The Pearls

by Deborah Chester

  “I must say, Captain, you played your part very well by asking the priest to do this,” Rozer said. “Taking the officially safe route, when all the time you knew we could do more. Is the protector satisfied?”

  “No, but the priest is. We’ve scared him enough, I think,” Hervan replied with bravado. “And if he is a spy, he’ll report that I did everything in the approved manner.”

  “Damned Reformant,” Taime muttered. “Ain’t his job to go around preaching to the men. Some of what he says is culled straight from Vindicant text, but some of it is pig-wash.”

  “We’ll have to get rid of him before we venture into the Hidden Ways,” Rozer said.

  “That’s easy,” Hervan told them. “The wounded will be left here in camp. He’ll stay behind to minister to them.”

  Rozer hesitated. “Er, yes, if that’s the way you want it done.”

  Hervan stared at him in surprise, suddenly wondering if Rozer had meant that the priest should be killed.

  “I heard the protector yelling about sending for Brondi reinforcements,” Rozer said. “Will we wait for them?”

  “No.”

  The men stiffened, and Hervan said quickly, “By the time they arrive, the trail will be too cold. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t want to ride back to New Imperia like a whipped dog. Considering the proud history of our regiment, do you want to be known for a failure like this?”

  They exchanged looks in the moonlight, and he knew he had their complete attention. “No word to Brondi,” he said, his voice firm. “We make do without reinforcements, and we don’t send a courier to report what’s happened.”

  A grim silence fell over them, broken by Taime. “We could be hanged for dereliction of duty.”

  “Only if we fail,” Hervan said.

  “It’s still a risk, sir.”

  “I know that. But if we go strictly by the book and sit here on our duffs waiting for reinforcements, we’ll never find her.”

  “What if we go after her now and still fail to find her?” another man asked.

  “We mustn’t fail.”

  “But, Captain, if we do?”

  Hervan frowned, impatient with their doubts. “Then we’d have to desert.”

  Rozer grinned, his eyes alight at the challenge, but some of the others looked alarmed.

  “That’s dishonor!” Taime said, squinting and hostile. “Never been done in the Crimsons. I ain’t going to be the first.”

  “Then we don’t fail.”

  They still looked unconvinced.

  “See here,” Hervan said. “Aside from the lady’s plight, think of ours. If we follow regulations now, our careers are finished.”

  A murmur went around the group. Several nodded.

  Rozer leaned forward. “It’s either get her back or serve out the rest of our days patrolling a salt island off the Madrun coast.”

  “That’s right,” Hervan said.

  “Those whoreson renegades have us outnumbered,” Taime said. “And if they’ve got magic on their side, real magic for battle, how—”

  “They caught us by surprise this time,” Hervan said. “They won’t do it again. And they won’t expect us to go after them. Poulso says their magic is weak. It must be, since they haven’t the shadow god to support them.”

  “Seemed strong enough today,” a man chimed in.

  “It doesn’t take strength to open the Hidden Ways,” Hervan said. “There’s a trick to how it’s done.”

  “Do you know it?” Rozer asked.

  “Of course not.”

  They grinned at Hervan’s answer, and he grinned back. “We’ll need a guide,” he said.

  That sobered them.

  Taime glanced around at the others. “I’ve put in ten years of service. And I had to unswear my secret oaths to stay in. Some of you have done that, too. Some of you”—he glanced at Hervan—“are new enough you don’t know what that required.”

  “Damned Reformants,” a man named Aszondal muttered in the dark.

  Taime nodded. “Going into the Hidden Ways unprotected by Alcua is risky. And if we do get through, and live to tell about it, it’ll be called treason.”

  “No one has to know but us,” Hervan said.

  “Once we go through we’re in this together to the finish,” Rozer added. He grinned fearlessly. “I’m willing to take the risk. Gault knows I have no choice. If I lose my commission—or my head—my lady betrothed will never forgive me for the shame of it.”

  “Be serious,” Hervan said.

  “I am! I dare not risk losing her fortune to pay off my gambling debts.”

  The men chuckled at his joke but refused to meet each other’s eyes.

  “This is no game, men,” Hervan said. “And nothing to boast about in the barracks later.”

  “We’ll have to swear each other to strict secrecy,” Taime said. “Or face the hanging rope.”

  Hervan frowned, wishing the man would stop talking about executions.

  “A blood oath!” Rozer said in delight. “I haven’t sworn one of those since Light Bringer took the throne.”

  “Forbidden, ain’t they?” Taime said gloomily.

  Anxious not to lose their support, Hervan lifted his hand. “We’ll risk all for the lady. Are you with me on that?”

  “Aye,” Aszondal said with a sigh. “She’s worth my life. I’ll say that.”

  “Aye,” said another.

  “Aye.”

  Hervan’s heart swelled with pride and relief. They were good men, brave fellows, every last one of them.

  “She could be dead already,” Taime said. “Like Lady Fyngie with her neck broke.”

  Rozer broke into a fit of coughing, and Hervan could have cheerfully strangled the sergeant at that moment.

  “Then we take home her corpse,” he said. “I can’t face Light Bringer empty-handed.”

  Glumly they nodded agreement.

  “So we’ll do it?” Hervan asked.

  “We must,” Rozer said.

  “We’ll still need a guide,” Hervan insisted. “Who can do it? You, Taime?”

  “Not me,” the sergeant said. “I been through often enough, Gault help me, but I’m no guide. Ain’t trained for it.”

  Hervan exchanged a look with Rozer. His friend, to his knowledge, had never been inside the Hidden Ways, nor had Hervan. “Who, then? Fishul?”

  “Perfect for the job!” Rozer declared. “I know he’s been through many times. He used to talk about it in barracks when I was a—”

  “Fishul’s dead,” Taime said.

  “Narge?”

  “Dead, also.”

  “Gods,” Hervan said in exasperation, “haven’t we anyone?”

  “What about the predlicate?” Rozer asked. “They’re trained for it, trained for anything.”

  “The pred—” Hervan’s mouth went dry. He swallowed hard, frowning into Rozer’s gaze, which was steady. “You mean Lady Lea’s protector?”

  “Thirbe,” Rozer said. “He’ll do it. He’s keen to go after her.”

  Someone chuckled. “Whose head rolls first when there’s trouble? The protector’s.”

  They grinned at that, but Hervan was scowling. The unfinished challenge between him and Thirbe festered like a barb that could not be pulled out. “I sent for the priest, you know. I was the one to call for—”

  “All the predlicates have the training, don’t they?” Rozer asked, paying no heed. “Perfect.”

  In the background, Aszondal was shaking his head. “He’s not one of us. We dare not trust him.”

  “Exactly,” Hervan said.

  “So we’ll make him swear a blood oath of secrecy,” Rozer began.

  “He’ll never do it,” Taime said. “And I’ll bet you my boots, sir, that Aszondal’s right. We dare not ask.”

  “He will,” Rozer insisted, while Hervan kept silent. “Didn’t you see him hit the priest for refusing?”

  “He’s too close to the throne,” Taime said. “Much t
oo close.”

  “That’s true,” Aszondal chimed in. “It wasn’t until Poulso refused to help that I heard Thirbe ask the captain about sending for reinforcements. He’s given up. He has no intention of overstepping the priest’s ruling.”

  “He’s a coward,” Hervan muttered.

  “I don’t think so,” Rozer said. “So he’s wary about going too far, too publicly. So are we, or we wouldn’t be meeting in secret now.”

  “But, sir,” Aszondal said, his gaze shifting between Hervan and Rozer, “having the official sanction of a priest is one thing. Doing this without authority is forbidden.”

  “So’s calling up the dead to honor them,” Rozer said. “When have you let that stop you?”

  Aszondal fell silent, and no one else spoke.

  “Captain?” Rozer asked.

  Hervan scowled, his mind desperately seeking another solution, any solution other than having to ask Thirbe for help.

  Rozer leaned forward. “Captain, we need him, and I’m certain he’ll not refuse. The man’s in love with her.”

  Hoots of derision, swiftly muffled, went up.

  Even Hervan snorted in disbelief. “That old man? He could be her father.”

  “So?” Rozer asked. “You think old men don’t lust for young maidens?”

  Hervan felt appalled, even disgusted by the idea of Thirbe wanting to touch Lea. “But—”

  “Come now, sir, don’t say it’s forbidden for a protector and his—” Rozer cleared his throat suggestively. “We know better.”

  Muted chuckles broke out from some of them, while Hervan glowered at the snow.

  Rozer shot him an impatient look. “I didn’t say the lady reciprocated. Gods, Captain, she doesn’t even give you a second look, and you’ve been pouring the famous Hervan charm over her like syrup since we set out.”

  Swift grins flashed around, while Hervan burned with embarrassment. There was a certain amount of latitude in the cadre that permitted men to speak their opinions freely, regardless of rank, but Hervan thought Rozer was going too far now, crossing the line of discipline and taking advantage of their friendship. It was not seemly for the commanding officer to be teased in front of his men under any circumstances.

  “Then we agree,” Rozer said. “Thirbe should be asked. The risk is justified. I think you should approach him, Captain.”

  Hervan’s annoyance grew. Thirbe would believe he was seeking reconciliation, perhaps even making overtures of apology if he went asking for help now. “Think whatever you please,” Hervan said with a snap. “It’s not up to you, Lieutenant, to issue orders to me.”

  “And this is no time to let personal grudges stand between us and what needs to be done,” Rozer said.

  Hervan jerked as though prodded, and the sudden movement sent a stab of pain through his shoulder. By the time he caught his breath he’d reconsidered what he’d been about to say to Rozer. After his bravado and fiery urging for them to take these risks, he saw how impossible it was for him to back away now. They will think me afraid of the man if I do, he thought. Damn Rozer.

  “I’ll ask Thirbe,” he agreed, seething at the necessity for it. “But only at the right time. Not before.”

  “Very wise,” Rozer said in approval, and the others nodded.

  “And if the lieutenant’s wrong? If the protector won’t agree?” Aszondal asked.

  Rozer mimed the motion of a knife thrust and raised his brows at Hervan. “Eh?”

  The captain nodded grimly. “We’ll give him no choice. And when we’re done with his help, he’ll be silenced before we return to New Imperia. That way, we never have to worry about him bleating to the emperor.”

  “Very sensible,” Rozer said. “No more doubts, men. If our valiant captain is willing to silence an imperial protector, he’ll leave no other loose ends to betray us later.”

  They all nodded except Taime. “What about the lady herself?”

  Hervan had been expecting this question. He didn’t know the answer. “Gault willing, she’ll never know.”

  But Taime was like a dog worrying a bone. “It’s said the emperor can’t be lied to. Is she not the same? Could you lie to the lady, Aszondal? Could you, Lieutenant? Captain?”

  Hervan’s fist clenched in his lap. “Leave that to me, Sergeant.”

  “Ah yes, our dear captain has the gift of making ladies grateful,” Rozer said, winking.

  Taime didn’t smile with the others. “She ain’t warmed to him so far.”

  “But if he rescues her, she’ll change her mind,” Rozer said. “Eh, Captain?”

  In no mood to hear Lea’s name bandied like a barracks joke, Hervan shot him a quelling look. “It’s the emperor’s gratitude we’ll need more.”

  Aszondal spoke up. “We’ll have it, for he’s fair besotted with her. I’m thinking he won’t care what we do, as long as she’s delivered safe. Won’t ask too many questions.”

  “Exactly,” Hervan said. “If the lady’s brought home alive, we’ll live and prosper. If not, disgrace and desertion, as I said before.”

  Rozer lifted his cup in a mocking toast. “The Crimsons never fail,” he said. “We live by that motto.”

  “Or die for it,” Taime grumbled under his breath.

  Rozer breathed out the ghost of a chuckle. “Stabbing the failures and covering up the rest. Who am I to break tradition? I’m with you, Captain.”

  “Aye,” Aszondal said. “Yours to the last.”

  Hervan raised his cup in salute. The others did likewise.

  “Call forth the dead,” Hervan said. “Summon forth our comrades and the ghosts of this benighted place. Do it quickly, and do it well!”

  He quaffed the foul contents of the cup, choking down the drink before he could spew it from his mouth.

  As he did so, he seemed to hear his father’s voice lecturing in the back of his head: “Treason in drinking from a blood cup. Treason in defying the emperor’s orders. Treason. Treason. Treason.” Hervan shut it away, refusing to listen. Feeling a mixture of recklessness and dread knotted in the pit of his stomach, he told himself it was courage. The risks had to be taken; there was no other way. He’d gone too far already to back out now.

  For the first time since assuming his command, he saw more than approval in these men’s faces. He saw respect there as well, even from Sergeant Taime.

  It did not feel as good as he’d expected. That I should have to agree to murder and treason to gain it, he thought.

  Chapter 13

  Exhaustion burned inside Shadrael by the time he finally spoke the word that had been sawing through his mind forever, and led his men out of the Hidden Ways back into the reality of cold, stinging air and moonlight shining over snow-covered ground.

  Hills and woods surrounded him. He inhaled the scents of pine laced with pungent toklar bush. This cold and snow, the trees, the terrain were not what he’d been aiming for. Everything was wrong, and he knew a burst of alarm, sharp and sour, before he controlled it.

  “Commander—”

  “Have the men fall out and rest,” Shadrael broke in before Fomo could ask questions. Fomo knew where he’d planned to take them, but the rest of the men did not. “Half rations—cold—and a full measure of water each.”

  Saluting, the centruin set to work.

  Pushing away the headache buzzing in his temples, Shadrael kicked his horse through a thicket of trees, riding uphill into the clear to take his bearings.

  Overhead, the hands of the gods had brushed the night sky with a spangle of lights. Above the fat milky moon, the star Kelili shone hard and bright inside the circle of her four lesser sisters. He knew that north constellation as well as the back of his hand, for it had guided him through the night hunts of his boyhood. Five years past, he’d followed it in leading his battered legion to safety from the Madrun wilderness. Now, gazing up at it, he gave the bright star a tiny Ulinian salute, touching his lips and forehead. With Kelili to guide him, he could never be lost.

  To the east
lay a dark jumble of foothills descending to forest. To the west lay the narrow valley once known as Falenthis, the valley of ruins and ancient tragedy where he’d abducted Light Bringer’s sister this afternoon.

  Stunned, unable to believe it, Shadrael stared hard at the landmarks. Moonlight gleamed stark and white, reflected by the snow. It illuminated the landscape with such clarity there could be no mistake.

  From this vantage he could see nearly the entire valley. There stood the crumbling pillars of its imperial arch. There ran the black line of the stream near the base of the opposite hills. And there lay the distant heaps of fallen buildings. A handful of fires, flickering like tiny beacons, showed him where the lady’s escort made their camp tonight in the narrow flat betwixt stream and road.

  Disappointment sagged through him, and he bowed his head. All that effort to magically fold distance and time, all that sacrificing of his precious reserves to cross this wretched province and reach Ulinia by dawn, and to what result? They’d gone scarcely farther than a half day’s normal marching could have taken them.

  Mortified, shocked, he looked again, telling himself that in his weariness he must be mistaken. But Falenthis it was. A place cursed through history, and evidently so tainted still that its bad luck had afflicted him and his men.

  Or was the accursed valley to blame?

  He glared at the girl shamming sleep in his arms. She was to blame for this, he thought. She was why he’d come so pathetically short of his objective. Of course shadow magic no longer worked as it once had. Never again could it do so, but as long as the Hidden Ways could be opened, they were there to be used.

  Unless a creature like this girl skewed everything.

  He gave her a fierce shaking. “Wake up.”

  She pulled herself erect. “Is it over?”

  Even the fatigue dragging through her voice could not stifle how musical it was. A pretty voice, he thought. Then he frowned at his own fancies.

  She twisted about so that he could see her profile. Moonlight reached down through the bare tree branches to finger her face. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the delicate light. Tangles of golden hair, curling in ringlets with the soft sheen of silk, spilled across her shoulders. Finding it painful to gaze at such innocence and purity, Shadrael shifted his gaze.