But a woman who can dole out life can dole out death just as easily. Clement dropped the note onto the coals and watched it shrivel, puff into flames, and become ashes. The soldier said, “It’s bad, eh?”
“The general’s certainly picked a bad time to get sick,” said Clement. “Why do I remember you? Did you know my mother?”
“I knew her pretty well. We all were on the same boat, you know. You were just a little bit of a thing. Dreadfully seasick. But tough. We all told Gabian you were going to be an officer. I guess she’d be pretty proud of you right now, Lieutenant-General.”
Proud of what?Clement wanted to ask. My lousy luck!But this was no time to be imposing her low spirits on anyone else. She said, “Thanks—I’ll try to keep that in mind. How are people doing, do you think? This news about the general is going to be hard to take, I’m afraid.”
The old man looked at her. “Do you think so, Lieutenant-General?” His words were neutral, but his tone had a sharpness to it. “I guess I’d better get back. Thanks for the warm-up.”
Clement was left alone to think about Cadmar: a courageous, handsome, powerful man with the luck of the gods, who made a reputation for himself by barging into impossible situations and then fighting his way out unscathed. Clement had adored him once, had even indulged in fantasies of a covert love affair. That was before Gilly, before Clement watched Cadmar’s casual abuse of a helpless boy, and his stupid disregard for Gilly’s vivid intelligence. After Gilly had given Clement a point of comparison, she had loved Cadmar no more. In fact, she had become determined to make herself what Cadmar was not, and she had been young enough still that reshaping herself had at least seemed possible.
Yet Cadmar was a man to stand behind. An overshadowing obstacle, he was also a substantial shield and a convenient excuse. Clement had railed against him, suffered under him, detested herself for the tricks she employed to get around him. Yet, despite the long years of repugnance, now that it seemed likely that Cadmar soon would be gone, what Clement felt was simple terror. She would be unshielded. She would be the one in front, and the lives of six thousand soldiers would entirely depend on her. If she failed, she would not have anyone else to blame.
She wanted the bloody idiot back.
She heard voices in the hallway, and lifted her head from the table. She felt empty, dazed, and then, as she stood up, dizzy.
Commander Ellid came in without bothering to knock. A soldier was standing in the hallway, with a lantern at her feet. Ellid surveyed the room, glanced at Clement, then said to the soldier, “Bring the lieutenant-general a load of wood, and find her something to eat. Kick a cook out of bed if you have to.” She shut the door behind herself and added, “Well, Lieutenant-General, don’t you look like hell.”
“I’ll take your word for it. What do you think, Ellid, is this worse than the night they burned down the garrison?”
“Much worse. There’s nothing to do. Nobody to kill, no fires to fight. Sit down, will you?”
It did seem like a good suggestion. Clement sat and pushed out the other chair with her foot. Ellid sat next to her and said, “This morning, I thought I was about to initiate your demotion. And then I was thinking you were a bloody genius. By afternoon I was thinking you had gotten yourself beaten to death. And now you’re about to become general. My day’s been pretty lousy, but it must look good to you.”
“I wouldn’t want to be you either right now,” Clement said truthfully. “Are the medics certain now that Cadmar’s dying?”
“He’s only got a few more hours, they say. They never heard of an illness moving so fast. They put themselves in quarantine, and they’re desperately hoping it’s the kind of illness that doesn’t spread.”
During Clement’s solitary wait, her apprehensiveness seemed to have consumed itself. She said, “No one else will get sick. I know it for a fact. And I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be what anyone expects.”
Ellid looked blank. “Begging your pardon, Lieutenant-General…”
“Oh, for gods’ sake, Ellid, we’re alone in the room.”
“Clement,” Ellid corrected herself. And then she seemed to think for a while. “You know some things that I don’t know. No, never mind—I doubt we’ve got time for you to explain. Tell me what you need from me.”
“Whatever I do, it won’t be what anyone expects, either. I need the whole garrison behind me, though: absolute obedience, no hesitation. Every last bloody soldier.”
“All right,” Ellid said absently, as though she were waiting for Clement to ask for something difficult.
“That’s it. You better get busy.”
“You got it already.”
“Ellid, I commanded a garrison for five years myself. I know for a fact I haven’t got it already.”
“I guess you don’t know everything. There was some fifty soldiers watching this afternoon when Cadmar smashed your face after you saved his worthless life. And every last one of them wanted to beat the hell out of him. And there’s another fifty soldiers that just came back from a tough campaign with you, and all they’ve been talking about is how hard you worked to make sure they got through it without even a touch of frostbite. And there’s not a soldier in the garrison who doesn’t remember that you’re the one who kept us all from burning to ashes this summer. You’ve got their loyalty, Clement. Because you earned it. Tell them what to do, and they’ll do it.”
Clement simply could not think of a reply. The expression on her face—what remained of her face—must have been completely blank.
Ellid got to her feet. “I’m going to assign a signal-man to you, and I’ll make sure every captain in the garrison knows that when the bugle blows, that’s your voice giving the orders.” She paused. “A favor, Clement. A little thing.”
“What?” Clement said doubtfully. It was difficult to believe any favor could be small at the moment.
“Don’t put your life at risk, eh? The last thing I want is to inherit this bloody mess from you.”
Clement said, “That’s exactly what I told Cadmar the last time he promoted me. And now look at what’s happened.”
The kitchen had gradually emptied out, and Garland, too tired to go through the trouble of finding a bed, dozed on the hearth. Down the hall, he heard the Paladin’s voice, and then he heard Medric saying urgently, “Etnil! Wake her up! Now!”
Garland grabbed Karis’s mended, cleaned, ironed, and neatly folded clothing, and ran to the parlor. Medric, standing in the doorway with a blanket trailing from his shoulders, said vigorously into the parlor, “Not only is it a mistake to try to protect her, but it’s generally a good idea to keep out of her way, under all circumstances. Yes, that’s a useful principle.” His spectacles, reflecting fire, made his eyes into a circle of light.
Emil said, “Oh, I was just waiting for you to wake up and tell me what to do. Come in, will you? Or at least allow Garland to pass. Is there a Paladin out there?”
“Yes, Emil,” said the Paladin.
“You might as well start waking up the house.”
Garland went in, to find Emil kneeling near Karis, holding his watch up to the firelight. “What time is dawn in the garrison, Garland?”
“When the bell rings. Sainnites ignore Shaftali time. But we can’t hear the garrison bells here; I think we’re too far away.”
Emil turned to the dark flock of birds. “Ravens, what time is it in the garrison?”
“An hour to dawn,” a raven replied.
“What is happening there?”
“Clement is eating.”
“Have the raven ask to be let out the window. I hope he’s recovered enough to fly.”
They waited. The raven said, “It has been done. The raven can fly.”
“The raven is to fly to the gaol and watch over the storyteller.” Emil sighed. “At least Karis will be able to answer her own questions.” He leaned over her curled, limp form. “Karis, I’m sorry, you must wake.”
&n
bsp; This gentle approach had no apparent effect. Emil resorted to vigorously shaking her. Eventually, Karis sat up and gazed dazedly at Medric, who crouched at her feet now, talking rapidly though not very coherently. She put her arms through the new linen undershirt that Garland offered and tugged it over her head. She said, “Garland, do you know what happened to my boots?”
“A cobbler’s been working on them. They’re out in the kitchen.”
“Can you find my coat, too? And my toolbox?”
Emil said worriedly, “Tell me what you’re going to do.”
She lifted her big hands, and examined them, minutely, with a certain puzzlement. “I’m going to get a tool. And I’m going to do something with it.”
Medric uttered a grunt of laughter. He said to Emil, “I’m going to go put some clothes on.”
“But what…?”
Medric looked blurrily but intently at Emil over the top of his lenses. “Oh, Emil, this is the easy part. Don’t try to understand. Just follow her.”
The hall outside Cadmar’s room was crowded with people, none of whom had any business there. At Clement’s approach, a babble of voices rose up. “Lieutenant General, we can’t put an edge on the weapons.” “We can’t repair the guns.” “The gate won’t…” “General Cadmar…?”
“I’ve had a full report from Commander Ellid,” she said. “I am entirely aware of our situation.”
Someone insisted, panicky and desperate, “But they’ll attack us at first light!”
“There’s not going to be an attack.”
“Then why are we waking up the day watch already, an hour before dawn?”
“You mean people were actually able to sleep?” She looked at them, eyebrows raised, until a few of them, at least, managed crooked smiles. “Now what are all of you doing here? You think you’re the only ones who are worried? And that if you could just talk to someone in charge, something would be done about it?”
Their lingering mutter of voices fell silent. She said, “We’re in a bad position; there’s no doubt about that. Those people at the gate yesterday, they wanted to make an impression, and they’ve made one. But what kind of strategy is that? To hit us hard and then walk away? They don’t intend to fight us! They’ll be coming back, but now we’ve had time to think, they’ll be wanting to talk again. Should an entire garrison go into a panic over a simple conversation?”
After a silence, one of the frightened soldiers said, “What kind of conversation?”
“Hell, I don’t know. But I cantalk—you all know that.”
There was a startled silence, and then a burst of laughter. The soldiers began to leave, but they wanted to touch her first, as though she were some kind of luck charm. It took some time for the hall to empty. When they had finally dispersed, Clement opened Cadmar’s door and went in. She said to the startled medics, “I just want to see him. I won’t touch him.”
A window had been cracked open despite the cold, but it didn’t do much to relieve the ungodly stink of the room. Cadmar lay quiet in a neat bed, garishly illuminated by bright lamps. Everyone loses at least one battle,thought Clement, looking down at the fallen mountain of a man. Perhaps Cadmar had forgotten that, or had chosen to never know that one day he would be completely outmatched. “By a flea, eh?” she said soberly. “I guess I’ll have to take that as a warning.”
A medic said, “There are never any fleas at midwinter, because of the cold. It’s very strange.”
“Very strange,” she agreed.
Cadmar struggled for a breath and then lay still again.
She reminded herself again that he had helped her, taught her, and supported her rise. But it all seemed long ago. She turned away.
“I’ll be waiting in the hall,” she said.
The light was rising. The ravens flew up in a crowd, uttering sharp cries that seemed like curses. They wheeled into the paling sky. One by one, as people followed the ravens out the narrow door, they looked up to check the time and weather. Garland thought it looked to be a fair day, tolerably cold but bright for once. Leeba, still half asleep in J’han’s arms, peered up at the sky like everyone else. “Where is the sun?” she asked.
“It’s coming up over there.” He pointed eastward.
She looked towards the east in sleepy amazement. “Why?” she asked.
Karis was already walking away down the street, bare-headed, with her coat unbuttoned. In her right hand she held a gigantic hammer, its handle worn to fit her hand, scorched black by the heat of the metal it had shaped over many years. She wore no gloves. There was no time for Garland to run back in and find some for her.
At Karis’s elbows, Norina and Emil took big steps to keep up with her. The others crowded along behind: the Paladins, adjusting their weapons and tightening up their buckles, Medric, waving ink-stained fingers and talking excitedly to no one in particular, J’han, attempting to explain the sunrise to his daughter, and Garland, with his pockets crammed with apples and biscuits and a nice wedge of cheese, in case anyone became hungry.
They turned onto the main street. Citizens still in their night-clothes peered out their front doors at them. People who had kept watch on the street corners all night trotted up to talk with Mabin, and then ran off, on what errands Garland could not guess.
The city smelled delicious, of roasted meat, onions, pastry crust, cinnamon and burnt sugar.
J’han said vaguely, “But this isn’t a feast day.”
“It’s a new feast day. The feast of following without knowing why.”
“Rabbit wants to walk,” Leeba declared.
“We’re practically running,” J’han said to her, more than a little out of breath. “Tell your rabbit to be patient.”
“Rabbit knows.”
“Well, tell the lizard, then. I don’t think heknows.”
Leeba held the wooden lizard, and the stuffed rabbit peeked out of the front of her coat. She shook the lizard roughly and told him to be patient and to stop complaining.
The trotted down the street. As they drew close to the garrison, the dawn bell began to ring.
Clement had set a chair under an unshuttered, east-facing window and had watched as the darkness became light. The signal-man squatted nearby with his back against the wall. The bugle hanging around his neck began to gleam, as though it were collecting every bit of this winter dawn’s sparse light.
The dawn bell rang. Clement stood up abruptly and paced down the hallway, cursing under her breath.
That Clement’s first words to the G’deon would be an explanation of why and how the storyteller had died in their custody was intolerable. What Emil had said about the necessity of the woman’s death had made no sense and did not matter.
Cadmar’s door opened. A haggard medic looked for her. “General Clement,” he said. “General Cadmar is dead.”
“Come with me!” she said to the signal-man. And she ran down the hollow hall, out the door, down the ice-slippery steps and into the road.
The garrison was awake. She felt it: coiled, alert, listening.
The snow that was piled high on either side of the road made the path through seem like a cave, a tunnel, paved with extraordinarily slippery stones. Somehow, Clement managed not to fall.
In the distant yard that abutted the outer wall, four soldiers stood. In the middle of their circle, a slim gray figure knelt and obediently lay her head upon the block.
Clement shouted at the signal man, “Stand down!” It was an order that should stop even a battle-mad soldier mid-stride, mid-blow. Gasping for breath, the bugler brought the bugle to his lips, but the noise that came out was an unrecognizable spurt of sound that to any listener would seem a meaningless accident.
The sky seemed full of ravens.
“Hell!” Clement cried helplessly. “Do not kill her! Do not kill her!” Her voice echoed back at her.
The ax rose. The ax fell.
The garrison wall burst open.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Squatting
on her heels, Zanja read Medric’s book until the water in her pot boiled. She had read the book many times, but it seemed different every time she read it. When the water boiled, she shut the book and steeped her tea. As she looked up from the porcelain pot with a poured cup of tea in her hand, she noticed the owl perched atop a stone, gazing at her. The owl had the passionless, infinite eyes of a god. Surely, Zanja thought, the land in which she endlessly traveled was a place in the owl’s mind.
“Salos’a, is it finally time for me to die?” she asked. The owl said, “You die painfully at every crossing. Yet you have never refused to cross. Why is that?” Zanja said, “Because it is my duty to my people.” “Speak again,” said the owl. “The truth this time.” “Because you named me a crosser of boundaries when I became a katrim.”
“Speak again,” said the owl. “More accurately.” Zanja thought, and said at last, “Because crossing boundaries gives me joy.”
“That is a good reason,” said the owl. “Remember it.”
When Karis struck the wall, the hammer-head fractured like glass. The hammer handle shattered to splinters. Pieces of the hammer exploded out from Karis’s hand, burning as they flew from shadow into sunlight. The sound of that blow reverberated in Garland’s head. The feeling of it shook his joints loose, so he felt that he would collapse; that nothing could possibly remain standing.
The stones of the wall simply let loose of each other. The wall fell down before Karis, nearly obscuring her in a shimmering cloud of shattered mortar and dislodged snow. Through the dust, Garland caught occasional glimpses of her: legs straddled, hands open, feet buried in restless rubble.
Leeba shrieked wildly, “Look! Look at that! Oh!” She held the wooden lizard over her head, so that he could see. Stones crashed, cracked, and clattered. Beyond this racket, a bugle was sounding. Garland shouldered his way through the awestruck Paladins to Emil, on whose dust-caked face glowed the sunlight that broke through the widening breach in the wall.
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