by Doris Egan
I stood up and looked down the road. Nothing. But the kids still looked excited, so I took a few steps up the side of the hill.
Very far in the distance, movement. I stationed myself on the hillside and undid the fastenings on the respectable
white outer robe I was wearing. My hands were sweating. I really didn't see how we were going to succeed; if only Stereth, like Ran, would choose to be a bit more forthcoming. Both of them could use a good Athenan therapy group.
Now there was a frightening thought. My brain seemed to slow down at that point, tracking in the same circles while I waited, forever, for the procession to reach us.
The Governor and the Steward were in front, preceded only by six militia officers in gold dress uniform. Then about thirty more soldiers, then—yes. A large cage, ornamental gold leaf around top and bottom (Ivorans did nothing by halves), with huge trundly wheels whose top thirds disappeared into humps in the floor. The Governor was bringing his man in in style. A band of red characters ran around the top of the cage, below the gold leaf: "So are all enemies of our beloved Emperor brought low."
Behind the cage, an endless parade of militia. Oh, Stereth. I hope you know what you're doing, I hope the gods will protect me as they protect all scholars without wit enough to come in out of the rain. The cage trundled closer and I saw Ran sitting in the middle, on the bare wood floorboards, his knees drawn up, his arms around his legs. As though maximizing the distance between himself and the crowds. It must have been a long journey from Kynogin.
Two officers rode to the left and right of the cage. Two people in civilian dress accompanied them: A man and a woman in city robes and decorated boots. Sorcerers, I'd bet my life; the Atvalids protecting their cargo. Damn! If only I'd pressed Stereth. Of course after my escape from Kynogin bank, they would assume the sorcerer in Stereth's company was Cantry. They were more right than they knew. Cantry would be dead if she tried her illusion-in-the-road trick here; these people were professionals.
There were shouts just down the road: A fight broke out at the beer stand. Governor Atvalid, with a disgusted look on his face, motioned for a couple of officers to go over and put a stop to it. One of the men fighting took a swing at an officer and ended up on his backside in the dirt. The Governor's mount—bred for show, evidently, danced out a few steps, and her rider began, "Citizens! If you please—" I was trying to get a better view of Ran. He
didn't appear to be moving much; he wasn't even looking around. Drugged? I took a step down the hillside to get a closer look.
A yell pierced the air. Even having been warned of this much, I nearly jumped out of my boots. I turned involuntarily to the hill to my right, and stared at the five people cresting it as though I'd never seen them before.
Cantry was at the lead. She wore no hat, letting her blonde hair loose, and her jacket and trousers were the flashiest of all the bandit clothing I'd seen. There was a gold chain with a huge roc sapphire at her throat. Usually Cantry was a plain, silent shadow, but today she was an outlaw princess, and the soldiers stared at her. The four men flanking her were Lex, Komo, Paravit-Col, and Sembet Triol. Paravit-Col alone looked nervous, but even he wore his new quilted jacket of emerald green.
"Release Stereth Tar'krim!" she cried, before anyone had a chance to recover.
The Steward was the first to make an effort to deal with the situation. "Disarm yourselves and surrender, madam." Unimpressed with the show of outlaw legend, he used a form of address that was barely polite. He looked younger and grimmer than I'd seen him before, and wore a traditional high officer's dress cap of shining silver cast with battle carvings around the sides. Very nice. I'd carried his blue hat of Imperial Favor out of the bank with me accidentally and didn't notice it till I was halfway to the fort. I'd have dropped it on the floor for him if I'd remembered.
I heard murmurs of "Cantry, she's Cantry" from the crowd. I pulled off my scarf and outer robe, showing my barbarian coloring. Beneath the robe I wore the jacket Stereth had given me. I pushed a gold circlet up on my forehead. "The hell she is!" I yelled as forcefully as I could. The soldiers stared from one of us to the other, paralyzed, like the audience at a provincial theater.
"How many of them are there?" I heard somebody say.
The Steward, a man who did not react well to confusion, pulled out a pistol.
Oops. He looked toward Cantry, then leveled it at me.
A flash of green smoke, and the rumble of an explosion, shook the ground near the beer stand. More green smoke poured from somewhere to the rear of the militia column.
Somebody grabbed me from behind and, reacting like anybody trained by Carabinstereth, I nearly kneed him in the groin before I remembered it was Grateth. He pulled me up onto his mount and we rode through the green fog. I could just make out Cantry and her group riding like hell in five different directions. They'd never gotten any closer to Ran than that, and I felt sick. I twisted my head round as we crested the hill, and in the clearing smoke I saw the patch of ground in the center of the militia column, the ornate cage with its beautifully calligraphic warning.
It was empty.
I rode on, hopeful, scared, and confused, away from the distant shouting over the hill. There were more trees around this area than most parts of the Plateau, no doubt one of the factors in Stereth's choice, and we zigzagged among them.
"Hey!" I called to Grateth. "You're heading back to Drear!"
"I know!" he shouted in an impatient tone, so I let him go. Obviously I was a spear-carrier in this drama. We slowed to a walk before Grateth took us into the market town. "They'll be all over the hills looking for us," he said quietly. "Safer here. The cattle agent's one of our fences."
The cattle agent was prudently not home, but we were received by a familiar figure. "Des!" I shouted, and threw myself into his arms.
"It went pretty well, didn't it?" he said, grinning.
"Did it? Is he all right? Where have you been for two weeks? Will one of you tell me what's going on?"
Des wore his smug look, the one that said he couldn't fail to please his audience with this bit. "I've been helping Sokol, darling. The vanishing act was my idea."
"Where is he? How did you do it?"
"Well, it's a long story. He's fine, really. We just have to collect him."
I punched him, not hard, in the shoulder, and said, "Tell me what happened!"
"If I tell you, you won't be impressed."
"Des, how can I not be impressed? Sokol disappeared from a cage in full view of a troop of militia! Tell me how you did it!"
"People are always disappointed when they learn how tricks are done. Trust me. I had to assist the magician who opened for us when I was with the Sotar Touring Company, and I know what I'm saying. —Not that I told anybody how the tricks worked, I mean. I'm very discreet, Tymon."
I was puzzled. "A magician? So you did use sorcery?"
He frowned back. "Magicians don't use sorcery, sweetheart. Oinerwise why would people come to see them? Any sorcerer can make an illusion so that somebody looks like they've been cut in half, but it takes a clever man to do it without magic. Why, I always had to read an affidavit before each performance, guaranteeing that no sorcery was involved in any—"
"Damn it! Just tell me how you did it!"
He saw I was serious, and shrugged. "Trap door in the cage. I've been a carpenter's apprentice the last two weeks."
I was disappointed. "Is that all?"
"I told you you'd be disappointed. I shouldn't have said anything."
"But it's so obvious—" I paused. "It's too obvious. And didn't they see him when he came out? And didn't they check the cage when it was made?"
"Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs, my barbarian. Grateth, aren't some of the others supposed to be here by now?"
Grateth had been pacing. Now he nodded and said, "I'm going to look around. Stay here, and don't argue too loudly."
He left. Des sat down and stretched out his long legs. "Tymon, people see wh
at they expect to see in this life. They ordered a cage, and they got a cage."
"And nobody saw him climb out?"
"Ah. Well, there we come to a specific point. He didn't really climb out, actually. He's, uh, still in the cage."
"The cage was empty! I saw it!"
"And didn't I just tell you not to trust what you see? Your half-husband is even now in a crawlspace under the floor, by one of the wheels. That's why the bottom of the cage looks so secure from beneath—it is, there's no exit. Paravit-Col and Komo had to go back and cut him out.
—Hope they're doing it soon. Not a lot of air in that section."
I sat down myself. "You said he was all right."
"I'm sure he is. Everybody knew what they had to do."
"Gods." I was silent for a moment, then said, "Won't there still be guards around the cage?"
"Around an empty cage? Every soldier in the troop will be out scouring the hills for Stereth Tar'krim, or the Gover-nor'll have apoplexy. Or he might have it anyway."
"But won't they figure it out, come back and check—"
"You didn't figure it out till I told you." He ran an exhausted hand through his hair. "That's what the fighting at the beer stand and the bit with you and Cantry was for— give 'em a show, don't give 'em time to think. They're too busy to think now, too. Eventually, yeah, maybe in two or three days they'll come back and check. By then the cage will be kindling, and we'll have another legend of the great Stereth Tar'krim, who disappeared on the Shaskala Road."
We sat there, both wrung out. Then I said, "Des, you ever thought of going in for directing instead of acting?"
He laughed. "Don't give me all the credit, Tymon. This was Stereth's show. I was just a consultant."
"Your idea, though. Thank you."
He kissed my cheek. "I'll take the thanks, but I really don't deserve that either. I didn't bring up the idea seriously. I was drunk one night, and was asked my opinion—"
"The old Stereth Tar'krim Get-Your-Followers-Stoned-and-See-What-They-Have-To-Say Trick.''
"Well, if it works—"
Grateth came in again. "Lex is here. We're missing Komo, Sokol, and Paravit-Col. Everybody else had other meeting places."
Lex entered a few seconds later—followed by Stereth. We all practically snapped to attention.
Stereth's eyes were bright behind the glasses. He brushed road dust off his jacket and said, "I came to tell you not to wait for Komo. He and Sokol had to take another route home. —He's out and safe, Tymon. He just has to make it back to the monastery. I haven't seen Paravit-Col."
"I did." It was Lex. "Two soldiers had him. He was off his mount. They were walking him southwest, toward Kynogin."
"How long ago?" snapped out Stereth.
"Ten minutes."
"Take Grateth and show him. Deal with the soldiers before they multiply."
"Deal with them?" That from Lex, who was worse than Des when it came to avoiding any trouble.
"There are only two. Follow them and kill them." He turned to me. "You go with them, Tymon. All this was at your request."
We found tracks where Lex showed us. There were no militia within sight; I don't know if we were just lucky or if they'd mostly fanned out by now into territory farther from town. We had a good chance of overtaking the soldiers, apparently, because Lex said the marks still showed they were walking their captive behind their own mounts.
After a couple of minutes I saw Lex and Grateth exchange looks. I said, "What?"
Grateth pointed to the ground. There were no bootmarks here, just traces of two mounts. And those traces were none too clear—as though some ultra-careful servant had followed with a broom, sweeping them up.
"I don't get it," I said.
"Got tired of walking him," growled Lex.
"Then what are they doing with him?"
Neither of them answered. We followed the tracks through some brambles and down a damp hillside, where I could finally see the slight gulley Paravit-Col had left as he was dragged through the grass.
The soldiers had gone on a merry ride. Their trail circled and doubled back, zigzagged through the prickly Sector trees and bushes, and headed back toward town.
Five kilometers outside Drear, we spotted Paravit-Col's new green jacket on the opposite bank of a stream. Coming nearer, we saw the brown of his riding trousers, and his dark curly hair. Grateth reached him first, and turned him over as I dismounted.
He had no face.
Ran was waiting back at the monastery. We took hold of each other for a while in sheer relief, then pulled away to see Stereth waiting. I reported in about Paravit-Col.
"I'll tell Mora," he said. "What about you, Sokol?"
"I also regret his death," said Ran formally. He was thinner and tired-looking, which I guess was only to be expected.
"Well you should," said Stereth. "but I was speaking of your future with the band. Your half-wife gave me reason to believe you would be more cooperative at our next meeting."
We were alone in one corner of the main hall; people were still dribbling back from the great rescue. So far Paravit-Col was the only reported casualty.
Ran turned to me, his face unreadable. "Did you give a House promise?"
"No."
His gaze returned to Stereth. "Then I'm under no obligation to honor any personal promise she may have made."
"She made no promise. I had the impression she spoke more from a knowledge of your character. She did tell me once that you never forget an obligation."
I'd mentioned it in passing, months ago. Did the man store up every damn thing he heard like nuts for the winter?
"I'm not aware of any obligation," Ran said.
Stereth let that falsehood lie there in silence, growing. Then he said, "I see you got my message about the trapdoor."
Ran's lips twisted. "Thank you," he said briefly, as though the words hurt. A second later he burst out, "Whatever you did was for your own reasons—"
"It always is."
"I never made any agreements with you or anybody here—"
"No, we all realize that."
Ran looked more and more frustrated. Stereth smiled. "We'll talk later. You should both get some sleep. The afternoon still stretches before us; no doubt we'll find some way of entertaining ourselves. And you certainly don't need to concern yourself, Ran; no Cormallon promises were exchanged."
Ran turned slowly and looked at me. I felt my face get hot.
"I'll leave you to your rest, then, shall I?" Stereth patted me on the shoulder in comradely fashion and left us.
"It was a complicated situation," I told Ran.
"The one thing I didn't want anyone here to know—"
"They were going to execute you!"
Well, our voices were raised for a good quarter of an hour. If anybody didn't know his name before, they heard it then. Eventually Ran remembered that it was beneath his dignity to yell, and slipped into the icy formality he reserved for those times when he was particularly angry. I hated it when he did that.
There was no question of a nap by the time we were through, and I stamped out to find something physical to do. Most of the bands were back by then, and as I tramped angrily through the stables and up to the coop and down to the hostage privy it started to penetrate that the atmosphere in the fort had changed. There was a grim seriousness everywhere. None of the fooling around or congratulating or friendly insults that followed a successful run. Paravit-Col, the youngest of the original band and always popular, was dead—but cruel as this may sound, that wasn't enough to explain the change. Death comes as no great shock to Sector outlaws.
"Stereth thinks we're nearing a crisis," Des said to me, when I cornered him in the hostages' outbuilding, carrying in extra blankets. He seemed to feel the prisoners were his personal pets.
"He didn't say anything to me."
Des shrugged, and I had to admit that Stereth never revealed much to me if he could avoid it. I suppose it was only sensible.
"Cantry told him," said Des.
This was a new one on me. Presentiment, if that's what we were talking about, was a rare ability. Even with the cards, I— The cards. How long since I'd run them? I ought to get them out now and see what they had for me.
Just then Mora appeared at the door. "There you are, Tymon. Come along, we're having a session in the main hall. Carabinstereth sent me to find you." Her voice was businesslike, her eyes clear. I couldn't tell if she'd heard about Paravit-Col yet, or not. They'd been lovers ever since the day Clintris na'Fli brought in the giant country bathtub.
The thought seemed to take away any naturalness I possessed, and I found that I had no idea what words to say
to her. I nodded finally, and she said, "Ten minutes, Tymon." She closed the door.
I turned to Des. "Does she know?"
"She knows." That grim seriousness was even in Des' voice—Des, who'd always seemed to feel that when life started to go wrong he could just pull aside the scriptwriter for a private talk.
The mood was everywhere. For Carabinstereth to announce a double practice session was unusual enough, and I found when I got to the main hall that the class attitude was quiet and tense, not the usual slightly hysterical humor that prevailed at these times.
Some of the protective face helmets had been lost in the move from Deathwell, so Carabinstereth simply announced we would do without. Lex, of course, had his own specially padded helmet still intact; you could always count on Lex to look out for number one.
I stood on the sidelines waiting during the third hour of class. Periwinkle, the chubby girl next to me, handed me the waterjug. We were always thirsty during lessons—I remember our lips were usually dry, too, for some reason, and the women were forever smearing creams on them. Anyway, I took a swig, trying to ignore the dread I always felt waiting for my turn. I was second from the top of the line.
Juvindeth was on the mat. Juvie was stubborn as her road-name, but not that difficult to get along with, and she was as short as you can get without being a barbarian. She did a few well-aimed kicks at Lex, our instructor-target that day. Bad luck for Juvie: She was forced into a complicated maneuver near the edge of the mat, slipped, and went over. This is not usually a problem, as we were taught to continue fighting from the ground, and indeed, women usually have the advantage of men in that kind of fight.