Beyond the Prophecy (29 page)

Veleus paced across the Temple garden and back, eyes taking
in only the crushed shells of the path. He knew the members of the High Council
could be stubborn—none better. Heh! And wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle
black? But at least he could see what was right in front of his nose. He’d
never expected the Council to refuse to see the truth. Even when he pointed it
out. They didn’t want to acknowledge it, so they just pretended it didn’t
exist. But that wasn’t going to solve any problems. What could he
do
about it, though?

It wasn’t just the Festival, although that was bad enough.
But the kind of disorder and loss of faith that would follow played directly
into whatever Gerusa’s long-term plans were. Veleus had a sinking feeling she
was counting on it.

“Father?”

Veleus looked up at the familiar voice. “Ah, Cestus. Hello.”

“What are you doing here?”

Veleus sighed and twitched his shoulders. “Just a bit of
thinking.” He sank down on the nearest bench. “The Festival is going to be a
disaster. The High Council simply refuse to see reason. They’re clinging so
hard to our past that I’m afraid they’re going to break it.”

“Surely they’re not going to attempt to go ahead with the
full Festival without either Gerusa or Vatar?” Cestus asked.

Veleus snorted. “No. They have that much sense, at least.
Once I finally managed to drive it into Montibeus’s thick skull that we’re not
getting any additional help this year. Vatar’s not even here. And, after the
fiasco with young Theklan last year, I don’t think either Vatar or Thekila
would be disposed to help anyway.” Yes. And that was mostly Montibeus’s own
fault. Why had he ever thought things would be easier without Gerusa around?
The man’s motives might be better, but the results of his actions were every
bit as disastrous.

Veleus shook his head to clear it of those unhelpful thoughts.
“The fool was even talking about trying to recruit help from our Valson
guests—until I explained to him about their Tenets. We can’t afford to alienate
them over this. We need to convince the Valson to send help against the Exiles
or we won’t be getting grain or wood from Tysoe at all next year. That’d be far
worse in the long run than missing the Festival.”

Cestus sat on the opposite bench. “What are they going to
do, then? About the Festival?”

“We’ll scale it back, as Vatar suggested. Down to those Council
Members who can manage their own Transformations and the one or two extra that
Montibeus and I can manage.” Veleus looked up to meet Cestus’s eyes. “But
what’s going to happen in the city when only half the usual number of Sea Gods
show up for the Festival? That’s never happened in our history.”

Cestus breathed out in relief. “Possibly . . . not much. I
think you should come with me, Father.”

“Where?”

“I’m just on my way to meet with the Guild Masters. Not for
the first time. Among other things, we’ve been constructing a strategy about
how to handle the inevitable issues with this year’s Festival.”

Veleus sat back in alarm. “You’ve told them about that?”

Cestus made a small negating gesture. “Only that there are
certain . . . organizational difficulties, caused by our ongoing disagreements.
I haven’t said anything about the Lie. And I don’t intend to.” After a moment,
Cestus added. “Come. We could use your expertise and insights.”

Veleus shook his head. “I don’t know. The High Council—”

“Father,” Cestus interrupted. “Except for you and Boreala,
the High Council is a moribund institution. It can’t possibly maintain power
much longer. I’ve come to realize that the future—and the solution for Caere’s
current problems—lies with the guilds, not the High Council. Come with me. Be a
part of that future.”

Veleus hesitated. But . . . wasn’t this exactly what Vatar
had recommended? To talk to the guilds and let them help deal with this
problem? Vatar—a part of both worlds—was surely the best equipped to make that
suggestion. And Veleus was running out of options to ward off this disaster. He
heaved himself to his feet. “All right. Can’t hurt to try.”

As they walked, Veleus asked, “So, what else have you been
talking to the guilds about?”

Cestus cast him a sidelong glance. “The possibility of
starting a Teachers’ Guild to educate the other guilds’ apprentices.”

“You’ve given up on working with the High Council, then?”

Cestus shrugged. “It’s been a year. With next to nothing to
show for it. Do you really think the High Council is
ever
going to agree
to any substantive change?”

Veleus sighed. “A year ago, I hoped so. Now . . .”

Cestus nodded. “I barely had to mention my desire to open a
school for Caereans. The Guild Masters practically jumped on the idea. They’ve done
more than half the work of planning for the new guild. It’s . . . liberating,
exhilarating to work with people who are actually excited about change, not
terrified of it.”

Veleus strode out a little quicker. “That would be . . .
novel.”

Cestus led him through the Smiths’ Guildhall without being
challenged and with enough confidence to prove that he’d been here more than
once before. When they reached the central chamber set up for a guild council,
the Guild Masters greeted Cestus warmly, casting curious glances toward Veleus.

“This is my father, High Councilor Veleus. He has
information about the Festival.” Cestus proceeded to introduce the various
assembled Guild Masters.

The Smiths’ Guild Master sent for another chair and invited
Veleus to join them. “So, what are the plans for the Festival?”

Veleus drew a deep breath. “Well, it appears that we won’t
be able to . . . present the usual full number of Sea Gods.”

The Merchants’ Guild Master waved this off. “That can be
managed. Depending. Which of the Gods will grace us this year?”

Veleus began ticking off on his fingers, organizing his
thoughts. “Celeus, of course. Tabeus. Calpe.” Boreala would be Calpe, same as
last year. He always portrayed Tabeus himself, and managed Amaurea’s
Transformation as Celeus. Those were obvious.

“Good so far,” the Smiths’ Guild Master said with a nod.

Veleus continued marshalling the roster in his head.
Montibeus always played the part of his illustrious ancestor. “Abrastus—”

The Weavers’ Guild Master snorted. “Why’d we have to have
him
?”

Veleus paused. “Why
not
him. Abrastus established the
Temple—”

“No one in the city cares about him,” the Merchants’ Guild
Master interrupted. “No one—well, almost no one—would even notice if he didn’t
show up.”

Veleus blinked, wondering how Montibeus would react to that
assessment of his ancestor. “Well, who would you suggest?”

“Can you make a change?” The Smiths’ Guild Master asked.

“I can certainly make suggestions,” Veleus offered.

“Well, then, Dacoreus,” the Merchants’ Guild Master said.

Veleus nodded judiciously. Hmm. The Fasallon who had
outfitted a fleet of ships and sailed up and down the coast, founding the
cities that were now Caere’s trade partners. Made sense that the merchants
would choose him, now that he thought of it. It was one of the Transformations
Gerusa used to handle, but Montibeus
could
do it, if he didn’t have to
be Abrastus. “I think that would be possible.”

“And Farlene,” the Weavers’ Guild Master added.

Whose gift for taming animals had led to the first woolen
cloth in Caere, Veleus reflected. Hmm. Montibeus usually managed that as a
second-level Transformation. So she would have been on his list anyway. “Yes.
Who else?” Veleus looked around the table. They might, depending, be able to
manage one or two more. More than that and they could run into trouble.

No one else spoke up.

“Not . . . Abella?” She’d have been Veleus’s next choice
after Abrastus, due to her importance to the Fasallon, but no one here had
mentioned her.

The Fishermen’s Guild Master waved that off. “No one would
miss her either. So long as Celeus is here, his wife can stay home for all
we’ll notice.”

Wife? Abella was Celeus’s mother-in-law, not his wife.
Veleus
bit his tongue to keep from saying so. He wasn’t sure just what was taught to
the Caereans these days.

Veleus listened with interest as the Guild Council—and
Cestus—worked through a few other items, including a plan to prepare their
guild members for the scaled-down Festival.

As he and Cestus walked back toward the Temple, Veleus
asked. “Are they really teaching that Abella was Celeus’s wife, not his
mother-in-law?”

Cestus shrugged. “Yes. If we say she’s his mother-in-law
that begs the question who his wife is. Then we’d have to explain that Adira
died in childbirth. And that’s not very . . . godlike.”

“I see.” Veleus walked on for a few paces in silence. “The
Guild Masters aren’t quite what I would have expected. Not much like the High
Council at all.”

Cestus nodded. “They’re practical men. And doing well for
their members is how they maintain their power. They’ve been managing
day-to-day matters in Caere for a long time. If the Fasallon had been trying to
do all of that . . . well, things would have fallen apart a quite a while ago.”

Veleus could only agree. “So, tell me about the plans for your
Teachers’ Guild.”

Selene shut the door of her apartment behind her. She sat
down in the nearest chair and took several deep breaths before reaching out
with Far Speech. She was fairly sure Mother wasn’t going to like what she had
to say.
“Mother?”

“Yes, Selene. You’re late with your report.”

Selene ignored the reproof. There were larger things afoot
.
“I’ve just been to an organizational meeting for the Festival.”

“So, they’re planning to try to pull it off without me after
all.”
Mother’s gloating was tinged with anger.

“Yes. And no. They’re going to present a reduced number
of Sea Gods. And Abella isn’t one of them.”

“What? Why not? Especially with you ready to play the
part.”

“Apparently Veleus talked to someone in the city. The
rest of the High Council aren’t too happy about that, by the way. According to
him, the guilds will make assurances about the adequacy of the Festival if we
present their choice of Sea Gods.”

“The impudence! How dare they dictate to
us!
”
Mother lapsed into incoherence for a few moments.
Selene had the distinct impression she was using the same calming exercises
Selene had employed just a few moments ago. Finally, her mother’s voice asked,
“Which
Sea Gods will be in the procession?”

Selene had been prepared for this question.
“Celeus,
Taleus—”

“Both handled by Veleus,”
Mother interrupted.

“Calpe—”

“Portrayed by Boreala again, no doubt.”

Selene continued.
“Dacoreus—”

“I always managed the Dacoreus Transformation,”
Gerusa interjected.

“And Farlene,”
Selene finished.

“Which was always one of Montibeus’s Transformations.”

“Right,”
Selene said.
“Montibeus was furious that
the Caereans didn’t want Abrastus. Veleus barely managed to talk him into
Dacoreus.”

“Hmm. Which leaves Veleus doing the same Transformations
he’s always done. Boreala doing the one she’s most familiar with. And Montibeus
having to make an unwelcome change.”

There was another long pause. Selene got a distinct
impression of satisfaction from her mother.

“A rift between Veleus and Montibeus is very much to our
purpose,”
Gerusa continued at length.
“And between Veleus and the rest
of the High Council. Especially as we put our own plans into motion. But you
must still guarantee that this year’s Festival will fail,
Precious
.
Our fleet is already on its way to Caere, staying to the outside of the barrier
islands. They only await my word that the city is ready to welcome us. We need
the upheaval that will ensue when the Festival fails.”

“How? If I’m not to portray Abella—even though I
could—what can I do?”

“Pay a visit to Montibeus. Offer to manage Farlene’s
Transformation instead. That will keep you in the procession. Then the plan
goes forward just the same.”

“I haven’t practiced Farlene,”
Selene objected.

“It won’t be that difficult. She was Abella’s niece,
after all. There is a family resemblance. You can do this. You have to do
this.”

Selene drew in a deep breath.
“All right.”

Vatar scouted ahead and to the north, seeking a course that
would bring them to waterholes where they could stop roughly at noon and again
for the night. To the north, here, the land was dry and hard. The only
waterholes were scattered nearer the river than he wanted to go. But there was
no getting around the fact that their horses needed water, and so did they.

Reluctantly, he turned his horse southward. Yes, lightning
blast it, there was a waterhole, almost exactly where they needed it to
be—except that it would take them back within sight of the river. And whoever
was patrolling this shore. Well, it couldn’t be helped for today. Hopefully
tomorrow would take them northward, away from the river and far away from
Kausalya. He was closer now than Vatar liked.

He turned back to the slower-moving group of merchants being
shepherded by Arcas. When he was near enough, he shouted and waved to catch
Arcas’s attention and pointed back toward the waterhole. Arcas turned the group
in the new direction as Vatar continued on to rejoin them, still scanning the
far horizon for a better option.

Vatar slowed his horse, twitching his shoulders against a
prickling sense of danger. From what? Arcas shouted and pointed madly back in
the direction Vatar had just come, back toward the river. Vatar reined his
horse back and turned to look. Sky above and earth below! At least a dozen
riders, all uniformed like the ones they’d seen yesterday, galloped toward him
out of the very waterhole he’d been about to lead the others to. He wheeled his
horse and spurred it into a gallop, waving Arcas and the others to do the same.

Vatar didn’t look back again, his attention fixed on guiding
his horse. His pursuers’ horses were fresh and his wasn’t. Not with all the
riding back and forth ahead of his party that he’d been doing. He’d need every
bit of that small head start to keep ahead of them, never mind catch up to his
companions who were widening their lead even now. Good.

A shout from behind and the
thunk
of an arrow striking the ground to his right. Too close. Either that was a
lucky shot or someone in this group was a better shot than whoever had shot at
him yesterday. Vatar leaned further forward, urging his tired horse to go
faster. His back, fully exposed, itched with anticipation of the next shot.

Use your shield,
Taleus advised. Vatar gritted his
teeth. Part of him wanted the protection of that shield at his back, keeping
the arrows from striking him. But the shield drew its power from Thekila. And
Thekila was pregnant and far away, where he couldn’t protect her. How much
would that drain harm or endanger her or their unborn daughter? No, the risk
was too great. He turned his heels in to encourage the horse to greater speed.
The last pursuers had turned back as soon as he got far enough away from the
river. That was his best hope, now, too.

Up ahead, he saw Arcas cut loose one of the string of
remounts he led. A fresher horse,
if
Vatar could catch up to it before
those Kausalyans—or whoever they were—caught him. Unlikely. Herd instinct kept
the freed horse running along with its companions. Still, he had to try. He
leaned forward still further, willing his horse to run as if a pride of lions
was behind it.

For a moment it seemed to be working. Another
thunk
, meatier this time. Vatar’s heart beating in rhythm
with the horse’s hooves, nearly choked him with its sudden leap. A squeal and a
stumble. The arrow had struck his horse in the haunch, not him. Vatar’s breath
escaped explosively. The horse kicked out in protest. Vatar tightened his knees
to stay on. He wasn’t dead yet.

He soon would be, though, unless he did something fast. His
horse was already faltering, though it tried to keep running. It wouldn’t go
much farther. Vatar loosened the straps that held his spear tight to the saddle
and leaped off, pulling the spear with him. There were too many of them to
fight even on horseback. Well, he’d used this very spear to kill a Forest
tiger. Far more formidable than any man. He still had one of the tiger’s teeth,
as long as his hand. And the hide, currently spread out as a rug back in Caere.

With that spear he might get, oh, three of them before the
others took him down. But maybe, just maybe, if he took those three out fast
enough, he’d scare the others off. It was a fool’s hope, but all he had.

He spared one look to see that Arcas and the others were
well out of range. Even if he couldn’t save himself, maybe he could give them
enough time to get away. That wasn’t such a fool’s hope, at least.

He twisted around to face his pursuers as they galloped up.
Four of the riders had spurred far ahead of the others, despite the shouted
orders of their leader. Three of them slowed to rejoin their companions. One
kept on. Overeager, thinking Vatar defenseless.

Vatar suppressed a desire to grin. This might offer him a
second chance. If he could just get that first fellow out of his saddle and
manage to catch the horse, swing up himself and ride hard—at least until they
shot this horse out from under him, too. Tricky move. Worth a try, anyway.

Vatar grounded the butt of his lance, as Ariad had done
once, hunting forest tigers. He angled the point to take the rider in the
shoulder, with luck, and waited for the horse’s own momentum to do the rest.
The other man rode straight on. At the last moment, the rider tried to bat
Vatar’s spear out of the way with his own. Might have worked against a lighter
spear. Or one that wasn’t anchored against the ground. All he succeeded in
doing was to move the point much closer to the center of the rider’s body than
Vatar had intended.

Vatar felt the shock as the point entered the other man’s
chest, but the ground absorbed most of it. He kept the spear butt solidly on
the ground, but allowed the point to swing with the continued momentum,
flinging the man off. That one wouldn’t get up again. No time to think about
that.

Suddenly bereft of guidance, the now-
riderless
horse started to slow, but not enough. A well-trained Dardani horse would have
stopped the moment it felt its rider leave the saddle. Vatar snatched at the
saddle and leapt, landing awkwardly. Through long habit, his body tried to find
its balance, even without the stirrups. In another moment, Vatar would spur the
horse back to a gallop.

First, though, he had to swing his spear to parry the blow
of the next rider to catch up to him. Vatar’s spear sheared through the shaft
of his opponent’s spear. But the move threw him further off balance.
Windmilling
his arms, Vatar slid off the far side of his
horse. He landed hard, his own spear spinning from his hand and into the grass.

Vatar surged to his feet, reaching for his Dardani long
knife. A ring of riders surrounded him, spears pointed at his torso. With a
sigh, he raised his hands away from the weapon.

One of his captors looked to the north, where Arcas and the
others were little more than a dust cloud. “I don’t think we can catch the rest
of them, Captain.”

The one whose spear Vatar had cut off, evidently the
captain, shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He pointed at Vatar’s chest with
what was left of his spear shaft. “
This
is the one Councilor Gerusa
wants, or I don’t know anything. Dark hair, Fasallon grey eyes, but muscular
like a blacksmith.” He used the spear shaft to push aside the collar of Vatar’s
tunic. “And tattooed like a barbarian. Yep. This has to be Vatar.” He glanced
at the empty end of the shaft and gestured for one of his men to bring him
Vatar’s dropped spear, which he examined carefully. “Nice spear. I think I’ll
keep this one in exchange for the one you destroyed.”

Vatar gritted his teeth, but said nothing. There wasn’t
anything he could do about it now. One of the men recaptured the horse Vatar
had tried to escape on. They tied his hands behind his back and loaded him onto
the saddle like a sack of grain.

“Just you behave, hear,” the Captain said. “Councilor Gerusa
wants you alive, but she didn’t say anything about your condition otherwise.
Wouldn’t take much for the men to decide to pay you back for what you did to
Robus.”

There wasn’t much else Vatar could do, except think. They
were taking him to Gerusa. And she’d evidently known he was in the vicinity and
sent them out to find him specifically. How had she known that? There weren’t
above a dozen people who knew—and half of them were still riding north as fast
as their horses could carry them.