“I meant to go back down to the Druid camp after delivering Dragon and your message, but that very night, snow fell thick and closed the pass,” Daffyd said, sitting beside me.
“I suppose you’re worried about Gilaine and the others …,” I began, then faltered, seeing the grim look on the armsman’s face.
“I don’t know if they’re still there. One of the soldierguards said the firestorm had all but burned out the White Valley.”
“Oh, Daffyd,” I said, aghast.
Again he shook his head. “I don’t believe they are dead. Rushton has pledged Obernewtyn’s help to find them when the soldierguards are gone.” He sipped his drink as if it held a bitter draft.
We both froze at the sound of running feet. The brush parted, and Roland burst into the open. “Where’s Matthew?” he cried. “We need him to farseek the camp! Something has gone wrong. All contact has been severed, but we dare not go down there with the soldierguards …” He stopped dead, catching sight of me. “Elspeth?”
“Yes, it’s me,” I said impatiently. “I’ll see what’s happened.”
“But you …,” he said, dazed.
I waved him to silence, closing my eyes to concentrate. I sent my mind flying toward the makeshift camp, seeking out any familiar pattern. It was as if all there slept.
At last I located a weak consciousness. Focusing in, I discovered it was Ceirwan.
“Who … who is that?” he sent groggily, barely discernible.
“It is Elspeth,” I sent. “What has happened there?”
There was a pause. “Elspeth … impossible.”
I felt his grief but could waste no time on it. “I did not die. Now you must focus. I can hardly understand you. What has happened?”
I sensed his struggle to concentrate. “I … They drugged us. The soldierguards think we hide evidence of sedition in the ruins. You must stop them from getting to Obernewtyn … get coercers …” He faded out again, and this time it was impossible to recall him.
I opened my eyes. “They’re okay, but they all sleep,” I said. “The soldierguards have drugged them and are about to go and examine the ruins firsthand.”
“We’ll have to fight,” Daffyd said.
I shook my head. “I have a better idea, Daffyd. One less likely to escalate into violence. You ride Gahltha and bring back one of the coercers. The guildmaster, Gevan, if you can. Also, get a group of them to go down to the camp as soon as the soldierguards leave.” I outlined my plan quickly.
“It might just work,” Roland said.
“And it would explain why Rushton was so anxious to keep them away from the ruins. But will the captain react as you expect?” Daffyd asked.
“It’s my guess they’ll prove a craven lot, more worried about their own skins than their duty. But if not, Gevan is a coercer, and so am I, at need.”
“You, a coercer?” Roland asked sharply. I ignored him, giving Daffyd a leg up onto Gahltha. The black horse allowed Daffyd to mount, then sped off, keeping close to the tree line.
“Come. We’ll meet Gevan in front of Obernewtyn,” I told the Healer guildmaster. “We’ll have to make sure they don’t come too close to the buildings. Now describe to me the symptoms.…”
It was dusk when the soldierguards appeared, riding along the entrance road leading up to Obernewtyn. Catching sight of Gevan and me, the captain reined his horse.
“Who are you, girl? I’ve not seen you before. What trickery is here?” he shouted harshly.
When I did not answer, he ordered one of his men to bind us. The man dismounted, but he paused when he was close enough to see my face clearly.
“Captain … I think there’s something wrong with her …,” he called uneasily.
I lurched toward him, and he backed away hastily. “Help me!” I moaned. “Help me. I am ill.”
The captain dismounted, staring at me suspiciously. “Ill? What do you mean? I won’t stand for …” He stopped, having come close enough to see the black blisters on my lips. Gevan moaned loudly, making the man jump. His face changed, contorting with horror, and he spun away. “Lud’s curse! These creatures have the plague!”
The soldierguards murmured in dismay.
“Shut up and let me think!” the captain snarled, mounting his horse. The other soldierguards did the same.
“What are we goin’ to do, Captain? We won’t be allowed to live if anyone finds out we’ve been in contact with the plague!” said one soldierguard.
“We can’t stay here. I don’t want to die of plague!” wailed another man.
“We won’t,” said the captain tightly. “Now listen to me, all of you. It will take closed mouths and a tight story to save us from being burned. We will tell the Council all was as Rushton had claimed—Obernewtyn a poor ruin, the valley tainted. We will tell them we found no one here. No one must ever know there was plague here. Even a whisper would be enough to see us dead.”
The men nodded, ashen faced.
“But are we not already infected?” asked one of the men.
“Thank Lud we made our own camp and did not sup or dally with these wretched people. ’Tis said plague spreads by close living. We should be safe if we leave at once.”
“What about these two and the people in the camp? We can’t leave them here alive,” said another of the soldierguards.
The captain shook his head grimly. “There must be no witnesses. If anyone ever does come up here, it must be exactly as we have said. Do not bother with these half-dead wretches. The wolves will finish them. But while the others are drugged, we will burn the camp. Now let’s ride. I want to be quit of this cursed valley as soon as possible.”
It was growing dark when the soldierguards torched the camp.
As I had hoped, they did not trouble to make sure their victims were inside, else they would have found the settlement deserted. The coercers had carried all the unconscious out and set them under the trees.
From the distance, we watched the huts blaze. Silhouetted in orange light, the soldierguards let out a hoarse cheer before mounting and riding out of the valley. None looked behind him.
“Are they all right?” Gevan asked, watching Roland lift Rushton’s eyelid.
He nodded in satisfaction. “Only drugged, though I have not seen this kind of drug before.” He moved to look at Ceirwan.
I leaned over Rushton and stared into his ravaged face. In repose, he looked so terribly sad.
Unexpectedly, his eyes fluttered open, flamed with longing; then he shook his head and groaned. “Ah, Elspeth, love,” he sighed; then his eyes fell shut.
I stared down at him in wonder.
27
“I AM THE Master of Obernewtyn. Who among you will choose a guild this night?” Rushton asked.
Those prepared crossed to stand in line facing him. “We choose our places,” they spoke in unison.
Rushton handed each of the candidates a candle and then lit them all from his own, the flame guttering slightly. Fortunately, the wind was low. “May you choose well,” he murmured.
“I am Merrett. I choose the Coercer guild,” said the first, a thin, dark-eyed girl.
There was a predictable buzz of surprise, since her mother was a healer. Merrett crossed to the table and set her candle amidst the Coercer token.
Zarak, grinning with pride, held up his own candle. “I am Zarak, of the Beastspeaking guild. With permission, I choose anew: the Farseeker guild.” There was a burst of applause as he crossed to the Farseeker table, and I smiled inwardly at the success of Ceirwan’s negotiations.
There were no other surprises, and when all had chosen, the newly guilded led a toast to Obernewtyn.
Able to escape momentarily from his affectionate guilders, Dameon came to sit beside me. I was amused and flattered to hear some children sing an idealized version of my own first journey to Obernewtyn.
“I had no idea how brave and wise I was,” I laughed.
Dameon smiled. “I think they are already at work on the ep
ic of your journey to the coast. But I doubt anyone will ever sing the complete story.”
I looked at him. Dameon had always been able to see more than most people. Like Atthis, his judgment lay in some keener place than his eyes. I had not told anyone what had happened in the mountains, but for a moment, I was tempted to confess to the empath. Such a secret burden made me feel lonely, even in the midst of my friends. Then I remembered Atthis’s warning that I must tell no one of what I was to do.
Behind my seat, Gahltha stirred, as if he, too, heard an echo of the voice that had changed his life. The black horse had become my shadow whenever I moved outside Obernewtyn’s halls, regarding himself as my special guardian. Fortunately, this was not too noticeably odd, since he and Avra had become the first animals to attend guildmerge. Rushton had decided to make use of the direct entrance from the outside that had once been a secret passage; the horses used it proudly.
Dameon patted my hand. “Some secrets are safer kept.”
I smiled wanly. “I’m glad to be home, but I can’t help worrying about what will happen next.”
Dameon shrugged. “The battle is won, but the war goes on. Do not dwell too much on yesterday’s struggles. Take things as they come. Today is a day for singing and celebration.” He laughed. “Do you suppose Kella and Domick will bond before they go back to the safe house in Sutrium?”
I stared at the empath. “They told you?”
Dameon smiled. “I am an empath master, but the greenest novice might guess as easily. They might as well announce it and get it over with.”
I grinned. “They’re working up courage. It will rock their two guilds on their heels. Merrett’s choosing will be nothing to that.”
“It is well done. Such divisions are not good for Obernewtyn,” Dameon said approvingly.
“I hear Dragon is doing well as an empath novice,” I said, catching sight of the red-haired beauty.
Dameon shook his head. “She is a handful, that one. I do not envy Matthew her violent affections. Yet I would like to know more about her past.”
Lina ran up, grinning. “Dance with me, master?” she cried, taking his hands. I opened my mouth to rebuke her, but to my surprise, Dameon let himself be coaxed to his feet. As if sensing my surprise, he cast a smile over one shoulder. “Remember, today is for dancing, not worrying about the future.”
I sat back in my seat. So much had changed subtly at Obernewtyn, as if winning one battle, even if by trickery, had given everyone bolder hopes.
It was spring, and the choosing ceremony had been the high point of our own moon fair. It was the wrong season and the moon had waned, but the brief, lovely season and an increasing feeling of hope for the future ensured its success. There had been a merry feast. After the choosing, there were tests of skill between the coercers, a vision demonstration by Dragon, and various entertainments by the other guilds as the musicians played their instruments.
Daffyd appeared beside me with a mug of fement. I motioned him to sit as the musicians tuned between songs, and strains of discordant music filled the air.
Daffyd smiled, but his eyes were sad. “Gilaine would love this,” he said wistfully.
“Is there any news of them?”
He shrugged. “Nothing definite. You might remember Gilbert, the leader of the armsmen? He devised a plan some time back in case there was a need to evacuate the camp in a hurry. It was meant to be used in case of soldierguard attack, but it would have served well in the firestorm. If Gilbert survived to put it into operation, he would have kept the survivors together.”
“Have you spoken to Maryon? She might be able to help pinpoint them.”
“The Futuretell guildmistress thinks they’re alive, but ’tis hard for her to get a definite reading, because she dinna know them.” Daffyd was sunk in thought for a minute. “I mean to leave when Domick, Kella, and the others go. I’ll travel with them as far as Sutrium and then … well, I’ll keep lookin’. Rushton has offered help, but until I find some clue as to where they are, I’m better working alone.”
I felt a shadow touch my heart at the thought that each had his own deeds to do, his own battles and quests. Mine lay in a dark chasm across endless Blackland plains.
I caught sight of Rushton deep in conversation with Brydda and Gevan, apparently oblivious to the music and laughter. As ever, he treated the festivities as yet another guildmerge, going from one group to the next in his effort to have everything organized before his departure. He was going down to the lowlands with Domick and Kella when they returned to Sutrium with Brydda. The big lowlander had been vastly impressed with all he had seen at Obernewtyn, and he and Rushton had taken an instant liking to one another. Brydda was eager to have Rushton meet his allies.
Addressing a guildmerge, Brydda had made it clear that though he had no prejudices about Misfits, he could not speak for his allies. But he was certain that, in time, the book I had found about mind powers would convince them that our Talents were not evil or mutations caused by the Great White but were a natural development of human abilities that had existed in the Beforetime.
Brydda had brought Katlyn and Grufyyd to Obernewtyn to stay. His parents had hated the city and had been only too glad to be invited to live at Obernewtyn. Katlyn had already begun to replant her collection of herbs, much to Roland’s delight.
The news of Pavo’s death had saddened me, though I had expected it, and the Teknoguild, still mourning his loss, had mounted an expedition to the city under Tor in his memory. I felt the loss of Jik even more keenly.
Maryon had told me she’d foreseen his death soon after we had departed, though not Darga’s. “It is true the predictions focused on the boy, but I think the dog would not have gone without him,” she explained. “Futuretelling is inexact at the best of times, and I regret that. But there is no sense blaming ourselves for Jik’s death. Who knows what would have happened to him if he had not left the cloister or if he had not gone on your expedition and Obernewtyn had fallen. Dwell not on this death, but on his last happy days with us.”
Brydda whirled Kella past me in a dance, rousing me from my memories. I smiled, already regretting that Brydda had to leave. He had a heartening manner and a cheery way of making everything seem possible.
As with all coming and going at Obernewtyn, they would travel across the now barren White Valley and down the Olden way. Few dogs were as sensitive to poisonous taints as Darga, but with care, it would be possible to find a suitable path, retracing our own journey. It was no longer safe to come openly along the main way, as our mountain valley was supposed to be deserted and barren. Domick had gleefully informed us that this was the report made by the soldierguards. It had been accepted by the Council, and Ariel had lost some credibility over the matter. With this and the disappearance of the Druid and his people, Ariel was no longer in a position to threaten us.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Rushton. No emotion showed on his features. It struck me suddenly that he had spent a lifetime hiding his thoughts and feelings.
The memory of his words as he lay dazed after being drugged by the soldierguards came back to me with a queer thrill. No one had heard those words but me, and it was clear from Rushton’s behavior afterward that he did not remember having said them. Yet, in the light of them, many things seemed suddenly clear: Kella’s cryptic scolding about my inability to see the truth of things, for one, and Rushton’s reluctance to let me join the expedition to the lowlands.
I turned to find Rushton standing beside me and flushed at my thoughts, glad he had no ability to deep-probe.
“You are always alone, even when there are people about you,” he observed.
I shrugged. “Matthew tells me I’m too gloomy. But I find it hard to forget all the bad things. All this is wonderful … but sometimes it seems like a pleasant dream that can’t last. So many have died. And Jik was so young. It’s a high price we pay for our place in the world.”
“If we did not fight, there would still be deaths, bec
ause Misfits will continue to be born. We want to stop the killing, and that means fighting.”
“War to end war? It doesn’t sound very sensible,” I said. We stared at the dancers for a moment in silence; then I felt his eyes on me.
“I could scarcely believe it when I heard you were alive,” he said remotely. I did not know what to say. When I looked up, embarrassed by the long silence between us, his expression was stern and unsmiling.
“It will take much to convince me to let you go away again,” he said gravely. “Yet I sense you don’t really belong to us or to Obernewtyn. There is something in you that holds you ever apart. You are like a piece of smoke in my hand.”
“I am glad to be home,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
A wintry smile lit his dark features. “Home? This is the first time I have heard you call Obernewtyn that.”
I smiled. “You would be astonished at how often I thought of it that way and longed to be here. What is that saying Louis has?”
“The greenest grass is home grass … something like that.” He gave me a long look. “You are a strange one, Elspeth. Everything you do is mysterious and unexpected. Roland is sadly puzzled over the healing of your feet. He tells me even the scars have disappeared—something he assures me is impossible. The coercers talk of nothing but your ability to coerce as well as Gevan, and the healers praise your miraculous healing of Maruman. Not to mention the change in Gahltha. And what of your sudden appearance when we had thought you dead? How much more is there about you that you choose to keep hidden? I would swear you tell more to Gahltha and that cat than to any of us.”
I suppressed an urge to smooth the frown from Rushton’s forehead. I had never imagined loving anyone, and I had always believed Rushton incapable of doing so. Perhaps I was wrong in both cases. But something stayed my hand and tongue.
My life would not be fully my own until I had fulfilled my vow to destroy the weaponmachines. Until that was done, I could not truly belong anywhere or to anyone; I had no right to think of Rushton as anything but the Master of Obernewtyn while my dark quest lay before me. That secret set a tiny chasm between us. And until that was gone, I did not belong even to myself.
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