Fleeing Peace

by Sherwood Smith

  Liere was relieved that Devon had not really comprehended the horror of Loss Harthadaun. Liere did not want to burden her with the knowledge, either. What would be the point? But it made her determined about her own vow.

  “I’m glad you two know each other,” she said. “Devon, why don’t you go with Rel? You see what happens to people around me.” She stopped as sorrow crashed through her fragile control yet again. She forced the words out: “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “So you are going to continue on?” Rel asked.

  Liere’s lips trembled. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but tears leaked through, running down her smoke-grimed face. Her chest heaved and her fists clenched. The other two could feel her struggle to get control.

  When she opened her eyes, her voice was flat. “I have to. I just have to be faster, so I won’t . . . it’s my fault, because we stayed . . . I . . .”

  “Liere,” Rel said, implacable as a mountain. “What happened yesterday is not your fault. You did not give those orders. Siamis did. Do not put yourself in his place.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “Yes.” He saw the effect of that, and went on. “I’m already on every capital list they’ve got. So’re the Knights. Think, Sartora. How can you keep them from torching another city?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, and there were fresh tears.

  “By being fast.” Rel leaned toward her, his smile grim. “If they stop to hit one town, you free four more. Very fast.” His smile widened to show even white teeth. “I may not know magic or mysterious mind-matters, but I can move very, very fast.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  When Dtheldevor woke up, at Senrid’s urging the three kids decided to sneak back to Roth Drael to have a listen.

  The rain hadn’t ceased. It was heavier than before, which was an aid for spies.

  Leander took the lead.

  His woodcraft, with the help of prowling Fens, got them close. Limited visibility plus Leander and Dtheldevor’s knowledge of now-routine sentry patterns got them through what Senrid observed to be a nonexistent outer perimeter.

  “Most of ‘em are gone,” he breathed, wiping wet hair out of his face and blinking away the rain.

  “Huh?” Leander pointed to the Norsunder guards in the usual places.

  For answer, Senrid indicated the diminished number of tents in the Norsunder camp.

  One at a time they made their way up through the fallen, broken stones, then elbow-crawled over the roof to their spy spot.

  For a long time nothing happened, if one discounted being pounded by driving rain. Inside, Siamis worked at the big table, reading reports. Beyond, the Warren twins sat glumly in a doorway staring out at the rain. Frederic and Deirdre weren’t in view, but Senrid knew they were somewhere dully whiling away their hours, and his stomach clenched. So close, so very close he’d come to joining them.

  The inner flash presaging powerful transfer magic caught his attention.

  “Not a sound,” he whispered. Then he tapped his head: mind-shields.

  At either side of him the other two frowned in concentration. Then they turned their attention to the new arrival.

  Davernak and another eleven transferred in.

  “That’s the ones,” Dtheldevor breathed.

  Leander recognized the second one, a huge man with gray-streaked hair. He wore a heavy sword and several knives; he’d turned up a few times, never staying longer than a few moments.

  Displaced air stirred the map on the table, but Siamis ignored it. “Well?” he asked, laying down his pen.

  “Trade town called Loss Harthadaun is where she came out into the open. Broke the magic, right enough.” Davernak’s long face was tight with strain. “Town’s smoking rubble.”

  He didn’t see a body, Senrid winced against the man’s thoughts, which were so loud it was like someone banging a pot right next to his ears. He’s terrified of Siamis now, and part of the orders were to actually see a body.

  “No one got by us,” the gray-haired one said, his voice too loud for the small space. As if Siamis were hard of hearing—or had argued.

  Up on the roof, the three kids flattened themselves, hardly breathing.

  “Did you see her killed? Identify a body?” Siamis asked, still in his pleasant voice.

  The gray-haired one said smugly, “No. Too chaotic. But no one got through. A few took to the river, but we caught a lot of ‘em downstream—and they were all from the docks, not the Guildhall. We surrounded it first and made sure no one got out alive. I watched it burn to the ground myself.”

  Leander suffered an intense stab of anguish on behalf of the rulers he didn’t know, who would someday wake up from their enchantment to this news of the slaughter of people they had done nothing to protect.

  Dtheldevor quivered with fury. To her, the world ran right when battles were fair between more or less matched adversaries.

  Senrid’s anger stayed cold. He listened for hint of the slightest weakness.

  Davernak said, “During the day an unknown number of people, mostly children, did escape through some old tunnels—the river route was largely a decoy.”

  The gray-haired one glared. “You didn’t tell us that.”

  “You should have secured it first, as ordered,” Davernak retorted. He turned to Siamis before the other could speak and added, “If she escaped, it was probably there. I searched the mid-town rubble myself, and there were no bodies of children, though the Guildhall was still smoldering. So I didn’t check that.”

  “She did not escape through your unguarded tunnels with the rest of the children,” Siamis said, his gaze on the gray-haired one. “She was still in the Guildhall when you finally gave the signal. There was no need to wait for the eleventh hour.”

  Nothing but added scare-power, Senrid thought sarcastically. He squashed the urge to laugh, for he knew from Gray Hair and Davernak’s scarcely concealed hostility that they’d been arguing over who got overall command. Probably also over whose followers had to be stuck on perimeter duty, and whose got to have the entertainment inside. Gray Hair and his gang wouldn’t have given a snap of the fingers for Liere—or for Siamis—all they’d be interested in was the chance to have some fun with live target practice after months of dull picket duty over the animated dolls Siamis had made out of the populace.

  There was the weakness. That’s why Siamis couldn’t transfer down just for the attack. He couldn’t risk being seen, or gossiped about where the survivors might overhear. He was supposed to be the big hero to the people. The great peace-bringer can’t be leading armies that slaughter civs.

  “You were told,” Siamis said instructively, “to follow her into the town, surrounded the Guildhall, and carry out your order immediately.”

  “It took some time to shift down troops from other sites in order to surround and secure the town walls,” Gray Hair protested.

  Liar, Senrid thought. And Siamis knows it, too. You probably had the town surrounded within two bells after Liere walked in through the gates, and you didn’t even bother securing those escape routes. It was you against Davernak, squabbling for precedence. You’re going to lose now . . .

  Siamis said gently, “You had time, and warriors, and only a single untrained adversary. I find your excuses . . . specious. At best.”

  Silence, the tense silence of impending death.

  Then Siamis spoke again, if anything more softly than before. “Your single order was to see to it that she died.”

  The other blustered, “She’s got to be one of the burned corpses in the Guildhall. They’re ash! You said yourself she was in there when we attacked, and no one broke the inner or the outer perimeter, no one!”

  Siamis said, “Did any of your fools carry off prisoners or hostages?”

  The Norsundrian bridled at his carefully picked bullies being called fools, but then he sidled looked at Davernak, who ignored him. “A few,” he admitted, and it was clear that he would have li
ed if he thought he could get away with it. “Not many—”

  “That’s why I still hear her in the world,” Siamis said, still gently.

  She is alive, Senrid rejoiced. I was right.

  “She probably took control of one of your fools. Like this.” Siamis’s voice hardened into that controlling voice, the one that sent white fire scorching down through the listeners’ nerves and made their muscles twitch against their wills. “She walked right out . . . like . . . this.”

  The man jerked around and slammed face-first into the white stone wall. Then he staggered, turning around with a bloody nose.

  Dtheldevor cursed, quietly and steadily. “A whole town. They really did it. A town.”

  “Shut. Up.” Senrid breathed the words directly into her ear. The rain was louder than their voices, but why take the risk?

  She didn’t even notice. She was far too angry. So angry, the only recourse was action.

  Damn and blast those villains, there was one thing she could do.

  “You failed a single order,” Siamis said. “And now I must waste the time I needed elsewhere to recover your error, leaving no time for you. You may report your failure to Detlev, and see how much time he has to devote to your education in following orders.”

  Gray Hair’s face blanched to the color of his hair. Siamis did the transfer spell, and the man vanished.

  Leander leaned close to Senrid. “Okay, at least we know Sartora got away. We better get moving—”

  Senrid opened his hand in agreement. Then realized the cursing on his other side had stopped.

  He turned his head. Dtheldevor was gone. Mentally he awarded her rank points for first-rate sneakery; on his other side, Leander muttered, “Oh, no!”

  Below, Peridot said dreamily, “Siamis, here comes Dtheldevor.”

  Dtheldevor sprang through the room from the door the Norsundrians used for egress, sword whirling. Davernak scrambled out of the way, pulling his blade.

  Siamis leaned down, picked up the silver sword from just out of sight, and easily parried Dtheldevor’s strike, his movements swift and unerring.

  Senrid whistled soundlessly. She was good, but she hadn’t a hope against that guy. Senrid shut his eyes, and called out mentally for the Fens. Would it work?

  In the room, Davernak attacked Dtheldevor from behind. Dtheldevor saw, or sensed, and shifted her step, though not quite fast enough to avoid the Norsundrian’s point, which ripped into her shoulder.

  Flash! She tossed her blade to her other hand and kicked the big table over, forcing Davernak to leap back. She whirled to face Siamis—who waited, smiling in appreciation.

  But then he moved so quickly it was hard to follow. There was a blur of silver, and then he reached with his free hand. He took hold of her bad arm, and twisted.

  Her sword arced away, spinning. Howling curses, she fell to the floor.

  Senrid kept up his mental call for help.

  Siamis said to Dtheldevor, “Now, where did you come from? Have we been introduced?”

  Davernak stepped around the table, shortening his arm for a strike. “Shall I—”

  A black flash in the door, and their lynx leaped in, all dark flowing muscle.

  From another cracked wall came an explosion of crows, wings beating, harsh voices cawing. The off-world kids backed away, blinking, and Davernak backed against a wall before taking a totally ineffective swing at the birds.

  Two huge felines loped in, teeth bared, and the room turned into a maelstrom of fur and feathers.

  In the center of the maelstrom Siamis sat down in the one standing chair, laughing. The animals leaped through various cracks and windows, the birds zipped up toward the sky and freedom, leaving the room a wreck. Dtheldevor—and her sword—were gone. Half a heartbeat later three Norsundrians appeared in the doorway, fanning out, heads jerking side to side as they tried to assess the confusion.

  Leander pounded Senrid on the arm and whispered, “Dtheldevor dropped just beyond that hedgerow. They haven’t spotted her yet. “We gotta get moving!”

  “Yes,” Senrid said, and he looked down once more at that laughing profile. “Yes.”

  o0o

  An hour later, Dtheldevor woke up with a groan.

  She cracked an eyelid. There was a pair of blue-gray eyes, framed by a wildly curling mop of sun-bleached hair. Senrid’s smile was fierce.

  “Uhn.”

  “Lie flat,” Senrid said. “We got you patched up, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold.”

  She grunted, made an effort, and sat up.

  “That was a spectacularly brave and even more spectacularly stupid stunt,” Senrid continued.

  Dtheldevor winced. “Looked t’me like only way we’ll get a crack at him is t’take any chance we get. . .” That much talking winded her. “Ooogh.”

  Senrid said, “You want to know what happened? Save your breath, I would ask the same. You made it just beyond the hedge to the old vegetable garden before you dropped. Leander and I hauled you the back way into the woods. The Fens obligingly kept the elevens busy.”

  Dtheldevor looked around. They were in the lee of some mossy rocks. No fire, no food. But she did see Leander’s knapsack.

  Senrid said, “Soon’s you’re on your feet, we’re heading north.”

  “Siamis—”

  “I am sure—almost sure—he knew we were there all along,” Senrid said.

  “That don’t explain what he was waiting for here . . .”

  “A power play between the surviving Norsundrians down south, maybe? See who comes out on top? I don’t know. Whatever it was, we can just about guarantee it won’t be good for us. I think we’re outrun here.”

  Dtheldevor braced herself, and got to her feet. The world swam sickeningly, then slowly righted. “I can move.” She sighed. “Let’s.”

  “There goes the prescribed R&R,” Senrid remarked.

  “Where’s Green-eyes?”

  “He was talking to a Fen who was talking to a bird who . . . let me see if I got that right. Eh! He’s doing some info gathering. That and netting us some travel grub,” Senrid explained. “If those weird noises he makes that sound like gargled Sartoran is talking.”

  “The Language,” Dtheldevor croaked.

  “Don’t feel you’ve explained too much,” Senrid hinted.

  Dtheldevor grinned. “More ye keep yer trap flapped . . . more ye learn. First rule . . . unh! . . . me dad drilled into me skull.”

  “My uncle pushed the same idea. This would explain why I prefer to talk as much as I can.”

  Dtheldevor snorted a laugh, then gripped her bound shoulder and winced. “Yer uncle a snot-brained butt-sniffer?”

  Senrid snickered. “Worse. In thought, if not in deed.”

  “See?” She nodded with the air of one who has solved a conundrum. “Me dad weren’t. All the difference.”

  Leander reappeared, laden with food.

  “Let’s put in as much distance as we can today,” Leander said. “Davernak is mounting a search. Under his direct command. I don’t think he’s as simpleminded as those guards—and I’d rather not prove I’m right.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  A heroic journey seldom celebrated by humans—because most are unaware—was that of a small black cat who traveled from the southern hemisphere all the way to the northernmost reached of the world.

  Rina knew that taking many days and nights would worsen the danger, so she contacted other animals who could hear her.

  The result was two methods of travel that she did not like at all, but they were fast.

  The first was a fierce eagle who came to her on one of the rocky peaks north of Wnelder Vee. His mind was full of rage against the evil humans: Rina received a stream of contact, showing the capture and magic-enchantment of once free-flying eagles. Now this eagle’s brethren were forced to the wills of the evil ones, flying controlled while spying, a horror that caused too many to pluck out their own feathers until they bled to death.

&nbs
p; Rina let him know that the paper she bore would be a weapon in the fight. The eagle crouched down, spreading his mighty wings, and commanded her to climb upon his back.

  Rina did, making herself as small as possible. Her hackles rose; she was miserable.

  Do not claw me, the eagle cried.

  I merely hold on, she yowled.

  I will fly easy. You will not fall.

  He dropped away from the stone, great wings spread wide, spiraling until he caught an updraft. Wind whipped through her fur, and hurt her eyes, but she did not fall.

  The eagle made the journey as gently as he could, flying high over the Fereledria, where Geres magic sped him on. Rina fought the instinct to drive her claws deep into the bird’s bony back. She crouched as low as she could, loathing the soughing wind over her fur.

  He flew down slowly to one of the human ports where ships lay waiting, and landed on a dock.

  Rina knew about ships. She must find a big one, with the towers of square sails that meant deep water sailing, and not the little ones with tall triangular sails, that stayed on coasts or traveled up rivers.

  She sent her mind to local cats aboard the big ships, and found whose mental images depicted the far northlands.

  She located the ship, and trotted on board, minding human feet as barrels were rolled aboard.

  The ship’s cats were wild, and smug, and loved the movement. Rina withdrew to the hold, enduring the journey.

  After many days and nights, each colder, and then warmer, she understood that the ship had docked.

  She traveled again on foot.

  All the animals in Helandrias were interested in the alliance, and the mental image of Sartora, who was the human weapon against the evil ones.

  There have been magic battles between humans here, she was told.

  There have been greater ones south, all the way south, she answered. But the evil ones are coming back here again.

  The animals of Helandrias showed her the way to the human city Bereth Ferian.

  At last she saw the blooming birches before the great marble palace the humans had made, and she found her way in, searching from room to room until she located Evend, the ancient human. He took her letter, looked at it, and then his trembling old hands lifted Rina to his lap and he petted her with long, gentle strokes.