The Rebellion (105 page)

“She … she was not taken by slavers, then,” I muttered, wondering how else she would have come to be with the Gadfians.

Swallow gaped at me in disbelief. “How could you know that?”

It was some seconds before I could speak, for the desire to do so warred with Atthis’s warning to tell no one of my quest. “I, too, have dreams,” I managed finally, taking refuge in mystery.

“You dreamed of the D’rekta?” Swallow asked very deliberately.

“You said a vision took her,” I countered.

He frowned. “There is dispute among the older ones over this matter. You see, slavers took her as she walked alone on a beach one night. But the day before, she had announced that she must go on a journey from which she would never return.

The Twentyfamilies mourned her loss to the slavers, believing that evil chance had stolen her from her intended journey, but the D’rekta’s son argued that his mother had foreseen the coming of the slavers, that she had walked upon the beach alone deliberately, knowing that it was their unwitting task to take her where she must go. He named himself D’rekta and vowed to honor and abide by the ancient promises, lest her vision be corrupted.” Swallow shook his head. “I have sometimes wondered what it must have been like, driven by visions into the hands of slavers. I do not think I could have given myself to them so wholly.”

You could
, I thought somberly,
if you knew what would come should you fail to obey the visions
. I knew very well what the D’rekta’s quest had been. Was it not my own now?

“The D’rekta’s son …,” I murmured.

“He took her place as the leader of my ancestors, and he made the pact of safe passage with the Council in his mother’s stead.”

“Do the ancient promises have anything to do with the things the D’rekta carved?” I asked, hoping to surprise a response from him. His eyes flickered, but he only gave me a bland look, and it struck me that he had been more forthcoming when last we had spoken. Perhaps becoming D’rekta had made him more circumspect.

“Can you at least tell me if any of her stone carvings remain in the Land?”

“They do, but I may not reveal what they are or where they can be found,” Swallow said.

“Can you tell me where the D’rekta’s son was born?”

He considered this, then said, “He was born on the west coast, where our people dwelled for a time before we began to travel the long road.”

Suddenly a thought occurred to me. “You … you are a descendant of … the D’rekta,” I said. “You are of her blood.”

“I, and others of the Twentyfamilies,” Swallow agreed, looking puzzled.

But you have seen yourself standing beside me
, I thought; and all at once I knew, as if I were a futureteller, that Swallow would be the one to go with me when I returned to Sador to seek the fifth sign—the one of Kasanda blood.

“I wish I could help you further, Elaria, but I must obey the ancient promises made to the D’rekta,” he said heavily. “I am no longer a man who may obey his own whims and desires.”

“I am sorry about your father.…”

“There was no love between us, and I mourn him less than the loss of my freedom. He was neither a good father nor a particularly good D’rekta.” He gave me a long measuring look, then gestured about the clearing. “What will you do now?”

The despair that had sapped my will and wits had largely abated during our conversation, but my heart sank a little as I thought of what lay ahead. Yet, as Swallow had his responsibilities, so I had mine.

“I must ride down to Sutrium,” I said. “The rebels will have secured the city if their plans have progressed as they hoped, and tonight they will move on the west coast. My friends are among them, and they must know what happened here.”

“It surprises me that you would ally with these rebels when they would betray you because of what you are.”

“And what do you think we are?” I asked warily.

He smiled sardonically. “I believed you and your friends to be escapees from the Councilfarms when last we met, but our seers tell me that you are Misfits of a special kind. And Malik’s loathing of all Misfits is well known.”

“We had no choice,” I said.

“There is always choice. But perhaps in some things, no choice is good.”

“Not all of the rebels are like Malik.…”

“Fortunately, it is not something I need concern myself with,” Swallow said.

“Unless the rebels win control of the Land.”

“Then we will negotiate safe passage with them,” he said.

I could hardly believe he was so indifferent about the rebellion. But on reflection, I realized he was right in feeling it had little to do with his people. If the rebels failed, life would continue as before for the gypsies, and if they succeeded, there would still be a market for the gypsies’ remarkable wares.

Aras returned with the empty pot and said that the beastspeakers were ready to light the funeral fires.

A little later, standing in the midst of a haze of smoke shot through with wan sunlight, I decided it was time for me to go. When there was time, Obernewtyn would mourn for its dead, but now there were the living to think about.

“You will leave?” Swallow asked.

I turned to him. “How did you know what I was thinking?” I demanded.

He smiled with an echo of his old mockery. “I cannot read your mind, if that is what you are asking.” His lids drooped secretively over his dark eyes, and I understood he had no intention of explaining himself to me.

I shrugged. “Well, the answer is yes.” I hesitated. “I know that many more of us, perhaps all, would have died if you had not come to our aid, Swallow. We owe you a debt of gratitude.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “There is something else you would ask of me?”

I was confounded by his perceptiveness but knew there was no time to puzzle out this riddle of gypsy awareness. “I have to ride for Sutrium, as I told you. But the sick and wounded have to be taken back to our refuge in the high mountains.”

“You wish us to take them?” His brows lifted in a questioning arc.

“Few are fit to ride, let alone walk, and you have wagons. I can’t offer you any payment, but you will be well provisioned for your troubles.”

He smiled. “I will do as you ask, and perhaps there will come a day when I will ask a thing of you in return.”

Originally, I had thought that Gevan, Miryum, and I would ride down to Sutrium after the decoy operation, but Miryum had vanished in the early hours with Straaka’s body. The knights believed she had ridden with it to Sador.

Kella proposed that she take Miryum’s place. Unspoken was the possibility that she might be needed if there was further treachery.

“I am not against your coming,” I told her. “But what of Angina?”

The expression that crossed her face chilled me. “I can do nothing for him, Elspeth. He is stable enough to survive the journey to the mountains, and that is all I can say.”

“Well, come, then,” I told her shortly, thrusting my anxiety about the young empath to the back of my mind with my fears for Rushton.

As we were mounting, Lina strode over and demanded to come with us, saying she could be of use. I was on the verge of refusing, when it struck me that I had so long regarded her as a wayward child, I had failed to see she was almost a woman. And not just a woman. Her courage during the night was undeniable and deserved its due.

She looked surprised and gratified to be simply told to find a horse who would agree to carry her.

In an hour, we were riding back along the road that we had last traversed in the dark and rain. The sky was blue above us, and the sun shone, but there were long straggling lumps of gray, sodden-looking cloud along the horizon. By tacit agreement, we did not speak of what had taken place in the White Valley.

“It rains on the coast,” Gevan said.

“I would be glad if getting wet was the only problem we had to face there,” I said morosely.

Once we reached the Brown Haw Rises, I tried to farseek Ceirwan, as nervous of using my abilities as a fallen rider mounting up again.

“Where have ye been?!” he responded. “Malik’s crowd rode by hours an’ hours ago an’ so fast that I could barely make head nor tail of their thoughts. There was somethin’ of betrayal an’ gypsies an’ dead Misfits.”

“All too many dead and not just Misfits, but I can’t speak of them now,” I farsent bleakly. “The simple truth is that Malik betrayed us.”

“This mun be th’ treachery Maryon foresaw,” Ceirwan sent in a subdued mindvoice.

“Undoubtedly. But now let us speak of Sutrium. Do you know what is happening?”

“Elii’s rebels took th’ soldierguard encampment as planned. Once it was secured, he left a few of his people to watch over the prisoners, an’ he an’ the rest rode down to rendezvous with the other rebels and those of ours what went with ’em.”

“Have you farsent Zarak?”

“I managed it just after the rebels took over th’ three Councilmen’s holdin’s. Two rebels were killed an’ three wounded at Radost’s place. From there, I ken they took one of th’ soldierguard camps without a hitch, an’ also th’ Councilcourt, but I dinna ken about th’ others.”

“What about the cloister?”

“They’ve put it off, because th’ place has been locked up since yesterday mornin’. Zarak says not a soul has gone in or out of th’ cloister. Brydda reckons th’ Faction got wind of what was happenin’, an’ the priests’ve barricaded themselves in to sit it out. Of course, none of our people can scry past th’ outer walls, so no one knows what they intend.”

“They will have to come out when they run out of food.”

“I’d say they are countin’ on th’ rebels losin’ th’ rebellion.

Brydda is nowt worried anyrate. He says their lockin’ themselves in saves him appointin’ guards to do the job. He says we can deal with th’ Faction when th’ rebellion is over.”

“Maybe,” I said, privately wondering if the Faction was going to be quite as easy to deal with as everyone supposed. I told Ceirwan to meet us at the Sawlney turnoff.

“Ye want us to come with ye?”

“Only you. I’d like Freya to return to Obernewtyn to let everyone there know what has been going on in Sutrium.”

After collecting Ceirwan and bidding farewell to Freya, we ate a rough meal of bread and cheese on horseback rather
than lose time stopping. Even so, we did not reach the escarpment overlooking Sutrium until dusk. The city spread below looked as it always had: a demented labyrinth of streets and stone and thatched buildings running to the sea on one side and to the Suggredoon on the other, all flattened by the perspective from which we viewed it. A light rain was falling yet again, blurring and darkening everything slightly.

There was no sign that anything untoward was happening, but the streets and roads leading up to the town gate were deserted. The fact that the gate itself was unmanned brought us all to a halt.

“Weren’t there supposed to be rebels disguised as soldierguards here?” Ceirwan wondered aloud.

“Dardelan’s plague notices might have worked so well there was no need of gate guards,” Kella said.

“Or maybe the rebels couldn’t spare anyone to play the part,” Gevan offered.

“Let’s keep going,” I said. “We’ll ride to the Councilcourt. Brydda said they’d use that as their command center.”

“Ye know I have th’ distinct feelin’ we’re bein’ watched,” Ceirwan observed nervously.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I muttered.

As we made our way toward the center of the town, I saw several curtains twitch. Kella spotted the first of many Councilcourt notices warning people to stay in their homes to avoid contracting the plague. The notices advised that the cloister bells would be rung when the plague-carrier was caught, and they looked absolutely authentic to me, right down to their Council seal.

But knowing why the streets were deserted did not stop the ride through them being a profoundly eerie business. I experienced an immense rush of relief when the Councilcourt
came into view, even though, as ever, it brought back vivid memories of my being committed to the orphan homes after my parents had been executed. The streets had been silent then, too, but only because people always fell silent at the sight of children with the lurid red paint on their faces that marked them as the offspring of seditioners.

What a long way I had come since that day.

I sent out a probe to Zarak. It did not locate, but I was not troubled, for he could well be over tainted ground. There was enough of it in Sutrium. I was shaping a probe to Tomash’s mind when Gevan pointed out the lack of a guard at the door.

“You’d think there would be someone here, if only for the look of the thing.”

We dismounted, and for once there was no need to dirty Gahltha or pretend to tie him up to ensure no one would steal him. He sent to me that he could smell other horses round the back of the Councilcourt and suggested he question them. Before I could agree, Brydda’s white mount Sallah trotted around the corner.

“Greetings, ElspethInnle,” she sent, coolly as ever. “I trust/hope you come to ensure that no funaga-li will have the right to bind equines in this barud-li.” Without waiting for my response, she invited our horses to join a beast council taking place. The horses trotted after her without a backward glance, though Gahltha invited me to call when I needed him.

As we mounted the steps to the entrance, I wondered whether there would be any serious attempt by the rebels to institute beast rights. Brydda was committed to changing the way humans dealt with animals, but he was just one man. Most of the rebels would not feel as he did, and common sense told me that any law that divested humans of beasts that they regarded as rightful property would be unwelcome.
Especially since so many human livelihoods depended on the enslavement or even death of beasts.

I lifted my hand to open the door to the Councilcourt, but it swung open on its own to reveal the dear, longed-for face of the blind Empath guildmaster, Dameon.

“Elspeth,” he said, a world of gentle loving in that one word.

Unable to speak, I moved into his waiting embrace.

“I am so very glad to see you,” I sighed, my mouth against the rough linen of his shirt collar. “Rushton …”