to his home base. “A bold move to stake out land in the center. An offensive stance. You intend to play aggressively, Father.”
“You have guessed my plan,” Telo said uneasily. “And you have chosen the city where I was born, so I have taken my adopted city. Maybe this time I can defend it. The heart does call to one, my son. We remember places of our birth with nostalgia.” He indicated the board. “Perhaps you have chosen the land of your birth as well. Not all the memories can be bad.” The Northern leader expected Telo to try and change his heart. Telo didn’t intend to disappoint. It would cover his true plan—and one never knew, it might make a difference.
“Perhaps I have.” Ordoño did not rise to the bait. His face remained set on that of a pleasant host as he lay out his stones. “Who can say? Or I merely plan my route of attack from my next sure victory. We passed a monastery today where I got this fine game board. The priests there had excellent taste. Did you know it?”
Telo flinched before he could hide it. “Yes, I recognized it.” Telo knew every change and variation possible on this board as well as he knew the road between Colina Hermosa and Aveston. He’d seen the side road that led to it and feared for its fate. He had spent many hours of play on this board there, listening to the elder priests discussing matters spiritual and practical. It touched on numerous pleasant memories, as he’d taken orders there. “What happened to the brothers?”
“Fled like the cowards they are,” Santabe spat from her corner.
“It provided such a fine game board that I decided not to burn the place,” Ordoño said, looking up. “I can quarter soldiers there when your cities have surrendered. Always reuse unless you must destroy to teach a lesson.”
“Very generous,” Telo managed, clenching his fist around the half-empty bag of stones. “We also have a saying you’ve no doubt heard: It’s easier for a mule to pass through the eye of a needle than for a covetous man to enter paradise. Greed destroys the soul, my son.”
“A good thing I want nothing to do with your paradise.” Ordoño placed his last stone. “Shall we play?”
Telo set his last also, fanning them out to take the shape of a wagon wheel with a few stones coordinated near the center of his space and the others radiating outward like spokes. Teresa had set a few of her blue stones in a thin peninsula where they would be protected and arranged her others haphazardly around it. She planned to defend, hoping the others spread themselves too thin.
As the player in control of the least area, Teresa moved a single stone to start, Ordoño followed with two, then Telo played three. Play would be rapid at first, slowing as more and more stones were in motion. Failure to remember how many stones to play forfeited your turn.
Telo fell into the rhythm of play, trying to work up the nerve to make his move. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, his skin cold, and he placed his stones with little thought to strategy. He must act; there would be no more chances—
Teresa stepped into the silence, startling him with her abruptness.
“You don’t want the cities. That’s why you are so quick to burn them.” She stared straight at Ordoño. “I’ve puzzled over it and puzzled over it. Once would have been enough of a warning. Twice could be an accident because of the rout at Colina Hermosa. Then you could have moved to a smaller city. It would have folded, allowing its capture. But you went to Aveston—the last city sure to resist. You want to burn them.
“I’ve seen your kind before. Born so poor their life is swept under a rug,” Teresa continued. “Never given a chance. Never allowed to make anything of their life, just one more child raised in poverty—trapped. Except, you are smarter than most. You didn’t need to lash out at individuals. You could order the world to your liking and lash out at a whole society.”
Santabe rose to her feet, anger twisting her face. “You don’t speak so to Lord Ordoño, heretic!”
Telo was stupefied—antagonizing wasn’t their plan—but Teresa dabbed at her eyes as if she hadn’t heard. “It’s sad really,” she said. “So much lost. The university made a mistake when it cast you aside. You could have changed our world for the better. You might have done anything. Instead you let hate rule. So much death so a man can take petty revenge.”
“I expected the lecture from you,” Ordoño said to Telo, “not the scholar. Or a quip at the least.”
“You’ll excuse me, my son. With thousands of lives at stake, the jest has gone out of my spirit. I know you for a reasoning man. One able to put yourself in another’s shoes. You must know revenge is hollow. Soon gained and soon dulled. The wildcat doesn’t have to run. You could stop it.”
“That I’ll allow. But conquering a challenge never dulls, priest. You know it yourself or you wouldn’t be here. As we speak, your friends line up for their little battle. I scouted them myself and saw their design. I’ll let them
think they are winning, then I’ll order my men in and destroy them. I’ve ruined your city and now I’ll eliminate your military. It will break the old fox, break all your kind, to see your white knight of a city—so honorable to stand up to us—perish.”
Telo sighed. “Then there is no hope for us. I’m sorry for that. All must fall out as foretold.”
At the prearranged phrase, Teresa turned and jumped at Santabe, tackling the taller priestess to the floor. “Do it!”
Telo slammed the edge of the table. The locking mechanism had always been weak, easily knocked loose. The Acorraloar board spun, bumping the wall of the wagon, but running into Ordoño first, sending him stumbling off balance.
As he’d practiced, Telo had his triple-rope belt off in a flash and wrapped one end around his stump. He threw the other around Ordoño’s neck, slipping around behind him. With the stump of his arm, he yanked it taut.
Ordoño fought and bucked against him, struggling to break loose. But Ordoño was an average man in appearance, and that included his strength. Telo had fought brutes and giants. The Northern leader posed no test.
Ordoño sputtered and choked, fighting for air. The belt tightened around the flesh of his neck. A knife fell to the floor as the Northern leader lost his grip on it in pulling it from his clothing. Twisting, Telo kicked it away. Ordoño fumbled first at the ropes and then tried to jab his fingers into Telo’s eyes. His face set in a snarl, Telo held him secure and waited.
The drumming of Ordoño’s feet grew weaker. His hands dropped to his side. The body went limp, and Telo stumbled to keep his hold.
Shock, surprise, and betrayal shone then dimmed in his victim’s eyes, the jaw going slack. Accusation remained.
Horror struck at Telo’s heart.
He killed a man. Another human.
So others could live.
Murdered. Took a life. The greatest gift God gave.
What was he thinking in his conceit? The Lord would never command this.
Faithful Page 30
