"So what?" Ro interrupted. "What does it matter to us, the useless strife of kings? Pocket Cove is separate from all of that. That's the very reason why we're here."
"Cellen's the one thing that could tear down our walls," Minn said. "Besides, I'm not finished."
Ro looked irritated, but made no further objections. Minn moved through what they'd done at Setteven and the Norren Territories, explaining what had brought them to Dante (as well as his significance in this tangled game), and how, right when Blays had made off with Cellen, it had been snatched up by the Minister.
Ro was staring at Blays. "And if you'd hung on to it, what would you have done with it?"
"Me?" he said. "I honestly have no idea."
"I have no time for coyness. No one quests for Cellen without scheming what they'll do once it's theirs."
"I really didn't give it that much thought. I just wanted to keep it away from the others." He picked up a pearly little shell and rolled it around his palm. "But you're right. I thought about it. If I'd kept it, I would have brought it to Setteven, and played a giant sky-spanning illusion of King Moddegan being batted around by an enormous kitten."
"An enormous..?" Ro's face creased with angry confusion. "Why?"
"For laughs. Mostly, to be rid of it."
"I don't believe that." She cleared her voice, enforcing its sternness. "Not for a second."
"The Minister comes from from Weslee," Minn finished. "He still blames Narashtovik for what we did to his land."
Ro swung her head Minn's way. "Did you tell Narashtovik this?"
"Don't they have a right to their own history? To know why they're about to be put to death?"
"You don't understand how little that means to me. We haven't concerned ourselves with the outside world in centuries. All I care about is the safety of the People."
Blays snorted. "You're not hiding here for your safety. If that were true, it wouldn't matter if your people came and went. Instead, you're hiding the shame of what you did to Weslee. I've seen plenty of self-loathing in my travels. It looks a lot like punishing your young by forcing them to swim naked in winter and spend days alone in the Fingers."
"Those aren't punishments. They're training methods! And they certainly worked for you."
"We don't want much from you. A tunnel through the mountains. We're not going to massacre Weslee again, just take Cellen and maintain the status quo." He held her gaze. "Your people will never be in harm's way. And you can walk away knowing you saved lives in the present—and redeemed others in the past."
Ro rolled her lips together. "You really think the People of the Pocket should shoulder the blame for something that happened a thousand years ago?"
"Only the People know that. If the Minister knows about you, you can be certain he'll think so."
She met eyes with each of the women sitting around her. No one spoke, yet there seemed to be an understanding flowing between them, the kind of communication that's only possible between people who have lived together so long they know where the others stand without saying a word.
Or maybe they were using arcane sorcerous mind-powers. Despite all he'd seen, there remained times when the world was too complex for Blays to begin to guess.
"This tunnel," Ro said. "Tell me what you'd have us do."
37
The ship cut through the waves with such speed Dante suspected its crew must have some sway over the winds as well as the earth. The seas were high and angry, yet the vessel seemed to skim along its surface like a skater on the frozen canals of Yallen. Technically speaking, there were probably better ways Dante could be spending his time instead of standing on the docks watching its progress, yet along with the diplomatic angle, he thought that someone should be here. To watch the remnants of ancient Narashtovik rejoin, however temporarily, the city they'd once built.
The ship hove in, bleeding speed. Its wood was dark and matte, its sails the blue-gray of the sea beneath an overcast sky. Unusual, but even if he hadn't known to look for it, the design wouldn't have surprised him. As with everything they did, it was meant to pass unseen.
As it came to the pier, however, and the stevedores, sailors, and passengers milling around got a look at its crew, it drew considerable attention. With one exception, everyone on its decks was a woman.
Ropes flew this way and that. Blays grinned down from the railing. "Of all the favors I've ever done you, count this one as my finest. I can't imagine what you'll owe me. We can start with Narashtovik and take it from there."
Dante crossed his arms. "Suits me. Right now, I'd count taking the city off my hands as another favor."
Blays disappeared for a while. People thumped around, securing ropes, moving cargo. They had a rope ladder, but Dante had gotten the dock workers to bring around a mobile staircase. The first woman to descend it was familiar to him. He'd seen the steel in her eyes before.
"We've met," she said. "My name is Ro."
Dante bowed. "The debt we'll owe you will be eternal."
"We're not here to earn debts. We're here to pay one off." She gazed past him to the city. An unreadable expression settled on her face. "But there are conditions. First: the pathway is all we do. Once it's complete, we return home. We owe you the chance to save yourselves, but we'll take no part in punishing Weslee a second time."
"I would do the same."
"Second: while they work, my people are to be left in peace. No questions about how they do what they do. Or about any element of Pocket Cove, no matter how trivial. You will treat us like a tool. You don't ask a hammer how it drives the nail."
"Ro, I mean it when I say we're in your debt up to our ears. I would never think of trying to use you for more."
"I haven't kept my people alive and untroubled by trusting the kindness of strangers." She gave him a hard look, then smiled enough to soften its edges. "Third and last: don't hurt the Wesleans worse than you have to. We're not here to help you commit genocide."
"The Minister killed my friend. I will kill him if I get the chance." Dante inclined his head. "But I have no hate for his people. I'll do my best to keep them out of the fire."
Ro looked to the city again. "Then there is nothing stopping us from working together."
Her people had come down the stairs to gather behind her. Dante made a sweeping gesture toward the two spires at the center of town. "Welcome to Narashtovik."
He led the procession back to the Citadel. She had brought fifty people with her and he could feel their power in the air. Fifty nethermancers, all of whom were as strong as his monks—and some of whom must surely rival the Council. Their potential was intoxicating. Enough to topple a kingdom. If they were to join him in earnest, it might be enough to reduce the Minister's army to ashes.
That was a fantasy, of course. The People of the Pocket could never be cajoled or coerced into a war. Part of him was amazed Blays had convinced them to come at all.
He moved next to Blays, who looked right pleased with himself. "Well done. But while you were out and about, would it have killed you to enlist a dragon or three?"
Blays scoffed. "If you're not satisfied with my witch army, I can send them straight home."
They drew plenty of looks on the way to the Citadel. He had no idea how much time the People of the Pocket spent outside their isolated homeland, but if they were impressed by the city, most of them hid it well. Some looked contemplative, almost yearning. Was it just a matter of being back in civilization? Or was it a deeper connection to the city their ancestors had helped create?
The streets smelled like wood smoke and melting snow. It was as lively as ever. Rumors had swirled concerning the frenetic comings and goings of the Sealed Citadel, but as far as Dante knew, the people weren't aware they stood on the brink of invasion. He hoped they'd remain ignorant until he finished his business in Weslee.
The Citadel gates rolled open, revealing rows of norren yurts erected on the cobbles of the courtyard.
"What's the matter with you?"
Blays said. "You don't even have the decency to let your volunteers sleep inside?"
Dante walked down the corridor the warriors had left down the middle of the encampment. "I offered. You know how they are."
A fleet of servants materialized to show the women to their housing in the monks' chambers. The monks, meanwhile, had been relocated to the barracks that had emptied a few days ago when they'd sent the troops and the bulk of the slow-moving mule teams ahead toward the Woduns. There, they'd meet up with Ast, who'd been sent into the mountains more than a week ago in order to scout a location to begin the tunnel.
It was a lot of shuffling about, considering the People would only be in Narashtovik for one night, but everything else was already prepared, and Gant seemed pleased to be occupied with a new majordomo challenge.
Dante took Ro up to the Council chambers. The others were already there. As she entered, they stood and bowed their heads.
She glanced at Dante. "What's this?"
Tarkon stepped forward. "Thank you, my lady. Not just for answering our call to aid. But for making this place what it is."
A smile creased her mouth. "It may shock you to learn that I had nothing to do with the founding of Narashtovik. Or your order. But thank you for making me feel incredibly old."
"Trust me, I've got decades on you." Tarkon smiled back, the resulting wrinkles proving his claim. "We know we're talking of a time before we were a twinkle in Arawn's stars. Despite that—and the fact we only learned of our shared history a few weeks ago—it means something to us that your people have returned."
Dante introduced her to the others, particularly those who would be traveling with them, which included Somburr, Ulev, and Pinya. Dante would have liked to bring more, but they needed to keep the bulk of their forces in reserve, particularly Olivander, who would oversee the defense if Dante failed, and Nak, who operated the priceless network of loons.
The remainder of the day sped by; for some reason, Dante had let himself be talked into hosting a feast, and he found himself dragged into its arrangements. Late afternoon, with sunshine pouring through the vast windows of the Winter Hall, the guests began to stream in: Council members, monks, soldiers, norren, women of the Pocket. Gant had scheduled things that even the servants tasked to see to the event would have half the evening off to enjoy it. Dante didn't see Blays, but wasn't surprised by his absence.
There was food of all kinds at the dinner, but after the fact, he couldn't remember what. And not just because of the four cups of wine he had along with it. Rather, what he remembered were those present, and the mood they'd brought to the feast with them: the gravity of an uncertain future, but the undaunted resolve of a people united in that future's defense.
Once the main course, roast birds of some sort, had been picked apart, Tarkon stood, cleared his throat, and waited for silence. "And now, if you will indulge him, the head of our order would like to say a few words."
Dante thought he meant Olivander. Then, to his horror, eyes turned his way instead. He gave Tarkon a withering look, but the old man defied him by remaining firmly alive. Dante sighed inwardly—speeches: one of the many weights that dragged down the mantle of command—and stood.
"I won't be too maudlin," he said. "Or too windy. But if this is the last time I see you, I want you to know what an honor it's been to serve with you." He stopped. Two hundred faces watched him, wanting more. Frustration mounted in his chest, as hot as a lump of potatoes you have to swallow before it scalds you. "A place like this, like Narashtovik, is much more than the person who leads it. It's borne along on the shoulders of everyone here. Don't fear for it. You've already built it. It can't be taken away."
He realized that he was done and sat down. During the applause, he wondered how much of his speech he believed.
As the night wore on, a great many people came to speak to him one on one. They meant well, but it felt ominous. As if no one in the room expected him to return.
But the morning came, as it always did, and he was still alive, as he had been for the last quarter of a century. In the courtyard, the norren had rolled up their yurts, ready to march. The People of the Pocket stood apart in a single cluster. The scouts and soldiers joked and shot the breeze; they'd probably been down here for an hour. Dante was disgraced by the idea he was the last to arrive, but five minutes later, Blays walked out the front door.
As they moved out—Dante was on horseback, but many of the troops, most of Ro's people, and all of the norren were not—he didn't look back at the city. He thought he'd see it again. Besides, he knew it so well that one last look wouldn't give him anything he didn't have already.
Quite a few people came out to watch them go. Some were there to try to figure out why such a force was departing, but others were there for the sheer spectacle: they had over two hundred people on the march, and the assortment was motley, to say the least. Dante smiled to himself and refused to answer a single question from the crowd.
Their band made good time on the road east, camping in the woods that night and moving on at first light. Dante was kept busy with discussions with the other Council members, scouts, and Nak.
As the sunset of the second day approached, with the mountains hanging to the east like a fortress of the gods, Blays rode up beside him. "It always feels strange, doesn't it?"
"Heading out like this?" Dante chuckled. "It has always amazed me that the weightiest task is able to sit on the rational mind without leaving the faintest impression."
"We should be running away and changing our names, right? Yet here I am wondering when we're going to eat dinner."
"Our bodies must recognize how many pairs of breeches we've brought with us, and will only allow our brains to start soiling them once we get close enough to our destination to have enough spares."
"Or what if we're just that dumb?" Blays said. "Like we can't be that afraid of a bear until it's actually eating our leg."
Dante thought there might be some truth to that. He probably wouldn't begin to feel it until they'd returned to Weslee. Even then, they'd have a ways to go before the terror set in.
They made it up into the foothills without incident, catching up with the supply caravan, which had encamped a ways below Soll to avoid kappers and excess snow. Coordinating through Nak, Dante arranged to meet Ast and his team there.
The next morning, the entire village came out to watch them arrive. As the troops settled in for a meal, Dante gathered the Council members, Ro, Blays, and Minn, and met with Ast in the meadow away from the others.
"Found a route?" Dante asked Ast.
He nodded. "Given the nature of your plans, it wasn't exactly difficult. It is perhaps a two-day hike from here. That is when the going gets rough enough to justify traveling under the mountains instead."
"Any sign of kappers?"
"Some tracks. Nothing too recent. We had good luck on our return crossing, too. Either they've bedded down for the winter, or I wonder if they were drawn to the Minister instead."
"I doubt we're that lucky," Dante said. "That's the plan, then. Hike to the site. There's too many of us for a cave. Ro, can your people help me build a wall around ourselves each night?"
The woman frowned as if he'd insulted her. "A wall?"
"To keep out the kappers. They're real. Even with a wall, we're going to want sentries."
"This is something I'll want to protect my people from on the way back?"
"Absolutely. And we'll want to keep the entrance of the tunnel too small for one to get inside. I'll fill you in on the march."
Her cheek twitched. "I would have appreciated knowing about this complication ahead of time."
"It didn't occur to me," Dante said. "And given the kappers are impervious to almost everything except gravity, your people should have no problems handling them. I wouldn't be surprised if, after your people left Narashtovik, those who remained in the city created the kappers to stop Weslean nethermancers from trying to cross over."
"I wouldn't kno
w that." Ro tapped her arm, then nodded once. "We'll continue. But I expect to know everything there is to know."
"Of course. If there's nothing further, we should move on. With a group this size, it may take longer than we've anticipated."
He gave the troops a few more minutes to eat, then spread the word that it was time to pack up camp. The villagers watched them go. As they moved into the forest, Mourn approached him, towering over the humans.
"My scouts took it upon themselves to range ahead," he informed Dante. "I hope you don't think I'm being presumptuous."
Dante glanced up at him. "Why would I mind you putting your people to use?"
"Because you are used to doing things your way and we are used to doing things ours."
"Just make sure they're back by dusk. For their own safety."
With the bevy of people, animals, and supplies, he expected it to be slower going than their initial trip across the Woduns. As they approached their first spread of talus, he sighed inwardly, pricking his ears for the animal scream that meant a mule had broken its leg and needed healing. Even if everyone made it across without injury, it would take five times as long as crossing solid ground.
But he hadn't counted on the People of the Pocket.
They moved ahead of the body of troops. As Dante watched, a ribbon of loose rocks seemed to melt before them. The People advanced along it, smoothing the ground as they went. Dante jogged behind them and stepped on the ribbon. It was hard, solid rock, fifteen feet across and seamless, sturdier than the finest norren road. He laughed out loud.
Ro glanced over her shoulder. "I assume you'll have no complaints if I take the lead."
Dante bowed. "By all means."
She gestured her people onward. The road materialized before them. When one woman tired, another moved forward to take her place. In this fashion, they were able to maintain a middling walking speed. The soldiers and beasts piled in behind them. The entire group crossed the field in minutes.
The Black Star (Book 3) Page 57