Warrior (15 page)

He finished wiping down the barrel of the rifle and got to his feet. “You and Batu stay here,” Gabriel announced. He sheathed the rifle in its scabbard, then shouldered his pack and started toward where his horse was hobbled. “I’ll scout the area further, see if I can’t locate the crimson field, whatever that is.”

“Two things, Captain,” Thalia said, planting her hands on her hips and herself in front of Gabriel. He stopped and gazed at her with an impatient frown. “Firstly, you aren’t in command here, so you cannot order me and Batu around.”

His jaw tightened. He might have resigned from the army, Thalia understood, but he hadn’t lost any of his commanding ways. Irritation with the current lack of progress only shortened his temper.

“And the second?” he growled.

“None of us need to ride halfway across creation looking for something when we have a means of bridging distance at our disposal.” She stepped around him and headed toward one of the saddlebags. “Fortunately, the item I need wasn’t washed away by the True Hammer of Thor.” Thalia rummaged through the bag, searching.

“I have a spyglass,” Gabriel said behind her.

“That cannot see nearly as far as this,” she proclaimed, and, locating what she was searching for, removed it from the saddlebag with a triumphant smile. She quickly unfolded it with Batu’s assistance.

It was a contraption of painted canvas stretched over a shaped wooden frame. But the paint on the canvas revealed an extraordinary artistry and attention to detail. Gabriel stared at the object in her hands. “A cloth eagle,” he said at last. “Life-sized, too.” He gently touched the fabric as if to convince himself it was real. Thalia had to admit that the canvas bird was indeed beautiful in an almost dreamlike way, each feather ready to feel the wind, the glint in the eagle’s eye as bright as anything living.

“This will help us see much farther away than we ever could, even with the best spyglass,” she declared.

“If it can help us see, we could’ve used it earlier.”

“The conditions weren’t right. Perhaps you can’t think of the next part of the song because it had reached the end. Now we have to do the work.”

He studied the beast made of canvas and wood. “Do you have some magic that will make the eagle real?”

She shook her head. “I do not, and Blades avoid using magic that is not their own. But we do have something almost as powerful.” At her nod, Batu retrieved a leather case from the saddlebag and brought it to her. She opened it to reveal a large prism, which was connected via brass chains to a series of round lenses several inches in diameter. Thalia suspended the prism from a hook on the eagle’s body while Batu supported the weight of the lenses.

“Graves guai would be very unhappy if we had lost this,” Batu said.

She glanced up from her work to find Gabriel watching her intently, his eyes as keen as cut topaz. Instead of battering her with a litany of questions, he let her continue to assemble the device, observing with a focus that was almost unnerving.

“It’s ready,” she finally announced. Thalia took several steps away from Gabriel and felt the breeze on her face. It should be strong enough. She held the fabric bird up and started to run. The prism and lenses were somewhat ungainly to carry, but she continued to sprint across the autumn grasses. When she felt confident, she let go. The canvas eagle soared up into the air, while Thalia held on to a long, stout, waxed twine line wrapped around a wooden reel. The prism hung beneath the fabric body, while the lenses dangled beneath the prism. She stopped running and let the line play out. It tugged in her hands, but she kept her grip strong, knowing that there would be no replacements if she should let go.

Behind her, Gabriel laughed. “Good God, a kite!” He came to stand beside her, watching the eagle kite reach up into the morning sky. The line was exceptionally long, and the kite hovered several hundred feet in the air. “It’s beautiful. Only…”

She couldn’t help smiling along with him, caught up in the joy of the kite in flight. There was something giddy and jubilant about watching it dance upon the sky, removed from terrestrial concerns. She finished his question. “How will it help us see? Look there.” She pointed to the ground thirty yards ahead of them and enjoyed Gabriel’s exclamation.

“Let me hold it,” Batu said, taking the wooden reel from Thalia. “You go look.”

Thalia sprinted ahead, with Gabriel close at her heels, then stopped at the edge of a bright circle, twenty feet across. The edges of the circle were blurred, but it was the center that captured both Thalia and Gabriel’s attention. It was a projected image of the countryside, taken from the kite’s vantage point high in the sky. They could see the steppes and hills they had ridden through the previous day—all visible at their feet, like an enormous picture window.

“Behold the work of one of the Blades’ most valuable members, Catullus Graves,” Thalia said, unable to disguise the pride in her voice. “Catullus and his family have been creating devices and contraptions for the Blades for generations. This viewing kite was invented by Catullus himself.”

“Unbelievable,” Gabriel breathed, staring at the image of the countryside displayed on the ground. He gingerly stepped inside the projected circle, as if worried he might disrupt the image, but it did not move, and he strode into the center. He was bathed in the strange light of the image, fields and mountains covering him like a tattoo, and looked up at the kite. “The prism,” he said, understanding causing the corners of his eyes to crease.

Thalia joined him inside the circle, and they were both illuminated, two living maps. She felt as though they were somehow suspended between the earth and the sky together. “Exactly. The prism suspended just below the body of the kite captures the image of the landscape, which passes through those lenses hanging beneath. The image is projected onto the ground, allowing us to see for miles in any direction. I can demonstrate.” She signaled to Batu, who shifted the line, bringing the kite around, and casting an image of another part of the landscape onto the earth.

“This Graves bloke must be brilliant,” said Gabriel.

Thalia nodded. “His whole family, too. His great-great-grandmother Portia designed the Compass which all Blades carry, and you should see some of the inventions his great uncle Lucian created. Rather terrifying, actually, to be around someone so hopelessly clever.”

“I know the feeling,” Gabriel said, flicking a glance toward her.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re just as intelligent as I am. Even so, I’m a whimpering pudding compared to Catullus.”

“Always had a taste for pudding,” he murmured to himself.

Thalia decided it would be best not to address that last statement. She directed her attention back to the projected image of the distant landscape. It was incredible to see a picture of the hills and plains many miles distant, as though a dream had been made real. “I don’t see anything even remotely red toward the east.”

“Try another direction.”

At her signal, Batu shifted the line, and they followed the image as it changed with the kite’s placement. Slowly, laboriously, they combed the surrounding geography until—

“There!” Gabriel said, pointing.

A large ail of gers was situated at the base of some rocky hills. The rhythms of everyday life pulsed around the tents. Children performed chores or played on the ground. Women were drying curds of cheese on top of the gers. Herdsmen chatted over their pipes as they tended their flocks of sheep and herds of horses. And surrounding this whole encampment, spreading out in a corona of vibrant color, were acres of crimson flowers. Against the faded greens of autumn grasses they glowed like constant fire.

“Those hills,” Gabriel said. “You can just see them on the horizon, there.”

Thalia looked up from the projection toward where Gabriel pointed. Sure enough, what appeared to be large rocky crests in the projection were barely perceivable bumps against the sky.

The red flowers lay nearly a day’s ride from Thalia, Gabriel, and Batu, but there was at last proof of their existence, just as the song had described. It was truly wonderful to see. She felt a heady pleasure, sharing the enchanted moment with Gabriel.

“If I should ever meet this Catullus Graves,” Gabriel said in wonderment, “I’d like to buy him a pint.”

Thalia’s mood abruptly pitched down. The likelihood that Gabriel would meet Catullus was practically nil. Thalia knew that Gabriel’s first mission for the Blades would be his last. Once they had located and secured the Source, Gabriel would have no more contact with her or the Blades. He would return to England to begin a life free of Heirs, Sources, Blades—and her.

She had refused to cry. That’s what Batu remembered from his first meeting with Thalia. He had not known her as a baby, but his acquaintance with Thalia had begun early in her childhood. When he first met the Englishman, Franklin Burgess, and his then-little daughter, the girl had been nearly eight summers old, shy as a deer as she clung to her father’s side. Her mother had died the year before, and her father had tried to outrun his grief by taking the child to a distant place, far away from familiar sights that only served to remind him of what he had lost. The girl, according to her father, had not yet shed a tear for her dead mother, convinced that holding back her sorrow would somehow bring Diana Burgess back from the place of shadows.

Back then, Thalia spoke no Mongolian. Batu’s English was even worse. The only thing they could understand was their mutual love of horses, and, after he observed the girl watching him cut horses from the wild herd every day, they gradually bridged the gap between them. He taught her to ride the Mongol way, helped bandage her bruises when she was thrown, and wiped her tears when she finally cried for her mother.

Batu had served her and her father ever since.

He and Thalia had taken many voyages together across the whole of the country, but neither of them had ever undertaken a mission for the Blades of the Rose. When Franklin Burgess had eventually revealed the existence of this society, and the role he played in protecting the magic of the world, Batu accepted his own responsibility immediately. Having been a youth on the steppes that fairly hummed with mystical power, knowing that shamans crossed from this world into the world of the spirit, Batu never doubted the existence of Sources. He knew that Burgess would shield them from men who would use the Sources for their own gain, and Batu gladly took up the task to do the same. If necessary, he would die to protect them, and he almost had. If Thalia and Captain Huntley had not saved him.

The work of the Blades was his work. Batu had no daughters, but he had sisters and nieces. Thalia was both to him. He bore a double burden: to protect the Sources, and to protect Thalia. It was a sacred charge, one he would never abandon.

He signaled to her now. It was midday and time to rest the horses as well as themselves. Thalia nodded and searched for a river where they could find good water and grass. She understood. The horses were already showing signs of strain, even though they had not ridden particularly far this day. Mongol horses spent part of the year roaming wild on the steppes. If taken too far from familiar land, they grew restive and melancholy. It was the price one paid for such a sturdy, spirited animal. Already the three horses had traveled hundreds of miles from their home. As soon as he was able, Batu would find replacement horses, and let theirs go free. They would return home on their own. Having faced the powerful magic used by the Heirs of Albion, Batu wasn’t sure that he would also be making the return journey to Urga. Thalia, however, would. Batu had promised her father to get her back to him safely. And he always kept his promises.

With that in mind, Batu waited until they had stopped to rest, and Thalia had gone off to seek some female privacy, before approaching Captain Huntley. The tall, fair Englishman was crouched down near where the horses were hobbled, carefully reviewing his weapons and equipment with a practiced eye. Batu had known many soldiers in his life, mostly Russians and Chinese, and many were braggarts and bullies; some of them had been capable men, but only a handful had ever truly impressed him with their skill and intelligence—as the captain had. Having spent nearly a week with Captain Huntley, Batu knew that not only were soldiers such as Huntley rare, civilian men were, as well. That did not make him any less of a threat, however.

“In the army, you were a cavalry officer?” Batu asked.

The Englishman cast him a quick, wary glance before returning to his task. “No, foot soldier,” he answered.

“Then you must be unused to riding for so long.”

“I’m fine,” the captain said, terse.

“You must be careful, Huntley guai,” Batu said.

“I’m always careful, Batu,” the captain said without looking up.

“With the business of being a soldier, yes,” Batu agreed. “But Thalia guai is not a war campaign.”

That got the Englishman’s attention. He looked up with those curious gold eyes, frowning. It was an intimidating sight, even though he remained crouched and Batu stood. “Never said that she was.”

Batu would not let himself be cowed, as he fought the urge to put some distance between himself and the captain. He had already seen that the Englishman was as ferocious as a lion. “Perhaps, though, you think to conquer her, or that she is a warrior’s prize to serve as your reward for service. She is a lovely girl.”

Captain Huntley surged to his feet, angry, and Batu could not help taking a step back. “You’re a decent enough bloke,” the captain growled, “so I won’t smash your head in. Nobody’s going to touch Thalia without her consent. Not you. Not me.”