The Year of Our War (29 page)

Dunlin sprang to his feet, “We will leave this court for half an hour! Please discuss your petitions among yourselves and I promise they will be heard when we reconvene. Aver-Falconet, come with us!” He grabbed the edge of my wing, so that I was forced to follow in an undignified manner, and Felicitia limped behind me, back through the mass of Shift creatures and strangely dressed humans, to the grassy Inner Ward, under the soar-clear sky.

Dunlin sat down on the glassy steps where the tiger had been. “There are no seasons here,” he said. “The weirdest thing is I miss winter most.”

“Your Majesty.”

“You don’t have to use titles, Jant. The Tine are in awe of ‘Deathless’ and I am beginning to see their point. Tell me why I am not at rest in my own domain…
Staniel’s
kingdom.”

I explained about Staniel’s flight from the funeral procession. I said that we knew where the coffin was, but we had no chance of retrieving it when Lowespass was teeming. Dunlin listened bleakly to all this, with his assured attention I remembered from when I ran messages between him and the Emperor.

He was silent for some time, then asked, “If there were fewer Insects, would you be prepared to redeem this casket…This…I’m sorry, Jant, I am more inflexible than you, and this is a peculiar thing to say.”

“It’s all right.”

“Let me say it: this casket containing the mortal remains of Dunlin Rachiswater. And will you convey the same to the Awian capital, to be entombed as it should?”

“It will be the first thing on your poor brother’s mind,” I assured him.

“Make sure Staniel has a good adviser,” he said astutely. “He must have talented counselors if you are to defeat the Insects.”

“Brute force is more important at the moment.”

“I was coming to that. I agree with what you say. Time and Insects are the only things common to the Shift and the Fourlands. So, here is my answer: I will discontinue my campaign here for four weeks. During that time it falls to you to muster the Fourlands’ warriors and launch their force against the Insects. If you push the Insects back I will be ready for them here. We’ll exterminate them if we can, but if not I will allow them to dwell here on the savannah for four weeks only—and not cross the bridge, and not build more bridges! I’ll tell Mimosa’s Bacchantes that we need time for consolidation, but I doubt I can contain the exuberance of the Equinnes for more than a month.”

“We need more time,” I said.

“No, Jant. One month. If all you’ve told me is true, you have the hardest work of your long life ahead.”

Dunlin got to his feet, the bright armor plates on his legs sliding over each other soundlessly. He scratched his head, saying, “Remember, this respite is solely so Staniel can retrieve my coffin. I would appreciate it if you would tell me when Dunlin’s remains are safe in the Lake Mausoleum. When you do return to the Shift, Messenger—and I wish you wouldn’t, for the sake of the Empire—but I know you and can’t trust you, then come and tell me of the legend of Dunlin Rachiswater. There’ll always be a welcome for you here in my Palace.”

“Once my Palace,” I couldn’t resist pointing out.

His eyes sparkled. “Yes. Never trust rich Rhydanne, thin cooks and fat soldiers. Isn’t that what you used to say in Hacilith?”

Felicitia grinned widely, and nodded. “Jant
writes
the legends,” he said.

“I will make sure you are remembered as the finest champion,” I told him.

“We have a deal,” he said. He embraced me briefly but strongly; I could feel the steel roundels on his armor dig into my biceps. “Farewell.”

“Goodbye, Rachiswater.”

Dunlin walked back into the hall, and for long after I lost sight of him, I could hear his spurs clicking on the flagstones. I sighed.

“Well?”

“See you, Felicitia.”

Felicitia stamped his stiletto heel in the grass. “Typical! I’ve been waiting for you for two hundred years! I help you, I bring you to the Palace and, well, you simply ignore me!”

I was preoccupied, looking within myself to try and sense the pull back to the Fourlands. It was beginning, slowly growing. “You’re jealous,” I told him.

“I
may
be jealous, oh promiscuous youth.”

“Felicitia, I’ll never forgive you for the way I was treated in Hacilith, back when I didn’t have the confidence to escape. So don’t hold out hope, Felicitia; you’re one of the reasons why I started using cat in the first place.”

“If I hadn’t died of a flaming overdose I would have won you round, my lissom lad. I know I could. Or I could have had you shot.” Felicitia’s lips pursed, then he spat, “Shit. The Captain of the Guard.”

Worms were pouring in a thick, flesh-colored mass down the stairs, taking the form of the steps as they slid over them. When they reached the lawn they pooled and coalesced, legs, torso, shoulders, head; and then again to create not one Vermiform, but two, at half the size. The beautiful woman was joined by a male body. For a second his form aped mine, then mimicked Felicitia, and then became neutral. Both occasionally showed gaps that opened and filled, with the worms’ fluid movement. They spoke simultaneously with the perfect timing of a choir, but no real emotion: “We see you reached the court at last.”

“Despite intimidation!”

“We sit at Dunlin’s right hand. We know he doesn’t trust you,” the lethal creature chorused. “In court today we found how important you are. How useful you may be.”

“You weren’t in court just now,” I said, and for answer the female Vermiform dug her hand into her neck, where it sank up to the wrist, she rooted around and drew out a little worm that looked no different from the rest, dangling from her changeful fingers.

“I see. It just takes one worm.”

“That’s why they’re such a brilliant spy,” Felicitia observed distastefully.

The male and female figures wound their arms around each other, and worms crawled from one to the other along the length of their arms, their hair threshed and lashed. “Jant,” said the male half, “our world is one of the places where the Insects breed—”

“Think the Fourlands has problems?” the female part added in her myriad voices.

“You should see them swarm—”

“—in mating flights—”

“—above our dying somatopolis—”

“Their eggs are—”

“—hungry. And Insect Larvae—”

“—ravenous—”

“More than we could deal with—”

“—so we came to Epsilon,” concluded the Vermiform that looked female. I had a feeling that something was expected of me, so I thanked them for their information.

“You must defeat the Insects,” said the male Vermiform.

“Good luck,” simultaneously from the female one. I shivered.

“For the sake of worlds not yet infested. Insects will reach fresh places from the Fourlands if your world—”

“—is overwhelmed.”

“We do not want that to happen.”

“So stay out of the Shift,” they said together. The female form raised a hand. “You’re needed in Awndyn.” Their bodies flowed together.

Felicitia and I watched them unravel and corkscrew down into the grass. They dug into the soil as easy as piss into granular snow. Their faces were the last to merge, the worms behind their faces leaving, their hair sliding off and their faces following, then gone; leaving just the traceless grass.

“I hate that thing.” Felicitia bit his lip and glanced up. “Oh, Jant. You’re not going as well?”

I felt the pull grow stronger and the black walls of Sliverkey ward began to dim, ever so slightly, and then fading faster and faster out of focus. Felicitia’s purple satin and the blazing sky lost their brilliance. I was slack with relief. I wasn’t going to die. I wasn’t staying in the Shift. I was going home.

“No! Don’t leave me!” He ran toward me and I went with the pull.

“Sorry.”

“Give my love to the Emperor!” He blew a hasty kiss.

“Goodbye.”

G
oodbye.”

G
oodbye? What? Jant! Did you hear that, Saker, he said ‘Goodbye.’”

“Good.”

Immortals close to death will panic—I can’t die now! Can’t lose eternity! I fought frantically from the warm depths but only fully gained consciousness when Swallow slapped my face. I sat up in tangled sheets, tried to close my wings but they were too relaxed to obey. Lightning stood by the mullion window, looking out, hands in deep pockets. I realized that was where my syringe and wrap had disappeared to.

Well, let him; he could have them. I moaned and Swallow shook me, which cat blurred into a fucking unpleasant sensation.

“Jant? You stopped breathing then! Are you awake?”

“Yes…In a few hours.”

“We are leaving
now
,” said Lightning grimly. I groaned and begged to be left alone, but I think the Archer, appalled, thought it a fit punishment for me to be dragged out into the raging storm.

“It’s nearly dawn,” he said. “There’s enough light to see by.” Lightning was tenacious as a hound close to the kill. He was intent on reaching Peregrine as soon as possible, and from experience I knew his anger would not abate.

Swallow was wearing mail, with a leaf-green felt lambrequin tucked into the neck. With Lightning, she took me down to the stables, at the back of the manor house, where Harrier was waiting with Awndyn horses.

I was propped in a high-backed saddle and my wings shoved into my belt, as they kept concertinaing out and dragging on the floor. Lightning put my sunburst shield at my back for cover and I felt the chill metal through my flimsy shirt. I wound the reins in one limp hand, disturbed by my weakness. My horse followed behind Harrier’s on a leash, although Lightning’s servant said nothing.

My broadsword in its scabbard seemed weightier than before, and I wished for my ice ax.

Lightning unbuckled the Insect-limb quiver from his back and made it fast to the saddle so that his arrows were at hand. Swallow raised her face to him; he reached down from horseback and gave her a fleeting kiss.

A terrible wind blew from the sea, propelling salt spray and the whistling sleet to the speed of arrows. Spray struck and stung our right sides as we rode north along the coast. Our horses slipped in the mud and their course tended inland, but Harrier kept to the road, guiding my horse along.

Sea-breakers hurled halfway up the cliffs. Windblown foam drifted off and stuck to the grass, which was also blown in waves. The salt water wanted to climb onto the land and it roared with the strength of the fyrd at the failure of each wave to engulf us.

Seen from the sea we were three silhouettes—Lightning carrying his technologically perfect longbow in one hand, Harrier with a scarf wrapped around his ears and a strung self-bow resting on his knees. Me—shoulders bowed from the shield’s weight, wishing I could just puke and get the nausea over and done with. My horse pranced, panicking when Insects reared up in front, scurrying in groups from the ruins of Sheldrake. Lightning and the Zascai shot the Insects till their arrows were diminished and then they rode with drawn swords.

I hated the sea air but the pale gray stormy morning was good for me. The bracing wind revived me; the freezing gale cut a smile on my face.

We sped past a kilometer-stone:
Awndyn 19 km. Awia, Peregrine 11.5 km
. From there the path dipped downhill, as the height of the cliffs decreased, and I heard the surf on a stony beach. We rode down the incline and plunged into damp woodland. The wind cut off, though I could still taste a tang of salt.

Our horses picked their way more carefully. The soft black path was strewn with blown-down branches and they were uncertain of their footing.

Lightning waited for my horse to catch up. He indicated the track. “What do you make of this?”

“Mm?”

“Forget it.”

By the time we reached the Peregrine woods I had begun to take some interest in my surroundings.

By the time we arrived at Mist’s manor house, which squatted among the untidy foliage, I had fully remembered who I was, where I was, and the reason for our ride. Gradually I stopped lolling and sat straight in the saddle.

The path had been widened by the passage of a hundred or so men, the leaf-litter was a mash of footprints. The men had walked in the opposite direction, a little time before, since a crumbly, peaty smell still emanated from the broken ground. They had been followed by several packhorses, which must have been well laden; their hoof prints had sunk deep.

Harrier muttered, “We should have lanterns.” It was only early evening, but the short days of winter are either dawn or dusk, and nothing in between.

“Were there Insects on the cliff top?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Harrier, brusquely.

I rubbed an eye. “I’m sorry, gentlemen.”

“Jant dozes happily through Insect attack and the driving bloody snow and then he apologizes!” Lightning informed the forest.

“I am sorry, Saker. But if you only knew—”

“I
do
only know. I know what you are.”

We joined the cobbled road, passed through the iron-railing gate, which flaked black paint and rust, up into the shadow of the cream-white mansion.

Lightning dismounted, gave the reins to Harrier, and strolled up to the house. He knocked on the door.

“There’s nobody here.”

“God’s holiday, Harrier, you do have an eye for the obvious.”

“Sorry, my lord.”

A bird flew up from the white turret, startling us. Lightning’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to shoot it down. He turned back to the studded door and hammered on it again. “Is there anybody there?” Silence. “Is there
anybody
there?”

“There isn’t,” I said. I dismounted gracelessly, my legs numb from the drug, from being pounded on horseback and sodden to the skin. I let the fretful beast feed among long grass and ferns of forest-overgrown gardens.

The Archer stepped back and looked up to a single great window above the archway. A heavy slab of white marble formed the sill; the balcony was deserted, the dirty windows, empty. “Where has everybody gone?” he asked, perplexed.