“What did he propose?”
“He wants to settle the far side of the lake,” Skye said. “He proposes that we establish trade over the waters. We will ship to them the foods they cannot grow and the animals they cannot husband. And they will send us their leather and metal-works, for they are accomplished in both. There will be a trade council with members from both our races. War will be forbidden.”
“Yes, until they decide war is in their interest.”
“Grier will prevent it,” she answered. “And even had I not sensed this in our meeting, the circumstances determine it. Do you not see? Their survival out here depends on our prosperity.”
“What I see is that we will prosper regardless.”
“Will we?” Skye asked. “Less than a week’s march from here there is an encampment. At the encampment is an army, thousands strong and laden with arms. They do not move, but they are ready and they wait. No, Grier did not tell me this. He did not threaten me. But as he spoke of truce and trade, he allowed me into his thoughts enough that I could feel the army for myself. It is real. The Garott seek peace because they are desperate, this is true. But pushed further, they will act on their inclination to harm and destroy. It is the way that is most familiar to them.”
Iliff could tell by the conviction of her words that she intended to grant the proposal, if she had not done so already.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I am no longer your queen. That it is a matter for the Assembly to decide,” she said. “I told him that I would bring it before you.”
Chapter 16
The proposal divided the Assembly but not for the reasons that Iliff had anticipated. The representatives for the leather workers and blacksmiths argued that the Garotts’ goods would hurt their workshops, perhaps even make them obsolete. “And then what are we to do?” they asked. “Go over and labor for them?”
Meanwhile, the representatives for the farmers and lumbermen, groups that had been most heavily recruited to labor on the walls, suggested that the truce would restore the people to their proper vocations. “For a long time we have been kept from our fields and forests,” they said. “A few hours here, a few there. We only want to get back to doing what we love.”
The man who had replaced Lucious as head blacksmith called back, “Could it also be that your farmers will prosper most under the terms of the truce?”
More voices rose up.
They truly are as children, thought Iliff. Have they no memory of the enemy? Have they no memory of their flight? Before the meeting could descend into further tumult, and just before Skye could use her powers to restore order, Iliff took the floor.
“Please, please!” The hardness of his voice quieted the Assembly. “Why are we talking of trade when the question of a truce has yet to be settled? Why are we quibbling about which group might get a little more and which a little less? Our acceptance of the Garott is not foregone—nor should it be. Let us settle this question first.”
“What is there to settle?” asked the head lumbermen. “They have an enormous army in waiting. Whatever our opinion of them, the question of the truce is settled, I’m afraid.”
“Settled?” Iliff said. He fought hard to keep his anger from inflaming his voice. “Whether their army be five thousand strong or fifty thousand, we have walls now. Solid walls that can be neither burned nor breached. Why, we have been laboring night and day this past year so that we could arrive at this place”—he pounded his fist into his palm—“this very place where the enemy waves his weapons and calls up ‘Let us in!’ and we can at last call down ‘No! Now be gone for good!’”
It seemed to Iliff that there were more murmurings of agreement than disagreement, but he did not want to take any chances.
“The Garott are desperate,” Iliff said, moving to the center of the Assembly. “Even their sovereign-general says so. Army or no, they are in no position to be making proposals. Let them come, I say. Once they see that an attack on our stronghold is futile, their only choice will be to starve or else return to the Hinterlands. Either way, we will be rid of them. This is certainty.” He turned and looked each member in the eye. “With a truce,” he finished, “there is no certainty.”
There was silence now. Iliff was preparing to sit when Skye took the floor. He decided to remain standing.
“Iliff is right to propose that the questions of truce and trade be considered apart,” she said. “And he is right to propose that the first should be decided before debating the second.” Her eyes touched on Iliff’s before returning to the Assembly. “But I challenge the notion that there is certainty in any of the outcomes. There is danger in accepting the truce. I do not dispute this. But might there not be more danger in rejecting it? The Garott are ailing, yes, but I wonder whether they are in such bad shape as they let on. They continue to expand their lands, after all. They maintain their army and have even added to it.”
“Then it is a ploy,” said Iliff.
“Perhaps,” she answered. “But not in the way you believe. The Garott want peace and they want it for the reasons they say. I am almost certain of this. But they know well our nature. They believe they will come to peace more quickly by arousing our sympathies than stoking our fears. That is the only ploy I see.”
“But if they would be so dishonest at the outset,” Iliff said, “it follows that they will be dishonest in other ways.”
Skye looked full on Iliff for the first time. “I have observed that even noble aims can be pursued by dishonest means,” she said. “And though they may indeed corrupt the aim in the end, they do not have to. For if the aim is noble enough, every step toward its realization holds the opportunity for redemption.”
Though Iliff stood his ground, he felt himself shrinking from her words.
Skye turned back to the Assembly. “I have said before that a truce will not mean the end of tensions between us. So long as our two races inhabit this world, it will be so. It is our inheritance. But any effort to push the Garott farther from us will only increase these tensions. More cruel, more deadly will be the conflicts.”
Several members of the Assembly dimmed and nodded.
“But there is a truce offer,” she said. “And with new closeness, the tensions may well ease. It may not be true peace or enduring peace, but it will be a far cry from open and endless warfare.”
Iliff, who had by now recovered himself, looked over the Assembly. If he had not lost their support, he was mere strands away.
“The King used to tell me a tale,” he said. The mention of the King commanded the immediate and rapt attention of the Assembly, as Iliff had hoped it would. “Yes, the King used to tell me a story about a poor farmer who was plagued by rats. They would come in muddy from the outside and scamper over his clean floors. They would dig through his garbage and then climb into his milk and breakfast grains, ruining them. They would even burrow into his mattress, keeping him awake at night with their scratching and sniveling. But by his diligence, the farmer managed to trap all of the rats and plug all of the holes in his walls. For the first time the farmer had a clean cottage where he could eat and sleep undisturbed.
“One day the farmer noticed a tiny hole in the baseboard beside his kitchen table. But just as he was going to fill it in, a rat’s nose and whiskers appeared in the space. ‘Please, farmer,’ the rat said, ‘do not plug the hole until I have had a chance to smell a bit of your cottage. I have such pleasant memories of this place.’”
Iliff was pleased to hear laughter ripple through the Assembly.
“After much deliberation, the farmer consented, for he was a kindly man. ‘You can smell a little,’ he said, ‘but then you must leave.’ The next day the farmer noticed that the hole was a little larger, and now the rat had its head stuck through to its eyes. ‘Please, farmer,’ the rat said, ‘do not plug the hole until I have had a chance to see a bit more of your cottage. I have such pleasant memories of this place.’ Again, and once more out of his
kindness, the farmer agreed. ‘You can look around for a little while,’ he said, ‘but then you must leave.’ The next day, however, the rat was through an even larger hole, all the way to its ears. And as before, he begged the farmer to let him remain there but this time so that he could hear the sounds of the cottage that held such nice memories for him. And as before, the farmer agreed, but on the condition it would finally leave.
“This went on until at last the day came when the hole was large enough for the rat to squeeze all the way through. ‘Thank you,’ the rat said to the farmer. ‘You may plug the hole now.’ And with that the rat went scurrying up into the rafters where the farmer could not reach. Once safe, the rat gave birth to a litter of ten rats, and before long each of these gave birth to ten more, and so on, until the poor farmer had no choice but to pack his few belongings that were not infested and leave his cottage for good.”
By the end, there were only a few in the Assembly not smiling at the clever story that had once passed the lips of their King.
“There is a lesson here,” Iliff said. “For how do we know that the Garott are not baiting us in the same way? Right now it is only the lands across the lake they want. But soon it might be the lands in our foothills, then the lands just outside of our gates, then they will ask to be allowed inside of our walls, for this or that innocent purpose, and then they will demand rights to the Keep itself. What will we do then?”
“We will say ‘no,’” Skye said to the Assembly. “And if they wish to move their army against us, then we will be in the same position as if we had rejected their offer to begin with. But at least we will have given the truce its due.”
“I have seen this sort of thing before,” Iliff warned. “I have seen how small allowances, made again and again, can lead to the forfeiture of… well, of everything.” He was thinking of his trials with Troll but was careful not to put forth any images as he spoke.
“You are good people,” he said. “Such good people. And no matter their origins, no matter their present circumstances, the Garott are not good. I would rather we place our faith in our walls than in their word. Perhaps there are no certainties,” he said, acknowledging Skye for the first time since telling his story. “Perhaps. But I say to let them in is to risk too much.”
Iliff braced for Skye’s response. But when she spoke it was only to invite others to add their voices.
The meeting went late into the night. Though no one in the Assembly argued openly against the truce, it became more and more clear by their questions—questions about how long they had to respond, the manner in which their response would be delivered, the defensive capabilities of the walls, the preparedness of the guard, the likelihood and anticipated length of conflict—that rejection of the truce was the direction in which the majority had come to lean.
But even as he watched this develop, Iliff did not celebrate. For every time a member asked such a question, Iliff saw Skye’s hopes dim a little further. The sight was almost more than he could bear. After the final member had spoken, Skye walked to the center of the Assembly.
“It is time we voted,” she said.
And in the faltering of her voice, heard only by him, and in the brief welling of her lucid eyes, seen only by him, Iliff realized that he loved the King’s daughter and loved her deeply.
Chapter 17
The Assembly decided to wait as long as possible to inform the Garott of their decision. Farmers used the time to harvest their winter vegetables and wheel grain-filled carts from the silos up to the bluff, stockpiling the basements of the Keep and towers to their ceilings. Overflows went into the guard towers around the township. Some of the livestock were herded up the ramp as well and released between the inner and outer walls until pens could be built. High above, workers hurried to complete the turrets and stone teeth of the inner wall.
The healers, led by Skye, set up field hospitals in the outer cottages, just as they had during the last battle. The most vulnerable, the very old and young, were moved to the Great Hall of the Keep, where stone rooms, newly constructed, waited to house them. Meanwhile, the men claimed their armor and weapons and joined the guard in drills. Even Iliff participated in these.
Stype led the morning exercises in the pasture just north of the township. He taught the men how to thrust and defend from various formations, how to advance and retreat before an enemy. Though Stype had been gravely wounded in the last conflict, he showed no weakness in his movements nor in the conviction of his command. His figure had grown tall and sturdy, his light subtler, like his late father’s. To Iliff, he was the image of perfection and the man he had come to measure himself by. Especially when his thoughts turned to Skye.
Iliff saw little of her outside of the Assembly. She had not sought him out since the vote, and though he could not blame her, her distance pained him nonetheless. From his perch on the walls, he caught glimpses of her helping people to the Keep or carrying supplies to the field hospitals. Once he watched her descend to the woods to collect a healing herb. He waited helplessly for the next hour until she emerged again from the trees. Only when she had passed safely through the gate with the escorting guards was he able to return to his work.
* * *
The townspeople fell silent during this time and seemed to become smaller, their colors more sallow. Iliff could feel their apprehension. It dawned on him that ever since they had begun constructing the stone defenses more than a year before, the town had held no festivals. No one had sung or danced or performed, not that he could recall. He tempered his guilt by telling himself that the people would have plenty of time for such things once the threat had passed, that, indeed, it was for the defense of such things that he was having them labor.
The only one not uneasy, it seemed, was Lucious. If anything, the raging furnaces beside which he forged swords and armor further invigorated his spirits. Iliff heard whispers of how the fire that glistened across Lucious’ grinning face made it appear that he was verging on flames himself.
One morning Lucious hailed Iliff from inside the foundry. “What say you, Master?” he called out. “Any word?”
Iliff peered around the door. Sparks burst orange where the burning outlines of blacksmiths labored. He made his way to Lucious’ furnace, his eyes adjusting to the smoke-filled darkness.
“No, the scouts report nothing,” Iliff said. “Of course they dare not venture too far east.”
“The day draws nigh.” Lucious looked up from his hammering, his hair damp and lank. “I tell you, I can feel it.”
Iliff watched Lucious cautiously. He had become even more zealous since his removal from the Assembly. Following a recent Assembly meeting, Lucious had waited outside and then all but cornered Iliff when he emerged, demanding to know who had voted in favor of the truce. When Iliff would not say, Lucious cursed him and stormed off.
But now Lucious’ mind was on other things. He set his hammer down and lifted the glowing blade.
“I pray good Fortune will give me the chance to draw on them a second time.” He looked over the blade’s length and edges. “For there is nothing more pleasing, Iliff, than driving a sword into the heart of an enemy who has taken from you all you love in this life. Hearing him cry out, watching his dark blood empty from him. I fear that the first time only gave me a taste.”
Iliff swayed from the blade. “They won’t be here long,” he said. “When they see that they can no longer reach us, no longer inflict fear, they’ll withdraw. I see no other choice for them. They will leave these lands and hopefully return to their own.”
“I would prefer they be driven there.” Lucious’ gaze shifted from the blade to Iliff.
Iliff steeled his mind. Ever since his former treasures had begun appearing in the clearing, he had done his best to avoid Lucious. He had dodged him in the lanes, had stopped going to his dwelling in the evenings. He was afraid that his former adversary would sense that he was concealing something and press him. Even now Lucious’ eyes seemed to sharpen as
they stared.
“Our machines,” Lucious said at last. “You have not forgotten them?”
“No.” They had not discussed the catapults in many weeks, but Iliff knew that Lucious and his men continued to work on them. He could hear the pounding late at night in the rear of the foundry. “Are they finished?” he asked.
“They are ready,” Lucious said. “They need only be assembled and installed along your walls.”
Iliff had been bracing himself for this moment. Following a meeting with Horatio and Stype, the Assembly had voted to refrain from releasing even a single arrow unless the Garott aggressed first. They hoped to spare lives this way. “Wanton violence is not in our natures nor should it be,” Stype had declared. “Indeed, father often warned of its corrupting spell.”
Now Lucious’ eyes pressed into Iliff’s like steel points. “Well?”
“You can assemble the machines,” Iliff said, “but they should not be installed until they are needed.”
“Ha! When they’re needed will be too late.” Lucious dropped the blade back on the anvil and shook off his gloves. “Do not let the rest of the Assembly confuse you. Oh, I know what is said there, I know how you vote. But you and I, Iliff, we know better.”
He could feel Lucious pushing against his thoughts, trying to get them open.
“That is my answer,” Iliff said, backing away from him.
“Have you forgotten our agreement?”
“Agreement?” He paused.
Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2) Page 10
