Obsidian (14 page)

Gair’s nerves, already frayed, caused him to jump at the sudden announcement. “What is it this time?”

“Another human, sir. About ten yards through the trees.”

“Ulanese?” His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Her smell is difficult to place.”

“Another her?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gair drew his sword and approached the trees carefully. Ragger dismounted again, placing the child between the protective front paws of the voyoté before he drew his own weapon. Together, they pushed through the leaves until they saw a woman standing in a small clearing. It was Verial.

She looked thin, torn, and even wilder than when Gair had seen her last. Her clothes, which were only rags, were supplemented by bits of small animal pelts, rudely dissected. She clutched a knife and there was blood under her fingernails.

“My lady, what are you doing here? How did you get here?” Gair couldn’t decide if he was relieved or angry to see her. When he hastened to cover her rags with his cloak, she only flinched away from him. She had come close to cursing Kynell the last time he had seen her—had she decided to return to Obsidian?

“I. . .it’s my own business. I stole a voyoté. It ran off. I. . .I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

He looked at her small knife and thin arms, and tried not to smile at the thought of her protecting him. Ragger, meanwhile, retreated to tend to the child.

“Kynell kept me safe.”

She flinched again, but did not respond.

He waved a hand in the direction of the gate. “You didn’t follow me in there, did you?”

She shook her head, causing matted blonde strands to fall around her face. “No, I couldn’t. I saw those horrible creatures and hid.” She dropped her gaze.

Now that he knew why she was there, he wanted to comfort her, to put his arms around her and tell her that Kynell could defeat all of Zyreio’s efforts with a word. But of course he could not. Instead, he offered her his cloak again, which she took. “You did well to hide.
We
hid. I fear the Easterners are brutal.”

She nodded. “I’ve seen them before, a long time ago, at a distance.”

Gair grimaced. He had allowed himself to forget her age. Of course she would have been seen the battles of Advocates past.

“Is there anything we need to know about them?”

“They don’t eat and they don’t sleep. They’re constantly tormented by their own anger. They only do Zyreio’s bidding, which usually means they destroy whatever is in their path.”

“So we don’t stand a chance.”

“No.”

Her resignation, so evident and habitual, galvanized him. They may not have a chance, but they had to try. Besides, Kynell was more powerful than Zyreio. He voiced this observation, but Verial only shrugged and followed him back to camp.

Her meekness disappeared, however, when she saw the child.

“What is that thing?”

“A child. What else could it be?”

“Where did you get it?”

“Ragger found her among the Ulanese dead. The Easterners must have missed her, or else not considered her worth their time.”

She eyed the sleeping infant as if it would bite her. “Yes, but why did you bring it with you?”

He looked at her, not comprehending the question.

“I assume that you want return to Lascombe to warn them about those fiends. A child will only slow you down.”

He mounted his voyoté, not liking where this conversation was going. “And what do you suggest we do with her?” The child in question had woken up and started to cry. Ragger offered her some mashed fruit.

She would not relent. Rather, her voice took on a tone that Gair never thought he would hear from her. She began to whine. “Better to let it perish as the Easterners intended. At least then it would be spared suffering. And you would be free to do what you think you ought.”

He could not believe what he was hearing. In his wildest, most carefree moments, he had thought about taking this woman as his wife. Praise Kynell that he had not done so!

“My lady, need I remind you that the child is a ‘she,’ not an ‘it’? And my duty to Kynell is to help those in need. Can you conceive of any creature more in need than this abandoned child?”

She retreated into a resentful silence and he had no desire to argue further. “If you care to join us, my voyoté can carry two. But we must hurry. The Easterners already have half a day on us.”

__________

The Easterners thrashed rather than marched, but they thrashed consistently in same the direction. They passed many villages on the road, much to the terror of the inhabitants. Fortunately, the villagers, unless they happened to catch the eye of a tortured soldier or ravenous fennel, were in no imminent danger. Somehow the writhing mass kept close ranks and therefore made good time. The army appeared to have only one destination in mind: Lascombe, Kynell’s city.

It was only by changing voyoté at every town and sleeping while mounted that Sedgar, Reyn, and Merto were able to keep ahead of it. As they shifted in their saddles, they wondered if their warning would do any good. The creatures had appeared unstoppable. Walls and gates were little hindrance to them, as Windrell had shown. They tried to warn people as they passed, but it was news that no one was ready to receive. Nor did they have time to explain it. It was if a tidal wave were roaring through the Trmak desert; how do you tell creatures who have never seen more than a stream of water that a wall of it was coming?

In the end, Reyn decided to tell them that the Cylini were attacking. It was a ridiculous lie, but years of Relgaré’s wars against the Cylini tribes had fired the Keroulians’ imagination into paranoia about the marsh dwellers. It was not hard to convince his hearers to flee while they still could.

It was the three men’s good fortune that even they did not know the truth of who marched in the middle of that army. He was the only one of the thousands around him who looked untroubled. He surveyed his forces from the back of a common voyoté. He knew many things, though not everything. Of course he knew that three soldiers were racing ahead of him like hunted prey. And of course he knew that Verial had followed Gair in a pathetic chase. What he did not know was what his opponent’s next move would be. Kynell’s plans were hidden from him. And that traitor Amarian was so covered by the Prysm’s protection that he looked like a wall of light. Zyreio could no more decipher the movements of his own Advocate than he could those of that Prysm slave. Indeed, when it came to any Prysmite, his vision consisted of illuminated splotches. At best he could tell where on Rhyvelad they were moving about. At worst, their brilliance seared his vision altogether.

He sighed, and the air around him shivered. If only that useless, fickle woman had stayed where she belonged—at least he could have gleaned some information from her. But that was no matter. He had trumped the Prysm before and he would defeat it again. Except this time, he was tired of Kynell’s game. When he became victorious, he would be victorious for eternity. The days of the ten thousand scores were over. Zyreio was tired of cycles.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A few days after the Easterners left the gates of Windrell, Telenar reached Lascombe with his small force. They had parted with Vancien and Amarian at the outskirts of town, leaving them in the care of a loyal old friend of Chiyo’s. The brothers were not happy about the arrangement, but neither were they prepared to meet with Corfe. Vancien, in particular, was content to wait. He preferred to encounter the usurper with the risen Prysm army at his back.

Telenar wanted to present himself to Corfe as soon as possible and get the unsavory meeting over with. He did not even allow N’vonne time to brush the dust from the road before he was pounding on the palace gate—or rather, glaring at a palace guard who did not share his sense of urgency.

“Sorry, priest. The Advocate is occupied today.”

Telenar felt N’vonne give his hand a reassuring squeeze. He looked towards her, hoping to draw from her patience. What he saw were the Sentries behind her, guarding the streets of Lascombe as if they were native Keroulians. How Rhyvelad was changing. He was glad now that he had left all the Cylini troops outside the city walls and let the other men return to their families. There was no sense in provoking an unnecessary fight. He turned his attention back to the guard.

“Listen, I must speak with him. Tell him my name is Telenar pa Saauli. He will recognize that.”

But the human guard was unmoved. “Sir, I don’t have direct access to the Advocate. And I can’t leave my post to relay your message.”

“Can’t you call a courier or something?” N’vonne asked. “It’s a matter of the city’s security.”

“Sorry, ma’am. That’s not my concern.”

Telenar was just about to ask how it was possible that the security of Lacombe was not the soldier’s concern when he felt Chiyo move to stand next to him. Not being sure of his reception, the general had kept a low profile up to that point. Now he stepped forward with affronted authority. “I am General Chiyo. What’s your rank and name, soldier?”

The guard was still unmoved. He must have been one of Amarian’s men. “Ensign Henny. I’ve never heard of any Chiyo, but since you say you’re a general, I’ll call over my sergeant.”

He gave a short whistle. Then they waited for a few minutes until a corpulent fellow with short bristly hair burst through the thick door Henny was blocking. “Henny, if you whistle at me one more time, I’ll have you sleeping with the Sentries! Doesn’t that thick block head of yours know how to use a courier?”

Henny was unrepentant. “Sorry, sir, but I didn’t see one about. This man here,” he waved a lazy hand toward Chiyo, “says he’s a general. Chiyo, was it?”

The sergeant was clearly more aware of recent events than his subordinate. When he saw Chiyo’s face and heard his rank, his hand snapped up in a salute. “General Chiyo! We thought the marshes got you!”

“No, the marshes did not ‘get me,’ as you say,” Chiyo retorted, brushing past the sergeant into the hallway beyond. Telenar and N’vonne followed, slamming the door shut on the offensive ensign. “And I should say that my men’s subsequent concern for my welfare was lacking to the extreme. Since when do we leave whole battalions unaccounted for out in the field?”

The sergeant, who of course had nothing to do with Chiyo’s predicament at the time, still rose to the bait.

“I’m sorry, sir! I truly am! We none of us could stir a finger under ol’ King Relgaré, not with that Hull fellow tramping about. The king was sore besotted with that man, if you ask me.”

Chiyo cut him short. “I did not
ask you, sergeant.”

The officer was cowed. “Y-yes, sir. What was it that you wanted, sir?”

“To speak with Corfe.”

The sergeant nodded, running a nervous hand over his bristles. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. “I believe the Advocate is in meetings with the king today, sir. He’s not seeing anyone. Perhaps I could find you some lodgings and check with him tomorrow?”

It was an unsatisfactory response that gave Chiyo the opportunity to swell with indignation. “Sergeant.—what was your name?”

“Uh, Burtee, sir.”

“Sergeant Burtee, Patronius
Telenar, his new wife, and I have traveled many leagues and for many days in order to have this interview with Corfe. Now that we are here, you tell us that he is occupied?”

The man looked from Chiyo to Telenar with equal surprise. “Telenar? The wandering prie—I mean, the famous Telenar? We have heard much about you.”

Telenar, too, was more than willing to assert his authority. “And you’ll hear much more if you don’t show us to Corfe. Lady N’vonne has already been standing for too long.”

N’vonne took the cue and tried to look faint while the sergeant, now under the mistaken assumption that she was pregnant, showed them to a small chamber. Then, he offered Chiyo another hasty salute.

“This is just to get the lady off her feet, you understand. We’ll let the Advocate know of your arrival and, er, tell him you’d like to speak with him immediately. I’ll send a man along to take you to some nicer quarters.”

Chiyo, ever willing to encourage repentance, returned the salute. “That’ll be fine, Burtee.” He looked around the small, closed room. “Just don’t forget about us in here.”

The man looked horrified. “Oh no, sir! That’d be the day! I’ll just go and see what can be arranged. . .” Continuing his protests and provisos, he backed out and disappeared into the hall. Chiyo shut the door behind him as N’vonne tried not to giggle.

“That was almost enjoyable.”

Chiyo shook his head. “Are these the sort of men guarding Lascombe? Our cause is lost.”

Telenar leaned back in his chair and began to polish his spectacles. “Come now, Chiyo. We wanted to make a quiet entrance and, well, those are the types of men who guard quiet entrances. But I think you have the sergeant on our side.”

“At least until Corfe scares him worse than I did.” Chiyo allowed himself a smile as he looked at the boxes along the walls. “Is this a storage room?”

N’vonne picked up a label from a large canvas sack. “Rice meal. I guess if he locks us in here, we won’t starve.”