Gladdic leaned forward in the saddle, hands folded. "Sometimes we cling to that which is broken because we can't bear to part with it. But it will always be broken. Until someone finds the strength to cast it aside and build anew."
Horstad licked his lips, eyes darting to Gladdic. "You believe Collen is beyond mending."
"It can be mended. But doing so will require faith in our gods and great strength in our heart. You see, Collen is tainted. By the nether that seems a part of the people's very blood. There are times when mercy is cruelty. And there are others—such as when an injured horse is put down—when cruelty is mercy. We've been too lenient with Collen. This has led to nothing but suffering for everyone there. But there is hope on the horizon, Horstad. Today, we bring the solution of the Fifth Fountain."
Gladdic smiled at the road unwinding to the northeast. Sedwick had salved one fountain in one city; four centuries later, his name remained.
How long would Gladdic's name last when he cured an entire realm?
14
Gazing across the hill, Dante's heart squeezed tight in his chest. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."
"In that case," Blays said, "it's absolutely not a Mallish army that's most likely headed to Collen because of our meddling with the shaden."
Naran squinted ahead. "Do you think so?"
"I said it's not that. Are those flaps on the sides of your head just something you use to hang earrings from?"
Dante scanned the ranks, making a quick count. "They have less than a thousand men. They can't be intending to take Collen. The citizens would tear them apart in the street."
"They might not have many men," Blays said. "But how many of them are wearing the gray?"
After a bit of sky-gazing, Dante located a dragonfly, knocked it down with a pin of shadows, and reanimated it, sending it toward the oncoming troop. Wary of detection, he kept it some distance from the Mallish priests. But even with the man riding on horseback, he recognized the stiff posture and cadaverous face.
"They've got at least six monks and priests—and Gladdic's with them."
"Gladdic?" Naran spat. "Jona was supposed to warn us of his movements!"
"We haven't had amazing success keeping track of him ourselves," Blays said. "Although now that he's traveling in the company of an army, it might be a little easier to follow him."
Dante rattled off a length of curses colorful enough to raise Captain Naran's brow. "We have to go back."
"To Collen?" Blays said. "The place we're currently in the business of leaving?"
"We have to warn them. If the Colleners have an extra day to fortify the road up to the butte, the Mallish will never be able to break through their defenses."
"What about Gladdic?"
"He's forced our hand," Dante said. "Besides, we can turn this to our advantage. If we kill him during the attack, there will be so much confusion it won't be clear who did it."
"That's in the vicinity of reasonable. But I hope you don't mean to attack the rest of his army, too."
"The Colleners should be perfectly capable of taking care of a few hundred soldiers. They've got more experience fighting the Mallish than anyone."
"They've got experience fighting soldiers," Naran said. "But I doubt any of them has ever faced an Andrac."
Dante swore again. "All I know is that the sooner Gladdic's dead, the sooner the Andrac are gone, too. We're heading back to Collen and putting an end to this here and now."
They retreated over the hill, then broke into a run so they'd get behind the next rise before the Mallish advanced far enough to spot them. After that, they jogged, with Dante refreshing their muscles with nether when they wore down.
"How many times have we tried to leave Collen now?" Blays swept his forearm over his brow. "When we finally make it out to another city, I'm going to drink until the pub runs out of beer."
Dante nodded. "So it will be like any other day, then."
With the nether's help, they made twenty miles before their bodies insisted on real rest. They kept watch that night, but didn't see any scouts. The following day was a brain-numbing passage of walking and running. By afternoon's end, they approached the butte of Collen proper.
"How do you want to spread the alarm?" Blays said. "Cartwheels and shouting? Or were you intending to summon a magical plague of some kind?"
Dante knocked dust from the legs of his trousers. "I think it's time to see the despot."
They climbed the switchbacks to the top of the butte. Dante hadn't been to the palace before, but the keep was unmistakable, a brutal block of basalt near the north end of the city. With the Mallish as little as a day away, the three of them headed straight to the keep.
Most palaces, including the Citadel of Narashtovik, were guarded by men in trim uniforms bearing oversized, well-polished weapons. In Collen, there was no line of soldiers to either side of the gate, but inside the keep's outer walls, fighters trained outside a shrine, black ribbons tied around their elbows. A few glanced Dante's way without breaking their practice.
The keep had so little ornamentation that the observer's eye was commanded by the few touches it did possess. Upthrust fists were carved into the stone beneath the windows and buttresses. A gold banner hung above the doors, its field emblazoned with a black shock of wheat and one of the warriors' wheels.
Dante swung open one of the bronze doors, releasing the smell of incense and bread, and entered a high hall. Seeing no one, he walked forward. He hadn't made it three steps before a slim man in a dapper black vest barged through a side door and strode straight toward him.
The man stopped in front of him, blond hair slicked back from his forehead. "May I help you?"
"We're here to see the despot," Dante said. He fumbled for and found the name. "Jodd the Half-Footed."
The corner of the man's mouth twitched. "Do you have an appointment?"
"That won't be necessary."
"Do you mean to say that Despot Jodd's time is of so little value that it can be claimed by anyone off the street?"
"I mean to say—"
The man shook his head, guiding Dante back to the doors. His fingers hardly rested on Dante's shoulder, yet he had the particular quality of most upper-level servants and majordomos, where it required an act of high will to not go wherever his touch guided you.
The man's voice was hard enough to split lumber. "And now that you see you can't waste the despot's time, you waste mine instead. Out."
Dante planted his feet and turned to stare the man in the eye. "You waste my time, sir. And when Despot Jodd learns whose time you've been wasting, he'll throw you off the edge of Justice Falls."
The official rocked back on his heels. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Your name, sir?"
"I am Dante Galand, High Priest of Arawn. And I'm here to warn your ruler of a Mallish invasion."
In an attempt to match the highly revered earthers, most Colleners sported deep tans. This servant was unusually pale, however—and hearing Dante's words, he went as ghostly white as a Gaskan. "Please, milord. Wait right here."
He turned on his heel and nearly ran from the room.
Blays chuckled. "You enjoy pulling rank, don't you?"
Dante found a chair and sat. "It's just a tool."
"A mallet's only a tool, too. It's still a hell of a lot of fun to pound things into the ground with it."
The official returned a minute later. He bowed low, a blond lock coming unstuck from his slicked hair. "The despot wishes to see you, milord. He asks for but a minute of time first."
"Of course."
The man smiled tightly and led them up a carpeted staircase to an antechamber. Voices murmured beyond the inner door. Dante expected to wait for some time. In Royalese, "a minute" lost all temporal bounds; sixty seconds could stretch on for two hundred minutes. Yet in no more than three minutes, the antechamber door swung open and the black-vested official ushered them inside.
The walls of the despot's high room were lined w
ith warrior's wheels. Rather than being shiny and bright, they were scratched and pitted from use. A long table took up most of the room. A fireplace and chairs occupied the far end.
So did a man with a gold cloak draped over the burly shoulders of a farmer. Dante approached. The man stood from his chair. He was bearded, graying, his eyes pale blue. His cheeks and brow were etched with scars.
"Dante Galand." His voice was a gravelly tenor. "I'd heard you were in my city. What a kindness to finally introduce yourself."
"My manners have been even worse than I normally allow them to be," Dante said. "This was never intended to be an official visit."
"Came incognito, did you? To take in the sights of Collen without the pressure of courtly duties?"
"I came to investigate a serious matter. This would have been compromised if I'd operated under my own name."
The despot sighed. "I gathered it was something like that. Even so, I was disappointed I didn't get to hear about Narashtovik from you."
"Why would you be interested in Narashtovik?"
"You took one run-down city and used it to dismantle an empire that had stood for hundreds of years. A topic so obscure only a scholar could love it, I'm sure, but I thought I might be able to somehow apply it to my situation here."
Dante chuckled. "I'd be happy to tell you more shortly. Before I can forget my manners again, these are my friends, Blays Buckler of Narashtovik and Pocket Cove. And this is Captain Naran, of…"
"Wherever the tradewinds take me," Naran finished.
"Five days ago, we left Collen for Bressel. Two days ago, we almost ran right into a Mallish army. They'll be here by tomorrow night. Their force is less than a thousand strong, but it's headed by ethermancers. Including an especially dangerous man named Gladdic."
"Ronn," the despot said mildly. "Get me my generals."
The official bowed low and exited the room. Despot Jodd strolled to a table by the wall, pouring four glasses of dark wine from a copper jug.
"Sounds like we've got talking to do," he said. "Let's sit."
The chairs were unpadded wood, but the wine was among the best Dante had tasted, black cherries and smoke. Jodd, however, seemed to take no satisfaction from the quality of his drink. He leaned forward in his chair, shoulders hunched, running his finger around the rim of the glass.
"I've done everything they've asked," he said. "Even when I thought my spleen would tear loose from my body in pique, I obeyed. And I was a fool. When the king's men come to tell you the new rules, bowing low doesn't buy you any leniency. It only displays how soft your neck is."
Dante set down his glass. "The type of person who wants to rule is also the type who wants to spit in a conquering king's face. But the type of person who deserves to rule remembers the thousands of lives who depend on your wisdom to keep them safe. If I wore your crown, I'd want to defy Mallon, too. But I expect I'd bow every bit as low."
Jodd laughed wryly. "That's the worst part of the job, isn't it? Before you've got it, you think you'll change the world. Lift your sword high and spill so much royal blood that next year's wheat grows blue. Then you take the cape. And you feel the weight."
"At least you've only got a few more years on the throne before the next election." Blays jerked his thumb at Dante. "This poor fool signed up for life."
Dante took a large drink. "You don't shoulder all the blame for the arrival of the Mallish. We may have had something to do with that, too."
Jodd snorted. "Your attack on Cobb's Fort. Reassure me that was necessary?"
"Define 'necessary,'" Blays said.
"It took a powerful weapon out of Gladdic's hands," Dante said. "One that would have been turned on Collen in time."
Jodd had already received most of the details following their public trial, so Dante filled him in on the rest.
After, Jodd sighed through his nose. "These must be very important dealings, given that I don't understand half of them. But I know enough to know where I stand. Thank you for provoking the Mallish into marching."
"You're thanking us?" Blays said. "I was afraid there was a good chance this meeting would end with a frank exchange of swords."
"Then you must not know the history of Cobb's Fort. I won't hold it against you, since Collen's military historians are the busiest people in the basin. Three hundred years back—or was it was four?—Mallon sieged Cobb's Fort. Rather than losing even more lives, the defenders chose to surrender. But when the Mallish entered the city, they massacred everyone there.
"So when Gladdic's people dug up those bones, they weren't only digging up our dead. They were digging up people they'd betrayed and massacred." Jodd stood, his face going red except for the pale lines of his scars. He pointed to the southwest. "They want to march on my city? Good. Because I'm itching to wash my hands in their blood."
As they moved on to their second cup of wine, the doors swung open. Ronn held them wide for four women and eight men. Most of them were at least middle aged, but even the elderly among them looked as fit as the warriors drilling inside the keep's walls. Each wore a different-colored ribbon on their elbow.
"Gentlemen," Jodd said. "These are my generals."
Introductions followed, which went in one of Dante's ears and out the other. He was far more interested in the fact that each general was head priest of one of the city's twelve shrines of the Celeset, in personal command of a legion of soldiers. In Mallon and Gask, the priesthood was separated from the military. Even in Narashtovik, which was ruled by a council of priests, the military ran its own command structure.
In Collen, however, war was as much a part of basic life as religion.
Jodd told his generals that a small army was on the way. That its intent was unknown. Some looked upset by the news, but others bore it with a stoicism that bordered on serenity.
"You don't bring an army unless you're ready for a fight," Jodd concluded to his generals. "After what they did at Cobb's Fort, I'm ready to fight back. Question is, are you?"
They made a quick tally of hands. The count was nine in favor and three opposed.
The despot grinned wolfishly. "Then the city will be closed to them. They want inside? They'll have to climb a staircase of their own dead."
Blays screwed up his face. "You vote to go to war?"
"I know you kings, queens, and mighty priests get to wave your hand, invoke your god, and do whatever the hell you like. One man decides the fate of tens of thousands? Doesn't seem so divine to me."
"What happens if you disagree with the vote?"
"A lot of yelling." The generals got a good laugh from that. Jodd grew sober. "You came to warn us. You might have saved us. But if it comes down to it, will you stand on the front lines with us?"
"We can't wade into battle with you," Dante said. "I can't put my own people at risk like that. But if Gladdic moves on the city, I'll make sure he won't walk away."
"I don't like the news you brought," Jodd said. "But I thank you for bringing it. I have much to discuss with my generals. You're welcome to stay in the palace."
Ronn showed them out and brought them to their guest quarters. After the last days of hard travel, Dante longed for a bath. Instead, he walked straight to the Reborn Shrine and asked Hodd to see the Keeper. After a few minutes, Treader arrived to escort him downstairs.
"The Andrac," Dante told the old woman. "There may be one in this city within two days. Have you found anything to help me fight it?"
"There is nothing," she croaked. "Except one mention in a scroll with no author and no date. It is said: 'When the shadows came, and took man's shape, Gott lifted his sword, shining, and drove the beast into the mists.'"
"That's it? He whacked it with his sword, and no more demon? But how?"
The old woman shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I can't give you what I don't have."
Dante started to swear, then caught himself, uncertain if she was the type to be offended by hard language. "When I get home, I'm going to tell my scholars to write dow
n every detail they ever hear, no matter how tedious. Somewhere in the future, it's going to save someone a lot of trouble."
He read the scroll for himself, but there was nothing else remotely related to the Star-Eaters.
"Please keep searching," he asked the Keeper before he left.
"It is searched," she said. "If Andrac come, you'll have to find weapons of your own."
Night had fallen, but on his way back through the city, the streets thronged with people. Word had spread. Many were on their way to the trail down from the butte, looking to find safety in the countryside, desolate though it was. Others packed themselves into shops to buy dry goods and supplies. Few faces showed signs of panic. Rather, most bore the annoyed look of someone whose plans have been disrupted by an unplanned errand.
In the morning, Dante awake to the news that Jodd's scouts had found the Mallish camped a half day's march from the butte. Outside, the streets bustled as the army made its way across the plain. Soldiers gathered around the road leading down from the butte. Archers drilled on bales of hay. Most of the infantry carried swords and short spears, but gold-banded warrior-monks drilled with wheels, shafts clacking, their sandals kicking up dust.
As Dante watched, Cord glanced his way. She stepped back from her sparring partner, pressed the tip of her thumb to her brow in Collenese salute, and jogged toward Dante.
"Do you come to fight?" she said. "Or are you just here to watch while others fight for you?"
"Seems to me like if I don't join in, more of you will have the chance to die on Mallish blades. Isn't that what you want most?"
The tall woman closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "I dream of it. Sometimes, I can smell it. But why hurry? Some day, the Mallish will kill me. Until then, I mean to kill as many of them as I can." She grinned and clapped his shoulder. "That way, when they send me to face Arawn, I'll have company!"
Dante blinked. "You believe that when you die, you'll stand before Arawn? Not Taim?"
"Don't you?"
The Silver Thief Page 21
