Requiem (21 page)

“Apologies, Father,” the mechoservitor said. “There are many things in this endeavor that were necessarily kept from you.”

“And yet you tell me now,” Charles said, looking from the metal man to Hebda.

“Yes,” Hebda said. “Because for some reason, this new mechoservitor is transmitting to you across the aether in some kind of cipher we do not completely comprehend. We are picking it up sporadically, and we believe the Y’Zirites are as well.” Now, he looked to Winters. “We’ve also seen glimpses of other dreams—not enough for us to make sense, but Micah believes it is connected to the Marsh dreams.”

“I can assure you,” Micah said, “that it is not a belief but a hypothesis based upon available evidence.”

Winters looked at the metal man. “What is your hypothesis?”

Scrolls whirred deep in the metal man’s chest cavity even as it fixed its jeweled eyes upon her. “That the mechoservitor is indeed the Watcher and that it is somehow deciphering the Final Dream taken from your Book of Dreaming Kings. And Lord Whym needs that dream to gain access to the tower.”

Charles sat back, and Winters saw the conflicting emotion upon his face again. There was a light in his eyes that looked suspiciously like hope, but it seemed out of place in the midst of his tired face and his firm jaw. “What is your evidence for this hypothesis?”

“There is a cave near the Third River, northwest of the Desolation of Windwir,” Hebda said. “Its walls are covered in images and symbols … painted in blood. Our scouts have seen it. A girl from a nearby village was bringing the mechanical livestock before it abducted her and fled when confronted by villagers.”

Charles looked up at the mechoservitor. “And your evidence as to why the Watcher is transmitting to me specifically?”

“We have none,” Micah said. “But not only does it transmit to you … it seeks you.”

Hebda drew a map from his pouch and rolled it out upon the table. “Our scouts have picked up its trail here,” he said, pointing. “And then here … and here. It has changed its course along with you.”

Charles studied the map. “Have you attempted to communicate with it?”

“It flees when our scouts approach. And it is also pursued by Machtvolk patrols. We expect Y’Zirite reinforcements to join in with the discovery of the cave paintings. If it is indeed the Watcher, it has been their key asset in bringing about the invasion, and I’m certain they want to reclaim it.”

Charles nodded. “They are looking for it, and it is looking for me.”

“Yes,” Hebda said.

“And how do wish me to serve the light in this matter?”

But Winters knew the answer to Charles’s question before he finished asking it, and she suspected he did, too. And she knew that the answer was her answer as well and her best hope of finding the Final Dream.

“You want us to simply let it find us,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Yes,” Hebda said. “I think the light depends upon it.”

And Winters knew, just as she knew the answer to Charles’s question, that the hollow-eyed arch-behaviorist was exactly correct in his suspicion.

Chapter

11

Rudolfo

It was warm enough to ride coatless on the Divided Isle, and Rudolfo welcomed the sun on his neck. The transition from saddle to sea and then saddle again jarred his bones and muddled his mind.

And my guest did not make it any easier.
Ire Li Tam rattled him, and the fact that she could have any impact upon him at all rattled him even more. They’d talked very little after that first night—she’d slept most of the time, tucked away out of sight beneath his bed. And she’d vanished while he was breakfasting the morning that they made landfall.

Now, after two nights spent in inns appropriated by Y’Zirite quartermasters, Rudolfo and his entourage approached the borders of Merrique County. He found himself ready to rest, though he knew that he was far from any real respite.

Still, a bed that didn’t sway, one he could use for the better part of a week, would suffice. Of course, it wouldn’t matter. He’d still toss and turn, his mind working the Whymer Maze their world had become, trying to find some way to take what victory he could from a situation that had been an unstoppable force in his life going back to the death of his brother and his parents. And he didn’t know the details, but this Y’Zirite invasion and Rudolfo’s chancellorship had been sanctioned—even arranged—by his own father, a man he’d revered for as long as he had memory.

Rudolfo felt the edges of sorrow and twisted it, added it to his anger.

The farmlands around them gave way to houses, and soon they rode into Merrique proper. It had been well over a decade since he’d last visited this part of the Named Lands. One large island was divided down the middle by a chasm of treacherous seawater. Settled in the earliest years by those less interested in the Androfrancine way of life, a scattering of independent but united counties arose, banded together by a Council of Sheriffs who were elected to work in partnership with the counts or countesses—the families for which each county was named.

He’d first visited this county in the company of its most infamous son—the pirate Rafe Merrique—sneaking into the city in the bottom of a beer wagon and fleeing on stolen, magicked horses. Everything between was a haze of rum and perfume.

Now, as the stallion they’d provided bore him down empty cobblestone streets, he looked for some sign of normalcy and found it only in the occasional chimneys that leaked smoke or the barking of a dog.

It was noon when they reached the center of the county seat and pulled into the courtyard of the sheriff’s manor. A tall, angular woman in a red-piped black uniform stood waiting. A ceremonial, curved iron knife adorned her sash alongside a small, silver knife that Rudolfo recognized from the Blood Temples he’d seen. He noted it, seeing the symbol for what it was—the blade of war and the blade of faith both at hand.

Her white hair was pulled back, and her olive skin shone darker for the pale symbols carved into her flesh. As Rudolfo drew closer, she leaned over and whispered something to the younger woman who stood beside her. The young redhead listened and nodded. This one was nearly as tall as the other, her hair close-cropped like a soldier and her face also scarred. Her own dark uniform bore no crimson but the scarf tied to her arm, but she also carried each knife and wore a phylactery at the base of her throat.

El Anyr dismounted first, and Rudolfo followed. “General Yazmeera,” the emissary said, bowing. “I present Lord Rudolfo of the Ninefold Forest Houses, father of the Child of Promise and Chancellor of the Named Lands.”

She extended her hand to him, and he took hers. The firmness of her grip did not surprise him. “Chancellor,” she said. “I hope we can work effectively together to bring the fighting to a swift close.” She looked at him, and he knew the look well. She was measuring him, weighing what she could by his appearance and posture and poise. And as quickly as she started, she finished and turned away. “Walk with me.”

Rudolfo followed, and the younger woman met his eyes for but a moment, then glanced quickly away as he walked past. He heard her fall in behind them, and even farther back, the emissary El Anyr struggled to keep up.

“I’ve had quarters prepared for you nearby,” Yazmeera said. “I’ll leave you to settle into them today and hope you’ll join me and my senior staff for dinner this evening. Tomorrow, we’ll get started. There is a lot to do.”

Rudolfo paced himself so that he walked exactly beside her. There was more activity now—mostly uniformed enlisted men and officers hurrying to and fro. Here in the quarter closest to the sheriff’s manor there was no sign whatsoever of anyone
not
in uniform, and it piqued his curiosity. He added it to a growing list. “I will gladly join you for dinner,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “And I suspect you’ve not had Y’Zirite fare. It’s far livelier than the bland foods you’re accustomed to, I’ll wager.”

He felt a momentary tickle of anger and suppressed it. “I look forward to sampling your cuisine.”
And,
he thought,
meeting the senior staff.

“I’ll have the raven-keeper come by so that you can get word home if you wish. And I suspect you might like to get word to the Great Mother as well. This separation can’t possibly be easy given everything else.” Her relaxed tone caught him off guard, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was how easily she accepted all of this, how normal she made it sound.

But why wouldn’t she?
She’d likely spent years planning this invasion, knowing all the while what was coming, right down to his own role in it. “I appreciate the gesture,” he said, “though I suspect tomorrow will be soon enough.”

She nodded and then stopped. They stood at the gate of a small villa. A guard stood post, a long wooden tube cradled in his arms and a long curved sword slung over his shoulder. Rudolfo knew he could not be alone and quickly sighted men stationed on the rooftops across from the villa and a patrol of three women dressed in the light silks and soft boots of scouts who moved past them, their eyes scanning the streets.

“This,” she said, “will be your quarters for now. Something more fitting will be acquired once the conflict is brought to a close and we can relocate to the mainland.”

Rudolfo nodded. “I’m sure it will be more than sufficient.”

Yazmeera regarded him, and Rudolfo waited, knowing that words awaited behind her brief silence. He could see the calculations in her stare. “I know that this must be very difficult for you. The circumstances of your deception—and the betrayal that it must certainly feel like—are most unfortunate. Your father rejoiced in knowing this day would eventually come. I was by his side when he negotiated the treaty with the regent, and Lord Jakob wept tears of gratitude knowing his part—and the part he made for you and for his grandson—in the healing of the world.”

The anger was back but no longer a tickling. It was a burning beneath his skin that threatened to redden his face, and the slightest movement of her eye told him that she was watching him even now. Watching and measuring. “It is … difficult … for many reasons,” he finally said. And then the anger was tucked away, hidden beneath the smile he forced to the surface. “But trees that do not bend—”

“Must surely break,” she said, finishing his sentence.

Rudolfo inclined his head, and she returned the gesture.

“And with that,” Yazmeera said, “I have much to do between now and dinner. So get settled. The house has a modest staff, and Lieutenant Tamyra has been assigned as your personal aide and security.” She placed her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “The lieutenant is to be decorated for her actions during her deployment in the Homelands—what the Deicides called the Churning Wastes. She was the sole surviving member of her squad.” She smiled as she said this. “That speaks volumes of her competency; I have no doubt she will serve you well.”

Rudolfo studied the woman more carefully now and raised his eyebrows. “I’m not certain it’s fitting for me to rob you of one of your better assets.” Of course, he knew as he said it that it was nothing of the sort. She’d been assigned to him precisely because of being a better asset, and he doubted his need for personal protection was the primary reason for that assignment.

“You’ll also find her to be an excellent conversationalist, well versed in Y’Zirite custom, culture and faith.”

Rudolfo smiled. “Thank you.”

Yazmeera returned the smile, though he could see she’d set guards at the corners of it. “You’re most welcome, Lord Rudolfo. And dinner will be at six bells.”

Then, abruptly, she was striding back the way they’d come, the emissary still struggling to keep up.

Rudolfo watched her go, then looked to the lieutenant. “Shall we?”

She inclined her head, and the guard opened the gate. They passed through, entered a wide courtyard set with a palm tree and a fountain at its center. Beyond it, a wide veranda welcomed them and glass doors led into the house itself. The small staff waited just inside the doors, and Rudolfo made a point of introducing himself to each, meeting their eyes and repeating their names back to them. None bore the scars of Y’Zirite faith, and he suspected they may even have been the same staff to whoever had lived here before the invasion. After working through the gauntlet, he and Tamyra were led on a quick tour that ended at his private quarters—a suite of rooms that included a den, bed and bathing chambers and a small bedroom for his aide.

When the house steward left them, Rudolfo looked at the woman again. She stood at a bookcase, her fingers running over the spines. Her posture was suddenly far more relaxed than he would expect of his aide, and there was something familiar about her.
It’s her profile,
he realized. And when she spoke, he understood exactly why.

“This,” Ire Li Tam said as she took in her surroundings, “will do nicely.”

Vlad Li Tam

Kin-wolves bayed beyond the high, barred window of his cell, and Vlad Li Tam sighed as the young woman beside him moved and mumbled in her sleep. The Y’Zirites had tried to separate them, but when the woman’s eyes widened at their attempt, Vlad had insisted she stay with him and their hosts had relented.

What choice did they have?
They’d already tried to bring him down with one of their thorn rifles. The thorn had lodged in his upper arm and had stung slightly, but nothing more. And his retribution had been swift and complete—five of their soldiers had collapsed into seizures, their own bodies convulsing with the toxins they’d tried to inflict upon him.

Now, they awaited the barge that would take them south along a wide canal and into the city of Ahm’s Glory.

Vlad closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep, but the woman cried out again, her voice rising in fear. He thought he picked words out of her cries and whimpers, but they were incomprehensible.

Still, every night he’d spent with her was filled with the terror she faced in her sleep, though by day she showed no sign at all of that war.