Spirit Gate: Book One of Crossroads (13 page)

“On what matter?”

Garrard shook his head. “We’ve had trouble, as I’ve spoken to you about on many occasions these last seasons. Too many troublesome reeves are being allowed to transfer into Argent Hall from the other halls.”

“We’re well rid of those who left us,” said the legate of Iron Hall, a stocky man boasting two stark-white scars on his broad, dark face.

“That may be,” said Garrard with heat. “I don’t blame your masters for letting them go. I blame Clan Hall for not blocking all this moving about.”

The commander merely shook her head. “Clan Hall has no mandate to block transfers that are agreed to by the marshals of the six halls. Marshal Alyon must stop the transfers. Why hasn’t he?”

“It’s true we’re shorthanded, and we need every reeve and every eagle. But Marshal Alyon is old, ill, and easily pressured by certain factions within the hall. It’s too much for him, all the territorial squabbles to be resolved, the gossip, the tempers, the fights—”

“Fights?” asked the commander coolly. She beckoned to the old reeve who acted as her chamberlain, and he brought in a tray of cups and poured cordial all around.

Legate Garrard was normally an even-tempered man, with the black coarse hair and creamy brown complexion common in the south. But he was so agitated now that the other legates stared at him. “He thinks he’s being poisoned.”

“Poisoned!” cried the legate from Iron Hall. “Poisoned? Who in the hells would want to poison that old man? He’s as harmless as a mouse. Now, if it were my old marshal, what passed the Gate ten years back, any one of us would’ve done it, and gladly, for she were the worst-tempered person I ever did meet in my life.”

This comment brought silence. No one laughed. From the parade ground, an eagle screamed a challenge, but there came no answering call.

Taudit, the legate from Horn Hall, stood. “I’m leaving,” she said. “My marshal has recalled me, together with all the reeves posted here from Horn Hall. A reeve flew in this morning with the message. We’ve all been recalled. I’m sorry.”

The commander sipped at her drink. Then she nodded. Joss was stunned. He hadn’t seen this coming, but it was obvious from the commander’s response that she had not been taken by surprise.

“I’ll expect a report, Legate Taudit,” the commander said.

Legate Taudit nodded crisply. She was a dry, reserved, uncommunicative individual, impossible to get to know. “You’ll get one. Trouble in our region. Marshal wants all of us back, to be one group to face it. We’re leaving now, while there’s still an afternoon’s flying to be had. The heavens are clear. No telling when the rains will start getting hard. We’ll send a report when we can.” She made brusque courtesies, opened and closed the door, and was gone.

“I must leave, too,” said Garrard. He gazed at the blank door, the unadorned
walls, the quiet room, the commander, and the other four legates. His fingers tapped his knees, making him seem quite nervous. “I am sick in my heart,” he added, more softly. “There are shadows everywhere, and I am blind. I can’t see through this to a time of peace and order.”

“What of your halls?” the commander asked, looking at the other three legates: Iron Hall, Gold Hall, and Bronze Hall.

The proper strength of a reeve hall was six hundred eagles and six hundred reeves, but no hall was ever at full strength. By tradition, each sent a small contingent together with a legate to Clan Hall, switched out at intervals. Eagles departed for months or, in rare cases, years to breed in the unclimbable and vast wilderness of the Heaven’s Ridge mountain range, where their nesting territories lay. Reeves too old to fly regular patrol must be accommodated. Old eagles died, and fledglings needed training and the long process of accommodation to the presence of other eagles in overlapping patrol territories. New reeves must train as well, a laborious process in its own right. Eagles must recover from injury, molting, disease. When its reeve died, an eagle would fly off, and none could predict when it would return to choose a new reeve—or if it would return at all.

No hall ever stood at full strength, not even now when full strength was so badly needed. Yet even at full strength, they would not have been able to do everything that was now needed.

“We’re holding,” said Bronze Hall’s legate. “We’ve had little trouble in Mar, I must tell you. But we hear rumors. We’re patrolling the coast and our borders, and keeping our eyes fixed. For now, we need not recall our contingent that’s here in Clan Hall.” She smiled at Joss. She was a twelve-year younger than he was, another Ox. Two years ago, when she’d first come, they’d spent a lot of time together in bed and out before parting amicably at her request.

Gold Hall’s legate shook his head. His hair was cropped almost to the skull, in the style of the delvings, although he himself was human, a short, thin man who was much stronger than he looked. “Beyond the borderlands of the Arro Mountains we have trouble. Within the mountains, none dare threaten us. Zosteria lies at peace, for the moment, but there have been incidents along the coast and in the hills. Half of Herelia was under our watch and we don’t fly there now, so we know how the worst can spread. We remain vigilant. Nothing has changed since my last report.”

Iron Hall’s legate was a man who, like Joss, had been made legate to get him out of the hall, in his case—so rumor had it—away from the friction of personal relationships gone sour. “I’ve had my orders. Iron Hall will keep a half contingent here, but the rest have to go back.”

“Why?” asked the commander.

“Because they’re needed at Iron Hall! You’re not the only ones with trouble! We’ve lost reeves to transfer, or to death. Even a pair who went missing and never returned, them and their eagles both, yet we have had sightings, and we don’t think they’re dead. Just . . . fled, more like. Run away. Cowards. There’s strange goings afoot up on the plateau, although we’ve had no particular trouble in Teriayne yet. Some trouble in the upper reaches of High Haldia. Outlaw bands thieving and
causing other trouble. The worst of it is bands of young men traveling from one place to another, scrambling in groups out of Heaven’s Ridge and vanishing up into the plateau, or back again, not whisper or shout to be heard from after. You can’t bring a man to trial who’s done nothing but walk along the roads seeking work, not if he’s caused no trouble and had no complaint brought against him. So—that’s that. That’s my orders, and my report.”

“Very well,” said the commander. “Copper Hall has recalled five of its reeves but leaves me the rest. That leaves Clan Hall with—” Like most of those who had served their apprentice year as clerks in one of the temples dedicated to Sapanasu, the Lantern, she could calculate on the page. She freed a scrap of paper from an untidy stack on her table, turned it over to the rough side, and brushed marks to calculate numbers departing, numbers staying, and, it seemed, a few stray reeves actually being sent to Clan Hall.

“Under strength,” she said. “We’ll be able to fill out only three flights, including our retired and our fledgling reeves.”

“Don’t look at me!” cried Iron Hall’s legate. “It isn’t my fault!”

But of course she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking into the unknown, gauging risk, danger, certainty, the angle of the wind, the timbre of the air.

“I do fear,” she said, looking at each legate in turn, “that we are not yet facing the worst. Oh no. This is only the beginning.”

“
PLEASANT OF HER
to say so,” said Peddo that evening at the Pig’s Bladder after Joss recounted the whole of the meeting.

“You saw nothing unexpected on your escort duty?” Joss asked.

“Eiya! I did indeed. I saw a farmer who had the handsomest chest I have ever done seen, I will admit to you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“He rejected me! I need more wine to drown my sorrow. Whoop! Look there!”

A trio of young men with the brawny shoulders and flat caps of the firefighting brigade pushed into the room.

“Can’t you ever stop?” Joss asked.

The serving lass brought a pitcher, and poured a new round for the two reeves.

“You’re new here,” said Joss with a smile, admiring her fresh youth, her lithe body, her light bearing and pretty eyes.

“So I am, Uncle,” she said, shifting herself just out of range of his hands, not that he was moving a finger.

Peddo snickered, miming an elderly man leaning on a cane.

“Where’s Mada?” Joss asked the girl, feeling stung.

She settled the pitcher on her hip, took a good, long look at the young firefighters, then returned her attention politely to Joss. Exactly the way a well-brought-up girl would tactfully oblige a garrulous but boring old uncle.

“You didn’t hear? Her parents made a good bargain. She’s getting a legal contract, marriage to a lad out of Wolf Quarter, although they won’t be living there naturally. His aunts and uncle are in the building trade, roofers. She’ll join the business. It’s a good bargain for her. If you know her, you might have seen him
around. Nothing splendid to look at, I’ll grant you, but decent enough, and a good business to work in. That’s worth a lot more than looks.”

She went on awhile in this vein while Peddo ogled the firefighters, and Joss sipped at his drink. In honor of the young year, the cordial had been flavored with the dried and crumbled petals of baby’s-delight, which made it ever sweeter. Too sweet, really. In the last few days, since he’d crawled through the ruins of River’s Bend, he’d lost his craving. The smell of stew bubbling wafted in from the inner court, melding with the eye-watering smoke of pipes, and he blinked back a tear. After a while, the young men called to her, and she sashayed over, a little too obviously, swinging those hips as though to smash errant chairs out of her path. Whew.

“There was one thing, though,” said Peddo, staring with sudden interest into his empty cup. “I spotted areas that were trampled, as though a company had camped there. But cursed if I ever saw any such groups roaming. Jabi would see things off in the distance, beyond my sight, but by the time we got there—and he’s fast, you know how fast he is—there’d be nothing to see. But cover to be had, if you take my meaning. Once I surprised four lads, who were hiding from me in the scrub. Jabi flushed them out, could see them moving, and they got nervous and tried to bolt. But they were only laborers, out looking for work. It puzzled me. I felt there was always something going on just out of my range of vision.”

“Me, too. I felt the same thing. So did Scar. He was restless, stooping as at prey and then giving up on it. I go over and over those days in my mind. I just sense I overlooked something, that I missed the sign spread in my path, but I don’t know what it is.” He’d been missing too much. The commander was right: He’d been drowning himself in cordial, rather than doing his duty. He’d lost his edge. He wasn’t keen set. But he couldn’t say that out loud.

“You know what the tale says,” added Peddo. “ ‘Forest and cavern and mountain and lake and ravine and every village, too, all these hide crime from the reeve.’ Nothing to be done about it. We find what we can. We do what we can.”

“That’s not good enough. The Guardians are dead. We’re the guardians now. Who else is there?”

Peddo scratched his head. “Well. Any person who seeks to do what is right. Neh?”

Joss watched the lass flirting with the firefighters, who were boisterous, vibrant, and so very young, full of wholesome energy, the gift of the gods. They walked about their patrol every day, and when they saw smoke or flames, they ran to meet their trouble. “I met a southern merchant. You didn’t run across him, did you? He called himself Feden.” Wetting a finger, he drew the man’s clan mark onto the tabletop.

Peddo burped, considered, shook his head. “No.”

The heat from the candle dried up the mark. Outside, it began to rain.

“He was from Olossi. He said he sent his factors, and later a slave factor, down into the empire to trade. It just got me thinking. There must be women in the south, just like there’s women in the Hundred.”

“Did it hurt that much when the lass called you ‘Uncle’? That you think you have
to go looking for women outside the Hundred? Don’t mind her, Joss. She’s not that much of an armful. Shame about the other lass, though. She did like you.”

Joss shrugged. “It’s not the worst day of my life. I’ll miss Mada, though I’m happy for her good fortune. No, it’s just, after a while, you do wonder, don’t you?”

Peddo was eyeing one of the firefighters, the one who seemed just ever so slightly to be eyeing Peddo back. “I always do wonder, but I rarely find out.”

“That’s not what I meant! I wonder . . . what it’s like. I wish I could go south.”

“South? To Olossi? Why can’t you? I mean, with the Commander’s permission, of course. You’d have to have some patrol in mind, some mission. A message to carry to Argent Hall or—”

“No. I mean south, over the Kandaran Pass or across the Turian Sea.”

“Out of the Hundred? You’re crazy, my friend. You can’t leave the Hundred. No reeve can. Break those boundaries, and you will be dead.”

“I’m half dead anyway.”

“Aui! Stop being maudlin. What do you know about the south anyway?”

“Nothing more than what the merchants tell me, and they’re all liars.”

“So they are.”

“The fields are always green, the fruit is always ripe, the lands are always at peace, and the women are the most beautiful in all creation.”

“You
have
had too much to drink,” said Peddo. He emptied Joss’s half-full cup into his own empty one.

“You’ve downed twice as much as I have. Anyway, I’m sure of it.” Abruptly, taken aback by how badly he wanted it to be true, Joss leaned forward and fixed Peddo with a glare. “There must be a place where the shadows haven’t fallen. Somewhere folk go about their lives in a measure of peace, like they used to here. Don’t you think so?”

Peddo sighed. He bent closer, and pinned Joss’s wrist to the table with the pressure of his hand. “You know what it says in the Tale of the Guardians. ‘Corruption and virtue wax and wane within the heart. Yet it is the dutiful strength and steady hand of those who live and die while about the ordinary tasks of the world that create most of that which we call good and harmonious.’ If you give up hope, if you give up trying, you’ll never find peace. No one will.”