"There have been a number of incidents where halfbreeds have been beaten or attacked," Kella said, her eyes worried. "Your disguises are now dangerous because you are obviously not Twentyfamilies and, as halfbreeds, you are fair game."
Why had Domick not warned us of this in his reports? But before I could ask, Matthew spoke, "Why can't we say we're Twentyfamilies? Fer that matter, why dinna th' halfbreeds say it? There's enough color variation for that not to matter."
"Twentyfamilies gypsies would know you were an impostor regardless of skin color and kill you or report you to the Council," Domick said.
"How could they know?" Matthew persisted.
The coercer shrugged. "They just do. You might farseek them and find out how, if it mattered enough. Yet, what point would there be in it? Your gypsy can only be a halfbreed. To reach her people, you must be one of them."
That was true enough.
"The Faction wants gypsy traveling stopped, because they want all gypsies under their power," the coercer added. "Of course, the Council has a vested interest in keeping things as they are, because if they make the pure-bloods settle, the bribe tithe will cease."
"Naturally, greed would decide th' day," said Matthew, with a flash of cynicism.
"So, as Kella said, disguised as halfbreeds you will be the target of Herder ill-will, as well as persecution from ordinary Landfolk," Domick said. "And even among the halfbreeds you will have trouble getting information because, gypsy or not, you will be unknown to them. Given the climate, they are understandably wary of strangers. If, by chance, they discover you are not a gypsy they will probably kill you, flunking you are a Herder spy. Worse, if you approach the wrong halfbreed, you'll find yourself reported to the Council or the Faction, and hauled in for questioning."
I frowned into the fire.
"There is another thing you must consider," Domick went on inexorably. "I have heard no report of the affair in Guanette at the Councilcourt, but just because it has not reached the Council does not mean the Faction is ignorant of it. If they do know, they are certain to have spies watching the gypsy greens with descriptions of you in their pockets."
"I will keep the gypsy woman out of sight and go about as a boy," I said firmly, stamping ruthlessly on a little flutter of fear in my stomach.
"Best to abandon the gypsy disguise altogether, but of course the tan would give you away," the coercer said.
"I can brew something that will fade it faster," Kella offered.
I nodded. "It would not be a bad idea to have such a mixture on hand. However, given what you have said, I doubt any gypsy would speak to me unless I was obviously one of them, so I will have to remain as I am for the present Maybe I can coerce them into thinking they know me.
Changing the subject, I told Domick how Dragon had come to Sutrium, and asked if he could send word back to Obernewtyn that she was safe.
"It will take a sevenday at least," he warned. "My reports go through Enoch and he daren't let himself be seen going up to the mountains anymore, since it's supposed to be plague-ridden and deserted. He'd be stoned if he was seen coming down for fear that he carried the disease. He'll have to wait until Ceirwan or someone calls by."
I shrugged. "Well, it can't be helped. The plague seems to have an effect on so many things."
"How was it at Obernewtyn during me plague?" Kella asked, and I realized how little she must hear of home and everyday events in Rushton's business-like missives. It would not occur to him that his spies might need to hear the small details of life in the mountains.
"It was not so bad in the highlands, but when it reached Darthnor and Guanette," I said, "we knew it would only be a matter of time before it got to us. Fortunately, before it did, Katlyn and Roland unearthed a Beforetime method of immunizing us. They used the blood of a Coercer novice, who had survived the plague, to make a potion to strengthen those who had not caught it."
Kella looked fascinated. "How was this blood potion administered? Surely you did not drink it."
"It was forced under the skin using a hollowed needle," I explained. "It caused us to contract a lesser variation of the plague and, in overcoming this, our bodies became resistant to the more virulent strain." I shuddered at the memory. Even a mild dose of the plague had been horribly unpleasant.
"Better a needle than the plague," Kella said, misunderstanding. Her expression was suddenly haunted. "It's so dirty here that people went down with the disease in the hundreds. So many died that there were not enough left to bury the dead. The corpses bloated and stank and the disease spread and spread. I blame the Herder Faction for it," she added, in sudden anger.
I was surprised. "How could the Herders cause a plague? Or do you really think Lud sent it on their behalf?"
"I didn't mean they caused it," she said. "How could they? I am sure it was nothing more than a disease born of filth and ignorance. But the Herders predicted it, so they must have had some sort of forewarning."
"Didn't they do anything to stop the disease?" I asked.
Kella gave a hard, humorless bark of laughter. "Stop it? Oh no. It was a Ludsend to them. They claimed only those hated by Lud would die." There was a terrible bitterness in her voice. "Are babies and old dodderers evil? Does Lud hate children and sick people, for they were the first to fall?"
"The strange thing is that so few of the Herders died," Domick said pensively. "It seemed to prove their claim that Lud was protecting them. They did not care at all when plague killed off the sickly and the weak, but when it began to eat up the strong, they were less delighted. After all, if everyone was killed, who would be left to be preached at?"
Kella laughed wildly. "They really started to worry when the crops were ready and there was no one to harvest them. What would they eat? Would they have to till and labor for food with their own white hands? The Council-men were panic-stricken, of course, and right from the beginning the majority of them had barricaded themselves in their homes with supplies. But still many of them died as well."
She fell silent.
"What happened in th' end?" Matthew asked, as if looking for a happy ending to a bedtime tale.
Domick answered him. "It went on and on, until half the city was dead or dying, and finally the Herders told the Council to lock up the houses of the dead and burn them with the corpses inside."
Kella gave a gagging sob. "Yes. That was their solution. They told the Council to employ the purifying flames of Lud. So the soldierguards went out, burning any house where there had been plague, and quite a few where there was nothing, whether there were people inside, or not. Dozens were burned alive."
I swallowed back an urge to vomit as Domick moved to take Kella in his arms, his expression more mask-like than ever.
"I did what I could," Kella whispered into his shoulder. "But there were so many ..."
The coercer met my eyes over her bowed head and for a moment there was a flare of some emotion in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly for me to interpret it.
"It was difficult," he said in a cool voice. "Brydda was bringing those of his people who had contracted the plague here and most arrived too late to be helped. Other times, there were so many needing healing that Kella had to choose between which life to save, and whom to let die. She almost killed herself trying to heal them all. She would not rest or eat."
"How could I rest with people dying every minute I slept? How could I eat in the midst of all that death?" she whispered.
Domick rose and led the weeping girl out, leaving me and Matthew to stare at one another.
"I dinna know it had been so bad," the farseeker said in a subdued tone.
I said nothing, for though horrified by Kella's story, I was concerned that people had been brought willy nilly to the safe house. Yet the thought gave me hope, for surely the rebels would not use it and Kella's healing skills so freely if they did not mean to ally themselves with us.
Maruman appeared from behind a cupboard and climbed into my lap again, curling himself to f
ace the fire. I was fascinated to feel his mind curling around mine in much the same fashion as his body shaped itself to my lap.
"Maruman/yelloweyes guards Elspethlnnle," he sent, as if I had posed a question.
Domick returned.
"I have coerced Kella to sleep," he said in a somber voice. His eyes met mine. "She is exhausted in body and spirit. You cannot know what it was like for her. She nearly went mad when she learned of the burnings. You must take her with you when you go. She cannot bear it."
"It doesn't seem to bother you," I said.
"I am not Kella," he responded flatly. "I am a realist. There was plague and the burnings ended it. Therefore the method worked."
"It was a brutal solution," I snapped. I did not like the coldness in his voice when he spoke of Kella, nor his apparent acceptance of the Herder Faction's murderous solutions.
"Brutal?" he said. "Perhaps. But this is a brutal world. Yet it did not endear the Faction to the Council, for all its success. Too many Councilmen died, and too few Herders."
Diverted, I frowned. "Then there is still conflict between the Faction and the Council?" I had sensed that, while inside the Herder's mind in Guanette.
Domick nodded. "There is a feeling among Councilmen that the Herders have too much hysterical power over the masses; that they are fanatical and dangerously extreme. Of course since the plague, they command the power of life and death—or so the ignorant are led to believe—so there is no question of the Council doing anything immediately to limit their power. But, I daresay, they will find a way to curb them in the end."
"Do you think the Council would ever disband them altogether?"
He shook his head decisively. "I doubt they will do more than pull a few teeth. Why bark yourself, when you can have a dog to do it? The Faction serves a purpose and the Councilmen know it. Look at them sending a pack of Herders to soften up the Sadorian tribespeople. Better to risk a few tame priests than their own precious hides."
And if the dog turns on his master?
For all that the Council imagined the Herders under their control, the Faction was an unstable body, with its own plans.
Domick stood up abruptly and reached for his cloak. "Come."
My bones ached and I was still cold, not to mention hungry, but I stood, lifting Maruman from my knee. The old cat gave me a haughty look and stalked away. I sent an apology, but he would not respond. I pulled on my sodden boots and took the cloak the coercer handed me.
"We will be back before midnight," he told Matthew.
The farseeker nodded and leaned forward, lifting both hands to the fire. I felt a stab of envy.
"Where are we going?" I asked, as we clumped down the dark stairs.
Domick's eyes glimmered in the darkness as we stepped out into the windy night, and his words were an echo out of the distant past: "You wanted to see Brydda Llewellyn, didn't you?"
IX
The streets were all but deserted as we passed through them like two shadows. Houses were sunk in darkness, but here and there were more of the blackened gaps I had noticed that afternoon. I shuddered, now understanding them in the light of Kella's story.
A woman peered out of a window at us, and I wondered whether I should have insisted we take the horses. Gahltha would be angry mat I had gone without him, but Domick had argued that we would draw more eyes on horseback man on foot. Because of a rising trade in stolen horses, few rode at night.
Even so, Gahltha had ways of defending himself that would discourage any thief.
I realized, with a shock, I had grown so accustomed to the black horse's presence that I felt curiously vulnerable without him.
A curtain twitched as we passed another window and a memory surfaced. "Is there still a curfew in Sutrium?"
Domick lifted his head as if to dispel a dream and I wondered what he had been thinking about. "There is a curfew but it does not come into effect until midnight," he said. "It is not strictly enforced because mere are worse tilings than soldierguards to contend with. Only fools asking to be robbed or murdered wander the streets after dark."
"Marvellous," I said sourly, wondering which category we fell into.
"Too many disappearances. Too many robbers," the coercer went on, as if I had not spoken. "Since the plagues and the loss of crops there is no work and little food. There are a legion of poor in the city. Some beg for their needs and others take what they want. Hard times make for hard folk."
Involuntarily I smiled, recognizing Brydda's love of neat sayings in the phrase. "One of the Black Dog's homilies?"
Domick gave me a startled look, then said defensively, "He has a way of putting things that makes them memorable. It is a fine and useful quality in a leader."
There was not the slightest flicker of humor in his voice. He had always been serious, seldom speaking more than was necessary or laughing aloud, but now it seemed to me he had built a deep wall of reserve about himself. I wanted to ask why, but something about his silence repelled intimacy. "Do you see much of Brydda?" I asked instead. The coercer gave me a wary glittering look as we passed under one of the few lighted street lanterns, and it struck me forcibly that there was something very wrong. "I see him," he said noncommittally. "How is he then?"
Domick was silent so long, I thought he meant to ignore the question, but at last he spoke.
"Superficially, he is the same as ever: brave as a lion, swift to laughter, loyal, proud and silver-tongued. But to my mind his policy of elusiveness is affecting his mind." "You mean he is going mad?" I asked, startled. Domick gave me a pale echo of a genuine smile, that fleetingly stripped ten years away from his face. "I mean it is affecting his way of thinking. He is the kind who needs to trust. He is happiest with loyal comrades constantly about him. Yet, for the sake of security, the Black Dog has chosen a lonely path."
He fell silent and I considered what he had said. No one knew better than I how loneliness tainted a person's thinking. Solitude could become an addiction; a canker of the soul, ever hungered for as much as it was loathed. All the years I had spent in the orphan home system after my parents were killed, I had kept myself apart—even from my brother Jes—fearing that someone would discover I was a Misfit. This had made it hard for me to trust or to relate to people, even when it was safe to do so. And, in spite of all the years of longing for friends, now that I had them, part of me yearned to be by myself again.
Yet, even as a child, I had been something of a loner, and in the orphan homes I had learned that friendship was dangerous. There had been too many informants among us; besides, orphans had been rotated during the Changing Times to prevent alliances. But Brydda had not learned the orphan's lesson. I could well imagine the effect enforced solitude would have on him. It saddened me to think of the laughter dimmed in the merry giant.
"What of Reuvan and Idris? Does he separate himself from them as well?" The handsome seaman and the blond boy had been his closest companions and he had brought them with him when he moved from Aborium to Sutrium.
"They? No. They are the only ones who know everything about his movements. That is a risk, and Brydda knows it, but they are what keep him sane. Yet, still, this life gnaws at him unhealthily."
"And you?" I asked impulsively. "Does it gnaw at you?"
Domick gave me a strange look, but made no response.
We fell silent as we passed an open verandah where an old woman swept her porch. She watched us go by, as if poised to run inside and bar the door. I felt her eyes following us through the rain until we passed out of sight.
We came into a street running right along beside the shore. A boardwalk was built level with the cobbled street, but the ground dropped away beneath to a narrow rocky beach which ended at the sea. Rain fell into the water with a hissing susurrus. Again, I was conscious of a strong mental static. Clearly, the water was tainted in some manner. I did not recall this from my previous visits to Sutrium. Perhaps there had been a recent firestorm?
The sea was so dark that it seemed a
s if we traveled along the rim of an abyss. This would be a good place for an attack but I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder.
Thoughts of one fear begot another for, without thinking, I asked, "Have you heard anything of Ariel lately?"
The name evoked in the coercer the same heavy silence it caused anyone who had been at Obernwtyn before Rushton became its master.
"He went to Herder Isle just before the plague struck," he said at length. "He was seen going there. It seems that he remains in the Herders' good graces, though I do not know why. They were as angry with him as the Council when the soldierguards sent to Obernewtyn found nothing. I would have expected them to cast him off as the Council did."
Ice touched my blood.
Though Rushton dismissed the Faction, concentrating his efforts on the Council, I had always felt the priests to be the more sinister body. For a time it had seemed that their day had come and gone, but the plague had turned the tide. And at this very time of changing fortunes, the demon-spawn Ariel had chosen to join them. I could not say why the thought of Ariel on Herder Isle disturbed me, but it did.
I mulled on that for a while, and old questions arose in my mind.
"You know it has always bothered me that Ariel was so certain Obernewtyn had not been destroyed by firestorm, that he sent the soldierguards," I mused, more thinking aloud than expecting an answer to this old paradox.
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