by Glenda Larke
“You want to go to war?”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that with Taquar. But against Davim? Yes. It’s inevitable. You saw what he did to Mine Silverwall.”
“You can’t rely on me, Shale. I have to go back to Russet in less than a year.”
“Then we’ll have to do this within a year. It’ll be tough. I have too few rainlords at my disposal, and no stormlords at all. Without them, winning a war with Reduners is… unlikely. Unless we can think of some way to kill ziggers, using your water skills.”
“I’ve been thinking of little else ever since we left the White Quarter and I haven’t come up with anything. I had a long talk with Russet about different ways to use waterpainting, but no matter what, you can’t change the limitations: you have to paint accurately for it to work. I know all ziggers look alike, and I could paint pictures of ziggers dead in their cages, for example—but it wouldn’t work if I didn’t know what each cage looked like, and how many ziggers there were inside each one.”
They looked at each other soberly. “We’ll think of something,” he said, “because we must. Otherwise Davim will come after us. I’m a stormlord, and for him that’s reason enough.”
She stared at him then turned away, her thoughts turbulent. In the end, I am going to be a prisoner again. Not Taquar’s, or Russet’s, but a prisoner of my own conscience. If Shale needs me to make storms, how can I leave him to go to Khromatis? I will have to be always at his side, every day for the rest of my life, painting the storms keeping the land alive.
Somewhere deep inside her, she felt the tug of Russet’s waterpainting like a dagger under her breastbone. Just thinking about not returning to Russet was enough to start the pain. I may have to live with that.
But what if it killed her?
It killed my mother…
Courage. I must have courage.
“My lords, there’s another sky message.” The servant who’d admitted the seneschal to the dining room had scuttled away, leaving Harkel Tallyman to confront the three rainlords: Taquar, Laisa and Senya.
Taquar looked up from the stewed goat on his plate. Ever since the wretched Gibber grubber had disappeared yet again, he had not bothered to hide his messages and Taquar was sick of hearing about them. “Harkel, cannot I even have a meal without one of your accursed interruptions?”
“You did ask to be informed.”
Taquar lowered his spoon and fixed the seneschal with a look that would have reduced any lesser servant to stuttering terror.
Laisa scrambled to her feet. “Sandblast that boy! Is there no way to stop his insolence?” She strode out onto the balcony to have a look and Senya, after an interested glance at Taquar, followed.
“Seeing as he is doubtless doing this from miles away—probably not,” Taquar said, loud enough for her to hear. He didn’t bother to follow. Instead, he reached out to help himself to some more fried bab rolls.
“Aren’t you going to dissipate it?” Tallyman asked.
“Has anyone else read it?”
“By now I would think half of Scarcleft has.”
“Then there is little point to my ridding the world of the words. The half of the city who did not read it will certainly hear about it from those who did.” Taquar dipped the roll into his stew and continued to eat.
“Lord, these messages are very damaging.”
“Yes, Harkel, I know. However, I find it difficult to spend my whole life up on the roof waiting for the next message to manifest itself, just so I can disintegrate the cloud before anyone gets to read it. I am not a stormlord, Tallyman. There is a limit to my skills and I have reached it. I need to rest.”
It was the closest he could come to admitting he was exhausted. Waterless soul, what he could not have done had he been granted the kind of power generating these sky messages!
Somehow Jasper was not only controlling clouds with careful precision, but he was using clouds of his own. Or maybe he had found another rainlord with the power to help him. Now that Taquar was no longer expending his energies on sucking up vapor from the Giving Sea, he could feel rain falling in the Warthago Range and across the Border Humps, feeding the mother wells of all the cities and washes and mines, with as much success as Granthon had been able to achieve alone. Not as much as there should have been, but more than Jasper had been able to do with Taquar’s help.
I don’t understand it. Who is helping him? Who is that strong? Taquar did not enjoy being mystified.
“So?” he asked Tallyman. “Is that clear enough for you?”
“Yes, my lord. However, you should be aware that yesterday fifteen of the Scarcleft guard deserted and left the city. I have been told they are searching for Jasper and his army. To join them.”
“Army?” Laisa entered the room once more. “Note that, Taquar. They are calling it an army now.”
“So it would seem,” Taquar said. “I have heard he has met up with Iani and some malcontents.” He made a dismissive gesture. “We are better off without the disloyal, Harkel. So if you intend to desert your post, I suggest you do it sooner rather than later.”
“I’m not a fool. I know who puts water in my jar. I would not last long here if Jasper ruled; he heard me tell the guards to kill that snuggery runaway of his and I saw the look on his face then—and I’ve seen the same expression since whenever he could actually bear to look at me. He’d see me dead and feel it was a good day’s work done.”
“Then you had better strengthen our defenses. That is your job. Please do not waste your time telling me mine.”
“No, my lord. But I think it might pay you to read this particular message.” He hesitated, fidgeting.
“You have something else to say?”
Tallyman blurted out, “There is nothing to say any member of the guard, or even any water enforcer, would raise his scimitar or tap his zigtube against the army of a stormlord. Any stormlord, least of all one elevating himself by his actions to Cloudmaster.” He waved a hand at the open window and the sky beyond.
“Remind them I will take the water of any man who disobeys an order!” Taquar growled through gritted teeth. “Leave me, Tallyman, and do not come back until you are the bearer of good news.”
“He is becoming insolent,” Laisa remarked after the seneschal had turned on his heel and left the room. “You should discipline him. But he is correct about one thing; you do need to read this.”
“I think I am having quite enough trouble with the servants and guards as it is, Laisa, without alienating Tallyman as well.” He dabbed at his lips with his napkin, rose, and went to join Senya on the balcony. Once there, he raised his eyes to look at the cloud-made message. It was a list of names: Rainlord Emilissa Moonstone, died aged 13. Rainlord Tareth Kissad, died age 15. Rainlord Prethi Stoneman, died aged 15. Rainlord Firth Emerald, died age 17. Rainlord Lyneth Potch, died aged 10. Arta Amethyst Lyman, died aged 45. Underneath there were the words: Murdered by Rainlord Taquar Sardonyx. And underneath that another sentence: Cloudmaster Jasper’s forces approach to free Scarcleft from tyranny.
Taquar’s face paled. “Damn him to a waterless hell! When I get my hands on him, I will drown the little grubber!” He took a deep breath of pure rage and sent his power outward. The effort left him staggering, and he had to grasp the balustrade to keep himself upright. A minute or two later, the cloud edges above began to wisp away into the blue of the sky.
The message was just the last in a series, each planting its insidious doubt in the minds of Scarcleft citizens. The first had asked the question: Do you want to kill the Quartern’s only stormlord? Others had told of Jasper’s imprisonment by Taquar and mentioned Taquar’s alliance with Davim.
“No one will believe all these stupid lies,” Senya said. “Jasper is so dumb. Who’s going to believe a Gibber grubber over the Highlord of Scarcleft?”
“Stones and dust, Laisa! What is her head stuffed with?” Taquar asked, still holding himself upright. Slowly the clouds above lost their definition and merged in
to one another.
Senya pouted and her bottom lip wobbled. “Don’t be rude,” she said.
“You stupid child,” Taquar told her. “Can you not even see the truth when it is written in the sky above your head? Although Jasper did miss one—I talked Miriene Copper into killing herself as well. And I didn’t kill Lyneth!”
Senya gaped, her eyes wide—first with disbelief, then horror. Finally she turned on her heel and ran, hand over her mouth, from the room.
“Well, Laisa?” Taquar asked. “What about you? Are you also going to abandon the crumbling edifice? You married the wrong man, it seems. You should have fluttered your eyelashes at Iani.”
She remained where she was, her face showing no emotion. “Life is ever a gamble,” she said at last. “Are you going to wait calmly for Jasper and this army of Iani’s to arrive?”
“Oh yes. There aren’t many alternatives, and who knows—I may get the opportunity to surprise him yet.”
She rolled her eyes in disparagement.
“Do you have a better suggestion, my dear?”
“Leave. Go across the Giving Sea. I am sure there are ways, Iani’s portmaster notwithstanding.”
“Odd, now I am face to face with the necessity of leaving, it does not seem so palatable,” he admitted. “I prefer to stay. Perverse of me, I know. I need to find out how he is creating those clouds or who’s helping him. And once I know, I can work out how to use that knowledge. In fact, my position could well be better. I could be free to live as I damn well please instead of spending my energies drawing water out of the ocean. I just have to work out how to get Jasper back under my control, and I have already started on that.”
“How?”
“That is my secret. Apart from that, I know my enemy. He is weak, like Nealrith, always worrying about killing the innocent. He will be reluctant to loose an army on this city, you’ll see. He will not want me to use my ziggers either, because he knows they’d kill as many innocent city dwellers as they would his armsmen. So he will come prepared to bargain, and in bargaining I have a wealth of experience.”
“And absolutely no honor.”
“Exactly.”
She stared at him as if she had more to say, but then thought better of it. “I think I will retire to my room with a bottle of that very good imported wine you have, if you don’t mind. Just in case the hall is invaded. It would be a shame to have it go to waste.”
He gave a cynical smile and gestured as if raising a glass to her. “This is your fault as much as mine. You were the one who said you could control the Gibber brat. I’ll make you a promise. Jasper Bloodstone Flint will one day soon be back under my heel. And once there, he will never escape again. His power will be mine until one of us dies of old age. I swear it.”
“I hope, for my sake, you are right.”
Taquar stood still until she had gone and the door had closed behind her. Then he dropped to his knees, his hands sliding down the supports of the balustrade as he strove not to fall. He laid his forehead against the brick support and closed his eyes, willing his power to pour back into his body.
Blast you, you little Gibber bastard. Blast you to waterless damnation. You will regret this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Scarpen Quarter
Scarcleft City
Outside the walls and Scarcleft Hall, Level 2
The sound of the drums brought back memories of Terelle’s childhood. Of settle weddings. A family celebrating the birth of a healthy son. The twice-a-year festivals of the water rush. Most of these particular drums had been hurriedly and imperfectly fashioned in the past few days out of old pede segments, yet they could return her so easily to her past.
“Scared?”
The word was almost lost in the drumming. Something inside her chest reverberated with the sound, leaving her with a peculiar, breathless feeling. Or was it just terror?
“Petrified,” she replied, in a weak attempt to sound as if she was joking. “I keep expecting ziggers to come shooting at us over the walls.”
“So do I. And I wouldn’t hear them coming, either, with all that drumming. It’s effective, though, isn’t it? Intimidating. And loud enough to hurt.” He grinned at her. “Hurt us, anyway.”
She was sick with apprehension. Together with Iani, Feroze Khorash and Ouina, the sour-faced, argumentative Highlord of Breakaway, they headed the group that sought entrance to Scarcleft. Seated on myriapedes, with nothing between them and the city walls, she felt as exposed as a pebblemouse out of its hole. Behind them, Breakaway forces and Shale’s Scarcleft guards, many still wearing the city’s uniforms with Shale’s bloodstone insignia hastily drawn on their tunics, waited in silence. Flanking them all were two rows of Gibbermen on foot, many with a hand drum, and further back two rows of Alabasters, well-armed, dressed in their red-embroidered robes, mounted on their white myriapedes. As the sun caught their mirrors, they flashed and glittered. Altogether a thousand people headed toward the Scarcleft gateway.
Several thousand more armed men and women led by rainlords ringed the city, within sight, but further away. They had orders to stay there. Although there had been some grumbling from the more bellicose, Shale had made it clear he expected to be obeyed. He didn’t want all his forces trapped within the city if something went wrong, and he didn’t want the Scarcleft watchers to realize just how badly armed much of his army was. Most of the Gibbermen only had knives, or grove implements—hardly a sight to impress the trained guards of Scarcleft.
They continued on at walking pace and the gate ahead remained open. Terelle glanced up at the sky. Shale’s latest message was still there: Open the gates for the Cloudmaster of the Quartern, Jasper Bloodstone, Stormlord.
“Bleedin’ pretentious lil’ git, that Gibber grubber, innie?” Shale had cupped his hands to his mouth to yell the words in a thick Gibber accent, but fear made her incapable of a light-hearted response.
She shouted back a reply. “He wouldn’t really set the ziggers on you, would he?”
“Who knows? He’s wilted if he does, and withered if he doesn’t… I’m gambling, Terelle. I’m gambling his men won’t do it even if he orders it. Everyone needs water.”
“Doesn’t look as if they are going to shut us out,” Ouina mouthed at them, not even trying to make herself heard. She was a scrawny middle-aged woman who treated the stormlord with a mixture of deference and suspicion, as if she could not make up her mind whether he was the legitimate Cloudmaster or a Gibber grubber who had overstepped his level in life. Terelle she ignored, her ill manners stopping just short of sufficient rudeness to prompt Shale into doing something about it.
“Good,” Iani shouted back. “Let’s hope it’s not a trap.”
As they reached the gate, an officer with the rank of half-overman stepped out to make a sign of abeyance. Shale—Terelle still couldn’t think of him as Jasper—dipped his head in return and indicated to his Gibber escort they were to stop their drumming.
“Welcome back to Scarcleft, lord,” the half-overman said into the ensuing silence. He sounded both flustered and nervous. “Would your men prefer to leave their mounts at the livery?” He waved an agitated hand in the direction of the stables outside the walls.
“Perhaps later,” Shale replied, his face bland. “I expected the highlord to be here to greet me.”
“He’s, um, in Scarcleft Hall, my lord. He has all the city’s ziggers with him, but most of his men have left him. They have made it clear they are loyal to you, my lord.”
“Ah. And who might be there with him?”
The man shuffled, looking embarrassed. “His wife and step-daughter. The Overman of the Guard. He felt it was his duty. Some other guards who remain obedient to his rule. Maybe two hundred or so men, all told. Seneschal Tallyman, of course, and most of his water enforcers. That’s another hundred or more. Even not counting the ziggers, they’re well armed. The highlord said he’ll release ziggers if you threaten him, and he doesn’t care who the victims are.�
�
Iani gave a grunt of contempt. “Watergiver above—he is pitiable!”
“How many ziggers do they have?” Shale asked.
“There must be close to five thousand. Some of my men say he’s been starving ’em. We hear them whining…” The half-overman cleared his throat uneasily. “My men are safe enough against the ziggers that belonged to the guards. We all have the correct perfume to wear, and there are more bottles of the stuff in the stores. There’s plenty for you and your men, at least…”
Shale snorted. “Who has had access to those stores lately, half-overman?”
The man paled as he realized what Shale was asking. “You mean—you mean the perfume’s been replaced with something else?”
“Or contaminated. Distribute it by all means, but I would suggest you place no faith in it.”
“I—yes, my lord. We don’t have any protection against the water enforcers’ ziggers anyway. They have always kept theirs separate, training them to a different smell.”
Shale gave a terse nod. “Order the city’s citizens to shutter their houses and stay inside. Anything else I should know?”
“Several days ago the highlord sent two of his men out. Rumor has it they were to go to Sandmaster Davim to ask him for help.”
Shale laughed. “Well, well. I suppose I should have expected that. Thank you, half-overman—Wendel, is it? I want to write a message for the highlord. We will remain here until we have an answer.”
“Yes, my lord.” Wendel turned away, snapping out orders to the group of guards who were standing to attention just inside the gateway.
Shale turned to his own men. “Dibble, have a few men remain here at the gate, just to make sure it stays open. Send messengers to the rest of the army to tell them everything said here. Your men can stand down outside the gates. They can find some shade in the groves, but tell them they are to remain on the alert.”
As Dibble relayed the orders, Shale slid down from his mount, then helped Terelle to do the same. “I’m sorry—so much is going to depend on you,” he murmured.
