“No, I didn’t. But the Grenier failings in this are not beside the point. You see, I want something in return for my help. If it works, I want the Bellanger holdings returned to me. As they were before under the old Bowe Bellanger.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stenesso said.
Bowe was glad that neither Sorani nor Kesirran dismissed the idea out of hand. “It’s already done,” Bowe said. “The council in Belldeem has already declared that control should revert to the Bellangers. All it requires is that the Greniers not contest it, and the rest of the countryside will fall in line.”
“And you think you can hold it with your—what?—three ascor and four marshals? Do you know how many men I’ve had to use to keep the peace recently? The Guild openly sabotage crops, and bandits control much of the forest, growing bolder each year, raiding and disappearing.”
“I know I can hold it,” Bowe said, “if I’m given the opportunity and time. A Grenier ascor, helped by his marshals, was trying to kill me recently. If that doesn’t happen again—if the Greniers don’t interfere—the countryside will flourish under Bellanger rule. As it was meant to.” Bowe hoped to come to an agreement with both the Guild and the bandits. Rianel was using the Guild to keep the Grenier marshals distracted so as to help the invasion, Bowe was sure. That should stop—especially if Coensaw regained control of that section of the Guild. Bowe hoped that Meelyn could be persuaded not to raid in return for food and supplies. She just wanted her community to flourish outside the confines of the ascor system, and Bowe hoped he could get Meelyn to see that they didn’t need to rob and steal to achieve that. If they could keep other bandits and thieves under control, that would eliminate the need for the Grenier marshals.
“You can’t be taking this seriously,” Stenesso said, looking at Kesirran and Sorani in turn.
“Seems that you are overextended,” Sorani said. “You’re having trouble guarding the borders from without and defending us from the criminals like the Guild from within. Those things have always been the job of the Grenier family, and by taking over the Bellanger holdings, you have failed at your main tasks.”
“Like in the Harmony game, having three families hasn’t worked. It’s gone from bad to worse,” Kesirran said. “This is a chance to return to balance.”
“This isn’t some stupid Harmony game.” Stenesso stood up and kicked his chair, sending it sliding end over end until it crashed into the wall. “But go ahead, Bellanger. Tell us about this magical plan of yours. I can’t see how a simple trick can get us out of this.”
“Do you agree?” Bowe asked in a soft voice, scarcely able to believe it was happening. He’d reclaimed the Bellanger holdings. They were a great family in effect once more.
“If your plan works, yes, I agree.” Stenesso spat out the words. “I will back off and allow you to reclaim the countryside. My marshals will wholly dedicate themselves to policing and defense once again.”
Bowe leaned forward. “This is what needs to be done.”
Chapter 24
Battle
The streets were unusually empty as Bowe walked toward Drywell Square. The rest of the Bellangers were still back in the mansion. This was his idea, so he needed to be out there with his army, whatever happened; the others didn’t. The main force of the Jarindor army was now just outside the city wall. Bowe had told Sorrin to take charge if he didn’t come back.
Closer to the square, the crowds increased and before long he had to shove his way through. More people had turned up to be in this army than he’d expected. They carried various kitchen implements, but the most common were pots and pans, which was why the newsbards had started calling them “Bowe Bellanger’s army of pots and pans.” Trust the newsbards to see humor even in the bleakest of situations.
Close to the entrance to Drywell Square, Bowe forced his way through a knot of people to find a desk manned by Bellanger marshals. Oamir sat behind the desk with several ledgers stacked up. “What are you still doing here?” Bowe asked. “You were only supposed to be here for a few hours yesterday.”
Oamir pointed at the ledgers. “Still recording all the Bellanger escay who signed up for the pots and pans army. I think I’ve got everyone now. I was here late yesterday, but there was still a large line waiting, so I promised I’d continue this morning.”
Bowe stared at the pile of ledgers. “There’s only a handful of Bellanger escay—just a few servants. How could that many people sign up for us? Who are all these people?”
“Some said they used to work for the Bellangers. Some just said they trusted you more than the other Guardians to fulfill the agreement.”
The agreement. That was the heart of Bowe’s plan and the driving force behind this army armed with kitchen utensils. Bowe and the other Guardians had announced that any escay who joined an army to face the Jarindors would gain a partial credit toward their place in the Refuge in three years’ time. If they died in the fight, a member of their family would have a guaranteed place in the Refuge.
“So I have to find a place for all these people in the Refuge in three years’ time?” Bowe asked.
“Well, enough for the selected family members of those who die, at least. The survivors will only have partial credit, so will have to continue to work for you until they fully gain a place.”
So Bowe would have to find work for them as well. It was scary but exciting to think of the Bellanger family operating on a large scale once more. Bowe would have his work cut out for him.
“It’s amazing to be a part of this, isn’t it?” Oamir asked. “Living history. This event will be talked about for generations.”
“Go back to the mansion and get some rest,” Bowe said. “When the army returns, you’ll be needed again to make sure those who signed up actually went, and to record the deaths.” If the army returns. “Bring more people to help you next time if you can.”
“Okay.” Oamir stood up and one of the marshals picked up the ledgers and another started folding the table. “Listen, Bowe. Will you tell me about it after?”
“About what?”
“About everything that went on. You were chased out of Arcandis, the Bellanger family seemed to have collapsed. You lived among the escay for a while, were captured by the Jarindors, yet now return in triumph, reclaiming the Bellanger holdings and leading the army that will save Arcandis.”
“I think it only sounds exciting when exaggerated by the newsbards. The real story wouldn’t be half as interesting.”
“Go on, Bowe, you have to. I’ve read histories of previous events, and there are always gaps that are filled in with guesswork. No one ever knows what exactly happened or why. These are world-changing times; future historians will study this and I want to record it all. Without gaps.”
“I guess so.” Bowe would have to figure out exactly what he wanted to be said. He could better control what people thought of him if he came up with a good story for Oamir and the history books. As long as there was enough truth to mesh with what was known, Bowe could fill in the rest with whatever he wanted. “We’ll talk about it when I get back.”
Bowe pushed farther into Drywell Square. Most of the army consisted of older people, those who were over forty. That was what Bowe had hoped. The partial credit toward the Refuge wasn’t worth the risking of a life, especially not the life of those who could work to help themselves and their families be ready in three years’ time. The ones who Bowe wanted to recruit for his army were those who didn’t think they had much of a chance to gain entrance to the Refuge and were willing to sacrifice themselves so their loved ones would have a better chance. There was a tradition of self-sacrifice among the escay, and that was clearly evidenced in the crowds who had signed up.
Bowe kept his stump pulled against his chest to avoid the jostling as he struggled forward. He hit against several frying pans alone, not to mention soup ladles and long spoons and pots and pans in all shapes and sizes. No kitchen knives, though, only blunt kitchen instruments were to be us
ed as weapons.
He wanted to get to the center of the square, but found it increasingly difficult to force his way through. “Make way,” he said in frustration, “make way for Bowe Bellanger.” He didn’t expect to be heard over the crowd noise, but at least one person did hear him. His words were repeated, again and again, until there were a thousand whisperers with the same words on their lips.
“Make way for Bowe Bellanger.”
Space opened in front of him, which then stretched out until a street-wide gap led all the way to the fountain at the center of Drywell Square.
When had the name Bowe Bellanger gained so much power? Bowe swallowed, composed himself, then strode toward the fountain with his back straight and his head high. He remembered the words of advice from Kirande at his first ascor ball. No matter how he felt inside, he needed to be confident on the outside.
He stepped up onto the low wall of the dry fountain. A circle of space opened up for him there, and the gap behind him disappeared. Bowe had felt the need to be with these people when they went into battle, but he hadn’t expected to lead them in any important way. These people expected something from him, though. Those who had just signed up to die looked up at him with blank, hopeful faces.
“This is our country.” He knew he had to say something, and Gef’s words popped out of his mouth. He didn’t shout, but the crowd had already started to quiet, and now all noise evaporated. It was an eerie feeling, both the silence and the sea of expectant upturned faces creating an unbearable pressure.
“This is our country,” Bowe repeated. “The Jarindors don’t see it that way. They see us as unruly children who have fallen, and they come as parents with plans of punishment and correction. They come bearing swords and armor and military tactics and they are willing to kill to set us on a different path.” Bowe took a breath. “They think they are willing to die. But not like the Arcandi. Every six years we face death, we accept it into our lives, we live with it. Every sexennium, death brushes past us, we feel it close. It hasn’t taken us yet, but it’s an acquaintance, and we know not to fear it.”
Bowe paused. Someone coughed, and it was a solitary sound in a sea of silence.
“This is our country. It’s not a wonderful place, it’s a hard brutal place, but it’s ours, and we can make things better together. What I admire most is the selflessness of so many who live here. The hardship didn’t make you hard—it made you strong. The suffering didn’t make you bitter—it made you generous. The competition for survival didn’t push you apart—it drew you closer together. It is because of your strength and your love for each other that I suggested the agreement, though I am amazed that so many have signed up. It has created an army, not of swords and armor, but of pots and pans. You are not soldiers, for you are stronger than soldiers. No one has gone into battle as bravely and as full of self-sacrifice as you will do today. Individually, you mightn’t have come out here for your country, but rather for your loved ones, but when thousands of you come together and fight for each other, then communally you do fight for Arcandis as a whole. This is our country.”
Bowe stopped speaking, having run out of things to say. The silence was almost overbearing, like the heat of the Infernam pushing down upon him. Then one person in the crowd shouted out: “This is our country.”
The words were taken up by others until it was a chant that rocked the square. Bowe fist-pumped the air, and the crowd roared approval.
There was still no sign of the organization the Guild had promised, so Bowe decided to lead the way outside the city and into the battlefield. Bowe stepped off the wall and headed toward Bell Gate. A space opened up for him once more. Although the speech had made him feel part of the crowd, close to everyone here, the people who made way for him didn’t show any familiarity. They stood back and bowed their heads toward him. He was still a Guardian and they were still escay—that hadn’t changed.
A cloaked figure appeared beside him and walked alongside. “As agreed, you have your army. We encouraged people to see the Jarindors as enemies rather than friends and convinced them that you and the other Guardians would hold to the agreement.”
Bowe recognized the voice. “It’s you, Xarcon.”
“Just remember that your obligation to us doesn’t end as long as the Guardians and the ascor reign. We will claim the debt.”
“We used to be friends, Xarcon, family even. Why do you talk to me as a stranger? As an enemy?”
“I’m no longer who I was. That person is dead and good riddance to him,” Xarcon said. “One less ascor is always a good thing.”
“But it was I who first helped you view the escay in a different light. I meant what I said to Coensaw. We’re on the same side.”
“As long as you remain an ascor, we’re on different sides. I’ll leave you now. The priests will help you control the army.”
“Where are they?” Bowe looked around and didn’t see anyone, but when he turned back toward Xarcon, he was gone. Bowe had seen several of the patchwork cloaks of the priests among the crowd, but none were in view right now.
Bowe continued on his way, emerging out of the crowd and heading down the street toward the Bell Gate. He looked behind him to make sure he wasn’t alone, and he was glad to see that the crowd was filtering out of Drywell Square and beginning to follow him. A short, bald man in a patchwork cloak was hurrying after him, so Bowe slowed to let him catch up.
“I wouldn’t have thought priests would be involved with this,” Bowe said to him. “What’s your name? Are you in charge?”
“I’m Florence, and you’re the one in charge. I objected to having our order help you, but was overruled.” The last word was turned into a growl. Bowe got the impression that Florence didn’t like him too much.
“I agree with you; I don’t see what this has to do with the priests.”
“Our task is to aid and comfort those who have no more to live for.” Florence wiped sweat from his temples. “So this venture of yours is very much related to what we’re about. My objection is that you are abusing the noble inclinations of these people for your own selfish goals.”
“I don’t want them to have to die.”
“You are sending out old people armed with kitchen utensils against a well-armed, well-armored, and well-trained enemy. What do you expect to happen?”
The job of the members of his army was to die—Bowe couldn’t deny that. But if he had judged things correctly, not too many of them would have to. “They all volunteered,” Bowe said. “They are willing to give their lives to help loved ones. When the Infernam comes, this many and more will be giving up their lives to help others. Why are you helping if you object so much?”
“Every Infernam, our order has to take people out in funeral barges never to return. At least this time, those we bring have a chance to come back. I hate what you’re doing, but if the priests are involved I’m going to make sure that as many are saved as possible.”
“You’ll follow my orders then?” Bowe was just realizing that he needed to be directly in charge. Florence would likely order the army to return to their homes if given the chance.
“Yes. You clearly have some kind of plan. Whatever is going to happen out there, it’ll be better if we all pull in the same direction. I’ve sent priests in to take charge of various groups, and some of the younger ones will act as runners and deliver orders. The priests will submit instructions and stay out of the way when the fighting starts.”
“That’s all I need, thanks.”
“Of course we don’t have any authority. We could give the order to attack and the people could just decide to return to the city.”
“I hope not. Let your priests know that we plan on exiting through Bell Gate. Then we’ll spread out and approach the Jarindor army.
“It’s not too late to call a halt to this madness,” Florence said.
“Just do it.”
Florence fell back. Up ahead, the walls of the city came into view, and Bell Gate. The marsha
ls who should have been patrolling were clustered on top of the wall above the gate, looking down as the army of pots and pans approached. The ground vibrated from the thumping of thousands of footsteps. On either side of the street, heads were stuck out of windows to watch, and even the rooftops on either side were crowded with onlookers.
Bowe felt a slap on his back and turned. He grinned when he saw Thrace, Sorrin, and Sindar behind him. “What are you three doing here? I told you to stay at Bellanger Mansion.”
“And let you have all the fun?” Sindar said. “Not a chance.”
“You instructed the army to carry pots and pans.” Thrace held a pan in one hand and a ladle in the other, and he slammed together to make his point. “You didn’t say we weren’t allowed to bring swords.” He nodded down at the sword belt at his side.
“Weapons won’t be any good today. And there’s no need for you to accompany me,” Bowe said. “We haven’t come to fight.”
“You never know,” Thrace said, “fights can break out when you least expect them. For example, if you said you weren’t going to allow us to come with you, then we’d have to fight you over that.” He gave a significant glance at Bowe’s stump. “I don’t fancy your chances.”
“If you aren’t going to give me a choice, I’ll have to suffer your company.” Bowe grinned. Having his friends here mightn’t make much difference to what was going to happen, but they sure made him feel better.
Bowe looked across at Sorrin, but Sorrin didn’t have any wisdom to add. He limped alongside him in a determined fashion, looking straight ahead. Bowe had talked to him, had explained that he was okay with what had happened between him and Zofila, but he mustn’t have been convincing, because Sorrin still couldn’t look at him. It would come with time. They’d sort something out between the three of them.
The gate was open, and the guards cleared out of the way well before they reached it. Bowe went through. On the other side, the Jarindor army was spread out facing the city. It was a strange and disturbing sight. The soldiers were arranged in squares with regular spaces between each square.
The Narrowing Path: The Complete Trilogy (The Narrowing Path Series Book 4) Page 47
