by L. W. Jacobs
It was easy: he just had to take the High Arbiter hostage. Then the Councilate would have to listen.
Newgen came hurtling up and Tai nudged himself west, toward the hills, slowing as he approached. Little white figures were out, tending to the dead and dying. Good.
Tai pushed himself low over the hills toward the western wall of the city. This area had seen the least fighting, and the bodies were already cleared away. He landed, wincing as weight came onto his foot, and stripped off his shirt while the bends passed. There would be no wafting into the city, not on such high alert.
Tai limped around the curve of the enclave until he came to a body, thrown many strides from the wall. He bent and stripped the soldier’s white tunic, splattered with blood but still usable. Chest bare, the soldier looked no different from any of the bodies he’d seen in the rebel hideout.
“Prophets speed you rest,” he murmured, then pulled the bloody shirt on and limped toward the gate.
“Ho, man,” a woman called in accented Yersh. She had the sleek, dark hair of a Seinjialese. “Would you help me with this one?”
“Aye.” Tai limped over and helped her lift an especially large body onto the cart, its left arm hanging by tendons. “Have you seen the Arbiter today?”
“Prophets, no,” she said. “Likely holed up inside, isn’t he?”
“Aye, like as not,” Tai replied, affecting a Seinjialese brogue. The Councilate had many Seinjialese soldiers, and it was what his hair most resembled. “Thanks for the work.”
She nodded and Tai wove his way through the field, seeing more bodies, more carts. The rebels lay as they’d fallen, street children looting the corpses. All the same in death, all equal.
The gate was a fresh scene of slaughter, bodies cleared but wood and ground covered in dark red, blood coagulated to a sheen along the walls. It smelled of death.
“Ho, soldier,” one of the guards called. “Just back from the field?”
“Aye,” Tai mumbled. “Was thrown from the wall, didn’t know if we’d won or lost.” He eyed the gate. “We won, then, I take it.”
“By the Ascending God,” the guard replied.
“I’ve word for the Arbiter, something I overheard the rebels say. ’Ave you seen him?”
“The Arbiter?” The guard frowned. “He ain’t got time for the likes of you.”
“He will for me.”
The guard cocked his head, eying Tai. “You’re bandaged already?”
His foot. Meck. “Aye. Wrapped it in the field.”
The guard regarded him a moment longer, then lifted his spear. “You’ll want to have it looked at when the healers slow.”
“Aye.” Tai limped through.
The enclave was a mess, wounded fighters sitting or lying in the walkways, some in the bloody waters under the streets, seeking relief from wounds. Bodies floated there, too, clotted against islands and bridge supports. The air was full of moans and the sickly-sweet smell of blood. The street under Tai showed evidence of scrubbing, and he realized with a start it was where Theron had died.
Tai crossed his wrists in the Seinjialese way. One more death to justify.
Tai limped on toward the Tower, its multicolored glass walls rising like a gaudy manmade mountain.
Two yurafighters stood at the door, spears crossed. “Your business?” the nearer one called.
“With the Arbiter.”
“Rank?”
“Have none. But I have news for him, news he needs to hear.”
The guard snorted. “Tell it to me; I’ll be the judge.”
Tai worked a ball of yura from his waist, began chewing. “It’s for his ears alone.”
“Then I guess it’s for no one’s,” the other guard said, “’Cause no one gets in ’less they got rooms here.”
“He’s at the top? The Arbiter?” Ella had said the Councilate occupied the top of the vast structure.
“We said you’re not getting in; now scram,” the second guard said, “or I poke your other foot.”
The disguise could only last so long. “Sorry, gents.”
Tai struck his resonance and pressed outward, driving the men into the wall with air. He shot through to rising shouts.
Tai ignored them, taking in the building as he swept toward the center. It was a giant hollow cone, rooms spiraling up the sides of an empty central shaft, giant pillars and sunlight descending from above. A simple waft up.
Floors shot past, endless rows of polished doors, here and there open space showing the setting sun out colored glass panes. Let him be at the top, Tai thought. It would take an eternity to search all these rooms, and he didn’t have an eternity. He had one shot.
You have one shot to get out of here. This is suicide.
“Then so be it. Better I die than cause more deaths.”
The spiral of rooms closed around him and Tai slowed. Things were quiet aside from an occasional gasp when someone noticed him wafting up the central space. The doors had changed colors, an enameled white now, some bearing the sigils of major Houses. Tai wafted to the walkway as these changed to engravings of Councilate departments. The bends hit and he took a moment, carpet soft under his feet, then walked the rest of the way up. He felt beyond fear or hope. He was just ready to end this.
Shouts echoed from below, muted by distance, but the place seemed otherwise untouched by the chaos outside. Much like the Councilate itself, Tai thought. Had the rebellion even affected people in Worldsmouth?
“Stop there,” a voice rang out. Across the tight spiral, Tai saw four blue-banded guards outside a lacquered set of double doors. The Arbiter would be inside.
“I have news!” he cried, summoning the Seinjialese accent again. “News of the rebellion!”
“Send it through the proper channels, soldier. None pass here.”
“There was no time. It’s urgent—a new threat.”
The guard considered, then shook his head. “Wait at the bottom. I’ll send an officer down when he’s free.”
Tai struck resonance and pushed air against the four men there. They fell back, then almost to the man blurred, struggling against his resonance. Timeslips! Of course. Tai shot out into the open space as the first pushed close. If they caught him, he was dead. The central space, starlight streaming from the glass cupola, was too wide for them to reach him without wafters.
“Whatever your game is, soldier,” the head slip called, “give it up. You’re not getting into that room.”
“I need to see the Arbiter,” Tai repeated, watching for other fighters. A set of footsteps zipped down the spiral—gone to summon wafters and brawlers, no doubt.
“You are one wafter against three timeslips,” the man called. “Turn yourself in and you’ll be treated fairly.”
Tai laughed. “I doubt that.” He let himself drop.
Sped-up footsteps followed him as he fell, spiraling down the walkway. Shatterstains—they could keep up. Tai shoved upward again, hard, trying to lose them, but the slips were too fast. Lower down, the wider circles of the spiral might slow them, but by now, resistance was likely coming from there. One other option—outlast them. Timeslips were powerful but burned their uai fast.
Tai dropped again, footsteps speeding to follow him—but two only. The third was probably at the top, conserving uai.
“Meckstains,” he cursed, getting hot. This had to work. There was no other way.
Leave it, Tai. Your death won’t make up for theirs.
“Then maybe my life will,” he growled, shooting himself up again.
There—one slip appeared, uai spent. There was another following, and one at the top, but time was short—shouts were rising from the bottom.
Tai shoved up, drawing in air, and released it with a shout. The slips at the top slammed back, blurring, and the doors to the meeting chamber burst open.
A long table sat beyond, manned with Councilate officers in formal wear. Arbiter Sablo sat at the end, looking up sharply from the maps spread across the table. The s
lips appeared to either side of the door, swords in hand. The threat was clear: try to fly through and he’d be cut to ribbons. “Arbiter Sablo!”
The man stood, calm. “I thought you might come, Tai.”
Tai started, dropping a span, then pushed himself back up. A mindseye. Sablo was a mindseye. “Then you know what I want.”
Sablo’s eyes unfocused, looked back at him. “Yes. And it’s impossible.”
“It’s the only way. Leave us in peace or this war goes on forever.”
The Arbiter smiled, eyes hard. “No. It goes on until our legion arrives.”
“That won’t help you if you’re dead.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And how will you accomplish that?”
Tai met his eyes, playing the mindseye game. An argument erupted in his head, Karhail and Ilrick and Beal all shouting about different things, Tai making himself a child in the corner, unable to wedge a word in. Then let a few words slip about smashing through the pane behind Sablo to take him.
“The window!” Sablo barked. “He’ll come through the window!”
Tai suppressed a smile and shot upward, arms crossing before him to smash through the glass cupola. Red shards flew around him, catching the last rays of the sun. He waited a moment, then dropped back down the hole, arcing in for the door.
A slip was there, the others at the window behind Sablo. Tai shot past and barreled down the length of the table, papers and maps a whirlwind in his wake.
Sablo’s eyes widened and Tai slammed into him, catching the aging man in a bear hug. His momentum carried them through the blue glass pane, glass shattering outward—
They jerked to a halt, shattered glass tinkling down the Tower’s sides. Timeslips—they clung to the iron frame of the window, each one grasping one of Tai’s ankles. He shoved out harder, bandaged foot screaming, but they gripped with the strength of brawlers. Impossible.
“Return the Arbiter,” one called, “and we let you live!”
“He won’t do it!” Sablo called. “He’s a fanatic!”
Tai cursed, summoning the argument to his mind again. In a corner, overwhelmed by a shouting match that now involved Marrem and Aelya, he searched desperately for a solution. They wouldn’t kill him, couldn’t hurt him so long as the Arbiter was in danger of falling, but once help came…
On cue, Tai saw a pair of wafters launch from the city wall. Great.
“What’s he thinking?” a slip called.
“I can’t read him,” Sablo answered, then lowering his voice, “but think it through, boy. This can only end in death. What you’ve done is brave, and you’re a talented wafter. Back out of this and I’ll see if I can find you a place in our ranks.”
“In the Councilate?” Tai asked, letting his mental defense drop. “Never.”
Sablo’s shout cut off as Tai reversed directions, shoving them backward. His leg bounced off the iron railing, sending them spiraling through the meeting room, but as hoped, the slips were caught off guard, out of slip. He shoved for the far door, eyes widening at the host of fighters outside. Tai pushed like he never had, streaking toward them. He’d have to break through.
Something hit his head, hard, and Sablo ripped from his grasp. Tai shot out into the open space, yelling with frustration. Wafters launched after him, three, more dropping through the hole in the ceiling.
Cursing, Tai shot down headfirst. A host of white coats waited on the distant floor—that was out too.
Desperate, he circled back up. He slammed into the first wafter, grabbing their legs, then shoved left on his head, right on his heels, starting a spin like he had with the Galya emblem.
A wafter darted in and he tilted, slamming the bound wafter into him with a crunch. Tai shoved upward, flying like a deadly spinleaf into the other wafters. He spun, tilted, shoved, and released, the wafters either knocked into the walls or dropping like stones to the floor below.
Tai let himself drop, too. A moment. One moment to think. Above him, the trample of feet announced fighters coming down from the top. More would be doing the same from the bottom, but the middle was still clear. It was empty even of regular people, their doors shut tight against the danger.
How long would it take to search all the rooms?
Tai shot for the walkway and started trying doors. Locked. Locked. Sweat broke out on his forehead, hearing footsteps approaching. Locked. If he forced one open it would be obvious. Locked.
Open. Tai darted in and closed the door, eyes sweeping the room. No one visible. A half-made bed, clothes strewn on the floor, blue glass pane giving a view of the forest beyond. Instinct called him to smash through the far pane, out into the air, to escape, but he would be seen and pursued.
And he wasn’t giving up on this yet.
He let the bends come, nausea twisting the world double, triple. Footsteps pounded on the walkway outside—fighters coming up from the bottom. They would meet those descending from the top at some point and realize what had happened.
And then begin searching room by room. He could try to lay a false trail, but the risk was too high that he’d be seen. Already there were likely people outside, watching to see where he broke out, wafters and slips waiting to follow him. There was no escape.
Street instincts took over then. When there was no escape, you hid. With any luck, he could find a good spot and the searchers would miss him. He would wait out the panic, leave by cover of dark.
Only, there were no good spots. Tai stood, still woozy, searching the apartment. Apart from a curtained-off chamber pot, the room was a simple rectangle, with no furniture but the bed, under which they’d surely look. The ceiling. It would have to be the ceiling, and hope they don’t look up.
Tai pressed an ear to the wall, heartbeat starting to calm. That had been close. Too close, and still he was left with nothing. His friends were still exposed, the army still coming up the river—a day away now—and the Councilate still held Newgen. Tai banged his fist against the wall in frustration.
Voices sounded in the next room. Tai cursed and flattened himself to the ceiling. Now they knew he was here, or someone did.
That made him think of Ella. She lived in the Tower—room 336. Had she seen him? Been caught in the fighting, or outside during the attack?
He shuddered, remembering the way Karhail had cut down innocents in the fighting. Maybe that was why the attack had failed, why the rebellion was failing. The ancestors were angry, knew they were not creating anything better than the Councilate itself. They were just creating more hungry ghosts.
A knock at the door. “Hello? Anyone in there?”
Tai took a deep breath. He’d left the door unlocked, knowing they would unlock it anyway. It opened now, a whitecoat stepping in. No blue band—Tai stifled a sigh of relief.
“Hello?” The soldier paced the length of the room, looked in the chamber pot corner, turned back for the open door.
And looked up. Tai shot at him, aiming a foot for his head. The man dropped and Tai dragged him to the corner, stripping his coat and slacks. The soldier was a lighthair, long locks tied at the nape of his neck. Tai took a tie and strung his hair behind him—no one would mistake him for the guard, but it didn’t need to last long.
He stepped out, looked around. Soldiers stood at the two doors down from him—445 and 444. Tai strode past them, forcing himself to walk slowly. Act like you know what you’re about, and people will believe it.
Soldiers worked up and down the walkway, others monitoring, yurafighters pacing back and forth. Tai made it to room 336, knocked.
Nothing.
A bead of sweat broke out. If she wasn’t there—
The door opened, Ella’s face a ray of sunshine in the night.
“You already checked this room. No one here.” She started to close it again.
“Ella, wait!”
She paused mid-close, tilting her head, and looked at him. Her eyes widened. “Tai,” she hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to sta
y alive. Let me in?”
She just looked at him, and Tai registered her face for the first time. She looked awful. “Are you the one they’re looking for?”
Tai glanced up the walkway. An officer was approaching. “Yes. I am. I did something stupid. Now let me in?” Still she hesitated. “Please.” The officer was only a few paces away.
She swung the door wide.
36
I had thought sure it was a publicity stunt, something to bolster Coldferth’s declining numbers. But indeed, Lestrad Coldferth has not returned, and all reports say he now stays with the traveling monks in their highland temples. What an embarrassment for the House.
—Madam Kallenia, soiree at House Galya, Speeches of the Day no. 89
Ella woke to shouts. Out the window, men battled in the streets, wafters rising from the city’s walls. She had a long view down the main walkway to the front gates, where a knot of men struggled like ants on honey, wafters bursting up from them. With a gasp, she recognized Tai, iron Galya sigil in his hands as he spun into a knot of Councilate soldiers.
“Prophets,” she whispered. This was the big strike Sablo had talked about. And she hadn’t warned them of the traitor.
You did what you could, Ella. It’s up to them now.
Ella shuddered, knowing she should dress and think about her own safety, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Down the street, a fresh contingent was charging Tai and his friends, sure to overwhelm them. At the last moment, a wafter dropped from the rooftops behind, firing arrows into the charging men. They fell, giving Tai and his friends room for a desperate counter-charge.
“I can’t watch,” she said, turning away. Another part of her burned to help, to strike resonance and run out and—
And what? Grab a sword and start killing? You’re not a soldier, Ella. Get somewhere safe.
A knock came at her door, a pounding. Men were shouting outside. “Retreat to the central court! Stay away from the windows! Retreat to the central court!”
Ella clenched, throwing clothes on, slipping a purse of moons beneath her skirt. There was nothing more to take.
