Antiphon (47 page)

Then, Rudolfo let go of the knife and sat back to watch her die.

The white light of a winter afternoon, coupled with the blast of frigid air, brought water to Charles’s eyes, and he blinked for a moment. The strong hand on his upper arm guided him quickly through the open door as he was passed from one Machtvolk guard to another.

He looked out over the snow-covered forest, his eyes taking in the smoke of a hundred fires and the scattering of buildings that punctuated the foothills of the Dragon’s Spine.

If this doesn’t work,
he thought,
I could be dead by nightfall.

He’d spent the first two days hidden with the mechoservitors and the book. He had met Garyt just hours after they’d arrived, when the loyalist guard brought the latest of Winters’s dreams, adding them to the most recent volume of the Book of Dreaming Kings. And as soon as the man had left to find food and water for Charles, the old arch-engineer busied himself reading the book while the mechoservitors continued sharing data in code. That first night—or perhaps it was day—he’d slept with a full stomach from cold roast chicken and small potatoes fried in salt and fat with dried onions. The bread had still been warm and the water was ice cold and sweet.

In the morning, he’d made his decision. The mechoservitors had resisted, as he’d expected, but in the end they had no other choice but to let him go. They needed their missing pages, and they could
not leave the cave. Charles would elicit help from Rudolfo’s Gypsy Scouts.

Now, he stood outside for the first time in weeks. He felt the wind on his face and took in a great lungful even as Garyt pulled at him. “We need to move quickly,” he said.

Charles nodded and followed the guard. The dirty woolen and fur clothes stunk in his nostrils and made his skin crawl. He tried to ignore both. He kept his head down, feeling the bits of wood in his beard as they tickled his neck. It had taken them an hour to get him ready, applying the mud and ash to every inch of his body and then dressing him carefully in the clothes Garyt had brought.

They walked past log structures that looked new, and immediately Charles noted the crowd. Through the trees, he could just make out the bright canvas of large pavilion-style tents—liberated he suspected from the papal summer palace. “There are a lot of people gathering here,” he said in a low voice.

“Mass of the Falling Moon,” Garyt said. “One of their high holy days. There will be a ceremony tonight followed by three days of feasting.”

Charles smiled.
A good time to hide a crazy old man.

They moved along the edges of the larger pockets of people, with Garyt steering them away from the uniforms that Charles saw interspersed among the crowd. They picked their way carefully across the more populated areas near the larger wood structures and climbed a trail that took them behind a round building made of stone. They left the trail when they were out of eyeshot of any others, and Garyt kept them moving quickly.

When they were deep in the woods, Garyt paused. “You’re certain of this?”

Charles looked up. “I am.”

He’d learned about the Watcher yesterday. He’d surprised the man with his question when the guard brought him a second meal. And Charles had known the moment he asked that the man knew something about it. Still, beyond eventually acknowledging its existence, Garyt had said very little else about it despite the questions. But he had finally agreed to take him to Aedric.

Not that Charles knew exactly what he would ask of the first captain of Rudolfo’s scouts. The missing pages, according to both Isaak and the other metal man, were vital for the salvation of the light. Somehow, they had to wrest them from their mechanical guardian or—if
fate was kind—search the caves that Garyt claimed it lived in while it was away on some other business. Charles hoped for the latter, because if they were truly facing one of those ancient artifacts from the days of the Younger Gods, the gypsy scouts would be no match in an open confrontation.

And Charles knew better than to believe it could be reasoned with.
Not a mechanical that operated on faith.
Of course, it wasn’t so very different from his metal men and the dream they believed in and acted on behalf of.

He felt the strain of their quick walk in his legs now and noticed that the snow had let up. Overhead, beyond the canopy of frozen evergreens, he saw that the midmorning sky was clearing as northern winds pushed the clouds away. Even with all that time in the Beneath Places, his muscles protested the effort.

They’d not gone much farther when a low whistle brought Garyt to a halt. Charles started at the sudden sound and stumbled, catching himself. He looked around the clearing and saw the slightest shimmer, heard the slightest whisper of footprints as they materialized in the snow.

“Hail, Garyt,” he heard a voice call out. “And you as well, Androfrancine, though you are a long way from home.”

Charles noted that the direction of the words changed even as they were uttered. “Hail, Aedric. How are the others?”

“They bide well,” he answered. “We’ll see him safe back to your care, Garyt.”

Garyt inclined his head and looked at Charles. “Be cautious, old man.”

Charles nodded. “I will.”

He watched the man jog south and west, then turned his attention back into the clearing.

“So.” Now the voice was closer, and Charles could make out one eye, barely visible, just inches from his face. “Garyt tells me you are inquiring after a certain metal man.”

Charles nodded. “It has something we require urgently.”

“We?”

“I am here with Isaak,” he said. “He is hidden with the Book of the Dreaming Kings. Pages have been removed from it with precision only a mechoservitor could produce. I’m told one lives in the woods and your men have encountered it.” He paused as he realized what he was about to say.
Perhaps I do know what to ask of Aedric,
he realized.

“I need you to take me to it,” Charles said.

“It is out of the question,” Aedric said. “Aye, there is a metal man. It’s been monitoring and altering our birds. It killed two of my men—cut them, bled them first and then sent their folded uniforms back with Lady Tam after serving her tea. She’s left clear orders that we’re not to approach the Watcher.” He could hear awe bordering on fear in the man’s voice. “It’s like nothing we’ve seen before.”

Watcher.
Charles noted the name. “I need to find the pages it cut from the book.”

“The Marsher book?” Aedric asked.

Charles nodded. “Yes. What they need from it is missing. Without them, they cannot complete their antiphon.”

His own words surprised him. He heard faith there, and it frightened some part of him that remembered his vows as an acolyte of P’Andro Whym.
I shall eschew all but the light and trust reason as my truest guide.
And yet, some other part of him responded to the faith in his metal children and the risks they took for the dream they claimed to share. He did not know what the pages were for; he did not even know what the antiphon was, other than a response to their dream. But something in him cried out that it was true and that it was important for him to assist them.

Perhaps, he thought, because it was what fathers did to satisfy the hopes of their children.

“This is Marsher mysticism,” Aedric said. He nodded to the northeast. “Yon Watcher is real and deadly. Evil, even, if such a thing may be. I’ll not risk your life or the lives of my men for nonsense.”

Charles felt the anger starting in his scalp. He tried to force it from his voice but was not successful. “It is not for you to decide,
Captain.
Bear word of this to Lady Tam. Tell her what I have told you. Do not tell her that only Charles asks it of her but that Isaak does as well, for it is his dream that these missing pages serve.”

There was silence. Finally, Aedric spoke. “I will consult with Lady Tam. Wait here until I return.”

Charles opened his mouth to protest, and a cold wind brushed his cheek.

He waited for a minute. “Hello?”

No answer.

After another five minutes, he found a tree and squatted against it, facing the direction Aedric and Garyt had run in.

As he sat, his mind played out every possible scenario he could
envision with this Watcher, gathering questions as he went and turning them over and over like the dials and catches of a Rufello lock in his mind. How old was it? Had it truly fallen with the first Wizard King? Had it risen from some temporary grave in the Beneath Places? He sat and pondered until he grew numb from the cold.

Standing, he looked above and realized at least two hours had passed.

Where are you, Aedric?

The man should’ve been back an hour earlier. Unless, Charles thought, he’d been delayed. Or something had gone wrong. For a moment, he thought about making his way back to the gathering crowd. With all of the activity, he should be able to make his way unnoticed back to the double doors that led into the caverns. Then he remembered something.

No. I’ll not go back.

Smiling grimly, Charles turned to the northeast and began walking in the direction Aedric had nodded.
Yon Watcher is real and deadly,
the first captain had told him.

Charles suspected that soon enough he would know this firsthand, and prayed that his children’s faith would protect him in his hour of need.

The woman in the mirror surprised Winters and she stepped back, her mouth falling open. She’d never comprehended southern women and their vanities, spending most of her life dressed in ragged, cast-off clothing and rarely caring whether that clothing was meant for the body of a male or a female. Now, in the dress that Ria had left for her, with her hair carefully braided by hands more skilled than her own, she did not think it was truly her own face and body reflected back at her.

She turned, noting the way the soft fabric clung to curves she was only just becoming accustomed to, and then glanced to the dressing room door.

“How does it fit, Winters?” It was Ria’s voice, sounding bemused.

She looked again at the long blue dress with its low neckline and laced sleeves. “It fits . . . well,” she said.

“Well?” her sister asked.

Winters turned and opened the door. Ria wore a similar dress, only hers was in a deep burgundy the color of pooling blood. Her face had been painted in the Machtvolk custom, though tonight there were less greens and more grays and blacks and whites. Still, each color was laid to her skin with precision, interlocking with the others like pieces to a puzzle. The paints covered her face, her neck and even her cleavage, the colors darkening where they intersected with the raised scar tissue that peeked out from the mark of Y’Zir her dress mostly concealed. Her own brown hair was up, offset by a silver tiara that Winters had not seen before.

Ria stepped back to take her in and then frowned. “I could paint your face,” she said. “There is still time.”

Winters shook her head. “I’m certain you have better things to do with your time, sister.”

Ria nodded. “I do. We’ve a special guest tonight that I should see to. Someone I hope will answer some of those questions of yours I’ve not been able to answer.” She moved toward the door, her bare feet shushing the carpet. “Your boots and robes are by the main entrance. Meet Lady Tam and the others there at the fourth bell and my guards will bring you to me. We’ll walk to the amphitheater together.”

Winters nodded. She’d used it—or rather Hanric had—for those rare times that large groups of her people gathered. It was really nothing more than a valley nestled up against the mountain, the downward slopes logged of lumber, with the stumps left as places where people could sit. She’d seen them clearing the snow from it for days in preparation for tonight and knew that even now, bonfires were being set across its wide floor to provide at least some warmth for those able to huddle nearby. Most would rely upon their furs and the warmth of their companions.

Ria paused at the door and smiled. “I am glad you are here for this, Winters.” Her eyes took on a concerned look. “I had thought when I returned to take my throne that I might lose a sister I had never truly had. I’m glad to be wrong.”

Winters felt something cold in her stomach but forced herself to curtsy. “Thank you, Ria.”

The woman returned the curtsy and let herself out. Winters forced herself to count to ten before she released her breath. “Pig shite,” she whispered.

“I’m glad,” a voice from the corner said, “you also see it as such.”

It took her a moment to place it. “Aedric?”

The voice moved. “Aye.”

She blushed. “How long have you been hiding in my room?”

The first captain chuckled. “I’ve kept my eyes averted, Lady Winteria. Rudolfo’s scouts are gentlemen at the very least; we only look when asked to.”

She felt the heat in her cheeks, nonetheless. She went to the dressing room and brought out its lamp, placing it on the desk. “I thought your secret meetings were exclusively with Lady Tam.”

“We’ve a new development. One I am quite late returning to.” The voice was low, muffled with the same magicks that concealed him. “Your sister isn’t the only one with special guests. Charles and Isaak are here. I’ve left the old gray robe in the wood; he seeks pages missing from your Book and believes the Watcher has them.”