Quentin, crouching down to stir the dinner pot with his unwounded hand, was silent a while after I finished. Then he said, "And is he?"
I smiled at Quentin's ability to cut through to the heart of matters. "Does it matter to you? You don't worship the gods."
Quentin added a stick to the fire. "It wasn't part of my grandfather's training. But still . . . I'd be interested to hear your opinion."
I took the ladle from his hand and continued the stirring. "Yes, he is. You could tell from his eyes." I took a sip from the stew, wincing as it bit at my tongue. "I'm not sure how to tell Carle. I'm afraid that he'll think less of me if I say that I believe the Jackal is really a god."
"Among the many worries of a spy," Quentin said, "one that you need not concern yourself with is that Carle will ever think less of you. His debt to you is too great."
I sat back on my heels, staring. "Whatever do you mean? The debt is mine; if he hadn't taken me under his care—"
"The stew is boiling over," Quentin said.
For the next minute, we were preoccupied in tossing dirt on the fire to extinguish it. As I wiped my hands clean on the grass afterwards, Quentin said, "You've met Carle's father."
I nodded. "Have you?"
"Briefly. He accompanied Carle to the borderland when I was fourteen and Carle was eight—"
"When you and Carle helped Fenton to escape. Yes."
"Carle was mainly responsible for that; I wouldn't have had the courage." Quentin leaned forward to stir the stew carefully, then sat back again on the grass, saying, "When Carle first entered the patrol, I greatly feared that he would become like his father."
"But—" I stopped suddenly. The sun was beginning to dip behind the peaks. Nearby I could hear the day patrol exchanging weary signals with each other.
"The day Carle and I met," I said slowly. "What he did to me then . . . Had he done that before?"
Quentin nodded, leaning back onto his hands and then shifting his position so that his weight was upon his unwounded arm. "He had never before disobeyed my orders, but on several occasions he disciplined prisoners or guards under his care in a manner stricter than necessary. To say that of a patrol guard is to say a great deal, of course. With most guards, the problem I have is teaching them to show appropriate sternness, but with Carle the problem was the opposite. He knew only his father's discipline, and even a gentle version of that was beyond what was necessary. And aside from that . . ."
"Yes." My voice was firm; all was clear to me now. "I've seen that too. He has the seed of his father's cruelty in him. He keeps it deeply buried, though."
Quentin shook his head. "Not during his first three years in the patrol; then he was like a man riding a wild horse. He was barely able to keep control of himself. If he'd been any less talented than he was, I would have dismissed him from the patrol, for I could see the shadow of disaster whenever I looked at him."
"But he's not like that now," I said, bewildered.
"No," Quentin replied. "He met you."
The sun slid behind the peaks, and Quentin rose with a whistle, beckoning the patrol to supper. Nearby, Devin joyfully whistled the day patrol home. The night patrol emerged from the hut, some of the guards heading for the food, while other guards started for the latrine and waterfall. Fowler caught sight of me and called out his greeting, so I had no opportunity to talk with Quentin after that.
It is just as well. I could not have found any words to reply.
o—o—o
The fourth day of June in the 943rd year a.g.l.
In the end, Carle gave me the answer to my dilemma.
"Let me be sure I understand you correctly," he said after I had told my tale on the evening of my arrival back at our tent. "You spoke with the Jackal – you ought to receive a gold honor brooch for that tracking, by the way – and he offered you information. Some of it is information on his goals; we've been under orders to obtain that information, and so you'll report your findings to Captain Radley. But one piece of information that you learned could place a kinsman of yours at risk of losing his life if you told anyone, and you're not sure whether your duty requires you to report that information as well." Carle drew off his undertunic. Many months have passed since he was last ashamed for me to see his whip-torn back. "This information that relates to your kinsman – did Captain Radley order you to obtain it?"
I shook my head, and Carle smiled as he dipped a rag in the bucket of cold water next to his feet. "That's an easy conclusion to your quandary, then," he said. "Tell him."
The evening was chill, as all Emorian evenings seem to be. I hugged my naked chest with my arms. "You believe that it's my duty to tell him?" I said in a low voice.
Carle's smile broadened, and he tossed me the rag so that I could take my turn with the water. "What I ought to have said is, 'Try to tell him.'"
I understood what he meant the next day. After listening to Captain Radley explain at length how I was a sly Koretian liar for pretending that I had met the Jackal, and then hearing him upbraid me for not giving my report from the moment I entered his tent, I told him about the Jackal's plans, the plans that I had been under orders for several months to obtain. Then I tried to tell him who the Jackal is. And tried again. After six attempts, and after hearing Radley tell me six times that he had no interest in any speculation on my part concerning matters that lay outside my orders, I finally left, but only because Radley had his orderly drag me out of his tent. The last I heard was Radley shouting that he would have me up on charges for my insubordination.
Carle was lying on the floor of our tent, rolling with laughter, by the time I finished telling the tale, which eased my heart greatly. When he had sobered himself, I said, "But oughtn't I to tell somebody else? Should I write a letter to the Chara?"
"Any letter from you would be sent straight back to your official, to see whether it was important enough to occupy the time of the Chara." Carle passed me a flask of cider from last year's pickings at his orchard.
I sipped from it before saying, "I could try to go see the Chara. Technically, we're under the Chara's immediate care. If I said that it was an emergency, the guards might let me see him."
"And end up dead because the Chara judged it not to be an emergency?" Carle took the cider back from me. After the silence had stretched far enough to break, he added, "Yes, I'd advise that you risk yourself if the matter is important enough. But is it? Do you believe that Emor is in danger from the Jackal, and that the information you know might help the Chara to defend our land?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm quite sure that the Jackal was telling the truth when he said that he had no quarrel with the Chara." I eased my dagger out of its sheath, gave it a perfunctory wipe with our all-purpose rag, then slid it back into its casing. "I could be wrong, though. I think that the Chara is the only one who could truly judge this matter."
"If the time comes when you discover you're wrong," said Carle between sips of cider, "then you can go to the Chara and give him the information he needs to break the power of the Jackal."
"But if I should be killed before then . . ."
"You'll write about this in your journal, I suppose? Well, then . . ." Carle leaned back on his elbows. There were dark circles under his eyes, and I wondered whether his latest mission had brought him more weariness than usual.
"Adrian," he said, "do you remember our conversation in the cave three winters ago?"
I smiled at him, not needing to reply. He said, "So what do your instincts tell you?"
After a moment, I said slowly, "That this isn't the right moment at which to offer up my sacrifice."
Carle tossed me the empty cider flask to put aside. "You know," he said, "great as my loyalty is to the Chara, I'm not sure that you're right when you say that the Chara is the best person to judge the intentions of the Jackal. I think that a Koretian-born Emorian is likely to be a better judge in these matters than the Chara."
Which, of course, is not at all true, but it is typical
of Carle to end our conversation with such warm thoughts.
o—o—o
The fifth day of June in the 943rd year a.g.l.
I received very little sleep last night; Carle woke me thrice.
After the third time, neither of us found it easy to return to sleep. When I turned my head, I could see the glitter of Carle's eyes from starlight that had made its way through the smoke-hole at the top of the tent.
I said, "Has this been happening recently?"
Carle was a long time replying, and when he spoke, I had to roll over to his side to hear him. "It happens sometimes when I'm on long missions," he said. A pause meandered while the palace trumpets proclaimed the midnight, and then he added in a lower voice, "When I'm away from you."
I placed my hand over his. "Carle, he's dead," I said quietly.
Carle carefully pulled his hand out from mine and turned his face toward the tent cloth. "Sometimes I think he's only sleeping," he said in a muffled voice.
If I hadn't spoken with Quentin three days ago, I would not have understood what Carle meant. I moved onto the blanket Carle had pushed aside – what is a chilly night for me is a warm summer's eve for Carle – and asked, "Would you like for us to leave the army and find other work?"
He rolled over, and in the moment before he rid himself of his expression, I saw the spark of hope in his eyes. "We couldn't do that," he said firmly. "You've been a lieutenant for less than a year—"
"I don't enjoy my work," I said, almost truthfully. "I was only ever half a spy, and without you to help me, I feel as though I'm doing half-finished tasks. I want to keep serving the Chara, but I'm beginning to believe that I'd serve him better doing work elsewhere in this land."
Carle sighed as he placed his hand down onto the small space between us. "I know what you mean. I feel the same way, as though the work I'm doing is unworthy of one of the Chara's soldiers. And I must admit that I've been toying in my mind with that old idea we had of seeking work with a town council. Neville has been hanging over my shoulders since last year, urging me to allow him to do us a favor, in order to make up for how he treated us before. Palace officials hear about open positions in the councils of this land before the rest of us do. He'd be able to tell us when any council is seeking two men at the same time."
So it was settled, but of course Carle and I were so excited that we stayed up until dawn discussing our future, and then spent the early morning composing a letter to Neville about our hopes.
Neither of us mentioned that the real reason we're leaving the army is that we can't do decent work under the care of Captain Radley.
o—o—o
The twenty-fourth day of August in the 943rd year a.g.l.
It has been very hot this month, especially for Emor. Captain Radley has been in a foul mood, trying to sort through all the reports on the Jackal's increasing activities. He can't make anything of the reports, of course, since he doesn't understand Koretian religion. Periodically, he has been calling me into his tent to ask me about various small matters, but I think it galls him to be forced to seek the advice of his inferior. I've tried on a few occasions to volunteer information that would allow him to see the larger picture of what the Jackal is and thus be able to figure out for himself the small matters, but this only infuriates him more.
Since Carle and I are presently awaiting orders on our next missions, we have mainly been keeping to our tent, seeking to fight the heat with shade and cool wine. The latter comes from the lieutenant, who is in the cooler mountains, and who sends flasks to us periodically by way of one of the royal messengers who can make it here quickly enough that the liquid is still cool by the time it arrives. (The messengers are happy enough to do this in exchange for a share of the wine.)
Carle has been worst affected by the heat, of course, and I advised him to keep his movements slow, lest he overexert himself in the heat. He has taken my advice, saying that I am the expert in these matters of southern weather. Thus I was surprised when he rushed into the tent this afternoon, waving a letter in and dancing about the place.
It took me some time to make sense of what he was saying; when I found out, I was ready to dance myself. It was a pass from the Chara's summoners, allowing Carle to attend tomorrow's court.
It was a gift from Neville, of course. "The fool, the low-brained, muddle-minded fool," Carle said happily. "He must have had to crawl on his hands and knees to the summoners to get this pass for us."
"Us?" I said, certain that I must have misheard him.
"Us! I can bring a guest, the pass says. I suppose that means I can bring my brother or son, but the pass doesn't actually specify that. If anyone asks, I'll imply you're a kinsman of mine – that's close enough to the truth. By the spirits of the dead Charas, Adrian, what should I wear?"
I laughed and held onto the wine-table, which Carle was in danger of knocking over. "You sound like a young woman about to meet her betrothed for the first time. What does it matter what we wear? No one will notice us. The question is, When should we get there? If we arrive early enough tomorrow, we'll be able to find a place right in the front, so that we can have a good view of the Chara."
Carle stopped dancing and began fiddling with the sheath of his dagger, which he had begun wearing in the army camp, in keeping with his forged reputation as a dangerous, lawless man. "To witness the truth, I was thinking of hiding us away in one of the corners of the court. I'm not sure that I want a good view of the Chara in judgment; I've heard tales of strong men fainting away when they saw the look of the Chara for the first time."
"Oh, Carle."
"Very well, very well." He laughed, but somewhat nervously. "We'll take a place in the front, as close as you want. I'm still not sure what to wear, though. I want to wear something that will honor the Chara."
"Then wear the brooch."
"Of course!" Carle hit his forehead with his palm. "I am a fool, a dog, a dull-witted schoolboy. Thank the wisdom of the Charas that you're here to tell me what to do. I'd forgotten about the royal emblem brooch, but it's exactly the thing to wear. I'll be offering tribute to the Chara and will also be honoring my father, poor miserable man, who did at least one kind act in his life by leaving me that brooch. So will you come with me, Adrian?"
I laughed in reply, but he said seriously, "No, I mean it. This is a formal occasion, so I am formally inviting you to accompany me to the Court of Judgment. There is no one else I would want there beside me."
It took me a moment to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat during this speech, and by the time that moment was over, my reply was delayed by a rap on the tent-post.
It was Hylas, bearing a letter for me from the lieutenant.
"He's probably telling us that he has run out of mountain-cooled wine," Carle said cheerfully. "Never mind, we have more heady wine to draw upon now."
"It's not from the lieutenant himself," said Hylas, so pointedly at our wine that Carle turned away to fetch him a flask. "It comes from Koretia; apparently a Koretian delivered it to the patrol. He was a borderlander with a scar along his right arm – the lieutenant said to tell you that, in case his identity was important."
I looked down at the letter. It bore no superscription, and the seal was smudged, but for anyone who was looking for it, it was easy enough to recognize that the seal was in the shape of the mask of the Jackal.
I tore the letter open and read it. It was without greeting or signature.
You asked whether you could do anything for me; now comes the moment when I must take up your offer. By the time that you receive this, Carle will have asked you to do something for him. Do not comply.
I cannot tell you what the consequences of your action will be, for in all truth I do not know them myself; my powers have not told me. This much I do know: you will not be breaking your oath to the Chara nor bringing harm upon your fellow Emorians in doing this, and Carle will receive the reward of your action. What will happen to you, I do not know, and so, speaking as your ki
nsman now, rather than in my other role, I cannot advise you on what to do. I can only remind you that the gods will watch over you, whatever happens.
I was still staring at the letter when I became aware that Carle had sent Hylas on his way and was watching me closely. "Bad news?" he said.
I quickly closed the letter and went over to the side of my bed, where I store my flint box. Keeping my face turned away from Carle, I said, "It's from one of my contacts in Koretia. I'm afraid that I won't be able to attend the court with you tomorrow; something has come up."
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