Seeds of Rebellion (49 page)

The statement elicited an outburst from the seedmen. Drake stared at the ground, lips trembling as he resisted laughter.

“Stop!” Farfalee demanded.

“The displacer isn’t wrong,” Tark said. “The reputation of the Amar Kabal has fallen.”

“Very well,” Andrus said, drawing his sword. “He’s welcome to test himself against me.”

“You’re missing the point,” Ferrin said calmly. “Nobody questions that you’re fine warriors. In fact, your prowess only makes you appear more cowardly. No one blames a weakling for hiding from a fight.”

“You claim to be tarnished by the reputation of your people,” Andrus said, sheathing his blade. “We have scouts, Ferrin. We know about you personally. You’re as slippery as any displacer serving the emperor.”

“Then your scouts should also know I have irrevocably fallen out of favor with the emperor,” Ferrin replied. “I may have been slippery, but until he turned on me, I was always loyal to him. I am now loyal to Jason and Galloran. I have proven that loyalty in every way possible, and will continue to do so. You will likely need my help as we approach the eastern battlefront. There will be considerable imperial traffic to navigate.”

“I do not ask any of us to fully trust the displacer,” Farfalee said. “But I do ask whether any among us cannot abide his company. If so, speak now, so we may replace you.”

“Replace us?” Delissa complained. “For a displacer?”

“For a member of the delegation approved by the Conclave,” Farfalee rephrased. “If he were not willing to work with us, he would be left behind. But he appears willing.”

“We’re willing too,” Andrus said.

“Delissa?” Farfalee asked.

“I won’t make trouble,” she pledged.

“This is no casual exercise,” Farfalee said. “We’re about to pass the point of no return. This delegation must be united. A difficult road awaits us. We can’t afford internal strife.”

“May I speak now?” Drake asked, raising a finger.

“I suppose you’ll have to resume at some point,” Farfalee said.

“Who made you the leader?”

Her jaw tightened. “Take your pick: experience, competence, intelligence, charisma—”

“Also the Conclave agreed to it with Galloran,” Kerick interceded.

“Very well,” Drake said, clearing his throat theatrically. “Now that we have all of this settled, I move, less talking, more walking.”

“Seconded,” Nedwin said tiredly.

The motion passed unanimously.

CHAPTER
21

T
he days began to blur as Jason marched northward into the soaring mountains. At first he had frequently paused to admire the jaw-dropping vistas of rugged cliffs, glittering cascades, chiseled ridgelines, hidden lakes, and craggy peaks. Although he lived in the Rockies and had visited several national parks, he had never witnessed such consistently grand, dramatic terrain.

But eventually the postcard panoramas became so commonplace that he began to lose the ability to view them with fresh eyes. Instead of basking in the beauty, he started to focus on how steep the trail was to the next rise, or how closely the narrow path ran along the brink of the cliff up ahead, or how far the way had to twist and wind to cross a relatively short distance.

There seemed to be no end to the mountains. No matter how high they climbed, when peering ahead or back or off to either side, only more rocky slopes and stony crests remained in view, rank upon rank, a granitic ocean sculpted over eons.

The way became more challenging the deeper they progressed into the maze of canyons and summits. More often the trail became
a ledge with a sheer drop on one hand and a steep rise on the other. More often, dizzying crevices were spanned by wobbly rope bridges. More often, carved tunnels or natural caves granted access through otherwise impassible terrain.

Although the sky remained mostly clear, the thinning air gained a chilly bite. Heavy winter cloaks were worn with increasing regularity. Snowy glaciers appeared upon the highest peaks and saddles.

They ate well. Aram reveled in the elk meat prevalent early on the hike, and later in the goat meat featured at the higher altitudes. Jason spotted all sorts of life, especially birds of prey, bighorn sheep, mountain goats, and an unfamiliar breed of shaggy, hopping rodent.

Drake and Nedwin helped scout, but Ferrin invariably remained with the main group. Farfalee and Nollin seldom ranged far ahead or behind, but the other seedfolk spent much of the time away from the delegation, either to hunt or keep watch for trouble.

The demanding trail offered little chance for conversation. Words tended to be limited to instructions about avoiding danger along the treacherous route. They hiked long hours, eating hastily and sleeping greedily. Jason was glad the Amar Kabal required no real sleep, because he never had to stand guard.

Jason had overheard no harsh words since Farfalee had called for cooperation at the trailhead, but he had observed plenty of surly glances.

On the ninth day of their hike, they reached a large stone building at the brink of a yawning chasm. With irregular walls and steep angles to the slate-shingled roof, the weatherworn structure could almost have passed for a natural outgrowth of the mountainside. Three thick ropes curved across the chasm, the thickest for
walking on and the other two for handrails, all three connected at intervals by slender lines.

Four seed people manned the remote outpost—two men and two women. The building contained a stockpile of edibles and other goods, along with enough space for the entire delegation to sleep indoors, warmed by a blazing fire.

Farfalee counseled with the head of the outpost, a deep-voiced man named Valero. Jason overheard snatches of advice about weather and cave sloths and news from even more remote watch points.

As they prepared to depart the next morning, Jason found Ferrin reclining in an isolated storeroom, munching on dried fruit. He had specifically sought him out because the displacer hadn’t seemed like himself since the trip began.

“You doing all right?” Jason asked directly.

“Never better,” Ferrin said, popping what might have been a shriveled apricot into his mouth.

“You haven’t joined any of the scouting missions,” Jason said.

Ferrin grinned faintly. “I have a keen sense for when my services are unappreciated.”

“You have as much right to be here as anyone,” Jason assured him.

“In theory, perhaps, thanks to Galloran. Not in practice. Don’t fret for me. I’m right at home when most of the people around me wish I were elsewhere. Even among imperial servants, the company of a displacer is undesired.”

Jason frowned. “Don’t let the seedmen get to you.”

“It isn’t just the seedmen,” Ferrin said without evident resentment. “The rest of you don’t trust me to varying degrees. I don’t expect Nedwin or Tark would put a hand out to steady me if I teetered on a brink. Drake and Aram could take me or leave me.
Corinne is too innocent to know better. And of course you and Rachel are nursing old wounds. I’m accustomed to this kind of atmosphere. Right now it’s time for me to lie low. If I appear happy or helpful, it will only cause irritation and heighten the tension. An unwelcome guest should avoid flaunting his presence.”

“I’m trusting you more and more,” Jason said, feeling bad for him.

“Which feels much stranger than suspicion,” Ferrin said. “When you were new to Lyrian, before you knew anything about displacers, I could rationalize your acceptance as ignorance. I’ve never had a true friend, Jason. I’ve used others. I’ve been used. But a principled person has never knowingly accepted me. When Galloran stood up for me in front of the Conclave? When he vouched for me? That was a new experience. I almost stood and objected.”

“Why?” Jason said. “Was he wrong?”

Ferrin compressed his lips. “I want him to be right,” he finally said. “Displacers are raised to spy for Maldor. I was taught to scheme since the cradle. I’ve always had a knack for it. I can’t stop noticing how I might take advantage of information. How I might exploit relationships. Among displacers, I took pride in having more honor than most. I often passed up unwholesome opportunities. But next to integrity like I’ve seen in you and Galloran, I’m entirely unworthy.”

“People can change,” Jason said.

“I’m trying, Jason. But don’t you see? About as honest as I can get is confessing how dishonest I instinctively want to be!”

“That’s a start,” Jason said. He regarded Ferrin soberly. “What do you feel tempted to do?”

Ferrin stared at the floor. “Part of me muses how difficult it would be for the seedmen to pass judgment on me and my people if they were extinct. Part of me wants to exploit a million flaws I’ve noticed in their attitudes and defenses. Part of me wants to show
you and Galloran that you were fools to trust me, that I don’t need your sympathy or protection. Part of me wants that piece of my neck back from Nedwin.”

Jason didn’t like where this was heading. Had he worried that Ferrin might somehow betray them? Sure. But it was different to hear those words from his lips. Then again, he was just trying to be honest, right?

“You don’t know how to respond,” Ferrin said. “I’ll make it easy. The safest course of action for your young rebellion would be to toss me off the tallest cliff you can find. I have played a perilous game for years—trading secrets, telling lies, finding leverage, earning trust only to betray it. I got away with an eccentric lifestyle among Maldor’s elite by hiding much of what I learned and proving myself too valuable to kill. It was a precarious, unforgiving game. When I released you from Felrook, I miscalculated, and I lost. Game over. Bridges burned. But the game is part of my nature. I don’t think I can stop playing until I stop breathing.”

“You want us to kill you?” Jason said, unconvinced.

Ferrin snickered miserably. “I don’t know. Part of me suspects you’d never do that. Part of me thinks my candor will only make you trust me more. Maybe part of me is nobly trying to warn you. Maybe part of me doesn’t care anymore. I’m an actor. I’ve pretended to be too many things to too many people. Cut free from Maldor, having betrayed the only cause I had always upheld, I’m not sure I have an identity.”

“Start fresh,” Jason urged. “Be true to this. Play your games for us.”

Ferrin sighed. “I never chose this cause. Not really. I didn’t walk away from Maldor as a matter of principle. I made a mistake and ran away. Am I so inconstant that I then become unswervingly loyal to his enemies?”

“Why were you loyal to him?” Jason asked.

“Partly out of tradition,” Ferrin said. “I’m a displacer. All displacers are loyal to Maldor. Mostly for security. He’s going to win. Displacers know what happens to the losing side. I was loyal to the future undisputed emperor of all Lyrian.”

“What if we can win?” Jason said. “What if the oracle sees a way that Maldor can lose?”

“Oracles see thousands of possible futures,” Ferrin said. “Maybe millions. Maybe more. Out of the countless possible futures, is there one where Maldor fails? Probably. Even if this oracle predicts possible victory for a rebellion, I’m willing to wager she’ll see many, many more futures where we get crushed. Besides, if that oracle lays eyes on me, she’ll probably order me slain on sight.”

“Why?” Jason asked.

Ferrin met his gaze. “Because who knows how many of those futures where the rebellion gets crushed will begin with an act of betrayal by me?”