Again, no matter. As Tejohn settled on the far side of the raptor, he placed his back against the mountain and kicked at the beast with his boots. It rocked back slightly--Fire and Fury, but it was heavy--and the momentum was impaired by the wet-bag-of-sticks feel of the corpse, but the slope was steep and the beast yielded to him, flopping onto its back.
Tejohn fell on it with his dagger, slashing deep into its breast. The meat was thick and he had to tear at it to pull it open. He needed a second slash to reach bone.
“My Tyr!” Lar called. “What are you doing up there?”
“Giving this beast a worthy name,” he called back. “Arla, what’s your native tongue?”
“What? Peradaini, my tyr!”
“Nonsense. You speak Peradaini very well, but you trill your R’s slightly. I suspect, like many servant classes, your family raised you in your own language. What is it? Don’t be afraid; it will not be a strike against you, not out here and not when we return.”
Arla’s voice was slightly quieter when she spoke next. “I grew up speaking Chin-Chinro with my family. But they also taught me Peradaini.”
“They would have to, if they were working with a scholar. Is Chin-Chinro the language of these valleys?”
“It is, my tyr, here and to the east.”
Tejohn had pulled the flesh away from the breastbone. He was tempted to saw it off and throw it toward the campfire, but that would be better done by daylight. Luckily, the rib bones were broken as well, saving him some trouble. He began to rip them out one by one. “Tell me, then: how do you say ‘Meal for a King’ in Chin-Chinro?”
The scout had to think for a moment; obviously, it had been a long time. Tejohn pulled out two more broken rib bones and plunged his hands into the cavity. The flesh was nearly hot enough to scald, but he found the beast’s heart easily enough, and he cut it free just as easily. Fire and Fury, it was almost as big as his head.
“It would have to be ‘Chieftain’s Portion,’ my tyr,” Arla said. “Ruh-grit.”
Tejohn clambered down the hill toward Lar. “What say you, my king? I think it sounds fine, if we stress the second syllable. ‘Ruhgrit.’ To you, Lar Italga, I present the heart of the monster you slew.”
Lar was staring at Tejohn with wild eyes. Then, suddenly, he burst into a bright, throaty laugh. His voice rang out, echoing through the valley as though he had no fear of being heard. The king snatched the heart from Tejohn’s bloody grip, and he bit down hard at the edge and tore off a chunk of wet meat.
The laughter continued as he chewed, muffled by his full mouth. He swallowed and took another bite.
Assuming they lived through this journey, the story would spread throughout the empire. King slays monstrous bird... No, call it an eagle. King slays monstrous eagle with his magic and devours its heart, laughing. That would give weight to the journey they were undertaking and would rally support once the boy had learned this deadly new spell. Grateful am I to be permitted to travel The Way. At least for a while longer. At least until they could turn the tide against the grunts.
Lar turned away from Tejohn and held up the heart for the others to see it. For a moment, the king stood between Tejohn and the campfire, and Tejohn swore he saw something sticking out from beneath the flannel underpadding of the king’s cuirass. It was only a glimpse, but Tejohn could have sworn that he could see, right on Lar’s shoulder where he had been bitten by the grunt, a tuft of blue fur.
Chapter 12
This time, Cazia had planned ahead. Instead of letting the guards drag her back into the fort for their midday meal, she had packed food. It galled her that she had to bring a picnic to the search for her brother’s body, but it seemed to be necessary. She hadn’t told her two minders until mealtime, and neither looked particularly happy. Soldiers loved hot food, and the ones sent to “help” her seemed to have little enthusiasm for anything else.
The woman was named Peraday; apparently, it was a custom in the hinterlands for citizens anxious to prove their loyalty to the empire to name their children after the Morning City. The man was named Zollik, and he had little to say about himself or any other subject. Cazia had a powerful suspicion that he imagined himself silent and irresistible, but Cazia thought he seemed like a fool.
Both were fleet squad scouts. Cazia had not expected to find a squad—even a small one—inside a fort, but Peraday explained that the fort was more than just the walls and towers. There were outposts as well, and they regularly sent patrols through the mountains.
That meant they had steel caps but not cuirasses or greaves. Their quilted jackets looked warm, but Cazia preferred her wool cloak. It kept the wind off and she could open it whenever clambering over rocks made her break out in a sweat.
Which was often. She knew her brother had been attacked on the eastern end of the north wall--that was where the servants were scrubbing his blood--but how close to the cliff face was it? She’d returned to the top of the wall to mark the spot somehow, but all bloodstains had been cleaned away, even on the outside.
So, now she was outside the wall, going by instinct and guesswork to try to judge where the attack had taken place. The guards could have helped, but they didn’t. She could have asked them to, but she didn’t. They obviously resented her for making them stand in the rain, and she resented their unwillingness to exert themselves at all. They only times they talked were when Peraday scolded her for climbing too far.
The climbing was the most frustrating thing of all. Of course, she’d seen the tumble of boulders from the wall, but she hadn’t appreciated just how hard it would be to cross them. The black, jagged rocks lay piled against the other, some sticking straight up, some steeply angled. Within two hours, the nearly flat rocks that she could stand on comfortably had become like good friends, and the ones she had to scramble across on her hands and knees--or worse, actually climb like a fence--were bitter Enemies.
But she had no choice. Colchua’s body could have fallen into any number of niches or gaps. His body hadn’t been visible from up high, so she had to check each rock, searching all around it before moving on to the next.
It was tiring work, and she might have finished yesterday if the guards had been willing to scrape their hands and knees climbing the stones with her. Instead, they hopped from one friend to another, keeping close to the road, singing stupid old campaigning songs and calling for her not to stray too far.
She’d assumed that Col had fallen from the wall, but what if he’d been thrown? She’d seen grunts climbing and leaping, not to mention swinging a soldier like a cudgel. Yes, she’d spent all of yesterday searching near the wall, with no luck at all, but she wasn’t going to give up. Today, she’d search farther out. And farther tomorrow, if she had to.
So, at midday when the guards called to her, she disappointed them by opening her pack and bringing out preserved apricots and rice loaves filled with scant bits of lamb. They were travel rations and quite salty, but everyone ate without complaining aloud, and Cazia made sure to refill the waterskin twice to wash it down.
Just as they were cleaning up, Peraday cleared her throat. Zollik hopped from their good friend to one closer to the road, then squatted low, watching the horizons. Cazia looked into Peraday’s face and she knew she wouldn’t like what the woman was about to say. Why else would Zollik pretend to give them privacy? Cazia felt her anger stirring.
“Miss Freewell,” the soldier said. Her voice was much gentler than Cazia expected. “You know already that your brother isn’t out here, don’t you?”
Fire and Fury, she was actually pretending to be nice. “No, I don’t know that! And maybe if you two were willing to help me rather than stand around leaning on your spears—”
“So, you don’t know, then,” Peraday interrupted. Her voice was still kind, but she would not allow Cazia to forestall what she had to say. “Zollik was right. I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t want to do this.”
Peraday shrugged off her pack and peeled it open. She took out a bit of
gray meat wrapped in a tattered rag. It must have smelled awful, but the winds carried the scent away. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Peraday gave her a kind but implacable look, then threw the meat, rag and all, out into the rocks.
“Five years ago, the Indregai tried to storm this fort. They claim the Sweeps to the north and both the Samsit and Piskatook passes.”
“By what right do they lay claim to our land?” Cazia snapped, surprising herself with the strength of her response.
“They invite okshim herders living in the Sweeps to join their alliance, then claim their lands. Not that the herders have lands in the way we understand it. They’re a nomadic people, but from the Indregai perspective, that just means they can draw their marks on large parts of the map.”
“But the okshim herding clans in the Sweeps are imperial citizens. They use sleepstones, pay taxes—”
“They do, Miss Freewell, when they’re west of the Piskatook Pass, at least. But my point is that the Alliance--and their serpents--tried to storm the fort. Many brave men and women on both sides died in those three days, and not all on the road. What’s more, we sometimes get spies in these rocks who have come to time the watches and study the gates.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Look.” She pointed off in the direction she’d thrown the meat. There were three crows fluttering, squawking, and fighting over it. As they watched, two more arrived.
“Oh, no.” Cazia felt her stomach give a sudden twist and she thought she might give back the picnic food she’d already eaten. What was the woman trying to say?
“I’m sorry, miss. I know he was your brother. I know you loved him. But we have had many dead before these walls--sometimes after battle, sometimes after misadventure--and we have never had to search for them very hard. In truth, if he’d died here, the watch would have known about it at the first sign of daylight. The birds always tell.”
Goose bumps ran all over Cazia’s body. She couldn’t believe it. This woman was talking about Col as though he was a piece of rotten meat! The boy who’d called, Save the princess, like a fairy tale hero, who had teased them about their clothes just before the Festival, who had followed Lar onto Vilavivianna’s roof!
Bad enough I have to stick my hand in a monster’s mouth for him...
Lar, save the princess.
No. It was unacceptable. Her brother was out here somewhere. He had to be. If the birds weren’t tearing at his flesh it was because they wouldn’t dare.
Cazia turned her back on the guard and bounded to the nearest Friend. She didn’t care what they said. She was going to find her brother. It was the only decent thing to do.
She heard Peraday sigh.
It took no time at all to pick up her search again. There were no crows nearby except the ones Peraday had summoned. It occurred to her that Col, having been killed by the grunt, might have the grunt’s smell on him. That would drive the carrion birds away, she was sure.
No need to think about that now. She kept searching, hearing the harsh cries of the crows until they were done with their snack. The late afternoon came, and she was as far east as she could go, almost to the loose stones at the foot of the cliff face.
The grunt could have thrown him here. It could have thrown him farther, maybe up into the stones on the mountainside, but she would need a flying cart to search there.
Still, there was plenty of territory to cover that didn’t need a cart. She glanced out at the pass, at the dark, still rocks. The road was fringed with stiff, bristly clumps of grass, but among the tumbledown black rocks, there was nothing. No rats, no squirrels, no birds.
Cazia threw herself against the bitterest Enemy near her, scraping her fingers raw as she clung to the rough top. There was no sign of her brother beneath it; of course there wasn’t. She strained her arms and shoulders, pulling herself around the edge to check the far side, sweat running down her face and back.
And burst out crying. She laid her cheek against the cool black rock, letting the tears crawl on her skin like bugs. Bad enough her brother had been killed; could that grunt have eaten him entirely? She imagined Commander Gerrit smugly declaring that Col had run off, and she made ready to hate him wildly for it.
Cazia wanted to believe her brother had run away without her—she ached to believe it—but no. He was dead. She knew it had to be true.
There was nothing to do now but go back into the fort and admit defeat. Admit that she’d wasted everyone’s time and that she was just a girl who didn’t know how the world worked, and why hadn’t they just told her?
The sun had almost reached the top of the western peaks when Cazia began climbing across the rocks toward the road. It was easier to avoid the bitter Enemies now that she wasn’t searching methodically, and she quickly found herself staring at the two guards from the top of long black slab.
“I’m sorry,” she said, steeling herself in case they made a nasty remark. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
The guards exchanged a look, then Zollik bowed and excused himself, moving closer to the wall. Peraday stepped closer to Cazia and spoke in a low voice. “We are the ones who should apologize to you. Zollik and I are fourth-generation soldiers; we are accustomed to speaking only when given permission. We could not decide on a proper way to broach the subject. And we did not want to intrude on your grief.”
Cazia was equally grateful for the soldier’s kindness and annoyed that she’d refused to be a target for Cazia’s rage and embarrassment. “I still don’t know what happened to Colchua. He would not have run away without me.”
Peraday gestured toward the quiver on Cazia’s hip. “Can he do magic, like you?”
Cazia shook her head. “He is a warrior all the way through. Was a warrior.” The words left behind a lump in her throat that made her feel sick. She turned away toward the north, looking far uphill toward the place where the twisting pass vanished between two sloping paths as though Col might have been standing out there on a barren rock. She had no target for her anger and it was turning sour inside her.
As long as she didn’t start crying again. Stoneface was right; it was dangerous for scholars to grieve in public.
“May I speak freely?” Peraday said. Startled by the tone of her voice, Cazia glanced at her. When they’d first met, Cazia had assumed she was just another bully. She had a heavy jaw and brow, a bulbous nose, and a long scar across her forehead. Her blunt accent only added to the impression. Her behavior, though, had been a complete surprise. Was this kindness?
It didn’t matter, because Cazia couldn’t refuse her, not now. “Please do.”
“My brother, he vanished. No one knows what happened to him, and what I have learned is that vanishing is more painful for those left behind. My father had a funeral. We visit his grave every year. But for my brother, there is only loss that can never come to an end, painful gossip, and futile hope. I know it’s not my place, but—”
“Perra!”
Peraday and Cazia turned toward Zollik. He was standing ten paces away but was staring back up at the wall. “What is it?” Peraday called.
“The guards are not at their—”
His next words were drowned out by the staccato clang of a bronze drum. It rang in four quick tones, then four again, then again.
Peraday and Zollik ran to the northern gate. Cazia jumped from the rock and sprinted after them. “What does it mean?”
They had no time for her questions. Zollik dug his fingers into the gap and tried to pull the gate open. It was as immovable as Monument. Peraday pounded on the wood with the heel of her hand. No one unbarred the gate or answered their shouts.
“What does four tones mean?” Cazia asked again.
“Enemy inside the fort,” Peraday answered. “Fire and Fury, they’ve already barred the gates. No one will be permitted to come or go until the foes within have been defeated.”
Cazia stepped back, looking along the walls. Was there another way in? She didn�
��t have a rope, and she stopped herself asking the guards if there was a ladder somewhere, because of course soldiers wouldn’t keep a ladder outside the fort. “How do we sneak in?”
“We don’t,” Peraday said sharply. “The walls are too high and we’d be shot if we tried to climb.”
“We should withdraw to Stinkhole Station,” Zollik said. “Dark will be upon us soon and we have no torches.”
“No,” Cazia said. Jagia was in there, and Timush, and Bittler. Her friends. She couldn’t leave them alone to face... “What enemy? Not another grunt. Could it be Alliance soldiers come to steal away their princess?”
Cazia knew the answer to her own question even before she finished it. She needed to stop doing that. How could they know what had happened in Peradain and where Vilavivianna had been moved in just five days? She was beginning to realize how much she disliked questions. Answers were much better. Answers told you what to do.
“I’m sorry, Miss Freewell, but we must set out for Stinkhole right away. They won’t have heard the gong and word must be spread.”
“Well, we don’t all have to go. I do. My friends are inside, and if they’re under attack, I can’t just sit on a rock and eat a picnic lunch. I just can’t.” You are Peradaini. You’ll never risk your lives for the Witt, Bendertuk, or Simblin heirs. “So, how do we sneak into to the fort? Don’t tell me you can’t; as soon as you build a wall, someone will want to climb over it. No one knows that better than I do. So, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
“But I haven’t,” Peraday said.
“I have.” Zollik’s expression was grave. “You can’t defend if you can’t prepare for an attack, and I worked out a method I would use to mount the walls. I’d hoped it would earn me the captain’s helm, but Reglis got it instead, and then that floor-mopper Shunkip. But I know how I’d do it.”
“Peraday,” Cazia said. “Why don’t you spread word to...Stinkhole station? Is that really a name? While we slip into the fort and see what help we can offer.”
The Way Into Chaos: Book One of the Great Way Page 15