“No, she is alive!” Ekaterine insisted. She tried to rise from the bed, but her head swam from exhaustion, blood loss, and fever, and she fell back against the pillows. “She is alive, and once I can leave this wretched bed, I will find her!”
Luka sighed and looked at her sadly. He started to speak, to repeat his insistence of the falsehood that Varanus might be dead—for surely, Ekaterine knew, Varanus must not be dead! But suddenly, Luka stopped as another thought came to him.
“Cousin,” he said, “how did you escape the castle? You would surely have been ambushed and massacred going through one of the gates.”
“I led them out through the cisterns,” Ekaterine answered. “The spring...it empties out into the river through a tunnel.”
“That tunnel is barred and sealed.”
“We had Living among us,” Ekaterine explained to him. “It took effort, but we broke through the bars.” She frowned, suddenly concerned that she might get into trouble for the damage, not that she was normally so concerned about such things. Perhaps it was the fever confusing her. “I suppose it will need to be repaired once the castle is retaken. But it was the only way, I promise!”
Luka looked astonished for a moment, but he slowly rose to his feet. He brushed Ekaterine’s hair gently and smiled at her.
“This is very important news,” he said. “Cousin, I beg you, remain abed and rest. You both need it and deserve it. In the meantime, I must go.”
“Where?” Ekaterine asked, confused at his sudden wish to depart.
“I must report to the Strategos and the Council,” Luka explained. “You have just given me some very welcome news.”
* * * *
Luka ran across the frozen town square to the fortified house being used as Zawditu’s headquarters. He was stopped by the guards at the door on matter of principle, but they recognized him and allowed him to pass. He found Zawditu, Mata Kaur, and the Council seated around a table, discussing their next steps.
“...incidents of fever among those still living in the Shadow,” said Rusudan of Tbilisi. “If we are not careful, it may spread. Steps must be taken.”
“It will pass swiftly,” reminded Lakshmi of Bengal. “Though in the Shadow, the infected remain Shashavani. They will not be ill for more than a day or two.”
“It is not the Shashavani of the Shadow we need worry about,” said Zawditu. “Lady Rusudan is correct. A fever among our own will spread to the townspeople, and they may not weather it so well.”
“I think we are all agreed that there must be a strict quarantine of the sick,” said Philippa. “Not only among the Shashavani, but also among the valley people, if disease strikes them. It is already their policy, but we must take extra precautions with so many people crowding their homes and streets.”
“Let the Living tend to the sick in the towns and villages,” suggested Xasan of Mogadishu. “There are many scholars among us, few of whom will be of any use in fighting. We have nothing to fear from cold or disease. Without our libraries, let us make ourselves useful in other ways.”
“A sensible policy,” Philippa replied. “Some of our number already perform such charitable works among our neighbors. This should not be any different. Are we all agreed?” She waited while the others nodded their assent. “Good. Next, the matter of food supplies. Sister Lakshmi, have you received the report of the mayor and the town elders?”
“I have.” Though Lakshmi’s face retained the near inscrutability of the Living, a hint of displeasure in her tone and a tension at the corners of her eyes told the news before she spoke. “Though the townsfolk have enough food for their own needs, our contingent has nearly doubled their population, and that will stretch them to the breaking point. Lacking sufficient winter stores, it seems to me that we have no choice but to impose a system of rationing.”
“Both for them as well as for us?” asked Philippa.
Lakshmi nodded. “For both. And it must be a strict one as well.”
“All the more reason for quarantine,” Rusudan said. “Starvation will increase the risk of disease.”
“And let us not forget that this is a hard winter,” added Xasan. “The supplies of the townsfolk are already sorely taxed. Will they survive if we take their food as well?”
Philippa frowned and said, “We must take from further afield. We must pool the resources of the whole valley. That way we may spread the hardship thin enough for all to survive. All, or at least most.”
“They have already given their yearly tithe!” Rusudan protested.
“Yes, and that tithe is locked in the storerooms of the castle,” said Xasan, “where it will feed Margaret’s forces through the winter.”
“I simply mean that they will not be pleased at being asked to give more.”
“This is true,” said Philippa, “but they will understand the reason for it. If Margaret has truly turned Basilisk, violence against the innocent is only a matter of time. She will continue the tithe, and she will demand blood as well, whether it is given willingly or not. The villagers will understand this.”
“I assume that we are giving up the partaking of blood for the duration as well,” said Lakshmi.
“I see no choice,” Philippa replied. “With the fever and the rationing, the villagers will not be able to give blood and remain healthy. No offers of blood can be accepted until this ordeal has passed.”
“Agreed,” said Rusudan, and the others nodded along with her.
Zawditu held up a hand and said, “Your pardon, My Lady....” She motioned to Luka. “Luka, come forward. What news?”
Having been summoned, Luka approached the table as the Council members turned their eyes toward him.
“Strategos,” he said, “I do not wish to disturb, but my cousin Ekaterine has awakened.”
“These are wonderful tidings, Luka,” Zawditu said, sounding pleased. Then she paused and asked, “And...?”
Of course, Luka thought, good news about a survivor did not justify interrupting the meeting. But that was not why he had come.
“And she recalls the path she took to lead the archivists out of the castle,” Luka explained. “She will be able to relate it to us quite clearly once she has rested a little.”
“This is good news,” Zawditu said. “Some of the others have given us accounts, but they have not been very conclusive. All they recall is something about a tunnel from the crypts.”
“No one remembers where it empties out,” added Rusudan, “and we are in no position to send parties to search for it within firing range of the castle.”
“It is an old tunnel where the underground spring runs into the river,” Luka said. “The way she took passes through the cisterns. The enemy may have placed a guard there, but it will not be substantial. They have no cause to venture so deep.”
The members of the Council looked at one another, pleased with the news.
“Then let us gather our soldiers and retake the castle at once!” exclaimed Xasan.
“Yes, I agree,” said Rusudan. “If we strike now, Margaret’s forces may not have time to ready their defenses.”
“No,” Zawditu told them.
The members of the Council looked at her in astonishment.
“What?” demanded Xasan.
“Our forces are cold, tired, and hungry,” Zawditu explained. “They must rest before venturing into battle against what is likely to be a superior enemy.”
“Superior?” Lakshmi asked.
“We have among our number only a third of the Army and just over one quarter of the scholars,” said Zawditu. “The rest we can assume are either in league with Margaret or are her prisoners.”
“Or dead,” said Rusudan.
“Likely some, yes,” Zawditu replied. “I suspect that Margaret’s goal is power, but there may be those among her company who are motivated by bloodthirst.”
“Margaret may be a Basilisk, but she is no fool,” noted Philippa, her tone distant and reflective. “She must know that she cannot administrate the House of Shashava without at least a large portion of its members, especially if she begins feasting upon the mortal servants. Nor can she hope to hold its defenses against rebellion with her numbers too severely reduced.”
“Precisely,” said Zawditu. “Boris of Moskva seemed confident that Margaret’s coup would bring about positive change. He is a traitor and he must die for it, but even his treason was motivated by what he thought was best for the House. I suspect that the majority of Margaret’s followers believe the same. If Margaret were to slaughter half her prisoners outright, it would cause unrest, and unrest is not something she can risk at so tenuous a time. No, she will attempt to induce the majority of her prisoners to accept her rule, allow them to become complacent and pliable, and then over time she will weed out anyone she cannot trust.”
“It is what I would do,” Philippa agreed, rather candidly.
“I acknowledge that we have time,” Lakshmi said, “but still their stores of food are greater than ours. Waiting will only weaken us and strengthen them.”
“Still, it may weaken their morale,” suggested Rusudan. “If Margaret allows life to return to normal, the waiting will gnaw upon her soldiers.”
Zawditu nodded. “Just so. They must be constantly in a state of readiness awaiting our inevitable attack. Margaret will not risk sending them against us until she is certain that hunger has weakened us to the breaking point, whereas we in our desperation may be mad enough to attack her. So her troops must stay alert, and alertness will bring fatigue.”
“Then when do you propose to attack, Strategos?” asked Xasan.
Zawditu considered the question and quietly conferred with Mata Kaur. Finally, she replied:
“Within two weeks, I expect. Much longer and we will begin to feel the bite of hunger, and I do need my troops to be fighting fit. But the intervening time will allow the enemy’s morale to erode, and that is of value to us. And of course, there is another reason.” She looked toward Luka and asked, “Do you know what it is, Luka?”
“I...” Luka began, surprised at being addressed. He quickly cleared his throat and raised his chin, determined to look and sound impressive when he replied. “The new moon, Strategos.”
“The new moon,” Zawditu echoed, rewarding him with a slight smile.
“Why should the phase of the moon carry any importance?” asked Philippa.
“Consider this,” Zawditu said. “When I attack the castle, through whatever road I choose, I must march my army across an open plain. Not only does Margaret control virtually all the stores of firearms, she controls all the artillery as well. If we move against the castle in daylight or by the light of the moon, we will be seen, and we will shortly be cut to pieces by Maxim guns and mitrailleuses. But if we wait for the new moon or for an appropriately dense storm, they will not see us coming.”
“And there is the hope that the river may have frozen fully by then,” added Mata Kaur.
“And the river may have frozen,” agreed Zawditu.
“What difference would that make?” asked Xasan. “There is a perfectly good bridge, large and sound enough to march an army across.”
“There is such a bridge,” Zawditu replied, “and I would wager money that there is a soldier with a telescope whose sole duty is to watch that bridge for the first sign of an army crossing it.”
“It is a sensible plan,” Philippa interjected, folding her hands on the table. “I think we are all agreed on this. Strategos, this Council bows to your experience with the art of war, and we place our fate entirely in your hands.”
“I thank the Council for its faith in me,” Zawditu said. “But in truth, I think we are all putting our fate entirely in the hands of Luka’s cousin and this secret tunnel of hers.”
* * * *
Reaching the archives proved more challenging than Varanus had imagined. Hours had already gone by since Margaret’s speech in the Great Hall, and whatever had been the result, the rooms and corridors were now filling with activity once again. The patrols from earlier had nearly doubled, and there were even a few scholars suddenly going about their business, though they appeared shaken by what they had seen. Varanus and Vaclav were repeatedly forced to backtrack and to take side routes in order to avoid detection.
“I do hope that your new friends find something useful in those passages,” Korbinian said to Varanus as they ducked into the concealment of a side room for the fifth time that day. “Walking about in the corridors is becoming rather tiresome with all of these obstructions....”
Varanus gave Korbinian a look to silence him, but in fact she quite agreed. Anything that came from searching for secret passages would be quite welcome.
“This is becoming rather tedious,” said Vaclav.
“Agreed,” Varanus replied, “though I rather like the curtains in this room.
“Very pleasant,” Vaclav agreed. “It reminds one of home. I feel inclined to put my feet up beside the fire.”
“Alas...no fire,” Varanus said.
“Alas.”
Varanus checked the hall again and saw that the trio of soldiers from whom they were hiding had departed into the distance.
“They’ve gone,” she said.
Vaclav nodded and they hurried to the next room. They were on the ground floor near one of the historical reading rooms, which had its own entrance to the archives. They had tried the main library first, but it was under guard, and there were even a few scholars setting the place in order. But the reading room was empty, and from there they descended into the maze of books and scrolls.
The archives were silent as Varanus entered. Either Margaret’s forces had not yet reached them, or they did not consider them worthy of examination. The latter was the most likely: the archives were a chaotic maze, understood by no one but the archivists themselves. There was no reason to waste time and manpower holding them when the occasional search party would be sufficient to root out anyone who remained. But that at least gave the possibility that Ekaterine was still hiding there.
Varanus took a lantern from the wall and began hurrying through the rows of bookshelves, looking in every direction and softly calling Ekaterine’s name. She was torn between shouting to alert her friend and keeping silent to avoid alerting anyone else.
“Silence would seem prudent, liebchen,” Korbinian noted.
Upon reflection, Varanus agreed with him.
“I do not think that anyone is here,” whispered Vaclav, as they searched through the dark chamber. He paused as they turned a corner and stopped before a pile of corpses. “Dear God.”
“No!”
Varanus ran to the pile and began pulling bodies aside frantically, searching for Ekaterine. But to her relief, she saw that Ekaterine was not one of the half dozen dead. She collapsed to her knees, her gloves and smock covered with blood.
“Thank God,” she gasped.
“Sister Ekaterine?” asked Vaclav.
“Not here,” Varanus said. “Not here.”
Vaclav nodded, but still he frowned at the corpses.
“Such barbarism,” he said. “Who could visit violence on the innocent like this? Shashavani killing Shashavani.... It is unnatural.”
Varanus saw a glint of metal. Looking more closely, she realized that all of the bodies held weapons—mostly daggers but also one sword.
“I think they died trying to protect the books,” she said. “That is why they were killed: they fought back.”
“What horrid irony that the books were never in danger.” Vaclav scowled at the thought of such unnecessary slaughter.
“And yet, no Ekaterine,” Varanus said. “Where can she be?”
Before Vaclav could reply, they heard the sounds of voices approac
hing them, accompanied by ironshod footsteps. Varanus and Vaclav looked at one another and ducked into hiding places on opposite sides of the bookshelves.
Three soldiers in armor came into view, dragging bodies behind them. Varanus shuddered for a moment and did her best to see if one of them was Ekaterine. Against her better judgment, she leaned out just enough to get a proper look. Again, Ekaterine was not one of the dead.
“Did you...?” one of the soldiers began, just as Varanus ducked back into her hiding place.
“There’s someone down here,” said another.
The soldiers dropped the bodies and drew their swords. They began to approach cautiously but quickly. Varanus looked at Vaclav with an apologetic frown. Vaclav merely smiled and tapped his own sword.
“How true,” mused Korbinian. “These soldiers have committed violence against the innocent. How fitting that we should commit violence against them in return.”
Varanus nodded at Vaclav and readied her axes. The first soldier came around the corner with his weapon at the ready, and Varanus rushed in to meet him, holding up one axe to deflect his blow while she swung for her attacker’s ribs with the other. The next two soldiers charged at her to protect their comrade, and Vaclav grabbed one and stabbed him in the leg, the sword slicing nearly to the bone. The third attacker turned in place, now unsure of which one to attack.
Varanus’s own enemy hacked at her savagely, but while the force of the blows was painful, the thick leather Varanus wore blunted the attacks and left her largely unharmed. She swept her enemy’s leg out from under him and drove her axe into his throat.
The third soldier, now recognizing the threat Varanus posed, turned and attacked, forcing her back with a series of heavy blows that she was obliged to block and deflect. Seeing an opening, Varanus drove one axe into her attacker’s arm, but the soldier’s mail stopped the attack and the axe skidded off. The soldier kicked Varanus in the knee hard enough to break it, and then knocked her to the ground.
Stunned but not disabled, Varanus caught the next attack between both axes and forced the sword away. She threw one into the soldier’s chest, and though the mail made the weapon halt and fall to the floor, it had been thrown with sufficient force to crack bones. The soldier grabbed at his chest and gasped for air. A moment later, Vaclav stepped forward and stabbed the soldier from behind.
The Ouroboros Cycle, Book Three: A Long-Awaited Treachery Page 21