The Pearls (16 page)

“We'll still need a guide,” Hervan insisted. “Who can do it? You, Taime?”

“Not me,” the sergeant said. “I been through often enough, Gault help me, but I'm no guide. Ain't trained for it.”

Hervan exchanged a look with Rozer. His friend, to his knowledge, had never been inside the Hidden Ways, nor had Hervan. “Who, then? Fishul?”

“Perfect for the job!” Rozer declared. “I know he's been through many times. He used to talk about it in barracks when I was a—”

“Fishul's dead,” Taime said.

“Narge?”

“Dead, also.”

“Gods,” Hervan said in exasperation, “haven't we anyone?”

“What about the predlicate?” Rozer asked. “They're trained for it, trained for anything.”

“The pred—” Hervan's mouth went dry. He swallowed hard, frowning into Rozer's gaze, which was steady. “You mean Lady Lea's protector?”

“Thirbe,” Rozer said. “He'll do it. He's keen to go after her.”

Someone chuckled. “Whose head rolls first when there's trouble? The protector's.”

They grinned at that, but Hervan was scowling. The unfinished challenge between him and Thirbe festered like a barb that could not be pulled out. “
I
sent for the priest, you know. I was the one to call for—”

“All the predlicates have the training, don't they?” Rozer asked, paying no heed. “Perfect.”

In the background, Aszondal was shaking his head. “He's not one of us. We dare not trust him.”

“Exactly,” Hervan said.

“So we'll make him swear a blood oath of secrecy,” Rozer began.

“He'll never do it,” Taime said. “And I'll bet you my boots, sir, that Aszondal's right. We dare not ask.”

“He will,” Rozer insisted, while Hervan kept silent. “Didn't you see him hit the priest for refusing?”

“He's too close to the throne,” Taime said. “Much too close.”

“That's true,” Aszondal chimed in. “It wasn't until Poulso refused to help that I heard Thirbe ask the captain about sending for reinforcements. He's given up. He has no intention of overstepping the priest's ruling.”

“He's a coward,” Hervan muttered.

“I don't think so,” Rozer said. “So he's wary about going too far, too publicly. So are we, or we wouldn't be meeting in secret now.”

“But, sir,” Aszondal said, his gaze shifting between Hervan and Rozer, “having the official sanction of a priest is one thing. Doing this without authority is forbidden.”

“So's calling up the dead to honor them,” Rozer said. “When have you let that stop you?”

Aszondal fell silent, and no one else spoke.

“Captain?” Rozer asked.

Hervan scowled, his mind desperately seeking another solution, any solution other than having to ask Thirbe for help.

Rozer leaned forward. “Captain, we need him, and I'm certain he'll not refuse. The man's in love with her.”

Hoots of derision, swiftly muffled, went up.

Even Hervan snorted in disbelief. “That old man? He could be her father.”

“So?” Rozer asked. “You think old men don't lust for young maidens?”

Hervan felt appalled, even disgusted by the idea of Thirbe wanting to touch Lea. “But—”

“Come now, sir, don't say it's forbidden for a protector and his—” Rozer cleared his throat suggestively. “We know better.”

Muted chuckles broke out from some of them, while Hervan glowered at the snow.

Rozer shot him an impatient look. “I didn't say the lady reciprocated. Gods, Captain, she doesn't even give
you
a second look, and you've been pouring the famous Hervan charm over her like syrup since we set out.”

Swift grins flashed around, while Hervan burned with embarrassment. There was a certain amount of latitude in the cadre that permitted men to speak their opinions freely, regardless of rank, but Hervan thought Rozer was going too far now, crossing the line of discipline and taking advantage of their friendship. It was not seemly for the commanding officer to be teased in front of his men under any circumstances.

“Then we agree,” Rozer said. “Thirbe should be asked. The risk is justified. I think you should approach him, Captain.”

Hervan's annoyance grew. Thirbe would believe he was seeking reconciliation, perhaps even making overtures of apology if he went asking for help now. “Think whatever you please,” Hervan said with a snap. “It's not up to you, Lieutenant, to issue orders to me.”

“And this is no time to let personal grudges stand between us and what needs to be done,” Rozer said.

Hervan jerked as though prodded, and the sudden movement sent a stab of pain through his shoulder. By the time he caught his breath he'd reconsidered what he'd been about to say to Rozer. After his bravado and fiery urging for them to take these risks, he saw how impossible it was for him to back away now.
They will think me afraid of the man if I do,
he thought.
Damn Rozer
.

“I'll ask Thirbe,” he agreed, seething at the necessity for it. “But only at the right time. Not before.”

“Very wise,” Rozer said in approval, and the others nodded.

“And if the lieutenant's wrong? If the protector won't agree?” Aszondal asked.

Rozer mimed the motion of a knife thrust and raised his brows at Hervan. “Eh?”

The captain nodded grimly. “We'll give him no choice. And when we're done with his help, he'll be silenced before we return to New Imperia. That way, we never have to worry about him bleating to the emperor.”

“Very sensible,” Rozer said. “No more doubts, men. If our valiant captain is willing to silence an imperial protector, he'll leave no other loose ends to betray us later.”

They all nodded except Taime. “What about the lady herself?”

Hervan had been expecting this question. He didn't know the answer. “Gault willing, she'll never know.”

But Taime was like a dog worrying a bone. “It's said the emperor can't be lied to. Is she not the same? Could you lie to the lady, Aszondal? Could you, Lieutenant? Captain?”

Hervan's fist clenched in his lap. “Leave that to me, Sergeant.”

“Ah yes, our dear captain has the gift of making ladies grateful,” Rozer said, winking.

Taime didn't smile with the others. “She ain't warmed to him so far.”

“But if he rescues her, she'll change her mind,” Rozer said. “Eh, Captain?”

In no mood to hear Lea's name bandied like a barracks joke, Hervan shot him a quelling look. “It's the emperor's gratitude we'll need more.”

Aszondal spoke up. “We'll have it, for he's fair besotted with her. I'm thinking he won't care what we do, as long as she's delivered safe. Won't ask too many questions.”

“Exactly,” Hervan said. “If the lady's brought home alive, we'll live and prosper. If not, disgrace and desertion, as I said before.”

Rozer lifted his cup in a mocking toast. “The Crimsons never fail,” he said. “We live by that motto.”

“Or die for it,” Taime grumbled under his breath.

Rozer breathed out the ghost of a chuckle. “Stabbing the failures and covering up the rest. Who am I to break tradition? I'm with you, Captain.”

“Aye,” Aszondal said. “Yours to the last.”

Hervan raised his cup in salute. The others did likewise.

“Call forth the dead,” Hervan said. “Summon forth our comrades and the ghosts of this benighted place. Do it quickly, and do it well!”

He quaffed the foul contents of the cup, choking down the drink before he could spew it from his mouth.

As he did so, he seemed to hear his father's voice lecturing in the back of his head:
“Treason in drinking from a blood cup. Treason in defying the emperor's orders. Treason. Treason. Treason.”
Hervan shut it away, refusing to listen. Feeling a mixture of recklessness and dread knotted in the pit of his stomach, he told himself it was courage. The risks had to be taken; there was no other way. He'd gone too far already to back out now.

For the first time since assuming his command, he saw more than approval in these men's faces. He saw respect there as well, even from Sergeant Taime.

It did not feel as good as he'd expected.
That I should have to agree to murder and treason to gain it,
he thought.

E
xhaustion
burned inside Shadrael by the time he finally spoke the word that had been sawing through his mind forever, and led his men out of the Hidden Ways back into the reality of cold, stinging air and moonlight shining over snow-covered ground.

Hills and woods surrounded him. He inhaled the scents of pine laced with pungent toklar bush. This cold and snow, the trees, the terrain were
not
what he'd been aiming for. Everything was wrong, and he knew a burst of alarm, sharp and sour, before he controlled it.

“Commander—”

“Have the men fall out and rest,” Shadrael broke in before Fomo could ask questions. Fomo knew where he'd planned to take them, but the rest of the men did not. “Half rations—cold—and a full measure of water each.”

Saluting, the centruin set to work.

Pushing away the headache buzzing in his temples, Shadrael kicked his horse through a thicket of trees, riding uphill into the clear to take his bearings.

Overhead, the hands of the gods had brushed the night sky with a spangle of lights. Above the fat milky moon, the star Kelili shone hard and bright inside the circle of her four lesser sisters. He knew that north constellation as well as the back of his hand, for it had guided him through the night hunts of his boyhood. Five years past, he'd followed it in leading his battered legion to safety from the Madrun wilderness. Now, gazing up at it, he gave the bright star a tiny Ulinian salute, touching his lips and forehead. With Kelili to guide him, he could never be lost.

To the east lay a dark jumble of foothills descending to forest. To the west lay the narrow valley once known as Falenthis, the valley of ruins and ancient tragedy where he'd abducted Light Bringer's sister this afternoon.

Stunned, unable to believe it, Shadrael stared hard at the landmarks. Moonlight gleamed stark and white, reflected by the snow. It illuminated the landscape with such clarity there could be no mistake.

From this vantage he could see nearly the entire valley.
There
stood the crumbling pillars of its imperial arch.
There
ran the black line of the stream near the base of the opposite hills. And
there
lay the distant heaps of fallen buildings. A handful of fires, flickering like tiny beacons, showed him where the lady's escort made their camp tonight in the narrow flat betwixt stream and road.

Disappointment sagged through him, and he bowed his head. All that effort to magically fold distance and time, all that sacrificing of his precious reserves to cross this wretched province and reach Ulinia by dawn, and to what result? They'd gone scarcely farther than a half day's normal marching could have taken them.

Mortified, shocked, he looked again, telling himself that in his weariness he must be mistaken. But Falenthis it was. A place cursed through history, and evidently so tainted still that its bad luck had afflicted him and his men.

Or was the accursed valley to blame?

He glared at the girl shamming sleep in his arms.
She
was to blame for this, he thought.
She
was why he'd come so pathetically short of his objective. Of course shadow magic no longer worked as it once had. Never again could it do so, but as long as the Hidden Ways could be opened, they were there to be used.

Unless a creature like this girl skewed everything.

He gave her a fierce shaking. “Wake up.”

She pulled herself erect. “Is it over?”

Even the fatigue dragging through her voice could not stifle how musical it was.
A pretty voice,
he thought. Then he frowned at his own fancies.

She twisted about so that he could see her profile. Moonlight reached down through the bare tree branches to finger her face. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the delicate light. Tangles of golden hair, curling in ringlets with the soft sheen of silk, spilled across her shoulders. Finding it painful to gaze at such innocence and purity, Shadrael shifted his gaze.

“Look over there,” he said, pointing at the valley. “See the fires of your friends, who camp at their ease rather than search for you.”

She frowned, her features half-concealed in the play of luminous light and shadow. “Do you think such a lie will torment me? Do they not need rest and time to attend the injured?” She hesitated, half-turning away. “I—I thank you for not killing them all.”

Surprised, he almost laughed. “Lady, I did not spare them to please you.”

“What do you want with me? You've slaughtered half my escort, killed my handmaidens, and carried me off like some kind of prize. Why steal my necklace while leaving the wagons untouched?”

“So you noticed that despite a raging battle.”

“What do you want with me?”

“None of your business.”

She drew in her breath in a sort of gasp and bowed her head. “I see. A political hostage. We thought the—there would be someone else at risk.”

“It would take a bolder army than mine to abduct the empress.”

Lea's gaze widened. “By whose order am I taken?” she asked.

“You think I'm not acting on my own initiative?”

“No. Who is behind you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course! What is this about? What does your master seek to force my brother to do?”

Shadrael had to admire her directness, even if he felt slightly miffed by her assumption—however true—that he served someone else.

“Will you not answer?” she persisted. “Why keep it secret?”

“If you knew, how would that satisfy you?”

“Do you know whom you serve?”

“Yes.”

“Then who?”

“None of your business.”

Although her eyes were veiled by night he could feel their direct stare. “Will you please return my necklace?” she asked.

“No.”

“Is Captain Hervan in your employ? Is that why he brought me into your trap?”

“Gods, why so many questions?” Shadrael burst out.

“Would you rather I screamed and cried?”

Frowning, he touched a dried tear track on her cheek with the tip of his gloved finger. “Do you always shed pearls when you cry?”

She drew back, lifting her hand to brush at where he'd touched her face. “None of your business.”

He nearly laughed, but curbed his amusement. Abruptly he lifted her off his horse and set her on the ground. “Walk about. Stay quiet and keep well away from the men. I don't need to explain why.”

She stood in the snow, shivering a little under her cloak, and hesitated, her face a pale oval moon in the darkness. She stared at him a long while, silent and intent. Finally she turned and stumbled away through the snow.

Aware that he could recapture her easily if she chose to run or hide, Shadrael nevertheless watched until she entered a stand of scrubby pines and left his sight. He'd expected a pampered, hysterical princess, one who would scream at the sight of him or perhaps offer coy wiles in a bribe for her freedom. Instead, what kind of maiden was this, he wondered, to spin magic inside the bleak ruin of the Hidden Ways, to thwart his own spellwork, to withstand the terror of her abduction and the murder of her attendants with calm courage? She had even dozed for a while in his arms, displaying a kind of trusting innocence—or stupidity—that disconcerted him.

A ploy to gain your sympathy,
he warned himself. She was the clever, unpredictable kind of captive who would cause as much trouble as possible. Already she'd certainly knocked his plans awry. It was bound to happen again, perhaps several times, before he delivered her and collected his payment. Then she could lead Vordachai a merry chase, and good riddance.

The soft sound of approaching hooves muffled by the snow caught his attention. Without turning his head, he flicked his hand in permission for Fomo to join him.

The centruin reined up at his side and drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the valley spread before them. “Faure's hell!”

“The valley's old curse clutches at us,” Shadrael said, lying to save his pride. “See how we've scarcely left it.”

“Demon's luck,” Fomo said hoarsely, and spat in disgust. “We've gained almost no distance. How far must we go to escape it?”

Shadrael did not answer.

Fomo pointed at the camp. “Looks like the curse is glued to those poor morts we left alive. Figured by now they'd have tucked tail and run to Brondi for help, bleating all the way.”

There was no hesitation in Fomo's tone, no indication that he was picking his words with care. Shadrael, on edge and ready to strike, realized that his centruin had swallowed the lie. A bleak, mirthless smile curled Shadrael's lips. So here he was, obliged to dance along a precipice of artifice and trickery, pretending they must journey to Ulinia the hard way, in quick march, for sound strategic reasons.

“Fine joke on them if they can't leave,” Fomo said.

“Better if they do,” Shadrael said.

“Maybe they're too stupid to run. Think they've sent for reinforcements?” Fomo asked. “That why they're waiting?”

“They're required to report their situation to the nearest imperial official.”

“Regs.” Fomo spat. “Can't do nothing in the army without some rule about it. But it don't look much like they're doing anything they should. Maybe things are different for cavalry, what with their fancy ranks and pretty uniforms.”

Something touched Shadrael, a fingering of darkness, featherlight in touch. He frowned. “Someone in that valley is using magic.”

Fomo uttered a hideous wheezing sound that passed for laughter. “What for? Are the light eaters doing a little prance to their—”

“Quiet.” Shadrael felt that elusive touch again, weak but a definite summons. Someone was weaving a spell, its tracings like the crisscrossed slime tracks left by a slug on garden leaves. Involuntarily he glanced over his shoulder at his men. “It's
necria
magic. They're calling the dead.”

“The hell they are. To track us?”

“Perhaps. Better watch the men. Some of the
casna
may be affected enough to answer that summons.”

“Is it that strong?”

“No, it's weak and crude, but if I felt it, some of the others will, too.”

The centruin turned his head to stare at Shadrael through the moonlight. “I'll see no one obeys it. If they're coming after us, you want us to set up another ambush?”

“Did you plant the false trail?”

“Three dropped swords of Thyrazene make, and a pouch with orders to take her to the Viermar himself.”

Shadrael frowned. “I told you to name a lesser dragon lord, not the chieftain.”

“Viermar sounds better.” Fomo shrugged. “More threat of war that way.”

“Anyone who's met the Viermar knows he's senile and toothless, with no intention of starting a war.”

“Got sons, ain't he? Sons chafing to fight, and seize power and glory for themselves. Those bleating sheep in the Imperial Council won't take time to think this through.”

Shadrael grunted. In his opinion, Vordachai's simple little plan to abduct the girl and point the blame at his neighboring province, the always unpopular Thyrazenes, was the kind of naive tactic anyone could see through. Might as well write
VORDACHAI OF ULINIA IS BEHIND THIS
in the mud. Only, Fomo was right, Shadrael thought. Who on the council was going to put reason before emotion with a girl like Lea at stake? Simple, crude, naive little plan. Either it would work perfectly or it would lead the Imperial Army right to Vordachai's portal.
You keep on wishing for war, elder brother,
he thought.
The odds are improving that you'll have one.

“Could have done a better job of it if we'd killed all of them,” Fomo said. “Could have torched a few corpses, made it look like dragon burns. Set it up real nice.”

“I suppose you'd be happier if I'd let the men wear Thyrazene gear and come leading a dragon on a chain.”

Fomo grinned, his scarred face hideous in the moonlight. “Now, there's a thought. Have a little fun with them, eh? But, gods, I wouldn't have taken that pretty-boy captain for a shadow user. Very clever, sir, bringing us out of the Hidden Ways as soon as he started trying to track us through them. Very clever.”

Shadrael said nothing. If that's what Fomo wanted to believe, it served his purpose well enough.

“You want us to set up camp here, sir? We can kindle some bright, pretty fires, really visible to any lookout in the valley, and lure them up. Finish 'em off, and be done.”

“If I'd wanted a complete massacre, it would have happened at the time of ambush,” Shadrael said coldly.