She was making light, but there was actually some truth to that. I tried imagining what Mulldoos would say if he caught me out here with a Memoridon. It wouldn’t be pretty.
I wanted to excuse myself, in part because my bladder was full to bursting, in part, because it was the smart thing to do, but I stayed. “You said it was no business of mine, and I respect that. I do.”
“Do you?” There was some amusement there, though whether it was tinged with flirtation or irritation, it was impossible to say.
“I do indeed. But tell me this one thing, please. You weren’t night-walking, were you? Or meditating? And you obviously weren’t relieving yourself. What were you doing, exactly?”
“For someone allegedly respectful of boundaries, and wanting to know one thing only, you do ask far too many questions.”
I expected that, and nodded. “That’s fair. Well, then, I should—”
“I was sending a message,” she said quickly, as if she was revealing far more than she should have. “If you must know.”
I pulled the blanket tighter to ward off a cold breeze, and then wondered if not offering it to her was rude, or if offering it would be impudent and rude for different reasons. I opted for the second rudeness. When she declined the blanket, I couldn’t help asking, “A message? To another Memoridon, I take it.”
“Exceptionally clever.” I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like she was smiling.
“You can… what? Pass thoughts to each other? Read minds?” The question didn’t sound as ridiculous as I expected it to. Hearing of such things before meeting Lloi and now the Memoridons, I dismissed them as uneducated superstition or at least exaggeration. Now, I was almost prepared to believe everything.
“No,” she replied. “Not exactly. Not like you think, anyway. We can’t pass along long complex thoughts, or communicate the way you and I are now, rapid exchanges and questions and nuance and so forth. We transfer memories to each other.”
“Memories? I don’t understand. Memories of what? What you’ve seen recently? Heard?”
Skeelana shook her head. “No. That is, the most gifted and experienced can do something like that, provided they are much closer to each other. But at this distance, the only thing we can reliably pass to one another are small bits of image and sound that we’ve all memorized before.”
That sounded incredible, but again, having seen what I had, not entirely improbable. “Like a code, you mean? What kind of memories?”
She replied, “Something like that. A code, that is. Small, short, simple memories are the easiest. A fish swimming in circles in clear water means one thing. A hawk diving for its prey another. Something active, distinct, but still brief. String them together, and you can convey a great deal.”
It was foreign, and sounded marvelous, really. But everything she said led to more questions. “Why not just memorize an alphabet then? Transmit one letter after another, like writing, with your mind? Wouldn’t that be the simplest way?”
“It might. Well, it would. But there are two things that prohibit that from working. Again, when we are separated by great distances, even the most talented can only convey a few images at any one time. No one I’ve ever met could maintain the focus and concentration long enough to make… mind-writing like you described work. Or effectively anyway.”
“And the second thing?”
She took a step closer and said, “I will take that blanket, now.”
It took me a moment to comprehend, but after I handed it to her, she wrapped it around her shoulders. “The other is, something lively, colorful, dynamic—that’s easier to recall, receive, pass along. I can’t tell you why, precisely. But all of the memories in our language, our code, are meaningful. They are rarely static, and they are the kind of thing you would attach emotion to. That’s what makes a memory powerful. Here. Let me show you.”
Before I had a chance to decline, she closed her eyes and then I suddenly smelled an unexpected and potent odor: ginger. It bit at the nostrils so hard I could nearly taste it, and my stomach grumbled. The smell grew more powerful, and then faded away immediately as if it never existed at all. Immediately, another odor hit, equally out of place in the forest—bananas, overripe but not having spoiled completely. I’d only smelled them a few times, as they weren’t native to Anjuria, but there was no confusing the smell with anything else.
This disappeared as quickly as it came, though, replaced by a pungent perfume that swirled with vanilla and lavender and hints of some other cloying thing I couldn’t place. Followed immediately by the stinging brine and dead fish of the sea.
I would have suspected I was losing my mind if I hadn’t known it was merely being played with.
When the final odor disappeared, leaving the night air somehow flat and almost destitute, I said, “That’s amazing. Those are all yours? Memories of smells?”
“No. Those are shared memories. From early training, actually. Memories of smells are easier to transfer than images for some reason. I suppose emotions get caught up in them more? Not sure. Anyway, those are some of the first we learn to pick up and pass on.”
Now that I had her talking, I figured it was time to circle back to my original question. “So, what was the message?”
“Hmm?”
“The message you sent to someone back at Sunwrack.”
She suddenly handed the blanket back. “I’ve already blathered more than I should. And your bladder will pop soon. Get some rest, Arki.”
And just as she had the night before, she melted into the darkness and was gone, leaving me standing there, cursing myself for being so clumsy. And also a bit in awe.
Sleep would be even more difficult prey now, but I knew I had to try.
A hand shook my shoulder, and it was rough enough that I guessed I must have fallen into a deep sleep, despite the cold, the damp, and the uneven ground only slightly more comfortable than sleeping on broken glass.
I tried to orient myself. It was still dark, and the hand was still shaking me. I sat up and told whoever it was I was awake.
The hand withdrew. “Thought you might have died or something,” Vendurro said. “Weren’t even snoring, just curled up like some stone gargoyle.”
I looked around. Nearly everyone else was moving, gathering their sleeping rolls, packing any loose items, though we were all pretty light in that department, most of the supplies being back in the wagon or on the pack horses.
Vendurro stood, and I got to my feet as well, stiff all over, the blanket still wrapped tight. Everywhere I looked, breath was ghosting in the air. We were moving somewhere in a hurry. “What’s happening?”
“Can’t say for a certainty. Cap seemed real intent on getting the crew going. But whatever it is, it’s happening big and happening soon. Let’s hoof it.”
Almost with alarm, I realized the last thing I’d been thinking about before falling into that deep sleep was Skeelana, and that I was looking around at our party, trying to spot her.
I shook my head and focused on keeping up with Vendurro as we made our way through brambles and brush and onto the base of the hill that led up to the ridge. Though it took me long enough to recognize it, having been woken from the depths, it struck me suddenly that in addition to the lamellar on full display, weapons buckled and strapped on, shields slung over backs or bucklers clipped to belts, everyone was carrying loaded crossbows as well.
Vendurro must have read my thoughts. “Might get ugly right quick. Fighting in the dark is worse than fighting in full-on day. Can’t see the carnage or bloodletting, true enough, which is something of a blessing, but you also can’t make out friend from foe. Leads to bad decisions, bloody mistakes, even panic, you don’t have a steady hand running the crew. Lucky for us, we got Cap. He’ll see us through, even if we need to start loosing bolts before sunup. Buckle that quiver, ready that bolter.” I couldn’t be sure, but I think he smiled.
The small company was gathered together, looking to Captain Killcoin and his lieutenants who
were standing a little further apart, arguing with Soffjian from the looks of it. The captain might have rankled at her being involved at all in this operation, but she did have the habit of turning him and his chief advisors into a unified front. Hewspear and Mulldoos might have had leave to question their captain’s decisions in private, at least to a point, but they never failed to support him in front of the troops, and never more so than when she was aligned on one side, and the three of them on the other.
I saw Skeelana then, holding herself apart from the rest, observing either everyone or no one. She was even less equipped for a confrontation than I was. Well, except for her ability to warp men’s minds of course. There was that.
Soffjian shook her head, rather violently, and then walked away, joining Skeelana, speaking quickly and quietly, clearly unhappy with the situation.
Captain Killcoin saw Vendurro and summoned him over with a quick wave of his arm, and when I didn’t immediately follow, he waved faster. I ran to catch up, ignoring the glances from the soldiers around me. Some were likely indifferent to my presence or my proximity to their captain, but I frequently sensed that others were none too pleased, even if being a part of Braylar’s inner circle meant increased likelihood of receiving a tongue lashing.
There was another Syldoon, one of the pair on watch at the ridge, I gathered, who had been waiting for Soffjian to move off but now joined the group as well. I approached the five men as Hewspear asked the soldier, “Has there been any movement? Anything unusual?”
The soldier had bloated lips and small eyes that could charitably have been described as beady. “No, sir. We alternated, just like you and Cap ordered. Been a fresh eye on the site the whole night. Torches on the wall, dying camp fires among the Brunesmen, so hard to make too much out. But nothing real peculiar.”
Mulldoos drummed his hand on the buckler on his hip as he faced Braylar. “What do you want us to do, Cap? Everybody got all dressed to scrap, but seems like we might be a mite early to the party yet.”
Captain Killcoin was looking up the hill, one hand on the top of Blood-sounder’s haft. I wondered if maybe he needed the elaborate whirling to capture the least muddied images and sensations, as he’d done in the grass. But even some of his men were familiar with the odd divinations, the two women in the group surely weren’t, and I knew he was in no hurry to reveal anything to them unless it was bled out of him.
I thought he was going to have to admit that Mulldoos was right, and order everyone to unclench the nerves and cool the bloodlust, but then I saw movement further up the hill, and heard metal and gear gently rattling as the other solider who’d been manning the ridge jogged down to us, stones and rotting leaves kicked ahead of him.
The Syldoon came to a stop in front of the group and saluted.
“Report, soldier.”
“Got some activity, Cap.”
Braylar stepped forward. “I gathered as much, since you nearly broke your neck racing down here to tell us as much. A few more details would be welcome.”
The soldier replied, “Aye, Cap. Sorry. Baron’s men, seems like they’re breaking camp.”
I couldn’t tell if Braylar was relieved or disappointed. “Pulling out?”
“Can’t say for sure, Cap. They’re pulling the pavilions down, alright, and some of the small tents too. But the command tent is still standing. And given that the commanders generally don’t like to choke on dust or step in shit, seems plenty queer that they haven’t broken that down yet. Plus, a lot of coming and going in the night the last few hours.”
Braylar turned to the beady-eyed Syldoon. “And that didn’t strike you as peculiar? Excessive traffic to Gurdinn’s tent?”
The soldier looked both red-faced and a bit confused. “Gurdinn, sir?”
“The man in the tent receiving so many midnight missives. In the future, please remember this moment the next time I ask you if anything unusual is afoot and be prepared to hurt your neck nodding furiously if you’ve encountered the same level of activity. In addition to preferring to keep their boots clean, commanders only like to be woken repeatedly or kept awake half the night for a phenomenally good reason.” He turned to the rest of our small assembly. “Come. Let’s see what to make of these camp happenings.”
The captain started up the hill as quickly as he could and still maintain his footing in the dark. The two soldiers loped after him and fell in on either side.
Mulldoos looked at Hewspear. “Devils take him, but he’s right too plaguing much.” Then the pair ascended as well.
Vendurro wasn’t struggling as much as the lieutenants—in fact, he seemed pretty adroit at avoiding injuries—but he chose to stay at my side as we followed. I wondered if he feared I’d stumble and roll back down to the bottom, or turn an ankle in the dark. Or possibly he just wanted some company. I imagine if Glesswik had been there, they would have kept pace with the rest.
He elbowed me in the side and nearly sent me toppling, so my safety clearly wasn’t paramount. “Mulldoos ain’t never found a comfort level of no kind with Bloodsounder. Distrusts the thing something fierce, even when it proves itself over and over. Can’t say I blame him—mighty unnatural. But it’s saved us more than once.”
I tried not to let my labored breathing show. “But it’s been mistaken before, hasn’t it? Led him astray.”
Vendurro pointed further up the hill, presumably at the soldiers and the captain ahead. “No more or less than anything else. Either way, he gets it more right than wrong. Lieutenant ought to quit fighting that fact so plaguing hard, no matter how plaguing queer the thing is.”
There might have been something to that. But just then, I was happy not to be wearing armor, despite my earlier misgivings. Trudging uphill in full Syldoon gear didn’t look like much fun, even if Vendurro had the youth and energy and training to show no ill effects.
When we got near the top of the incline, I saw the others had already gone prone and inched up to the edge, helmets off so as not to reflect any moonlight. I dropped to my belly and did the same, creeping forward until I could look down on the hunting lodge and surrounding area.
There were torches on the walls of the compound, and in the tall wooden towers along the wall, and while it was impossible to make out much in the way of detail, the shapes of the priestguards were hard not to miss, and the light glinting off mail or helms.
The besiegers’ small camp had plenty of torches too, away from the tents, and some in the hands of soldiers moving about, so it was even more difficult to discern much, except that there was plenty of activity, and while some figures didn’t catch the light, wearing gambesons, most were in hauberks.
Mulldoos shook his head. “If Gurdinn is down there—”
“He is,” Captain Killcoin countered emphatically, pointing out a figure striding between his men. He had a full hauberk as well with a coat of plates over the top, the rivets winking on and off as they caught the light, and his spaulders, steel vambraces, and finger gauntlets reflecting the fire and moon as well. There was no mistaking him for anyone other than the commander of the forces.
“Fine. That’s him,” Mulldoos said. “But what’s he plaguing playing at? That might not be a castle, but it’s a lot more fortified than any lodge has a right to be.”
Vendurro asked, “He can’t be thinking of attacking, can he? He’d be a fool to, right?”
Hewspear grunted as his ribs pressed against cold ground. “He is a stubborn man, but you’re right—it would be foolish to attack an enemy dug in like that. Especially since he doesn’t have siege engines. This is our first night—perhaps he’s ordered feinted attacks like this the last few nights and evenings.”
Mulldoos mulled that over. “Wear the holy bastards down, you think? Gurdinn’s got more men, for certain. Keeping watch on a wall tweaks your nerves tight as it is, but especially if you think an attack might be coming.”
“Or maybe,” Vendurro offered, “he feints a few nights in a row, until the priest’s guard is either
so tired, or right sure it’s nothing but another fake, lets their guard down some.”
“Nah. He ain’t attacking. Like the wizened windmill said, he’s stubborn, but not stupid. Not that stupid, anyway.”
We watched and waited as the pearl light crept over the horizon to the east. The dawn suffused the thin clouds above the treeline. I rubbed my hands together, looking forward to the warmth the sun would bring, and wondered just how long we planned on laying in the dirt waiting for something to happen. I leaned close to Vendurro and tried to ask only so loud for him to hear, “Why would it be so foolish to attack? If it’s not as sound defensively as a castle, that is?”
But Hewspear overheard. “Not a castle, true. But they’d still have to make a break over open ground, arrows raining down, and then try to scale the wall. The defenders, even at a numerical disadvantage, are in a stronger position.”
“What’re you babbling on about?” Mulldoos asked.
Hewspear repeated my question, and Mulldoos looked over at me. I expected some hostility, but he was remarkably restrained. “Gurdinn’s got more men, twice as many, maybe. But he’d lose big numbers charging that wall. Not worth it. No commander orders a siege, even on a fortified hunting lodge. Not unless he’s got to.”
“You mean, if his men are starving or freezing?”
“Don’t go laying siege in the winter, scribbler. But starving, yeah, losing men to desertion, disease. None of which are in play here. Only been here a few days. No call to waste men on the walls at all.”
Hewspear, ever eager to contest his comrade’s opinion, said, “Unless there were other reasons the commander had little choice.”
“Such as?”
Vendurro piped up, “Maybe the commander don’t want to pay a visit to that table in the baron’s playroom you all told me about.”
Veil of the Deserters Page 30