Rosemary Kirstein - Steerswoman 04 (44 page)

Irina sniffed. “No doubt. But we know a thing or two about
wizards now. This new wizard will be a stranger, and he won’t know what we’re
capable of. We’ll smile to his face and be ohso-respectful, but all sorts of
things can happen when his back is turned. We’ll find ways to work against
him.” She looked about the room, and became outraged at some of the expressions
she saw. “Well,
some
of us will, at the least! Persons with both courage
and discretion. Are there none such in this room?”

Reeder, standing behind his father’s chair, spoke without
hesitation. “Here.”

“And here,” Marel said, glancing up at his son.

“Here,” Joly said, leaning back, studying Irina with new
interest.

Ruffo screwed his eyes shut tight, his face becoming a
single immense wince. But: “Here,” he managed to get out.

“If so, Ruffo, you will definitely have to learn to moderate
your volubility,” Irina said.

“Well, try not to tell me any important secrets.”

“Secrets come with the territory!”

The bawdy-house proprietor laced his fingers, placed his
hands on the table. “You would be amazed,” he said, with some pride, “at the
sorts of things my young men and ladies hear.”

“Excellent! I believe we have the makings of a cabal in this
very room. I’m sure that among us, we can find any number of small, secret, and
subtle ways to weaken the wizard’s power over us—”

Willam sat up straight. “Destroy the dragons.”

All conversation ceased. Rowan turned to Willam in astonishment.

He seemed not to notice her. “All of them,” he said to the
people of Donner. “They’re complicated devices. They’re hard to make, and
they’ll be hard to replace. It will take time. And not only that”—he became
eager—“it will take power, and material, and important resources away from
other things that the wizards do. Destroying the dragons would cause all the
wizards a lot of trouble, all around, for a long time.”

No one seemed to know how to take this. Eventually Joly
said, hesitantly, “But … how could we possibly accomplish such a thing?”

Will immediately stood and moved the candles to the far side
of the table; and when he then reached down to the floor by his chair, Bel let
out a single “Ha!” and clapped her hands.

Willam placed a small object in the center of the white
tablecloth. “By magic,” he said.

It was round, slightly smaller than a goose egg, and white.
There was a dark band around its circumference with short vertical lines and
corresponding numbers, like index marks.

Willam sat down again. All eyes remained on the object.
“Right now,” Willam said, “the dragons are on standby—” He caught himself,
began again. “The control system is down—” He paused, thought. “The spell that
tells the dragons what to do was inside Jannik’s house. It was destroyed. That
means the dragons have no guidance, no instructions, and they can’t leave the
dragon fields, no matter what happens. Someone has to go there, and throw this
charm right into the middle of the dragons.”

The steerswoman sat stunned and speechless; but Bel had no
such problem. She laughed out loud, the bright, hard laugh of a warrior. “It
will shatter them! Like Shammer and Dhree’s fortress, like that derelict boat
in Wulfshaven! Dragons flying apart, in a thousand pieces—Will, that is
brilliant!”

During this, Ruffo had slowly sunk down level with the edge
of the table and was now eyeing the destructive charm across the entire breadth
of the surface. He said, in a small voice, “Kill the dragons?”

IrMa smiled sweetly. “Kill the dragons.”

“Let me do it,” Reeder said.

“Can you throw?” IrMa asked him.

Marel said, “I’ve seen him fling a ledger across the entire
length of the office and hit a dozing accountant.”

“I’m sure you exaggerate.”

“Well, perhaps it was only a tally board. Quite a distance,
though.”

Reeder casually leaned, and reached, and picked up the
charm. Gasps and murmurs among the people, and those nearby shied back in
sudden fear. Reeder ignored them all and coolly examined the object, turning it
over in his hands.

Joly watched nervously. “That … small thing will actually
destroy the dragons?” he asked.

“It might take more than one,” Willam said. “I have a dozen
with me.” He looked Joly straight in the eye. “You can have them all.”

Irina gazed at the ceiling with a dreamy expression. “Oh, I
find my mind bursting with wonderful plans—”

“Don’t use them on people!” Will’s sudden vehemence startled
them all, but for Reeder, who merely glanced up, brows raised. “Never,” Willam
said. His eyes were hard and bright. “That’s wrong. That’s
evil.”

Joly recovered first. He said, solemnly: “We will never use
this magic on people. I swear it.”

Will required the same promise from each and every person
present, ending with Reeder, who paused long, carefully studying Willam’s face.
Then Reeder reluctantly assented, with a single nod, and turned his attention
back to the charm he held. “What are these markings?”

“That’s a timer.” Willam rose and went around the table to
show Reeder. “If you use it, the charm will wait for a while before releasing
its power. See? These markings are seconds, and next comes minutes—”

Rowan recovered her voice. “Willam.”

“And you turn the ring—no, don’t do it now—”

“Will.”

He glanced at her once, then looked back again, caught her expression.
And then he stopped: stopped speaking, stopped moving, stopped everything and
merely waited for whatever the steerswoman would say next.

She had found her voice, but words were harder to come by.
Perhaps it took only a moment; it seemed far longer to her.

“This is a wonderful idea,” she said. The statement was inadequate
to the depth of her emotion; but at this moment, she could do no better. “Thank
you.”

A small smile, almost shy in its quickness, but conveying in
one instant pleasure at her praise, and relief, and gratitude. Willam turned
back to continue Reeder’s instruction.

A series of noises coming from Ruffo’s direction evolved
into “But—but—” and drew the council’s attention. “But,” Ruffo said, “what will
the new wizard think, coming to Donner and finding all the dragons dead?”

Willam had the answer to hand. “Blame it on me,” he said
smoothly. “The escaped apprentice. But wait until I’m gone to use the charms—”

“Must you go?” IrMa asked.

“Yes,” Will said with regret. “I must. But if I can, if
things ever quiet down, I’ll try to come back in secret. And when I do”—he took
the charm from Reeder’s hand and held it up for all to see—“I will teach you
how to make these for yourselves.”

There was more discussion, and ideas arising, and plans
made. But all of it was conducted among the people of Donner, and proceeded
entirely without the steerswoman’s participation, and without the Outskirter’s,
and, quite soon, without Willam’s. The three friends watched for a while as
these citizens of Donner devised strategies, formed subgroups, designed
clandestine lines of communication, and regathered themselves into a new order.

Presently Bel leaned forward to catch Will’s and Rowan’s attention
and tilted her head toward the door; and it seemed to Rowan that it was, after
all, time to go. They waited for an appropriate moment, and made their
good-byes.

Rowan found herself standing by the dining room door, clasping
Joly’s large hand, looking up into his dark, intelligent face. “I hardly know
how to thank you, and all these people, for the help you’ve given us.”

“I’m glad we did it. You showed us something, lady: something
about ourselves that we didn’t know before. You, and Naio as well …” He
released her hand. “I believe Jannik was right, in a way. Naio was an example
after all.” He glanced back at the table, where people were continuing their
work. “I think we’ve learned the lesson, now.”

“We’ve started something,” Bel said, as Rowan led the way
down the staircase. “You may have failed in the wizard’s house, but things have
been set in motion here. But this is only one city … Rowan, your people need
to organize, and they need a leader.”

“I think you’re right. The Outskirters have one now, and we
need—” The steerswoman stopped dead in her tracks at the bottom of the stairs.
She turned to Bel. “No. No, Bel, not me! I can’t—”

“Of course you can’t.” The Outskirter’s expression was disparaging
in the extreme. “You don’t have it in you. It would be a disaster.”

“Well. Thank you for your candor.”

“But you should keep it in mind, and keep your eyes open for
prospects—”

“Bel,” Willam said. The others looked back and up; he had
lagged behind and now stood paused halfway down the stairs. “Slado is in the
Upper Wulf Valley.” Bel’s jaw dropped. Will went on: “That’s not where he
lives, it’s just where he is now. By the time you get there, or get word there,
he’ll be gone. It doesn’t help any. But I have something else for you.” He
descended the last few steps to join them. “There are Krue among the
Outskirters, and I can show you where they are.”

Back in her tiny room, the steerswoman pulled the charts
from her map case, located her single map of the Outskirts, and handed it to
Willam. He glanced at it, then stopped short and regarded her, puzzled.

“I’m the only steerswoman ever to visit the Outskirts,” she
explained. The small chart showed only Rowan’s own route to Toumier’s Fault and
back: a wandering line, a few clear landmarks, and vague indications of nearby
geography as described to her by others.

Willam thought. “Then I need a blank sheet of paper, and
something to draw with.”

They used the back of the largest chart of the Inner Lands.
It was too big for the table; they set in on the bed. Willam laid Rowan’s
little map of the Outskirts at its left edge, and knelt on the floor. “I used
to look at the Outskirts a lot. But I’m not good at this.” He moved the pencil,
wide, sweeping movements. “The distances may be off, but I’m fairly certain
about the landmarks …” A cluster of lakes appeared, high in the north, the
source of a huge river whose course intersected with Rowan’s own map and continued
south. “This goes all the way to the ocean …” The coastline was merely a slash,
and a scrawled label:
ORIENTAL.
Will
abandoned the ocean as if it were irrelevant and moved north again. His depictions
were crude, the labels awkward and outsized, but the steerswoman watched as the
unknown lands revealed themselves.

Then: “Right,” Will said, as if finished; but he did not
pause. “Here, and here.” Two xs tucked among the numerous
CAT LAKES.
“Those are links.”

“Wizards’ minions,” Bel breathed.

“No, not minions.” He added another, south of a series of
roughly sketched hills. “It’s a different sort of link, more powerful than
minions get. These are Krue.”

The last thing Willam had done in Jannik’s house, the action
that caused Corvus such distress—“You …” Such an odd word; Rowan struggled to
recover it. “You pinged the links.”

He nodded, added another x northwest, quite close to the
Inner Lands, one more far to the east. “It’s like a question: ‘Are you there?’
The link will respond, by itself—it has to.” He hesitated, pencil in the air,
then added one more x near Toumier’s Fault. “This one might really be two,
close together.” And he sat back on his heels, considering his work. Then he
shook his head. “That’s the best I can do. It went by so fast. There might be
more, but I’m sure about these.”

The leader of the Outskirters studied the scrawls and marks
that located the positions of her enemies. “I’ll send word. We’ll find them.”
Bel’s tone left no doubt as to their fate.

“Bel, think twice.” The Outskirter turned to Rowan. The
steerswoman said, “Fletcher was a wizard’s man, but he grew to love your
people. He turned. One of these might, also.”

Bel’s dark eyes moved in thought as she speculated. “More
magic on our side?”

“As much as possible.”

Willam rose from the floor, carefully rolled up the chart,
and set it aside. He sat on the bed. Then he reached down the neck of his shirt
and drew something out, and passed it to the steerswoman. Rowan accepted it
hesitantly, but did not open it. She waited for Willam to speak, although she
guessed what he would say.

Willam said: “Kieran’s clearance.”

The Outskirter let out a whoop and fairly threw herself at
him, catching him in a huge hug, knocking them both against the wall. “Will,
you’re brilliant!” she declared, and laughed. “High clearance, you said before,
all the way to the top—”

Will was attempting to extract himself, and to calm her.
“No, no it’s not that good, not anymore.”

“But it’s his authority!”

“But he’s
dead.”
Bel backed off to sit on her heels
beside him. Will went on: “When a person dies, his clearance is … canceled,
negated. The spells won’t accept it anymore.” He looked up at Rowan. “But when
that was done, Farside was already isolated. It never learned that Kieran is
dead.”

“What’s Farside?” Bel asked.

“The third place of strong magic,” Rowan said. “Will, this
is why Farside obeyed you, once your commands reached it?”

“That’s right.”

Bel asked Willam: “What can this Farside do for us?”

“Nothing, anymore. I’d need the magic in Jannik’s house to
reach it again … But, I wonder. I wonder if there are other systems—other
collections of spells that have been isolated for a long time. It seems to me
that there must be. I know the wizards aren’t as powerful as they used to be.”

“How do we use it?” Bel asked.

“You can’t. It isn’t Kieran’s passwords, or his voice. It’s
what comes after that, it’s … it’s what the spells translate Kieran’s voice
and passwords and scan into.”

Rowan considered the acts done in Jannik’s study, remembered
a phrase. She said, “We’d have to get behind the interface.”