Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2 (15 page)

“What do the planets say?” Tali said, panting. Walking fifty yards had exhausted her, but it was twice as far as she could have gone yesterday.

They were up in the chancellor’s observatory, at the highest point of Fortress Rutherin. It was a cold, still night with a red moon and a scattering of the brightest stars.

The chancellor, swathed in a fur-lined cloak, was studying the motions of the planets through a telescope. He had provided a padded chair for Tali, and a charcoal brazier, but she was pacing around the triangular roof. If a chance came to escape, she must be ready to take it.

“That if I don’t do something brilliant now,” he replied, “it will be too late.”

He warmed his hands over the coals and hunched in his chair. He looked defeated.

She continued her circuits, counting the steps. One hundred, two hundred, two hundred and fifty —

“You’re up to something,” he said. “Come here.”

Tali returned to the chairs and put on her cloak, but did not sit down. She did not speak; it was the safest way with the chancellor. He was a cunning interrogator and the most innocent questions had a way of leading into quicksand.

“We could be friends,” he said mildly. “You don’t have any friends, only the child.”

“I had two friends,” she blurted. “You killed one and condemned the other.”

“The necessities of war.”

“That’s your excuse for everything. You always hated Tobry.”

“It wasn’t hate I felt for the man – it was
contempt
. How could I respect a fellow who made a joke of all I held dear, yet himself believed in nothing?”

“He’d lost his house, his family and all
he held dear
, through no fault of his own.”

“I know his story,” the chancellor said indifferently.

“Not all of it. The Tobry I knew,
and came to love
, was fighting for his country as bravely as any man I’ve ever met.”

“You haven’t met many men, have you? In Cython, the Pale men are kept apart from the women.”

Tali wasn’t going to be distracted that easily. “Tobry made the ultimate sacrifice to save his friends – he became a shifter because it was the only way to save us from a horde of them. That’s not the action of a man who believes in nothing!”

The chancellor waved a twisted hand. “Perhaps I was wrong about him. I’m fallible, like everyone else.”

“Unlike everyone else, your mistakes kill people!” she said furiously.

He jerked the cloak more tightly around his meagre frame. “Do you think I don’t lie awake at night reliving my failures? I had eighteen thousand troops in Caulderon. How many do you think I got out with me?”

Tali had no idea. “Two thousand?”

His laugh was like metal tearing. “I couldn’t even save two
hundred
. Most of those eighteen thousand died in the storming of Caulderon, along with thousands of civilians, because I underestimated the enemy.”

The pain in his voice was evident; the agony of command, but after all he had done to her friends she could not feel any sympathy for him. “When are you going to stand up and fight?”

“When my army is ready.”

“It’ll never be ready,” Tali guessed.

“You are at my mercy,” he reminded her coldly.

“But unlike you, I haven’t given up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re just going through the motions. You don’t have what it takes to lead Hightspall in war.”

His face flushed. She had stung him. Good!

“Will you be as diligent in fulfilling your blood oath as you are in criticising my failings?” said the chancellor.

She looked down at her hands. How
could
she rescue the Pale? In a thousand years, no other slave had ever escaped from Cython, and there was a good reason why. Every entrance was heavily guarded and the entry passages were mined with all kinds of ingenious traps.

And even if she could overcome her terror of slavery enough to go back, and even if she could get inside, how would she ever rouse the cowed, unarmed, untrusting Pale to rebellion and get them out again? In Cython, betrayal was the way to favour and most of them would inform on her in an instant.

The chancellor rose and warmed his hands over the brazier again. A momentary breeze stirred the coals, sending a single spark drifting up and wafting warmth towards her.

“Sit down, Tali.”

She sat by the brazier.

“You’ve suddenly regained a sense of purpose,” he said.

A chill crept over her. This was why he had called her up here. How could she hold him out?

“After a week and a half abed you’ve suddenly started exercising. Why?”

“You’re spying on me.”

“I spy on everyone. Answer the question!”

“Why do I need a reason to eat, or to rise from my sickbed and regain my health?”

“I wouldn’t advise you to play games with me, Thalalie vi Torgrist.”

What could she say? Nothing that would heighten his suspicions.

“It’s Rannilt,” said Tali.

The chancellor’s eyes met hers. “What about her?” he said mildly. “She’s no use to me. Her blood doesn’t heal. Now why would that be?”

“I think Lyf stole her healing gift in the caverns under Precipitous Crag.”

“Is that so? My spies tell me Rannilt has nightmares and comes to you for comfort.”

“Not the kind of comfort you’re imagining,” said Tali, and showed him her scabbed wrist.

The chancellor stared. “She’s taking your
blood
?”

“I love the child, and I owe her my life, but…”

“But she’s like a little parasite, sucking your blood.”

“Yes, she is!” Tali cried, rising abruptly and lurching, stiff-legged, around the chairs. “You can’t imagine how much I resent it.” She used her passion to try and conceal the coming lie. “I’m not taking it any more –
letting
her take it,” she amended hastily.

His enigmatic smile troubled her. He knew she was concealing something. She had to give him more.

“There’s something else,” said Tali. “About Lyf.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve
seen
him.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I – I connected to Lyf after Dibly took my blood the first time. He’s searching for something, lost long ago.”

“What?” the chancellor said sharply.

“Some kind of a key. The ghost king with Lyf said,
The key must be found. Without it, all you’ve done is for nothing
.”

“A key lost long ago?” The chancellor leapt up and paced around the brazier. “Do you mean from the time he was abducted by the Five Heroes?”

That hadn’t occurred to Tali. “I suppose it must be.”

“What kind of a key? To a lock? Or a puzzle?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you’ve known this for how long?”

“A week or so.”

Purple flooded his face. He was angrier than she had ever seen him. “Yet you kept it from me.”

“You’ve treated me and my friends like enemies.”

“I’m trying to win the war.”

“Not hard enough!”

“If I’d known this a week ago I might have been able to do something. Find out!”

“What?” she said, shivering.

“Do whatever it takes. I’ve got to know what the key is.”

“I – I’ll do my best, but —”

“I don’t want your best,” he said savagely. “I want the answer,
now
!”

“It’s dangerous. Lyf —”

“Not as dangerous as I am when people fail me. We’ll start with another blood-letting. Right now!”

Glynnie’s knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the floating door. She was staring back towards the lake shore as if expecting to hear someone cry out that they had found a body. Benn’s.

In the other direction the edge of the wheel of flotsam, thirty or forty yards away, stretched further than Rix could see. Mist was rising everywhere now, banners streaming up into the icy air to be drifted into fog banks by the breeze. It would soon be dark.

He had lost sight of the dinghies, though he could hear the searchers talking and the gunwales knocking together. They must have anchored above the outlet to the drainpipe, sending divers down to see if any of the escapees had drowned there. The search would not take long.

“We’d better abandon the door,” said Rix. “It’s too easily spotted.”

“Don’t think I can last much longer.” Glynnie’s teeth chattered. She clenched her jaw.

Rix didn’t have much left either. Between the cold, the pain in his wrist, the lack of sleep and the battering his body had taken in recent days, his strength was fading.

But he wasn’t beaten yet. “Come here. Put your arms around me.”

“Lord?”

“It’ll keep the cold away.”

She bit her lip. Was she afraid of him? No, Glynnie was still in awe of House Ricinus, and the mighty lord that Rix was in her eyes, rather than the dishonoured man he was in his own. He pulled her against his chest with his free arm and held her tightly, and after a while she put her arms around him and clasped her hands behind his back. The pain in his wrist faded a little.

“You’re warm!” she said in amazement.

“I was swimming hard.”

As warmth spread between them, Rix found himself clinging to her for comfort. All his life he had known where he belonged – the heir to a noble house – and where everyone around him fitted into the vast entity that had been House Ricinus. Now he had no house, no family, no place, and in this savage land a man who belonged nowhere was prey to all.

They pulled apart at the same moment. Pain lanced into Rix’s wrist bones.

“Can you swim out to the flotsam, Glynnie? You’ve got to be able to do it by yourself…”

If I’m killed
, lay unspoken between them.

She looked that way and her small shoulders hunched. “I – I’ll try.”

It was little more than a dog paddle at first, but as she swam Glynnie’s stroke changed to imitate his. She was painfully slow; he could have towed her there in half the time, but she was a good learner. Her courage and determination were an inspiration.

They limped thirty yards before they reached the edge of the slowly wheeling gyre of debris. Glynnie was tiring, starting to thrash.

“Can’t go – any —” She was gasping, making no progress.

Rix pushed a floating plank to her. She clung to it the way she had clung to him earlier.

He surveyed the gyre. There were scores of uprooted trees, a timber yard’s worth of lumber, hundreds of pieces of furniture – some broken, others unmarked – empty bottles of many sizes, shapes and colours, an inflated wine skin that might have been used as an emergency float, a white china teapot with a red rose painted on the side, bobbing its handle and spout. The water seemed thicker here and had an unpleasant red-brown tinge. And a smell Rix did not want to dwell on.

Dead seabirds, white wings spread upon the water, eyes pecked out. A drowned goat with bloated belly and four legs standing vertical. And bodies, some broken by the force of the tidal wave, some apparently unharmed, but all dead and eyeless, as if they could not bear to look upon the horror that had befallen them.

The gyre might have been a hundred yards across, or thrice that far. He could not see the further edge through the mist. It was the best hiding place they had, though only a miracle could save them from a determined search by three boats.

Rix looked over his shoulder but the mist had closed in along the shore as well; he could not see anything there. He could hear the faintest rasping though, the rhythm unmistakeable to one who had spent his youth in boats.

Glynnie caught the direction of his gaze. “What’s that funny noise?”

“Rowing. They’ve packed sacking into the rowlocks to muffle the oars.”

“They’re coming after us?”

“Yes.”

Rix caught the drifting wine skin. “Put this under your shirt. It’ll hold you up…”

She held onto it to support herself. “If the cold gets me, a float isn’t going to help.”

They headed towards the centre of the gyre, passing more broken timber, more dead animals, more bodies. One was a boy, floating face down with his arms and legs rigidly outstretched. And he had red hair —

“Benn?” said Glynnie in a cracked voice.

She sagged on the wine skin, her weight pressing it beneath the surface, then let go and it shot out of the water. She began to thrash towards the boy, making little progress and far too much noise. Rix caught her by the shoulder. She swung around and punched him in the nose, then flailed off. He caught her by the hair, holding her until she exhausted herself.

“It’s not him, Glynnie.”

“How would you know?” she sobbed. “I got to be sure.”

He didn’t want to look at any more bodies, and definitely didn’t want to see what time and predators had done to an innocent child, but there was no help for it. He swam with her to the body and turned it over.

She gave a muffled shriek, then turned away and clung to him, desperately. “That poor little boy.”

Rix turned the lad face down again. It seemed more respectful. He swam away, carrying her with him, to a pine table floating on its side.

“How did you know it wasn’t Benn?” said Glynnie, hanging onto the edge of the table.

“This gyre must have been here since the tidal wave, and the wind isn’t strong enough to mix it up. Any body in the middle of the gyre must have been here for days.”

She seemed to take comfort from that. It allowed her to keep hoping. Rix rubbed his nose, which was throbbing from the blow, and found a smear of blood on his hand.

“Lord, I’m sorry,” said Glynnie, hanging her head. “You must think —”

“I dare say I deserved it.” He stiffened. The muffled sound of rowing was louder than before and coming from several places at once.

“Have I given us away?” she whispered.

“They know we escaped, and since they haven’t found us in their drag nets, or ashore, there’s only one place we can be.”

“What are we going to do?”

Die, he thought, and that will put an end to all pain.

“Keep going. There could be a storm… or we might find a boat in the rubbish. You never know.”

They were in an impossible situation and she knew it. He was about to swim on when a dinghy emerged from a mist bank, barely thirty yards away. A man at the bow held a lantern up on the end of a pole; a yellow halo surrounded it.

Rix pulled her down until only their eyes were above the water. “Don’t look at the light,” he whispered. “They’ll see it reflected in your eyes. Look down.”

He did the same, one arm around her chest. He could feel the thumping of her heart, her chest rising and falling with each breath. The lantern man swung his light from one side to the other, scanning the debris-littered water. The boat passed through a banner of low-hanging mist. The light made a brighter halo, then disappeared.

“Another boat behind us,” breathed Glynnie. “They’re searching in a pattern.”

Rix rotated. The second boat was mere shadow and rainbow-ringed light, moving steadily through the mist, then gone.

“The next pass will come right through here. And that close, nothing can hide us. Come on.”

He set off towards the line the first boat had followed. Glynnie followed for a while, then stopped, and when he turned to check she was going under. He raced back, hauled her up. Her face and hands were mottled blue and purple from the cold and she was shuddering fitfully.

“Leave me,” she said dully. “Can’t go – any further.”

“I’m not leaving you. Shh! You’re breathing like a walrus.”

He towed her across, taking advantage of the cover of a drifting sideboard here, a dead donkey there. Rix was very cold now and an icy lethargy was creeping through him too. If they stayed in the water much longer Glynnie would collapse from exposure. He pulled her against his chest but this time no warmth grew between them, not a trace. He was numb from cold, save for his right wrist, which burned with fire.

“We’re going to die, Lord,” she whispered. “Right here.”

Better we do than the enemy take us, he thought. “Not yet, Glynnie. You’ve got to hang on. We’ll beat them yet.”

He played hide-and-seek with the three boats for another few minutes as they crisscrossed the gyre. It was almost dark now but the fog was lifting and Rix was losing hope; he could feel Glynnie slipping away. The water was taking her body heat faster than she could generate it.

They were in the meagre shelter of an almost submerged log when the three dinghies came together in an open space forty yards away. The leader of the searchers stood up in the dinghy and swept his arm out in a circle that seemed to indicate the circumference of the gyre.

“I don’t like this,” Rix muttered in Glynnie’s ear. “What Cythonian devilry have they got in mind now?”

Glynnie’s head lolled onto his shoulder. She was fading fast, and if he couldn’t warm her she would die. He pulled his shirt up, and hers, pressed his bare chest against her and crushed them together. A faint warmth grew there.

After a minute or two, Glynnie roused. Her head wobbled, steadied. Her eyes drifted open, unfocused, then suddenly widened.

“Lord!” she croaked, trying to pull away. “What are you doing?”

He held her. “Saving our lives. Shh!”

Clots of mist drifted by, momentarily obscuring the three dinghies, then cleared. They separated and were rowed out in widening spirals, each lantern man now supporting a barrel on the transom. From the bung holes, an oily liquid gurgled into the water.

The enemy were masters of the alchymical arts and had developed all manner of terrifying new weapons. Rix had seen more than enough of their effects in the first days of the war and did not want to experience them here. He went backwards, using just his feet.

“Is it poison?” said Glynnie.

Every possibility Rix could think of was horrifying. “I don’t know.”

“They’re trying to kill you.”

Glynnie would have been safer if he’d left her behind. Being with him was a death warrant. “We’ve got to get out of the gyre. Hold tight!”

The dinghies were rowing quickly now, as if they did not want to be anywhere near the gyre when their mission was completed. They would reach the outside before he and Glynnie were a quarter of the way, and he could not swim any faster without alerting the enemy. His wrist was so painful that he could scarcely think. It felt as though acid was eating through the bones.

The stuff from the barrels gave off fumes that burned his nose, and Glynnie’s eyes were watering. The dinghies reached the outside of the gyre, equally spaced around it. The last of the fluid was emptied out. The oarsmen rowed another ten yards, then stopped and the lantern men returned to the bow and stood there, watching the gyre.

Glynnie threw her hands up, clutching the sides of her head.

“Head feels like it’s bursting.”

“Try not to breathe the fumes.”

They had gone another thirty yards when the captain swung a brawny arm, hurling a glowing object hard and high. It wheeled over three times before smacking into the water. Nothing happened for one, two, three seconds.

Then flames exploded up and raced across the gyre from one side to the other.