The Water Road

by JD Byrne

  “Disturbing,” Gillem said, finishing the thought. Several of the others nodded in agreement.

  “Disturbing?” the young man beside Gillem said, clearly agitated. “Is that all you can say? If she is correct, the Triumvirate leaders have been systematically provoking slaughter as a matter of policy! Whatever threat the Neldathi may have been to the north at one point, this goes much too far.”

  The group erupted in discussion, the sound of disparate voices and crosstalk making it impossible for Strefer to understand any of what was said. Finally, Gillem raised his hands and quieted his colleagues. “The meaning of all this is something we will have much time to discuss. We thank you for sharing this knowledge with us, Strefer Quants. What is it that you expect in return?”

  Strefer stood silently for a moment as she felt a great weight lifting off her shoulders. “First Councilor, the reputation of your great city amongst Altrerians is unrivaled. Your people are rightly admired for their dedication to truth and knowledge. I would ask that you use that reputation, as well as your other resources, to help me share this knowledge I have with the rest of the world. The people have a right to know what has been happening all these years.”

  Gillem sat for a moment, then looked left and right to the others for some kind of comment. There was none. “We have your proposal,” he said, turning back to Strefer. “If you will leave us for a while, we shall determine what is to be done.”

  Strefer bowed—she couldn’t think of a more appropriate gesture—then turned and walked back up the aisle through the curtain into the foyer. She hoped they didn’t see the massive smile she wore on her face.

  ~~~~~

  The foyer was empty when Strefer returned. She hoped Forlahn would be there, waiting to hear how everything went, but she acknowledged that might have been wishful thinking on her part. On the other hand, she definitely expected Wylph to be there, if for no other reason than to keep her from roaming around the city unattended. Regardless, she decided it would be a bad move to wander too far away on her own and threw herself into an oversized wooden chair in the corner of the room.

  Wylph came through the door in a few moments. “They are deliberating, I assume?”

  She nodded. “How long does it usually take?”

  Wylph laughed. “There is no usual when it comes to the council’s deliberations. If you made only a minor request, one that requires only three of the five councilors to agree, then it will not take very long.”

  That did not sound like the situation Strefer was in. “What if it’s a major request?” she asked.

  “If you asked a great thing of the council, the kind that might make danger for the city or change the way it works, then the decision of the council must be unanimous. Those deliberations…take longer.”

  “I can imagine. When was the last time the council had to make a major decision like that?”

  Wylph thought for a moment. “Not in my lifetime, at least that I can remember. The last might have been when the Confederation was formed. Some argued that we should be part of the Confederation, on equal terms with the seven cities.”

  That surprised Strefer. Everything she had heard about Oberton, and what she had seen with her own eyes, suggested that they wanted little to do with life outside the city. She could not imagine them taking part in the rough politics of the Confederation. “Really?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Wylph said, surprised that she asked. “It was a great debate. The presentations from the supporters and opponents of the idea each took several days. Deliberations took several weeks.”

  Strefer sunk back in her chair. Weeks? What was she supposed to do with herself while the weeks went on? And what if, after all that time, they turned her down because one council member held out against the rest? Her mind spun with the possibilities.

  “I should say, for your information,” Wylph said, “the reason I wasn’t here when you finished with the council was that I went to check on your Sentinel friend. He is being seen to by our best physicians. They say the wound is severe and could have been much worse, had he not received the treatment he has already. He should make a full recovery.”

  “I suppose he and I both owe our lives to Forlahn, then.”

  “Indeed,” Wylph said with a touch of derision.

  After several silent moments, Gillem walked through the curtain. Wylph stiffened to attention. Strefer, figuring it was better to err on the side of formality, sprung to her feet and bowed slightly.

  “Young lady, what you have presented to us is a very serious matter,” he said, the strain of the debate thus far evident on his face. “It has potential repercussions well beyond our small city.”

  Strefer felt her stomach sink. The cause was lost. She and Rurek would be sent on their way before nightfall, she was certain.

  It must have shown on her face. “No, no, do not despair,” Gillem said, his posture softening and his voice taking on a gentle, fatherly tone. “I have not come to bring you bad news. I have only come to tell you that it will be some time before the council can give you an answer.”

  “Yes, First Councilor,” she said. “Wylph explained to me that sometimes, when matters of such gravity are involved, that the council might take several weeks to come to a decision.”

  “Did he?” He looked at Wylph, who nodded and looked sheepish for sharing that information. “Thank you for explaining that to our guest, Wylph.” He turned back to Strefer. “So, as you understand, it is not unusual for us to take some time before coming to a decision. In the meantime, you and your party are welcome here as our guests. Or, if you prefer, you may go on your way and return at a later time.”

  To Strefer it did not seem like much of a choice. Oberton was a strange city with odd customs, but at least it was safe. And it would be easier for Rurek to recover if they remained in one place for a while. Besides, where else were they to go? Back into the woods to be set upon by bandits or who knows what again? “I can’t speak for Forlahn or his son, but as to myself and Rurek, we would be honored to stay as your guests. Thank you for your kind offer, First Councilor.”

  “Very well,” the old man said. “Wylph, go find lodging for our guests. Find the rifleman and see if he wishes to stay, as well. If he does, tell him he may retrieve his weapons from the hiding place below.”

  Wylph nodded in assent, but he did not leave.

  “Do it now,” Gillem said, a bit frustrated. “I have a private matter I wish to discuss with the young lady. It will only take a moment.”

  Wylph nodded again and turned for the door. “I’ll return when I have found lodgings for you and your party,” he said over his shoulder, and he hustled outside.

  Gillem walked over to Strefer and leaned in closely to her. “I should not tell you this, but I will,” he said in a whisper. “I have every reason to believe that the council will approve your proposal.”

  Strefer felt like a bolt of energy shot through her. All her tired bones and aching muscles were gone.

  “However, at this point, there is one strong holdout. As Wylph no doubt told you, the council must be unanimous on this decision. I expect he will be overcome, but it will take some time. In the meantime, if I were you, young lady, I would spend the time trying to determine how best to present this information to the public.”

  Strefer realized she had not given the matter much thought. “I thought you could just print copies of the notebook. Isn’t that enough?”

  He shook his head. “I do not think so. It will need to be presented in historical context, which some of my brethren can help provide. But it will also need to be placed in the context of how this information was found. It would be easy for the Triumvirate to brand a simple copy of the notebook as a fraud. However, once it becomes something more than a dry historical document…” he let the sentence trail off.

  “I see your point,” Strefer said. “Besides, a stale historical document won’t attract much attention amongst the general public, will it?”

  Gillem
smiled at her. “You are the journalist, Strefer, not I. You know the audience you need to reach, what they want, and how to give it to them.”

  Strefer sighed. “In other words, I need to sell this great historical crime just like I’ve sold countless petty offenses and scandals since I left the Guildlands.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m afraid you are right, First Councilor. Thank you for your advice. And your hospitality.”

  “You are very welcome for both, young lady,” he said, turning to leave. Before he reached the curtains he stopped and turned. “Can I give you one final piece of advice?”

  “Of course.”

  “Go write your story, Strefer Quants. Be accurate. Be truthful. But, above all, be passionate.” With that, he disappeared back into the council hall.

  Chapter 28

  Antrey had been so busy since she made contact with the Dost that she had not fully appreciated the changing weather around her. She had no memory from her childhood of what winter was like south of the Water Road. Winters in Tolenor were mild, as the city was protected from the extreme cold by the warm trade winds blowing in from the north. She had never had to worry about the cold before.

  Now the iciness was inescapable. What she had first noticed as a brisk chill in the air had turned into a bitter, clinging frost. Even during the day, when the sun provided some relief, the cold was hard to ignore. At night, under the moon and with the winds picking up, it was nearly unbearable. Antrey did the best she could, bundled up against the elements while trying not to look too out of place.

  In spite of the turn in the weather, or maybe because of it, Antrey found herself wandering alone each night when the amalgam of clans she led came to rest. It was a way to clear her thoughts and assess the situation away from the chatter of her advisors. They had their talents, she admitted, and Antrey relied on them a great deal. But the ultimate burden of leadership, of being the final voice on matters that affected tens of thousands, rested only on her shoulders. She had taken it up voluntarily and could not escape it now.

  They had been engaged in a long dance of war with the enemy for more than six weeks. Each massive body of warriors would slip in and out of the mountain passes and dense forests. One side would feint in one direction, drawing the other in, only to finally take the opposite tack. There had been skirmishes. Blood had been shed. Not much, but a line had been crossed. Antrey knew that the Degans, as she had taken to calling them, wanted more.

  They wanted a pitched battle. They were certain, either of their own superiority or the skittishness of Antrey’s warriors once the fighting was joined. More and more, Antrey’s advisors wanted the battle to come as well, to crush the Degans once and for all. Antrey knew it was necessary, but she wished for some other way to prove herself. A crushing defeat would lead to smaller numbers to turn north. She did not need vanquished enemies, she needed firm allies. There had to be some way to make that happen.

  On her strolls, Antrey took some comfort in seeing that many of those around her were dealing with the pressure more easily. Her advisors and their confidants were buried in the minutiae of the campaign, while the warriors themselves were taking the time learning about one another’s clans. There had been, perhaps inevitably, some minor squabbles when warriors from different clans were thrust together in the column. But the fights and recriminations always burned out before anyone was seriously hurt.

  Antrey had done her part to ease tensions by reintroducing to these fighters an ancient Neldathi sport called pasro, about which she learned from the Speakers of Time. Pasro was played by teams of between four and eight players, allowing the size of the game to rise and fall to fit the number of people involved in the dispute. The object of the game was for each team to move a certain totem—had one of the craftsmen create an oblong leather pouch filled with something to give it weight—from one team’s territory to the other. Violence was encouraged, but limited by a kel who supervised the proceedings. The contest was best two out of three, with the first to carry the totem into the other team’s territory twice being the winner. It seemed to help as an outlet for what otherwise might be bloodshed and also boosted morale among the warriors.

  Of her inner circle, only Naath looked like he would rather be somewhere else. One day, when the column had paused for a few days’ rest, she found him perched on a hillside, basking in the afternoon sun.

  “Do you think it makes you warmer if you just think of the sun?” she asked as she walked up beside him.

  “I’d say not, most likely,” he said, scraping away some melting snow to offer her a seat beside him. “You have to sit in the sun and think of home. Assuming home is someplace warmer than it is here.”

  Antrey waved away the offer to sit down, then she turned the focus of the conversation. “Is it warm this time of year in your home?”

  “Very much,” he said with a content sigh and a smile creeping across his face. “Amereh is about two-thirds of the way up the Slaisal Island chain, almost as far north as you can get. There are a few smaller islands further off the coast, but they’re further south.”

  “Is it like the Badlands?” she asked. She had read some of the bare, dry, hot lands to the north of the Rivers Innis and Adon, where the Azkiri roamed. By comparison, she knew little of the Slaisals.

  “Oh no, not at all. The islands, particularly the ones further away from the mainland, like Amereh, are like small mountains thrust out of the sea. They’re covered with thick green forests that climb up one side of the mountain and then run down the other. It’s warm all year round and the air is very moist, not at all like the Badlands. It’s paradise,” he said, looking longingly off into the distance.

  “It sounds lovely,” Antrey said. “I suppose I’d have some fond memories of my homeland, too, if I actually had one.”

  “What about here?” He turned his attention to Antrey. “Isn’t this your home?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I was never accepted by the Kohar when I was a child. That’s why I had to go to Tolenor in the first place. That’s where I spent most of my life. It was my home. Until I…” her voice trailed off.

  Naath let the silence hang between them for a moment. “I understand that it must be a painful thing for you to think about, Antrey,” he said finally. “But you can’t beat yourself down with it all the time. I never knew Alban. I can’t begin to say what kind of a man he was. I can only take your word that he was a good man. But don’t forget that he was part of a rotten system. He played a major role in covering up what the Triumvirate has been doing to these people.” He gestured behind him, towards the camp. “If it weren’t for that moment of rage, you never would’ve made it this far. You need to embrace what you’ve done and why you did it. That’s the only way that this whole enterprise will work.”

  He was right. Whatever Alban had meant to her at a personal level, he played a role in the evil she had discovered. Her mind reminded her of that. But her heart still ached for what she had done. Antrey shook her head. “I wonder if this is all leading to some cataclysm, something that I can’t control, that I can’t make right. Who am I to think I could lead these people? I’m just a woman with blood on her hands trying to find some way to give the biggest mistake of her life some meaning.”

  Naath put a firm, comforting hand on her shoulder. “Who else can do it? You’ve seen how the clans behave around one another. If any one of them tried to do what you are doing, tried to lead, it would be bloody chaos.”

  She looked into his eyes. “But what if I can’t? What if I have no heart for battle? No head for strategy? No will to see this through?”

  “You’ve come this far,” he said. “Would someone without heart have made it through the mountains in the freezing snow? Would someone who did not know strategy have been able to stand with the clan leaders and convince them of your plan? Would someone with no will have escaped from Tolenor in the first place? I don’t know how this will all turn out, Antrey, but I know that the person who
is best suited to lead is you.”

  Antrey said nothing. She hoped he was right. He needed him to be right, but still could not convince herself. She decided to return to a more pleasant topic.

  “If Amereh is so beautiful, warm, and wonderful, then whatever brought you here?” she asked.

  “Work, of course,” he said with a halfhearted laugh. “Amereh is beautiful. But it is also small and poor. Unless you want to make a life with fish—catching them, gutting them, selling them—there isn’t much there. It is an easier place to leave than you might imagine.”

  “It sounds so easy. Don’t you miss it, sailing around down here?”

  “Of course I do. At times, anyway. Times likes this,” he said, holding an open hand up to the slate-gray sky, which had begun to spit snow. “When the only water to be found is ice, even in the rivers and lakes.” He shuddered at the thought.

  Antrey nodded sympathetically, then something jumped into her mind. “Frozen lakes,” she said to herself several times, ignoring Naath’s attempts to figure out what she was talking about.

  ~~~~~

  “Where is what?” Birkthir asked, completely puzzled.

  “A lake,” Antrey said, for the third time. “A frozen lake. Is there one anywhere nearby?”

  The war leader stood there speechless, his confused gaze met by equally baffled looks from Hirrek and Kajtan. “I am certain there is one somewhere, jeyn,” he said finally. “Perhaps if you would share your mind with us, give us some idea…”

  She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “There’s no point, unless there’s a frozen lake somewhere nearby.” She turned and surveyed the puzzled looks of the rest of her inner circle. Only Naath appeared to have some idea what she had in mind. “Do none of you have an answer? This isn’t a difficult question.”

  “Your forgiveness, jeyn,” Hirrek said. “We are within the Volakeyn territory. Its contours are not familiar to us.”