She thought of Angelo and the red banner with the white crane to activate her link. She heard his thoughts.
Not now, he cast. She sensed the line terminate. She would have called again, but the termination was so abrupt that she got the message: do not contact me. She was on her own. It was time for her to prove herself.
She noticed the Leonese knight she stood behind wasn’t responding to the music as everyone else. When she saw him and his servant look at each other with expressions as if they were talking without words, she knew they were using incom39 implants.
She thought of a painting lying in the snow, and her oc-lok snapped an image of what she saw before her: the two Key’ari, the horse, the troubadour climbing off the wagon. She earmarked it for future reference. Her oc-lok recorded everything, but marking it allowed her to find the image quickly.
She was about to try contacting Angelo, again despite the rank of his audience, when the assassin struck. She almost missed him: the man who offered the pie. It was the Key’ari’s watchfulness as the troubadour dropped dead that confirmed it was an assassination. She had seen too many assassinations in Nippon for it to be anything else. Apparently, no one here was used to assassinations, as she heard others talk about bad meat. With a blink and a thought, she ordered her oc-lok to mark the assassin. It displayed a red x-mark above his head as he walked away from the troubadour and toward her. Having no clear direction from the onyo, she watched the Key’ari surreptitiously while responding like everyone else in the crowd: shock, curiosity, and speculation. Why would they assassinate a troubadour? She gasped. Not just any troubadour, but the one we followed.
The crowd jostled as it gathered around Guillem. The assassin neared her on his way out.
With no time for debate, she reached into the slot in her verisuit, gently pinched a recorder, and pulled it out. Lowering her gaze, she walked past the assassin. She wished she could activate her specialist implant to smoothly tag40 the assassin. The kinesis implant would give Miyuki acute awareness, speed, and increased reflexes but she would appear as a light signal on any Avar-Tek scan. It wouldn’t be a glaring, high number indication that might be generated by Angelo’s gravitas gravity manipulating implant, but it did emit a low signal. Instead, she would have to rely on her natural abilities.
She activated the recorder with an order to fly and cling to the assassin. The recorder’s insectoid legs twitched. It crawled over her hand and flew over her shoulder. Not looking back, Miyuki walked away from the Key’ari, at least the ones she was aware of. Two seconds later, the blip from the recorder confirmed she had tagged the assassin.
When she was about a bow’s shot away from the dead troubadour, she turned and walked toward the command tent. She thought of Angelo and the red banner. When he did not answer, she assumed the assassins found him, but hoped he only chose not to respond. It took another painfully long minute to reach the command tent. She wanted to run, but that would make her an instant target. She was relieved when she saw the tent. No commotion surrounded it—a good sign. It would be foolhardy to attempt an assassination in a king’s tent, but the Key’ari did not share the Sittiri’s dedication to minimal interference.
Angelo walked out of the tent as she approached.
She stopped and bowed out of habit, then quickly chastised herself for falling out of character.
Worry crossed his face when he saw her. His eyes shifted to the ground and he tilted his head as if listening for something in the distance. “A rift,” he said out loud in Castilian. “Did you sense it?” He looked at her, his eyes widening. “Francisco!”
Her heart stopped. She thought to herself, How could I be so foolish? She cast her thoughts to Angelo, Tenishi-san, the troubadour—our troubadour—is dead. Assassinated. Key’ari—
Quickly, on horseback. Key’ari will see stealth. Take this one. He held the reins of the spare horse he rode earlier as she mounted. To one of the knights who escorted him, Angelo said, “Urgent business. May we borrow your horse?”
The knight glanced at the King’s tent and nodded. “As long as you don’t take it out of camp.”
Angelo led her back to Francisco at a gallop.
Your student is so foolish, Miyuki cast. When I saw the assassin, I thought of my master, who can handle himself, instead of thinking of the boy.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a quick flash of green on her oc-lok overlay. She turned to see that Angelo’s face had changed to a young man’s with a light brown beard.
They know my face, he cast. It’s worth the risk of a quick Avar-Tek flash.
I tagged the Key’ari assassin, she cast. She activated the recorder’s vision, and she saw a ghostlike image in her left eye of a man talking. She turned it off. The recorder is active. I am not sure if it is still on the assassin, but I believe—She had to pull her horse up for someone who ran out in front of them. If she weren’t such an accomplished rider, she would have run him over.
Curses rang out from the camp on their left and right.
“Pardon us,” Angelo said, “On the King’s business.”
“Which king?” someone yelled.
You did well, Miyuki. I doubt they found Francisco. If they knew of him, they probably would not have killed Guillem. A moment later he added, Dropping a recorder. Good thinking.
Said by someone with a cognitive implant, that was quite a complement. She cast, Then why do we gallop and draw attention?
I said probably. They probably don’t know about Francisco. I won’t bore you with the probability statistics. Your eyes glaze over within three point two seconds every time.
They reached his camp. Miyuki dismounted and was on foot running past Angelo before he stopped.
He’s fine, Angelo cast. If they had killed him, there would have been a crowd.
She had already rounded the tent where Francisco and Sancho were on the other side, rolling up their bed mats.
Francisco looked over his shoulder at her. “Oh, just in time, Sir Mascaro. The kettle needs washed.”
Sancho laughed.
Francisco is safe, Miyuki cast to Angelo.
Well done, Trainee. Join me.
She turned around and bumped into Alcalde Umberto. His surly aide stood next to him.
Umberto held out a hand palm up. In his high-pitched voice, he asked, “Oh, pardon me. Sir Mascaro, I presume?”
She hesitated. “We have permission from his majesty and Sergeant Gombal to be in this squad.”
He flashed her a sour smile. “Indeed, I have been told. The last to be told, I am afraid. The Hospitallers have been asking about meat pie vendors. Someone has been selling sundry bad meats, and a well-known troubadour has partaken and perished. The vendor is nowhere to be found. Know you of any meat pie vendors?”
“No.”
“Ah, well, eat not the meat pies.” Without saying goodbye, he continued his walk through the camp with his aide trailing after him.
They will not find the bad meat vendor, Miyuki thought.
She joined Angelo, who stood next to the horses. He handed her a washcloth. “Here, help me clean the saddles and check the gear. I know it’s squire work, but we have no squires and want to return these steeds in good condition.”
Miyuki complied and cast, To make it look like we are not just standing here staring at each other while we cast our thoughts?
Of course.
Thank you. I have a hard time casting without moving my hands.
I’ve noticed. Then Angelo added aloud pointing to her horse, “The harness may be a little loose. You may want to check that.” No one followed us, he cast, but the Key’ari are too close. It’s only a matter of time before they find Francisco.
She wanted to impress Angelo, show him she had more sense than just Academe training. We are protected by treaty, but Francisco is not. Killing Key’ari or Sittiri is forbidden, but potential recruits are not covered under treaty.
And therein the danger lies, he cast. The Key’ari know what I lo
ok like. I should have had my verisuit alter my face when we started. Now I must remain this way to interact with Francisco. Nostalgia and vanity have gotten the better of me.
Shocked that the great Angelo, the first Firesmyth, so readily admitted his mistakes to a trainee, Miyuki stopped checking the harness and gawked.
He sighed. We must stay away from Francisco, and I will have to use this new face for the next few days until we can verify the Key’ari have left. Good thing you tagged him. It will make our job easier.
I can stay with Francisco. They don’t know my face.
Don’t be too sure of it. If they killed the troubadour, then they followed us in Zaragoza. That means they likely saw us with him.
I appeared as a noblewoman then.
Very well, you stay with Francisco.
Does my master want me to recruit him?
Miyuki, few can best you in sword, archery, and riding, but recruiting a Sittiri is much harder than finding one. You and I know now that Francisco is the One of Six. Convincing him of that may take weeks or even months.
Please forgive my boldness, Commander, but I have been taught this. We recruit by the same methods we use to find: by the onyo, nexus link, discernment, and the Voice. I would also have to rely on my own social skills.
Very good. He cleared his throat. And remember that cutting off heads is frowned upon in most cultures. He smiled.
She did not smile.
Angelo cast, More of this Ox Shalay prophecy must be fulfilled before Francisco is to join us, lines eight and nine: ‘the hero who falls in battle, and the student who trains in slavery.’
What about the last two lines, ‘He shall bear no device but the stone inside?’
That, Angelo cast, is the mystery. He held his right hand up and touched his earlobe with his middle finger. She heard him cast, Temporal? Angelo at Calatrava Fortress in Region Eight. Key’ari under Eden assassinated our previous recruit candidate. Disregard the rift. It registered 1.6. Sending the recording. Be advised, the 12-Beta recruit, the One of Six appears to be Francisco de Toledo. The Key’ari are unaware of him. I will be in an alternate appearance in absentia to track the enemy. Miyuki is staying with Francisco. Angelo out.
Chapter 28
Miyuki
Sierra Morena Mountains
Local Date: 13 July 1212
AFTER ELEVEN DAYS OF SIEGE FIGHTING followed by marching during the day and training after supper, the Spanish army was stuck in the mountains. The much larger Almohad army was on the other side and would slaughter them if they went through the only known route, the Pass of Losa. The Muslims held the ground, and in force occupied the nature's highway to the plain.
I wish Angelo was here. I am running out of instruction for Francisco. Miyuki was worried—not that the Key’ari could kill Angelo. His skill alone and the treaty made that unlikely. She was more concerned that his recently awakened love for this land and its people may have dulled his judgment. Over the last few months working with him, she had discovered that the great Angelo wasn’t perfect. At the Academe, Commander Angelo was a legend, and she gained notoriety because he had recruited her. Other students would ask questions about Angelo that she couldn’t answer. “Why doesn’t he always wear a verisuit?” they would ask. She didn’t know. He never told her. “Does he ever talk about his homeland? What it was like?” She told them that he never talked about it and that she only knew because she had read the same records they had. The records showed that he was the first Sittiri recruited by those that came from the Epi41 timeline; that he was the first Firesmyth; and that he was born over 4400 years ago. She knew he wasn’t that old, of course. He hadn’t taken cor-abat42 treatments, but instead had jumped forward in time using pods like most Sittiri. She hoped that he had not become too human and, out of misguided sentiment, started to bend the rules of non-interference. Those rules kept the Sittiri from making the mistakes the Key’ari made.
“You lot may consider yourselves veterans,” Sergeant Gombal said. “But in my eye, you are not.” In the dark of early evening, the campfire lit his face from beneath, giving him a haunted look. Miyuki stood leaning on a tree behind everyone else and listened intently to his words. The three squads from the Toledo Southwest Quarter sat quietly around a campfire in the dark, their faces solemn. “You have seen battle,” Gombal said. “You have been shot at by the enemy. But you have not seen your friends killed. You have not fought the enemy face-to-face, only by siege. So far, the enemy flies in fear at the rumor of our approach. But don’t let them make you a fool. Don’t let them make you a dead fool, ‘cause that’s what you’ll be: maggot food. It’s worse if you’re captured. Make no mistake. If they capture you, you will work their fields until you drop or are beat to death. If you’re lucky, you may end up watching a harem.”
“I could do that,” Mateo said.
“The only way they’ll let you watch their women is if they chop your man-parts off. So, if you believe these last couple of weeks is what war is made of, you will die believing that lie. Truth is, we will face Miramamolin soon. Truth is, we will be out numbered. Truth is, they will not flee this time, but they will stand firm and draw us into a trap of their choosin’. Truth is you will not all make it home.” He took a long drink from his mug. The campfire popped. Sparks floated up into the dark, star-filled sky. “So, don’t go throwing your life away thinking you can’t be killed.” He took another sip and pointed his mug at Francisco. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Forger. You bleed same as the rest of us. Make no mistake. Every step we take deeper into the enemy’s territory, every day we spend longer in his lands, the more viga-ment you must be. That’s a big word for those of you unlearned. Viga-ment means watchful. Keep your eyes and ears open not only for the sake of your own hide, but that of your comrades’.”
Miyuki had heard nearly a hundred such pre-battle speeches before. This was one of the better ones, and the veteran had renewed respect in her eyes. Most sergeants or captains would stir their men up with vain praise for them or words of hatred for the enemy. Gombal put the truth in their faces. War was terrible, and no one should wish for it. They needed to hear this. They were becoming reckless with a string of victories bought with too little blood.
Gombal walked over to the wagon next to him and patted it. “Choose a memorial, put your mark on it, and place it here on this wagon. A memorial is something you want brought back to your family if you die. Me or Greasy here will make sure your family gets it.” He looked them over. “Go on. Something small and easy to carry.” He looked up at Miyuki and said, “You there, Sir Mascaro, you don’t have to do this ‘cause I don’t know your kin.”
“Your sentiments are appreciated,” Miyuki said. She bowed slightly. “I will give you the words of wisdom my father gave me.” All eyes turned to her. “‘A victorious warrior,’ he said, ‘loves peace more than a coward. A warrior purchases peace with his blood. A coward clings to peace so firmly that it breaks.’”
Gombal grunted and nodded. “A good man, your father. Was he in battle?”
“Too many to count.”
Mateo was the first to place his memorial on the wagon. Miyuki couldn’t see it from her vantage but it was palm-sized, and Greasy, who stood on the wagon, made note of it. Others followed Mateo’s lead or walked to their tents, perhaps to fetch an item. The mood was somber and quiet. A proper fear of death was in their eyes.
In the eleven days since Angelo had been shadowing Key’ari, Miyuki had been on her own. She had mentioned nothing to Francisco about the Key’ari, Sittiri, his fieldstone, or anything else concerning his recruitment. He, on the other hand, had been full of questions concerning genies. Genies. She hadn’t studied about these genies. She studied Iberian weapons and tactics, so whenever Francisco started talking about genies, she steered the conversation back to weapons and warfare. She talked about the minor skirmishes and battles they had at the fortresses and various outposts since Calatrava. Francisco loved to hear about tactics and she began trainin
g him how to use the sword in the bushido style. But whenever she practiced with him, he was always hesitant when she got too close. Once, when she touched his neck, he jumped back with real fear and anger in his eyes.
Having completed their memorial task, some of the militiamen, including Francisco, Mateo, and Goliath returned to the campfire. Mateo poked at the burning logs with a stick. A large log tilted and slipped. Embers sputtered and rose. Had this been a standard campaign, Miyuki would have thought fires at night foolish, but the enemy already knew where they were.
“I’ve heard tell,” Goliath said, “that the Muslim army is massive.”
Francisco chuckled. “That’s a big word, even for you, my large friend.”
Mateo shook his head. “If we are forced through that narrow Losa Pass, hundreds at a time will face certain death. And if I perchance shall meet my end in this war,” Mateo said, “I will have lived a good life but for one regret.”
“What’s that?” Francisco asked.
“Not to know the mystery of a woman.”
“What?” Goliath asked.
“He means,” another militiaman said, “get married.”
Sancho walked up to the campfire holding something large and flat under his blanket. “Since this is a night of giving memorials,” Sancho said. “I would like to present to my friend Francisco something I have worked on this very evening.” He let his blanket drop from the object. It was Francisco’s shield, and on it was written in broad but neat brushstrokes in a white paste, symbols that made Miyuki’s heart skip a beat. The symbols seemed so out of place. They were letters in the Vantu alphabet. How could he know? Then she remembered that Francisco had a fieldstone, which showed the first letter of each fuel material it was low on.
The Apprentice Stone (Shadows of Time Book 1) Page 20