Requiem (15 page)

“It is a simple matter,” she told him, offering up the kindest smile she could. “Brother Charles and I must go and investigate this new development. We ask for nothing but horses and supplies for two. You are three days out of Rachyle’s Rest. You need only see them to the library; Elder Seamus can handle the rest from there.”

She’d already written the letter to the last of her elders and tucked it inside her parka. It outlined Seamus’s work getting her small remnant the housing, work and supplies they would need. But there was more. It also included her admonition to him to prepare her people for settling their new home, setting aside a tithe of their supplies in a storehouse against the day that they would somehow reach their promised sanctuary. She drew the letter out and passed it to him. And Winters knew when he took it that she would have her way after all.

“General Rudolfo will not be pleased by this,” the man said.

Winters met his stare. “His displeasure will be with me.”

“And with me,” Charles added.

Shoving the letter angrily into his belt pouch, the lieutenant said nothing as he strode off in the direction of his quartermaster.

Winters grinned at Charles. “I think that went well,” she said.

Charles grunted. “We’ll know if we have homes to return to.” He hefted his saddle pack, and she saw him teetering beneath the weight of it. She quickly stepped over to him and helped, lifting the weight of it until he found his balance. The determination on his face struck her, and realization sparked.

“You’ve dreamed again,” she said.

Until now, in the confrontation with the Gypsy Scout, his face had been a mask of stubborn resolve. But now, it melted away to reveal a man out of his element. “All day,” he said in a quiet voice. “I think the kallacaine enhanced it.”

That made sense to her. It would lessen any inhibitions even as it eased pain and encouraged sleep. Any walls he might put up around his dreams would be eroded by the drug’s efficacy. “Did you learn anything?”

“The girl was back. I … it took her and ran. There was a river—the Third River, I think, west of Windwir. And cave walls with paintings in blood.” He paused and rubbed his temples. “I think we were being pursued.”

Paintings in blood.
Winters shivered against the words and patted his shoulder. “We’ll leave in an hour and ride through the night,” she said. “If you’ll see to the horses and supplies, I’ll speak to my people. Find me when you’re ready.”

He nodded and shuffled off toward a cluster of tents. She watched him go, and wondered at the fondness she had for this old Androfrancine. Maybe, she thought, it was that he reminded her of Tertius, the renegade scholar who’d tutored her at her father’s insistence. They bore striking similarities in thought and speech, but truly, all Androfrancines seemed alike to her. She turned away from him, lifted her own pack, and went to the large circle of fires where her people awaited.

She’d wondered what she would tell them, having so recently called them out to follow her. She’d imagined making a speech, giving them words that would comfort them, encourage them, in her absence. Or perhaps giving them instruction.

But in the end, she moved through the clusters of Marshfolk, sitting quietly with their resolve in the smeared dirt and ash of their faith. She went from group to group, crouching with them at their fires, inquiring after their well-being, quietly sharing with them her plans to leave. There were some tears among the children. And there were far more offers to accompany her among the men and women than she had expected. Still, two could travel with some discretion. More than that was a company on horseback—not a good idea during what must now be a time of war.

It took longer than an hour—closer to two—but she managed to sit briefly at each campfire and share her plans, her hopes. “I will find the Final Dream,” she told each. “And I will pass it to the Homeseeker that he might prepare a place for us.”

None asked how or why, and for that Winters was grateful.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, she saw Charles appear at the edge of camp with two horses in tow. He no longer wore the robes of an Androfrancine scholar. Instead, he wore a heavy coat, a fur cap, and dungarees tucked into sturdy boots. Saying nothing, he waited for her to finish, and when she finally approached, he handed her the reins of a dappled mare.

She mounted the horse and looked out over her people. Slowly, silently, they rose to their feet. They raised their hands to her, and she raised hers to them.

Then, she turned the mare and whistled her forward.

They rode out from camp and kept the silence until they were well beyond the firelight. Once the darkness had settled in upon them, the starshine leaked through and the moon caught her eye for the first time that night.

“I don’t know how it’s possible,” she whispered. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Beside her, Charles cleared his voice. She glanced to him and saw that he, too, watched the sky. “I do not know either,” he said, “but it seems far, far more is possible than I’d ever imagined before now.”

Yes
. Winters fixed her eyes upon the home that awaited her and her people and gave herself to hope.

Chapter

8

Lysias

Lysias lay in the snow beneath a camouflaged tarp and watched the archers do their best work. It had taken two arrows to drop the kin-raven, and when it finally plummeted to the ground, more soldiers leapt to it with spears raised.

When the bird finally went still, he pulled the tarp away and stood, brushing the snow from his winter uniform. “Good work.”

It was the second kin-raven they’d brought down since Rudolfo had left for his southwestern borders, but there was no way to know for sure that they’d closed all prying eyes. Keeping the forest’s new army a secret was never a realistic expectation. The best they could do, he knew, was control as much as possible just what was and wasn’t seen. Between the birds and the blood shrine, there was no way to gauge the eyes and ears they dealt with. Still, until yesterday, it was enough to simply close those ears and eyes they could.

But everything had changed.

The birder’s eyes were wide and white in the lamplight when he’d awakened Lysias with the news the night before. And after burying the corpses deep in the forest, the only birds they’d seen were the kin-ravens they’d managed to bring down.

Lysias approached the dead bird now and prodded it with his boot, tipping it over. It was mottled and scarred, with a wider wingspan than a tall man with arms extended. Its single eye was open and glassy, and it taunted the Entrolusian general. “Bury it,” he said. “And summon the captains to my cabin.”

He left the snow tarp for his aide and exited the clearing, moving back under the cover of evergreens where they’d built their training camp. As he moved through the scattering of makeshift cabins and tents, he nodded to the men as they acknowledged him. On the Delta, where Lysias had spent the majority of his military career, they would have saluted him. But in the field, and in the forest, it made little sense. Each soldier knew him and gave him the respect due his rank with the slightest inclination of their head. And as they did, Lysias measured them.

Farmers, loggers, fishermen and children.
Some had served in Rudolfo’s Wandering Army during the War for Windwir, and others had continued their service into the Marshland skirmishes that followed. But most of them had little experience with military protocol or combat. Still, Lysias felt a pride rising in him at the army he’d created for the Gypsy King. They were strong men and would fight well when called upon.

Rudolfo and his predecessors had resisted the idea of a standing army for centuries in their relatively safe corner of the world; but the library bombing had compelled the king, and now Lysias was confident that this army would indeed see the war that no doubt raged to the south of them.

The question of whether or not they would prevail was another matter. The enemy used blood magicks, of the sort to make one man as strong as five and as fleet as a horse, and a brutality that lived beyond his Academy-trained sense of just, honorable warfare. Among the last messages he’d received was verified intelligence on Pylos. An entire nation cut surgically from the Named Lands by a plague that did not cross beyond Meirov’s borders. Overwhelming violence in response to her attack on Rudolfo’s family, the Y’Zirites’ Great Mother and Child of Promise.

Thoughts of Lady Tam and Lord Jakob turned his mind to his own family, and Lysias sighed as he pushed open the door of his cabin. He’d rebuilt his relationship with Lynnae as best he could, knowing that not even time could remove the scars a thoughtless, sometimes cruel father might leave upon a daughter. And now, if Rudolfo’s last note was true, Lynnae sailed into the heart of Y’Zir with the Gypsy King’s bride and heir. Anger and fear vied for the reins of his heart, but Lysias understood his heart well enough and had learned over the years that any emotion could easily be distilled into anger if he bent his will to it.

Moving into the single room, he pulled off his coat and tossed it onto the bed. Then, he lifted his pack onto the room’s single table and began gathering those items he would take and that he would send south. When his captains arrived at the door, he pointed to the narrow bed and the handful of chairs.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “please take a seat. I’ll be brief.”

They did, their eyes intent upon him.
Where to begin?

He studied them. They’d all been sergeants or better in Rudolfo’s elite Gypsy Scouts—the most experienced of his men and until recently, the closest thing the Forester’s had to a permanent military. Now, they each commanded companies and were competent though uncomfortable with the sudden shift from scout warfare to more traditional infantry tactics. “First,” he said slowly, “our suspicions, I fear, are correct. The Named Lands have no doubt been invaded, and by a superior force.” Some of them nodded, some of them blinked, but none flinched and none looked afraid. “Second, our communications have been effectively silenced, and it is safest to assume that this is not a local phenomenon but rather a carefully orchestrated event on a much larger scale. Without messenger birds, we’re reliant upon couriers, but without such a system in place, it would take a week, maybe more, to establish.” He paused, letting them keep pace with him. “Third, from the day that Windwir fell, this Y’Zirite foe has maneuvered the Ninefold Forest and its ruling family into a compromised position in relationship to the other nations, excluding our western neighbors and their new queen.”

There were more nods now, more dark glances exchanged.

“We are not poised to win this game of Queen’s War,” Lysias said. “We are not even on the board. The only two standing armies of any merit are the City States and Turam. Pylos is gone—every man, woman and child. The Emerald Coast’s militias are largely inconsequential, and the Divided Isle’s peacekeeping sheriffs will have little in the way of men and arms to raise. Years of civil war and months of bloodshed over Windwir have robbed the Named Lands of its ability to respond.”

Of course, that had always been the Y’Zirite strategy, and the care with which they’d sown these seeds of conquest astounded the aging general. They’d brought the patience of farmers to this field of war, setting into place schemes meticulously calculated with means beyond any Lysias had seen. Windwir was gone along with the Androfrancine shepherds, their Gray Guard and the war-making magicks and mechanicals they’d kept in secret behind their walls. The Marshfolk had been tamed and turned into a zealous, organized, well-armed foe at the flank of the southern nations. The bonds of kin-clave had been eroded by machination and violence to the point where no one could trust their neighbor. And now, the birds were dead.

It was an impressive and terrifying strategy in its effectiveness, established decades earlier and implemented with great care.

One of the older captains spoke first, breaking the room’s silence. “Do you suggest that we cannot prevail, General?”

Lysias smiled a grim smile. “I suggest nothing of the sort, though I do not presume to know exactly how to bring about victory. But I do know how to stave off defeat for the time and put us on the board. Though what I intend to undertake may require as much patience as our enemy has demonstrated in laying out the snares of their invasion.”

Another captain’s voice rose in the room, made bold no doubt by his colleague. “And what has General Rudolfo in mind for us?”

There it is.
Lysias had known it would come eventually in this conversation, and he welcomed it. “General Rudolfo has entrusted this army into my care, and I have sworn allegiance to him, his house and his kin. I will not render this army we’ve built ineffective by waiting for his runners to tell me what I know must be done. We are at war, Captain, and time is of the essence.”

The man inclined his head at the firmness in Lysias’s voice, and when the two men’s eyes met, he saw that his message was heard. “With all of this laid out before you, here are my orders. We are striking camp this very day. I am dividing the army. The best third of our men will accompany me in two companies—along with those of the Gypsy Scouts still remaining among us and Captains Tybard and Royce. I want my two companies ready to march and completely outfitted. All scout magicks. All medico supplies. All lanterns and fuel. And all rations. Every arrow and knife and sword that can be spared. But gather these items with discretion.”

The surprise on their faces was genuine, and he watched mouths begin to open and then close. “Those of you coming with me will need every scrap we can afford. Those of you who aren’t will be moving south, to the watchtowers, to protect the Ninefold Forest’s borders. You will hunt along the way or forage from the manors en route.”

“And what will you do, General?”

Lysias shook his head. “What I do is best kept to as few ears as possible.”

He made eye contact with each of them and waited until each had nodded their understanding. “Carry these orders to your first sergeants and set the men to packing.” They stood as one and moved for the door. “You two stay behind for a moment,” he told the captains he’d singled out.