Adred returned to the kitchen and inquired after a thin needle, bone or metal, whichever was available, and some gut or cotton thread. The woman at the kettle directed him to a box in a cupboard and told him to take a lamp with him. “It works better if you heat the needle first.”
“Does it? Why?”
“I don’t know, but it does. My husband was a soldier. His doctor heated his needles first when he sewed them up in the field.”
Adred returned with the needle, thread, and oil lamp and watched as the red-haired woman sewed closed the long gash on the stout man’s chest—just as though she were repairing a vest or a pair of leggings. When she was finished, she washed her hands, dried them, and sat back with a heavy sigh.
Adred complimented her.
She made a grimace. “He’s the last bad one. So—” she faced him “—you don’t run away at the sight of blood?”
“Apparently not.”
“Tough breed of men, these aristocrats.” She wiped her face, then apologized. “I don’t need to say that. But you should see the ones with their insides hanging out.”
They were quiet for a moment. The woman leaned forward and felt the stout man’s forehead.
“He’s still burning.”
Adred told her, “I know you.”
“Do you?” She didn’t seem impressed by the fact.
“Well, I’ve seen you before. I thought you looked familiar, and now I remember.” She was the slim red-haired woman dressed in rags who, during his stopover in Bessara while on the way to King Evarris’s funeral, had harangued street crowds for money for the poor. “Rhia—isn’t that your name?”
She was intrigued now and studied Adred more carefully. Absent-mindedly, she reached a hand to her chin and fingered her cheeks as though she had a beard. “You’re the one that gave me all the gold.”
“Right.”
She smiled rather sadly. “I didn’t forget. It’s not often someone gives me a handful of gold for telling them to go to hell.”
He chuckled, and when she asked him his name, he told her.
“Adred dos Diran. The name sounds familiar. Have you been with us since Sulos? Or before that?”
“I was here once before. But I was in Sulos.”
“You’re the one who talked to King Elad.”
“Yes. I’m the one.”
“Solok mentioned you.”
They lapsed into silence again, Rhia watching the wounded man, Adred watching her. They both glanced up at the sounds of footsteps in the hallway outside. Lord Solok, accompanied by the young man with the thin beard, looked into the room and asked if everything was under control.
“This one’s cut pretty badly,” Rhia informed him. “But she’s sleeping soundly. All she’ll have are bruises.”
Solok, politely excusing himself, squeezed past Adred and leaned over the bed, examined the stout man’s cuts and Rhia’s stitching of them. “If he makes it through tonight, he should live. I know him. He’s as tough as a bear. We’ve lost one already, Rhia, and we’ll have to move him out of here tonight. There’s another one…we’re still not certain.” Then, in a gesture of supreme care and patience, he touched Rhia’s hair and bent forward to kiss her briefly on the face. “We will win,” he told her, pulling himself erect. “We will win.”
Solok went out, followed by the young man.
Adred asked her, “You know Lord Solok well?”
“We were married once,” Rhia told him, looking Adred in the eyes. “We separated a few years ago, and I joined the people. Solok traveled. We still met occasionally. He has aided the revolution immensely. If he were found out.…”
She let it go. The outcome of such a disclosure was self-evident.
As the afternoon darkened into night, Rhia moved from the chair to the floor, stretching out and resting her head on a bunched towel. Adred turned up the wick of the oil lamp and placed the light on the chair, the better to illuminate the stout man’s suffering. Then he crouched in a corner, and he and Rhia talked from time to time, keeping their voices low, until her words became mumbled and at last she fell asleep.
Adred periodically checked on the stout man, rinsing out the sweat-dampened towel in the basin of water and reapplying it to his chest. At last, lying down beside Rhia in the cramped space still available, he, too, fell asleep.
He was awakened in the middle of the night by the scuffle of boots in the hallway. Drowsy, he watched the boots, decided they must belong to Solok, and closed his eyes once more. As he did, Adred heard the boots walk away and for the first time became aware of Rhia’s arms wrapped around him.
A natural enough reaction, Adred mused; the room was chilly.
He returned to sleep.
* * * *
When he awoke again, it was dawn, and he was startled to overhear loud voices coming from the front of the house. Cautiously Adred sat up, easing Rhia from him. He heard the voices stop and the front doors close. Adred stood and went into the entrance hallway.
Solok stood there, still looking at the closed doors, and his expression was severe.
“The city patrol?” Adred asked him, wiping crusty sleep from his eyes.
Solok nodded. “I’m not sure whether they suspect anything. They warned me that insurgents had been seen in the area last night. Apparently I should be on guard for my life. I’m afraid they may know something.”
Adred muttered an obscenity.
“We can’t do anything about it for the moment,” Solok told him, and then threw an arm on Adred’s shoulders. “Get some breakfast. Go on. I’ll look in on our friend.”
He turned into the small room as Adred made his way down the hall.
The conversation that morning, in the kitchen, in the rooms of Solok’s mansion, turned on one issue only: what possible retaliation should be taken against yesterday’s attack by the city guards? The consensus, to Lord Solok’s displeasure but not to his surprise, was a call to answer in kind. Let us settle upon a victim, declared those in the house that morning, and murder him. Let that be our warning to Lord Uthis and to King Elad. They may flush some of us out and kill us, but there are more revolutionaries than there are aristocrats, and we can kill all of them before they can kill all of us.
Solok, and Adred as well, protested this decision. The intention of the Suloskai had not been to kill those who disagreed with them but to gain access to the halls of government and redirect the course of the economy.
But when a show of hands was called for, all but four of those present voted for the assassination of some bureaucrat or aristocrat in Bessara. Not that this would become a pattern of behavior, or that the intention was to include such tactics in the future; but many had been killed in Sulos, many now had been killed here in Bessara, and if those in power came to regard the revolutionaries as unable to defend their principles by sword as well as word, then the revolution would certainly be crushed before becoming strong enough to oppose the government and its plutocrats.
Before Solok would give his consent to such a thing, however, and before any person could be settled upon as a worthwhile victim, he wanted certain things attended to in the city. Carefully and secretly, four or five of them must go into the streets and try to learn the whereabouts of others dispersed during the clash at the docks. Also, additional supplies were needed and must be bought. Because Count Adred was unknown in Bessara, Solok asked that he shop for food, wine, and some extra clothes and medicine—being sure to make his purchases in different quantities at different stalls and shops in different sections of the city. Adred was agreeable to this.
Early in the afternoon, Rhia left by a back door to begin searching for other Suloskai in the city. A few minutes later, Adred prepared to begin his shopping.
He had suggested to Rhia that she meet him in his room at his inn later, simply as a precaution, before returning to Lord Solok’s house. She agreed and told Adred that she would come in by a back way and knock on his door in a code.
Adred spent the afternoon
wandering around the city, buying things but also taking the time to stop into taverns or linger by stalls in the squares, picking up whatever news and gossip he could. When he needed to do so, he returned to his inn to deposit in his room whatever items he had bought. Finally, by late in the afternoon, he was finished, having done all that he could without arousing suspicion.
He was surprised that Rhia still had not come by and was frankly concerned that something might have happened to her. Eager to make sure of her safety, Adred placed half of the supplies he had bought in a satchel and left the inn, going out by the rear door. Snow was falling as he hurried down an alley; the lamps along the streets had already been lit against the early dusk. He saw that, without question, patrols had been increased. Although it was early in the evening, the city was largely vacant except for groups of soldiers making their way up and down the avenues and squares.
He was not far from Solok’s apartment when he saw a figure running toward him down the dark, white-dusted street. It was Rhia.
Adred was afraid.
Breathless and panting hard in little white clouds, she reached him and pushed Adred into the shadows of an old doorway. “I was just on my way to your room. I decided to come past the apartment. Adred, soldiers are there.”
His heart dropped. “They know?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Did they see you?”
“No. Or if they did, they didn’t recognize me. But they were lined up all along the street and down the alley. They have the house surrounded. They know, Adred!”
“How many were inside? How many still?”
“I don’t know. Almost everyone, except for you and me.”
“Damn!” he swore. “Damn!”
“They’ll arrest them,” Rhia said.
“No. We’ve got to—”
“Adred!” Rhia gripped his arm and shook it, warning him still. Horses’ hoofs clattered on the stones, very close—just around the corner.
“Walk on,” she whispered. “They don’t know who you are. I’ll wait here until they’ve gone past; then I’ll come to your room. Go on, Adred!”
He stared quickly into her eyes—gray eyes, as hard and brittle as the frost—and turned from her, hefted his satchel, and began walking down the street in the direction of his inn. He resisted the desire to turn around to see whether Rhia was safe.
He heard the noise of the horses behind him, clearly following him. Adred pretended that he was preoccupied with the slippery street.
A husky voice called to him, “Excuse me, sir!”
He turned.
One city guard on his horse. The guard reined his mount still and asked Adred, “You are aware of the curfew, sir, aren’t you?”
Adred stared up at him. He couldn’t see much of the face because of the guard’s helmet, but he could tell much from the official tone of his voice. “I’m sorry. No, I didn’t know.”
“Curfew in effect for everyone. Takes effect at nightfall.”
“Then I apologize. I didn’t know. I just arrived in Bessara yesterday afternoon.”
The guard said to him, “Just in time for all hell to break loose.”
Adred nodded. “I’m afraid it did.”
“Where do you come from?”
“The capital, originally. I’m…in business.” He wiped his face as though brushing away snow, making sure that the guard had time to notice the signet ring on his right hand—green peridot inset with the family crest in gold. Taking a chance, then, Adred assumed a slightly superior tone. “I can understand your concern, officer. And I appreciate it.”
“I’m here to assist,” said the guard. “Allow me to escort you to your lodgings.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Adred told him, “but I’d welcome it if you like.”
“As I say, I’m here to assist…sir—”
“Adred dos Diran. My family has an estate outside the capital.”
The guard kneed his mount ahead. “I couldn’t in good conscience leave you out here alone after curfew. May I carry the bundle for you?”
Adred took in a breath. “It’s not heavy.”
“Here.” He guard leaned over, lifted the satchel, and by the leather cord that secured it hung it from his saddle horn. “Done. Where are you staying?”
Adred was sweating but spoke as calmly as he could manage. “At the Four Hares. Am I safe there?”
“You should be fine. I know the man that runs it. It’s secure.”
“Then that gives me some peace.”
For the next block Adred continued to make chatter, worried all the way that this guard must know more than he was letting on. But when they reached the hostel at last, the guard undid Adred’s satchel and passed it to him and warned him in a kindly tone to respect the curfew, “especially as you’re not from here.”
“I understand. Thank you again.”
“Not at all, sir.” The guard rode on.
Breathing freely at last, Adred hurried inside and up the stairs to his room, dumped his supplies onto a chair, and fell onto his bed to let himself relax, try to put what had happened tonight into perspective—and listen for Rhia.
* * * *
When she arrived, Rhia was exhausted and bitter—and very afraid. She sat on the bed in Adred’s room, and he poured her a cup of tea.
“They’ll kill them,” she said, repeating it in disbelief. “They’ll kill them. I never thought this would happen. I never did. I stood in the streets for years and yelled at them every day. No one threatened me. But now— It’s because of Sulos. They’ve changed everything.” She asked Adred, “How well do you know the king?”
Adred didn’t understand. “I know him to speak to him informally,” he replied. “I respect him; I respect what he has to deal with. But that’s all.”
“Solok was the leader of the revolution in Bessara, Adred. He’s a brilliant man; he organized everything. People listened to him; they respected him, and they trusted him. He had plans to take everything we’re doing and present it in the capital to the king and his council. Did you know that?”
“No,” Adred admitted.
“He and I talked about it. If there was ever a chance for the revolution to have a fair hearing, Solok was that chance, but not now. And any opportunity to do things the way he preferred—without violence, I mean—that’s what he wanted—that’s gone, too. You’ll see violence now. They wanted to assassinate Lord Uthis. You didn’t hear that, did you?”
“No.”
“But they’re not going to stop with Lord Uthis. They want to kill the king.”
Adred was stunned. “They’ll never manage it. It’s not possible—”
“Whether or not they do it, they’ll try. And not just once. They’re going to do whatever they can. We’ve had enough. They’ll fight anyone who gets in their way. Some of them in the army…they’re sympathetic, now, Adred. You can understand why. No one wants to be fighting members of his own family on the docks or in, in the Shemtu Square.”
She set aside her tea and looked out the dark window at the snow.
So it was true. Adred’s deep fears— True. The words they had printed and distributed on broadsheets— More than philosophy, now. A call to action. A call to recruitment.
Adred, in Bessara, alone with this woman, himself a revolutionary in the center of the storm of a revolution, began to wonder who he was and what he was, why he was—and he remembered, as abruptly and unmistakably as though she had returned to him as a phantom to speak to them both in that room, the words Queen Yta had pronounced to him before going to her death.
“We enter a dark age, friend of Dursoris. I have seen the future, and it is dark.…”
The death of Dursoris—the death of law.
The death of Yta—the death of the last bond, proud and true, to the wisdom of women and of queens, to the order and balance that had reigned before now.
The deaths in Sulos, and now these murders in Bessara—and thousands more deaths to come.…
&nbs
p; “We enter a dark age.… I have seen the future, and it is dark.…”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
When he returned to Erusabad, he found it greatly changed. As the merchanter slowly made its way up the Usub, he stood at the rail and watched the docks and streets slide by, the crowds and the soldiers. Troops of soldiers were everywhere—Salukadian soldiers—on both sides of the river. And Salukadian emblems and flags were on the rooftops of every dockside warehouse.
Indeed, the Holy City was a greatly changed city.…
As he disembarked, he noticed lines of Salukadian officials making cursory searches of all packages his fellow passengers had brought with them. He joined a line, and when he reached the head of it, he was questioned by a dark-complexioned man with a well-trimmed beard and a coat marked with badges. His accent was rather heavy.
“You have no personal belongings?”
“No. None.”
“What is your business in Erusabad? Are you visiting relatives?”
“I have no relatives.”
The official eyed him with evident concern. “State your business in the city, please.”
“I am returning after a long absence. Erusabad is my home.”
Trained Salukadian eyes observed him. Hair grown long, and a beard—dressed in a worn cotton robe and a leather vest, horsehide boots, weaponless, no jewelry or ornaments on him.
“Are you a priest?”
“I am.”
“With what church are you affiliated?”
“I once served in the Temple of Bithitu. I was dismissed. I am a wandering priest, now—ikbusa.”
“Ikbusa, eh?” The official pursed his lips, studied him frankly, then lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. In response, a young soldier, looking very bored, moved ahead. “Would you mind stepping into that office over there?” the official requested.
“Am I under arrest?”
“No, you are not under arrest. Please step into that office.”
Thameron shrugged and did as asked, accompanying the bored young soldier across the way and into the office. It was a hole—a large closet, really, with a horizontal board that served as a counter, partitioning the room it into a receiving area and an office and, in the back, through an open door, another office or small stockroom. A grossly overweight Salukadian official who smelled of perfumed oils and cheap wine stepped up to the board and motioned for him to approach.
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