The Silent Army (21 page)

Cullen placed her finger in the book to mark the passage she was reading and then set it in her lap. “What are we going to discuss that we have not spoken of a thousand times before? I’ve heard all I ever needed to about your love life. I’ve relived every damned moment of the burning of Trecharch every time I close my eyes.”

She sighed.

“What else is there for us to speak of, Deltrea?”

“The time when what’s in you wants out.”

“What would you know of that? What could you know about that?”

“I don’t think it will be a good thing is all.” Deltrea sat on the bed with her. There was no sense of weight at all, but the covers shifted a touch. Ghosts were peculiar things, indeed.

“Well, what should I do about it? I can’t very well shit it out. I’ve tried.”

“Get the sorcerer to help you. That’s what. If he can get it removed from you, I think you’ll be a great deal happier is all.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think hard, Cullen! If it stays in you, it might well kill you!”

“I don’t think it can.” Cullen frowned as she said it. Honestly, she had no notion at all what the thing was capable of. She only knew it wasn’t comfortable to carry all the time. To make that point even clearer, it shifted inside her and her guts moved to accommodate it.

“It can. I can feel it.”

“Well, perhaps I’ll ask Desh Krohan about it.” Another twist of whatever was inside of her and she bit off a groan.

“He’s been rather busy lately.” Deltrea’s voice cut through the discomfort.

“Yes, Deltrea, he has. He said we can go where we please and a lot of that time I’ve spent with him so he can get what he needs to out of the thing inside of me, but that doesn’t mean he’s got time to spend on me. There’s a war going on, and there’s disease and famine and cold weather and a mountain range coming at us and I think he’s got good reasons for being busy!” She was only aware that she’d been yelling when she came to the end of her rant, winded and red faced.

Deltrea clapped her hands, but they made no sound when they hit each other. “Look at that. You
do
have feelings left in you. I was beginning to doubt.”

“Why are you here again?”

“No idea, Cullen.” Deltrea crossed her legs and then rested one elbow on her thigh, and her head on her palm. “I expect it has something to do with you.”

Cullen did not respond, but instead stood from the bed and walked toward the door. Her guards were outside and nodded when she stepped out. The company of anyone living sounded better than another moment alone with Deltrea. Mostly because she suspected Deltrea was right on all fronts.

Something was happening inside her and she didn’t much like her chances of survival. The ghost of her associate was haunting her for a reason. The sorcerer was watching over her but seemed to be holding back a few secrets.

Cullen liked her situation less all the time. There was nothing to be done about that. But she’d have to see what she could do to possibly change that.

The snow came down heavily, obscuring everything. Even if the snow had not been a problem the clouds would have managed just fine.

Inches fell in the daylight and more as the night took over. Those stuck out in the cold huddled together and cursed their luck. Those inside thanked the gods or cursed their luck just the same.

The City Guard did their best, moving and keeping properly covered up, stopping where they could to drink something warm. The Imperials were in the same situation and did the same thing.

The Silent Army stopped moving. After a day of constantly patrolling, never resting, they simply stopped all at once, and let the snow and ice accumulate on them as if they had never been more than statues in the gardens of the city.

In most of Canhoon the night and the storm forced an unsettling sort of silence.

Not everywhere, of course. No city of any size ever truly sleeps. At best there is a quiet time, but never true rest.

The cogs continued to move in their silent machinery. The people who had to be alert were.

Deep in the depths of the palace Darsken Murdro looked at Jost and shook his head. She was never going to speak and, despite his best efforts, her mind was locked to him. To that end she remained chained to her wooden table, though he knew the places where she had been resting her flesh against the wood for days on end must surely be an agony by now, the flesh raw from constant contact, made worse with every move she made.

“If you would only speak I could give you a better place to be than this.” He spoke apologetically and he meant it. Torture was not something he enjoyed. He became an Inquisitor because the truth was a powerful thing and mysteries were meant to be solved.

The girl did not acknowledge him.

Three minutes later she was alone again in the locked room.

Two minutes after that, Glo’Hosht entered her cell and moved to her table. The bindings on her were simple enough: a matter of unfastening a few hooks that were impossible for even the most nimble fingers on a restrained hand to reach.

Jost did not smile when she saw her king. Instead she closed her eyes for a moment and then sighed with relief.

His hands were quick. The fastenings holding her wrists were removed in moments.

Her ankles and thighs were released shortly after that.

The King in Mercury stepped back and kept an eye on the door as Jost tried to stand and fell to the ground. No words were spoken and none were needed. She would rise on her own and she would live, or she would stay on the ground and be left to her own devices.

Life is pain. Life is struggle. If she could not manage to walk she could not be saved. It was exactly that simple. That the Daxar Taalor would send Glo’Hosht to save her was a sign of their love and devotion to her, but if she could not stand, could not walk and could not fight, she was too weak to be a member of the Sa’ba Taalor and would be remembered for what she had accomplished even as she was left to die.

Jost stood, though it took a few minutes. As she had been strapped in place for days on end, she took the time to wash herself of the waste she had been made to lie in. The stench of her alone would alert anyone passing by otherwise.

They had taken her clothes and her weapons for whatever reasons they saw fit. She did not care. Clothes and weapons could be replaced.

While Glo’Hosht waited, Jost stretched and moved her body until blood flowed once again in muscles that had been immobile save for when she could find the time to flex them. She was a follower of Paedle and staying motionless for hours or days was not unheard of; had she not been so, she would likely have been incapable of moving at all.

There were no clothes to distract her and so, when she felt she was ready, Glo’Hosht opened the door and moved out of her way.

No words were spoken nor were any needed. Glo’Hosht moved and Jost followed. She saw her king flit from shadow to shadow, barely capable of clearly seeing where he was, though she tracked him with her eyes. She did her best to follow his lead, grateful for the long corridors and the darkness of the night. There were a few torches, places where oil burned in small braziers, but mostly there was the night and the concealment it offered.

Still, there are always exceptions. Two guards moved right past the King in Mercury and stopped only when they saw her standing against the wall.

Her muscles screamed in silent agony as she stepped forward and drove her palm into the first guard’s throat. He gagged but could not speak as he fell to the ground, red faced and bug eyed.

Her hands came together and met on the second one’s jaw, shattering bone. He was still capable of screaming, so she broke his neck even as he inhaled.

His clothes meant nothing to her, but she took a cloak, a short sword and boots. It was cold outside. She had heard her guards complaining earlier.

The boots did not fit and were too hard for her use. The second cloak was hastily torn in two and wrapped around her feet and then they moved on again.

Muscles that had not moved for far too long continued to protest, but as blood flow returned to them she felt the relief. The areas where she had been restrained were still sore. The flesh felt bruised and thin. She did not take the time to worry about it. She would heal or she would not as the gods saw fit.

Glo’Hosht touched a wall and part of it moved. He gestured her through and they went on their way. Swech had spoken of hidden places within the palace. She must have shown them to the king. That was a fine thing.

It seemed hours, but Jost knew it was less. When the king opened the last of several hidden doors the frigid air slammed into Jost like a gust from the Blasted Lands, cold and fierce with small debris slapping against her flesh.

It did not matter.

They were free of the palace. Glo’Hosht moved along side her and whispered into her ear. “Do not go to Swech’s home. She was discovered and she is dead. Go to where Freth waits. Be careful. We need him where he is for now.”

The order given, Glo’Hosht moved on, disappearing into the storm.

Jost allowed herself one moment to mourn her friend and then moved on. There would be time for mourning when her enemies lay dead.

Brolley and Lanaie spent a great deal of time together, it was true, but they always did so in the company of guards, per his sister’s orders. Lanaie was not the issue. Though she was a guest in the palace she was not watched as closely as he was. She was not the little brother to the Empress. It was that simple. Still, when Lanaie went anywhere, he escorted her and thus ensured she would have protection.

The princess held his hand, both securely wrapped in their heavy cloaks. Despite the fabric Lanaie’s hand was as cold as ice. That was to be expected: her land was always warm and this cold was months away from where it should have been. The winter was done and the summer was coming yet here they were walking through a deep field of snow.

“You could stay at the palace, you know,” Brolley reminded her. “You
are
a guest of the Empress.”

“Yes, and I have several times and I will again, but not today. Unlike in Tyrne, my father had properties and I want to make sure they are properly looked after.”

“You’re just tired of me,” his voice was teasing.

“That could never happen, Brolley. Not even if this winter lasted a thousand years.” She looked at him with her deep brown eyes and his body reacted as it did each time he saw her. She was a beautiful woman, and despite all that she had seen she remained an innocent. He would give anything to make sure that her heart was never broken again. He’d even gone so far as to make sacrifices to Plith and Woegaia. He wasn’t really sure which was a goddess of love, so he paid his tithings to both, just to be safe. Plith was a beautiful woman. He thought she was a goddess of fertility. Woegaia was half male and half female, with large breasts and an equally large penis. He thought the god was meant to represent the marriage of body and spirit. He still wasn’t sure. In any event, the churches got their offerings and he kept praying for everything to turn out the right way.

“What are you thinking, my love?”

“That I look forward to us being together one day. Man and wife.”

“I want that too, but now is not the time to bother your sister.”

It was a simple enough equation: Brolley and Lanaie could adore each other as much as they pleased, but until Nachia gave her blessings nothing could become official. Lanaie was right, of course. It was hardly the time to bother Nachia with his desire to marry a queen who had no nation, but it was most decidedly his desire to do so.

They had discussed the matter at length. At the very least they would wait until the city settled itself somewhere. Much as he would have dearly loved to consummate their relationship, Lanaie was not inclined to part with her chastity.

They had managed a few moments of passion when the guards were not around, but only a few. She had never offered herself, but she used her hands and her clothed form to offer him release on several occasions. It was enough for now. It had to be. He would not betray her trust, though he was tempted to find a good brothel.

Some things are worth waiting for.

Too soon they were at her door and she reached out with her cold hand and touched his face, memorizing his features until she could see him again. Her face, so perfect, her eyes so wide and innocent. He leaned in and kissed her once, briefly, knowing it was against the rules. Just the same she kissed back.

Then she was slipping into her house and he waited until he heard the doors locked and secured.

The night was an endless raging snowstorm, but he did not feel the chill at all.

They would be married. It was only a matter of time.

The guards were wise enough to say nothing now and he knew they would say nothing later. Money can buy discretion. He’d learned that much from his family, if nothing else.

Inside the warmth of her home, Lanaie removed her cloak and left on the minimal clothes she could tolerate and moved into the main hall where a fire roared and the temperature was enough to make her sweat.

The fire was not normally so high, but metal cannot be forged without heat.

Weapons cannot be shaped without heat.

King Glo’Hosht looked to her and nodded his head. She made the proper bow before her king and looked around at the others gathered with her. This was the first time that all of Paedle’s followers had been in one room at the same time. It was a risk, but one the king found necessary.

“We are here to rejoice.” Glo’Hosht’s voice remained soft as it virtually always did. “We are here to welcome back our lost warrior.”

Lanaie’s eyes immediately moved to Jost, who crouched by the roaring blaze and pulled hot metal from it. The metal should have burned her, crippled her, and possibly killed her. Paedle protected the faithful as always and it was good.

Already the girl had been working on replacing her blades. She worked deftly now, her hands moving at a stunning pace, shaping the raw metal into three more blades before she tapped them against the hearthstones and used a small hammer to finish the shaping.