Fires of Nuala

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  “Now you will tell us the truth,” Teague declared, his extended hand revealing the gel, his youthful manner bordering on arrogance. White looked annoyed, but Sheel anticipated his speech.

  “Would you know truth if you heard it, Teague?” Sheel asked, the faintest of smiles touching his face.

  Something had happened, somewhere in the camp — something Sheel had not heard. Blood draining from his face, the youth leapt for him.

  “Teague!”

  Sheel heard White’s commanding tone through a haze of twinkling lights, his head still spinning from the blow. Numbness spread along the edge of his jaw — The gel. He must have crushed it hitting me. No matter; it was absorbed through the skin. But it would work very quickly this way, and Sheel felt his own blood activity increase in response to it. Too much to hope for, that he could counteract the effects.…

  “Leave us, Teague. You do not have the… delicacy… for this work.” The repressed anger in White’s voice drained the youth’s color still further, robbing him of energy. Quickly the youngster backed out of the cave. “We must talk. After we find the boy, steps must be taken to calm the city. You will do this. There are things we require, and these will also be arranged.”

  “Unlikely.” This haze was not from the pain.… Fascinating. I should have tried one of these once, to know the effects. It amused him that White never named him, never used any title for him. I have become something less than human.

  “I do not think you would like the alternative.” White’s voice never had any emotion.… Why was he so sure the man liked beating people up?

  “Too many corpses, White. Another death would ignite the outkin, Riva Ragäree leading their ranks. You would spend what is left of your life fighting your own people… until the outclans descended to finish you off.” Sheel could have added that three guaard did not a conspiracy make, but he had no desire to be punched in the face again. Right on the bone, it would form an impressive bruise.…

  “Then we will have to convince you to cooperate. After all,” White added almost pleasantly, “We have convinced you to talk.”

  Sheel chuckled softly and wondered if he would remember what he said.

  FLOODPLAIN

  ONEHUNDRED FORTYDAY, VESPERS

  Heavy, wet snow had become an enemy, slashing them in the face as they passed through undergrowth, dropping from tree limbs above. Mailan was too preoccupied to notice. Threatening clouds above matched her mood, and this trip promised little improvement.

  “We have found nothing!” Scarcely a whisper, but with an intensity that hurt her teeth. She could not keep it within; the pain had become too great.

  “How can you say that?” Crow said easily, pulling a branch out of her way and letting her pass by. “We have found Dirk’s connection to the Atare line. And we found the body, with enough irregularities to satisfy any judge!” He whispered the last; their guide was uncle to the youth, and they had been careful not to tell the old farmer why they had come.

  “Here is the place,” came the worn voice ahead of them. The lean, taciturn man came to a halt beside a family crypt and pointed to a plaque within the stone wall. “His trainer, White, brought him to us in an urn. I was surprised; usually they send back the body for rites, and then we burn it. But with all the confusion in the city, I figured there was little time for formalities,” the man said quietly.

  “Things are still confused,” Crow offered. “No doubt that explains it.”

  “Not even a guaard homage,” was the reflective reply. “Must have been pretty slashed up to send him back in an urn. And in vain. Nothing from The Atare, either, though I hear someone still wants his blood. Better he tend to staying alive — the dead will keep.” He looked over at the pair. “Is this all you wanted to see?”

  “Yes, sir. It confirms our records.” Mailan’s response was gentle. How had this child ended up in such a predicament? Scarcely twenty Terran when he died; how could White have convinced him to join such treachery? Dirk, maybe. He can be persuasive when he wants. No point in burdening the uncle.… He might never know.

  Nodding once at the two guaard, the farmer started back down the path the way they had come. Mailan stood watching him until he vanished into the brush.

  “Beastly, flat land,” she murmured. “How could you stand it with no mountains to protect you?”

  “How could you stand all that rock hovering over you?” Crow responded, smiling faintly. “I did not have to stand it: I was born around here, but raised on Half-Moon Bay, when my mother remarried a shipmaster. The cliffs of the coast are beautiful, if rugged.”

  “Yes, we have found a few things,” Mailan said suddenly, starting back down the path toward the road. “We know White changed the roster — ”

  “At least that the roster was changed with White’s code used for entry,” Crow clarified.

  Mailan waved off the difference. “That is why I think he did it: he could use that excuse if he was caught. But I do not think he considered being caught, Crow. I think they thought their plan could not fail. Everything went wrong for them when Sheel and I survived that night.” She kicked at a chunk of snow, watching it break into fragments. “I suppose that is why all the following attacks have been so swift, so vicious.… We were dead from the first, as far as they were concerned.”

  “Maybe.” Crow shifted the pack on his back, a frown crossing his usually placid features. Things had changed, during their trip together. Mailan no longer had the strength to lead, but since Crow no longer needed a leader, it was no problem. Recent events had settled and clarified Crow’s personality: he no longer leapt into the fray at every opportunity. “So, where shall we sleep, and do you want to change out of our uniforms now or later?” They had spent most of their time out of uniform, for fear of being recognized. It had been hard to remember to avoid guaard — Mailan feared that a few moments of carelessness might have given them away. So far, however, there was no sign of pursuit.

  “Time to report, I think,” she said, glancing over at Crow. “What do you think? I think we should get back to town and hop the rail for Portland.”

  “I think our luck just ran out,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on something up ahead. Mailan narrowed her eyes, trying to see what disturbed him. “In the trees up there, at least two of them. I am sure I saw someone hide.”

  “Huh. There may be an explanation — such as children shy of guaard or something — but I think we had better change direction.” Quickly Mailan surveyed the immediate area. Long strides over packed snow took her to the edge of the road and across a ditch filled with frozen water. Crow followed without comment.

  Mysterious shapes loomed up against the wooden fences rimming the road, blanketed in layers of snow and ice. Jumping through a hollow, Mailan led the way along the back of the artificial ridge, her ears trained on the road. Just what they needed, another kink in the chain. She had no desire to confront anyone on this trip, especially guaard. How would she know if they were part of Dirk’s conspiracy or merely pawns? We are surely pawns, Crow. You spoke truly.

  Thankful she was not alone, Mailan paused in mid-step, listening for movement. A touch at her wrist seized her attention; Crow gestured with his chin, indicating that at least one had swung behind them. Then he pointed past a shriveled bush. Fixing her gaze on the frozen leaves, she could see darkness beyond it. Guaard.

  Crow moved purposefully behind her to stand back to back, his pack brushing against hers, his hand hovering close to his wrist knife. Mailan tensed, wishing she had duplicated the information rings she carried and left copies with Ayers. A brief wish — if these chose to interfere with her assignment, she would count the game lost. What chance, if not few but many embraced Dirk’s schemes?

  Several dark shapes materialized out of the twilight, moving slowly up to the fence a few paces beyond. Too far to jump, too close to try and scale — checkmate. Setting her fingers on her belt knife, she maintained her balanced, wary pose, her gaze on the leaders. At least four
, perhaps others, faceless as always in uniform.… She vaguely recognized the man on the right. Goguen was the name of the woman at his side, a tenyear guaard. Behind them… Berry and Carolan? Who was Crow facing? Eyes narrowed, Mailan realized they wore field packs.

  The newcomers wasted no time. “So it is true,” their leader said softly, his face suddenly weary. “Guaard have turned. Do you have names?”

  Mailan felt her eyebrows lift. None of those facing her had moved toward their weapons. They stood quietly, watching her, waiting for some sign.

  There was a snort of impatience from behind her, out of her line of sight. “Come on, Mailan, you must know something. Sparks, Leen and I get dragged into the Starrise Mountains by White solely to escort one off-worlder to Atare? When she obviously does not want to leave Portland? And is obviously afraid of us — of us, by Sweet Mendülay!” The speaker was moving around to the front, still another guaard in tow… Sparks? Yes, and she recognized this youngster, too, guaard less than a year. Mailan could feel Crow’s arm as he swung to track them, tension tracing his muscles.

  “Why did you go into the Starrise Mountains?” Mailan said softly.

  “We heard that The Atare and his heir were being held there. We found nothing.” Making a face, the youth — Frost? — continued: “White took the others and continued into the mountains. We escorted the off-worlder back to Atare by rail.”

  “Off-worlder?” Crow’s smooth, bronzed face was still impassive.

  “The silvery woman with the black eyes. White says nothing about questioning her, or staying with her, only that we are to take her to her hostel. Which has no room for her! Serae Avis sent for her before the day was out.” Frost looked disgusted. “Foul weather no matter how you look at it! So, tell us: What is going on?”

  Mailan hazarded a quick glance at Crow, who was still watching the two young men. They had floundered near the fence drifts, but were leery of approaching further. “For now,” she said softly to Crow, and straightened, relaxing. The group relaxed with her, not knowing the code she and Crow had devised: “for now” meant we accept this situation for now, but stay alert. “It is as you have guessed, I know not how: there are guaard who have turned on Atare.”

  “It was the only answer left,” the older man — Haven? — offered quickly. “Why else would The Atare leave in such a hurry, and not take full guaard honors? That speaks of fear… fear in high places.”

  Mailan nodded. “We have been seeking the proof. It was so unbelievable, we could not trust anyone — only those who were present when we discovered there was still danger.”

  “You and Fion are chosen,” Goguen pointed out. “How did you contrive to win his trust, Crow?”

  Her friend was actually embarrassed. “Not for my good looks or winning manner. I gave him oath, and he accepted it.”

  Several caught breaths and disconcerted looks followed. “It has gone that far,” Haven murmured, his expression distant.

  Mailan gave him another short nod. “Standing in a snowbank is not the best place to discuss this. What say we — “

  “Company,” Carolan hissed suddenly, turning sharply to face down the road. The others scrambled over the pole fence, bunching up behind her.

  A dark slash of a figure was coming into view. The newcomer wore a throw that was as grey as the sky above them, a bold streak of yellow woven near the border of the poncho. A huge staff shod with metal slapped through the ditch ice with precise rhythm; it was this sound which alerted Carolan. That the stranger was heading toward them could not be doubted: he showed not the slightest bit of perturbation at a knot of guaard blocking the road.

  “Mock-Sini,” Crow murmured, glancing quickly at Mailan.

  She did not comment; her gaze was on the arriving visitor. Sinis were rare this far from the mountains — this far north, in fact. Could it be… surely not. I only half-believed that story when she told it. Ayers did say there was a Sini, though.…

  Reaching the group, the unknown stopped and threw back his hood. It was indeed a male, the grey in the long blond hair and beard hinting that he was older than he looked. Penetrating amber eyes bordered by impressive crow’s feet studied the gathering, lighting longest on Mailan.

  “You have set me a merry chase, Chosen,” he said in a dry, husky voice. “It was almost Yule when I set out on your trail, and now the end of the month grows near.”

  “Who are you, and why do you follow?” Mailan said quietly, her fingers resting casually on her belt knife.

  “Fergus reb^Fern, of Lebanon Way,” he answered, chuckling. “I do not follow, I seek — and now I have found what I sought. I have not yet discharged my debt to Atare. Soon.” His gaze encompassed the guaard surrounding her. “Can these be trusted?”

  Mailan felt the others stiffen as one at the insult, and then Haven’s hand shot out, grabbing Frost before the youth could begin to move. “I think you should explain how you come to ask that question,” the man said smoothly.

  Fergus smiled, and Mailan remembered something Darame had said: it was a wolfish grin. “Because I was shadowing your group, youngster, in the Starrise Mountains. These children I suspect may be trusted,” he added to Mailan, gesturing to Frost and Sparks. “The white-haired one had them escort the ice woman downriver to Atare. Three guaard, there were, who took the Mindbender east toward Ciedär. True guaard, if these be guaard.”

  “Mindbender? Do you mean The Atare?” Mailan said sharply.

  “You lie.” It was a whisper; Frost looked more bewildered than accusing. Turning to Mailan, he said: “The Atare was not there! White said they found nothing! He sent us back with the off-worlder while he continued on east to seek both Atare and heir!”

  Mailan closed her eyes wearily, fighting a rage she feared would burst her blood vessels. “Mailan?” Crow’s voice was careful as he touched her arm.

  “We should not have left him. I knew it!” She snarled the last as she stepped toward the sini. “What is your part in this, you secretive old man? Why did you let it happen?”

  Fergus’s shaggy eyebrows indicated surprise. “The white-haired one carried a mag gun and killed three with it, including the grizzled guaard, who was surely my superior at Elkita. Should I spill my blood uselessly? The one called Jude held to her duty — so the heirs of Atare and Seedar are safe.”

  “Where?”

  Fergus shrugged. “One place, if all went as planned. Elsewhere, if not. She is competent, that one — she will watch over them. It is the Mindbender who is in danger. A man who would strike his Atare might kill his Atare.” The Sini abruptly stepped up to Frost, staring into his eyes. Startled, the youth stared back. “And the other one,” Fergus said, gesturing to Sparks. Glancing at Mailan and Crow for a cue, the guaard moved forward at their simultaneous nod. Studying the pair a moment, Fergus smiled. “They will do.” Giving Frost a hard look, he added: “I am a priest, boy. I do not have the habit of lying.”

  “Fion is dead?” Mailan was amazed at how even her voice sounded.

  “We have him on ice. Harald saw it happen, and can identify the man who killed him, whether guaard or merely dressed as guaard. I thought you might need his words.” Something in Fergus slumped a bit. “The Mindbender lived when they took him away. Now? We must trust to Mendülay. Somehow I do not see immediate death as his destiny. I still do not understand why he was taken.… Too many people are making their own plans.” This was addressed to Mailan, and his voice was low. “I sought my people first; they follow the white-haired one to the eastern face. On foot, I fear. Will you come now? Since the caverns were breached I have searched for you, and we must pick up a trail surely grown cold.”

  “Frost.” Mailan turned to face him. “Where did you leave the off-worlder?”

  “The hostel she originally checked into,” he replied promptly. “Serae Avis called her to the palace before the day was old. When we left, fourday ago, she was still there.” Frost looked a bit surprised, but did not question the authority of a Chosen one.
<
br />   Mailan thought quickly, rubbing at her neck to relieve the tension. So, the off-worlder had yet to run. Interesting. Send her word? Why bother? Darame knew as much as she needed to know. Better to leave her with Avis; her sly brain would keep them both out of trouble, no doubt.

  “Why do you call him Mindbender?” she asked aloud.

  Fergus acted as if called out of a trance. “He has a way of bringing people around to his will, whether they will it or no.” He chuckled once more, his gaze on something they could not see. “I think he will prove the strongest.” A glance at Mailan was both question and challenge.

  “Yes. We will follow.” With a jerk of her chin Mailan indicated they would move out.

  “Not follow. Seek.”

  CAESAREAN EMBASSY

  ONEHUNDRED FORTYSEVENDAY, COMPLINE

  Darame was in a white heat when she finally crashed past Brant’s assistant and into his office. One look at her expression caused the young man to back hastily away from the doorway. Brant’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline at the sight of her, but her words forestalled whatever he was planning on saying.

  “Twenty-one days, Brant. Don’t you think your book is a bit crowded not to have ten spare minutes in twenty-one days?” The words were very soft and gentle, but the look in her eyes promised mayhem in the near future. Darame made a point of leaning over his desk as she spoke, taking every advantage of his sitting position.

  After a long moment of silence, Brant indicated with a jerk of his head that his assistant should leave. A languid hand, and the pale blue light began radiating from the corners of the room.

  “Where in Seven Hells is Halsey, you bloodless son of a Devian wombat?” she snapped, stomping over to his bar and ransacking the containers for a chilled spritzer. It was the only opening left.