by Dave Duncan
“And what happened then?” the First prompted.
“His Honor had us move down to the river mouth, to camp on the beach overnight. In the morning he sent me home in Orca to report to Y’r Rev’nce. He reckoned that whoever had trashed Vult had hit Fueguino too, so he was going to take th’ other two ships down the coast and see if he could get ahead of them and warn the villages in their path. If Tokachi was still safe, he would prepare to defend it.”
Ranau nodded. “I think you covered everything the admiral wrote in his report.” He smiled. “Tell them how many days ago you left the mouth of the Vunuwer River.”
“Thirteen, Y’r Rev’nce.” Kembar smirked, displaying several gaps in his teeth.
Komev said, “Great Goddess! Did you never sleep?”
“Lads were pretty hungry and thirsty when we got to Brandur, Y’r Honor.” He was saying that they had cut across open ocean instead of following the coast. He did not say whether Lascar had ordered such a gamble. From Brandur they could have island-hopped home.
“We’ll see they all get a bonus,” the First said, “and you, too, Commodore. You have brought us the worst news Benign has heard in centuries, but we do not punish messengers. Admiral Lascar admitted in his report that he had no firm evidence, but he thought the most likely explanation was that Governor Podakan led the garrison, or most of it, inland to attack Eldritch and was defeated in a battle. That left no one to stop whatever dwells in the Dread Lands from sacking Vult. Do you agree with that assessment?”
The marine nodded. “That was what we all thought, Y’r Rev’nce.”
“Questions now? You had one, ’92.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Ledacos said. “When did this happen?”
“I’m not certain, Y’r Honor. …”
“Of course not. If you’d been there, you’d be dead too. But didn’t you even try to estimate?”
Unflustered by such petty efforts to browbeat him, Kembar said, “The corpses at Fueguino were floating. They’d need some days to bloat up in water that cold. The lads thought at least two weeks since Fueguino was hit, which means more’n a month ago now, Y’r Honors.” A flotilla of three galleys would usually include at least one man with personal knowledge of anything imaginable, so those estimates were probably reliable. “Vult happened in winter.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Grass was growing through the bones, Y’r Honor; and they’d been picked clean. Gulls and rats, likely. Rain had washed the ashes well.”
The First caught Irona’s eye. Winter was when Koriana had started insisting that Podakan was never coming home.
The gloom deepened. Benign would need at least two months more to put an adequate army in the field. Evil had broken out of its ancient cell. How far could Maleficence have advanced in a month? How much farther in two more?
Dallol 672 had a voice like dry leaves blowing across a yard. “I always understood that there was no way along the coast from the Dread Lands to Fueguino and the Empire.”
“If there isn’t,” asked Pavouk 708, “then why do we bother keeping a stronghold at Vult?”
“To keep our own people from trading for fixes, of course. But how did Maleficence get around Cape Imun to Fueguino? Has Maleficence itself taken to the sea now?”
Kembar hesitated, then said, “The boats we saw were all burned or smashed, Y’r Honor. Both places.”
“Good reasoning,” said Banahaw 688. “When I was sent up there, years ago, we had orders to survey the coast from Vult back to Fueguino, to see if there were any recent settlements we didn’t know of. Most of it’s sheer cliff dropping into deep water. It’s gashed by fiords, so any path along the coast would be much longer than the route a ship takes. I don’t say that nimble men, well prepared, couldn’t work their way along there in time, but the logistics are impossible. A man can pack only so much food on his back. I’d doubt anyone could carry more than a week’s rations over terrain like that, and it would take months to scramble on hands and knees from Vult to Fueguino. They must have come over the mountains.”
Surely Maleficence would have crossed the Rampart Ranges long ago if it could? The destruction of both Vult and Fueguino must be more than just coincidence. Kembar said nothing, but Irona thought he would like to.
“What’s your opinion, Commodore?” she asked. “You’ve had longer to think about it than we have,”
He avoided her eye. “Dunno the mountains, Your Honors, and the little I’ve seen of the coast agrees with what Honorable 688 just said.”
Irona said, “The problem would be the same either way—carrying enough rations. You can eat birds’ eggs in springtime, but a few gannets’ eggs won’t feed an army.” Then she realized what he was thinking, and it was the worst jolt yet. “Oh, Goddess! Like the Gren in Achelone? The garrison? The trogs drove their prisoners ahead of them and ate them as needed?” Had Podakan ended as trog dinner?
“That is wild speculation,” the First said firmly, “and must not be repeated outside this room. I have a question. If you found so few bodies at Fueguino, isn’t it possible that the inhabitants fled inland, or south along the coast, leaving their town to be burned?”
“Could be, Y’r Rev’nce,” Kembar said doubtfully.
But there were other possible explanations. The people could have been herded away as livestock. Or they could have been conscripted—consumed. Ranau did not mention those possibilities.
“If there are no more questions, Your Honors, I would accept a motion of thanks to Commodore Kembar and his crew for a job well done, with a directive to the Navy Board to issue appropriate bonuses.”
There were rumbles of agreement.
“Unanimous. Thank you, Commodore.”
Kembar bowed and left by the corridor door.
Now came decision time.
For a compromise candidate, Ranau 674 had turned out to be an excellent First, perhaps the best Irona had served under in all her years as a Seven. He had grown into the job very quickly and now ran meetings like a captain running a ship. Power changed people, a truth too often overlooked.
“This is an extraordinary crisis, Your Honors, and an urgent one. We must summon the Seventy to meet as soon as possible, but only you can decide what to advise them.” A hand rose. “708?”
Pavouk said, “I move, as a formality, that we deal with this here and now and do not refer it to committee.”
The First glanced around. “I see no objection. Next?”
“Isn’t it obvious,” said Komev 701, “that we field all the resources of the Empire with all possible haste?”
“I accept that as a motion. Debate?”
Banahaw 688 said, “Probably it should rendezvous at Vyada Kun and then work its way—”
The First slapped the table. “Out of order. We’ll deal with the principle now and tactics later.”
After a moment, Ledacos murmured, “Question?” and Ranau put the question. The motion carried.
Ledacos raised a hand and received the chair’s nod. “And next, I move that we go straight to choosing a leader for this expedition, because in a crisis the Seventy always accept the Sevens’ nominee without argument. If we can agree, I would hope to have him found and summoned here immediately.”
“We have a motion to nominate a leader,” Ranau said. “Objections? I see none. I call for names.”
Long silence. A year ago, Irona thought ruefully, the obvious candidate would have been the man who had slain the Beru with a broken sword, shattered the king of kings’s armada with a mere eleven ships, and settled the Muhavura rising without a blow struck—the unconquerable Podakan. Now he had gone to Vult and failed most horribly. She hoped he had failed. She could not help recalling her old suspicions that he had been conscripted by the Enemy, either in that encounter with the Beru in Didicas, or during his stay in the Three Kingdoms. If t
hat were the case, then he had gone to Vult specifically to loose the hordes of evil trapped in the Dread Lands, and he had succeeded spectacularly. He had betrayed the garrison and sacked the fortress. Now Koriana was eager to return home and tell whichever of her brothers was the present king of kings that the time had come to attack the Empire from the south while her husband wasted it from the north.
Irona didn’t really believe all that. She couldn’t believe that. She mustn’t believe that. But if his own mother could think it, other people would, too.
She realized that the silence had gone on far too long. Looking around, she saw that were waiting for her to come out of her trance.
The First said, “This is a time of great sorrow for you, 700. It is grossly unfair of us to ask you. We realize this. You have given your life to the Empire and should not be asked for more.”
She? They wanted her to lead an army again?
“You are,” he continued, “our expert on Maleficence. You defeated it at Vult, at Didicas, and at Elbrus. Can’t you turn the tide for us once more?”
Six pairs of eyes watched her. She didn’t know what to say, or even what to think. It was impossible, surely. She was old and crippled and bereaved. How could they even ask her?
“I am wondering,” Ledacos said softly, “and I suspect we are all wondering, whether you want a chance to avenge your son’s death?”
Ledacos knew her better than any of them, and she didn’t trust him at all.
But revenge? Yes, perhaps that was the concept her mind had been groping for.
“If you want it, Irona,” the First said, “I think it is yours.”
“How can you trust me?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “You must see that my son may serve Maleficence. He may have betrayed his men and his homeland. He lived with a woman who may be a spy and is rumored to be a witch. He never did what he was told to do, not at Didicas, not at Kell, not at Muhavura. And certainly not at Vult. Put forward my name to the Seventy and you will have a revolution on your hands.”
“We all know you, Irona,” Dallol said. “I’ve watched you in the Assembly Hall for thirty-eight years, and I cannot believe that you are anything but loyal to the goddess and the Empire.”
Heads nodded. They might be testing. If she accepted, then she was a traitor too and they would send her to the sea death.
“You may know me,” she said, “but I know the Seventy, and they will not appoint me. I could not in good faith accept if they did. I ask leave to stay away from the meeting. They will talk more freely without me.”
“Irona,” said Pavouk, the youngest one there. “We have no one else! The Empire has been at peace too long. No one who has ever led an army is left alive, except you.”
She lifted her foot from the stool and set it down. “No, not if you exile me to Maasok for twenty years. I cannot be leader. You need a young man for that job. And now I ask that I may leave and be alone with my grief.”
No one spoke as she limped to the door and left.
She could not bring herself to go home yet. She had her chair carried to the nearest bazaar and sent one of her guards in to buy honey cakes. Then she went to visit Koriana and her children. They might not all be Irona’s grandchildren, but some of them might be. She had grown fond of them since she had taken charge of them. Not really loving them, of course, not in the usual sense, because she wasn’t a loving sort of person. It had taken her a long time to discover that.
The servants who admitted her were the people she expected, and they did not indicate that anything untoward had happened. If the Geographical Section had taken over, as the First had said, it was being extraordinarily discreet. But when was it not? Irona asked for the children to be sent to her favorite grotto, which was screened from view by a thick laurel hedge and included a noisy fountain. She had no wish for her farewells to be overheard. She also asked for Koriana to be told that she was there.
She had barely settled on the marble bench when Avazan arrived. At ten, he did not look much like Podakan, but he behaved like him. Without a word of greeting he took two cakes and stuffed one in his mouth so he could grab a third before the rest of the children got there. He ruled his siblings with an iron hand. Despotism ran in his mother’s family too.
Adwa was eight and had inherited all of her mother’s incredible beauty. Her manners were as perfect as her complexion. She greeted her grandmother sweetly and waited to be offered a cake before thanking her and accepting.
Hanish was a year younger and his legs weren’t long enough to keep up. He arrived puffing and accepted a cake, without thanks but with a smile than more than made up for that. He had charm, which had not come from either of his official parents.
“Don’t gulp it,” Irona said. “I have more. I’m not going to be seeing you much in future.”
“Dam says we’re going to go on a ship,” Avazan said through a mouthful of cake. “It’s going to have a hole in it.”
“What?”
“And you won’t be meddling any more,” Hanish said sadly. “Is giving cakes meddling?”
“I expect so.”
“Then I’m sorry you won’t be doing it.” He accepted another.
“So am I,” Irona said, astonished to discover a lump in her throat.
Having an empty hand now, Avazan helped himself to a fourth cake.
And then Koriana arrived, holding Chiracha’s hand and accompanied by Alayta. She sat down on the bench as Irona gave the toddlers cakes. As always, Koriana glittered with gems, fit to belle any ball in the Empire. She seemed to be in a conciliatory mood as she addressed Hanish’s feet.
“This is very kind of you, ma’am. Olkaria’s asleep. Do you want her fetched?”
“No, don’t disturb her. I came to tell you that your passage home is being arranged, but Avazan says you’ve already been told.”
“I haven’t been told. I just know.”
“And what’s this about a hole?”
Koriana glanced up and momentarily made eye contact. “Do you really believe that I will be allowed to return to the Three Kingdoms?”
Irona said quickly, “Of course I do!” But did she? Even the Geographical Section might not be ruthless enough to send a ship and all hands to the bottom of the ocean just to score a political point. That would be hard to arrange, anyway, but it would be easy enough to ensure that one particular passenger failed to arrive. A year ago Irona would have said Seven Ranau was incapable of such an atrocity. Today she thought First Ranau might be. “I will make sure that nothing goes wrong.”
Koriana just smiled and went back to studying the paving.
“If you wish, I will adopt the children so that they can stay here.”
“That doesn’t happen.”
Irona said, “I can come with you. Do you want me to?”
“Oh no,” Koriana said vaguely. “You go the other way, to meet Podakan.”
“He is still alive?”
“I see you meeting him, is all.”
“Where? Not Vult?” Please, Goddess, not Vult again!
The woman shrugged. “I do not know the name, but I saw him when he was there before.”
“In Muhavura?” Irona reminded herself that she must not let wishful thinking trap her into believing such ravings. At least Koriana’s prophecies were always made before the fact—unlike Puchuldiza’s—and some of her visions might have happened to come true by sheer chance. Now she was contradicting herself, saying Podakan was still alive.
“Maybe. I brought this for you, because you have been kind to my children, even knowing they are not of your blood.” Koriana opened her hand and let a cord fall dangling, a braid of many colors. “I let each of them choose one of the yarns.”
“It will bring you good luck,” Avazan said, eyeing the last honey cake.
“I chose the blue one,” Adwa said, dark eyes solemn.
“Olkaria chose one too,” Hanish said, “the red one, although she didn’t know what it meant.”
“You tie it around you under your gown,” said Alayta, “like this, see?” She lifted her dress to show one like it. While Irona was distracted, Avazan and Hanish both grabbed for the last honey cake. Avazan got it; Hanish landed on his back and his head hit the paving with a crack. Their mother paid no attention.
“I will,” Irona promised. “And I am sure it will bring me good luck. And it will remind me of all of you. Hanish, come here, love.” She gathered the weeping child to her and tried to comfort him. She was quite shocked to discover that her eyes were misting over. They had never done that before, not ever.
The following morning Irona told her clients to vote any way they liked at the special meeting of the Seventy called for noon, as long as they didn’t elect her to anything. She couldn’t tell them what the topic would be, because the news had not yet been announced.
Meluak 723 came calling late that evening. He had been a beefy, loud youth when the goddess chose him, sixteen years ago. Now he was a beefier man, almost as loud. He had been the nearest Podakan had to a friend among the Chosen, and Irona had always liked him because he had never taken himself seriously, nor Podakan either. He was the only person Podakan could ever tolerate laughing at him. As soon as Edziza announced him she guessed that he had been appointed to lead the northern expedition. He marched in and waved cheerily to Veer, who was preparing to leave.
“Stay, citizen,” he boomed. “This will be all over the city in no time.” Then, to Irona’s surprise and annoyance, he knelt to her. “I accepted the poison cup, 700.”
“Excellent, a splendid choice! Admiral or grand admiral?”
“Grand, the top.”
Grand admiral was a supreme office created only in direst emergencies. Meluak could overrule the First, the Seven, or even the Seventy.
“I congratulate—”
“Accepted on two conditions! First, that if we are able to join forces with Lascar, he will outrank me, because he knows an oar from a spear and I don’t. Second, that you will be my deputy.”