by Dave Duncan
"Dr. Livingstone, I presume? Or is that your line?"
Feeling oddly at a loss, Julian said, “Cheers!"
"Good to see you, old man.” Exeter reached up a hand to shake. “'Scuse me if I don't leap up, won't you?"
His eyes were bloodshot and sunken. His beard was better trimmed than his hair, but the cheeks above it seemed pale below their tan. His feet were bandaged—just like those of the blond man they had seen earlier who had claimed to have visited Niol last night....
Julian sank down on one knee and accepted the shake with his right hand. Exeter had momentarily forgotten, obviously. He reacted with shock. Then he kept hold of Julian's flipper while he inspected it.
As he let go, he smiled approvingly. “Bloody good show! Nextdoor agrees with you, I'd say."
"It's an improvement.” Julian sat down, crossing his legs and pushing Dommi's pack out of the way. “What the blazes is the matter with you, though?"
Exeter shrugged. “Too many late nights.” He yawned, and then yawned again, even longer.
Assume a man walked all day, day in, day out. Assume he left his followers one evening and went on foot to Niol and back.... Any man might justifiably look all-in after thirty hours on the road. But Exeter was not any man. He was the Liberator.
He was also memories—school days at Fallow in the golden glow of youth, the too-brief trip to Paris that the War had cut short, the frantic few days in 1917 when Julian Smedley had rescued him from a mental ward and he had opened the door to another world for Julian Smedley and thereby saved his sanity. Was that still less than two years ago?
Julian pulled himself together. “No mana?"
"Not just at the moment. So it was you they sent. I rather expected Jumbo or Pinky.” There were questions hidden in that remark, questions about loyalty and old friendship.
Why had Julian ever promised not to mention Ursula?
"They asked me to come and find out what you're up to."
"And Entyika Newton also,” Dommi said quietly.
Whoops!
Exeter compressed his lips so that they vanished briefly between beard and mustache. He said, “A formidable lady, Mrs. Newton, as I recall.” Again there were hidden queries in that steady stare.
Relieved that the cat was out of the bag—although he would not use those exact words to Ursula—Julian said, “Ursula will be waiting for you—us—at Shuujooby."
The reply was another cavernous yawn, which effectively masked any reaction the information might have produced.
Damnation! Exeter must have been collecting mana these last few weeks. He should be able to banish his fatigue and heal the blisters with a snap of his fingers. Surely he could not have been crazy enough to squander it all on fancy miracles to impress the peasants? Or had he spent it fighting reapers?
Ursula would see right away that he was vulnerable. She would eat him alive. The toughs with their spears and shields would be no defense against her, for Exeter would order them all to go home, dismiss his crusade, and follow her back to Olympus like a pet dog. Hell!
No mana at all? Had it been stolen from him?
"I understand you dropped in on friend Visek last night."
"Oh, blast!” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “How did you hear about that?"
Touched a nerve, have we? “A little bird told me."
The warriors sprawled nearby were frowning at their inability to understand the conversation, but Dommi knew English. He was gazing at Exeter with idiotic adoration. “We overheard a fair-haired man narrating this incident, Tyika. He had sore feet likewise."
Exeter said, “Thanks!” without taking his eyes off Julian, and smothered another yawn. “Remind me to invent taxicabs sometime. Yes, it's true. His name's Dosh Envoy. I should have told him to keep his mouth shut. He usually makes oysters sound like starlings."
"He was babbling brookily this morning. So is Visek male or female?” Julian could win a sizable bet or two in Olympus with that information. Even Olga claimed not to know for certain.
"They're both—Jack and Jill. So where's Mrs. Newton?"
Julian's gaze wandered to the brown-leathery hills, which must be five miles away now, or more. From this distance, bluish ice-clad crags showed above them. “Riding around."
"Who else is with her?"
"Just T'lin Dragontrader. We came to—"
"That's all right then. Good."
"What do you mean, ‘good'?"
A gleam showed in the tired cornflower-blue eyes. “I mean T'lin's dragons can probably outrun Queen Elvanife's moas, as long as he doesn't wander too far into the plains."
It was Julian's turn to jump. This was the meanest game of verbal tennis he'd played in years. “That's why you left two of your Trojans up a tree? You blocked the road with disciples and forced them to go around another way?"
"I detect the mind of a professional strategist."
Which was no answer. Julian shrugged. “There's a nasty prophecy about young men's bones in Niolland."
Exeter nodded, stretched his arms, yawned some more. He glanced briefly at his entourage, smiled at Dommi, turned his calculating gaze on Julian again. “Time to hit the road. It would be gentlemanly to be there to greet Mrs. Newton when she arrives, wouldn't it?"
Julian rolled a few curses around in his head. He had promised not to issue any warnings.... If only Exeter didn't look so damned played out ... Hell! He could drop a hint. “Why don't you take a break, old man, and go on tomorrow, when you're fresher?"
Exeter seemed to understand, because his smile depicted gratitude like an illuminated vellum scroll. Then he shook his head. “I'd best be on my way. I'm expecting a squad of Niolland's finest, and it wouldn't be fair to let them run into Ursula without warning them, would it? Tell me, is it only Mrs. Newton I have to fear, or have the others loaded her up with their mana, too?"
Julian gaped. “Is that possible? You can give mana to someone?"
"Yes, it's possible. That's how the little gods pay their dues to the Five.” He reached stiffly for his sandals, and his bodyguard scrambled to their feet, even the ones that had seemed to be asleep. “There's a whopper of a node at Shuujooby. I want to get there before the troopers do."
A node would be a fortress for him, but only if he had a store of mana to exploit it. Julian had no mana either, so he couldn't help, whatever happened.
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30
Exeter limped back to the road, obviously finding walking an ordeal. His praetorians fussed around him like mother hens, but he ignored them, pulling up his cowl to hide his face. They would gladly have carried him shoulder-high, of course, but what sort of prophet would he seem then? Soon he called Dommi to his side. The road was narrow and crowded again, now that the sun was past its height, so Julian found himself excluded, walking behind his own houseboy and hemmed in by the armed escort like a felon being led to the gallows.
He tried to make conversation with the spear carriers on either side of him, but he could understand little of their heavily accented Joalian. They were loathe to speak with him anyway, being uncertain just who he was or how their leader regarded him. The red-haired one was obviously the boss's favorite.
Julian had made no progress with Exeter so far. He still had no idea why the man had changed his mind about the Filoby Testament, nor did he know what could be done about Ursula. He had been expecting to find the Liberator all charged up with mana, capable of at least putting up a fight. Watching the gray-robed figure striding along in front of him, though, he could see charisma at work. Even though they were not on a node, Exeter was bearing himself straighter already, drawing strength from the devotion of his bodyguard and the adoring pilgrims he passed. That would doubtless carry him as far as Shuujooby. It wouldn't help much with Ursula, or Queen Elvanife's lancers either.
For a sweaty, mosquito-laden hour, they trudged through the swamp, looping around toward the rocky gullies of Niolslope again. Finally Exeter remembered his manners. Lea
ving Dommi to walk alone, he dropped back to partner Julian.
"Dommi tells me the war is over.” He looked fitter than before, his blue eyes twinkling again. Perhaps he felt better able to battle wits.
"Apparently. The Huns lost. We haven't heard much detail yet.” Julian told what he knew, marveling how little it touched him now. He rarely even dreamed of the hell he had known in Flanders anymore. “And you've started another,” he concluded. “Another war, I mean."
"Dear me! The Service is upset?"
"Very. When they hear how you're changing their doctrine, they'll all spit fire and brimstone."
"Their own fault for inventing the demons. What sort of religion is based on lies and slander?"
"Try telling that to Ursula."
Exeter did not answer. His cowl concealed his face. He had been a devilish-good bowler back at Fallow, never much of a batsman. When he was on bat, he had consistently stonewalled. He had not lost that ability, for he now proceeded to stonewall every question Julian threw at him.
"You don't hand out gold earrings to your converts?"
"Ain't got no gold."
"But you've imported baptism!"
"Water's cheap."
"I suppose every cult needs some sort of initiation,” Julian mused. “And circumcision would be messy?"
Exeter shuddered. “Please!"
"So you went into partnership with the Pentatheon?"
"They're not all monsters."
"And they deal with any reapers Zath sends after you?"
"They have so far."
If the Five were frightened of upstart Zath, they might accept the Liberator as an ally or use him as a stalking horse, although only a congenital idiot would ever trust any of them. What promises had Exeter made to win that cooperation? How long a spoon was he using? How far had he bent his principles? To ask those questions would be to end the conversation and trample the fragile reawakening of friendship.
"I thought Zath was stronger than any of them, perhaps even stronger than the whole caboodle?"
Exeter shrugged. “Who knows? Who can possibly know, without trying? No one plays the Great Game with his cards showing."
Julian persisted. “So why doesn't he come and get you, now that he's aware where you are?"
"You're the military man. You send out skirmishers and they fail to return. Do you march your whole army after them?"
"No. I send a stronger force to reconnoiter."
"I expect he'll get around to that.” Reapers were only natives, enslaved by mana. They were armed with rituals that could direct the power of their god, but all their strength came from Zath himself.
"If he sends that stronger force, will you be able to detect them? Will the spells show?"
Exeter took a while to reply. Julian could not tell whether he was thinking over the question or just delaying.
"If I have mana of my own, I may be able to detect them."
"Why don't you have any mana now?"
"Used it up."
"Doing what? Turning rods into serpents?” He knew he was prying dangerously, but he got a civil enough answer.
"Running. I did heal an injured ankle, but it was on Visek's node."
"Why did that matter?"
"All the witnesses were Visek's clergy. They gave all the credit to Visek."
"You'll gain some back tonight, when you preach at Shuujooby?"
"Hope so."
Ursula might get to him before he even opened his mouth, unless Julian himself could distract her somehow. To a large extent, mana was its own fertilizer, like money—the more one had, the easier it was to gain more. Physical exhaustion was not the best state in which to preach a religious revolution. Bloody idiot!
Julian realized he was starting to lose his temper, which was the worst way to deal with stonewalling. “You're heading for Tharg? You're going to knock the chip off Zath's shoulder, aren't you? Where the hell are you going to get the mana from?"
Exeter hit that one for six. He turned his head and flashed a smile at his tormentor. “From the Filoby Testament, of course."
Julian said, “What?"
"The prophecy itself has mana, old man. Haven't you realized that yet? It takes a ton of mana to prophesy—so where does it go?"
"Haven't the foggiest."
"Into the words! Every time the prophecy is vindicated by events, it collects more mana from all the people who know about it. Zath's been trying since before we were born to break the chain. He fails every time, and every time the prophecy grows stronger."
Julian stepped in a pothole and stumbled into a leather shield, which helpfully thumped him back to the vertical again.
"That's bizarre! I never heard that theory before. Who told you that?"
"Thought it up by myself,” Exeter said with a shrug.
"I don't believe it!"
"I'm not sure I do, actually. But perhaps Zath does? I thought there was at least a fifty-fifty chance he'd come after me right at the start—nip me in the bud in Joalvale with donner und blitzen and fiery whips. He didn't. So perhaps he's learned his lesson."
"He'll just let all those things happen, you mean? Let the play be acted out? Hell's bells, man, the finale is his own death!"
Exeter chuckled. “Which means that he won't have dared do a foreseeing of his own. Did you know that, old man? Foreseeing your own death is fatal. He may have had someone else do it for him, of course. No, I'm sure he'll fight at the end. Now he knows I'm coming for him. He knows I have allies, but he doesn't know how many or who, and he'll want to know that for settling scores later if he wins. He may try another jab or two, but I do believe he'll save his strength for the final innings."
The idea of the Filoby Testament as a sort of active participant did make a wildly improbable sort of sense. Julian himself had postulated that Exeter might have seen something nobody else had. Was this it? More important, would it deter Ursula from meddling?
"That valley?” Exeter was pointing a long, gray-sleeved arm at the hills that now loomed over them, surprisingly close again. “Shuujooby's at the mouth of that."
"You've reconnoitered the whole route, haven't you? That's what you've been doing these last two years?"
Exeter just smiled.
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31
Where the river emptied out of the hills to feed the lakes and marshland, its course was almost a mile wide. At that time of year it was all sand, brilliant white quartz, with only a few silver pools and shallow braids holding water, and nothing flowing except an invisible, tangible torrent of air, the breath of the mountains pouring out of the gorge to blow grit in men's eyes. The only relief from the glaring whiteness was a speckle of shadow under isolated dead trees, stark bleached skeletons.
The trail ended on the northern bank at a rickety jetty and a couple of stranded ferryboats. The celebrated metropolis of Shuujooby was a cluster of driftwood hovels cowering low in the long, rank grass, each hoarding a snowy drift of sand on its leeward side. About a score of ragged villagers stood gaping at the Liberator's crusade going by. They must have been puzzled by the pilgrims who had already passed and dwindled to specks in the distance, trooping over the shining white desert to reach the designated stopping place. The War-band with their spears and shields were an even greater wonder, and there were hundreds of followers to come yet.
The far bank was a faint green line of brush and woodland, before which stood the remains of the temple, half buried in the sands of the floodplain. Even at that distance, Julian could see that it had been picked clean, as if by giant vultures. Every stone must be burnished smooth, and few seemed to be standing in their original positions. It would have been built on a node, though, and the virtuality would remain. A whopper of a node, Exeter had called it.
He had gone forward to rejoin Dommi, so Julian was alone again. He did not mind, for he had much to think about. Ursula would certainly try to block Exeter's revolution. Julian found that he was hunting for arguments to
stop her, so he must want it to continue. Why? Could he really believe that it had any chance of success? It seemed horribly like a children's crusade, a massacre of innocents. Whatever damage it was going to do to the Church of the Undivided was probably inevitable now. Whether the heretic sect was smitten by Zath in Thargvale or just discredited and dispersed when Ursula betwitched its leader, the Pentatheon and their traditional religion would be seen to have triumphed.
That was a very cynical attitude! At the rate Exeter was going, he would have gathered a huge following by the time he reached Thargvale. Better, surely, to abandon a few hundred people here than let thousands be slain there? Unless Julian could convince himself that the circus held some reasonable chance of success, he would never convince Ursula—and should not even try.
Ignoring Shuujooby and the watching Shuujoobyites, the Warband arrived at the riverbank and the jetty. The lead warriors jumped down from the spiny grass to the white plain. Exeter and Dommi followed, then Julian himself slithered after them in a shower of hot sand. As he recovered his balance, he saw Ursula a hundred yards or so off to his right, beyond the hamlet. For a moment he felt a strange reluctance to speak with her. He had sworn not to warn Exeter and then broken his word.
She saw him and waved. She ran down the bank, wheeling her arms for balance, and then stood waiting. He slipped neatly between two of the Nagians and started to run. If anyone tried to follow and was called back by Exeter, the wind stole away the words. He staggered and stumbled in the soft sand, his aching feet reminding him how far he had walked that day.
As he drew close, he saw that she was barefoot, clutching her shoes in one hand; the other held her wide-brimmed hat in place against the mischief of the wind. She was wearing a white dress of the flimsy Nextdoorian fabric the Service called cotton, although its fibers came from a tuber. Her arms were bare and the billowing of the material revealed her ankles and half her shins. It also displayed the curves of her hips and thighs and breasts, the unusual width of her shoulders. He had never heard of such a garment in the Vales, but he would not complain about it. She looked for all the world like a girl playing on a beach at Blackpool or Frinton, and must feel like that, also, for she was laughing as she watched his labored approach, her face flushed by the wind.