She finally gestured for him to stop talking. To stop getting in the way of her vigil over her Emperor. "I know," she Signed. "No one knows anything. They're all fools. Get out of my way."
Cloud did. She felt a momentary pang of regret at the way she had spoken to him. The rest of their family had been killed when they were young, and for Turns they had been each other's only companions. It wasn't until they found their way to a Cathedral of the Faithful whose priest was also a recruiter for the revolution – for the Cursed Ones – that they found another family.
Even then, though, Cloud and Wind were closer to each other than to anyone else. Until Smoke came. Until the man who would become Malal slowly won over Wind's heart.
And now… now that heart was going to be torn out of her chest.
A tap came. Someone touching her shoulder. She didn't look away from Malal. Healing, then falling to the poison again in an endless cycle. Black patches appeared on his skin, which then tore and exposed flesh below that seemed to have rotted on his bones. Then that flesh charred, burned away to nothing… only to be regrown again as the Patches did their work.
And he screamed throughout. Cloud tried to reassure her; tried to explain that though the Emperor's mouth was wide open and his jaw strained, no sound was coming. "He's probably unconscious," her brother Signed.
Wind knew he was not. And she began to hear the second sound of her life. Just as terrible as the first as been wonderful. For the longer she sat and kept watch, the more she thought she heard Malal screaming.
She knew it was false. Knew it was an exhausted, terrified mind playing tricks on her.
But it didn't matter. She heard it, and there was nothing she could do. She had failed to protect her love, and now she was cursed for that failure.
The tap came again. Harder. Whoever it was was insisting she look away.
She refused. Kept staring at Malal until the tapping had become something like an attack.
She spun, and the air… hardened around her. It gathered at her now-clenched fists like gauntlets. She was ready to strike, to lash out, to hurt others so that they might know what she felt.
A small part of her recognized how foolish and selfish that was. Understood that everyone in the palace had lost someone. That they all feared for Malal.
Or most of them. There were some, even here, even close to him, that she suspected would be glad of his death. Glad of the chance to step forward and grab whatever power they could.
But the larger part of her felt only grief. And grief is only one small step from anger. We hide from pain by inflicting it on others, and Wind was ready to hurt someone.
But it wasn't just someone. It was Cloud.
She blinked, surprised. He seemed to understand her need to watch Malal. And yet here he was, interrupting what could be her last moments –
(No! They'll come! Sword and Akiro and the others will save him!)
– with her Emperor and her love.
"Come with me," he Signed.
She shook her head. Started to turn back toward the bed.
He grabbed her and swung her around hard enough that it hurt. "Now," he said. His face was composed – both of them had always hid their feelings behind a lack of expressiveness or expression. But his fist closed around each Signed word, and she felt almost like he was screaming at her.
She shook her head again. Turned away.
Again, he swung her around. Swung her away from Malal.
She erupted upward, grabbing him by the folds of his shirt, shoving him back. Imperial Guards were positioned around the bedroom, and they took several steps forward. She was their Captain, and if anyone tried to hurt her – even her own brother – she knew they would kill him or die trying.
He wasn't trying to hurt her, though. A fire burned in his eyes, but it wasn't violence, or even anger. It was… was….
Terror.
She let go of his shirt as abruptly as she had grabbed it. Cloud had not looked like this for the entire time of this crisis.
Something is worse.
She gestured to the guards to re-take their positions. Then Signed, "What is it?" to Cloud.
He looked around, staring at the guards. Wind rarely issued orders – her position as Captain was more an appointment as Malal's head bodyguard, and the Imperial Guard was mostly run by several officers directly under her – but many of them had still learned to Sign. At least well enough to pick up the basics of a conversation. And she saw now that Cloud was worried about others seeing his words.
A huge drawback to Signing was that private conversations could be difficult to have. Particularly in a crowded place like this one. Anyone who spoke the language and who had their eyes open would be privy to the most secret speech.
"Please. Come." Cloud hesitated a moment, then added, "Now."
The look in his eyes convinced Wind. She threw a last glance at Malal. One of the Patches fell, exhausted. Another took his place and a guard dragged the spent one away.
She turned back to Cloud, and nodded. He led her out of the room. Down a hall. The palace – what was left of it after the armored man's attack – was huge, so Wind expected to go somewhere far away. But Cloud took a single turn into a side hall, then opened a door.
Another bedroom. This part of the palace was mostly quarters for visiting nobles or merchants or other supplicants and supporters.
What could possibly be so important in here? Wind wondered.
Cloud gestured for her to go in.
One look on the man on the bed, and Wind knew that his screams, unlike Malal's were not silent. She could not hear them, but she saw them sounding in the terrible cringes of the two men tending to him, and in the fearful glances of the four men and two women who huddled in a corner, as far away from the man's bed as possible.
Wind registered that the men and women in the room were the Academics and High Academics that had been analyzing the darts and the poison used to fell Malal.
As was the man on the bed.
Wind felt suddenly ill. A lead weight settled into her belly as she looked on him.
It wasn't as bad, but it was the same thing. The same thing that had brought Malal so low. She recognized the man on the bed as the High Academic who studied wheat, but a few seconds later such an identification would have been impossible. Even as she watched, his skin tore open, revealing blackened meat that looked like it had been burned by acid.
She looked at Cloud in shock. "There was still poison in the darts? Did he accidentally –"
Cloud cut her off with a shake of the head. "No. They assured me they were all careful. They were all in the infirmary, and he," he gestured at the screaming man, "never even touched the darts or the poison. He had some books, and he was researching toxins."
"Then how did –?"
A flurry of movement. Wind saw the huddle in the far corner shift and sway. People fell back, several of the Academics making the sign of Faith as they moved. One tripped over herself in her hurry.
Wind glanced at her brother. He didn't understand what was going on, either.
She looked back at the group. Saw. And understood.
The group scattered like an explosion, leaving only one person behind. That person – a middle-aged woman with a suit and tie that were clearly expensive, the silver chain of a High Academic around her neck – was screaming. Screams that neither Wind nor Cloud could hear, but which she could see were every bit the match of those of the man on the bed.
The High Academic gripped her left forearm in her right hand. Left hand extended, palm up. The hand shook so hard it was a blur. But Wind still saw it: the woman's fingers had turned black.
Abruptly, the skin fell away. Black, burned flesh beneath.
The woman's screams grew visibly frantic, and Wind saw the other Academics speaking to each other, quick words bitten off first in confusion, then understanding, and finally terror.
Wind could read their lips. But even if she couldn't have done so, she would have
known what they were saying. Because her own heart said the same.
She looked at her brother. "What are they saying?" he asked. He couldn't read lips. She was the one who deafened him, and now she was often his only link to what the rest of the world said.
She swallowed.
Looked at the man on the bed.
The woman with blackening flesh who stood near the window.
Before she had a chance to answer, she saw the woman at the window look at her fellow on the bed, literally disintegrating before their eyes.
The woman's eyes found Wind's own. She mouthed a single word.
Then she turned and ran to the window behind her and jumped through it. A silent spray of glass, and she fell.
Wind rushed with Cloud to the window. They looked out and saw the High Academic, fifty feet below. Blood began to pool around the body.
Cloud stared at his sister. "What did she say?" he asked.
Wind looked at him. At the man on the bed, who suddenly gasped and then was still.
"She said, 'Plague.'"
She looked back at the body on the ground below.
"The man who attacked us didn't give Malal a poison," she told her brother.
"He gave us a disease."
5
Arrow wondered how Sword was doing. How Malal fared. If there had been any further attacks, or any more deaths.
He hadn't realized how much he relied on the Ears for his daily information. Not just news of the Empire, but of his friends. He was as a deaf man for the first time, and found he did not care for it at all.
He traveled quickly through Center, stopping only to relieve himself when necessary, and arrived at the skybridge to Strength without incident. It was nearly dark when he reached the massive stone structure, the sun setting to his right and painting the white bridge in casts of gold and pink.
Even at the late hour, people moved across the bridge in thick knots – though he noticed that more moved toward Center than into Strength. He frowned at that. True that Center had the palace and the Silver Seat, but as many people still moved out as moved in. Army transfers, merchants selling to the inhabitants of Strength, people just looking for a new life – it all created nearly-equal movements in both directions on the skybridge.
Yet now the people were definitely streaming almost solely in the direction of Center.
He reached the edge of the skybridge. On a normal day people moved toward Strength on one side of the skybridge, and passed into Center on the other, creating two more or less even lanes of travel.
Now, the lane leading into Center had thickened, overtaking almost the entirety of the skybridge. So many travelers glutted the skybridge that soldiers from the Army had been called up to control their passage. They stood at equal intervals, waving people forward, stopping fights that could spread like wildfire among people pressed so tightly together. More soldiers moved at the base of the skybridge, directing people quickly onto the various paths that led to different parts of Center.
Arrow stopped his auto-car at the base of the skybridge, got out and walked to what looked like a command center of some kind: a small tent with officers streaming in and out. He went in. Several of the officers looked like they were going to object, then took a second look at the cut of his clothing and the set of his eyes and reconsidered.
"Who in the Netherworlds are you?"
The voice that finally challenged him was sharp as any sword. Arrow nearly winced at the sheer strength of it, but forced himself not to as he turned to see the woman who had spoken.
"Well?"
The colonel was as sharp and angular as her voice. Petite, but her expression was that of a person who knew what power was, and how to wield it. Arrow sensed that she would be good in a fight; someone he would want on his side in a battle.
He also sensed that she was someone who would not respond well to such a compliment.
Instead, he curled his lips into a sneer. "Watch your tone, colonel." He nearly spat the words, and as he did all movement in the tent abruptly ceased. He could still hear the muffled murmur of passing throngs outside the tent, but within this space, all was silent.
"What did you say?" said the colonel. Then she shook her head, cutting off any answer before he had a chance to voice it. "It doesn't matter, I don't have time for you." She turned to an aide. "Get rid of this boy."
The soldier – a huge man who might well have been cut of the same stone as the skybridge – started for Arrow. Arrow just waited. Waited.
And when the man lay a hand on his shoulder, he moved.
He knew how it would look to the others in the tent. A beardless young man, barely out of boyhood, standing alone. A large officer, ready to force him out of the tent.
And then, too fast to be seen, the bore of a gun laying against the bare eye of the aide.
"If you so much as blink, I will paint the canvas with your brains," said Arrow.
Silence stretched out into an infinity. No one moved until Arrow finally looked at the colonel. "You know what I am?" he said.
She nodded. She didn't look scared, which made him respect – if not like – her even more. "A Greater Gift."
"Yes," he said. "And I've no wish to prove the extent of my powers. So if I may?" He nodded toward the aide, who was now not merely stone, but a statue.
The colonel nodded, and Arrow's gun disappeared as fast as it had come. He turned away from the aide, dismissing him entirely. He bowed to the colonel. "I am called Arrow." He hesitated a moment, then added, "Son of Creed, now Lord of the Southern Grasslands."
The colonel's eyes widened at that, and Arrow could practically see her thinking about whether to believe him. Not the name he had been given as a Greater Gift, but the latter statement. Then she reexamined his outfit, his bearing. And, he knew, she would have to be asking the simple question: Why would a Greater Gift lie about such a thing?
She finally bowed. "Forgive me, young Lord," she said. "We had heard of a change in the Heathered Hall, but not that a new Lord had been chosen."
Arrow had to swallow a lump that rose in his throat. His father, Creed, had been the best man he ever knew. Even now, months later, his death was still hard to contemplate.
He masked his expression with a nod. "Of course, colonel. News does not always travel quickly as it should."
"Especially not these days." Her expression grew dark. "I am Colonel Alya. And though I don't wish to be rude, I'm sure you can tell we have a lot to do."
"What is happening?" Arrow asked.
Colonel Alya grimaced. "People are afraid. Ever since what happened to the Ears – you know about that?" Arrow nodded. "Ever since that, there have been rumors that there is more to come, and that the only safe place is near the Emperor, because he wouldn't let his precious skin be harmed, at least." She seemed to realize what she had just said, because her eyes widened slightly. "I didn't mean that personally, of course. That's just what the people –"
Arrow waved her off. "I understand. And I understand their concern. That's why I've come." He squinted at her.
"My Lord?" she said, and for the first time he saw her unsure how to handle the moment.
For some reason that decided him.
"I require your assistance, colonel," he said.
She nodded. "Whatever I can do."
"Please inform your second in command that he is to assume control of this situation."
She arched an eyebrow. "And me?"
"You're coming with me."
She snorted. "My Lord, please understand that I have nothing but respect for your power and for your station. But the Southern Grasslands are far from here, and I answer to my superiors and to the Emperor."
"I expect you do." Arrow reached under his shirt and brought out a folded piece of leather. He opened it, and showed the contents to Colonel Alya. Her eyes widened as she looked, then she turned to her aide.
"Have Broc report to me. Immediately."
The aide nodded and departed, and a few
moments later a bulbous man who had a wad of speargrass tucked into his cheek pulled back the tent flap and entered. Colonel Alya told him quickly that she would be going with Arrow and that he was to assume control of the operations here.
Broc, to his credit, didn't even blink at the orders. He might appear slovenly – certainly chewing spear on duty wasn't regulation activity – but he was clearly a good officer, and in only seconds he had assumed command.
Colonel Alya left the tent with Arrow. "Do you need to bring anything?" he asked.
"I assume we're going to the Strongholds?" He nodded. "Then no, I don't need anything."
They got in the auto-car, and several of the officers at the foot of the bridge moved aside barricades and even a few slow-moving bodies to make way for them. The trip across the skybridge itself was hardly fast, but it was much quicker with Colonel Alya in the vehicle. Every time they reached a checkpoint, she would lean forward and the soldiers would get one look at her sharp face and sharper expression and move as fast as they could to hurry her along.
"You run a tight crew," Arrow remarked.
"They are good men, good women," she said. Pride suddenly changed her face, smoothing the angles and softening the features into something less forbidding.
After a few minutes, she asked, "Are you going to tell me what a child is doing with an Imperial Order? And one that simply says the bearer is entitled to anything he wants or needs?"
Arrow was silent for a time. Truth was, he hadn't really thought out his decision to bring Colonel Alya with him. He had known she would be handy in getting across the skybridge, and certainly it would be helpful to have someone who looked more authoritative than him for interacting with the commanders of the Strongholds. But should he tell her more?
Even as the question sounded in his mind, he spoke. "You know about what happened to the Ears. There's more happening. I can't tell you all of it – not even much of it – but I need to get to the Strongholds and put the Army on alert."
Her gaze jerked toward him. "Why take me?"
He kept his eyes straight, focusing on the road ahead. "You seem competent. And like you care about what's happening in the Empire, and the people it's happening to."
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