• • •
Ker’s mouth hadn’t felt this dry since she’d been summoned to Matriarch. It couldn’t be much more than a month ago, but it seemed like another lifetime. Faro Sweetwater was seated behind her worktable, as if she hadn’t moved since yesterday. The Faro didn’t actually smile as she waved Ker to the chair at the end of the table to her left, but her face looked friendly at least. So did the face of Surm Barlot, seated at the far end of the table, on the Faro’s right.
“Forgive my early summons, Talent Nast. You have eaten, and rested?”
“Yes, Faro.”
“We are being joined by my Ruby Cohort Leader, Wilk Silvertrees, and the Eagle Camp Commandant, Mekner Rost. Before they arrive, can we agree to discuss your passage through the mines as simply that, a journey through the mines?”
“I—” Ker blinked and shut her mouth.
“I see.” The Faro raised her hand, palm out. “Say no more—I beg your pardon, I could have phrased that better. So the inability to mention or discuss the Feelers in the Serpents Teeth applies to you as well.”
“He told you?” She knew it.
“Only because I knew how to ask. Please do not be concerned; he will not tell anyone else. And before you can ask, I only knew how to ask him because I am myself privy to the Feelers’ secret. Given what I already know, may I try asking you some questions?”
Ker closed her eyes. “Go ahead.”
“Had you heard of this prophecy before?”
Ker’s mouth opened in automatic response to the Faro’s authoritative tone, but no words came out. She spread her hands.
“Ah, I see. I expect that you can write, Candidate?”
A tap at the door saved Ker from having to answer. Just as well, since she didn’t know what her answer would have been. Ker laced her fingers together on the top of the table as two older men walked in.
As Surm Barlot performed the introductions, Ker studied each man in turn. Wilk Silvertrees was a big bear of a man, as tall as Tel Cursar and easily three times around. His hair was still thick, but almost completely gray, and cropped as short as the Faro’s. Mekner Rost, the Camp Commandant, wore Eagle Wing green. A short bull of a man, thick through the shoulders, his face showing a dark stain of beard even though he was closely shaven. It was he who went to the side table under the window and poured wine, bringing the first cup to the Faro, and the last to Ker.
“Mother, Daughter, and Son, smile on our efforts, today and all days,” the man said. Ker lifted her cup to her lips and took a ritual sip. She usually found wine too sour for her taste. The Faro, the Laxtor, and Wilk Silvertrees all lifted their glasses, but then allowed a few drops to fall to the floor rather than drinking.
Jossists, she thought. Not unusual in the Wings, but most weren’t so strict about avoiding alcohol.
“The first order of business is to confirm the deaths of the Luqs and her family,” the Faro said when the cups were back on the table. “We must know whether anyone of royal blood escaped or is in hiding, and if so, we must rescue them.”
How are you planning on rescuing them, if they’re in hiding? Ker knew better than to ask her question aloud. She knew why everyone was so concerned. Talents didn’t spend all the time they were training learning how to use their gift. Since they might be assigned anywhere, there were lessons on behavior and manners, and in politics, history, and the law. The first Luqs, Jurianol the Unifier, had been Faro of what was now the Eagle Wing, and rose to the throne—or, as some said, created the throne under her—with the backing of both the military and the Halls of Law. Since then, custom and careful management had kept the throne more or less in the hands of her descendants. What would happen if there were no such person left? Who would the Wings follow? Ker shivered.
“I understood the pass was closed.” Wilk Silvertrees’ voice rumbled like a battle drum.
“We can send a small party through the mines, by the route Tel Cursar and Talent Nast used,” the Faro said.
“I volunteer to lead the party,” Silvertrees said.
The Faro looked up, her eyes sparkling. “I need you here, Cohort Leader. You are the only senior officer I have left.” The man took a deep breath and nodded. Was he blushing?
“Talent Nast?”
Ker jerked her attention back to the Faro, her ears growing hot as she realized it wasn’t the first time the woman had said her name.
“I asked if you had any way to help us with this question.”
“I don’t think so, Faro,” she began, when her eye was caught by movement across the table. The Camp Commandant was turning a ring over and over on his index finger. Suddenly Ker was back in her seat next to Barid in Questin Hall, watching the Leader of the Bear Wing’s Carnelian Cohort place a signet ring on the table in front of Matriarch.
Ker licked her lips. “Does anyone here have any keepsakes or tokens from the royal family?”
The Faro looked at Surm with eyebrows raised. The Laxtor leaned back in his chair, mouth twisted to one side. “Not that I’ve heard,” he said. “And surely no one would keep silent about such a thing.”
“Nevertheless, have your Company Commanders ask.”
Mekner Rost immediately stood and went to the door, where he gave instructions to the orderly in the outer room. The Faro had turned back to Ker. “It’s your thought that such an object would give you information about the royals?”
“I’m good with objects.” Ker explained how Matriarch had Flashed Prince Hanlor’s ring.
Juria’s eyebrows drew down in a vee. “Ah, yes. I had forgotten about Jen Sha’na’s ring.”
“My Faro, your pardon.” Everyone looked at Wilk Silvertrees. “Even if we lack for something that comes directly from the hands of any present member of the royal family, what of the standard?”
The Faro smiled. “If the tale is true, you mean?”
“What tale?” Ker knew what they were talking about. The standard of the Wing, mounted on a long straight pole of ash wood, decorated with honors, and carried wherever the Wing went. During battle, it marked where the Faro stood. “Even if some of the honors were presented by a royal, there wouldn’t be enough personal connection for me to Flash what we need to know.”
“Not the honors, the pole.” Juria Sweetwater’s smile broadened. “Tradition has it that the pole has never been broken, that it is still the original, dating to when the Bear Wing was first formed. There are stains on the pole supposed to be the blood of Rolian the Lawgiver, from when he was just the prince, not the heir, and was the standard-bearer for the Wing.”
“He saved the standard,” Surm Barlot said. “Even though he was injured, he managed to keep hold of it, and keep it out of enemy hands. The blood was never cleaned off.”
Tradition has it, Ker thought. Supposed to be. “So at least in theory,” she said, “I should be able to Flash the standard?”
“Exactly. Can you do it?”
Ker looked at the hopeful faces around her. Even sour Wilk Silvertrees managed to look less forbidding. “I can try.”
“Allow me.” Wilk Silvertrees stood up. “If you will follow me, Talent Nast, I can escort you to the shrine room.”
“A moment, Cohort Leader. I have need of your counsel here. I believe Kalter Gulder is still outside; he may escort the Talent.” The Faro turned to Ker. “If you would be so good?”
Ker found the door open and Jak Gulder at her elbow almost as soon as she’d stood up. So he was delegated to keep an eye on her.
• • •
The door was barely closed behind the Talent and her escort when Wilk Silvertrees turned to the Faro. “This could be a great opportunity for you, my Faro.”
Juria Sweetwater looked at the grizzled man in front of her, his eyes, as so often, lit by a fire from within. “If I had any ambitions in that way, perhaps.”
“If you don’t, there
are others who might.” Typical of Surm, to be so practical. It wouldn’t be the first time that the throne had been taken by the closest one with the most military backing—everyone knew old Jurianol, the first Luqs and Juria’s namesake, had created the position, with her Battle Wing behind her to convince others it was a good idea. That had been generations ago, but no Faro forgot it.
“Don’t forget, anyone with ideas in that quarter would still need to deal with the Halians,” Juria said.
“You would make a fine Luqs, my Faro. Better than many others, if it should come to that.” Wilk looked at Surm and Mekner Rost, as if daring them to disagree.
Juria smiled and waved around the room. “What, and leave all this?”
• • •
“Sorry about this,” Ker said, as they exited the Faro’s offices. “I’m sure you have other duties.”
“Escorting you is one of my duties.”
“Would you be escorting me if I were Celian, or one of her colleagues?”
He didn’t exactly stop, but there was a hesitation in his step. “You know their names?”
Did he know what a stupid question that was? Or was he playing some sort of game? He’d been the one who’d sent Wynn with these clothes.
“I am a Talent,” she said finally. “I’m living in the same rooms they used.” She gestured at herself. “I’m wearing their clothes. Did you think I wouldn’t know anything about them?”
“You told the Faro you weren’t very good with people.” Was she imagining suspicion in his tone? Now that she was dressed as a Talent, would people treat her differently? The way Tel had in the kitchen when they first met?
“Not at Flashing them directly, no. But I can Flash information from the things they owned and touched. Isn’t that why you want me to Flash the standard?”
Shouts erupted around the north corner of the stores building before Jak could answer, shouts, and the unmistakable sound of running feet.
“Wait here,” Jak called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner, heading into the cleared yard in front of the building’s main doors.
“Oh, that’s likely.” Ker set off after him. Was she a Talent, or wasn’t she? She couldn’t let him—or anyone else—think they could order her around.
Soldiers were running up the central avenue toward the main gate from all directions. She was right behind Jak as he reached the cluster of soldiers standing near the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the watchtower that guarded the right side of the gate. Some were looking upward, while others were watching the runner heading for the administrative barracks. Two of these were answering Jak’s questions.
“Kerida.”
At the touch on her elbow Ker spun around, fists raised, relaxing only when she saw it was Tel Cursar. She tilted her head back to get a good look at him and almost returned his smile until she remembered she was still angry with him.
“What do you want? Don’t you know that the lower ranks aren’t supposed to associate with Talents?” His smile faded so fast Ker felt ashamed. But not too ashamed to add, “Looking for something else to tell on me?”
His hand dropped from her arm as he licked his lips and swallowed nervously. “Look, I wish it didn’t have to be this way. Maybe in a different time and place I could have held my tongue, but in this place, and at this time, what you and I want isn’t particularly important.”
Ker felt her face go hot, and her hands clenched. She had worked that out for herself, though she didn’t relish being told so bluntly. She didn’t relish having to be reminded where her loyalties should be. She took a deep breath through her nose. “You know, that was a good exit line. You should have spun around on your heel and gone stalking off. Now you’ve gone and wasted it.”
Tel looked away, but his shoulders had relaxed. “The Faro already knew about the . . . the mines,” he murmured. “Not from me, she already knew.”
“I figured that out for myself. Did she tell you how she knows about them?”
Tel shook his head.
“Typical. We’re supposed to report all we know, but it’s all right for them to have secrets.”
Tel looked at her, the corners of his mouth turning up. Just for a moment, they were two ordinary soldiers, griping about officers.
“They’ve put me in the Talents’ quarters,” she said, even as she realized he must have known that. “What about you?”
Tel looked over his shoulder again. With his height, he had a good view of what was going on at the gate. The Camp Commandant had arrived and was mounting the steps.
Tel turned back to her. “They’ve got me in the couriers’ room,” he said, referring to the room kept ready for those mounted soldiers who carried messages for the military, and the Polity. It was the closest thing any camp had to guest quarters for non-officers.
“Makes sense,” Ker said. And it did. Where else would they put someone who was a soldier, but wasn’t part of any Company? Though Tel didn’t seem very comfortable with the idea. “Do you know what they’re going to do with you?”
His face stiffened. “No one’s really had time to think about me yet.” His left shoulder lifted and dropped.
Ker pushed her hands into her sleeves. “We can’t talk here,” she said. “Come to my rooms if you won’t be missed.”
Tel’s lips parted but Ker never found out what he was going to say.
“Hey, Cursar! To me!”
The Camp Commandant’s assistant waved Tel over to the tower. Ker started up the stairs with him, but Jak Gulder was there and stopped her.
“Much too dangerous for you, Talent. They look to be out of archery range, but we can’t be too careful.”
Ker bit back her response. Clearly, she hadn’t completely considered what being the only available Talent meant.
“This way if you please, Talent Nast.”
Ker gritted her teeth and turned. She wasn’t moving from this spot until she found out what was going on. Even if they wouldn’t let her up on the rampart, surely she was safe enough down here? But when Ker turned to see who’d spoken to her, she found Wynn Martan, her eyes sparkling a little too much for her very serious face.
“If you’d come with me, please, Talent.” A waggle of the eyebrows convinced Ker to do just that.
“We can see more from over here anyway,” Wynn confided in a near whisper as she led Ker to one of the smaller towers which flanked the main gate, positioned to allow archers to fire on anyone making a direct assault on it. Once up the ladder, Ker found someone had erected a useful, though probably nonregulation windbreak. Two young soldiers, one with a flat nose, the other with hair almost as red as Wynn’s, grinned and made room for them both.
“What’s the problem?” Wynn was asking.
“They’re dressed wrong,” Flatnose said. “Some are wearing Eagle colors, some Bear. Even if they were refugees from the same conflict, they’d line up with their own, surely, not stand all mixed up like that.”
It took Ker a minute to see what he was talking about, but he was right. There were the purple tunics of Bears, with green tunics mixed in among them. And she wasn’t so sure they were out of arrow range.
“Come closer and identify yourself, soldier!” Mekner Rost, the Camp Commandant, must have run here from his meeting with the Faro.
“I’m Palo Sixgrass. I was Red Company Commander in the Carnelian Cohort of Bears,” the man standing out in the field said. “I’m here on orders from the council to speak to the Laxtor.”
“That’s why they wanted your friend,” Flatnose said. “If they’re from the same Cohort, he should recognize the man.”
“The Faro is coming herself to speak to you,” Mekner Rost said.
“Is she now? Well, she can keep her speech to herself. I’ll speak only to the Laxtor.”
An almost audible growl floated over the soldiers on the wall, spre
ading to those on the ground as what the man had said was passed back. No one spoke in that tone about a Battle Wing’s Faro and got away with it.
Glancing around, Ker saw that Juria Sweetwater had arrived at the bottom of the steps leading up to the ramparts. It was obvious she’d heard what the man had said, and Ker saw Surm Barlot the Laxtor listening to her, nodding, the smile on his face fixed as if he’d forgotten it was there. The Faro signaled to those higher on the steps, and the result of her instructions became clear when the next voice Ker heard was Tel’s.
“Palo! Palo Sixgrass, it’s Tel Cursar. Where’s the Cohort Commander? Where’s Jen Sha’na? Didn’t she make it?”
“That you, Cursar? Didn’t know you’d got away. Well, you might have waited and saved yourself the trouble. It’s to save you all from the rule of women that we’ve come.”
The murmur that swept over those listening was more puzzled now than offended. What did “rule of women” mean? Did he mean the Luqs?
A sudden chill settled on Ker’s skin. Dead women’s uniforms. But no women. Is that why they’d killed the Luqs? Because she was a woman? But hadn’t they killed all the royals?
The man was still speaking.
“Do none of you understand?” There was a flicker of white teeth in the man’s face as he smiled. “All the witches are gone. Beheaded and burned. We’re all free now.”
He went on talking, but Ker didn’t hear anymore. She’d never heard the word “witches” before, but she knew what it meant. She knew who’d been beheaded and burned.
Witches meant Talents. She sat down, crouching below the edge of the parapet, even though the windbreak concealed her. Dimly, she realized that Wynn and her two friends were readying their bows. There was a new voice now, the voice of Surm Barlot. Ker blinked. The Faro was standing still as a statue at the bottom of the stairs, listening with a calm face as her Laxtor spoke. The Ruby Cohort Leader, Wilk Silvertrees, stood next to her, his face like a stone and his hand on his sword.
Ker turned as a man came pounding up the nearby stairs. He was calling as he came, and whether it was the man’s own noise, or the pounding of her heart, it took Ker a minute to understand what he was yelling.
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