Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest (27 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY

G
overnor Andrus paced furiously in front of the captain of a recently arrived skimmer. The black craft had attempted a landing in the inner courtyard, but had been refused permission. The governor’s personal transport vehicle had quickly been driven into the courtyard and left parked there, just to make it clear to the Securitats that this was still Andrus’s residence, and not theirs. The officer had been intercepted at the castle gates and brought, under protest, into the governor’s presence. He had, Andrus suspected, been on his way to report to Syrene.

The Military was closely monitoring all flights coming from the Highlands; the fiction that the governor was a concerned parent worried for his daughter’s safety was a role that Andrus had no difficulty in playing. While he knew that his daughter and Ani were in the hands of the Resistance, that didn’t mean they were safe. Andrus didn’t share Meia’s faith in the Resistance; he was aware that there were those within its ranks who would dearly love to hold Syl hostage—and those were the good ones. There were others who would happily kill her and send her back to her father piece by piece.

The situation was further complicated by rumors of the destruction of at least one Securitat vessel, and the deaths of an unconfirmed number of Securitats and Galatean troops. Andrus desperately wanted to know what was going on, but so far the tense, fidgety captain had given him little more than his name and rank. Andrus glared at him afresh.

“So, whatever your name is—”

“Beldyn,” said the man. “Captain Beldyn.”

“I don’t care who you are. I’m telling you for the last time: I want a full report of progress in the search for my daughter, or I’ll lose you in the castle dungeons.”

“And I can only repeat what I’ve already said. My orders are to act as liaison between Marshal Sedulus and the Archmage Syrene. The rescue operation is a matter of the greatest delicacy. Your daughter’s life is not the only one at stake. The safety of the Grand Consul must be our primary concern.”

Andrus slammed his fist against his desk. “
Must
be? As the father of a missing child, you’ll forgive me if I beg to differ.”

Beldyn gave a small, strange smile. “My lord, I can reliably inform you that we are searching for both your daughter
and
her friend. The Archmage Syrene was adamant on that score. Most adamant. Otherwise, the situation is under control.”

Andrus couldn’t help but laugh.

“Really? I hear stories of exploding ships and dead troops. It sounds to me as if you have an insurgency on your hands, Captain. Perhaps it’s time for the Military to intervene.”

“I’ll pass on your concerns to Marshal Sedulus, Lord Andrus. Now, I must insist that you allow me to seek out the Archmage, or—”

“Or what? I’d be very careful how I finish that statement if I were you, Captain.”

Beldyn closed his mouth and stayed silent.

“Get out of my sight,” said Andrus.

He watched Beldyn stride away, resisting the urge to help him on his way with a good kick. The desire to lash out was almost beyond endurance, his frustration so great that he felt it as an ache through his teeth and neck and spine.

He turned to Balen, who was sitting at his desk sifting through papers, as usual, but clearly not concentrating, which was most
un
usual. Syl had always been a favorite of Balen’s, just as her mother was before her. In fact Andrus had often suspected that Balen had something of a schoolboy crush on the Lady Orianne; when Orianne died, the secretary seemed to have transferred the best part of that affection to her daughter. As she’d grown, Syl had been a regular visitor to her father’s office, and Andrus had often found her sitting behind Balen’s desk doing her homework under his caring tutelage. Balen would have forgiven Syl anything, even treason, and the depth of his concern for the girl’s safety was clear. For a moment Andrus almost shared the truth about the crash with him, but decided against it. Balen tended to wear his feelings on his sleeve, and was regarded by many in the castle as a barometer of the governor’s moods. For now, it was better that he knew as little as possible: that way, he wouldn’t have to act.

“Why don’t you go to your quarters and rest for a while?” said Andrus. “You haven’t slept since the crash.”

“With respect, Governor, neither have you.”

“That’s the point: one of us needs to have a clear head about him. Get some sleep, Balen. You’ll be more use to me fresh than exhausted.”

Balen rose. He was so tired that he swayed on his feet.

“Go to bed,” said Andrus. “I’ll make sure that you’re woken if needed.”

Balen did as he was told. Andrus remained standing, now uncertain of what to do to occupy himself. He had not heard back from Meia. He should never have let her go to Eden. He needed her here. She was his point of contact with the Resistance, and the only assurance of his daughter’s safe return.

An hour passed. He was sick of doing nothing. It was time to act. He summoned Danis. When the old general arrived, Peris, the captain of the castle guard and one of the governor’s most trusted veteran soldiers, was with him, just as Andrus had instructed.

Within the hour Peris, acting on orders from the governor, had assembled a Military squad ready to move into the Highlands.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

W
hile Andrus fretted, the objects of his concern continued their hard, damp march across the Highlands. They were nineteen in all, including Ani, Syl, and Gradus, who walked along much like a zombie, his eyes unseeing, his footfalls automatic. Syl had now learned all the humans’ names. There was Heather, of course, and young Alice, who spent much of her time walking with Syl and Ani while her mother mourned the loss of Tam. Alice had wept for him too, but she did not blame Syl and Ani for the crimes of other Illyri, which made her very different from some of the others, such as the vicious Duncan and the sinewy woman named Aggie, who had declined Syl’s help earlier in the march. Their animosity toward the Illyri had not lessened since the truth of the events at Durroch began to reach them. Just Joe had used a shortwave transmitter to send and receive a series of Morse code messages, and the story of what had taken place in the little village had roused fierce reactions.

“We should kill them,” said Duncan, pointing at the three Illyri. “We should leave their bodies on spikes for their mates to find. That’ll send them a message for sure.”

“Those were innocent people in that village, Joe,” said Aggie. “You knew their names. You’d eaten in their houses, and played football with their bairns. Most of them are dead now—and their kind killed them,” she added, pointing at Syl.

Not my kind, Syl wanted to say, but she knew better than to interrupt. Paul and Steven, along with Mike and Seán, had taken up positions close to the three Illyri. Steven had even been entrusted with a gun by Seán, much to Paul’s unease. They were there to show that no assaults on the Illyri would be permitted, that they were still under Just Joe’s protection, although Joe had made it clear that there was to be no shooting, not unless he gave the order. Three others stood behind Just Joe: a woman named Kathy—who had appeared at the farmhouse shortly before they left, bearing a fresh battery for the shortwave radio—and Joe’s closest lieutenants, the grim-faced Logan and the small, lithe Ryan.

Siding with Aggie and Duncan were two men, Frank and Howie, who looked like twin brothers but were actually cousins. They had never been particularly hostile to the three Illyri until now, but they had an uncle who lived in Durroch, and nobody could find out if he was among the dead or the handful of survivors.

Heather and Alice stood apart from both factions, as did a muscled young man who called himself AK, and Aggie’s husband, Norris, a massive figure more ox than man, who regarded his wife with a mixture of frustration and admiration. Syl couldn’t imagine what kind of argument the couple were likely to have later over the fact that he didn’t appear to be supporting her.

“I know that, Aggie,” said Just Joe. “Don’t think I don’t feel for them, and for Tam most of all. But it doesn’t change the fact that these two young females put their lives on the line for two of ours, and I don’t remember them killing anyone at Durroch. Slaughtering them for revenge will get us nowhere, and will make us no better than the ones who murdered our friends. We’ll get those responsible, and we’ll make them pay, but I won’t let you spill blood here.”

“And what about the other one?” said Duncan, pointing at Gradus. “Who has he saved?”

“He’s important,” said Just Joe. “Maybe more important than any of us can imagine.”

“All the more reason to leave his head for them to find,” said Aggie, and the two cousins shouted their agreement.

“We have to take him to the Green Man,” said Just Joe. “Those are my orders, and they apply to you as well. If you don’t like them, you’ve no business being here. Do you want to leave, Aggie? And you, Howie and Frank? You’ve always been loyal. Don’t let me down now. And you, Duncan: I understand your anger, because it’s in me as well, but we’ll find another outlet for it. For now, though, I need you all to stand with me. We’re still being hunted, and the greatest hurt we can do the Illyri at the moment is to keep them from getting their hands on the three who are with us. Am I clear?”

There were some rumblings from the four malcontents, but the challenge to Joe’s authority had been dealt with for the present. Aggie went back to her husband and scowled at him so hard it seemed her face might crack, while his own remained impassive. Howie and Frank shared some whisky from a small bottle. They looked secretly relieved that the argument hadn’t ended in violence. They were followers, not leaders, and in the end they would always rally behind the strongest in any group; in this group, that was still Just Joe.

But Duncan sloped off, and they did not see him again until Just Joe announced that they had all rested long enough, and it was time to be moving on. Syl was sorry to see Duncan reappear, zipping his trousers, an apple stuck in his mouth. She had hoped that he might have deserted.

•••

They marched long into the night. Syl and Paul walked together, sometimes with Alice between them. When she became too tired to walk, they took turns at carrying her on their backs, and eventually she fell asleep against Paul. In soft voices they talked, discussing details from their respective childhoods, which had been so different, sharing their interests before they were drawn into this brutal war—Syl’s passion for art and books, Paul’s fascination with all forms of music and his attempts to play the guitar. Eventually Paul told Syl about the death of his father, and she in turn shared the details of her mother’s death, and although each still felt the old lingering hurt, there was something peaceful about their conversation, and the words flowed with ease.

With little other choice, Ani and Steven had begun to walk together, each keeping an eye on the other, and lending a hand if one got into trouble when climbing, or wading through soft, muddy ground. If the truth were told, Ani had never spent much time talking to humans—or at least not as herself, as an Illyri. She was on nodding terms with some of those who were trusted enough to serve the Illyri at the castle, and she liked to think they were not actively hostile toward her. Most of them were friendly enough, but she was not so naive as to ignore the fact that deep down they resented the very fact of her existence.

But she had learned to mix with them outside the castle walls. In the beginning, she would sit disguised in dark corners of safe coffee shops, sometimes pretending to read so that she could keep her head down and not attract attention. Later, as her awareness of her powers grew, she was able to engage some of them in conversation, clouding their minds just enough to prevent them from recognizing her as an Illyri. Old people were the easiest, children the hardest to fool. They seemed to see her for what she was, no matter how hard she tried. Ani had decided that this was because children had not yet begun to engage in the kind of deceptions so integral to adult life, and it was easier to fool those who were already fooling themselves.

Sometimes she could see the doubt surfacing as a human began to suspect that all was not quite right but could not manage to pinpoint the source of the unease. When that happened, she would concentrate harder or, if she felt there was nothing further to be gained from the conversation, simply give up on it. It was all practice, a further honing of her developing skills. In a sense, she was as much a confidence trickster as a psychic; she understood that humans and Illyri alike wanted to believe certain things about the world. Her role was to discover the nature of those beliefs—or desires—and satisfy them. An older human may secretly want to believe that this was a pretty young girl seated before him, fascinated by the stories he had to tell, and in that case, much of Ani’s work had already been done for her. Similarly, a lonely woman with a jerk for a boyfriend wanted a sympathetic ear, wanted to be understood. Ani had learned to make very slight changes to her personality in order to temporarily fill these gaps in the lives of others, and once she had managed to get beneath their defenses she could start to understand much more about them. As Meia had recognized, she had the capacity to become a very good spy.

But Ani had no desire to be a spy. She had discovered for herself the great and terrible truth about spies: that they spent so long adopting disguises and pretending to be something they were not that eventually they lost their own identities entirely and became shadows of themselves.

Steven walked with Ani shyly at first. After their awkward conversations in the truck on the long journey north, he still seemed somewhat in awe of her. It made her feel a little less jealous of Syl, for when she was reunited with her friend and saw her with Paul, it was instantly apparent that a deep bond was forming between the two of them. They were still circling each other, uncertain of their feelings, unsure if it was even possible for any relationship to exist between them. They had both been captors and captives, and years of enmity lay between their species.

And that was another thing: as Ani had reminded Syl, she and Paul were of different species—perhaps not all that different in many ways, yet different enough. Then again, Ani’s views on such matters had begun to alter subtly. She had seen Althea with the human named Trask, and now she was watching Syl and Paul commence their tentative romance. Maybe males and females were
always
strange to one another, and the relationship that was developing between Syl and Paul was simply a more complicated variation on an already complex theme.

And so Ani did not spurn Steven’s small kindnesses as she might have done before. They were all on the run together now, and were likely to share similar punishments if they were caught. What began as exchanges of no more than a couple of words—a thank-you for help scaling rocks, his hand warm against hers, his grip suprisingly strong; an enquiry as to whether she was cold, or wet, or hungry, followed by an effort to solve the problem—quickly became longer conversations, and she found herself happy to have him as her traveling companion. He was quieter than his brother, and more inclined to listen than to talk. Still, she noticed that he would occasionally offer some quiet suggestion to Paul, or even to Just Joe himself, and the older men would often nod in agreement, or pause to consider what they had just been told, as though Steven had caused them to see the situation in a new light. He was more sensitive than his brother, but with that came a kind of cleverness; his sensitivity meant that he was more open to experience, and that openness brought with it understanding. Steven would never be a leader, and he did not want to lead, but he would grow up to be the kind of man upon whom leaders relied.

“Do you like him?” Syl whispered to her as they lay shivering in the ruins of a farmhouse, waiting for a sudden downpour of hard, icy rain to ease so that they could cover a few more miles in the darkness.

“Yes,” said Ani. “I do. Not the way you like Paul, but I like him.”

Syl smiled at her. “Maybe that will come too, that other kind of liking.”

“No,” said Ani, and there was no uncertainty in her voice. “And he’s young.”

“He will be older soon enough.”

But Ani did not reply.