The Cycle of Galand Box Set

by Edward W. Robertson

  "They've got a curfew going," Blays said. "Give me a minute to scout the way ahead."

  He disappeared into the darkness, leaving the three of them crouched at the top of the staircase down into the well. Blays was back within five minutes. He led them through the deserted streets to a closed-up cobbler's.

  In the apartments upstairs, Cord rose from her vigil at the window. "You're here."

  "Nothing could keep me away," the Keeper said. "This ends tomorrow."

  "And we'll taste Gladdic's blood."

  Blays and Cord had a change of clothes waiting for each of them. Once Dante was into dry clothes, he pulled Blays aside. "How's it been?"

  Blays bugged his eyes and shook his head. "Most of them still don't know what's happening. If we'd told them, the city would be tumbling down around our ears."

  "But they'll be ready to fight?"

  "You know how some people claim they were born ready? I think these people tumbled out of the womb with wheels in hand."

  "Then I feel great sorrow for their mothers."

  Blays gazed across the room at Cord and the Keeper, who were engaged in conversation. "It's going to get ugly tomorrow. The Mallish aren't going to surrender. They found the bodies by the river."

  "I should have buried them."

  "Maybe it's for the best. If any of the bluecoats were to surrender, we'd witness another massacre."

  Dante grimaced. "What happens if we knock Gladdic out early? The Mallish will know they don't stand a chance. If they try to give up, are we going to let the Colleners kill them?"

  "Since when did you care about the bluecoats' lives?"

  "Since their wanton slaughter might provoke King Charles into sending a second force in search of revenge."

  "This is just a philosophical exercise, right? You can't stop the Colleners. I think you'd have more luck stopping a wave with a broom."

  Dante made a thinking noise. "We could say we'll quit helping them."

  "I thought we were doing that anyway."

  "They don't know that."

  Blays felt around for a chair, dabbing at his forehead. "You'll have to excuse me. Your display of moral grandeur is so dazzling I think I'm about to faint."

  "It's for their own good. Killing a few hundred Mallish soldiers while they're trying to surrender will only bring more troubles to the basin."

  "And yet threatening to cut off help we have no intention of giving them makes me feel like…you know. That mucky stuff that gathers at the edges of ponds."

  "Scum?"

  "Yes. It makes me feel like scum."

  That night, Dante barely slept. The sun rose on a city that seemed to be standing in the doorway of a house it feared to leave. With the right paperwork, citizens were allowed to move through the streets during daylight hours, and throughout the morning, the cobbler's store received several visits from Cord's friends. According to them, the Mallish were gathering up the day's "refugees" just as they'd done for the last few days. There was no indication they were aware of the impending attack from the six outer towns.

  Two hours before the refugees were to be led down the switchbacks, the five of them snuck through the streets, aided by Collenese lookouts, and relocated to the top floor of a row house overlooking the entry to the plateau. The minutes that followed were among the longest of Dante's life.

  As afternoon advanced, male voices rose from the street. A hymn. Dante knew it well enough to hum along, but it was a minute before he recognized it as the Hymn of Good Travels. Gray-robed priests broke into the open, leading a large group of citizens toward the road down from the cliffs. The people carried bundles and packs. They looked anxious, but not particularly fearful.

  Face after tan face passed beneath the row houses. After more than a hundred had gone by, with twice as many strung out behind them, Cord sank to the floor, arm braced over her knee, brow pressed to her forearm.

  "I can't watch this any longer," she said. "Tie me down before I run from this room with my wheel in my hands."

  "Is it that bad?" Dante gestured to the column of people. "Aren't they minutes away from claiming their deathright?"

  Cord lifted her head. "Are you mocking me?"

  "I'm curious. I thought it was every Collener's dream to die at the hands of the Mallish. When I saved your friend from that fate, he challenged me to a duel. I'm always having to talk you guys out of getting yourselves killed. So why does this upset you?"

  "My people shouldn't die like baby lambs. They should die fighting! If they were from Narashtovik, could you sit and watch them walk to a death they don't know is coming?"

  Dante watched the last of the refugees being led away from the butte. "Do you know what happens to us when we die?"

  She turned back to the window. "The Mallish say we stand before Taim to be measured. The just are brought to the Blue City. The unjust are banished to the Blasted Lands."

  "The Mallish are as wrong about that as they are about everything else."

  "I know what your people think. You join Arawn on the hill beneath the stars." She laughed darkly. "Not much to look forward to. Why have my people spent centuries dying for such a belief?"

  "My people are wrong, too," Dante said. "Or maybe they're right, but only about a piece of the truth."

  "I thought your people believed whatever you tell them to believe. So how can they be wrong?"

  "Because I haven't seen them since I learned the truth."

  Cord's eyes shifted to his. Her lower lip was thrust forth, the skin wrinkled on her heavy brow. "What's the truth?"

  "When we die, the first thing we do is dream of ourselves. Alone, we sort through our wishes and fears. When we finally know ourselves as we really are, we wake up. We rejoin our people. Past and present. And we live as we did before the cracking of Arawn's Mill. No pain. No sickness. No fighting or death.

  "This time, instead of finding ourselves, I think we're searching for peace. For some people, this only takes a few years. For others, it's the work of centuries. In time, though, we all find it. And we leave our selves behind to join everything that's ever been."

  Outside, the Colleners were now gone from the plaza. A handful of blue-uniformed soldiers milled about.

  "That sounds so good." Cord swallowed, blinking back what might have been a tear. Abruptly, her face clouded with suspicion. "Too good, I say. If it's true, why don't we all die right now? There's no peace in this world. Why shouldn't we leave it behind for this other place?"

  Dante shrugged. "I don't know."

  "What kind of priest doesn't know why we exist?"

  "An honest one."

  The woman laughed, shoulders bouncing. "I think the gods eat suffering. That's why they've put it everywhere you look: so anywhere they go, they'll always be fed."

  They weren't the only ones watching from a window. How many of the other faces studding the row houses were biding their time until the coming fight? Since Dante had arrived the night before, Cord had claimed with complete certainty that somewhere between one and three thousand citizens would rise up and take arms. What if it was only five hundred? Or fifty?

  He supposed that was the Colleners' problem. Whether they rallied forth or hid in their homes, he would put an end to Gladdic's lock on the city.

  The butte's edge cut off sight of the town below. As a result, they couldn't see any comings and goings from the cavern where the "blessings" were taking place. About an hour after the citizens had disappeared down the switchbacks, the soldiers—now dressed in the clothes of the slain—appeared on the road west toward Mallon.

  Dante shifted in the open window. "They're on the move. Be ready."

  Blays joined him at the sill. "What happens if the townies don't show?"

  "They'll come," Cord said. "Or they'll be damned."

  Hundreds of feet below, the soldiers walked on, careful not to march in anything resembling a formation. A low hill loomed two miles ahead of them. Twenty minutes later, when they were within half a mile of its slope
s, an irregular column of troops poured from around the north end of the hill.

  Cord pounded Dante on the back. "I told you they'd come!"

  Dante winced, rubbing his shoulder. "Blays was the doubter. Hit him."

  The Colleners hurtled pell-mell toward the town abutting the butte. The Mallish soldiers halted. And hesitated. Maybe they were discussing whether to give up their ruse and flee back to the city, or to run west as if spooked, only to turn and pincer the Colleners after the rebels were engaged with the garrison remaining in the city.

  Whatever the case, it took them almost three minutes before they turned to run back to the road to the cliffs. They'd barely backtracked a quarter of a mile before it was obvious they wouldn't get there before the Colleners cut them off. Realizing this, they halted again. As they contemplated their next move, a second force of Colleners surged over the hill to the west.

  Dante jumped as horns blared from the square. Gladdic must have had more soldiers hidden among the buildings in case the residents caught on to the atrocity unfolding in the cavern: for within moments, bluecoats were rushing into the plaza. They streamed downhill to reinforce the soldiers in the basin, who were now moving south at a good clip, separating themselves from both of the Collenese forces.

  Blays clapped his hands. "Gladdic will be right down there in the cavern. As soon as his troops are engaged on the plain, we can serve him up to the gods."

  Dante's pulse picked up. "Are there any escape routes from the cavern?"

  "None," Cord said. "It's right where he should die. Let his soul be surrounded by the hundreds he's killed."

  The afternoon wasn't particularly warm, but sweat tickled down Dante's ribs. In the corner of the room, the Keeper stretched her legs and back. Dante kept expecting a Mallish force to seize the top of the road. That's what he'd do, had he committed most of his army below and was concerned about a revolt: archers behind the cover of wagons or hasty barricades, a few infantry to support them. Mix in a handful of priests, and they'd be positioned to annihilate any rebels who tried to take the road.

  But by the time the bluecoat reinforcements descended to the prairie below, the plaza remained empty.

  "He suspects something," Dante said. "He's keeping the demons in reserve."

  Blays put his hand to his mouth. "Then the revolt's doomed. Unless someone had the foresight to enlist a crack team of sexy demon-slayers."

  "There's no sense waiting any longer. Cord, where are your warriors?"

  "Waiting to be called." Cord leaned out the window, stuck two fingers in her mouth, and blew three notes, two short and one long. Satisfied, she swung back inside and leaned against the wall.

  The whistle repeated up and down the streets. Doors banged open. Men and women trotted outside, tying ribbons of twelve different hues around their elbows. Dante laughed in admiration. Either the Mallish patrols were as lazy and foolish as a drunken child, or the Colleners' coordination was without compare.

  "Well?" Cord spread her arms wide. "I brought you an army. Are you going to wait for the Andrac to start eating it before you step outside?"

  Dante stood from the window. "When the demons come, it's just as we practiced in the Bloodlake. Blays and I will handle any priests. If there are too many troops, we fall back and call in the Colleners. Otherwise, we get to Gladdic as fast as we can."

  They tromped down the steps. Even the Keeper kept pace; if it hurt her, she didn't show it. In the plaza, dozens of Collenese soldiers gathered, bearing swords and wheels and slings. Some lay prone at the cliff's edge, watching the armies maneuvering below.

  Cord was first to reach the trailhead. Dante sped up to catch her, skidding in the dirt. He wheeled his arms, crouching to stop himself from spilling off the side of the switchback.

  When he straightened, an inky figure stood on the road below them.

  Dante lifted his hands high. In one, he called the shadows. In the other, he called the light.

  He smiled down at the demon. "It ends now."

  27

  Gaits smiled down at her. "Bad news, Raxa. Your glorious reign is at an end."

  Seated in the soapy tub, Raxa gripped its rim. "What do you mean, you have my kids?"

  "Those little projects of yours. Your orphans. I've taken them to a safe location. But if anything were to happen to me, rendering me unable to send a message at the appropriate time, that location would become tragically unsafe."

  "You're a dead man."

  "Afraid not. That's the entire point of these elaborate preparations. As well as the presence of my sorcerous friend." Gaits motioned to the gaunt and feverish man. "I may not be able to see where you go when you disappear. But he can."

  Raxa's mind clicked like the tumblers of a lock. "When I saved you from the Crows outside the Marrigan. You were awake. You saw."

  Gaits' tone was the definition of pedantic. "First off, you didn't save me. It was important for me to be seen being captured by the Crows. Once they'd taken me out of sight, I was to mount a daring escape that would only add to my legend."

  "You've been protecting the real culprit all along. When Kerreven got too close to the truth, you had him killed. And now that I'm near, you're here for me."

  "Oh, don't try to paint me to be such a villain. If I hadn't talked you into buying a house, everything you own would have been lost when the Crows burned the Marrigan. I used every trick I knew to throw you and Kerreven off the trail. Even then, we could have avoided this. If Gurles hadn't made such a pretty speech, leadership would have fallen into my hands. I would have prosecuted the war against the Little Knives. We would have won and I would have thrown an amazing party. A few weeks from now, everything would have returned to normal."

  "There was no guarantee you'd get the crown. What if Anya had taken the vote?"

  "Why, I imagine she would have been assassinated."

  "Let me guess. Your investigation would have turned up links to the Little Knives."

  He cocked his head. "How do you do what you do, anyway? Vanishing like that? Is it magic?"

  "Yes," Raxa said. "Why did you do it?"

  "We flew too high, Raxa. Dreamed too big. After the job we pulled on the Citadel, they came for me. A woman named Cee. Fancies herself the Black Star. She's more or less the Citadel's equivalent of us. She told me they were going to destroy the Order. She offered me a choice: I could help them do so, and survive. Or they'd kill me then and there and slaughter the Order anyway. What choice did I have?"

  "To die without betraying your friends?"

  He snorted, flecks of saliva flying from his lips. "Spare me. You'd have done the exact same. You've always been in this for yourself."

  "Maybe so," she said. "But you're too smart to take the first offer. What else did you make them give you?"

  "The only thing worth more than land, Raxa."

  "A title."

  Gaits looked immensely pleased with himself. "Just so. You're now looking at Count Gaits."

  "You said we were going to build the Order as high as Ivars. As strong as the Citadel."

  "I meant to. But they don't let people like us climb out of the gutter. If we try to stand tall, they chop off our heads." His expression fell. She could almost believe the sadness and regret in the darkness of his eyes. "I've given you more than enough answers. You can puzzle out the rest during your stay beneath the stars on Arawn's hill."

  "All right," she said. "At least let me die on my feet."

  Raxa took her hand from the tub's rim and lowered it into the sudsy water. With her other hand, she braced herself on the tub's lip and stood halfway, bent forward, water cascading down her bare skin. Gaits glanced down her body with no particular interest. The large man and the feverish one both locked on her chest. They had the same look in their eyes. Hungry. Calculating. Raxa gave them a moment to get lost in their imaginations.

  Gaits' eyes left her figure and traveled to her right hand. His jaw dropped. "She's got a—"

  She sprung from the tub. Water whis
ked from the blade of the bone sword as she swung it toward the feverish nethermancer. Shadows jumped to the man's hands. Before he had the chance to use them, the sword ripped through him, sending his two halves crashing to the stone floor in a storm of blood.

  Raxa tensed, ready to swing a backhand through the big man, but he was already crashing into her side, driving her across the bathroom. His arm wrapped around hers, clamping the sword to her hip. She staggered sideways, fighting to keep her footing.

  Wasn't going to happen. He outweighed her by eighty pounds and she was already on the brink of falling. Rather than fighting it, she dropped away from him, her sudsy skin slipping from his grasp. She hit the ground. He stumbled past. She popped to her feet, wheeled her sword, and slammed it through his back.

  She whirled. Gaits was charging her, dagger in hand. Seeing the black sword between them, blood flowing down the curve of its blade, he stopped mid-stride.

  Raxa rushed sideways to put herself between Gaits and the door. "Drop the knife."

  His throat worked. He looked ready to retch. He opened his hand. The dagger fell to the floor with an off-key clang.

  "Thought there was something funny about that sword." His voice was strained. "Where'd you pick that up? The Citadel?"

  "It looked useful." Raxa's voice was as flat as the floor. "Where are the kids?"

  "I'd like to tell you that. Really, I would. However, if I do so, I have the strangest suspicion you'll kill me."

  "It'll be fast."

  "What a generous offer! With such finely honed diplomatic abilities, it's no wonder the Order saw fit to crown you."

  She shuffled half a step closer. "Tell me where they are."

  Gaits laughed, crow-like. "Or what? You'll kill me? Do you see why this isn't much of a deal for me?"

  "You want a deal? You tell me where they are. And I'll tell everyone that, in your last moments, you turned away from the monster you'd become."

  "Yes, yes, you want me dead. Have I taught you nothing, Raxa? In negotiations, you always have to give up something. You don't get to hear where they are and kill me. We're going to have to strike a bargain."