The Water Road (37 page)

The man to Gillem’s far left, who
sat hunched over as if his spine had curled, said, “There was no clear motive.”
His voice, paper-thin, was broken by the slightest of coughs. “They speculate
that this Antrey woman simply went mad. Part of her Neldathi background
breaking through, they say.”

“Ah,” Strefer said, nodding slowly.
“What I have to show you, councilors, what I have to share with the sages of
Oberton and what I hope you will help me share with the rest of the world, is
the true motivation for her crime.”

She paused to see if any of them
would jump in with another question. When they did not, she slipped her hand
into the bag balanced on her hip and pulled out the red notebook. She held it
in front of her in both hands, up over the lectern, so that they could all see
it. Every eye on the bench was drawn to it. Abruptly, she put it behind her
back. Their eyes shifted to hers.

“After the murder of Alban, I used
my connections with the Sentinels who guard the city to gain access to the
crime scene,” she said without any more prompting. “After the body was removed,
but before it had been picked over by investigators. I saw the bloodied pikti
Antrey had used to do it lying where she dropped it on the stained carpet. I
saw everything.” She pulled the notebook out from behind her and held it up
again, next to her face. “One of the things I saw was this. An aged red
notebook, lying open on Alban’s desk. Naturally, I wanted to see what was in
it, not expecting to find anything important.” She stopped there. Let them ask
for it.

“It must have meant something,”
Gillem said, playing along, “or you would not have taken it with you.”

“Exactly,” Strefer nodded. “When I
stopped to read this notebook, what I discovered was a record. A transcript,
after a fashion, of the proceedings of the first Grand Council of the
Triumvirate, just after the Neldathi Uprising had been put down. These were the
people who drew the three nations together to fight a common enemy. They were
brave and bold.” She paused again, to emphasize the coming pivot. “But they
were also cunning. ‘Conniving’ might be a better word. Even devious, when it
suited them. When it came to the Neldathi, deviousness suited them very well.
What this notebook shows is that, from the very founding of the Triumvirate, it
has been a policy of our nations, yours and mine alike, to set the Neldathi
clans at each other’s throats. To take existing feuds that had all but burned
out and rekindle them. To invent new slights and nurse imagined insults. To use
the gods, whom we have cast aside but who are very revered by the Neldathi, as
weapons, to motivate the clans. Motivate them to kill each other. Clan on clan,
Neldathi on Neldathi. And so it has gone for more than a century. In our
names.” She raised her voice so the last sentence rang around the great hall
for a few seconds.

Before Strefer had spoken, the
members of the council appeared poised at the edge of their seats, eager for
what she had to tell them. Now they slumped backwards, as if deflated. Whether
it was because of the enormity of what she had said, or that the revelation did
not measure up to their lofty standards, Strefer could not tell.

Finally, the woman on the far right
broke the silence. “If what you say is true, young lady,” she said, pausing,
groping for the right word, “it is…it is…”

“Disturbing,” Gillem said,
finishing the thought. Several of the others nodded in agreement.

“Disturbing?” the young man beside
Gillem said, clearly agitated. “Is that all you can say? If she is correct, the
Triumvirate leaders have been systematically provoking slaughter as a matter of
policy! Whatever threat the Neldathi may have been to the north at one point,
this goes much too far.”

The group erupted in discussion,
the sound of disparate voices and crosstalk making it impossible for Strefer to
understand any of what was said. Finally, Gillem raised his hands and quieted
his colleagues. “The meaning of all this is something we will have much time to
discuss. We thank you for sharing this knowledge with us, Strefer Quants. What
is it that you expect in return?”

Strefer stood silently for a moment
as she felt a great weight lifting off her shoulders. “First Councilor, the
reputation of your great city amongst Altrerians is unrivaled. Your people are
rightly admired for their dedication to truth and knowledge. I would ask that
you use that reputation, as well as your other resources, to help me share this
knowledge I have with the rest of the world. The people have a right to know
what has been happening all these years.”

Gillem sat for a moment, then
looked left and right to the others for some kind of comment. There was none.
“We have your proposal,” he said, turning back to Strefer. “If you will leave
us for a while, we shall determine what is to be done.”

Strefer bowed—she couldn’t think of
a more appropriate gesture—then turned and walked back up the aisle through the
curtain into the foyer. She hoped they didn’t see the massive smile she wore on
her face.

~~~~~

The foyer was empty when Strefer
returned. She hoped Forlahn would be there, waiting to hear how everything
went, but she acknowledged that might have been wishful thinking on her part.
On the other hand, she definitely expected Wylph to be there, if for no other
reason than to keep her from roaming around the city unattended. Regardless,
she decided it would be a bad move to wander too far away on her own and threw
herself into an oversized wooden chair in the corner of the room.

Wylph came through the door in a
few moments. “They are deliberating, I assume?”

She nodded. “How long does it
usually take?”

Wylph laughed. “There is no usual when
it comes to the council’s deliberations. If you made only a minor request, one
that requires only three of the five councilors to agree, then it will not take
very long.”

That did not sound like the
situation Strefer was in. “What if it’s a major request?” she asked.

“If you asked a great thing of the
council, the kind that might make danger for the city or change the way it
works, then the decision of the council must be unanimous. Those
deliberations…take longer.”

“I can imagine. When was the last
time the council had to make a major decision like that?”

Wylph thought for a moment. “Not in
my lifetime, at least that I can remember. The last might have been when the
Confederation was formed. Some argued that we should be part of the
Confederation, on equal terms with the seven cities.”

That surprised Strefer. Everything
she had heard about Oberton, and what she had seen with her own eyes, suggested
that they wanted little to do with life outside the city. She could not imagine
them taking part in the rough politics of the Confederation. “Really?”

“Yes, indeed,” Wylph said,
surprised that she asked. “It was a great debate. The presentations from the
supporters and opponents of the idea each took several days. Deliberations took
several weeks.”

Strefer sunk back in her chair.
Weeks? What was she supposed to do with herself while the weeks went on? And
what if, after all that time, they turned her down because one council member
held out against the rest? Her mind spun with the possibilities.

“I should say, for your
information,” Wylph said, “the reason I wasn’t here when you finished with the
council was that I went to check on your Sentinel friend. He is being seen to
by our best physicians. They say the wound is severe and could have been much worse,
had he not received the treatment he has already. He should make a full
recovery.”

“I suppose he and I both owe our
lives to Forlahn, then.”

“Indeed,” Wylph said with a touch
of derision.

After several silent moments,
Gillem walked through the curtain. Wylph stiffened to attention. Strefer,
figuring it was better to err on the side of formality, sprung to her feet and
bowed slightly.

“Young lady, what you have
presented to us is a very serious matter,” he said, the strain of the debate
thus far evident on his face. “It has potential repercussions well beyond our
small city.”

Strefer felt her stomach sink. The
cause was lost. She and Rurek would be sent on their way before nightfall, she
was certain.

It must have shown on her face.
“No, no, do not despair,” Gillem said, his posture softening and his voice
taking on a gentle, fatherly tone. “I have not come to bring you bad news. I
have only come to tell you that it will be some time before the council can
give you an answer.”

“Yes, First Councilor,” she said.
“Wylph explained to me that sometimes, when matters of such gravity are
involved, that the council might take several weeks to come to a decision.”

“Did he?” He looked at Wylph, who
nodded and looked sheepish for sharing that information. “Thank you for
explaining that to our guest, Wylph.” He turned back to Strefer. “So, as you
understand, it is not unusual for us to take some time before coming to a
decision. In the meantime, you and your party are welcome here as our guests.
Or, if you prefer, you may go on your way and return at a later time.”

To Strefer it did not seem like
much of a choice. Oberton was a strange city with odd customs, but at least it
was safe. And it would be easier for Rurek to recover if they remained in one
place for a while. Besides, where else were they to go? Back into the woods to
be set upon by bandits or who knows what again? “I can’t speak for Forlahn or
his son, but as to myself and Rurek, we would be honored to stay as your
guests. Thank you for your kind offer, First Councilor.”

“Very well,” the old man said.
“Wylph, go find lodging for our guests. Find the rifleman and see if he wishes
to stay, as well. If he does, tell him he may retrieve his weapons from the
hiding place below.”

Wylph nodded in assent, but he did
not leave.

“Do it now,” Gillem said, a bit
frustrated. “I have a private matter I wish to discuss with the young lady. It
will only take a moment.”

Wylph nodded again and turned for
the door. “I’ll return when I have found lodgings for you and your party,” he
said over his shoulder, and he hustled outside.

Gillem walked over to Strefer and
leaned in closely to her. “I should not tell you this, but I will,” he said in
a whisper. “I have every reason to believe that the council will approve your
proposal.”

Strefer felt like a bolt of energy
shot through her. All her tired bones and aching muscles were gone.

“However, at this point, there is
one strong holdout. As Wylph no doubt told you, the council must be unanimous
on this decision. I expect he will be overcome, but it will take some time. In
the meantime, if I were you, young lady, I would spend the time trying to
determine how best to present this information to the public.”

Strefer realized she had not given
the matter much thought. “I thought you could just print copies of the
notebook. Isn’t that enough?”

He shook his head. “I do not think
so. It will need to be presented in historical context, which some of my
brethren can help provide. But it will also need to be placed in the context of
how this information was found. It would be easy for the Triumvirate to brand a
simple copy of the notebook as a fraud. However, once it becomes something more
than a dry historical document…” he let the sentence trail off.

“I see your point,” Strefer said.
“Besides, a stale historical document won’t attract much attention amongst the
general public, will it?”

Gillem smiled at her. “You are the
journalist, Strefer, not I. You know the audience you need to reach, what they
want, and how to give it to them.”

Strefer sighed. “In other words, I
need to sell this great historical crime just like I’ve sold countless petty
offenses and scandals since I left the Guildlands.”

He nodded.

“I’m afraid you are right, First
Councilor. Thank you for your advice. And your hospitality.”

“You are very welcome for both,
young lady,” he said, turning to leave. Before he reached the curtains he
stopped and turned. “Can I give you one final piece of advice?”

“Of course.”

“Go write your story, Strefer
Quants. Be accurate. Be truthful. But, above all, be passionate.” With that, he
disappeared back into the council hall.

Antrey had been so busy since she
made contact with the Dost that she had not fully appreciated the changing weather
around her. She had no memory from her childhood of what winter was like south
of the Water Road. Winters in Tolenor were mild, as the city was protected from
the extreme cold by the warm trade winds blowing in from the north. She had
never had to worry about the cold before.

Now the iciness was inescapable.
What she had first noticed as a brisk chill in the air had turned into a
bitter, clinging frost. Even during the day, when the sun provided some relief,
the cold was hard to ignore. At night, under the moon and with the winds
picking up, it was nearly unbearable. Antrey did the best she could, bundled up
against the elements while trying not to look too out of place.

In spite of the turn in the
weather, or maybe because of it, Antrey found herself wandering alone each
night when the amalgam of clans she led came to rest. It was a way to clear her
thoughts and assess the situation away from the chatter of her advisors. They
had their talents, she admitted, and Antrey relied on them a great deal. But
the ultimate burden of leadership, of being the final voice on matters that
affected tens of thousands, rested only on her shoulders. She had taken it up
voluntarily and could not escape it now.

They had been engaged in a long
dance of war with the enemy for more than six weeks. Each massive body of
warriors would slip in and out of the mountain passes and dense forests. One
side would feint in one direction, drawing the other in, only to finally take
the opposite tack. There had been skirmishes. Blood had been shed. Not much,
but a line had been crossed. Antrey knew that the Degans, as she had taken to
calling them, wanted more.

They wanted a pitched battle. They
were certain, either of their own superiority or the skittishness of Antrey’s
warriors once the fighting was joined. More and more, Antrey’s advisors wanted
the battle to come as well, to crush the Degans once and for all. Antrey knew
it was necessary, but she wished for some other way to prove herself. A
crushing defeat would lead to smaller numbers to turn north. She did not need
vanquished enemies, she needed firm allies. There had to be some way to make
that happen.

On her strolls, Antrey took some
comfort in seeing that many of those around her were dealing with the pressure
more easily. Her advisors and their confidants were buried in the minutiae of
the campaign, while the warriors themselves were taking the time learning about
one another’s clans. There had been, perhaps inevitably, some minor squabbles
when warriors from different clans were thrust together in the column. But the
fights and recriminations always burned out before anyone was seriously hurt.

Antrey had done her part to ease
tensions by reintroducing to these fighters an ancient Neldathi sport called
pasro, about which she learned from the Speakers of Time. Pasro was played by
teams of between four and eight players, allowing the size of the game to rise
and fall to fit the number of people involved in the dispute. The object of the
game was for each team to move a certain totem—had one of the craftsmen create
an oblong leather pouch filled with something to give it weight—from one team’s
territory to the other. Violence was encouraged, but limited by a kel who
supervised the proceedings. The contest was best two out of three, with the
first to carry the totem into the other team’s territory twice being the
winner. It seemed to help as an outlet for what otherwise might be bloodshed
and also boosted morale among the warriors.

Of her inner circle, only Naath
looked like he would rather be somewhere else. One day, when the column had
paused for a few days’ rest, she found him perched on a hillside, basking in
the afternoon sun.

“Do you think it makes you warmer
if you just think of the sun?” she asked as she walked up beside him.

“I’d say not, most likely,” he
said, scraping away some melting snow to offer her a seat beside him. “You have
to sit in the sun and think of home. Assuming home is someplace warmer than it
is here.”

Antrey waved away the offer to sit
down, then she turned the focus of the conversation. “Is it warm this time of
year in your home?”

“Very much,” he said with a content
sigh and a smile creeping across his face. “Amereh is about two-thirds of the
way up the Slaisal Island chain, almost as far north as you can get. There are
a few smaller islands further off the coast, but they’re further south.”

“Is it like the Badlands?” she
asked. She had read some of the bare, dry, hot lands to the north of the Rivers
Innis and Adon, where the Azkiri roamed. By comparison, she knew little of the
Slaisals.

“Oh no, not at all. The islands,
particularly the ones further away from the mainland, like Amereh, are like
small mountains thrust out of the sea. They’re covered with thick green forests
that climb up one side of the mountain and then run down the other. It’s warm
all year round and the air is very moist, not at all like the Badlands. It’s
paradise,” he said, looking longingly off into the distance.

“It sounds lovely,” Antrey said. “I
suppose I’d have some fond memories of my homeland, too, if I actually had
one.”

“What about here?” He turned his
attention to Antrey. “Isn’t this your home?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I
was never accepted by the Kohar when I was a child. That’s why I had to go to
Tolenor in the first place. That’s where I spent most of my life. It was my
home. Until I…” her voice trailed off.

Naath let the silence hang between
them for a moment. “I understand that it must be a painful thing for you to
think about, Antrey,” he said finally. “But you can’t beat yourself down with
it all the time. I never knew Alban. I can’t begin to say what kind of a man he
was. I can only take your word that he was a good man. But don’t forget that he
was part of a rotten system. He played a major role in covering up what the
Triumvirate has been doing to these people.” He gestured behind him, towards
the camp. “If it weren’t for that moment of rage, you never would’ve made it
this far. You need to embrace what you’ve done and why you did it. That’s the
only way that this whole enterprise will work.”

He was right. Whatever Alban had
meant to her at a personal level, he played a role in the evil she had
discovered. Her mind reminded her of that. But her heart still ached for what she
had done. Antrey shook her head. “I wonder if this is all leading to some
cataclysm, something that I can’t control, that I can’t make right. Who am I to
think I could lead these people? I’m just a woman with blood on her hands
trying to find some way to give the biggest mistake of her life some meaning.”

Naath put a firm, comforting hand
on her shoulder. “Who else can do it? You’ve seen how the clans behave around
one another. If any one of them tried to do what you are doing, tried to lead,
it would be bloody chaos.”

She looked into his eyes. “But what
if I can’t? What if I have no heart for battle? No head for strategy? No will
to see this through?”

“You’ve come this far,” he said.
“Would someone without heart have made it through the mountains in the freezing
snow? Would someone who did not know strategy have been able to stand with the
clan leaders and convince them of your plan? Would someone with no will have
escaped from Tolenor in the first place? I don’t know how this will all turn
out, Antrey, but I know that the person who is best suited to lead is you.”

Antrey said nothing. She hoped he
was right. He needed him to be right, but still could not convince herself. She
decided to return to a more pleasant topic.

“If Amereh is so beautiful, warm, and
wonderful, then whatever brought you here?” she asked.

“Work, of course,” he said with a
halfhearted laugh. “Amereh is beautiful. But it is also small and poor. Unless
you want to make a life with fish—catching them, gutting them, selling
them—there isn’t much there. It is an easier place to leave than you might
imagine.”

“It sounds so easy. Don’t you miss
it, sailing around down here?”

“Of course I do. At times, anyway.
Times likes this,” he said, holding an open hand up to the slate-gray sky, which
had begun to spit snow. “When the only water to be found is ice, even in the
rivers and lakes.” He shuddered at the thought.

Antrey nodded sympathetically, then
something jumped into her mind. “Frozen lakes,” she said to herself several
times, ignoring Naath’s attempts to figure out what she was talking about.

~~~~~

“Where is what?” Birkthir asked,
completely puzzled.

“A lake,” Antrey said, for the
third time. “A frozen lake. Is there one anywhere nearby?”

The war leader stood there
speechless, his confused gaze met by equally baffled looks from Hirrek and
Kajtan. “I am certain there is one somewhere, jeyn,” he said finally. “Perhaps
if you would share your mind with us, give us some idea…”

She cut him off with a wave of her
hand. “There’s no point, unless there’s a frozen lake somewhere nearby.” She
turned and surveyed the puzzled looks of the rest of her inner circle. Only
Naath appeared to have some idea what she had in mind. “Do none of you have an
answer? This isn’t a difficult question.”

“Your forgiveness, jeyn,” Hirrek
said. “We are within the Volakeyn territory. Its contours are not familiar to
us.”

This was one of those moments when
the Neldathi reliance on passing along knowledge orally greatly frustrated
Antrey. “Then find someone who is!” she yelled. Hirrek slipped out of the tent,
moving with more speed than she had seen in weeks.

“Jeyn Antrey,” Birkthir began
again, in a calm, reasoning tone that Antrey had learned to be wary of,
“assuming that there is a frozen lake somewhere nearby, what is your plan for
it?”

With Hirrek gone for however long
it would take to find some Volakeyn intelligence, Antrey decided now was as
good a time as any to explain her plan. “I am led to believe that, at this time
of year, the lakes in this region freeze over.”

“That is my understanding as well,”
Birkthir said. The others nodded in agreement.

“Furthermore, the ice that forms on
the top of these lakes is thick and sturdy enough to be crossed on foot,
although the ice may crack underneath. In truth, the ice is only a few feet
thick at most, correct?”

More nods.

“All right. I want to use those
properties to our advantage when we confront the Degans.”

The others still looked confused.
Before any of them had a chance to ask any other questions, Hirrek burst through
the tent flap. Behind him he dragged another young man who had obviously not
come willingly.

“This is Geban,” Hirrek said
without any hint of ceremony. “He is the Assistant Master of the Hunt for the
Volakeyn.”

“Assistant Master of the Hunt?”
Antrey asked Hirrek. “Is that the best we can do?”

Hirrek stood his ground. “In my
experience, jeyn, it is the assistants who know the lay of the land in their
territory much better than the theks, masters, or war leaders.” He looked at
Birkthir and Kajtan, who both might have had reason to take umbrage. “No
offense to present company, of course.”

“Fine,” Antrey said, exasperated
but satisfied by his explanation. She walked over to them and gave Hirrek a
quick look. He released his grip on the young man’s arm. “Hello, Geban. I am
Jeyn Antrey. I don’t believe we have met.”

“No, jeyn,” he said, his voice
trembling and weak.

“I did not think so. But I have
spoken much with Ilan, your thek. War Leader Hakan, as well. They have been
very helpful to me and to our cause. I hope you can do the same.”

He nodded. “How may I be of
service, jeyn?”

“I am in need of a lake,” she said,
walking around the young man. “A frozen lake, more specifically. I understand that,
at this time of year, many of the lakes in this area would be frozen, more or
less. Is that right?”

“Yes, jeyn,” he said, becoming more
confident. “That is true.”

“So, Assistant Master of the Hunt,
do you know of any such places near here? Someplace that the column might reach
in a few days’ march?”

He thought for a moment. “I do know
of such a place, jeyn. I do not know if it is near enough to suit your needs,
however.”

“We can be the judge of that,” she
said. “Tell me of this place.”

“It is near the very southern end
of the Vander Range. Technically, it is in the territory of the Akan, but I
believe it can accurately be described as disputed.”

Antrey scanned the room for
confirmation from one of the others. Such territorial disputes were common and
one of the sources of conflict the Triumvirate had exploited, but she had no
idea if this particular area qualified. “Does it have a name?”

“It is called Lake Neyn and lies
between two foothills. It is long and narrow, but not very deep, if memory
serves.”

“How wide?” Antrey asked. “How
long?”