The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) (78 page)

“Submit yourself,” he said.  “Do not force my hand.”

Ammala smiled without humor, absently stroking her daughter’s braids.  “Answer me something.  Did you ever catch that boy, Cob?”

“Not personally.  The Gold Army has him.”

“
And the Riftwatch towers…  I have heard rumors…”

“
The garrison was destroyed.  No survivors,” he said, and saw lines of pain crease her tanned face.  She bowed her head, lips moving slightly as she touched the cord around her neck, then slowly she nodded.

“
I will come with you, as I have no choice.  But surely you can spare my children.”

“
My orders are to bring the entire family.”

“
Have you a family, captain?”

“
No.” 
Not anymore.

“
I suppose I should not be surprised.”  She sighed, then gestured toward the door.  “Since you insist, we shall go with you.”

Sarovy nodded curtly and turned, stepping from the shady cottage into the sun once more.  A quick scan of his men showed him Lieutenant Linciard trying to boost the old woman onto his horse despite her attempts to kick him; another lancer held the reins.

“Where is the scryer?” Sarovy said.  One of the lancers pointed out beyond the cottage, and he squinted at the approaching figures.

*****

Mako had sent out her senses as soon as they closed on the cottage, pushing through the cloud of the soldiers’ thoughts as if through a veil of mist.  Their intentions and interests, internal monologues and mental music passed through her mind in a rush of noise, then gave way to silence as she concentrated on her forward arc.  Animal minds sparked briefly in her perception—gartos, a cat, a few sun-basking lizards—then she reached the sensation of the cottage wall.

It was not real, just a reflection of the perceptions of the people inside, but their belief in closed-door security made the wall just short of tangible.  Aware that the captain would focus his attention there, she pushed onward, not bothering to breach it.

More gartos.  The dull sparks of goats.  And three young people: two in the wild grass and one closer.

One of the minds—a female—twitched at the touch of her feather-light scan.  That was interesting.

Eyes closed, she tugged her skittish horse aside from the rest of the troop, peripherally aware of the soldiers who followed her.  The other men were reining in, their minds hardening with purpose, and she was glad to remove herself from proximity.  What happened at the cottage was not her affair, not when the rest of their quarry could be lost.

Worries like whispers reached her from the three hidden minds:
soldiers mama Nana Jesa run hide fight
.  The last thought made her frown, coming as it did with an impression of a knife in a belt-sheath.  She was not an Inquisitor, but as a mentalist in service to the Crimson Army she had the authority to intervene with magic where it would be illegal for a civilian mage.

If the children meant to run or fight, it was her duty to prevent them so that no one got hurt.

As she rounded the corner she felt them see her, saw their minds light up with surprise and fear. 
Come here
, she sent lightly, not wanting to mind-bend them unless it became necessary.  The boy-mind close to the cottage relaxed and started to approach, but the ones among the grass sparked with wariness, the suggestion sliding off of them.  She turned their way and concentrated.

First priority: the one with the knife.  His thoughts were thick with dread, his intentions already locked on
run
, and when she sent
Drop the knife
to him, he twitched and lurched to his feet.  She felt the soldiers around her take notice of him; two had already broken off to retrieve the entranced boy and now the others turned toward the runner.

The girl-mind flashed with anger and disbelief, then started after the boy.

I’m paralyzed
, Mako thought at them forcefully.

The idea punctured the boy’s mind and he collapsed immediately, his thoughts lighting up with terror, but it skipped off of the girl’s without effect. 
Eston!
Mako heard her think, and for a moment saw two diverging paths in her head: continued flight into the dry grasses or retrieving the boy’s knife and standing her ground.

Mako hit her with
Flee!
in that moment of choice, but it skipped off again, and she felt the girl go for the knife.

She opened her eyes just in time to see the soldiers close with the children.  One man was off his horse, the other two angling to prevent escape, and the dark-haired girl lunged as the first man got near her.  The soldier twisted aside from the knife and knocked her down with a hard backhand, and Mako winced as the pain reverberated out to her.  Drawing closer, she saw and felt him grab the girl, flip her face-down and pin her to the ground with a hand on her neck and a knee at the small of her back.

Pain-anger-fear
radiated up from her.  Mako reined her horse in beside them, then slid down, automatically adjusting her riding-slit robe.

“
Let her up, she’s just a child,” she said, but though the soldier pinning the girl glanced up at her, he did not move.  His face was fixed sternly in the shadow of his helm, and with his other hand he worked to pry the knife from the girl’s clenched fingers.

“
She’s dangerous, scryer,” said another soldier, who then swung down to nudge the fallen boy with a boot.  “What the pike happened to this one?”

“
I happened,” said Mako, irritated.  Behind her, her Sky horse shied as a few more men on Tasgards reined in to join the crowd.  “Stop doing that.  Give me a moment.”

The soldier grunted and Mako took that for assent.  Narrowing her eyes at the fallen boy, she pierced his mind again and felt his struggles like moth-wings fluttering against her face.

Quickly, clinically, she flipped through his sense of identity.

Eston Vier, fourteen, orphan, harvest man, Mist Forest border camp under boss Silus.

A bandit, then.  One of the many that the Crimson Army had hunted through the grasslands and the woods, along the coastlines and through the abandoned villages.  No different from the men they had been rounding up in the smugglers’ coves.

But not part of the Cray family.

She chewed her lip, then looked to the girl, who had finally relinquished the knife.  Laying there in the dirt, she seethed with sick anger, but her mind worked quickly—not in panicked circles like many would, but clearly, outlining thoughts like
flirt
and
bribe
.

Mako arched a brow.  The girl could not be more than thirteen.

Then again, that was the customary age of consent.

She tried to probe for identity, but her psychic needle hit a wall.  Not a thick or sophisticated one; like a sheet of mud, it would have been easy for Mako to puncture.  But she did not bother.  Brute-force tactics could shatter the defending mind, and the very existence of the defense told her enough.

This girl had the mentalist spark.

“
Let her up, by the authority of the Silent Circle,” Mako said, more forcefully this time.

The soldier gave her a puzzled look.  “Scryer?”

“You heard me.  The girl has a talent.  By the Circle’s agreement with the Imperial Armies, I am authorized to take custody of her.  Are you going to refuse me?”

The soldier blanched and withdrew his knee from the girl’s back.  “Uh…it’s not my place to refuse or concede,” he said as he tucked the confiscated knife into his belt and pulled her up by the wrists.  “We’ll have to talk to the captain.”

“Very well,” Mako said coolly, then looked from him to the girl.  Grass in her hair and mud on her face, she glared through hostile dark eyes; she was nearly Mako’s height—not that it counted for much—and firm-shouldered like any farm-child.  In the future she might be tall and pretty if she ever learned to moderate her scowl.

“
You, behave,” said Mako.  “I’m doing you a favor.”

The girl spat at her.

“And now you get to experience mind-control.”

*****

Captain Sarovy frowned as Scryer Mako approached, noting the two children moving mechanically in her wake: a black-haired girl in early adolescence and a younger boy, his expression vague and dreamy.  Several soldiers accompanied them, looking uneasy.  No one liked being reminded of what a mentalist could do.

“
Captain,” the scryer called, “there’s another boy in the field, but he’s not of the family.  I wasn’t sure if we wanted him.”

“
No.  Only the Crays.”

“
And this girl is a proto-mentalist.  I’d like to take her back to the Citadel as per our agreement with the Armies.”

Sarovy narrowed his eyes at the scryer.  While he knew about the policy, he had no way to verify the truth of her claim, and he had heard of mentalists declaring people ‘talented’ just to get them out of the Armies’ hands.  While he could sympathize—he did not understand the Field Marshal’s need for the children—he could not let that prevent him from carrying out his mission.

“I was instructed to retrieve all of the Crays, scryer,” he said flatly, “and I will not deviate from that.  Before you object, I swear to take your concern to the Field Marshal or his proxy, but I cannot promise a positive outcome.”

The scryer’s expression tightened, then she wrinkled her pert nose and waved a hand dismissively.  “Fine, keep pushing it up the chain of command, I know how it is with you soldiers.  Someone take care of these children.”

At Sarovy’s gesture, two lancers stepped forward to grab the boy and girl, and Scryer Mako shook her head as if clearing an unpleasant thought.  The children’s stiff postures relaxed, the boy slumping in his captor’s grip, but the girl immediately twisted as if she had been waiting to escape.  The man who held her shouted with alarm as her shawl came off in his hands.

Instead of running for the fields, she darted forward to jab a finger at Sarovy.  “You can’t do this!  I aided you!  I was promised gold if you caught that man!  Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Taken aback, Sarovy said nothing.  The lancer who had let the girl slip came after her, cursing, but Ammala stepped in first.  Mouth open to loose another demand, the girl turned toward her mother and Ammala slapped her hard across the face.

“
Fool child!” she said, even as Sarovy caught her by the arm and hauled her back.  The lancer grabbed the stunned girl.  “You dealt with the enemy?” Ammala raged on.  “You sold our secrets?  Do you know what ill you’ve wrought?”

“
He promised me!” the girl shouted, kicking wildly but ineffectually as the lancer lifted her off her feet.  “The blond man!  He promised me gold when he came back!”

Hunter Trevere
, Sarovy thought, and shook his head.  That explained a few things.  “He will not return,” he said.  “You may plead your case to the General but I doubt you will be paid.”

“
But I helped you!”

“
The Empire appreciates your assistance, but our current orders take precedence.”

The girl spluttered, and Sarovy gestured with his helm for the lancer to take her to a horse.  The one with the boy had already done so, and Lieutenant Linciard sat with the crone ahead of him, the very image of seething awkwardness.  As the girl was forced up into the saddle, Sarovy turned to regard Ammala Cray.

Though her face was grim, with more lines seeming to carve it as he watched, Ammala met his gaze firmly.  “I will not be so troublesome as my daughter, captain.  If we must go, then let us be on with it.”

“
I appreciate your cooperation,” said Sarovy, then nodded past her.  “Sergeant Benson, if you will take the little girl.”

“
Yes sir,” said the sergeant, and with an admirably gentle manner he crouched by the child, spoke a few soft words then detached her hands from her mother’s skirts.  Ammala stared after them as he led the child to his horse and hoisted her up.

Sarovy gestured to his own steed, and with a stiff nod, Ammala allowed him to boost her up.  Then he swung himself ahead of her and took the reins from the man who had held them.  As the rest of the lancers mounted up, he felt her arms lock around his waist, her forehead coming to rest against his backplate.  Her sigh was a wretched thing to hear.

Clapping his helmet on, he gave a last glance for the cottage—for the cat huddled on the roof and the goats and gartos milling in confusion, and the odd little doll swinging from the eaves.  Then he hauled on the reins, turning his horse north toward Bahlaer.  The harvest men could take what they had left behind; the Empire wanted only the Crays.

It seemed to him at that moment that such was always the way.  Territory, resources, money, all were treasured, but it was lives that kept the Empire running.  Lives that fed it.

Banish such thoughts
, he told himself. 
They are the witch’s words working upon you.