by E. C. Blake
“Thank you for your help,” Mara said softly. “I promise you, whatever I can do to protect Greff, I will.” She stood. “Until he returns to you . . . carry on as normal. Remember, your Masks can no longer betray you to the Watchers. For the moment, you are the freest people in Aygrima . . . but I hope everyone will soon enjoy the same freedom.”
“So do I,” Filia said. “So do I.”
The couple watched Mara and Keltan exit. They offered no final farewells.
Keltan and Mara rode through the night to return to Edrik and Chell’s forces, arriving at (Mara sighed) first light. The fighters had already struck the camp; another half hour, Mara judged, they would have moved on. She and Keltan galloped to where Edrik and Chell, also on horseback, were watching the forming column. Antril sat beside Chell. All of them turned as Keltan and Mara rode up. “I feared we’d have to leave you behind,” Edrik said. “The scouts have reported in. The main force of Watchers is less than a day behind us.”
“Then this is the final push,” Mara said.
“Did you get what you went for?” Chell said.
“We did,” Mara said. “I think I can get close to the Autarch. After that . . .” Her throat closed. “After that,” she said, “I’ll do my best.” She thought for a minute, dread growing in her. “The Watchers . . . they’ll send riders ahead to warn Tamita, won’t they?”
“Yes,” Edrik said.
“They could well get to Tamita before you can.”
“They will, unless our own scouts are able to intercept them. But even if we get a few, I think it highly unlikely we can get them all.”
“And once Tamita is warned, the gates will be sealed,” Mara said. “They might not let me in.”
Edrik nodded.
“Then Keltan and I must ride ahead.”
Keltan sighed. “We’ve already ridden all night.”
“Then you’d better ride all day,” Edrik said. “The force we’ve assembled to join you in the city once you open the sally port will also set out at once—but separately, of course.”
“I’ll be commanding it myself,” Chell said. “With the help of Lieutenant Antril.”
Antril flashed Mara a brief smile.
Someone else willing to risk his life for me, Mara thought. “We’ll just grab some fresh supplies and head out, then,” Mara said. “But from here on . . .” She glanced at Keltan. “You heard what the Watchers at the farm said.”
“Watchers?” Chell said sharply.
“Don’t worry,” Mara said. “They’re not there anymore.”
“Or anywhere else,” Keltan added under his breath.
“They made it clear you, at least, can’t pass for a fourteen-year-old anymore,” Mara pressed on. “Or at least not one that a Watcher won’t stop for questioning.”
Keltan nodded.
“So it’s time for you to become a Watcher.”
“Already?”
“I’m afraid so.” She smiled. “A little late, perhaps, but it’s finally time for your Masking . . . and my second one.”
The event—she wouldn’t call it a ceremony, which implied a celebration, which this certainly was not—took place just half an hour later. They had replenished their food and water so they could set off the moment it was done. Keltan had changed into one of the uniforms, long since washed clean of blood, from the Silverthorne Watchers he and Hyram had killed . . . Cornil’s, she thought it must be: he had been much of a size with Keltan. And only slightly older . . .
No guilt, she reminded herself.
From her saddlebag, she drew out the Watcher’s Mask she had crafted with Herella for Keltan, and the plain one she had crafted for herself. The unMasked Army had already moved out. Edrik, along with Chell, Antril, and the rest of the small force that would infiltrate the city—assuming Mara succeeded in letting them in—remained. In addition to Antril, that force consisted of Hyram, three unMasked Army fighters (two men, Prescox and Danys, and a woman, Lilla) and four of Chell’s sailors whose names Mara didn’t know.
“I’m very interested in watching this ‘Masking,’” Antril said to Mara. “The whole concept is fascinating.” He grimaced. “Repellent, but fascinating.”
“I hope it works,” Mara said. She glanced at Keltan. “Ready?”
“I guess,” he replied, voice tight.
She stepped forward and put the Mask on his face.
Even as she did so, she feared it would break and shatter as hers had, that in a moment she’d be trying frantically to heal Keltan’s torn skin and broken nose. But though he gasped and staggered back a step or two as the magic-infused clay came to life and writhed into its new form as an exact copy of the face beneath it, the Mask did not shatter. “That . . . was unpleasant,” he said, voice muffled by the Mask’s small mouth opening. “Glad I skipped out on it the first time around.”
“You think that was unpleasant, you should try donning one that fails,” Mara told him. Then wished she hadn’t, since that brought back memories of her first horrific Masking just as she reached for the white Mask to complete her second. She took a deep breath and placed the Mask on her face. It squirmed horribly, just as she remembered—but this time, it stayed intact, and so did her face.
It felt very strange to look out at the world from behind a Mask. Edrik, Chell, and Antril were staring at them both. She licked her lips, and her tongue jerked back in surprise as it encountered the slick ceramic surrounding her mouth. “I really hate this,” she muttered.
“You and me both,” Keltan said.
“And you’re sure these Masks won’t betray you?” Hyram demanded.
Mara turned her head toward him. “I’m sure. Mine reveals nothing except purity and innocence. His reveals only unwavering loyalty and obedience to the Autarch. No Watchers viewing either will have the slightest suspicion that whatever we tell them is anything but the truth.”
“Which will come in very useful if you’re stopped along the road,” Edrik said. “Unless, of course, they decide to execute you on the spot. But at least you have a better chance of making it than I thought.” He thumped his fist on his heart in salute. “Good luck, Mara Holdfast. Good luck, Keltan.” He turned to the others. “Good luck, all of you. May we meet again in the courtyard of the burning Palace.” He mounted and rode away without looking back.
“That’s a rather grim version of ‘see you later,’” Keltan commented.
“This is an enormous risk, Mara,” Chell said. “Are you sure it’s the only way?”
“I’m sure,” Mara said.
“Well, if anyone can do it, you can,” he said. “You saved my life the first time we met. Before I even knew the power you could wield, I thought you were an extraordinary girl. I haven’t changed my mind.” He looked at Keltan. “Do what you can to keep her safe.”
“I intend to,” Keltan said.
Chell copied the salute Edrik had used, though Mara had never seen any of the Korellian sailors make the gesture before. “Good fortune to you both,” he said. “We’ll be in position tomorrow night. See you at the wall.”
Antril repeated the salute. “Good fortune,” he said.
Chell gestured to the others in the small strike force and they rode away, following the departing army, though they would soon be far ahead of them. To Mara’s surprise, Hyram hung back. “Good luck to both of you,” he said. “I hope . . .” His voice trailed off, and without saying what he hoped, he turned his horse and galloped after the others.
“There’s a friend I lost,” Mara said sadly.
“Maybe not forever,” Keltan said, gazing after Hyram thoughtfully. Then he shook his head and turned back to her. “We’d better get moving, too. We’re in a race.”
Mara nodded and climbed wearily back into the saddle of her horse, a roan mare this time. Knowing he would be traveling incognito as a Watcher, Keltan had chosen a
black gelding to match his black uniform and Mask.
“I hate you,” she said conversationally to her new mount, whose ear flicked back in her direction as she reached forward and patted the mare’s neck. “I hate all horses. Nothing personal.”
Keltan laughed. “At least you don’t fall off of them every few minutes like those first few times you tried riding. Remember?”
“I remember. I’ve had a little practice since then.” She sighed. “Well, then . . .” She dug her heels into the mare’s flanks, Keltan followed suit, and they were off.
They needed to get to the main road that ran down the Heartsblood valley to make the best possible time, but cutting straight across it again would cost them more time than they’d save. Instead they angled, riding up the western slope of the valley and down the other side in a generally southwest direction. Mara’s buttocks and thighs ached and burned from the all-night ride she’d already endured, but she held on grimly as they trotted when they could and walked when they couldn’t. A gallop would have been smoother, but that was one gait they didn’t use. They needed to make haste, but they also had to save the horses. If one went lame, all was lost. Whiteblaze trotted along happily, sometimes ahead of them, sometimes with them, sometimes off to the side.
They reached the road in midafternoon. After that, the going became easier for the horses, though not for Mara, who was beginning to seriously wonder if there were any way to use magic to add padding to her rear end.
Then, without warning, they rounded a corner . . . and confronted a Watcher heading the other way. Whiteblaze growled softly. “No, Whiteblaze,” Mara murmured, and he subsided.
The Watcher stopped in the middle of the road. Keltan and Mara had little choice but to do likewise. Whiteblaze sat on his haunches a little ways off and watched, eyes narrowed.
“Where are you from, brother?” said the Watcher. “And who’s your young friend?” He glanced at Whiteblaze. “Nice . . . dog?”
“Silverthorne,” Keltan said. “Name’s Cornil.” He and Mara had talked about what he should say in just such an instance; now she was glad they had. He gestured at Mara. “This is Prella, daughter of the village headman. Got a fiancé in Tamita she’s never met—arranged marriage.” He pointed at Whiteblaze. “And that’s no dog. It’s a wolf. Raised as a pup by the Headman to protect his daughter.”
The Watcher laughed. “She’ll have to pen it up for the wedding night if he’s to get grandchildren. Wolf’s likely to think she’s being attacked.”
Keltan laughed heartily, playing his role. Mara sat as still as possible, doing her best to project a vacant air. Apparently she was succeeding. After the initial glance, the Watcher hadn’t looked at her again.
“Anything else new in Tamita I should know about?” Keltan continued.
“You’ll find the barracks rather empty,” the Watcher from Tamita said. “The Autarch ordered three-quarters of the force out a few months ago to squelch a bandit uprising, and they’re still garrisoned up north along the coast somewhere. Keeps the rest of us hopping, I can tell you that. Double shifts. Triple, sometimes.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice even though there was no one in sight but the three of them. “And you want to hear something even weirder? The Autarch has everyone aged fifteen to eighteen, boys and girls alike, doing weapons training. Started the same time he sent out so many Watchers. Almost like he thinks bandits might attack Tamita itself.” He leaned back in his saddle again. “It’s made the whole city jumpy. People getting into fights for no reason, that sort of thing. We’ve even had a spate of Mask shatterings. Followed by a spate of executions, of course.”
“We had some trouble with bandits near Silverthorne,” Keltan said. “People kind of jumpy up there, too. Haven’t had any Masks shattering, though.”
“Just a city thing, probably,” the Watcher said. “It was a nasty winter. Maybe it’s just spring fever.” He touched his finger to his Masked forehead. “Ride safe. I’m off to Yellowgrass. Had a report a couple of Watchers have gone missing. Bandits again, I’m thinking. Keep your sword loose in its scabbard, lad.”
“Thanks, I will,” Keltan said, and the Watcher from Tamita rode past them. They both turned to watch him go, then looked at each other.
“Good job,” Mara said. She felt immensely relieved. Her fake Watcher’s Mask had worked perfectly. And that gave her reason to hope that her fake Child Guard one would as well.
Keltan touched his Mask. “You, too,” he said. “And you have no idea how glad I am about that.”
About an hour later they came to an inn. Mara wished they could have taken a room, but there was no time. At least they could water the horses and give them a rest, and while the horses were recovering, enjoy a hot meal. Mara found it awkward and uncomfortable to eat while wearing a Mask. Drinking was easier: public eating establishments served wine and beer and water in special cups with elongated spouts for slipping inside a Mask’s mouth hole. Whiteblaze had a raw steak to eat and a bone to gnaw on. After an hour and a half they rode on into gathering twilight.
During most of their journey from the village the weather had been excellent. But that night a wind came up, and the stars vanished, and it was in a cold, driving rain that they finally crested a ridge and gazed at the city of Tamita. The lights of the houses and towers climbing Fortress Hill behind the wall looking warm and inviting . . . and a very long way away still.
“Can’t get through the gate until—”
“First light,” Mara said. She sighed. “Of course.”
“We might as well camp.”
They’d brought only one tent with them. They couldn’t manage a fire in the driving rain, and so they climbed into the tent to eat cold bread and cheese by the light of a single candle lantern. Then they stretched out side by side to sleep, rolled in their blankets against the chill.
The rain thrummed on the canvas. Whiteblaze was off somewhere in the storm, hunting, Mara supposed. She hoped he didn’t try to shoulder his way in later, sopping wet.
“Don’t touch the sides of the tent,” came Keltan’s voice out of the darkness just inches from Mara’s head. “It will let the water through.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Mara said.
She felt strangely tense, and sleep simply wouldn’t come. Part of it was knowing that tomorrow she would try to infiltrate the Child Guard, and then to confront the Autarch, the terrifying goal she had been working toward for so long . . . but had never thought she would be attempting to achieve without the help of the Lady.
But part of it was the nearness of Keltan. She was acutely aware of his body so close to hers, and not just because of the magic she could sense in him. She found herself thinking of his kisses. Of the feel of his arms around her. She imagined him rolling over, whispering to her, “As long as we’re alone . . .” She imagined warm kisses, hot hands on bare skin. But she also imagined tasting his magic, draining it from him. How could she ever give herself over to the former when she would always long for the latter?
She imagined all those things, and could not sleep.
Keltan apparently did not have the same problem. He was already snoring gently.
She sighed.
Some day, she thought. If I live.
If I’m still me.
It was a thought she had barely dared to express even to herself until that moment, but lying in the dark, listening to rain and wind and Keltan’s deep breathing, she could not hide from her own mind. The impact of the Lady’s magic, of her powerful soulprint, had changed her somehow, made her more like Arilla.
So what, she wondered, will become of me when the Autarch’s soulprint fills my mind?
She fingered the black lodestone amulet. She did not think it would be much good in that tidal wave of magic.
Keltan rolled over, his back to her. Mara tried to put her fantasies and fears alike out of her mind, and fall into the slee
p she desperately needed . . . but she had very little success.
TWENTY
The Walls of Tamita
THE NEXT MORNING, in broad daylight, they rode to the main gate of Tamita. The clouds had blown away overnight and the rising sun turned the dew-laden grass along the road into fields of diamonds. Mara felt horribly conspicuous, especially as they drew closer, passing among the tents of others who had camped outside the wall to be ready for the gate to open in the morning or to make their way around the city to the Outside Market. The feeling eased, though, as she noticed the people they were passing rather conspicuously not looking at her, their eyes sliding past her once they glimpsed Keltan’s blank black Mask. Even the pair of Watchers they passed, mounted and stationary at the side of the road to keep an eye on the people heading into the city, looked first at Keltan, clearly saw nothing amiss, nodded, cast a cursory and incurious glance at Mara, and then turned their attention elsewhere. And thus it was without any fuss at all that they rode into the capital of the Autarch, whom they hoped very soon to assassinate. It was almost surreal.
All the same, Mara kept her head down and her hood up. There had been a lot of morbidly curious onlookers at Traitors’ Gate the morning her father had been hanged and she had blown down a large chunk of the city wall, and she suspected they had vivid memories of that day—and therefore, potentially, of her. Even though she was Masked now, the Mask unavoidably looked like her, and gazing boldly out at the citizens of Tamita seemed an unnecessary risk.
She was also horribly aware that somewhere on the road behind them, and probably not very far behind them, riders were galloping toward Tamita to warn the Autarch of the approach of the unMasked Army. If they did not penetrate the Palace before that warning was given, they might lose their chance . . . and it seemed slim enough as it was, despite the confidence she had tried to display to Greff’s parents and to Edrik.