The Rival (53 page)

A shudder ran through him, but she didn't know what it meant.  Her father had hated the Tabernacle, had hated it for a long time. And yet he had ties to it.  He was a part of it, even though he didn't want to admit it.

"Your great-grandfather is smart," her father said.

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her.  "Why isn't anyone guarding this room?" she asked.

"No one's left in the palace except us," her father said.

She frowned.  She had only seen one body below.  Had the others escaped?  Was it just her family being held?  "Where is everyone else?"

"Monte and I have a plan," her father said, and then added no more.

"You sent them away?" She wasn't understanding this.  "You sent guards away, and staff, and people who would protect you and Sebastian?  Are you crazy?"

Her father's shoulders rose and fell as he sighed.  "Look at all the birds," he said.

"I've seen them.  There's thousands, and more Fey reinforcements coming.  It's an army, Daddy, an army like we've never seen before.  And you're not protected."

"An army gives an illusion of safety," her father said.  "I was no safer with the guards here than without.  It was just a few more lives as a barrier to the Fey, more people to slaughter before those butchers got to me."

"I don't understand," she said.  "You need protection."

He shook his head.  "I've been thinking like my own father lately, and that's wrong.  I was in the middle of the fighting when I met your mother.  I was fighting hand to hand with Fey, stepping over bodies to do so."

"It was a different war," Arianna said.

"That's right."  Her father turned.  He looked old and exhausted.  His face had sunken in on itself.  "It was an easier war.  If we lose now, we lose everything.  So we have to risk everything.  The Fey are already doing that for us.  We may as well take the veneer off of it and look at it for what it is."

"Where are the others, Daddy?" she asked.

"Monte's leading them into a counterattack."

"But there's more of them than us.  That can't work.  It's  — "

"It works.  And has worked in the past.  I spent years studying military techniques after your mother died.  Lord Stowe has a lot of books on the matters.  The peasants lost the Uprising even though they had a superior force, did you know that?"

"Of course I know that.  We had better weapons."

Her father shook his head.  "We had the same weapons, and we had, at first, less desire.  We had a smaller force, but a smarter commander.  He knew how to turn the advantage to us.  That's what Monte and I are trying to do now."

"Why won't you tell me what's going to happen?"

"Because you'll see it in a moment," her father said.

Arianna wiped her hand over her face.  Sebastian touched her arm.  She glanced at him.  He was frowning, exposing all the cracks in his skin.  "It … is … a … good … plan."

Arianna sighed.  She couldn't get the flames, and the images of all those bodies out of her mind.  "What happens if it fails?" she asked.  "We're unprotected up here."

Her father turned.  "We're not unprotected," he said.  He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.  "We have the best protection of all.  Your mother's protection."

"My mother is dead."

"Your mother gave us the protection of her family."

"But the Shaman says you might not be able to claim it."

"But you can," her father said.  "The events of this day have shown me, Arianna, that saving Blue Isle might be entirely up to you."

She bowed her head.  "I can't  — "

"You can," he said.  "You might have to.  This is what you were arguing for last night.  You're stronger than all of us.  You'll do what's right."

"I hope so," she whispered.  She didn't feel stronger.  She felt as if she had lost her whole world.  Everything except the two men with her.  She couldn't bear to lose them.

She took Sebastian's hand.  He put his arm around her.  "It … will … be … all … right," he said, trying to comfort her.  "I … will  … al-ways … be … be-side … you."

"Promise?" she asked, suddenly needing his reassurance as much as he had once needed hers.

" … Pro-mise … " he said.  "By … all … I … am,  … I … pro-mise."

SIXTY

He only had to check the map once. 

It seemed all passageways ultimately ended at the palace.

Con ran through the darkness, torch before him, heart pounding.  Those dirty strangers in the large cavern, and the former Aud, had terrified him.  He had been afraid that they were part Fey and would stop him, or worse, even though he couldn't quite imagine what worse would be.  All he knew was that they left him with the feeling he was late, too late to do anything, that his crawl through the bridge had been for nothing.

The passages through here were as dirty and cobwebby as the bridge tunnel had been.  No one had been through this area in a long, long time.  That reassured him a little, but didn't allow him to slow his pace.  He kept glancing over his shoulder, afraid that the others were following him.

Afraid of what they would do when they caught him.

The former Aud terrified him the most.  He was an obviously learned man, injured, and living like a rat beneath the river. Was this how the sacrilegious ended up?  Shells of people, strewn like dirt, in the abandoned tunnels of society?  

Was this how he would end up if he failed his Charge?

He didn't know, and wasn't certain he wanted to.  He hurried forward, spurred by the vision of his own failure more than anything else.  He was concentrating so hard and moving so quickly that at first he didn't even notice the sounds.

Footsteps on stone.

Many footsteps.

Not above him, but ahead of him.

They sounded in unison, those footsteps, as if a group were walking in step.

Like the Fey had done.

But how had they gotten into the tunnels?  Had they found one of the side entrances?

The thought made his mouth go dry.  He was dirty, exhausted, and terrified, and for what?  For an encounter with the Fey that would leave him dead?

But he had a Charge, and he had the Roca's protection.  The Rocaan had walked into the Fey secret camp when he was an Aud on a Charge.  The Roca had watched over him, and brought him out alive.

The Roca would bring Con out alive too.

He stopped running, though, and walked forward, his torch close to him now.  When he reached a fork in the tunnel, he would stop and listen before moving on.

The footsteps grew louder, and with them, the whisper of clothing, the soft murmur of an occasional voice.

It took three crossroads before he realized that the voices were not speaking Fey.

They were speaking Islander.

Relief flowed over him like a cool breeze.  Islander.  They were his people.

But what were they doing here?

He started running again.  His legs were tired, and it felt as if his feet were bleeding, but he no longer cared.  He was nearly to the palace, and there were people below, walking in lock step, Islanders, not a bunch of thieves hiding near the river.

And then he rounded a corner, and found them: a sea of men in the uniforms of the King's guards, looking serious, looking terrified, looking serene.  They had swords strapped to their hips and dagger hilts peeking out of their boots. 

They were going to fight.

The King already knew.

Still, Con had his Charge.  He waited until he saw a man who wasn't in step, one of the leaders, probably, and walked up to him.

"Excuse me," he said.

The man drew a dagger.  "Get away from me, boy."

"I'm an Aud, sir.  I come from the Tabernacle, with the Rocaan's message for the King."

"No one sees the King."  The man had stopped.  He held his knife near Con's throat.  A few of the others stopped behind him, watching.

"Sir, it's a Charge." Con said, careful not to move.  "I need to see him."

"How do we know you're not Fey?" the man said.

"Beg pardon, milord, tis obvious," said one of the men in the back.  "Tis holy water vials he carries in his pockets.  Ye can see the glass."

"It would be a good disguise, to come here dressed as an Aud," the leader said.

"Aye," the second man said, "but na with holy water, and na looking like Constantine, the baby Aud."

Con raised his head at the nickname.  The barracks guards had called him that after a particularly disastrous Blessing he attempted to deliver a year ago.

"Servis?" he asked.

"Aye, n who'd ye think else'd remember who ye are, eh?" the guard stepped into the light.  It was Servis, a guard who was only a few years older than Con, and who had given him grief ever since that difficult day.

"You know this Aud?" the leader asked.

"Aye, milord.  Tis a good boy, he is."

"Please, sirs, let me see the King."

The leader shook his head.  "I can't let you do that," he said.

"But my Charge  — "

"Is?"

"To let the King know of the Fey."

"He knows, lad."

"Tis Respected Sir, milord.  He is n Aud."

"That he is, Servis."  The leader nodded.  "Forgive me, Respected Sir.  The palace has been surrounded by Fey all morning.  We're going to take care of that now."

He snapped his fingers.  The guards kept moving forward.  There were more of them than Con had imagined.

He blinked.  He wasn't certain what to do now.  "The Tabernacle's surrounded too," he said.  "The Rocaan wanted me to warn you, wanted me to talk to the King.  He says they need to work together."

"I'm sure they do," the leader said, "but they need to survive the afternoon first.  Wait here for us.  When the battle's over, I'll take you with me."

"No, milord," Con said.  "I'm sorry not to listen, but I have a Charge.  I need to get to the King."

"And I can't let you go alone.  There's no telling who you are."

Con understood that.  Even so, it didn't make things much easier.  But he felt that his message had lost its urgency.  Now all that mattered was surviving the next few hours.

"Then I'll come with you," Con said, "and watch."

"Nay, Baby Aud," Servis said. He had stopped beside the leader.  The rest of the troop continued to march behind him, weaving through the tunnels and disappearing into the darkness. "Tis na place fer an innocent above.  Ye'll wait here, and I'll see to it that we get ye to the King."

"Stay with him, Servis," the leader said.

"Beg pardon, milord, but ye need me ta face the Fey."

"I need you to protect the King," the leader said, with a strange emphasis on the word protect. 

"It's all right," Con said.  "I'll wait alone.  I don't mind."

"Of course not, Respected Sir, but I can't guarantee that you won't go to the palace the moment the troops leave here."

"I'd give you my word."

"And your word means nothing in the face of a Charge."

The leader was right, and Con knew it.  The moment they left, he would go on to the palace.  He had to.

It was his Charge.

Servis sighed.  "I'll stay, milord."

"Good," the leader said.  "When I get back, I'll take you to the King."

"Yes, sir," Con said.  He was failing.  And Servis, a casual friend, would have to guard him to prevent him from doing what his Rocaan, and his God, required him to do.

That was at the center of a Charge.  How far would an Aud go to do his duty?  How many laws would he break, if he broke any?

Con hoped he wouldn't have to find out.

SIXTY-ONE

Monte led his troop up the last few stairs and into the barracks.  His mouth was dry, and he felt older than he ever had before.  He'd been in difficult situations, but never one where he believed it would take God's Hand to help him survive the day.  He'd faced Fey a hundred times before, but never like this.

Never like this.

To their credit, his men said nothing.  They had simply accepted the orders, trusting in him and in Nicholas.

The bird-Fey outnumbered them five to one.  Long odds, even with a surprise attack.

Monte hunched as he crossed the wooden floor.  He walked as quietly as he could.  So did the men behind him, but he could still hear the rap-rap-rap of boots.  He hoped it wouldn't be too audible in that strange silence outside.

The boy bothered him too, the one Servis had called Baby Aud.  The boy bothered him in two ways.  If he were Fey, then this whole surprise attack wouldn't work.  They already knew about the tunnels.  If he wasn't Fey, if he truly was an Aud, then that meant that the Rocaan had been willing to work with them, and it was too late.

It already felt too late.  The Fey had been ahead of them on everything.  Like the first time, only much larger.  He had never imagined there were so many Fey in the world.  Never.

What he wouldn't do for a vial of holy water.  But Nicholas had forbidden it on the palace grounds.  A few of the troop had vials  —  Monte had seen them.  He didn't want to know how the guards had gotten them, or why.  They were going against the King's direct order.  But a man couldn't stop others from protecting themselves when they were terrified.

These men were terrified.  Monte could feel it.  He could feel it in the jerkiness of their movements, of the uncertainty of their looks.  They all knew when this latest Fey troop arrived that this strange period of peace was over.  The end of the invasion, begun when Rugar came twenty years before, was finally here.

Monte reached the barracks door.  The important thing on this entire plan was noise and timing.  He took a deep breath, held it, then sent the signal back through his troop.

It traveled from man to man quickly until it reached the tunnels.  There the men would relay it to the other barracks, to the other commanders waiting.  Monte was counting.  He had it timed to the instant, and hoped his guess was right.

"All right," he said softly.  "Draw your swords."

His men did.  The sound of metal against sheath sounded loud in the large room.  He turned slightly.  They were watching him, eyes narrowed, faces blank in an attempt to hide their emotions.