“Rylene will stay as well,” said Bryndine. “It is best if you have an aide who knows you. She will want to stay; her family is here. And any others who wish to will be free to remain and protect the city. I only need sufficient escort to get safely to Highpass.”
“None will stay if you do not order them to,” Tenille said. “They are yours until the end, Bryn. We all are.”
Bryndine smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. “I know.” Motioning for me and the others to follow, she turned to leave the tent. “Come, we ride within the hour.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Bryndine Errynson devoted her life to upholding Erryn’s Promise. Others in the King’s Army may have done the same, but none had to fight so hard simply to be allowed to protect the people of the Kingsland. Bryndine was faced with a kingdom that did everything it could to deny the help she sought to give.
It was fortunate, then, that Bryndine was a woman of deep stubbornness and conviction. Even in the face of ridicule and persecution, she did not abandon what she saw as her duty. She was determined to save her people in spite of themselves.
— From Dennon Lark’s Life of Bryndine Errynson
“It’s no good, Denn. They refuse to trust your findings.” Illias looked exhausted—his body and face both sagged under the weight of defeat.
We had waited all day for this news, crowded into Illias’ parlor in the School of History. The Master Historian’s living quarters were not made to host so many. There was not enough furniture for eleven people, so most stood, or leaned against the walls. Even sitting, I was somewhat less than comfortable after so many hours. And now, after making us wait so long, the Council was going to refuse us. The Scribers were our best hope of victory, and they were going to let the realm burn.
Finally, Bryndine broke the silence, her eyes dark. “The Kingsland is in dire need, and they would ignore it?”
“Worse than that,” said Illias. “The Council will not approve of my sharing this, but you must know: the King has sent word to the Baron of your supposed treachery, and Ord is demanding you be given into his custody. Redmond wishes us to surrender you in order to prove the Council’s loyalty to King Syrid. We have not yet come to an agreement, but Redmond and Ivynson are adamant, and they have swayed Mistress Evlyn. We reconvene in the morning, and by then I think they will have gained the last vote they need. The others are too afraid of disobeying the King to do anything but side against you.”
Slouching in my chair, I laughed bitterly. “The King is dead. They are afraid of disobeying the thing that wears his skin.” Even for the Council, this was appalling. I had known that Joryn Ivynson would support Redmond—the Master of Warfare had only been selected through Master Hantarin’s efforts on his behalf. And Mistress Evlyn of the Arts had always been easily influenced. But I had always believed that Master Cerrol of the Sciences and Mistress Annala of Medicine respected their oaths, at least to some extent. Any yet, I couldn’t find it in me to be surprised that the Scribers’ Council did not trust me. They never forget.
Wynne frowned. “How can they hope to keep Syrid’s favor? They must know he is already putting Scribers to death in Three Rivers.”
“Scribers who opposed him,” I said. “The Council, I’m sure, thinks that they can avoid being counted in that number.”
Illias sighed. “And it is not only the King that concerns them. Nearly everyone thinks you traitors. The Children have condemned you, the people want your heads, and the Baron and his wife are all but breaking down the gates looking for you. And of course there is the support of the Schools to consider—you and Captain Bryndine are not popular at the Academy, Denn. The Council fears retribution from any number of sources if they do not turn you over.”
“Idiots!” I slammed my hand against the arm of my chair, and winced at the impact. “Our treason is nothing more than finding the books Fyrril hid. We recovered a piece of history, and the King wants it lost again. The purpose of the Scribers is to stop that from happening!” Remembering all the times Tenille had scolded me over my oaths, I wished she was with us now—I imagined her marching into the Council chambers and killing the lot of them.
Bryndine rubbed a hand over her eyes in a rare show of fatigue, or perhaps frustration. “Is there any hope that this motion will not pass, Master Illias?”
The old man shook his head. “None,” he said sadly. “I have sat in more than enough Council sessions to tell when I am losing, Captain Bryndine. They will give you to the Baron tomorrow. You must leave tonight.”
“And go where?” Sylla asked with her customary glower. “Convincing the Scribers was our only chance.”
“One of the other baronies, maybe,” suggested Orya. “Might be they can send companies to Three Rivers.”
“The other baronies will be of no help,” said Illias. “You would not have heard all that has happened, I suppose. I had forgotten how long you have been travelling.”
“Tell me,” said Bryndine.
“The Burnt have taken pains to occupy as much of the Army as possible. They have been attacking the Crossing for the last week, and the brigade there is hard pressed to defend the city while keeping the barbarians from crossing the border. And yesterday we received word that King Syrid has declared Baron Hurryd a traitor for supposedly harbouring rebels. He has ordered the Ryndport and Timberhold Brigades to march on the Bridgefort. Highpass is the only barony left out of the fighting, and you will find no help here while Ord governs.”
“It will not be long before Highpass is drawn in as well,” I said. “The Burnt are fewer near the mountains, but that will not stop them from marching the Army up the Saltroad.”
Bryndine’s jaw clenched. “How can so many fail to see what is happening? When the Bridgefort falls, another barony will be accused of treason, and then another. The Burnt will have us kill each other until we are too weak to fight them.”
“It is fear that keeps them from seeing,” said Leste. “If they do not accept a thing, they think it will not be true.”
Deanyn smirked. “We should be able to defeat the Burnt by closing our eyes and ignoring them, then. Has anyone thought to try that yet?”
“Every time we’ve come near them,” I said. “It hasn’t worked.”
“Pity,” said Deanyn. “It was my only idea.”
Wynne looked hopefully at Bryndine. “What are we going to do, Captain? Where are we going to go?”
“I… do not know.” With that simple admission, Bryndine silenced every voice in the room. All of us turned to her, waiting for something more; needing something more. But she could only hang her head, unable to meet so many disappointed eyes. “I thought the Scribers would join us.”
The despair in the room was tangible—it seemed to thicken the air, make breathing more difficult. We had all, I think, counted on Bryndine to have an answer. Every crisis we had faced so far, she had met without doubt or hesitation. To see her confidence falter now was a grievous blow to the company’s morale. And my own.
“I am sorry, Captain Bryndine.” Illias’ back was bent, his shoulders stooped; he looked fragile, diminished, far older than his fifty-some years. Absently, he touched the golden pin on his collar, then frowned when he realized what he was doing. “I was proud to wear this pin once. Not anymore.” He curled his hand into a fist and dropped it to his side. “But you must make some decision. If you do not leave tonight, tomorrow the Council will send you to Ord in chains.”
“Scriber Dennon.” Bryndine turned to me, an almost pleading look in her eyes. “You must have some idea of where we might go, what else we might try. Something in what you have seen, or heard, or read.”
Unbidden, I thought of King Erryn, and of leaves that looked like green flames. Rubbing two fingers against my temple, I shook my head. “No.” I could not abide the thought of these women giving their lives for nothing. Without the Scribers, there were simply not enough of them. “There is nothing you can do, Bryndine. These people have proven that they d
on’t want your help, and they don’t deserve it. We should leave while we still can. We can follow the mountains to the coast and take shelter with the Clans, or perhaps find a ship to Raen. If we stay in the Kingsland, we’ll be found and killed.”
“How can we know who deserves to live and who deserves to die, Scriber?” Bryndine asked. “Not long ago, I thought Lieutenant Ralsten a small, foolish man, and you believed Scriber Korus to be selfish and petty. Both have put their lives at risk for the Kingsland. And what of our friends and loved ones?” She gestured at Illias. “Would you leave them behind?”
I pushed myself from my chair, too agitated to sit. “It doesn’t matter! There is nothing we can do now!” I was yelling, and I knew she would not listen if I could not remain rational. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm myself. “Illias can join us. We will send word to the others somehow, tell them to flee as well. But ten women cannot save the Kingsland, and you will be killed if you try. I would not see you die for people who hate you.”
Sylla touched Bryndine’s arm. “He is not wrong, Bryn. Most of them would happily watch you die.” There was desperation in her eyes. “Please, you have to go. They don’t deserve you, they never have.”
Bryndine pulled away from Sylla’s hand. “I will not flee. If any wish to make for the coast, I understand. But I cannot.”
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere without you,” Orya said, crossing her arms.
Debra grunted her agreement, and Selvi and Elene both nodded, though there was fear in their eyes. “You are our Captain,” said Ivyla, as though it was all the reason she needed. The rest were quick to voice their agreement.
“My place is with you,” Sylla said, but she could not hide the unhappiness in her voice.
Bryndine smiled at her company. “Thank you. All of you. I… it is my honor to serve with you.” I thought I saw a glint of wetness in her eyes, but I may have only imagined it. When she blinked, it was gone. Clearing her throat, she said, “We will ride south and burn as many fireleafs as we can, unless the Scriber can offer us another course of action.”
I had known from the start that I would never convince Bryndine to abandon the Kingsland, and that her women would not flee without her. Still, their willingness to give their lives infuriated me. “What can you possibly hope to accomplish? The ten of you cannot burn every tree in the Kingsland. Even if you join with the men at Three Rivers, it will not be enough. Fyrril had five hundred, and he still died. You will not even stop the Burnt as he did—you will only die like him, for a kingdom that will not mourn you. They will not even remember you! Why are you so determined to help them?”
“Do you think that I have never asked those same questions, Scriber Dennon?” Bryndine spoke softly, and there was a sad look in her eyes. “I have. Every day I see how cruel and petty people can be, and I wonder if they are worth defending.” She paused briefly, then set her jaw and said, “But I do not fight for the cruel and the petty. I fight for those hidden among them who are not so, like Korus and Ralsten. I fight for those who have the courage to fight beside me, and for those I love.” If she had seemed discouraged earlier, it fled from her as she spoke; she stood taller with every word. “And I fight for myself. I swore to uphold the Promise because I believe in it. If I forsake that oath, I give truth to all the rumors. I become the woman they say I am, instead of the woman I wish to be.”
“That is all very inspiring,” I said, “but it won’t keep you alive. You’re mad if you think you can do any good with so few.” Truthfully, though, I knew that she was right. It was not the pragmatic decision, but it was the moral one. I do not think Bryndine Errynson could have lived with herself if she had chosen any other path.
“Perhaps I am mad, but I suspect it is a madness you understand.” Her mouth rose, just slightly, into what might have been the hint of a fond smile. “For all your complaints, I have never yet known you to break the oath you swore when you earned that pin. I do not think you will do so now. You are right that we are too few to defeat the Burnt by simply destroying their trees—you must find us another way.”
I could accept them choosing to give their lives for the Kingsland, but I would not be the one responsible for it. “You can’t ask that of me,” I said. “The Council has Fyrril’s books now. I have no resources. Even if I had some idea”—again, briefly, the memory of burning green leaves—“Even then, anything I said would only be conjecture, and if I am wrong… I have caused enough deaths already. Who am I to make this decision?”
“A friend,” said Deanyn, and her clear blue eyes held none of their usual irony.
“And a teacher,” offered Wynne.
“You’re one of us, Scriber,” said Orya. “Might as well accept it. You’ve proven yourself, this ain’t just blind faith.”
Rubbing at my temple, I looked from Deanyn’s warm smile to Orya’s wild grin, from the identical eyes of the twins to Sylla’s ever-present glare. All were silent, waiting for me to speak. My throat was dry, like I had eaten a mouthful of sand. When I turned my gaze to Illias, he clasped my shoulder, but said nothing; he had no escape to offer.
And then I looked at Bryndine, and when she met my eyes, she gave a single, barely visible nod. It was the slightest of motions, but after travelling with her for so long, I recognized it for what it was: her way of showing support. She truly believed that I would honor the oaths I had made. In her eyes, I saw the steel resolve that I had followed this far, and I realized that I had already made my decision. After all we had been through, I would not let her down now—no matter how badly I wished to.
I swallowed, and in a hoarse voice, said, “There is something. A ghost of a chance, nothing more.” Inside my head, King Erryn stood before a forest of flames. “When we burned the fireleafs at Three Rivers, I saw into the memories of the Burnt. I saw King Erryn setting fire to the First Forest. The leaves of all the fireleafs were green.”
Sylla looked at me as if I was completely mad. “Fireleafs are red, Scriber. Do you not understand the name? And even if they weren’t, what use could their color possibly be to us?”
“Some are green, where the First Forest still grows,” Wynne said, though she looked as confused as the others. “But I don’t—”
“The leaves were all green before the Burning, if what I saw was true,” I said. “Only those destroyed in the Burning grew again with red leaves—like a scar of sorts. Which means that the Wyddin in what remains of the First Forest may not have been burned. They may not wish to see everyone in the Kingsland dead. And they may know of some way to stop the Burnt.”
“Then we must go to them,” said Bryndine.
Sylla was quick to protest. “This is insane! You can’t believe this, Bryn. You need to go someplace safe, not follow the Scriber’s delusions across the Kingsland.”
“It is the only chance we have left, Sylla,” said Bryndine.
Sylla lapsed into angry silence, but her eyes spoke volumes, glaring accusation at me. Her scepticism was not unmerited. I wasn’t at all sure of my conclusions myself.
“This is nothing more than a guess,” I warned Bryndine. “It is possible that the Wyddin there will not have any answers for us, and they may hate Kingslanders as much as any. Unburned, they could be stronger than the others. I may be sending you to die.” I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. “And myself, as well. I have to go with you. I am likely the only one who can speak with them.” Perhaps these Dragon-damned voices in my head will be of some use, for once.
“Would that the Council were as brave.” Bryndine’s eyes seemed to say that she had expected no less of me. “You are a credit to your order, Scriber Dennon.” The compliment made me wince; I hardly deserved it so soon after suggesting we abandon the kingdom entirely.
“Redmond and Ivynson expected me to warn you, no doubt,” said Illias. “The Scribers at the gate will not let you by, and there may be men guarding your horses. I will see you off the campus. They cannot refuse a Master Scriber, not when the Council has yet
to pass the vote to detain you.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “If you come, they will condemn you for sharing Council secrets and aiding us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave you to Ord in our place. We must appear to have escaped on our own.”
“There cannot be many guards,” said Bryndine. “It would raise questions, with the vote not yet decided. We should have no trouble subduing them—they will underestimate our ability.” She smiled ruefully. “That, at least, is an advantage I can always depend upon.”
Illias exhaled through his nose and gave a cantankerous scowl, but said, “Fine. I may still be able to do some good if I retain my seat, I suppose. But be careful. And please, try not to harm anyone too grievously.”
Bryndine nodded. “We will be gentle.” Addressing her company in the commanding tone I had come to think of as her Captain’s voice, she said, “Gather your things quickly and regroup in the entry hall. Selvi, Elene, scout the stables, see if the horses are being watched. Stay out of sight.”
The parlor emptied quickly. Soon, only Illias and I remained—and Wynne, who approached me shyly as the others went to work. “Scriber Dennon?”
“What is it?”
“You said you would… I wondered if you might ask…” She glanced at Illias, then leaned closer to me and whispered, “If he would sponsor me?”
I could hardly believe she was still interested. “You would still be a Scriber? Even knowing what has become of the Council?”
Again her eyes shifted to Illias, but she nodded earnestly, and this time she did not lower her voice. “There is more to it than obeying the Council and wearing the pin, isn’t there? The true Scribers are the ones who keep their vows. That is what I mean to be. If those who truly want to serve the Kingsland are scared away by those who don’t, nothing will ever improve.”
“That,” I said, unable to keep the pride from my voice, “is a very good answer.”
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