Scriber (20 page)

“It caused a great deal of public outcry, particularly when I started gathering other women to join me. In time, my father convinced the King that he could better control us if we
were
part of the Army. We were given only safe assignments, far from the public eye, but still I counted it a victory, for myself and for the Promise. Every day since, I have had to fight to hold on to that victory.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” I demanded. My wine-addled mind had no patience for stories—I had come to berate her, not to be lectured.

“Only this: my position was hard-earned, and always precarious. The men would have been glad to claim that I was too soft to be a soldier, too womanly, too emotional. Any excuse would have been enough for my uncle to remove me. I have spent years practicing to hide my feelings from sight. I am not heartless; I have only done what I had to do.” She hung her head. “Though now it seems it was all for naught.”

“That changes nothing,” I said. “If you care, why did you not come tonight?”

“Why is it so important to you, Scriber?”

“Because you are supposed to be braver than this!” I had not meant to say that; I had barely realized I felt it. “I was perfectly happy to hide in Waymark, you know. And then you came along, with all your talk of duty. You took all the bile thrown at you by the people and the Army and your family and you just kept going. You made me feel like a coward, and I
hated
you for it!”

Rising from my chair, I began to pace angrily before the fire. “Do you know why I told Illias about my idiotic theory, or gave that little speech in Waymark?” I glared at her, daring her to answer, but she just stared inscrutably back. “I didn’t want to look weak in front of you! And then tonight you did what I would have. You ran away. So now I have to wonder, what was the Dragon-damned point of any of it?”

“You do not understand.” I was surprised by the despair in her voice. “How could I face them? They have lost everything because of me. Everything they fought for. What could I possibly say to them?”

“Anything at all would have been better than staying away.”

Her eyes narrowed; her jaw clenched. I could almost see the last of her self control evaporating. “And what of me?” she asked. “Am I not entitled to be upset? I have lost everything as well, everything I spent my life gaining!” She pounded a fist against the arm of her chair, and the wood splintered beneath her knuckles. “Sky and Earth, why must you always bait me, Scriber?”

It was the reaction I had hoped for since meeting her in Waymark, but seeing her iron mask shatter at last did not bring the satisfaction I had expected. “It was never my choice to stay with you! Why even agree to speak with me, if I anger you so? Why carry me in your wagon, or bring me to Highpass? You could have rid yourself of me at any time!”

“Would that I had,” she snapped. “You have never been anything but rude and arrogant.” She was silent briefly, and then her face softened and she slumped back in her chair. “But in a way, that is what drew me to you. You
are
rude, but no more or less so to me because of my blood or my sex. There is a certain honesty to it. And I suppose you are only being honest now. Perhaps I deserve your anger.”

I stared at her for a moment, trying to control myself, and then I could not hold back anymore. I began to laugh—not some mild chuckle, but a mirthful torrent from deep in my belly that doubled me over and sent me collapsing back into my seat.

“What is so amusing, Scriber? If you are too drunk to control yourself, you may leave.” There was still anger in her voice, and I knew I should be careful, but I was helpless in the throes of my amusement.

“It’s… just so perfect!” I gasped for breath. “I dislike you for being brave, and you… you keep me near because I am rude?”

Her lips rose into a slight smile, then a larger one, and then she was laughing with me, and I realized I had never heard her do so before. The sound was as clear and vibrant as a Garden bell; not at all what I expected. It was a long while before we composed ourselves.

When she had collected herself once more, Bryndine said, “We are both fools, it seems, but neither of us need be cowards.”

Finally mastering my laughter, I straightened in my seat and looked at her with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

“I will speak to the women. You are right; I owe them that much. And you will go to Master Illias, to see how you can help.”

“I can’t help,” I protested. “I’m forbidden from the Old Garden.”

“That does not mean that there is nothing for you to do. At the very least, you should be nearby in case he finds something—it was your theory, and you may be needed.”

“I don’t want any part of it.”

“You forget that I was with you when the idea came to you.” Bryndine’s tone was firm; a Captain’s voice, brooking no argument. “I saw your face. You will not convince me that it doesn’t matter to you.”

“It does,” I admitted. It was not something I would have said aloud if I had been sober. “I’ve wanted little else since I was a boy. If there is something there to find, it could be the greatest discovery since the Forgetting. But I… I still dream of the men who died the last time.”

“You always will, Scriber. Just as I will always remember Janelyn. That is the way of these things. Come with me tomorrow.” Again, she said it like an order, not a request.

Somehow, I found myself nodding. “I… would like to help Illias. If I can. Without going into the Garden.” It felt like a weight had lifted off my chest, and I laughed with relief. “Sky and Earth, I would love it. I am beyond tired of teaching children and tending scrapes.”

Bryndine smiled. “Good. Now, it is late, and you are not entirely sober—you should not be wandering the streets.” She stood and extended her hand, helping me to my feet. “Come, I will show you to the guest quarters. We have much to do in the morning.”

Chapter Sixteen

Without Bryndine Errynson, the dig beneath the Old Garden would have ended before it began. She and her company were instrumental in one of the greatest discoveries since the Forgetting.

— From Dennon Lark’s
Life of Bryndine Errynson

The sun was too bright, the autumn air too chill, and my head ached like Uran Ord’s must have after the rebel’s mace stove in his skull. That last, though, was almost a relief, coming as the normal result of too much wine rather than the chanting of unseen voices. I had not slept well either, waking repeatedly throughout the night from terrible dreams of destruction and death at the Old Garden. As Bryndine and I approached the partial ruin of the Kingsland’s oldest house of worship, I wondered what I had been thinking when I agreed to come.

I wondered again why I was there when I saw the two figures standing with Illias and Korus outside the domed entrance of the Old Garden: the Eldest Brother and Sister, he in a sky-blue robe and she in an earthy brown. I could guess their rank by their hair—I did not know how they walked without tripping over it. The Children never cut their hair after taking their vows, something about growing as the plants sacred to the Mother and Father do. It made it easy to identify those of seniority and high esteem. Their hair always grew well past their waists.

I knew their faces, too, as we drew nearer. Brother Cyril, the Eldest Brother of the Sky, was a short, skinny man with a gaunt face and wispy grey hair that reached to his ankles. Stout, jowly Sister Olynna, Eldest of the Sisters of the Earth, had longer hair still, the end of her brown braid brushing lightly against the ground. The leadership of the Children had not changed, apparently, since they censured me for my role in the Old Garden’s destruction five years ago.

Illias’ incensed gesticulation made clear that whatever conversation he and the Eldest were having, it was not friendly. “The King has given his permission,” he insisted as we came within earshot.

“And we are allowing you entry, Master Illias, but the King cannot control the will of the people.” Brother Cyril spoke as though he had just woken from sleep, but it was not due to the early hour; he had sounded much the same five years ago. The old man always sounded tired—the effort of supporting his head under all that hair, I suspected.

“The will of the people?” Illias snorted contemptuously. “Better to call it the will of the Children—dishonesty is a sin, is it not? This is your doing. You’ve put the fear of the Dragon in them with your preaching!”

“You question the truth of our words?” Sister Olynna made the sign of the Divide in the air before her. “May the Mother and the Father help you, Master Illias, if you cannot trust their chosen servants.” She shook her head in a show of saddened disapproval. This was the true leader of the Children, not the tired old man beside her—Olynna was shrewd, calculating, and an exquisite performer when she needed to be. She had been especially convincing the day she and Brother Cyril had publically condemned my soul to the Dragon.

“It is somewhat strange that Master Illias cannot find a single man willing to help him dig,” Korus said, affecting concern, though the smirk on his face made his true feelings obvious. It was then that he noticed Bryndine and me approaching, and that smirk grew into a malevolent grin. “Lady Bryndine, an honor as always. And Scriber Dennon! What luck. You are an expert on the Old Garden, perhaps you can advise us.”

As the eyes of the Eldest fell upon me, I realized that my arrival could not have come at a worse time. I had expected Illias to already have digging underway, but clearly the Children were resisting the attempt, and my presence was just another thing they could protest.

“This is an outrage!” exclaimed Sister Olynna. “You dare to bring this man here? Has King Syrid no respect for the sanctity of this place?”

The loudness of her voice sent needles of pain through my head, but I tried not to show outward sign of my discomfort. It could not help for them to know I was suffering the consequences of a night of indulgence.

I tried to repair the damage as best I could. “The King did not send me,” I said. “I am only in Three Rivers because my home was attacked by the Burners. I heard that Illias was here, and only thought to visit him. I meant no harm.”

Korus’ smile disappeared; he had clearly hoped for something more incendiary. But he could not contradict me, not when the King had commanded that my involvement be kept silent.

Bryndine caught on immediately. “The Scriber asked me to escort him. The city can be confusing to those who do not live here. It is my fault, Eldest. I should have known better than to bring him here.”

Brother Cyril gave her a sour look from beneath drooping eyelids. “Your judgement is hardly something to be relied upon, Lady Bryndine.”

Bryndine bowed humbly, and when she bent forward over the tiny Eldest Brother, her huge form cast him entirely into shadow. I found myself fighting back a chuckle.

“You have my deepest apologies, Eldest,” she said. “With your permission, we will take our leave.”

Olynna waved her away. “Of course. Take this man away. His presence offends us.”

It was difficult to keep my temper under control around the woman, even knowing that Illias’ career was at risk. “Likewise,” I muttered, and though my voice was low, I was certain she heard me. She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. Apparently it was beneath her dignity to trade insults with a heathen like myself.

“Wait a moment, Denn,” Illias said. “If I might have a moment to talk to an old student, Eldest?”

“Are you sure, Master Illias? Dennon Lark is… a poor choice of companion, especially for a man of your station.” Olynna eyed me with contempt as she spoke, and I imagined how satisfying it would be to yank on that ridiculous braid.

Illias gave the Eldest Sister an indignant look as well, but managed to hold his ire in check. “It will be brief.”

Sister Olynna nodded curtly, and Illias pulled Bryndine and me a safe distance away.

He kept his voice low. “What are you doing here, my boy? I thought you wanted no part of this.”

Bryndine took responsibility before I could answer. “It was my suggestion, Master Illias. We hoped to see if Scriber Dennon could be of use without breaking the King’s ban. If we have caused you trouble, I apologize.”

Illias shook his head. “Don’t worry over that—you could not have worsened the situation. The Children have spread the word that no one is to give me any aid, and no Scribers will help for fear of earning the Council’s ire. I am at a loss, truly. I cannot proceed without workers, and I haven’t much time.” He gave me a small, sad smile. “I am glad to hear that you want to help, Denn, but I fear we have already lost this battle.”

Accepting defeat would have been an easy escape, but I could not quite bring myself to do it, not with Bryndine watching, not after everything we had both said the night before. And besides that, an inspiration had come to me, chasing the lingering haze of last night’s wine from my mind. I wanted to see where it led.

“They claim that they will honor the King’s wishes, though?” I asked. “It is only a lack of workers that stops you?”

Illias nodded, looking at me curiously.

“Then if you
can
find help, they will have to let you dig, or else directly disobey the King.”

“Yes, but where—”

“It so happens that Bryndine’s women are in need of employment.”

Understanding lit Illias’ face, and then excitement. “By the Divide, Denn, I have missed you these five years! That is perfect!” He turned to Bryndine hopefully. “What about it? Will you help?”

“Nothing would please me more, Master Illias. But I am hardly in favor with the Children—they will likely object.”

“They have no strong grounds to do so,” I said. “You are no longer with the Army. And you are of the King’s blood.” I was convincing myself as much as her—saying the words aloud, I could almost believe them. “It puts them in a difficult position. They would have to not only object to the King’s decree, but deny his niece as a blasphemer, which would show tremendous disrespect to the Errynsons. They may not want to throw down that gauntlet.”