by Lori Martin
“No need for that. If we might pass through? We’re in a hurry.”
“Oh?”
“It’s my wife here,” Samalas said coolly, putting an arm around Mejalna, who started. “We’re taking her to Hallastown. She’ll be having the baby this moon, you see, and she’d like to be with her kin.”
Mejalna pulled up her knees, in an attempt to cover her stomach, but the dim-sighted keeper could not make her out, as Samalas had realized. Kel gave a choked snort of laughter.
“Better traveling by day,” the keeper commented, but he leaned to open the gates. The cart bounded forward. As they passed through the dog, suddenly smelling the blood, began to bark. “Hush now,” the keeper said.
They followed the road in silence. Mejalna wound a bandage around Renasi’s arm, and was finally able to stop the bleeding, but he did not stir.
After a time Kel ventured, “How will we keep them prisoners in camp?”
Samalas didn’t answer. Mejalna considered the wreckage of their scheme: a Tribune right in their camp (and he would be sure to learn too much, no matter how careful they were); an extra Mendale to watch and worry over; not to forget that they had, in truth, taken a less valuable prisoner. Still, a Tribune was a Tribune.
But this Tribune was Paither’s father.
“I hope Ymon made it,” she said to distract herself. But Samalas had gone somewhere beyond words. When the sunrise began he was still sitting motionless, his palms planted on his knees, staring forward.
Chapter 10
Mejalna put the final strap on the saddle, tying the package down with firm hands. It was the horse Ymon’s group had taken in front of the Southwest Gate, but precious as horses
were to them, it would have to be sacrificed. No Defier could take their message, with their demands, in person. She would bring the animal back to MenDas, and set it loose: it would be found soon enough.
Four Defiers only had been sent to attack the Assemblage House – a mission to die for, and yet it had been play-acting. The archer and one of the men had been killed; one had escaped on this horse; they didn’t know what had befallen Ymon.
Renasi shuffled over to her, his bandaged arm held out stiffly. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. That archer who got me came to, kicking and screaming
curses. I think Samalas had her drugged again.”
“And the Tribune?”
“Isn’t saying much. He tried to reason with Samalas – he said he had
never been an enemy of Lindahne, that we had no quarrel with him.” “What did Samalas say?”
“He asked how many Lindahnes he had killed in the War.” “Tactful,” Mejalna commented.
“The Tribune raised up his head, as if he could see him through
the blindfold, and said, ‘I killed many Lindahnes in a year when I was forced to fight for my country. If you are a leader, I expect you to understand.’”
“I like him,” she confessed. “I saw him come forward to speak for the queen. It doesn’t seem right for him to suffer.” Or his son, her thought finished.
Soon after, a messenger sent by Pojji arrived from the Guildhouse. She told them that the Guild had passed the Mendales’ inspection, and their cover seemed safe, but she was not willing to receive the captives “... if you permit me to say so,” Samalas read aloud from the scroll. “‘Solders are everywhere and the markets were ordered shut down for two days.’ That seems to be – wait, she’s added something. ‘I’ve just heard the news crier. The Mendales know and they’re making it public: The Third Tribune’s life will be traded for the queen’s life –’”
Renasi exclaimed, “They know the terms already!” “Well,” she said lightly, “that saves me a trip. And now we can keep the horse.”
Samalas let the scroll close. “Ymon is alive, then. They must have captured him, and he’s told them what we want.”
“Thank Nialia he’s not dead.”
Renasi said, “The foul Mendales will be trying to beat everything else out of him.”
“We knew the risks.” She pushed away an image of Ymon, with his delicate features and silky hair, under hard soldier’s hands. He was a Squad leader; she knew he was stronger than he looked – but that meant he would take even more punishment, until the Mendales were willing to believe it. It could have been me, she thought, it could have been Samalas.
The leader of the Defiers appeared deep in thought. In defiance (whether of him or of the Mendales, she didn’t know herself), she said, “He won’t tell them anything.”
“No,” Samalas said. He added, “But all the same, he doesn’t know where the captives really are. And that’s just as well... But it’s time to move out to headquarters.”
“Is it true?” Tribune Haol looked up from his writing in irritation. “I thought I’d said –” he broke off. His hapless assistant, standing behind the pale intruder, murmured an apology. “She insisted on seeing you, sir.” “Is it true?” Pillyn repeated.
Haol waved the assistant out of the room. “Come sit down,” he
invited graciously. He pulled over the best rest chair for her, but she remained rigid, her eyes fixed on his face. Her pupils were enormous, almost drowning the pale irises in a black sea. Her jaws were clenched.
“There, now,” Haol said, afraid she would break into hysteria. “Just sit right here, mistress, right here nice and comfortable. I know you’ve had a little shock.”
Pillyn’s legs jerked out and carried her to the chair. Her hands gripped together in her lap. “Is it true? What they’re saying?”
“You mean the news, I suppose, about the Defiers’ demands. Yes, I’m afraid so. We captured one, you know. He didn’t say much, but it seems clear they intend to keep Nichos as a hostage.” He referred to some notes. “Apparently they want us to release the queen from the holding-house, send her to Lindahne, and issue an official warrant of freedom for her. That would protect her, you see, from any future Assembly threats. In essence, they want to trade Nichos’s life for hers.”
“He was just gone. I woke up and he wasn’t there.”
“Yes. Well. I suppose he wandered out. Maybe he heard some of the commotion. They staged an attack, you know, at one of the Gates. Maybe they were planning to break in and take both of you. I suppose,” his round cheeks puffed to a little smile, “you have no idea who could have done this, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they did overcome the guards at the Northwest Gate, but it seems strange that there’s no sign of their breaking into the apartments.” He waited, but no sign of understanding came into her face. Better to be plainer. “Some say, Mistress Pillyn, that the Defiers had help – Lindahne help, perhaps? – from inside the Assemblage.”
Her chin jutted up. “Some also say,” she shot back, “that the Defiers were really after you.”
His smile broadened. “There is something ironic, isn’t there, in these rebels choosing a man who had actually spoken out for their cause?” “Tribune. How will the negotiations be conducted?” He looked inquiring.
“To get Nichos back,” she said impatiently. “Will the Assembly debate on the terms, do you have a go-between to the Defiers –?”
“Ah. Well. The Second Tribune and I had a full discussion about it this morning.”
“And?”
“We are in agreement that the Assembly of Mendale cannot bow to the outrageous demands of rebels and murderers. Their assaults on Assembly members, on this House itself, and now on the Third Tribune, call for the strictest, swiftest punishment. And just to show them who they’re dealing with, we hanged the Defier we captured.” He looked back at his notes. “Ymon. Yes. Thick-headed man, we might have been able to spare him if he had cooperated.”
Pillyn took a heavy gulp of air. “I understand your position, Tribune. But how exactly are we going to rescue Nichos? Do you have any idea where they’ve taken him, will you attack, or –”
“Mistress, we know very little about the Defie
rs, including, unfortunately, the location of their headquarters, if they have one.”
“I see. But then how are we going to get Nichos back?”
Haol said, “I’m afraid that’s out of our hands. The Defiers have taken him. We must hope that when they see their little scheme has failed, they’ll return him to us and to you.”
“What are you saying?” She struggled to clamp down on her fear. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”
He was silent. His habitual smile hung on his lips.
“Perhaps, Tribune, you’re just afraid to tell me? You think that I’m a Lindahne spy?”
“No, no, of course not. I’m telling you what Second Tribune Rhonna and I have agreed on.”
“But what action are you going to take?”
“We intend, with the Assembly’s support, to proceed with bringing the queen to justice. When they see their scheme has failed, they’ll –”
“Tribune, please!” She gripped the edge of his writing table. “If you execute the queen they’ll kill Nichos.”
His expression remained unchanged. Pillyn leaned forward, urgently, seeking. “Haol,” she pleaded. “You must know they won’t just give him back. We have to do something.”
“I’ve explained our position to you, mistress. I’m rather busy, so –”
“But you’re – he’s been – don’t you want to save him? You made him Third Tribune, you –”
“Yes,” he answered, and she saw a flash of anger beneath his calm. “And what happened? What thanks did I get? He ignored my advice and gave that foolish speech, turning everyone against us. Then the next thing we know he’s gone. Abducted, the story goes. And how are we to know what’s the truth of it? Go out in that hallway, mistress, and ask the next person you see what he thinks. He’ll tell you that our lin-loving Tribune could easily be working with these rebels. He’ll tell you this could be a conspiracy, a plot, to save this ridiculous queen. He’ll tell you the rebels have a very valuable spy, right in the Assembly: the Third Tribune!”
“You can’t believe that! You know Nichos. You know he’s a faithful Mendale, you trusted him.”
“Yes, and because of that I’m being linked with him.” The lids closed in on his round little eyes. “It’s not a position I fancy, and I don’t intend to be hurt by Nichos’s sinking reputation.” He settled back heavily into his chair. “I’m fond of him in my way, you know. But if we don’t get him back... it will be highly unfortunate, of course...”
“But highly convenient?” she whispered.
He shrugged. Her anger supported her. She stood, very straight, and stared down his smug comfort. He cleared his throat and glanced away.
“The gods curse you,” she hissed, and left him.
Haol shrugged again. He picked up his pen and returned to his work. From time to time he looked up, uneasy, but there was no one there.
In the streaky black behind her blindfold Scayna could see the beginning of a pale green light, approaching from the side. More visions?
They had given her a sleep herb, she knew, and for a time she had drifted in a dreamer’s world of soft air and quiet sounds. Now she was awake, but with her eyelids held down her darks were a constant threat.
She took rapid shallow breaths to distract herself, and the gathering vision vanished back into nothingness. A gruff male voice she had come to recognize said, “All right now, you listen to me, Mendale. We’re going to be moving you. That means I’ll have to untie your legs. There’s to be no more of this kicking, either. Now hold still.”
“Where am I being taken?”
“Where your friends in MenDas can’t find you. Hold still, I said. This knot is tight.”
“I won’t leave the Tribune.”
The man grunted in amusement. “No one’s asking for your opinion, Mendale. But as it happens your precious Tribune is already up on his horse. We’re all ready to go. Everyone’s waiting for you. Aren’t you honored?”
Would it be any use to strike out at him? No, if she caused trouble they’d only drug her again.
“If you’d be better behaved,” the man added, “we’d have no need of these ropes on your legs or your hands. Your Tribune’s behaving himself, so he’s not tied. You’d better do the same. All right. Let’s get you up now.”
He helped her to her feet, which tingled when she put her weight on them. She was maneuvered through a doorway and down a few steps. There was a strong smell of horse and a bustle of activity. A man addressed as Samalas was calling for his mount. He had a sharp voice that varied little in tone or pitch.
“Here’s the archer,” a woman close to her said.
“Watch her, Mejalna,” she heard Samalas say. “I consider her your problem. Are they ready back there?”
“Everything’s set.”
“Then let’s get going. The sooner we’re out the safer we are.”
The woman Mejalna said in her ear, “We have a horse for you. Here, put your hands up here. No, here. One of the men will lift you into the saddle.”
Scayna, stiff, took the indignity in silence. Her bound hands closed on the pommel. The horse beneath her stirred, but someone must have caught at his head; he quieted.
She said loudly, “Tribune? Are you here?”
A startled voice quite near her said, “Who is that?”
“One of your archers, sir, from the Twelfth Band. I tried to stop them from taking you, but –”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, Tribune. Where are we going?”
“I’ve no idea,” Nichos answered. “They’ve been breaking camp all morning. Maybe they’re afraid they’ll be found here.”
“Tribune, why have they –”
“I want some quiet there,” Samalas’s voice interrupted; he must be the leader; she could hear it in his tone. “Mejalna! Don’t leave those two together. Here, take the archer’s horse after yours. Renasi, you and I will look after the Tribune. Now. Tribune Nichos, and you –” she felt a finger jab into her thigh. “I’m going to tell both of you exactly what I’ve told all of my people. We are moving in absolute secrecy, which means absolute silence. I don’t want to hear anything beyond a footfall or a horse’s neigh. If either one of you calls out, tries to get away, or in any other way puts this company in danger of discovery, any one of my people is authorized to kill you on the spot. If you understand that, I trust I won’t need to gag you?”
“No,” Nichos answered. “Nor do you need to threaten us.”
“I don’t mean any disrespect to you, sir,” the Defier answered, to Scayna’s surprise. “But your archer has been giving us trouble.”
“We won’t fight you.”
The finger jabbed again. “Well?”
“Yes, Tribune,” Scayna said. She stopped herself from aiming a kick at the Lindahne.
Mejalna rode between the captives, to keep an eye on both.Their group was moving to the headquarters camp, which was much larger and farther out from MenDas. The little spearhead camp was being abandoned; Samalas considered it too risky now, as it was so close to the agitated capital. Three other small settlements existed, all in remote areas, but they would keep their prisoners at headquarters.
Mejalna ordered four riders ahead, to check against ambush. They had made a great strike against the Mendales, and shown themselves to be formidable enemies. They couldn’t afford, now, to get careless.
Paither thought about it long and carefully. He was sure, if he only considered it enough, that there would be a way to find the Defiers. Or at least one Defier: Mejalna.
He slumped further down into the seat cushions, his boots stretched out to the fireplace, listening to the everyday sounds of the Assemblege House, which was humming as if nothing was wrong. His mother, in her fury at Haol’s betrayal, had started to pack for home, but Baili had stopped her. He insisted that the best way to help Nichos was to be here, in the Assembly, where they might hear something, see something, learn something, think of something to do.
Think.
Mejalna had been dressed as a bread baker, at ease in the middle of MenDas. Had it been a disguise of one day only, or did it mean something more?
Would the Defiers’ headquarters be in MenDas itself? No, surely they were too numerous for that. But they might have a base here, a safe place to hide, to change dress. One day she appeared as a trader, one day as a bread baker.
The Bread Bakers Guild? Was it possible they had taken over all the Guildhouses?
No, that was absurd. But perhaps they had infiltrated one or two. He frowned. Maybe he was just imagining everything, based on one outfit she had happened to wear. The Bread Bakers Guild was in the Oldmarket; she hadn’t been heading there that day... but then she’d known he was following her, maybe she led him away deliberately.
This isn’t thinking, it’s guessing.
He stood up suddenly and listened for a moment. In the next room his sister Calli – who somehow knew that this time, in spite of all that Pillyn could say, her father’s absence meant something serious – was crying again. The gentle murmur of Pillyn’s soothing voice went on and on, but the child was inconsolable. Paither hesitated, then shook his head at himself: he wouldn’t share his conjectures. If he could bring her real news, that would be something. But that would be later.
Outside the Assemblage House the air seemed cleaner, though the sky threatened more snow. It was nearly high-sun and the daily chaos of work and trade paused for the midday meal. As he passed down the avenue, the smell of meat and ale stung at his nostrils. He was thirsty himself. Men and women sprawled beside carts and market stalls and on the steps of Guildhouses. The Oldmarket section, with its narrow, winding streets, would be even more crowded.
His old dream had returned with a vengeance the first night Nichos was gone. Again he had been a child, again an enemy army threatened, but it was not his mother in danger this time, it was Nichos. As in the way of dreams, he had seen Nichos standing before him even as the hands that he knew were his father’s tried to help him from behind. He could not lift the sword; then fair hands grasped the hilt. No, he had shouted, and tried to shove the hands away. This he must do himself. There was a scream. When he looked again, Nichos was dead.
