Scriber

by Ben S. Dobson

  One by one, we descended into the subterranean darkness of the Underground.

  * * *

  Most of the Underground was a maze of half-ruined cellars and earthen tunnels, but eventually Korus led us into a different sort of chamber altogether. Clean and relatively intact, it was furnished with several wooden chairs and a number of Army cots, and lanterns in every corner provided ample light to see by. Crates and supplies were piled against the wall to my left, and a man with a Scriber’s pin on his collar seemed to be taking an inventory. There were others too, more than a dozen men and women working at various tasks and speaking in low voices. Some wore Scriber’s pins, others Army browns, and more than a few wore plain clothes, with no identifying color or sigil. A pair of Justices in their white cloaks stood before a door on the far right side of the room.

  All eyes turned to us as we entered, and several hands went instinctively to sword hilts, but when they saw Korus, most returned to their work and their conversations.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  “A black market hiding hole,” said Korus. “The smugglers know the Underground better than anyone. They have been lending us their expertise.”

  Sylla raised an eyebrow. “You’re working with criminals?”

  “As it happens, I just now freed several.” Korus glanced over his shoulder at her with a smirk. “We are working with whoever will help us. The black market, it seems, has suffered since King Syrid’s isolation of the city.” Nodding towards the door on the far side of the room, he resumed his stride. “This way.”

  The Justices at the door let us by with a bow, and Korus led us into the chamber where Elarryd Errynson waited.

  This room too was well lit, and a round table sat at its center. Leaning over that table, the Lord Chancellor sat in close discussion with four others. I recognized his wife Branwyn immediately. Beside them sat the High Justice, a bald man with a craggy face who I knew only by his white cloak and the silver circlet around his forehead. A red-corded Army Lieutenant who I didn’t know and a Scriber who I might have filled the other chairs; after a closer look I recognized the Scriber as Tenille’s husband, Vance.

  Korus cleared his throat to announce our presence, and Branwyn Errynson was the first to look up. When she saw Bryndine, her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Bryndine—” Her voice choked off and she rushed forward to embrace her daughter. She looked like some tiny elfin creature from the tales of the First Forest with Bryndine’s huge arms folded around her, but it was a moving display all the same.

  Lord Elarryd stepped around the table to join his family, clasping Bryndine’s shoulder. “It is good to see you safe, Bryn,” he said.

  The High Justice ran a hand over his bald head and glowered at us. “We haven’t time for pleasantries, my Lord.”

  “I am aware of our situation, Tevon,” said the Lord Chancellor, casting an annoyed glance at the man. “I’m sorry, Bryn, but he is right; there are matters we must discuss before you can rest.”

  Bryndine nodded. “You wish to know what we have found about the Burnt.”

  “And how Ralsten fares outside the walls. I have sent men out to aid him, but it is harder for him to get information back—we must move constantly to avoid discovery.”

  “They are hard pressed, Father,” said Bryndine. “Ralsten has too few men and too little supplies, and he was not trained to take on so much responsibility. An officer pinned in Warfare might be able to do more, but even then I do not think they could hold for much longer. A week, maybe, if the Burnt continue to toy with them. If they decide to bring their full strength to bear, the camp will fall in hours.”

  Elarryd pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding me for a moment of his brother. “I feared as much.”

  “How did all of this happen?” Bryndine asked. “When we left, it seemed Uran was going to be dismissed, and now he is the King’s closest councillor.”

  “I know less than you do of the true reasons, I imagine, but the events themselves were simple enough. When Syrid told Uran of his dismissal, the lad asked to speak privately with him. After that, Syrid was not himself. Uran never left his side, and he would not hear my council.” Elarryd gestured at Korus. “Scriber Korus was the one who first realized that it might be the same sorcery you left to investigate. I did not believe it at first, not until the rebels attacked and Syrid barred the gates.”

  The High Justice frowned, his face a mask of grim lines. “We named him a Promise-breaker for that. He named us traitors and rebel sympathizers. Dozens of my men were executed.”

  “He kills all who oppose him, under the guise of executing traitors,” said Elarryd. “Scribers too—he has not yet risked declaring them all rebels, for fear of the Academy’s retribution, but any who speak against him…” Guilt twisted the Lord Chancellor’s features, and his wife laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I tried to stop it, but Syrid would not listen. It was then that I knew he was no longer my brother. When he summoned me to his chambers to speak privately, I fled to avoid falling under the same spell. The Justices sought me out, and we have been opposing Syrid as best we can since.”

  “You did the right thing, Lord Elarryd,” I said. “If you had gone to him, you would be a tool of the Burnt now.”

  “It is sorcery, then? What have you learned of it?”

  “Some,” I said. “Not enough.” As briefly as I could without missing the important details, I related everything I had found in Fyrril’s books, and Bryndine told of the attacks we had survived and the magicks we had seen on our journey.

  There was a deep sorrow in Lord Elarryd’s eyes when we finished our tale. “There is no saving Syrid, then?”

  “I am afraid not,” I said.

  Lady Branwyn took her husband’s hand. “You could not have stopped it, my love.”

  Vance had clearly been struggling to stay silent, but he could no longer hold his tongue. “What of Tenille?” he asked urgently. “She is not with you. Is she…”

  “She was injured badly, but not mortally,” said Bryndine. “She was in the infirmary when we were taken by the First Company. I hope that she escaped their notice, but I do not know.”

  “If they came for her, Tenille likely held them off with crutches and gauze,” Deanyn said. “She’s not one to give up easily.”

  “Ain’t a man in the Army she couldn’t outfight one-handed,” Orya agreed. “She’ll be waitin’ for us.”

  Vance offered a weak smile, but the concern in his eyes did not fade.

  “I hope your wife is well, Scriber Vance,” said Elarryd, “but we serve her and the Kingsland best by finding a way to stop these Burnt.”

  “If these trees are their weakness, obviously we must put what men we have to burning as many as possible,” said the High Justice.

  It was the clear plan, but knowing what I now knew, it made me uneasy. “Burning their trees is what created this situation,” I said. “Erryn burned them and they came back. Fyrril burned them and they came back again. Burning them does not solve the problem. It may take hundreds of years, but the trees always grow back, and when the Burnt return, they hate us all the more.”

  High Justice Tevon’s face twisted as though I had offended him to his core. “My order is sworn to see the Promise kept, Scriber. If the King and the Army will not protect the people, we must. I cannot concern myself with what may happen centuries from now.”

  “Have you any better solution, Scriber Dennon?” Lord Elarryd asked.

  “No,” I admitted, but a wisp of a thought nagged at my mind, the memory of green fireleafs wreathed in flame.

  “Then we send men to burn them,” the High Justice said firmly.

  “That is exactly what the Burnt expect, and they are not foolish enough to let us do it,” said Bryndine. “It is a simple thing for them to protect the trees—they outnumber us badly, and they have us surrounded. The moment they think us a real danger, they need only have Syrid send the Army out behind us, and we will be trapped between two
superior forces.” She shook her head. “No, we cannot attack from here; we must take them by surprise.”

  Elarryd smiled at his daughter. “But you have a plan to do just that, I think.”

  “I do. My company will ride for the Academy tonight, before the Burnt know we are gone. With the aid of the Scribers, we can destroy thousands of fireleafs all over the Kingsland before the Burnt can stop us.”

  The High Justice rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The Scribers would be of great help to us, if you can win their support.”

  “They must already know we have escaped,” I protested. “They will be waiting for us on the road.”

  “I doubt it,” said Korus. “The King has Army men at the White Cells, not Justices—they are not accustomed to the work. They rarely stray from the guard rooms to check the cells, especially at night. Your absence will not be noted until morning.”

  “But we don’t have the books,” I said. “Even if we get to the Academy, the Council won’t listen to us without proof.”

  The Lord Chancellor gave me a curious look, then turned to Korus. “Did you not tell them?”

  “Tell us what?” I glared at Korus; it was just like him to withhold information to make me look a fool.

  Korus waved his hand dismissively. “I was distracted with rescuing you, or I would have mentioned it earlier,” he said. “I saved your books. The King believes me to be arranging your pyre; it was not difficult.”

  That gave us some chance, at least—even the Council could not be so stubborn as to dismiss our claims if we showed them Fyrril’s journal. I shrugged. “Then there is nothing stopping us. The Academy is our best hope.” And leaving Three Rivers would mean escaping the voices that assaulted me from every direction at all hours. I was almost becoming used to them now, and that was far more unsettling to me than hearing them to begin with.

  “We should not delay, then,” said Bryndine.

  Elarryd sighed. “I had hoped you would not put yourself in danger again so soon, but you are right. Every moment we waste costs lives.” He gestured to the young Lieutenant at the table, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. “Lieutenant Jeryn is joining Ralsten shortly with a dozen men and fresh supplies for the camp. They would be pleased, I think, if you would accompany them. Jeryn, tell my daughter what you told me earlier.”

  Jeryn saluted formally, though he seemed self-conscious in Bryndine’s presence. “Captain Bryndine, I—I was at your trial, and, what you said… it rang true, for some of us. The Army should be protecting the people, not hiding behind the walls. We sought Lord Elarryd out because of you.”

  Bryndine smiled and returned the salute. “I am honored, Lieutenant, but I cannot take credit for that. If you are here, it is because you are a good man, not because of anything I said.”

  The Lieutenant flushed and ducked his head, but I could see that he was smiling.

  “I am coming with you as well,” said Vance. “Someone has to lead you through the tunnels, and I want to see my wife.”

  “Very well,” said Bryndine. “Let us gather the books and supplies. We must leave before daybreak.” She embraced her mother and her father again. “We will ride with all haste. Promise me you will stay safe until we return.”

  Lady Branwyn held her daughter tightly, and I thought she might not let go. “Only if you promise the same.”

  “Do not worry for us, Bryndine,” said Elarryd. “You heard the Lieutenant—Syrid’s command over the people is not absolute. These creatures that control him are skilled at causing fear, but have no mind for intrigue or politics; I think we may even gain support, after your words at the trial. We may even be able to cause enough unrest in the ranks to delay the Army from attacking those outside.”

  The High Justice gave a firm nod. “There are still those who question the exile of the Justices. They can be swayed to our cause.”

  “And I am the King’s trusted advisor,” Korus said. “If he and Ord plan anything, we will know.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. “You are going back to Syrid? Sky and Earth, are you mad? He’ll have you killed if he thinks you helped us escape.” In a thousand years, I would never have thought Korus had it in him to risk his own life for the sake of the realm.

  “I am an accomplished political Scriber,” said Korus. “As long as they are still trying to control the city, they need me—as Lord Elarryd says, they have no mind for politics. I can convince the King to trust me. For a time.” He attempted to sound haughty, but I saw the fear in his eyes. “Don’t botch this, Lark. As idiotic as it is, we are depending on you.”

  * * *

  When we entered Ralsten’s tent, he and Tenille were studying a map of Three Rivers and the surrounding countryside. It was well into the night, and the light was dim, provided by a single lantern on the table, so they had to bend close to see. They did not immediately look up when we entered.

  “Tenille!” Vance pushed past Bryndine and the other women and rushed to his wife’s side.

  The makeshift splints I had made for Tenille had been replaced and she wore a proper sling around her broken right arm. A wooden crutch helped her stand, but moving must still have been quite painful; I saw her wince as she turned. “Vance? What are you doing here? Where are the children?”

  “Safe,” he said. “With my mother in the Underground. The King is not terribly fond of Scribers at the moment. I thought it best to join Lord Elarryd before I was declared a rebel sympathizer.” He hesitated before embracing her, eyeing her injuries. “Are you… in pain?”

  Tenille laughed and pulled him close with her good arm. “I am not so fragile, love,” she said, and leaned in to kiss him.

  Ralsten coughed and looked away from the couple. “Captain Bryndine. Your women insisted you would find a way, but I did not expect to see you again, honestly. You have brought more men with you, I hope?”

  Bryndine nodded. “A dozen men led by Lieutenant Jeryn. They are delivering the supplies my father sent.”

  “Good. We need them now more than ever.”

  Tenille released her husband and turned her eyes towards the rest of us. “By the Divide, it is good to see you all alive. I hoped you would escape, but I feared… well, it doesn’t matter now. You survived.” She hobbled to the back of the tent and unwrapped a large cloth bundle sitting on a table there. “We kept these safe for you. The soldiers left them when you surrendered.” I recognized Bryndine’s giant sword and shield right away. Several other pieces of equipment lay with them, and I assumed they belonged to the other women.

  As they took up their arms, I couldn’t help but smile; the women—especially Orya—seemed as excited to be reunited with their swords as with their comrades. But it was good to see the big blade and shield strapped to Bryndine’s back once more. It made me feel safer, somehow.

  While the others sheathed weapons and secured shields, Tenille explained the situation in the camp. “The Burnt have not relented since you were taken,” she said. “We have been feinting attacks on their trees to keep them at bay. They devote much of their forces to protecting the fireleafs, and it lessens the number attacking us directly. But I do not know how long they will be fooled—we don’t have the numbers to mount a real attack.”

  “We would have lost twice the men defending ourselves if not for Lieutenant Tenille’s tactics,” Ralsten said. “I never thought you lot knew what you were doing, but Father above, I wish we had more of you now. We might be able to get at those Dragon-damned trees.”

  “Even if you could, it would not help,” I said. “The only reason they have not killed every one of you is because they do not think you a true threat. They like having so many trapped here—their own livestock pen. When they require new bodies, they only need slaughter a few. But they are on guard now. If any more of their trees are harmed, they will lay waste to the camp, and the city will not last much longer.”

  “What do we do, then?” Ralsten asked. “Wait to die of disease and starvation?”

&
nbsp; “Nothing would delight the Burnt more, I’m sure,” I replied.

  Bryndine finished securing her shield on her back, and her hand went up to brush the hilt of her sword, as though reassuring herself that it was there. “You survive as long as you can, Lieutenant,” she said. “My company rides for Highpass tonight; you only need hold until we can rally the Scribers to your aid.”

  “I will gather the women,” said Tenille. “We’ll need to prepare the horses.”

  “Orya will take care of that.” Bryndine nodded at Orya, and she hurried out of the tent. Turning back to Tenille, Bryndine said, “You must remain here when we go.”

  “What? No. I’m coming with you. I know I am injured, but…”

  “I would sooner have you fighting beside me injured than most men in perfect health. That is not why you must stay.” Bryndine clasped Tenille’s shoulder. “These people need you. You are the closest thing to a Warfare-pinned officer they have. It will not be an easy task to keep them safe until we can gather the Scribers, and I trust no one else to do it.”

  Ralsten grumbled at that, but he said, “She’s right. Your strategies have already saved lives. We need you here.”

  Vance clasped his wife’s hands. “Listen to them, Tenille. Our children need someone to protect them now, and there is no one else who can do that better. I will be here with you.”

  Tenille took a deep breath, looking from Vance to Bryndine, and then exhaled sharply. “Fine. I will stay. I cannot argue with anything you’ve said. But I hate it. If you are going to be in danger, I should be with you.”

  Sylla looked almost insulted, as though Tenille had questioned her ability to protect Bryndine. “I will not let anything happen to her. You are in more danger here than we will be on the road.”

  Deanyn grinned. “Of course. We only have to ride seventy leagues through rebel-infested territory.” But her eyes were serious when she looked at Tenille. “Sylla is right, though—we should be worrying about you, not the other way around.”