by Patty Jansen
He swings his leg backwards and kicks the boy. Not as hard as he can, nor softly enough for the older boys to notice that fact. He hates the soft feeling as his boot connects with the young boy’s back.
* * *
By the skylights, this was not a time for visions.
The first Knights were already marching into the camp. Carro followed. He was wet and freezing. He couldn’t see anything through the mist and smoke. He no longer knew where Nolan, Farey and Jeito and the rest of his command were, because the torch had been doused and everyone around him reduced to dark silhouettes.
Ahead, Knights arrived at the first of the tents. A man threw a tent flap open and shouted for the people to come outside.
They did, slowly, into a pool of light of a torch held up by a Knight. There were old men, women, children, some making pleas to the Knights. Many of them sported bandages. A man spat at the Knights at the entrance, and retreated when one of the Knights lashed out at him. A woman screamed.
They weren’t Brotherhood people, men dressed in black with beards, but ordinary citizens, most of them from the Outer City. Carro tried to find familiar faces, but most people pulled their cloaks over their heads and hid in the darkness underneath.
Rain came down in sheets.
The Knights made all the people sit in the rain, and went to the next tent. Carro looked over the group. Some people attempted to sit on their knees so they wouldn’t get wet from the ground. Mothers took children on their laps.
He couldn’t see Jevaithi or Isandor, but it was only a matter of time before they were found. And what would he do then?
He stood there, avoiding the people’s gazes, and shivered, and wished something would happen that would make all this go away. He wished he knew where Rider Barton had gone, or even that Rider Barton had given him a less ambiguous reply about who he supported.
He wished he never betrayed Isandor, and he wished he’d had the courage to tell Rider Cornatan that he wanted nothing more to do with him.
The Pirosian medallion burned against his skin. He longed to take it off and fling it as far as he could.
But that would solve nothing, because everyone would continue doing all these stupid things without him. Pirosians versus Thilleians, was that what it all came down to? It was stupid, stupid that people would die for this vendetta. Stupid.
Chapter 27
* * *
NOT MUCH LATER, Sady and Loriane arose from the truck at in General Finnisius’ field office while rain pelted on the roof. The canvas sides of the tent billowed in with gusts of wind and the flapping of the fabric, and the rain, almost drowned out the sound of the truck idling. Sady had ordered Orsan and the driver to wait. From further away came the blasts from burners which kept a unit of balloons in perpetual readiness.
Sady had shed his hood, but had kept the rest of his suit on, dripping water all over Finnisius’ chair. Loriane wore only a cloak over her dress. If he understood correctly, she was of the type of people on whom sonorics had no effect whatsoever and could not see it. She didn’t seem to be cold either.
Finnisius came to the table with a map, raising his eyebrows at Loriane. “These talks are confidential,” he said, meeting Sady’s eyes.
“If there is an answer to the problems we’re facing, it will be with the inhabitants of the camp. We’ll need to talk to them and we’ll need southerners for that.”
“But she doesn’t need to be here now.”
“She will not leave this tent. You, Lady Loriane, and a handful of others are the only people we can trust, and I wish you’d stop being such a precious prick about my judgement.” He wanted to rub in that it was Finnisius’ poor judgement that had left the camp under-protected, but could not afford an argument right now. He glared at Finnisius, and Finnisius glared back. Sady had no idea what sort of relationship Destran used to have with the general, but he guessed that, as the city guard and the courthouse guards, Finnisius could do pretty much as he pleased.
Sady continued in a milder voice, “Now, tell me what is the situation?”
General Finnisius blew out a breath through his nose. He spread the map out, on which someone had outlined the field of the refugee camp and the perimeter around it.
“A number of trucks arrived here,” Finnisius said, stabbing at the place on the map where the lower camp entrance was. “My men thought they were supply trucks, but there weren’t any supplies scheduled. When they went to speak to the drivers to find out what was going on, a great number of Eagle Knights came out of the back and overwhelmed my men.”
“You’re sure they were Eagle Knights?”
“Oh, yes, no doubt about it. They were in uniform.”
“Where did they come from?”
“A farmer saw the trucks turning onto the road a bit north of the camp. They came out of the forest. Other than that, we have no information. We need to get airborne to find where their base is but we can’t see anything until daytime.”
By which time there were probably more important matters to take care of, such as seeking shelter against sonorics.
Sady glanced at the map. The perimeter checkpoint was closest to Tiverius. It was probably the last place anyone would expect an attack.
General Finnisius hit the table with his flat hand. “Eagle Knights, performing military operations inside our borders. That’s an act of war.”
“That, it is.”
Finnisius’ eyebrows rose. Maybe he had expected an argument. “If the Eagle Knights take over the camp prior to the storm, they can move under cover of the weather, and who knows we’ll find ourselves occupied by the time we can come out of hiding.”
“I agree completely.”
“We will not tolerate any southern occupation of any part of our country.”
“And we will not tolerate any political foreign influences to dictate our decisions.”
“We seem to be in unusual agreement. Tomorrow, I’ll apply for permission of the doga to retaliate.”
“You have permission now.” That was it. Declare war. Sady had never envisaged it to be as easy as this.
“Now?” Finnisius frowned.
“Immediately. The sooner, the better.”
“But the doga has to vote—” Normally, the doga would have to approve any military action by vote in the emergency council.
“The doga will be disbanded at the next sitting.”
In a few sentences, Sady told him of the medicine and the content of Alius’ letter. Finnisius listened without speaking a word, an increasingly stunned expression on his face. “So the pills don’t work at all?”
“No. We have less than a day to stop the Eagle Knights, or anyone else, invading the city. That’s even with suits. By tomorrow morning, I want everyone in the shelters.”
“The entire doga could be affected with this corruption.”
“The entire doga is affected.”
“Is there anyone we can still trust?”
“No. Just you and I, and Viki and Shara Diadoro. And Lady Loriane. I declare emergency rule until this crisis is over. We tell no one of this decision and carry on as normal, but meanwhile, all decisions are taken by us. And we’re going to go into the camp.”
A small smile played around Finnisius’ lips. I seemed this was what he had wanted to hear. “You’ll have access to any of my soldiers who have sonorics suits.”
“Thank you.” The question remained if the suits would be up to protect the soldiers, but no one could answer that. “Prepare to go into the camp as soon as you can. I want the Eagle Knights to be evicted from the camp or taken into custody. I want to make it clear to them that I consider this invasion an act of war. The refugees are here by our invitation and are on Chevakian soil.”<
br />
The general gave Sady a calculating look, as if he was already working out the logistics in his head. His expression showed reluctant respect. Sady thought of the words in Alius’ letter. If the Most Learned had really thought he did such a good job, why hadn’t he said so earlier? He wouldn’t have made so many mistakes.
He said, “It is also important to remember that not all southerners in the camps support Lady Armaine or the Brotherhood.”
“There is no time to find out what’s going on and who everyone supports. My men will fight anyone who creates trouble.”
“I want you to do more than that. I want you to dismantle the camp and take everyone out to supervised shelters. Consider as hostile anyone who resists. Take the ordinary citizens and guard them elsewhere in the city. Gather the people who identify themselves as belonging to the Brotherhood and lock them up separately. Take everyone’s names. Employ southerners to help, but don’t tell them what it’s for. Do not accept money—bribes—for anything. The Knights themselves . . . when you have defeated them, I’ll talk to their leaders.”
“Certainly, sir.” Finnisius strained his legs as if to get up.
“Wait, I haven’t finished.”
Finnisius sat back down, all his attention on Sady.
“Do you have a courier here?”
“Yes.” The general’s voice made it sound like a question.
Sady dug in his pocket and took out the symbolic key to his office. “Tell your courier to take this to Senator Shara Diadoro.”
Finnisius stared at him, horror written on his face. “You’re resigning?”
“No. I’m giving this to her in case.”
“In case of what?”
“I’m going to go into the camp with you. In case I don’t come back.”
“No way,” Finnisius said.
“Yes, and my decision is final. We’ll travel in one of the rear balloons, out of the way of the likely site of battle. I won’t sit on my hands while you are fighting.”
“It’s my job to fight, not yours.”
“Nevertheless, I’m coming. There is nothing more for me to do except hide and hope that some of us will survive. There may just be someone in the camp who can help us. The lady here will come with me.”
Chapter 28
* * *
ISANDOR RAISED his head enough to see over the back of the front seat.
Outside the truck, Milleus faced the Knights across at least ten paces of muddy ground. Only a few drops of rain were still falling down. The wind chased wisps of mist and smoke past him.
The Knights stood quiet, holding crossbows. They had all the time in the world. They had the refugees surrounded and wouldn’t do anything that would risk their advantage.
Jevaithi looked at him with wide eyes, her face a pale oval in the sparse light.
The other refugees were still under or behind the truck, forming a living wall between the Knights and their queen. Isandor could hear their voices. Even so, Isandor didn’t think their presence would be enough to stop the Knights if they set their mind to reaching the truck—which they would if they knew who was aboard.
Lightning flashed, showing the fence line where, a few days ago, the Chevakians had cut through into the camp, desperate for something to happen. Milleus was right, he should have told him who Jevaithi was before entering the camp.
Now that fenceline, and freedom, might as well be miles away. They could never reach it.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sound of a bell ringing, a thin and high sound carried by the wind. Milleus had explained about the bell and what it meant to Chevakians. Milleus should be inside. If he stayed out here, he would be exposed to icefire levels high enough to do short-term and long-term damage.
But Milleus didn’t move. He stood straight-backed, with his hands in his pockets just like he did when looking at the goats. In fact, the truck rocked with the jumping of the goats. They had been inside for most of the day and Milleus’ smell probably made them think that he was about to let them graze.
The Knights didn’t move either.
Milleus said, projecting his voice so the Knights would hear, “We ask to be let out of the camp. I am Chevakian. These people are ordinary citizens who do not support your conflict. Let them go so they don’t get hurt.”
The Knights said nothing and showed no sign of having heard Milleus’ words.
“They don’t know Chevakian,” Jevaithi whispered. “He’s wasting his breath.”
“Some will understand.” Knights came usually from the upper class families. They had tutors. More than a few would have a basic knowledge of the language.
Milleus was still talking. “. . . If you use any violence towards us or anyone else in the camp, the Chevakian doga will see this as an invasion of their territory. If Chevakians are killed, they will declare war. So, if you let me go, I will take this matter to the Chevakian doga and we will negotiate—”
A voice shouted a harsh order.
One of the Knights marched up to Milleus. The man was almost a head taller, but Milleus faced him defiantly.
“He’s so brave,” Jevaithi whispered.
She was right. Through all of their trip, and before that, Milleus had faced any risk. He might be old, but Isandor felt a twinge of jealousy. Why couldn’t he stand out there and tell the Knights to go away?
Because they wouldn’t listen to him. Respect had to be earned. He was an exiled junior apprentice who had run off with the queen.
A Knight gave an order and a number of men marched forward. Milleus took up position between them and the truck, but there were too many of them and they simply walked around him.
“Why doesn’t he shoot?” Jevaithi asked.
But Isandor knew that would make matters worse. If Milleus did, the Knights would kill him instantly.
The refugees tried to bar the way, but they had no weapons. The Knights pulled people out from underneath the truck or trailer.
“They’re coming for us,” Jevaithi whispered. “They know we’re here.”
“We’re not giving up that easily.” He grabbed Milleus’ walking stick and pressed it into her hand. “Here. Mind the door on that side.”
She took the stick from him, and then pulled him close. Her breath came fast and her skin felt sweaty. It was so good to feel her against him, to feel their hearts beat in unison. It felt like coming home. Then he thought of his mother stirring concoctions on the stove in the limpet that was his home, her warm hug. He could smell the faint scent of herb extracts that always hung around her. Those feelings made him so angry. Yes, he would fight for Jevaithi and his mother.
Jevaithi stroked his hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I don’t care that you’re my brother.” She pressed her lips on his for a fleeting kiss. The smell of her was intoxicating.
“Don’t give up,” he said. “Whatever happens, we never give up.”
She nodded, het face pale. “My mother always said that. Our mother.”
That hit him harder than expected. He’d never thought of Queen Maraithe as his mother before, but she was his mother, and she had withered away in the luxurious prison the Knights had created for her.
“We owe it to our mother to fight. To our mothers.”
Jevaithi settled in next to the door holding the walking stick aloft, ready to strike at anyone who came in.
Isandor took Milleus’ shovel and waited by the other door.
Voices yelled outside. Something hard struck the side door with a thunk. A squall of rain lashed the window.
Then the door opened on Isandor’s side. A blast of icy wind came in. Isandor swung the shovel at the d
ark silhouette. It hit a hard object with a clang. The handle jarred in his hands and he almost dropped the shovel. The Knight went down without a sound. Immediately, a lot of people ran to the truck, shouting. It was too dark to see who they were and who was fighting who. He could only guess that refugees pulled the unconscious Knight away. More Knights ran onto the scene and fistfights fights broke out everywhere. Refugees crammed around the truck.
Two Knights dragged a woman away. They dumped her on the ground, and then one Knight stabbed her. She did not move again. The Knights now had hold of a smaller person. Several other people were screaming.
By the skylights, the Knights were going to kill everyone just to get him. Where was Milleus?
Isandor shouted for him.
His voice was lost in the tumult. Behind him, people were trying to open the door to Jevaithi’s side of the cabin. She hung onto the door handle with all her might.
“Wait.” Isandor slammed and locked the door on his side and scrambled over to help her. “Lock it.”
“I have.” Her voice spilled over with fear. “They’ll break the door.” The truck rocked with the efforts of the Knights yanking at the door handle. Hard objects hit the window. There was already a big crack in the glass.
Then the door burst open and a Knight climbed into the cabin
Jevaithi screamed and flung herself in Isandor’s arms, but the man pulled the back of her shirt.
“No, no, Isandor, help me!” She grabbed his arms.
Isandor put his arms around her and wedged his feet at the back of the driver’s seat. The Knight half-climbed into the cabin and pulled on her legs.
She screamed, “Keep your hands off me!”
The door on Isandor’s side sprang open. A cold breeze went through the cabin. Large hands grabbed Isandor’s shoulders and yanked. He tumbled backwards out of the truck. Jevaithi slipped from his grip. The Knight dragged her out the other side of the cabin.