The False Martyr (86 page)

“
Say something,” Valati
Lareno whispered from beside him.

Dasen looked out over the
crowd. “Thank you all for your concern. I am simply not used to the
heat. I am sorry that I cannot do more. We must all do what we can
to help and protect each other in this difficult time. Please, do
not let this keep you from your meal.” He waved again, not sure
where those words had come from. The crowd did not cheer this time.
They seemed contemplative and mumbled back and forth. Dasen was not
sure how to interpret that, but Valati Lareno wore a big smile when
he turned Dasen back around and led him toward the dais.

“
The Order protect ya, my
lady,” someone shouted from the crowd as Dasen walked away. The
call rose from the people in waves, flowing out of the temple down
the steps and into the courtyard.

Dasen turned halfway down
the benches and called, “And to all of you. Help each other and
keep your hope. The Order will provide.”

The crowd bowed their
heads as one and mumbled their agreement. Dasen had no idea what
was happening or where any of those words had come from. He was by
no means a public speaker, unless reading dry treaties somehow
counted. He had never been a leader or someone that others looked
up to or emulated. Mostly, he had spent his life trying to hide
from the attention that his father’s position seemed to convey. The
irony was that in his most desperate attempt to hide, he had become
the object of profound scrutiny.

“
What was that?” he asked
Valati Lareno as they approached a door to the side of the dais. He
could still hear the crowd behind them stirring, could not possibly
understand how a decidedly ugly, overdressed noblewoman from some
unknown region could possibly have created such buzz by doing
nothing more noteworthy than fainting. But he had the feeling that
this was all part of some larger scheme, that Valati Lareno had
meant for this to be the outcome of the day before it ever
started.

“
Every movement needs a
martyr,” Valati Lareno whispered. He looked at Dasen with a huge
smile, yellow buck teeth showing like a rabbit in a carrot
patch.

Dasen stopped cold. “But
aren’t martyrs supposed to die?”

“
Worry about that when the
time comes,” the valati said. “First, you need to be worthy of
martyrdom.”

#

So this is where you keep
it all,” Garth announced as Valati Lareno led them into a large
room beneath the temple. He used the flame from one of the lamps in
the hall to ignite a long brand and used that in turn to start two
lamps in what appeared to be a storeroom. Dasen followed him into
the room and stared at the mountains of food. Wheels of cheese made
a series of towers in one corner. In another, barrels of salted
meat rose to the ceiling. Walls had been constructed out of burlap
sacks that bulged with flour, oats, and barley. Casks of wine and
beer, racks of hanging sausages, barrels of oil, crates of potatoes
and carrots filed every nook and cranny. But behind all the sacks,
crates, and casks, peeking out as if playing hide-and-seek were the
images of Valatarian and his disciples.

“
It’s the meditation
room,” Dasen mumbled. He had seen one of these rooms at the
university. It was where the counselors and valati came to align
themselves with the Order. It was a sacred room in any temple, one
reserved for the holy men. And this one had been turned into a
storeroom.

“
It is the one room that
the governor’s soldiers would never enter,” Valati Lareno
explained. “It’s cool and contained. When this door is closed, it
is practically sealed. And this is not the only store we have.” He
looked around the room with obvious pride. “Kian and I had the
benefit of foresight. We knew what the invaders were likely to do,
so we prepared for it. The Church backs us completely – even
coordinating resistance between cities – but we’ve found no way to
use the food we’ve gathered.

“
You, my lady,” he nodded
with a smile at Dasen, “have helped. We let it be known that you
donated a great sum to the temple, and that we used our position to
purchase food from Liandria – impossible given that they have
closed the border but equally impossible to disprove. Yet even that
lie can only carry us so far.”

Garth grunted from the
corner. “Why steal all this food if you cannot use it?”

“
Partially, it is to
destabilize the governor,” Lareno answered. “But also to prepare
for the day that the people finally overthrow him.”

“
But that announcement
today,” Dasen said. He had found a place sitting on a stack of
flour sacks. “I mean Dorington is only a hundred miles away. It is
the largest city in this part of the Kingdoms, is the original
capital of the duchy. Yet the announcement that it was in revolt
barely created a stir. I looked at the people. They don’t have any
fight in them. I think you’ve misjudged them. They’re not on the
verge of overthrowing anything.”

“
What makes sense for
Dorington, cannot be said to be true of Gorin,” Lareno answered
with a sigh. “Everyone here expected Dorington to revolt, but that
does not mean they want to be part of it. The people of Gorin West
are not fighters. They are used to hard lives, to depravation, to
being under the yoke, and fighting has never gotten them anything
but burnt homes and dead sons.

“
Despite being so close,
Dorington is another animal. It was always one of the strongest
cities in the Kingdoms. It was the last holdout against
unification. It has a long history of military strength, and the
presences of the Sylians has kept it alert while the rest of the
Kingdoms became complacent. What’s more, Tares Bairn is a popular
and ambitious leader. Many thought him an eventual rival to Kavich.
If he capitulated to the tyrant, any hope he had of becoming
Chancellor would be gone. By revolting, he will be a hero. Unless
your father has him killed, he will be the winner even if the
revolt fails, and with the fortresses and fighting men of Dorington
on his side, even that outcome is not certain.”

“
So why are we doing
this?”

“
These people need
something to fight for,” Teth answered. “Food is not enough. They
need to feel pride in something then have it taken away. Only when
they realize that they have nothing left to live for will they give
their lives. That’s why you’re building up Lady Esther, isn’t
it?”

Valati Lareno looked at
Teth with surprise that turned into a frown. “I need to get back
upstairs,” he said, suddenly nervous. “Recover, Dasen. You did
brilliantly, but your day is not over yet. I’ll be back for you in
an hour.”

After the valati departed,
silence fell in the storeroom. Dasen watched Teth. She was soaked
with sweat, hair plastered to her head in the bowl that Mrs.
Tappers had made of it. It ran down her cheeks and dripped from her
chin even here in the cool basement. Her cotton dress shirt had
turned from white to grey. It was untucked and unbuttoned at the
top to show her slim neck and top of her chest well before the wrap
that covered her breasts. She still wore a black silk vest to help
cover the slight bulge that even the tightest wrap could not
completely conceal. Her black pants were expertly tailored, fitting
her position as a young noble, but they were also marked with lines
of salt from her evaporated sweat and splattered with mud. She
looked every bit the wealthy boy set on militancy.

And Garth looked every bit
the teacher of such a boy. “Your wife is starting to show me what
Kian saw outside Thoren,” he broke the silence. “Certainly, it is
impressive for a woman.”

Teth snorted at that but
was clearly lightened by the compliment. “You can hardly do better.
And you’re a Morg. Give me another week, and I’ll have you at
everything but the sword.”

Garth almost smiled. “She
is fierce. I sometimes think she really does have the blood of
Morgs.”

Dasen looked at Teth then
Garth. They shared half-smiles at their banter, and Dasen felt his
blood run cold. It was so easy to forget that Teth was a woman,
that she might be attracted to another man, that a Morg – fierce,
strong, independent – might be a perfect fit. And if she was
falling for her teacher, if that was the reason she had become so
distant? Dasen felt his heart breaking at the thought.

“
I think in a couple of
weeks she will be ready for real action,” Garth was saying. He
looked at Teth protectively. Dasen watched him. There was no guilt
in his eyes, no wariness, nothing that suggested anything more
toward Teth than a teacher’s pride. He felt his concerns ease until
he looked to Teth and saw her eyes dim. Her face fell for an
instant, smile gone then replaced with a mask.

“
We should go,” she said
to fill the gap. “Are you going to be alright, Dasen?”

“
I’m fine. Just be
careful. There is no need to rush into anything.”

“
I have given my word to
teach her,” Garth assured. “You need only worry about
yourself.”

Teth turned to follow
Garth out the door, then thought better of it. She came to Dasen
and put her hand on his arm as she had so many other times when
unsure of her feelings. “Be careful, Dasen,” she said. “I . . . .”
She looked around the storeroom then seemed to reconsider. She
removed her hand and backed away. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said
as she walked from the room.

Chapter 47

The
39
^th
Day of Summer

“
Time to go, my lady,”
Valati Lareno called. “Here, drink this.” He handed Dasen a small
metal cup with a dark liquid inside.

“
What is it?” Dasen sat up
from the bed of flour bags where he had been napping, pushed aside
the plate that had held his lunch, took the cup, and swirled it.
The liquid smelled of alcohol and spices, rich and
sweet.

“
It’s a restorative. The
counselors here distill it. They use it cure everything. I doubt it
has much medicinal value, but it will give you some
pep.”

Dasen sipped the dram.
Matching its smell, it tasted of warm spices and honey with the
underlying bite of strong alcohol. Licking his lips, he raised the
glass and drank the remainder. It flowed down his throat easily,
warming him the entire way down then seemed to snake its way out to
his limbs, flowing with his blood to every corner of his body until
he tingled from his toes to his ears. “That is something,” he said,
staring at the glass.

“
That was double the usual
dose,” Lareno admitted. “I think you’ll need it.”

“
What now?” Dasen moaned
and stretched despite the warming of the alcohol. “More bread and
soup?”

“
It’s a surprise.” Lareno
smiled impishly, “but you’ll probably want one of these.” He held
out a wide strip of heavy muslin.

“
What’s this for?” Dasen
took the strip of cloth. It was two feet long, a foot wide, and
smelled strongly of herbs.

“
You’ll know when we get
there. Come on, my lady. It’s been a long day already, but we’re
just getting started.”

Dasen followed the valati
up the stairs to the main section of the temple then out the doors
nearest the dais into the blazing mid-afternoon sun. A crowd
waited. They erupted in cheers when they saw Lady Esther. He waved
at them and was greeted by shouts of goodwill. It appeared that the
soup line had been completed, but only a fraction of the people had
departed. The temple remained surrounded by those that had made it
their home over the previous weeks. Dasen knew from experience that
they would remain here until the doors were opened again at
sunset.

Lareno led Dasen to a
wagon at the front of a line of similar vehicles. A driver there
offered him a hand with the steps, and Dasen began to climb. “Would
my lady like to sit on the bench with me,” the driver asked, “or
would you be more comfortable in the back?”

Dasen looked back at the
bed of the wagon. It was loaded with bags of the simple cakes that
he had been handing out in the temple. A half-dozen counselors and
acolytes sat among the bags. Each of the men held a muslin cloth
similar to Dasen’s. He could smell the herbal tang of them even
from the front of the wagon.

“
She’s going to the camp!”
someone from the crowd shouted, providing Dasen with all the
confirmation his slow mind needed. His eyes grew wide as he looked
around. There were four wagons with two donkeys each. Bags of food
or barrels of water filled each cart accompanied by counselors,
acolytes, and a few other volunteers. Dasen felt his knees grow
weak. They were going to the camp. Everyone knew that the camp
meant death. It meant disease and starvation. There was no food, no
clean water, and no medicine for its residents. Dasen wanted no
part of it. He stared down at the cloth in his hand.
To protect me from the disease or the
smell
, he wondered.
Probably both
. He wanted to faint
again.

“
She’s going to the camp.”
The phrase had grown nearly to a chant as it was taken up and
passed back through the crowd. The people at the front began to
cheer. Those at the back joined them. Dasen could only stare in
shock.

“
You’re supposed to be
demure,” Valati Lareno whispered in his ear. “Look surprised, wave,
then sit in the back with the counselors.”