Prince of Storms (13 page)

“Shall I compose a message of support to Master Yulin and ask Tindivir to send it?” Tai asked, walking at his side. “The high prefect wishes to convey her concern.”

“See to it, Tai. Thank you.” It galled him that messages went through Tindivir, assuring that the Jinda ceb representative kept close tabs on Quinn's activities. Still, instantaneous communication was a great advantage to him; Ci Dehai could report, and Yulin and Breund. And now, John Hastings, seven days into his journey.

They pushed through the great doors of the Magisterium, passing into the sunken garden that formed the humble approach to the Great Within. He wondered if Yulin's attacker worked for Zai Gan, whom he had replaced as master of the Chalin sway, or if the man was maddened by the boy navitar, or if he was simply one who took the dream sendings to heart and hated any friend of Titus Quinn.

The cool of the garden helped his thoughts coalesce.

“The army,” he murmured.

Tai waited, then prompted, “Master Quinn?”

“Who can we trust, Tai? Can we trust the army at Ahnenhoon?” He didn't expect a response from Tai, nor did he get one. The attempted assassination brought an idea forward. It was a thing that had been building in his mind. The army at Ahnenhoon.

He sat with Zhiya and Anzi in the pavilion main room.

Zhiya shook her head. “The army is to leave the Repel? How by the mucking bright can that be sensible?”

“I'm sending them to Xi. Yulin can take charge of them, sort through who is loyal, and who wants to go home. He has ample quarters for them.”

“This makes no sense, Titus,” Zhiya said.

“Husband—” Anzi began.

Zhiya charged on. “What does the army have to do with Xi? An army can't protect Yulin, and they
can
protect Ahnenhoon!”

Quinn nodded. “If they
would
protect it. I've been thinking for some time what the dangers are, of having an army one might not trust. They are subject to dreams; they've heard the messages. They may be paid to be soldiers, but they aren't likely to support our cause.”

Zhiya leaned forward, searching his face. “There are four brightships left out there stuffed with solitaires just waiting for revenge. We need the army at the fortress.”

“Husband,” Anzi said, “removing the army may attract the solitaires. They may sense their chance.”

“And the army,” Quinn said, “might open the doors for them.”

Zhiya spread her hands. “Ci Dehai has said nothing about disloyalty. His operatives among the troops would report grumblings!”

Quinn rose, pacing away. He appreciated their opinions. But some things he was sure of. These days, it was little enough. A strong garrison at the Repel made sense on the surface of it. But he had never been sure of the army's loyalty to him. He wanted them away from Ahnenhoon.

He turned back to them. “I've been thinking about this for weeks. I know it seems precipitous to you. But I've decided.”

Anzi rose, her face full of concern, looking at him like he had taken a fever.

“Have you consulted Ci Dehai?” Zhiya asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

He snapped, “Because I have so much advice close to hand.”

“But his is the advice you need.”

Quinn held Zhiya's gaze, unmoved. The more they argued, the more set on this course he became. Over his years in the Entire, he often had had to act from imperfect information. His instincts had always served him well. Or well enough to survive.

Zhiya's lip curled. “If you're going to be afraid of everyone, why not banish me?” She stared at him. “Once you start distrusting, it's a slow poison. Everyone becomes a potential enemy. Don't let the Ascendancy do that to you, Regent.”

He nodded, and she walked away.

His gaze went to Anzi. “I have to do this.”

“I know you do. However, it is wrong.”

“I can't decide by consensus; I can't be pulled by everyone in different directions. If I don't follow my own logic, what's left?”

Her glance fell away. “We must be wary, husband,” she murmured. “You know why.”

That again. The superstitions and bald fear his people exhibited of the boy navitar. He could not give Geng De's claims credence. It was not in him to believe in such things.

Anzi touched his face, searching his eyes. “If your logic changes, we can undo this. If you wake in the ebb and know this is wrong, will you tell me?”

“Yes, Anzi.”

At least she was with him that far. At least she was still with him at all. He knew these times were hard on her. He'd given her so little of himself since events had thrust the Entire onto his shoulders. She deserved better than that. He resolved to do better.

But Ci Dehai would send the army to Xi.

“W
HERE IS HE
?” Sen Ni snapped at her attendants. The hall of the mansion had gone silent as a mausoleum.

The Hirrin staff hesitated, none of them bold enough to speak, to say why, in an arc of days during her absence, no one had seen Geng De.

Amid her unpacked chests and boxes, she went from one to the next. “Why has no one cared for Geng De? Did anyone worry that something might have happened to him?” She spun around. “Anyone?”

Cixi came into the hall, stopping as she noted the tension in the air. “Daughter.”

Sen Ni faced her. “Have you seen him? Geng De? No one has seen him for ten days!” He might be a dangerous man, even an uncertain ally, but she needed him. Without his powers, she had little chance to preserve the All.

Cixi's high platform shoes impeded her walk, forcing her to come forward slowly, and as she did, Sen Ni had time to control her anger.

Sucking on her teeth, Cixi murmured, “He is reluctant to come out of the chamber. I sent a guard to inquire, but the navitar prefers to remain.”

Sen Ni turned to Emar-Vod, trying to keep her temper with her closest assistant. “Bring me a litter. And a healer.”

“Let me have him brought forth,” Cixi suggested. “Your dignity, my dear.”

Sen Ni snapped a look at Emar-Vod, and he hastened away to arrange things. Her concern grew by the moment. Even a navitar couldn't stay in the binds for long.

As she strode to the portico, Cixi came with her, saying, “He will take no advice. This is what he wants, perhaps what he
should
want. Do you see what he has already done? That Inweer is free—perhaps intent on restarting the engine?”

She turned to Cixi to respond when from behind came a squeal of a child. Tiejun ran toward her, just released from his nurse. Sen Ni bent down to embrace him. She'd sent for him to be here to greet her but had forgotten in the alarm over Geng De.

“Missa!” Tiejun said, as close as he could come to
mistress
.

Sen Ni kneeled to greet him, the fury of a few moments before dulled. When her litter and bearers arrived, she reluctantly let the nurse take the child. Turning to Cixi, she said, “Forgive my outburst, Mother. But Geng De is no use to us if the binds kill him.”
Or madden him
, she thought.

Sen Ni climbed into the litter. The conveyance swayed as the bearers lifted it. Cixi's reminder about Lord Inweer funneled her worries toward a troubling possible future, one in which she had to form an alliance with the solitaires. Who else could maintain the engine, if the Jinda ceb remained uninvolved? But it was hard giving up on old hates. She tried to imagine befriending the Tarig. She pressed her hand against her eyes, remembering a Tarig claw.

Geng De blinked up at the ceiling. He must be lying flat on his back. He should get up and take a meal. Did he have a ship keeper anymore? Had
Nimday run away, the faithless creature? He had hit the Hirrin ship keeper, but only a few times.

Painfully, he turned his head to look down the tube leading to his submerged room. He had come into the undercity chamber to take his meal, but the ship keeper was gone. He couldn't remember lying down. He must have stumbled. Each time he came forth from his weaving tasks, he was weaker, a feeble creature, out of his proper world. In the river was best.

It had taken such an effort to bring Titus to his will. The man fought, fought so hard. Others were easier. He pulled on their strands, thrilling at the slide of them through his fingers. But he could not keep all of the reins in his hand at once, and no sooner had he turned away from one than another unraveled.

Someone called to him.
Geng De, Geng De
. It sounded like the
old one
. So long ago, the old one of the drowning time, the one who set it all in motion. Geng De remembered a wizened Chalin approaching him on the deck of the ship. At the time he had been a young child. His parents looked away for a moment. As they did so, the old one strode forward…

A face appeared above him. A frowning Jout. “Sir, you are ill.”

“Of course I'm ill, you dung-ridden under-sentient.”

“Sen Ni wishes for you to rest. I will help you to your bed.”

“Sen Ni…” Geng De croaked. Someone was lifting him, carrying him, laying him down again. Thinking of Sen Ni, he felt tears form. The binds had shown him a terrible thing. Her bright gold strand, the brightest of them all. It showed…it showed…a monstrous thing, a thing he would not believe.

Then, blessedly, her face: leaning over him.

“My sister,” Geng De whispered.

“Shat himself,” someone said.

Sen Ni sat on the edge of Geng De's cot, helping him take some nourishment after the healer had cleaned him up and pronounced him well. Color had come back into the navitar's face, but he trembled from weakness.

Geng De pushed away the bowl of soup. “I must go back,” he whispered, glancing at the passage to his chamber.

“Rest first.”

“Today I must weave; tomorrow, rest.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Where is your keeper?”

“He ran off, the four-footed coward.”

“Without informing anyone!” She would have an accounting from that ship keeper.

“I slapped him for insolence and he ran. Good riddance.” He struggled to sit up, and she helped him, guiding him to sit on the edge of the cot. After this exertion, his voice went to a whisper. “You went to the Jinda ceb Horat minoral. You saw the old female.”

More of his visions; it seemed she would have no privacy. “I was going to tell you.”

“I do not trust them. They are hard to grasp.” His fingers moved in an unconscious flutter. “I must go back.” He struggled to rise. “Help me.”

“Geng De…” He was in no condition to return to the chamber.

“My cane,” he snapped. She found it propped against a chair and brought it to him as he fixed her with a blameful gaze. “You want to pretend that we will go on as before. That is weak.”

“Weak? I hold Rim City. I have told the Entire how they will die. Don't ever call me weak.”

“Oh, you are. You want me to be normal, but I can never be like others.” Tears slicked his eyelids. “The work is extracting its price. The more I weave, the less I can bear the world above. I do it for you, my sister.” His voice rose, and he clutched the cane harder. “Did you think there was no price to be paid?”

She thought she'd known the price: that she would kill Earth for the sake of the Entire. And live with it. “I know the price. I'm paying it too.”

“No.” He rose in a lurching motion, slamming his cane down. As Sen Ni stood with him, he clamped one hand on her shoulder, holding her locked in place. “We will not be normal. Ever. We will give ourselves to the river because that is our home.” He spread his arms wide. “My mouth is stopped with silver. For the Entire. Tell me that you approve. That you want this.”

He was sacrificing himself. And she must let him. For the Entire.

His voice went low. “Many will die, Sen Ni. Your father will die, and…others.” Geng De's gaze flicked to the tube linking the burrow with the crystal room. From the recesses came the glow of the foaming Nigh.

“The rogue strand…” she said.

“Oh, yes, he is that. But I am sniffing him out. His strand shimmers like lightning at a reach. I can smell where he is; I can taste what he wants to do that is nearer to our purposes. And I”—he jutted out a palm—“I push him.” He paused. “Tell me you want it.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “If the Entire endures.”

“Hold fast to that purpose, hold fast.” He took a step toward the river chamber, then turned to her. “Next time, will you come inside the chamber? It is so beautiful....”

“Come into the binds? I am no navitar. Your work is below. But mine is above.”

“There is no difference.”

That was madness. “Yes, Geng De. There is. I will be your eyes and heart in the world above. That is my place, if yours is below.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, as though there were things he would say to her, but couldn't. Then, without good-bye, he turned and hobbled off. The cane thumped down, and he shambled toward his river cave.

Breund and Lord Inweer looked down on the land skimming beneath the ship. It was a great forest, an expanse of black foliage so thick it looked hopeless to land. But Lord Inweer had seen traces of a solitaire ship yesterday. Wherever it landed, the prison ship could also.

So Breund hoped. He also hoped that he would not lose his midday meal. The ship was quiet and steady, but the treetops below whipped past, causing the petals of his skin to tighten in stark fear.

“My lord, perhaps it is better not to land.”

Lord Inweer sat in the pilot's chair, surrounded by a display of their course, hands tapping the controls on the armrests. He loved to pilot the
ship. But that did not necessarily make him a good pilot. By the Navitar's Mind, we will crash, Breund thought.

“My lord, it is better not to associate with the solitaires.”

Lord Inweer's fingers tapped at the controls, adjusting the descent.

“My lord, stop this.”

A boom outside the ship announced that they had hit the trees and were about to die. The ship jerked violently to the side, causing Breund's chair to swarm up around him in a tight hug. As Breund clenched his eyes shut, they fell straight down and landed with a gentle bump. The chair released him.

A few breaths helped Breund control his nausea and his anger. This would certainly go in the report. Lord Inweer pursuing the solitaire outlaws, ignoring his pleas, putting their lives at risk by attempting a landing in a Gond forest.