Fires of Aggar

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  Llinolae leaned forward. “We resettle the Clan as an entire community, as a new district with lands legally deeded by the Crowned Rule. But we resettle them on lands which already are better matched to their farming skills…”

  “Plows and pastures instead of forest plots?” Sparrow prodded.

  Brit tossed a scowl at her with a hissed, “Yes!”

  “Yes,” Llinolae continued, “a treaty of two parts. First, the Royal Family sponsors them to resettle on better land, then the Council sponsors them to bonded status with the Traders’ Guild. In these ways the treaty respects the Clan’s pride in its community and acknowledges the Clan is a part of Aggar now — not the ruffian cast-away of another world. They have struggled amongst us for enough generations, even the sandwolves acknowledge they live here. ”

  Ril endorsed Llinolae’s words with a faint nudge to Gwyn along their pack bond. Gwyn found herself smiling, but for other reasons, as she turned to Brit. “I’ve just had the most extraordinary realization, n’Minona.”

  Brit glanced at her wryly. “Yes, I’m a Royal Marshal and a Council representative. I’d already figured that Jes’ and my time negotiating with the Changlings had elected me to be the persuasive Diplomat we send into the Clan Leads. I’m just waiting to hear where this marvelous, fertile plain is located.”

  “I know!” Sparrow pounced upright suddenly, her memory’s images of land blooming sweet in the spring — before a battle — and an autumn rain rinsing the late spell of heat from the evening air, cleansing the stained earth by mixing mud and blood into soil for Aggar’s growth. For the first time in a season, her mental pictures of the north came to feed hope and not despair. “The Clans wants land that’s fertile but empty, district-sized but needing soldiers to protect it? Land that others in Ramains would be too weary to fight for and too frightened to leave as unguarded? Maltar’s plains — way up north!”

  “The northern ranges?” Brit leaned forward, clutching eagerly at the idea. “Why hadn’t I seen…? The Mid-Plains of the old Maltar realm — they border the new Changlings’ lands now. They’re all those things!”

  “Would you agree to negotiate then?” Llinolae pressed.

  “Yes! This has the very real advantage of meeting many folks’ needs. But I would need to send word quick to Churv and Council that I’m instigating such an enterprise.”

  “They’ll back us,” Gwyn said quietly, nodding to those gathered at their table. “Together we four are empowered representatives of Council, Royal Family, and Valley Bay. We’ve a Dracoon and us Marshals — or apprenticed Marshal. And myself as Bryana’s surrogate — she and Jes gave me leave to make decisions as Ring Binder proxy. And Ring Binder as well as you, Brit, have voice for the Council.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about that — the damned Seers and Council Masters probably had the thing planned from the start!” Brit scoffed. “But reaching them from here is…”

  “Is not a problem,” Llinolae reminded them all, with a grin. “I’m a Blue Sight, remember? I can reach Bryana again. I remember well enough what Valley Bay’s gardens looked like. Then we can send word to Council and Churv through her.”

  “That would do… do nicely,” Brit agreed.

  “Then I’ll tend to it.”

  Their unspoken hesitancy rose suddenly, creating a tense silence. Llinolae glanced about at them, and grinned more broadly. “The need for hiding my Blue Sight is past. The need to use my talents more openly is obvious.”

  “Then you have our support,” Gwyn returned.

  “I’d be honored,” Sparrow seconded.

  “As would I,” Brit grinned, still somewhat incredulous at her slowness in adding some of this together. “You know, not only will this help Khirla and Clan… the Changlings’ own governing force has trouble managing the Changlings’ renegades, and they fear the Treaty will be lost for them all, if the renegades go unchecked by the Prince. But there’re so few people left — after the migrations during the wars, after the fears of the renegades — that there’s no place nor money to post a Royal Legion along that border.”

  “Well, the Clan’s border scouts are well practiced at roving patrol maneuvers,” Gwyn noted.

  “And Brit’s never lost a delegate or frightened anyone from a difficult barter,” Sparrow said with some pride, casting her shadowmate a smile.

  “Pretty amazing, isn’t it? Considering my temper,” Brit admitted. Then her revelry faded, and she turned a level gaze back to Llinolae. “Calling the Prince’s troops in deals with Taysa presence in Khirla. Calling the Council and Crowned in deals with the Clan’s survival problems. There’s one link left unattended — Taysa’s power base was initially sponsored by the Clan’s survival needs, but she maintains it by her fire weapons.”

  “Yes,” Llinolae sat back in her chair, tall and calm. They listened attentively to have confirmed what they had all been speculating since the beginning. “The armory must be destroyed. The weapons the militia have among their personal gear I’d not confiscate, especially if they are to engage renegades once resettled. But the stockpile, their ability to indefinitely resupply any commander — the destruction must stop.”

  No one protested. Llinolae gave a quick nod, “Then I propose Gwyn and I use these next few days that Camdora is among us to go in search of the armory and leave you and Sparrow with the Clan Lead and her brother.”

  “With the sandwolves too,” Gwyn interjected softly.

  Llinolae flashed her a quick smile of agreement. “With my Blue Sight I’ll be able to slip our small party past any of the other scouts we might meet. As long as Camdora remains here for the full five days of those standing orders to her scouting party, we shouldn’t have difficulty in avoiding Clan scouts once into the Plateau’s wastelands.”

  “Until she tells them to go look for you, no one’s going to think you’d get in there so far,” Brit agreed.

  “But how’re you going to find the armory?” Sparrow prompted. “There’ve been a few attempts in the last generation or so. No one ever succeeds.”

  “No one’s ever had the Sight and used it as I do,” Llinolae stated flatly. “The Forest has a sense of rock, crystal, metal. These things aren’t particularly alive, I know, but they’re recognizable. The other night, when Gwyn and I were caught in the storm and Camdora’s brother almost fired at us, his fire weapon was lost and crushed. I wouldn’t normally be able to See to search for metal casings or rock formations in and of themselves. But the Forest can, here and on the Plateau’s wastelands. Given that I’ve Seen his weapon up close, I can follow the Forest’s amarin and find the armory.”

  Sparrow eyed Brit worriedly, but the older woman pursed her lips and shook her head in silent denial of a problem. Sparrow held her tongue then, but it sounded like a very risky venture.

  “The pack will follow you,” Gwyn affirmed, her tone steady.

  Llinolae glanced at her, grateful and proud to have their support.

  “Then Sparrow and I will occupy Camdora here. If we can get her to trust us any little amount, things will grow immensely easier.” Brit liked the idea: a stationary camp, a couple days to chat and eat — either win the Lead’s favor with the taste of her best feast, or with swapping bread recipes. She wondered which would be more to the scout’s skills? She shook the trivia away for later and cleared her throat. “When Camdora and her brother go, we’ll leave with them. If things go well with you and Gwyn, then we ought to be escorted into Clantown about the same time they get word on the armory.”

  “A dangerous gambit,” Gwyn noted in alarm.

  “Best place to win trust is in the sandwolves’ clutches,” Sparrow recited the desert folk’s idiom.

  “If you want to worry about dangerous,” Brit scoffed and leaned forward heavily, “then think on how you’re going to destroy that kind of stockpile and not yourselves with it!”

  “I’ve a few ideas on that,” Gwyn murmured, glancing covertly to Llinolae.

  The Dracoon smiled wryly, “I’m sure w
e both do.” Llinolae glanced back to Brit. “Gwyn and I should be out of camp before Camdora wakes again. She’ll not press for an explanation if we don’t put her in a position where she has to ask for duty’s sake.”

  “Good thing to know. I’ll give a little line about how you were returning to the Palace. Which I assume you eventually will be doing?”

  “We’ll do fine,” Gwyn assured her friend, reaching across the table for a warm clasp.

  Then Sparrow leaned in, covering their hands with her own. Llinolae stood and took their four, one of hers atop and one beneath.

  “May the Mother’s Wind ride with each of us,” Llinolae murmured, looking at the Sisters. “For our strengths and our compassion, may we remember why we’re pledged to protecting. And I am honored in having had you all near for a time.” Her smile fell to Sparrow with an even greater gentleness. “I wish you both care — even if it comes full season again, before we meet.”

  “Full season or more,” Brit mumbled sadly. She knew how long it took to build trusts. The Clan Leads would probably ask for neutral negotiations, and another Shea Hole would most likely be the wisest setting. The Dracoon would not be a welcomed figure in those meetings for a long, long time — if ever. “We’ll remember you. Keep pack and hearts sound, yes?”

  Llinolae nodded, and Gwyn added, “I’ll miss you and Sparrow, ann!”

  Hands grasped, then loosened. They turned quickly — there was little time to pack them off before the dawn came.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “And where are you now?”

  “We’re camped at a Shea Hole in the Great Forest — the Virgin’s Nest. It’s about five, maybe six days hard riding south of your Council’s Keep.”

  “Not my Council nor Keep,” griped a lackadaisical drawl.

  Both of them glanced at the Mistress n’Athena, but it was such an old argument of semantics that the Mistress n’Shea refused to rise to the bait. Instead she inquired, “Do we have Shea Holes on Aggar yet?”

  “No.” She grinned, quite undaunted by her Beloved’s silent reproach and she turned back to Llinolae with her brown eyes still full of mischief. A slender hand pushed through the short, whitened hair, but the bangs needed trimming and refused to stay back off her tanned forehead. “Mind you, Daughter, we have a number of those aid stations hidden on quite a few other planets. But back in these decrepit times barely anyone on Aggar even knows about the Terran Base, let alone about the Sisterhood! We’ve got no reason to place a Shea Hole in the Great Forest. There’s nobody to smuggle out!”

  “Not quite,” the Mistress n’Shea corrected dryly. “There was me.”

  “You’re the exception.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Only because it’s true.”

  Their banter paused as brown eyes met blue, while the Sight bound them in a wordless, cherishing touch, and Llinolae smiled. She didn’t need her Blue Gift to decipher the love these two shared. Her heart warmed, making her think of Gwyn and how it might be after a lifetime to look across a garden to find the Niachero still loving her… she rather liked the idea.

  “You’ve got better things to do than sit here watching the teachers fawn over one another,” the Mistress n’Athena suddenly declared, and Llinolae sighed. The woman was right. “So, where is your Shea Hole? East or West of the Trade Road?”

  “West — by two days of careful riding.”

  “You’re among all those winding stream beds and gorges then?” prompted the blue-eyed n’Shea. At Llinolae’s nod, the Mistress grew more concerned. “That’s awfully close to the Terran Plateau borders, isn’t it?”

  “Uncomfortably so,” Llinolae affirmed. “It’s why we’re still in camp.”

  “Sitting tight ’til the scouts get discouraged and ease off their search?” The Mistress n’Athena surmised quickly. Then at her partner’s startled glance, she explained, “It’s what I’d do in Llinolae’s place. Shea Holes are infamously hard to find, well stocked with non-perishable supplies — including weapons — and strategically placed for defense.”

  “Aye — I see how that makes sense.”

  “And it’s especially good sense, if you’re still hoping to make some contacts in Clan Territory who might help you pursue your peace talks.”

  A raised eyebrow prodded Llinolae to affirm the Mistress n’Athena’s speculation, but she could not do so. “An ally may be not quite the right word. I had indeed hoped to find one, and we did make contact. But it seems that Taysa has caused too much unrest — the Clan will not negotiate, unless they have no other choice.”

  “So it seems, you must fall back on your second plan.” the Mistress n’Shea observed quietly.

  “Which brings you seeking our council today.” The elder Amazon lent Llinolae a supportive, crooked grin. “What do you need, Daughter?”

  “From you?” Llinolae very specifically nodded to her Mistress n’Athena. “Information on fire weapons — and on the layout of the Clan’s old Base.”

  “What I know, I’ll certainly tell you. But—” she cautioned with an upraised hand, “it may do you little good. The technology and building layouts I’m familiar with will be sorely outdated.”

  “I know,” Llinolae accepted, already having known it would be. “But you’ll be giving me something to start with. And that’s what I need — a basic grounding in the mechanics of such weaponry as well as what I might expect about the Base.”

  “That I can give you.”

  “Which brings you to me and my Sight,” the Mistress n’Shea broke in gently. Her blue eyes danced lightly across the shimmering harmon of Llinolae’s face.

  “Aye — something I did while held in Clantown caused one of their weapons to… to ignite. I know that it happened because of my Sight. But I don’t know what I actually did to make it happen.”

  “Hmm… not so unusual when you’re the one in the middle of the crisis….” Her brow knit, and she glanced at her student. “How long ago for you was this?”

  “A little more than a ten-day.”

  “Ah then, I wouldn’t worry about understanding it. It’s still very soon after the event for you. Your out-of-time Seeing is probably blurred by your own personal reactions… give it a little more time before you go back through the amarin to search the images again. With your unique style of Seeing, you shouldn’t need more than a couple of reviews to identify the elements you’re missing.”

  “I can’t wait. I can’t afford to. You see, the scout who agreed to speak with us, left strict orders with her veteran scouting patrol to wait five days for her. If she’s not back by darkfall the fifth day, they’ll bring out the entire Clan’s border corps to the area they last saw their Clan Lead and her ‘abductors’. When our discussions were obviously not going to resolve anybody’s problems, she offered an informal, personal gesture of good faith; she agreed to stay at the Shea Hole camp for the full five days — no questions asked, no conditions to Marshal or Dracoon staying with her.”

  “In essence,” the Mistress n’Athena mused, “she gave you permission to slip across her patrol’s section of Plateau border without hindrance. She’s condoned your attack on the armory.”

  Llinolae nodded. “If I can get in and destroy the stockpile by evening of the fifth day she won’t send the patrols after me. But she’s not willing to suspend her civic duties completely. She swore to protect her folk and she’ll lose any authority to do that within the militia’s corps if she’s discredited by my actions.”

  “So she’ll give you five days, but then there’s no chance that anyone will believe she hadn’t glimpsed some inkling of your plan during that time.” The Mistress n’Athena saw that clearly enough. “She’d have to send the alarms out or be branded as traitor.”

  “And probably be executed.” Llinolae turned back to the Mistress n’Shea, knowing that the elder’s silence was from very real concerns. What Llinolae was about to ask of her Mistress, was not an idle, safe chore.

  “You need to know — and so
on — how you ignited the fire weapon.” The Mistress spoke softly, saving her the pain of actually finding the words. “And you need to know if you can do it again.”

  Llinolae nodded mutely.

  The Mistress n’Shea took another moment to consider their risks. For any other Blue Sight asking her such a question, she wouldn’t have hesitated to reassure them. Llinolae, however, had never been much like any other Sighted in the way she embraced her Gift. And in this circumstance there was a very real danger that, in discovering what had happened, Llinolae could inadvertently ignite the two of them in the process. But the cost of life and limb in Khirlan was growing, and she understood that too. In the end, all the Mistress could do was square her shoulders, shrug her long braid of salt ’n pepper hair behind her, and agree to try.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Chapter Fourteen

  Are you sure you are going to be comfortable enough with that tack? I mean… I know Khirla’s original tradition shuns stirrups as dishonorable tools of warfare. But do you actually prefer it?”

  Llinolae chuckled. “I do.”

  Gwyn still held her reservations as she eyed the light harness and saddle pad Llinolae had purloined from Sparrow’s acrobatic stocks. Calypso protested Gwyn’s concern with a snort before reassuringly nosing Llinolae’s elbow; regardless of the gear, the sturdy bay had no intentions of allowing her new friend to fall.

  Gwyn grimaced. “All right, I concede. It’s just… well, this could turn into a ten-day sort of excursion.”

  “If it does,” Llinolae returned sensibly, swinging herself up easily into the stirrup-less saddle, “then we’ve lost. Camdora’s patrol will follow her orders explicitly. Come darkfall of that fifth day, they’ll send a runner to Clantown announcing that we’re in the vicinity. After that…,” Llinolae shrugged.

  Gwyn sighed. “After that, every scout — wobbly old veterans and green apprentices — will ride out armed with fire weapons and ambition!”

  “No, not ambition — but with fervor. With the zealous, fearful conviction of a cornered animal needing to strike in the face of death.”