Daughter of Independence

by Simon Brown

  ‘Why?’

  *

  Mycom slumped in his cot in his office. He could not gather enough energy to walk down a floor to his private rooms. He had been called to Lerena twice in the last three days, both times over silly, incidental things, but it had taken him hours to reach the clearing in the forest, hours there and hours back again. And the things he had heard, the things he had imagined, meant that when he found sleep it was profoundly disturbed.

  There was also the niggling thought at the back of his mind that Lerena had wanted to tell him more, that she had called him in because she wanted desperately to impart some information or make some request, but she always pulled back, always changed course just as he thought the real purpose of her summoning was about to be made clear.

  A sound outside his door. Tentative. Then nothing.

  He was still imagining things.

  He resolved next time Lerena called him he would insist on finding out what it was she really wanted from him. He would plead. He would ask, stressing that his important work as chancellor was being put aside for the empress’s petty considerations. For her merest whims. For her, naturally, important consultations, but still could her majesty please refrain from calling him so often? What is the matter, your Majesty? Is there some way I can genuinely help? Can I escape from this world, please, your Majesty, because I am afraid I am going to die here.

  The door opened a fraction.

  ‘I don’t care whose student you are, or how many years you’ve studied here, but you should know two things. First, I do not, contrary to popular myth, keep in my desk drawer the answers to all your exams, and second, if you take one step inside my office I’ll make sure you never study here again.’

  The door shut with a definite click.

  Good, he thought.

  Now, back to Lerena.

  ‘It’s been a long time, Chancellor Malus Mycom,’ said a voice he recognised from what now seemed a hundred years ago.

  *

  At last it reached the city. It stayed one more night outside the walls, and then when night came again found an entrance guarded lazily by only one young soldier. Taking him was easy, and although it was hungry beyond words it needed a brother more than a meal, for as far as it could tell, no one else in its family had made it so far. So it bit into the guard’s neck and dragged the body inside the walls and found a house without anyone living in it and put it in the darkest room. Then it searched the street until it found a house with people in it, and was lucky because there were three, a young man and two children. It waited until they had all gone to bed then killed and ate the man. With a swollen belly it then bit the children and hid them under their beds so they would not be hurt by the sun in the morning. That was a good start, it thought, although there were far fewer people living in this city than it had hoped. It was still a long wait to first light, so it found a place where it could hide during the day, away from the others it had taken so not all of them could be found together, then climbed a tree that let it look over the city. Then it saw the great glass dome of the aviary. The dome itself meant nothing to it, but the thing that had been driving it on all these nights was inside it.

  *

  Lerena was squatting on the ground scooping up great handfuls of dirt and pouring them over her hair.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Yunara asked.

  ‘It’s here,’ Lerena said breathlessly. ‘I have to hide. I have to be like the soil. I have to be invisible or it will find me. The darkness. It’s here. I can smell it.’

  Yunara sniffed the air experimentally.

  ‘You’re imagining things.’

  Lerena laughed. ‘Of course I am. I imagine everything. That’s why you’re here.’

  ‘That was true once, sister.’

  ‘You are not my sister.’

  ‘I am sister, mother, daughter, lover. I am everything you ever desired for yourself.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Too late for that.’

  ‘I don’t desire you any more.’

  ‘But I desire you, Lerena Kevleren,’ Yunara said.

  *

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t get into the aviary?’ Galys demanded, and Kadburn used his knee to put even more pressure on the chancellor’s rib cage.

  ‘She summons me!’ he gasped. ‘That’s the only way I’m allowed to see her!’

  ‘How does she summon you?’ Kadburn asked. ‘Messenger? Guard?’

  ‘In here,’ Mycom said, and tried to point to his head, but Kadburn was pinning his arms to the ground. ‘In my brain.’

  Kadburn glanced up at Galys and she nodded. He stood up slowly and dragged the chancellor up with him. ‘Be good,’ he said, and let go of his arms.

  Mycom massaged his chest bone with the heel of his palm. ‘There was no need for any of that,’ he said grumpily.

  ‘You weren’t talking,’ Kadburn pointed out.

  ‘I thought you were thieves.’

  ‘Liar,’ Galys said. ‘You knew who I was the moment you heard my voice. I saw the sneer on your face.’

  ‘You underestimate me.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Then you overestimate your importance to me.’

  ‘Possibly. But I don’t believe that either. You know why?’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘Kitayra Albyn.’

  Mycom froze before he could stop himself. He did not think he would ever hear that name again. He had certainly hoped he would never hear that name again.

  ‘You were not a good choice for her, you know,’ he said.

  He was disappointed to see no reaction on Galys’s face. Pity. He could have done with an advantage just now, even an emotional one.

  ‘You would have been too short for Kitayra,’ Kadburn said to the chancellor.

  Mycom was stung by that, which surprised him.

  ‘Right now you’re asking yourself how much I know, aren’t you?’ Galys said.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I know about you and Kitayra and Lerena and the birth chain and the plot to murder Maddyn Kev –’

  ‘I had nothing to do with that!’ Mycom said loudly, and involuntarily stepped back from Kadburn. The Beloved drew his scramasax from inside his shirt and put it in his belt.

  ‘I believe you,’ Galys said. She walked up to Mycom, who made a conscious effort to stand his ground, and said as she jabbed him over his heart, ‘So does my friend here. Or you would already be dead. Cut up. Into very small pieces.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘I’ve already told you: so you can help us get into the aviary.’

  ‘And as I’ve already told you, I can’t just stroll in there. I have to be invited.’

  ‘Fine,’ Galys replied. She looked around, found a chair that looked comfortable and sat in it. ‘We’ll wait.’

  33

  Gos Linsedd was awake before dawn. He did not get up straightaway, but lay in his roll and watched the sky lose all its stars and then slowly, imperceptibly, brighten in intensity until colour seeped once more into the world. Then he went through his mind and carefully locked away everything he would not need for the coming day. What remained, floating at the top of his consciousness like boats in a harbour, consisted of topography, the units under his command and their capabilities, and the knowledge and trust he had in his officers. First he fixed the topography so that he would instantly and effortlessly recall what the land was like around his present location for a distance of some miles, and then he started on the units. His three regular companies. Sure and steady, as professional as any company in the world. Then the militia companies, ready to fight, to prove themselves, but at times needing both a protective hand to keep danger away and a restraining hand to keep them from chasing it. Finally his dragoons; despite the recruits and the young mounts, they were fast and well led and the most versatile soldiers on either continent.

  Then there were the officers. Ames Westaway with the dragoons, whom he tru
sted with his life. Velan Lymok, who had proved himself not only a good soldier, but a clever, determined and loyal officer, and Lannel Thorey, who more than anyone else in his army wanted to prove himself. Gos would give him that chance.

  If only he had Arden as well, Gos did not think any army could beat him today. He hoped the grim giant was no worse, but feared that by the time he saw him next it would be to light his pyre.

  *

  Poloma put his ear on Heriot’s stomach.

  ‘What do you hear?’ she asked.

  ‘Last night’s dinner,’ he said.

  She pushed him off her. ‘I thought you were listening for our new baby.’

  Poloma fell back to his side of the bed, laughing. ‘I was. But it is still asleep. Are you sure you felt it kicking last night?’

  ‘Yes. It did not like your love-making.’

  ‘You seemed to.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Ooh!’ She grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach, moved it so it followed the kicking.

  ‘I felt it!’ he said, elated.

  ‘I told you, didn’t I?’

  He leaned over and kissed her. ‘Yes, you told me.’ He kissed her again. ‘I missed you. Everything felt empty without you here.’

  Heriot did not know what to say to that. She had missed him as well, if not so intensely because she had been with someone else she loved. But how could she explain that? How could she explain that did not lessen her love for him?

  But Poloma did not wait for an answer. He put his ear against her again. ‘He is signalling me,’ he said.

  ‘He?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  Heriot giggled, then stopped her mouth. She never giggled. She sounded like Sookie. ‘What is he saying?’

  ‘Wait, wait, I’m getting it. Yes, here it is . . . “I enjoyed . . . all . . . the bouncing . . . last night.”’

  Poloma looked up, grinning expectantly.

  *

  Rodin preferred to travel on foot. Unlike many in his family he had never got used to the sedan, and he had never liked horses enough to want to learn to ride one. Besides, he was Omeralt born and bred, and until recently there had been no horses in Omeralt. He had heard once, when he was a boy, that one of his ancestors had kept horses as familiars, but it always struck him as rather excessive to kill a whole horse for just a little Wielding. He admired those who could put up with insects and kept beetles. All one had to do then was squeeze a bug between two fingers and there you had it, enough Sefid to make a pretty girl look at you, or to make a particularly bothersome guest suddenly retire yawning.

  Rodin also liked walking. He liked the exercise. He liked the physicality of it. He liked to eat up the miles by taking long strides. And he liked seeing his army at ground level, magnificent in their green uniforms, their swinging march, their columns gliding over the land.

  And such pretty land, he thought. Rich pasture, and he was sure those mountains in the distance were rich in minerals. He veered aside to peer into the Elder River. His army was marching on its western bank to avoid having to cross it later on when he turned to meet the Frey. The waters were amazingly clear. He could even see the rocks on the bottom, and little fish darting around reed banks. Dragonflies hovered over the river. Something buzzed past his ear. Bluefly he thought, even though they belonged to the highlands around Omeralt. Someone said something behind him and he turned around in time to see one of the soldiers fall forward, flat as a board.

  Something else buzzed by him, high-sounding, like but not exactly like a firegon ball. Another soldier fell. Then the column started to disintegrate, losing all its cohesion.

  ‘Hold your line!’ he called, and ran towards them. They saw who it was and steadied despite their natural instincts to find cover. ‘Hold your line, there! Don’t forget your training! About face!’ Every soldier did a quarter turn so they were facing him, and every pair of eyes peered into the distance across the river. Rodin joined the line and then joined in the search.

  Grass. A few trees. That was it. No rank of enemy infantry with a rolling cloud of gonblack smoke rolling in front of them. He remembered he had only heard two shots. Then there was a flash from behind a tree a long way on the other side of the river, followed by that whistling sound again. Another one of his soldiers started to fall, but he was caught by his comrades. A second flash, from behind another tree. This time there was a shout not more than a tenyard from him. A soldier jumped in the air waving a bloody hand, the barrel of his firegon bent at an awkward angle. A man next to him bent down and picked up something from the grass.

  ‘What is it?’ Rodin demanded.

  ‘Don’t rightly know,’ the man said and passed it along the line until it reached the prince. It was like a firegon ball, but pointed at one end and hollowed out slightly at the back. Three parallel ridges circled its base. He hefted it in the palm of his hand. Same weight as a ball.

  The enemy was not only shooting from a greater than expected range, but using strange shot as well.

  Well, he would take care of that. Massed fire directed at the hiding place of the two enemy would take care of them.

  ‘Form up on the bank!’ he ordered, and the column swirled around him as it moved as close to the river as it could. The other columns in the army, not sure at this point what was going on, copied the manoeuvre. Officers did their best to look as if they knew what they were doing.

  Rodin strode to the end of the column he was with and raised his dress sword above his head. As one the infantry raised their firegons to their shoulders. Now just let those snipers show their faces, thought Rodin.

  There was a shouted command from across the other side, and to the amazement of the Hamilayan army a whole line of infantry dressed in brilliant red rose from behind a dip in the grass only fifty yards from the opposite bank, raised their firegons and fired in a single deafening crescendo, then immediately dropped out of sight.

  Rodin, aghast, saw half the front line of his column drop as if the ground underneath them had given way. He swallowed and, simply out of astonishment, dropped his sword. The first line of every column of Hamilayan infantry fired their firegons.

  ‘No!’ Rodin started to say, but it was too late. He watched as their balls whizzed over the Elder River and tore most of the leaves off all the trees within a hundred yards. Some of the thinner trees were lopped completely in half.

  ‘By the Sefid!’ he cursed. ‘Change lines!’

  Now in some confusion, the front line took a step back through the column, but where there was supposed to be a space for them to retreat had been filled by soldiers eager to see what was happening.

  Rodin could see in his mind what was going to happen next, knew it was his fault, but could not act fast enough to stop it.

  A second line of the red-jacketed infantry stood up from their protective hollow, raised their firegons and fired. This time the casualties were twice as great. Wounded fell among dead and all were trampled by the soldiers trying to get away from the ambush.

  Accepting the inevitable, Rodin shouted for the army to retreat west five hundred yards. His officers picked up the call, so that despite pulling back in some disorder a complete rout was avoided. A third line of enemy infantry stood and fired, but no more after that. It did not take long for the Hamilayans to reorganise, and Rodin realised he had to do something fast to restore morale. Their dead and dying lay in a heap near the river, some of them trying to crawl away, some of them screaming for help.

  His officers came to him, wondering what to do next.

  ‘My charts,’ he said. ‘From the supply wagon. Get my charts.’

  One of the officers hurried off, returning shortly with an armful of rolled maps. Rodin searched among them for the one he wanted and stretched it out on the ground. It showed the Elder River from where it joined with the Younger to become The Wash up to its near junction with the Frey. He estimated they were about halfway along its length, and according to the map there were at least three fords
between here and a village appropriately called Orin of the Two Rivers.

  ‘We march north. Set skirmishers along the bank to find the first ford. Make sure the lancers go with them so they can secure the other side. When the army has moved off, let the physics and their aides deal with our casualties here. Are there any questions?’

  There were none.

  ‘Then what are you waiting for?’ he shouted at them. ‘Go! Now!’

  *

  ‘Captain? Ship at sea!’

  Captain Ainchell ran to the top of the keep and took a glass from the watch. He looked out to sea, past the harbour, and saw a good-sized ship sailing just out of range of his fleet’s longgons.

  ‘A dozen firegons. Looks a lot like one of ours. Almost the sister ship of the Star of Ember.’

  ‘Sir, check the stern post.’

  He swung the glass and saw a strange jack flying there, red with three golden stripes.

  ‘Where in the Sefid is that from?’

  He saw the smoke roll out from the broadside before he heard it, and he caught his breath. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  Splashes fell well short of his ships. He raised the glass again and saw the crew of the enemy ship scrambling to reload. They were terrible. At the rate they were going it would take them a hundred beats to get one longgon rolled out again. Obviously the enemy deck marshal agreed. He was furious, stamping his staff and shouting at the men.

  ‘Signal,’ he ordered the watch. ‘To the acting captain of Star of Ember, take two ships and catch me that fish.’

  *

  Arden’s boots were covered in snow. Despite the two layers of clothing he was wearing, and the fur-lined boots on his feet, he was shivering. He tried very hard not to show it, though, and Princess Hetha showed her appreciation by not reprimanding him. They were standing on a ridge in the Vardar Mountains, and far below lay the beautiful city of Omeralt.