They added barricades to the front door before beginning their ascent to the top. At each floor they paused to search for more guards and found none. They encountered no one but the guards on the ground floor, and by the time they neared the top, Marta allowed herself to believe they might succeed. It was then that Leon whispered to her.
“It was the Renders who caught me, but it was the will of Sol that put me in the Pit. He had a purpose—so I might meet you. Your beauty belongs to me, Marta.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the touch of his voice. It was unclean, far worse than the river of waste they had just bathed in, and Marta realized now was the perfect time to put him down for good. No one would mind the loss of Leon, her men sensing as she did that there was something off in his head. Using her body to screen her actions from Leon, Marta extended her phantom blade.
Suddenly, she heard a body drop, whirling to find Leon’s own blade extended and a corpse at his feet. In her disgust Marta had unknowingly walked right past the hidden defender. Leon had saved her life, and in that moment kept his own, though Marta swore to herself that Leon Doyle would not live to see the end of the Grand War.
High above the city the wind buffeted them with all its fury, the Covenant flag snapping with each gust. The air was frigid, but neither felt it as they looked down to see the world spread out before them. Though still covered in the quickly freezing mire, they were suddenly above it all, seeing the sleeping world as Sol must have when he discovered Ayr. Marta could not comprehend happiness anymore, so it was not that she felt, but rather a sense of knowing that if she died then, she would at least be content. She may still smell of shit, but at least she had reached the top of the world as she summoned all her salvia to spit her hate down upon it.
Shortly before dawn the Newfield forces awoke, marshaling and turning towards the field. At least Bumgarden was as good as his word, Marta thought absently. It would be a cruel jest if they had performed their mission perfectly only for the Western army to abandon them there in Sinton. The Eastern ranks soon rose as well, checking their weapons as they prepared to meet another foolish Western charge. The slaughter would be terrible unless Abner succeeded, and each moment Marta waited seemed like an hour.
Just as dawn broke, the gates of Sinton began to ratchet their way up, the clamor of the protesting gears loud enough to turn the Eastern soldiers around to ascertain the source. From her height Marta could not make out their individual faces, but she was sure they must be full of both defeat and relief in equal measure.
Seven mobile fortresses began their ponderous march from the Newfield line, aimed for the open gates of Sinton. It was Marta’s cue and she lowered the Covenant flag to replace it with the Newfield banner they brought with them. The Western flag was stained from their trip through the sludge, but Marta thought only she and Leon would notice as it unfurled in the wind. It appeared to all that the city of Sinton had surrendered, but the question remained if its defenders would accept their defeat.
The Western phalanxes continued their slow, steady march, reaching the first line of the defenders without a shot fired as the Covenant men laid their weapons down. Halfway through the Eastern rank, the foremost phalanx opened, Bumgarden emerging on his horse to lead the procession regally on. Marta’s breath caught, not exhaling until he reached the gates. There, the mobile fortress opened entirely, spilling the Western army into the city to end the endless siege. Assured her plan had succeeded, Marta awkwardly folded the crimson Covenant flag before trudging down the stairs.
Dawn’s light streaming through the windows allowed them to see the identity of the dead man Leon had saved her from hours before. He was more of a boy, really, judging by the fuzz that he had attempted to fashion into a beard. Thin and malnourished, the undignified pose he fell into during death made him appear all the more pathetic. He had been the last of Sinton’s defenders, losing his short life in the attempt.
Despite her weariness, Marta’s eyes were still sharp enough to catch the glint reflecting daylight from his pack. Shoving his corpse aside, she uncovered the boy’s coronet.
“Shame,” said Leon without much emotion. “He played beautifully.”
“There’s no beauty left anymore,” Marta answered, her affect as flat as his. Throwing open the nearest window, she tossed the instrument out and continued on without a look back.
***
Her and Bumgarden’s trickery was not revealed until the Western army was within the city walls, the Easterners outside suddenly caught between two enemy forces at either end. The Covenant army wisely surrendered officially not an hour later, the siege of Sinton broken before the hung-over Underhill even awoke. They had succeeded in breaking the back of the East; Ceilminster, Gatlin and Oreana the only major cities remaining to conquer. Glories would surely be heaped upon the man who rode at the head of the Western army, Bumgarden summoning Marta to his new headquarters situated in the mayor’s office in City Hall.
Many adjuncts were at his side as she entered, Bumgarden dismissing them all at once to leave just the two of them. They had been alone together hundreds of times before, but outside his tent it felt different as Marta presented him the captured Covenant flag. He tossed the bundle to the table without a second thought, instead focusing his green eyes intently on Marta.
“I will not forget who really provided this victory and will ensure those miserly quartermasters open their wagons to the 1st Shapers. After today I should have enough pull to accomplish that at least. You deserve your fair share in the army that you’ve served so well.”
Marta dully nodded at the promise of food as she watched a bit of sludge drip off her sleeve to mar the floor. The room was warm enough that the frozen filth covering her began to thaw, her stench in stark contrast to the fastidious man opposite her.
“Casualties?” she asked as if inquiring about the weather.
“Taylor Keeting both started and ended his life within Sinton. Other than that, only Rupert Kelly.”
Marta knew she should feel something at Rupert’s death, but all she could force was relief that they were promised a new source of food. She also wondered if Rupert would appreciate that it was his death that helped earn them their sustenance after singlehandedly supplying it for so long.
Bumgarden was staring at her again, and Marta realized she had not responded. Etiquette dictated she say something clever to commemorate the momentous event, but all Marta could muster was, “I’m sure you’ll earn an engraved pistol now.”
He nodded, but with the same patronizing look Mitchell gave when she did not comprehend some math lesson. “Yes, today was a career-making victory, but I plan on forging a new career now. I’ve outgrown the military and believe I’ll try my hand at politics. Ruhl is up for reelection in Weodmonad, the fool still stumbling from his promise of a short war. He still craves peace, but peace is an old and outdated understanding. This is a new age, demanding a new form of peace. The nation of Newfield has gone too far now, the only victory possible an absolute one. The other generals don’t understand this, and I’m afraid I cannot open their eyes by serving as one of their number. No, the only way I can save this nation is by becoming the Commander-in-Chief.”
He extended his hand and Marta absently took it. It was the first time the two made physical contact, his hand dry and soft, whereas hers was rough and still dripping the melting sludge. As they connected Marta remembered of the first time she had seen him and how she had sworn she would end his and Kearney’s lives. She had allowed fate to claim Kearney, and believed if she would ever make good on her promise of killing Bumgarden, now would be her last chance. But she was too tired for vengeance, too weary to care anymore.
“Will I have your vote, Childress?”
“I can vote?”
Bumgarden laughed long and hard before he removed his hand, a stain from touching Marta oily on his palm. He tried to wipe it away on his trousers, but only succeeded in smearing the shit deeper in.
“The army will be in Gatlin in a matter of months,” he said. “Are you still sure your family will welcome you with open arms?”
Marta had not thought about her family in months—was too tired to think on anything but surviving until the next day. She tried to remember them then, but could only conjure the image of Oleander’s brown eyes. The rest of her face remained a mystery, and Marta realized even if she could recollect the image of her sister, it would be too old to be accurate. It had been nearly six years since she last saw Oleander, the girl sure to have outgrown Marta’s memory in the intervening years.
She finally felt something as she departed Bumgarden’s presence without a word. It was loss for something precious, though Marta could not decide if it was the last scrap of her tattered innocence or an important opportunity that she had let slip away.
Chapter 26
Winterfylled 24, 567
Ekesh might taste far worse than the bark juice Marta was accustomed to, but the effects were far more pleasant. Her mind swimming, her senses numb, Marta did not have a care in the world when they tossed her into the cell in Point Place. The room was dry and warm, the stone floor surprisingly comfortable. So Marta remained there with her cheek pressed against the stone and eyes gazing fixedly upon her hand. It was a long while before she realized they let her keep her woven ring, its appearance confounding her. She knew it was missing and taken from her, but here it was on her hand.
Simply staring straight ahead as blankly as the kidnapped girl had, her thoughts never turned to Caddie or her mission. She did not realize Underhill had commandeered the town sheriff’s cells, and neither did she notice the two soldiers checking in on her every hour before retreating back to their chairs in the lobby. Nor did she notice that there were nearly a score of other prisoners interred there in the building, though she was the only one in a cell alone. It was a long while before she realized they let her keep her woven ring, its appearance confounding her. She knew it was missing and taken from her, but here it was on her hand.
After the first hour the town’s Dobra Cousins Listener burst in saying he had a message for the prisoner. It was sent from one Philo Frost, but Marta did not recognize the name and refused to rise as he recited it. Her eyes never flicked up at either his appearance or departure, instead focusing on her hand. It was a long while before she realized they let her keep her woven ring, its appearance confounding her. She knew it was missing and taken from her, but here it was on her hand.
***
Luca and Isabelle escaped because Underhill proved as much a dunder as the papers had dubbed him during the war. Not a few hundred yards within the cover of the trees, the two ditched their horses, slapping their flanks and letting them ride away wherever they chose. Disappearing into the wilderness was a tactic they were very familiar with as they scurried away before finally burying themselves under the fallen autumn leaves. In the confusion of the chase, their tracks would certainly be obscured by the dragoons’ own—meaning they just had to elude capture until nightfall to make good their escape. The next few hours would be nerve-wracking as they waited for the horsemen to stumble upon them.
But after a half hour, they did not hear any hooves, Luca finally entertaining the idea that Underhill had not sent out additional pursuers after he sprang his trap. He might not even know about the two of them, their anonymity keeping them safe. They were small fish, and once Underhill had landed his big catch, it had not occurred to him to throw his line in again.
Luca chanced a glance up from the leaves, the woods still silent and with no sign of the soldiers. They could escape easily, but to do so they would have to return empty-handed and he had no intention of failing at his mission. Isabelle shot him a look from her camouflage as he stood, her thoughts clear in his Listening mind.
“No, we can still salvage this. They’ll probably take the girl to the city.”
Isabelle still did not move, Luca waiting until she silently said her fill. It ended with a string of curses aimed at Marta that were so inventive Luca could not help but chuckle.
“Wouldn’t dare to argue with you there. She’s probably already rotting in the ground, but if we’re lucky, they’ll horsewhip her with salted leather first. We can find out for ourselves in town. There will be a ley there, so we can find out what Simza wants done, at least.”
He departed before she could respond, disappearing back the way they came. Isabelle remained under her cover until she could not hear him anymore, finally bursting from the leaves to sullenly catch up.
***
Graff’s Breath watched his prey’s capture from afar, returning to him once the girl was led away towards the city. He was still many miles away when it returned, but his Blessed Breath provided him more than just his destination: it also provided him transportation.
The Render shifted course, turning from his straight path aimed at Point Place and crashing through the woods until he found the road. There, he waited, the family his Breath had spotted arriving within the hour. The draft horse pulling their wagon was not much to look at, but Graff smiled at their appearance. Sol had provided for His soldier yet again.
***
Dusk descended upon Underhill’s house, the servants laying out a bountiful spread. Only two places were set, the host seating the much-sought-after daughter of Orthoel Hendrix across the long table from him. The portions were ample, the dishes divine, but the blue-eyed girl refused to eat, ignoring the appetizers, whereas Underhill had two helpings. She only stared straight across the table, not at, but through him as if he were not even there. Underhill had been the subject of quite a bit of bad press over the years, realizing only now that the only thing worse than scorn was to be ignored. Hate he could handle, but indifference was intensely irritating.
“You’ve certainly stirred up quite the hornet’s nest,” he boomed, the girl not flinching at his outburst, though several of the servers did. “Already got two messages from the big bug himself. He said to release you and the traitor, even though she killed two of my men.”
Still, Caddie stared through him, Underhill waving for the servants to bring the next course as he met her gaze. Falling silent, he stiffened at her look.
“I may not have known their names, but they were still in my care!”
He attacked the next plate with redoubled gusto, Caddie’s remaining untouched as he continued under his breath, “Never trusted that Frost, he’s of no account. Well, go on. Eat!”
Spittle and specks of potato splattered the table with his eruption, the girl’s composed indifference vexing him further. He set his fork down, announcing, “This tastes like ash.”
The servants snapped to, ready to replace the dishes with the next course when he ordered them out. As the door shut behind them, the gleam that Marta had seen returned to Underhill’s eyes at finally finding himself alone with Caddie Hendrix.
***
Luca and Isabelle stuck to the outskirts of Point Place, traveling through the woods to arrive at the ley. It was the Akoka line, one large enough to support a train and connecting up with the Cache line in East Neider before it continued its path on to Brimstone. The fact it was so large was good in that Luca’s message would reach Simza sooner. It had its drawbacks as well—drawbacks Isabelle reminded him of with her look. Luca had no need to Listen to her mind to register her disapproval.
“Even if the Hammat do recognize me, they still have to raise the Cousins here first. And the Naphat tribe is not exactly known for their warlike ways. And even if they were,” Luca teased, “they’d still have to deal with you, wouldn’t they?”
Luca formed his mental message before Isabelle could object, his concentration on the act keeping him from hearing inside her head. The note was simple enough: just an order from one Millie Knowles for more flour from a mill run by Dora Carmody in Gatlin. Mrs. Carmody and her shop did not exist anymore than Millie Knowles did, and none except the Ikus Listeners in Gatlin would understand whom the transmission was meant for.
His message complete, Luca mentally sealed it up. When Simza taught him this trick, she instructed him to visualize the contents as a parchment contained in a glass luz jar. Only once the message was entirely secure could it be deposited into the stream of the ley without getting lost. Then the flow would do the rest, its current pulling the bottle down the line. Luca exhaled heavily as he released the message, the sense of water washing over him almost physical as the ley sucked his message away. Even by the time he blinked, it was already received at the next nodus, soon to be sent on down the proper line until it reached Simza. Now it was only a matter of waiting until she responded, Luca giving Isabelle his most reassuring of smiles as he removed his straight blade and the half-carved piece of wood.
Luca got to work whittling as Isabelle disappeared into the darkness outside the range of the ley. Though her father hailed from Newfield and Isabelle had spent nearly as much time away from her mother’s people as with them, she still carried the Ingios mistrust of the ley. Luca had never been able to pry the why of it from her mind, Isabelle always switching to the indecipherable language of the Nahu tribe whenever she tried to explain it to him.
Isabelle hated Marta though, and was glad to be rid of her. That much she had made abundantly clear. Luca did not share his comrade’s prejudices, either towards the ley or their former traveling companion. Marta had been by far the most mistrustful person Luca had ever met. She outshined even Isabelle in that regard, a fact Luca was sure would irk Isabelle to no end if he gave voice to it. Marta was wise not to trust the two of them, though they meant her no physical harm and never had. If they had met by him buying her a drink rather than in that alley, Luca was sure Marta would have been more than happy to pick up the second round. More than just an outgrowth of his Listener talents, Luca knew he was awfully adept at collecting companions. He was innately able to put people at ease, and the fact that Marta was one of the few holdouts made him like the woman all the more. He heard ranchers felt the same about the colts they broke, valuing the spirited ones over the docile beasts that easily submitted to their will. But Marta was no colt to be broken. No, she was more of a frightened dog.
The Woven Ring (Sol's Harvest Book 1) Page 26