As I walked down the stairs, I could see more of the farmland and town beyond, as well as the broad causeway that rose from the midst of the town and led upward toward the massive gatehouse of Whitmount—the main entrance to the fortress as high in the air as most of the Drowned City’s towers. Signs of damage marred the edges of the town, even a few ruined houses. But mostly the town remained intact. Whitmount hadn’t escaped the attacks that had hit all Ananya after the Empress’s death, but here, the defenses had held.
One thing in particular struck me: the sheer number of people working in the fields and on the road to the town. Partly they seemed to be an influx of refugees from destroyed communities, but mostly the extra laborers were needed as a result of the lost magic. I saw forty people struggling to work a haying rig that a single channeler and a driver would have managed easily: I had taken a turn driving a similar rig under the supervision of an experienced channeler while at the Empress’s Academy. In other places fields were being worked by lines of people with hand tools—the sort of things people used in backyard gardens but that hadn’t been used on farms in generations. Somewhere in the warren of cavernous storerooms that filled the hollowed-out mountain beneath Whitmount, someone had kept a cache of antique farm implements. I wondered how they’d even managed to get people trained to do the work. But there seemed to be no shortage of labor in the valley.
The first hours on the road through the valley passed quietly, but by the time we finished lunch at the river fort that guarded the bridge, a palpable sense of excitement traveled along the road with us.
As we walked along the causeway toward the fortress, passersby stopped. Soon a murmuring crowd gathered, lining the causeway on either side like a parade route. I guess it was a parade of sorts. I didn’t imagine there had been many triumphant arrivals recently. People followed behind as well, filling the causeway behind us as our route toward Whitmount rose above the town.
The warmth of the Snake Slayer costume had abated after I left the ancient stairway, but as we walked up the causeway the sensation returned, growing in intensity as we neared the gatehouse. The armor never felt uncomfortable; more a protective warmth, like a mother lioness holding her cub very close.
Through the huge gatehouse, I could see troops drawn up in parade formation in the courtyard beyond. A stage had been set up, and I could see hints of a crowd behind some sort of makeshift barriers. Apparently, a celebration awaited us. It seemed a bit out of proportion to our arrival, though by the hint of a smile on my father’s face I could tell that he thought it was only his due.
Only a few places are referred to by name in the Talisman of Truce, which is more concerned with nations and gods than with particular locations. Whitmount is one of them. The gods hated the place. Every time my father had me read the treaty that hatred came through clearly, however elegant the language. An older magic had built Whitmount: old as the gods themselves and owing them nothing. Cold iron, painful to fey, filled the stone of its walls. It wasn’t just that this fortress was carved out before the war was won: Whitmount was one of the causes of the war. While Whitmount held, humans could not be driven from the mountains, and the fey wanted the mountains for their own.
The gods had wanted it abandoned and leveled as part of the peace, which would have left Ananya’s empire reduced to a broad coastal plain wrapped around a hostile mountain range. Ananya refused to yield the point and the gods, worn down by years of fighting their rebellious former worshippers, finally gave way. In return for assuring that control of all magic lay through the bloodline of gods, the gods abandoned their fey allies and retreated back to their own lands. Over the centuries, Whitmount remained as a symbol of Ananya’s control of the mountains—and the fey had lost none of their hatred of the place.
Sperrin
The Road to Whitmount: Five weeks after the Loss
Until the captain in charge of the redoubt at the top of the stairs mentioned it to me, I had no idea that Nemias commanded the military forces in Whitmount. I knew my old friend had been promoted to captain-general during my years in the palace, but last I’d heard, Nemias held a combat command at the front lines in the war. For all its historical importance, Whitmount stood deep in the mountains, far from any recent fighting. It guarded supply lines and protected the mountain spine that ran down the center of the Ananyan peninsula—but usually that merited an older commander nearing retirement, mentally able but perhaps lacking the physical strength or stamina needed for forced marches and battlefields.
Whatever political slight had brought about his reassignment, Nemias had apparently taken this posting with the same fierce preparation he brought to the battlefield. I knew the Mountain Cougars by their reputation as underachievers, but the soldiers here carried themselves like skilled veterans, as good as any of the line infantry units Nemias and I had commanded. And the Riverhead Scouts had certainly pulled their weight and more during the mountain journey.
I wanted to send the wounded ahead, so they wouldn’t be delayed by any ceremony on the column’s arrival in the city. With no magical transportation and every animal capable of pulling a wagon diverted to agriculture, that proved difficult. Eventually supply wagons were found and diverted, loaded with the seriously wounded, and pulled by whatever troopers from the Mountain Cougars the subcaptain in command of the river fort found standing around. That gave time to rest the column from the long climb down the mountain stairs and get everyone fed—I didn’t want anyone passing out on the road. It also let me give answers to a flurry of messengers from the city, so I had some idea of what sort of ceremony to expect when we arrived.
Ketya looked tired and nervous. Her father looked smug, a cat sensing a new supply of mice behind the Great Gate of Whitmount.
And how do you feel? It was a fair question. I really didn’t know the answer. I had saved these soldiers, and I had killed our enemies, and they loved me for it. And I loved doing it, I really did. I just hated how much I loved doing it.
Somewhere in this city, if I was very lucky, I might find my daughter. Did I want her to think of her father as a man who loved killing more than he loved her?
* * * *
After the wagons had passed through the town and onto the causeway, I nodded to the Mountain Cougars captain who’d been staring at me. The captain had arrived at the river fort shortly after the wagons had departed, tasked with escorting me and the refugees and returning scouts into the city. He looked nervous for a captain in charge of an honor guard, but his sergeants seemed competent, and had organized the column smoothly.
In addition to asking Ketya to accompany me, I had asked that Talye and Kern walk with me. Both of them seemed a little uncomfortable being singled out, and Talye had asked to stay with her soldiers.
“Walk with me,” I said again. “Your soldiers know their orders, and they’re good troops. The Mountain Cougars sergeants are ready if there’s a problem. And I need you with me when I report to Captain-general Nemias. There are events that you know better than I do.”
I left my real reason unspoken: It would be easy for others to deny the sergeants the honors they had earned. By their nature, scouts were easy to overlook, even though the two sergeants had saved their detachment when its officers had fallen.
My reasons for asking Ketya to accompany me were more complex, and harder to articulate. Ketya and I had been through a lot together since the fight in the palace, and she had a role to play in helping to rebuild our shattered world. But she was very young, and could be cowed by her father. She would be easy to overlook as well, and I hoped my word could help assure that she remained close to the center of events. Besides, like me she had a knack for surviving impossible situations, something years of soldiering had taught me not to underestimate. And she held Ananya’s copy of the Talisman of Truce, which I felt certain would be as important as any battle plans of mine before the crisis ended.
Not surprisingly, the chancellor also walked beside us, although he soon moved to the front, ne
xt to the nervous captain. Pointedly, the chancellor ignored me while speaking soothingly to the captain.
As the procession moved forward people began to gather and watch us go by—first in twos and threes, farm workers pausing in their labors to take in the spectacle—but soon the clumps grew larger. By the time we reached the town in the shadow of the mountain fortress, onlookers lined the road almost solidly on both sides. Soon we found ourselves moving through a cheering crowd. Children threw flowers to us like a Memorial Day parade. Unconsciously the scouts smartened their pace and dressed their lines. Even the nervous captain took on a more martial look, with the chancellor beaming beside him.
I enjoyed battles more than the parades afterward. Parades had been something to take my daughter to see. In more recent years, they had been something to protect: The Empress had dearly loved parades.
They’re treating us as if we’re coming back from a great victory, I thought. But I guess the way they see things, it was a great victory.
After the disaster at the palace, any survivors reaching Whitmount would be good news. And the fortress had likely given up on the Riverhead Scouts detachment as lost when the attacks came while it was out of reach of any help.
For that matter, I supposed, you didn’t hear of many light infantry victories over giants. I found himself smiling at that thought.
The crowds fell away below us as the procession began climbing the causeway into the fortress. Like the redoubt at the top of the mountain stairs, the causeway had long, bridged sections designed to be collapsed easily, throwing attackers to their deaths. Even with the parade atmosphere surrounding our approach, I saw watchful sentries at their posts. The soldiers on watch in the towers above us focused their eyes outward and upward, not on the approaching parade.
Through the Great Gate, I could see the long gatehouse tunnel and the brightness of the Great Yard beyond. I could see troops drawn up in honor formation and a platform in the center. Loud murmuring revealed a crowd outside my view.
As we stepped off the causeway and onto the flat stones of the gatehouse tunnel, a band began playing “Hemmari’s Descant,” a lively folk-dancing tune and a staple of soldiers’ celebrations. I saw Kern smiling at the music; the song brought happy memories to a lot of soldiers. By contrast, the chancellor frowned slightly: This was a song for soldiers and village dances, not for ceremonial occasions.
We passed slowly through the dimness of the tunnel—now illuminated with charcoal braziers that had been converted into oil lamps. The braziers had been carefully placed beneath each of the now-darkened magical globes that had once lit the tunnel and much of the fortress. The band continued playing “Hemmari’s Descant” until I and the rest of the soldiers at the head of the column emerged into the afternoon brightness of the Great Yard. Then they switched smoothly to the jaunty “Memorial Day March,” played for returning soldiers.
So welcome back you soldiers to the place where you belong.
Your days on leave are over and it’s time to come back home.
They only think you live there but the barracks is your own:
To the road! To the road! To the road!
Is that for the Riverhead Scouts detachment or for me? But I was pretty sure I already knew the answer. It was the sort of thing Nemias would do, making the point that he was glad to see me back in arms without having to come out and remind me that he disagreed with my decision to leave. Welcoming the scouts back with the song added to the festivities, but the returning detachment probably wouldn’t have merited the same degree of celebration.
The chancellor seemed a little put off by the choice of music, which amused me for some reason. I had no reason to wish the man ill for failing to prevent the disaster at the palace or for losing his head in the aftermath. But the man had complicated an already difficult situation without adding anything helpful beside his reputation. His daughter had been considerably more useful and resourceful, as well as better company. I hoped that today’s arrival at Whitmount meant I could leave the chancellor behind.
Much as the return to killing bothered me, it was more palatable if it meant not having to work directly with that man any more.
A giant carpet woven in Whitmount white had been rolled down the middle of the Great Yard for us to walk across. Guards stood at arm’s length intervals, both to show respect and to hold the crowd back from our path. The rest of the honor guard stood in parade formation on either side of the platform at the far end of the yard.
As we started along the white carpet, I found myself wondering where Nemias had found it, and how they kept it clean without magic. The storerooms beneath Whitmount were notorious for containing, it was said, everything.
Scanning the assembled blocks of the honor guard, I saw banners of the Mountain Cougars and a second regiment I didn’t recognize. The rest of the soldiers seemed to be support troops and odds and ends. I suspected two full-strength regiments could hold Whitmount indefinitely even without magic, but Nemias wouldn’t be mounting many offensive operations with this lot. Whitmount could house and feed eight regiments comfortably, but two second-tier regiments seemed about right for support duty and patrols this far behind the front. For our present situation, it felt a bit sparse.
Nemias stood at the head of a small cluster of senior officers and administrators on the platform. The captain-general looked deep in conversation with an administrator that I assumed was the governor-general of Whitmount, the military commander’s civilian co-leader. Surprisingly, I recognized the man: I’d seen him in the Drowned City often enough. Burren had been harbormaster in the Drowned City, with forty years of reputation as a canny politician. What’s he doing here? I hadn’t seen Burren lately, but hadn’t known the administrator had been transferred. What was such an astute politician doing here in a backwater? It was just as baffling as Nemias’s assignment here.
As the band repeated the “Memorial Day March,” Nemias and Burren seemed to reach a consensus and their conversation ended. Both had oddly neutral expressions for a celebration; I wondered what last-minute detail they had been trying to iron out.
The nervous captain drew to a halt ten paces in front of the platform, the chancellor beside him. Ketya and the sergeants and I stopped just behind. If he wants to be in front so badly, there’s no use stopping him, I thought. Besides, why start another quarrel just when you’re almost rid of the man.
Normally, the governor-general would take charge in a situation like this, but Burren clearly wanted to defer to Nemias today. Odd, since Burren was an entertaining public speaker. After a perfunctory thanks to the band, however, Burren turned things over to Nemias.
Burren had skipped the traditional opening for ceremonies like this, an invocation from the Book of the Gods. That made sense, I thought. At least one of the gods didn’t deserve any thanks or remembrance today. Instead, Nemias began things with a chant in Old Ananyan, which the soldiers soon picked up on. Usually it was forgotten except for Memorial Day ceremonies, but we all knew it by heart. I smiled as the words of a centuries-old victory chant washed over me, first in Old Ananyan and then in translation, as the whole crowd roared it together.
Today the gods are gone forever.
Walk through the ruins of our cities and celebrate.
Leave flowers on the graves of our families and friends.
Celebrate all the things that usually give us sorrow.
Because today the gods are gone forever.
I promised you, child, that this would be the last war
I promised you when you were young.
Now I am old and you are a soldier.
But together we celebrate in all our places of loss
Because today the gods are gone forever.
Ketya
The Great Yard, Whitmount
Sperrin looked honored and a little embarrassed at the same time by Captain-General Nemias’s speech. My father seethed, although you had to know him well to see the anger at the edges of his carefully controll
ed face. No formal recognition of the Lord Chancellor of Ananya at all, and then a speech lauding the troops with no mention of the high official they had brought all this way. Brought against his will, I had to remind myself—part of me was almost amused at how insulted my father seemed to be that he wasn’t accorded proper respect by the people he’d been accusing of kidnapping him for weeks.
What a speech Nemias gave! Part of me still thought of Sperrin as an over-aged palace guard with great survival skills. Despite the things he’d confided in me, and the way the scouts had followed him so readily, I had difficulty letting go of the old image. But Nemias had no such image. He lauded Sperrin in front of the assembled troops and crowd:
“This man is the best battle planner since Captain-general Keir, and the fiercest fighter I know,” he told them in a booming, battlefield voice. “I’ve already heard from the Riverhead Scouts detachment that he returned with—and they killed four giants with his assistance. Scouts killing giants! Let’s see what he can do with line infantry.”
The crowd went wild.
To me the words sounded a little patronizing to the scouts—but they seemed just as enthused as the rest of the audience. I don’t really understand soldiers, I decided.
Nemias continued in the same vein, exciting the troops and crowd with the potential for victory that Sperrin brought to Whitmount with him. The scouts and their sergeants he praised generously, if somewhat less fulsomely.
The Lost Daughters Page 27