The Water Road (35 page)

“And we have?” Antrey asked
hopefully.

“That is a very good question,”
Kajtan said. “We know that seven of the clans have pledged their support to you
to strike back against the Triumvirate. But we have not yet asked anything of
them, so it is unclear how they will respond when pressed. That is even more
true if the first thing we ask of them is to take up arms against their own
kind.”

Naath jumped in at this point. “Why
not? Not to put too fine a point on it, but the Neldathi have been killing each
other for hundreds of years. Even before the first Rising and the Triumvirate
came around. All the Triumvirate has done since is exploit the natural rifts
that have already existed between the clans. Has anything really changed?”

“Of course it has,” Goshen fired
back, fire in his black eyes. “Antrey’s success in bringing so many clans
together already is because she has convinced them that, regardless of our
history and our differences, we are all the same. We are all brothers and
sisters. I would say that is because we owe our existence to the Maker of
Worlds, but I know others will not agree.” He paused for someone to jump on
that phrase, but none did. “After turning themselves around to that kind of
thinking, turning back around to convince them to shed the blood of their own
kind could prove difficult. Frankly, I would hope it would be difficult by
now.”

“He isn’t wrong,” Antrey said with
a heavy sigh. “Regardless, we will discover the truth of their feelings soon
enough. Back to the question at hand, then. How many warriors can we put into
the field?”

Kajtan shrugged. “A high estimate
would be thirty-five thousand, but of unknown quality. And of those, who
knows…”

Antrey cut him off. “Who knows how
many of them will find their hearts are not in it when the time comes?”

The others all nodded.

“We cannot wait to find out before
we prepare, unfortunately,” she said. “Kajtan and Birkthir—organize the
warriors we have at our disposal. Let me know of our strength and our arms.
I’ll come up with something to do with them.”

She was exhausted and wanted
nothing more than a long night’s sleep.

Strefer was now certain that,
without Forlahn’s guidance, she and Rurek would never have made it this far.
For one thing, who knows what would have become of Rurek’s wound without him.
Forlahn had helped not only dress the wound, but also had fashioned an
effective, if crude, crutch. It kept their small party moving at a brisker pace
and relieved Strefer from the duty of supporting the Sentinel’s weight every
day. As a result, Strefer had become an effective lookout for Forlahn, who
slipped through the brush with a loaded rifle in his hand at all times.

It had also become clear as the days
wore on that Rurek, for all his good intentions, simply did not know these deep
woods as well as he thought. Roads were long behind them now, with even
well-trod trails coming and going from moment to moment. Forlahn moved like he
knew each tree, each branch, and each leaf by heart. On their own, Rurek and
Strefer would have been completely lost.

It took several days for Rurek to
admit this fact to himself. The frustration he felt had boiled over a few
nights ago, when he and Forlahn had a screaming match over the campfire, which
might have ended differently had the Sentinel been at full strength. Strefer
managed to calm him down and convince him that Forlahn was the best person to
lead them to Oberton. As a concession, Forlahn agreed to consult Rurek on any
major decisions that had to be made.

But last night it had been Strefer
who nearly came to blows with Forlahn. Well before the sun went down, he
announced that they were only a few miles from Oberton. To Strefer, there
appeared to be plenty of daylight left, and she thought they could easily make
the city by dusk. Forlahn insisted that Oberton was not the kind of place one
approached in the dark, or even in twilight. He said it would be better to make
camp for the night and leave the final leg of their journey for the morning.
What angered Strefer is that he refused to explain why.

“If you’ve never been to Oberton,
you simply can’t understand what it’s like,” he had said. “You have to trust
me.”

The words “trust me” had become a
recurring theme of Forlahn’s since they had met. He had earned some level of
trust, she admitted. Nonetheless, being this close to their goal and being told
to wait just one more day for no reason at all was frustrating.

Her annoyance also had another
source, she had to admit. It also occurred to Strefer that while they had spent
so long trying to find Oberton, she had not actually thought about what might
happen once they got there. She had just assumed that the Oberton sages would
agree to meet with her and publish the notebook. But what if they said no? If
the Triumvirate itself was on her heels, would they simply turn her over? Worse
yet, what if they simply weren’t interested in the entire affair? And even if
they agreed to publish the notebook, what came after that? It was all too much,
and she decided not to fight a battle she could not win with Forlahn.

That decision did not make Strefer
any more patient, however. They had made camp last night in yet another small
clearing next to a running stream. That had become the theme of their camps.
She had developed some comfort in the routine nature of it. Once up, Forlahn
led them at a steady and brisk pace through the dense undergrowth. But now,
several hours after leaving camp, Strefer saw nothing that indicated they were
approaching a city or any other kind of civilization.

She knew that Oberton lacked the
great walls of the Confederation cities in the Arbor, but she expected
something like her hometown, or even one of the larger Telebrian towns she had
visited. Instead, she was treated to trees, deep mushy soil, and more trees.
The canopy overhead remained thick, blocking out all but the heartiest of
sunlight.

“Can I ask you a question?” she
asked Forlahn finally.

“Sure,” he said.

“Where in the name of the gods are
we?” She tried to sound mildly curious rather than borderline upset.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” she said. “I mean
that yesterday you said we were within a few miles of Oberton. But we’ve walked
more than a few miles this morning and it doesn’t look like we’re getting
anywhere.”

“Is that what it looks like?”
Forlahn chuckled.

“From where I’m standing, yes.”

“You’ve never been to Oberton, have
you, Strefer?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve never even
been to the Arbor before this little adventure, to be honest.”

“Rurek,” Forlahn called out over
his shoulder, “have you ever been to Oberton?”

“No,” the Sentinel said through
gritted teeth.

“But you’ve heard stories, correct?
You know the city’s reputation?”

“Of course,” he said, struggling
with each step. “That’s why we’re here, after all.”

“And those stories,” Forlahn
continued, “are all about how the priests shed their beliefs in the gods, but
retained their love of knowledge, after the Great Awakening?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Strefer said,
interrupting him. “They all became sages, still devoted to discovering truth
and keeping knowledge. Like Rurek said, that’s why we’re here.”

Forlahn kept going, undaunted. “But
those are the only stories you’ve heard, right?” Silence served as affirmative
answers. “All you know is about what they do in Oberton, but not the city
itself, right?” More silence. “So the only information upon which you have to
form an idea of what the city should be like is your experience with what other
cities are like, right?”

“Whatever,” Strefer said. She was
exhausted, both by the long travel and his evasiveness. She let the matter
drop.

They walked on in silence for
another hour or so, before they found a trail that ran parallel to a small
stream. Within a few minutes, they were in a small clearing, much like the ones
they had used for campsites many nights before. Forlahn stopped them and looked
around, slinging his rifle up over his shoulder.

“Are we stopping here for a while?”
Rurek asked, limping over to a fallen tree, positioned conveniently so that it
could be used as a bench. He sat down. “I could really use some rest.”

“Yes, of course, have a seat,”
Forlahn said without paying any particular attention. He looked around, closely
examining several of the trees that ringed the clearing. Each had a massive
trunk, probably big enough that all three of them could fit around one while
holding hands. “It’ll be a little while before it arrives, anyway.”

Strefer sat down on the tree beside
Rurek. “Until what arrives?” She scanned the clearing, but saw nothing to
distinguish it from any of the others they had been in.

“The lift,” Forlahn said, working
with Malin to pack away his rifles inside the crevice of another fallen tree.

“Lift?” Strefer asked.

“The lift,” he said. “It comes down
two or three times a day to drop people off and take others back up.”

“Up where!” Strefer yelled, unable
to contain her frustration with him any longer.

“Up there,” he said, pointing
towards the dense canopy overhead. “To Oberton.” He grinned the kind of
satisfied grin that Strefer wanted to smack off his face.

~~~~~

They sat in the clearing for
several hours while nothing at all happened. They didn’t talk to one another to
pass the time. Rurek was dozing and Strefer had nothing she wanted to say to
Forlahn. After his comment about the lift, she thought it best to just leave
him to any game he was playing. He and Malin were huddled near the spot in
which they had hidden the rifles. Every now and then the boy would disappear
into the woods without warning, then return a few moments later without
explanation.

Strefer’s nerves, which had been
raw to begin with, were nearly frayed by the waiting. She hated not knowing
what was going to happen. She hated not knowing why Forlahn had disarmed
himself given their exposed position in this clearing. What if one of Spider’s
competitors took this opportunity to attack? They would be helpless, sitting
here waiting. She had to know.

“Why did you put the rifles away?”

“Hmm? What?” Forlahn said, rousing
from some kind of rest. “Oh, the rifles. Nothing to worry about. It’s just that
they don’t like armed people coming into the city. They won’t prohibit it by
force, but if you want to have any kind of relationship with these people, you
need to pay attention to their customs.” He looked around the clearing. “Why?
Did you hear something?”

“No,” she said, her hand
consciously sliding to Spider’s dagger where it hung from her belt. “I just
feel so vulnerable here, out in the open. Not moving and all that. After all
those days and nights of trying not to be noticed, it’s like now we want to be
found.”

“Well, we do, after a fashion,” he said.
“Don’t worry about the dagger. They don’t worry too much about small blades
like that. Swords, spears, or guns, on the other hand, are not welcome.
Besides, they’ll be more focused on Rurek’s pikti than anything else, I
imagine.”

She appreciated that he was trying
to calm her down, but Strefer’s imagination ran away with her. Now she thought
about how she might offend the sages of Oberton and what they might do if that
happened. It was quite possible that she would need a long relationship with
these people. Getting off on the wrong foot could be a disaster. She stood up
and walked over to where Forlahn sat on the ground in front of his cache. She
drew the blade slowly from her belt and handed it to him. “Would you put this
in there? For safekeeping?”

He took it from her delicately in
both hands. “That’s not really necessary, Strefer.”

“No point in taking any chances.
We’ve come a long way to find this place, and if they won’t help me, I doubt
anyone else will. I need to do my best to play the cooperative guest.”

“Even if it drives you crazy?” he
asked with a smile.

She nodded in return. “Aren’t you
afraid to leave those here?” she asked as he stashed the dagger in with the
rifles. “Won’t they get stolen?”

He stood up and kicked a bit of
dirt over the crevice. “To steal something, you have to know it’s there to be
stolen. Unless someone has been watching us since we got here, which I think is
very unlikely, someone would have to know what this place is, where it is, and
have some reason to believe something of value is hidden there. It’s never been
a problem for me.”

Strefer had no response and was
startled when she heard a rustle of leaves overhead. “What’s that?” she asked,
looking up, startled.

Forlahn looked at her and smiled.
“That will be our ride. Let me do the talking, all right?” He walked over to
the base of a large tree, then took three oversized steps backwards. He stood
perfectly still, with his feet shoulder width apart. His hands hung loosely at
his waist, open palms facing forward towards the tree.

For another minute or two the sound
of rattling leaves and branches bending then snapping back into place
continued. Through the green overhead cover, Strefer could begin to make out
some sort of large, boxy shape creeping towards the ground. She listened very
carefully and heard the faint squeal of metal on metal, the sound of pulleys
and gears working free of rust. Eventually, a large wooden box, perhaps ten
feet square, began to push through the canopy. It was open at about chest
level, with a roof overhead. It continued onto the ground, slowly and smoothly.

In the box were three men. One was
letting out a length of rope, controlling the descent. He was huge, so much so
that, had it not been for his deep-green skin, Strefer would have thought he was
Neldathi. The other two, of more average Altrerian height but of similar
complexion, held longbows in their hands, but neither was primed to use them.
One of them looked down and saw Strefer, then scanned the clearing, but did
nothing because of it. When the box reached the ground, one of the smaller men
unlatched a door in the side, allowing the other to step out just in front of
Forlahn.

“My friend, Forlahn,” the man said
in a deep, ringing voice. “It’s been too long. I hope you have not come looking
for a bounty, however.”

“My friend, Wylph, it’s good to see
you, as well,” Forlahn responded. “No, I have no bounties today. What I do have
is something much more interesting, I hope.”

“Is that so?” Wylph stepped over to
Forlahn and greeted him. “Are these friends of yours?” he asked, pointing to
Rurek and Strefer. “This one appears to be injured.”

Forlahn nodded. “He was unlucky
enough to walk in front of one of Spider’s arrows.”

“Spider? How is that rascal?” Wylph
smirked.

“Dead now, thanks to me.”

Wylph looked at him, as if he was
impressed. “Well, well. You’ll have to tell me all about it. So who do we have
here?” He left Forlahn and walked over to Strefer.

Forlahn shuffled back into his
path. “This young lady is Strefer Quants, of the Guild of Writers. She has
something that I think will be of great interest to the sages.”