by Don McQuinn
It was an odd reaction, disturbing. Conway said, “Who cares? It’s lies.”
“Poor Matt.” She touched his cheek, consoling. “Lots of rumors means lots of uncertainty. One rumor means a root somewhere. A lie, perhaps, but a central lie, one that everyone agrees on. Maybe for a reason.”
Nothing was going the way Conway expected. Hatred he understood. Or anger. Sadness and sympathy were totally out of place, even if directed at himself. “When you hear, you’ll know it’s a lie, and there’s no reason whatever. The rumor says Nalatan made a move on Jaleeta, and when she turned him down, he left. See how stupid it is? Just don’t lose your temper. And don’t let him, either, when he comes back.”
“Of course. I’ll be fine. I should have expected something like this, really. Nalatan and I set ourselves up pretty good.” She touched his cheek again, and Conway had the inexplicable feeling that somehow she was reassuring herself. When she turned to Lanta, she made an effort to brighten. “What do you think, Lanta? Are men a problem, or the cause of all problems?”
Lanta found a smile. “It depends; somedays it’s one, other days it’s the other.” Unwilling to see the matter end with the most important aspect ignored, Lanta brushed aside inconsequentials. “He loves you. What lie, what tale, can darken that?”
“Stay close to me, Lanta. I’m going to need you. You’ll never know why, or how much, but I’m going to need you.”
“And Nalatan.”
Conway’s heart leaped as a flash of Tate’s oId spirit crossed her features. She answered Lanta, “Don’t worry about that. More than anything in the world, Nalatan.”
“Good.” Lanta looked to Conway. “You were right. It’s good we got that talked out. Let’s go get a hot bath and a good meal. My memory of both is fading fast.”
Their welcome at the castle was joyous. When Janet Carter and Sue Anspach came racing through the rain from the Iris Abbey, Tate leaped from her horse to embrace them, the three staggering about in a joyous whirl. Similarly, Neela came outside to exchange effusive hugs. Lanta’s hand sought Conway’s when Jaleeta appeared. Tate greeted her politely. Emso followed. Tate flustered him completely with a huge hug and a kiss for both cheeks.
In an aside to her husband, Lanta said, “That’s very disturbing. On first sight, he was nervous, almost frightened. For that moment when he was with Tate, he was like his old self, pretending to be such a bear. Now he’s like he was before. And look how he edged over to be close to Jaleeta.”
Out the side of his mouth, Conway said, “He’s uncomfortable being in command. That’s normal. Jaleeta’s standing out of the rain. So’s he. That’s normal. And us sitting here in this downpour is very not normal. Can we put the horses up and get on with our lives?”
Lanta sighed, kneed her mount forward. Conway had to scramble to catch up. When he did, she said, “You’ll certainly never die from a blow to the brain. If I can just keep the rest of you healthy, I should be able to keep you around forever.”
Forging slightly ahead, Conway leered back at her. “You said something about a hot bath. Let’s go together; I’ll explain why you want to keep me around.”
Jerking around, Lanta looked over her shoulder, then made a hushing noise at him. “You’re making my face red, and Tate’s right behind us.” When he turned to check she added, “Last one to grain his horse has to scrub his wife’s back,” and when he looked up, she was gone at a gallop for the stable.
The day was ending when someone knocked on the door of their quarters. Lanta was in the closest of the room’s three leather-sling chairs. She opened the door, greeting Sylah and Tate. While Lanta embraced Sylah, Tate eased past, came to where Conway stood by the fireplace. He said, “I figured you for a week or so of uninterrupted sleep. Did you get the hang glider secured? How’d you explain that carrying case?”
“It’s slung from the ceiling in my quarters. Barely fits, diagonally. I told them it’s full of poison spears. No one’ll mess with it.”
“So what brings you and Sylah here?”
“Trouble. She’ll explain.”
Conway turned expectantly. Sylah and Lanta waited. After a short, warm greeting Sylah grew serious. “I’ll be direct. We have some very serious problems. I’m most concerned about our Emso. You saw him earlier?”
Lanta said, “I did. Matt was somewhere else.”
“I was not. I just didn’t see anything that…” He stopped, looked at three pitying expressions. He surrendered gracelessly. “He seemed a little tense, I guess. Sort of edgy, maybe.”
Tate said, “He’s tight as a kite string. You didn’t hug him. He hasn’t had a bath forever.”
The other women nodded agreement. Conway said, “So he’s nervous, then. He’s got heavy responsibilities. He’s still Emso. If we support him well, he’ll be fine.”
“He’s lost, Matt.” Sylah shook her head as she spoke. “He never accepted the new Teachers. He’s allied himself completely with the old Church.”
“I can’t believe that. I mean, he was right here when that old sow Harvester tried to kill Tate. And you. And me.”
“Let me come back to that. There’s something else. You know Kate Bernhardt’s in love?”
“Kate? No. That’s great. Some good news, at last. But what’s that got to do with Emso?” His eyes bulged. “She’s not…?”
Sylah blinked slowly. When she continued, she was very patient. “Louis, Matt; she’s in love with Louis. And I believe he loves her. The complication is Jaleeta. She interests him.”
Conway said, “I think I can see this coming,” and Sylah leaned back, expressionless. Conway proceeded. “Jaleeta’s got Emso and Leclerc hating each other. Because Emso favors the old ways, he’s against Leclerc’s new weapons. And all of us. Everyone’s heard about Moonpriest getting close with old Church. You smell some sort of deal, don’t you? You’re afraid Emso’s going to try to strike a bargain, protect Gan from us, Windband, and the Skan, all at once.”
Rising, Lanta ran to throw her arms around him. Looking back at Sylah, she said, “Didn’t I always say he was smart?”
Grinning ruefully, Conway continued to address Sylah. “Do you have any evidence? What we’ve just done is awful. Emso is Gan’s best friend. He’d die before he’d hurt Gan. We’re branding him traitor. Because he and Leclerc are all wound up over this Jaleeta. Because he’s old-fashioned. Bad things, maybe. Not treacherous. What have we got?”
Tate said, “What kind of weapon uses silver, Matt?”
He blinked. “Silver? I don’t know. What?”
“I don’t know either. But Leclerc asked Gan for some. He made Emso give him two ingots.” Tate held out her hands, indicating size. “That’s a lot, man.”
Sylah picked up the conversation again. “I do have something, as you put it, Matt. She’s a Priestess who lives in the Violet Abbey, and risks soul as well as life to glean what she can for me. She’s quite sure Emso is involved in a plot involving the Violet Abbess and Baron Ondrat.”
“Ondrat? He saved your Life, Sylah.”
“Or eliminated those who failed to take it.”
“That’s too convenient. This Priestess of yours comes to you with scraps of conversation, and you build a plot out of it. Louis asks for silver, and you suspect him. Of what?”
Sylah remained calm. “That much silver would assure a man high social position in an Ola run by someone like Baron Ondrat. An infatuated man might be tempted to invest something in his own position.”
Conway gently disengaged himself from Lanta. “This is unacceptable. Unsubstantiated charges, suspicion, speculation—the four of us will be at each other soon. I’m going after Gan.”
Lanta said, “We’ll send a Messenger.”
Shaking his head, Conway flatly rejected the notion. “I trust no Messenger with this sort of thing. I’m going, and that’s that.”
The tip of Sylah’s tongue darted across her lips, shining in the firelight. A hand in her lap twitched. She said, “You’ll confront him? T
ell him everything?”
“I may miss lovers’ signals, and I don’t have your intuition, but I know how a man like Gan thinks. You all work on your schemes and subtleties. I’m coming back with him and we’re going to hammer this the way we would any other barrier. It may not be pretty, but we’ll straighten it out.”
The women shifted nervously. Sylah rose. “Ride hard, Matt Conway. I think we’ve little time. You know we have many Ondrat men on the castle guard now. We have Jaleeta inside and the Violet Abbess and Ondrat outside. If any part of what I suspect is accurate, the danger increases daily.”
“You really think Emso would overthrow Gan?”
“Of course not. But I think a confused Emso would make it very easy for someone to overthrow Emso. You see?”
“Too clearly. I’ll leave at first light.”
Sylah swept forward, kissed him lightly on the cheek. “The One in All protect you, Matt Conway.”
Automatically, Conway responded, “And you, my friend,” before the implications struck him. He flinched. Sylah laughed. “I doubt we’re in that much danger. We have the Wolves, after all, and our own Black Lightning.”
Tate lingered, aimless. Conway went to her as Lanta saw Sylah down the hallway. Tate stood at the fireplace, hands on the mantel, body hanging down so she appeared to pitch forward at the fire. Her cheek gleamed. When Conway came to her, she tilted her head and looked up at him from the corner of her eye. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you didn’t say anything? Why Sylah didn’t?”
“About what?”
“Nalatan. All this talk of ‘who-did-what’ and who’s chasing who; nobody mentioned Nalatan and Jaleeta. Or me. It’s like I wasn’t even here.”
“That’s not so. Don’t make things worse than they are.”
She chuckled, metal grinding on stone. “How’s it get worse? Y’know, just before I left here, I told Gan I was worried about myself, how I’m always getting into some jackpot and having to be rescued. Then there’s the other thing, how I was so locked in on finding a black husband. Then I fell in love with Nalatan, told myself everything was all right. But I had to push it, go off on my special mission. I know he didn’t fool with that tramp, Matt. I know it. But there’s this thing eating at my brain. It tells me I can’t make it as a warrior ‘cause I’m a woman, I can’t make it as a woman ‘cause I’m all messed up in my head, and I can’t make it as a human ‘cause I’m a black one. That’s just about three strikes, isn’t it?”
“What it is, it’s three bags full. I won’t even talk about full of what. Listen to me. I’m depending on you to take care of our friends. You. No one else. I trust you. Hell, I love you. I’m bringing your husband back here. He’s a good man. I’m telling you one time; you ruin your marriage, I’m through arguing with you. You’ve proven yourself to everyone but you, and I’m tired of waiting. Get on board or get on the road. Is that clear?”
While he spoke, she sagged until he ended talking to the back of her head. Face obscured, he could barely make out her answer. “You don’t know what it’s like, Matt. You just can’t know. But don’t worry about me. I won’t let you down. I won’t lose him either. Not this side of the burning.” She straightened slowly. When she faced him, her eyes swam with tears pride refused to admit. She said, “I love you, too, you mean, miserable jerk. Don’t you know anything? You’re supposed to hold me, make me feel good. Who tore out your heart and promoted you to Commandant, anyhow?”
Conway took her by the shoulders, turned her toward the door. “Go get some sleep. You’re so punchy you talk like a girl.”
She took a halfhearted swing behind her, managing something like laughter. “You be careful, you hear? Don’t you dare leave me here alone.” She turned with real plea in her face. “I mean that. Don’t you dare.”
“No fear. Cupid never fails.”
“You really are hateful.”
He closed the door softly.
Chapter 11
The sea rolled the sharker gently. A following sea hoisted the carved sternpost and rudder high. The long, supple hull squealed softly, the sound of small children, far away, delightedly terrified. Each marching wave continued forward to lift the bow; the whitebear’s head snarled at the night.
Amidships, under an inadequately tanned, brine-soaked hide, Ondrat squatted on the heaving deck and swallowed continuously. Bedded coals glowed fiercely in a square ceramic firebox centered on the sand of a shallow wooden container. Warmth was snatched away by the wind that drove the waves. Ondrat drew no relief from the embers, but got full benefit of the cookstove’s fumes. Cremating fish grease did nothing for a stomach aching to demonstrate its distress.
Lorso sat on the deck, upwind of the coals. The soft glow picked out facial highlights; high, smooth brow, axe-edged cheekbones, slim nose. Primarily, the light transformed his eyes. Deep-set in shadowing sockets, they were reduced to prickling points of light. He rode the ship’s motion in flexible partnership.
Ondrat cleared his throat. “She wouldn’t come. No argument would persuade her.”
“Argument? What woman argues with a man’s orders?”
“A woman much like your own spirit woman, I think.” Ondrat saw the instantaneous wadding of muscle in Lorso’s jaws, and cursed the roiling stomach that made him so miserable he ignored prudence. He cursed the Violet Abbess, for good measure, before adding, “She emphasized how much she wants to confer with you, but her fear of water forbids her coming out to your boat.”
The sounds of the boat enveloped the two men. Lines chafed. Wood squealed and groaned. Water slapped the hull. “Very well. I’ll come to your castle. You understand what will happen if my sharker is discovered?”
“There’s no danger.” Ondrat knew Lorso had no fear of discovery. The word he meant was “betrayed.” Sweat tickled Ondrat’s spine. There would be betrayal, in plenty. But not yet. He made a covert two-sign.
Lorso slipped out from under the hide, gave orders. Then, “Come stand with me. You’ll need your night vision when we reach this hiding place of yours.”
Ondrat suffered the sodden cold with mixed emotions. It knifed through his clothes to freeze his guts and made him feel less seasick. He studied Lorso. Lame leg braced against the shield wall, the Skan steadied himself with one hand while the other clasped his sword hilt. He leaned forward into the night. Stone, Ondrat thought; the man is nothing but stone. He shivered, and only the least part of it had to do with the cold.
Unerringly, the fisherman acting as guide for Lorso led the way into the alder-shrouded slough where the sharker was to hide. Looking to the stars, Lorso said, “We’ve plenty of night left. We’ll stay in the main stream.” To his second-in-command, he said, “Take a few men and inspect. Keep the fisherman here until I return. Guards out, upstream and down, as well as inland on both banks.” Lorso’s smile when he turned to Ondrat dared him to take offense at security measures on his own territory. Ondrat accepted it, grinned wildly, hating.
As they entered Ondrat’s darkened fort past a startled, stammering guard, Ondrat dismissed the incident airily. “We have no security concerns this time of year. Winter keeps everyone but a few harmless raiders inside where it’s warm.”
Within the confines of his hood, Lorso permitted himself a dark, feral grin.
Ondrat blithered on. “I want to thank you for agreeing to this meeting here, and especially for coming alone. Allies need trust more than weapons.”
“Yes. I asked myself, ‘Why would Ondrat trick you?’ and I had no answer. If I brought an escort, we’d be so outnumbered we could only die bravely. And if you capture me, my people will be very offended. You need us for friends, not enemies. Isn’t that right?”
“Exactly.” Ondrat shoved open the door to his great room, bustling in behind his guest. A lone figure was seated at a large table before the hearth. The fire’s glow was a tentative bubble that reached out into the darkness. Where it touched was warmth, life. Beyond its reach darkness waited, compressed by invisible walls.
Lorso stopped. “That is her? Who guards the other doors? Where are they?”
“The Abbess and I personally barred all entries but this before I left to meet you. No one can hear.”
Like an animal on strange ground, Lorso advanced on the Abbess. Having afforded her one swift, dismissing look for identification, he swung wide into the gloom, hand on sword. Bent almost to a crouch, his limp giving him a sinister, rolling motion, he made his way past the table, then circled back.
He found the Abbess watching him from her chair with amused tolerance. Without rising, she extended a hand. “I admire your caution, Lorso, even as I assure you there’s no need for it. Of all people, I’m the last who can afford to be seen with a Skan war chief.”
“Slavetaker, not war chief. My other name is Slavetaker. And among my people, it is I whose soul is endangered by our association.”
“I’m sure. But religion isn’t why we’re here, is it? There are more earthly matters at hand.”
“Ondrat’s message said now is the time to attack, and we must meet to coordinate. The Skan attack when they decide.”
“But you’re here, so obviously you feel there’s reason to talk, don’t you? Baron Ondrat says you should come now because Gan Moondark is away.”
“So he said. I told him before, the Skan care nothing for Ola’s politics. We want Gan and his family dead. Your sister, Sylah; dead.”
“Sylah must die. If Neela and her child can be captured, we—Baron Ondrat must have them. As hostages.”
“Because you fear him. No, the Skan will kill Gan and be done with him.”
Ondrat coughed, pitched his voice low, forceful. “Gan’s absence is a blessing, Lorso. Conway, the one called White Thunder, rides after him. The man guarding the castle is a weakling, unnerved by responsibility. He seeks counsel only from two people. The Abbess is one of them; she can practically put him in your hands.”
“Who is the other person? Can we eliminate him quickly? Is it the witch who makes Gan’s magic, the Leclerc who lives on the farm to the south?”