Spiritwalker 3: Cold Steel (76 page)

“Rory! Where is the cacica’s skull? I left it with you!”

“Don’t snap at me! I hid the basket and your satchel in the prickly branches of that
felled pine. No one will find it, I assure you.”

When I applied to the general he shook his head. “I’ll escort you back to Red Mount
myself, once we have settled this matter of the Romans. Two of the legions have dug
themselves in for the night. If they prove recalcitrant, I shall need you to slip
into their camp and kill their commanders.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“Cat? Is this too much for you?” He bent his head, examining me. “While you slept,
I received word that a number of mages escaped into Lutetia. You know I want your
husband’s cooperation. Help me now, and I will help you find him. Furthermore, I’ve
heard no word of James, which as you may imagine concerns me.”

“I think he’s decided he doesn’t need you anymore,” I said, goading him.

Rather than reply he withdrew a pipe from his coat, considered its damp bowl, and
tucked it back into the pocket. A messenger rode up with a dispatch, pulling his attention
away from me. At length, as we rode about a mile south, the icy rain slackened and
ceased. We came
up to one of the Iberian infantry divisions, which had boxed in the two battered legions
against the river.

At the general’s arrival a cheer rose. Captain Tira marched up with a squadron of
Amazons. Dirty, bloodied, exhausted, they danced forward to the pound of drums and
the singing of their sisters. Luce her very own self presented a Roman eagle to the
general. Her pride blazed. She had a bloodied nose, a cut on her left shoulder, and
mud smeared in her short cropped hair as if she had wrestled an enemy onto the ground.
I could scarcely recognize the girl who had befriended me with a cheerful grin at
Aunty’s boardinghouse. Then she saw me, and she laughed to see me and Rory still alive,
but she did not break ranks to come to us. She had chosen her path. It no longer marched
alongside ours.

The general made his way through the troops, greeting men, giving a private word to
the worst-wounded. I trailed behind him, trying to wipe flakes of dried blood and
the cling of weariness from my eyes. Because I was not paying attention, I scarcely
noticed when Camjiata rode out onto the vacant ground between the two armies.

The two legions had anchored their defense on an old fortified estate very like that
of Red Mount. This compound backed up against the Sicauna River. The walls and buildings
had taken damage from artillery fire, but the legionnaires were tough, experienced
men who had set up an effective perimeter. The general rode right into range and then
closer yet. I was so astounded by his audacity that I followed, together with a pair
of aides in braided uniforms and tricorn hats.

The general surveyed the night-shadowed Romans and a lit lamp. “Brothers! I salute
you! You have fought nobly this day for the honor of the empire that gave birth to
you. That empire gave birth to me as well, for my mother was born into the Aemilius
clan. By the courage and valor with which you have fought I am brought to wonder what
incompetent commanders have led you to this pass. For it is certain that now, shed
of them, you find yourselves driven into a corner not of your making. Have your consuls
done well by you? Were you not abandoned by the best of your legates, Amadou Barry?
Let me tell you what you do not know. The emperor envied and feared Amadou Barry,
so he rid himself of the man. He will deny it! But you will never find Amadou Barry’s
body.”

Camjiata was no djeli, but he was doing a cursed beguiling job weaving a story that
tugged at hearts and loins and drew the world in fresh colors for men worn out by
battle.

“How do you know what happened to Amadou Barry?” I demanded in a low voice.

“I have never managed to insinuate a spy into a mage House, but getting informers
into the household of Lord Marius was not difficult. Every word I spoke is true. The
emperor sent Amadou Barry to Adurnam because he feared the young legate’s popularity
in Rome.”

Noble Ba’al! That put a different smell on the rose!

The legate whose wine I had poured walked boldly out to confront the general. I pulled
just enough shadow around me that he couldn’t be bothered to notice me any more than
the general’s aides. “What do you want, General Keita? Our surrender? The Invictus
do not surrender. Nor do our Ironclad brothers. Our honor forbids it.”

Every word Camjiata spoke was pitched to carry as far as possible. “Of course I don’t
want your surrender. Your soldier’s honor shines as brightly as ever. Yet Rome’s honor
has been tarnished in recent generations. You know it.”

Soldiers murmured. They did know it.

“Selfish patricians long ago repudiated the ideals of the old republic. In recent
years they have likewise turned hostile backs to the new river of change that beckons.
I will restore Rome to the glory and influence that she deserves.”

“You’re an Iberian. Rome has always been your enemy.”

“It is true that on my father’s side I am of Iberian princely descent and also the
son of the sons of the emperors of old Mali. But through my mother’s blood I have
a claim to Rome. Why should old enemies not become today’s allies? What can Romans
and Iberians not do, if they work together under strong leadership? Will you join
me? The old emperor is weak. But I am not.”

The legate considered the general’s offer and, naturally, grasped for the promise
of glory.

He raised an arm in salute. “Camjiata!”

Behind echoed first a ragged cheer, rising with each successive wave until its tide
swept the legions. “For Rome!”

The general accepted their approbation with an unsmiling seriousness appropriate for
the auspicious occasion.

“Bastard,” I muttered appreciatively. “Is this what you hoped for all along? To raise
the Roman legions to fight for you as consuls used to do in the days of the old empire?”

“Rome has always been mine,” he said. “That is my destiny. You will not be the one
to take it from me, Cat.”

“As long as Rome doesn’t bother me, I won’t bother Rome,” I retorted, and he smiled.

I waited as he conferred with the legions’ officers.

Then we rode the two miles or so back to Lutetia. Soldiers lit our way with lanterns
as we drew up before a huge barricade that closed the Liyonum Gate into the city.
Lanterns and torches blazed. Thousands of people stood on the walls and roofs, for
it seemed half the citizenry of Lutetia had come to face the victor.

A young woman stood on a table, flanked by a blacksmith in guild robes and a djeli
with blond hair swept up in lime-whitened spikes and gold earrings gleaming in the
flame of the candle lantern he held. Half hidden among the crowd waited Brennan and
Kehinde. Weaponry scavenged from the field was being hauled into the city.

Camjiata rode forward. His carelessly bold manner gave him a commanding presence.
I alone followed. Bee marked me with a dark look that scolded me. Then, having dispensed
with me, she pulled the shawl on her shoulder up over her hair and opened her arms
in a matronly manner that mimicked the festival tableau called “Dame Fortuna Welcomes
the Victors.”

“The good citizens of Lutetia have given me leave to speak on their behalf, out of
respect for the Lady of the River whose voice runs all through the city.” Her voice
had such resonance that, although she did not seem to be shouting, the sound carried
deep into the evening. “We offer our thanks here today to you, General Camjiata. You
have fought your battle outside our walls. In your wisdom you leave us to fight our
battles inside them. This barricade we built from the furniture and pavilions of the
prince’s palace, which we have torn down as the first act of raising an assembly to
rule in the place of a prince. We will follow the example of our brothers and sisters
in the city of Expedition on the
island of Kiskeya across the Atlantic Ocean and devise a means to rule ourselves.
Your offering at the altar of our radical enterprise we accept gratefully.”

“What offering is that?” he said, with a smile whose contours I could not interpret.
Was he angry? Amused? Making ready to launch an attack into the city with his victory-soaked
troops?

“You have generously shared your legal code as a model for the one that will be written
here! Copies have been printed across Europa and now circulate on the streets of Lutetia.”

“I am aware of the strenuous efforts of printers. May I not stand on the steps of
the prince’s palace and declaim the code? I did so twenty-two years ago on those very
steps, only to have the law driven out by the hounds of greed who are ever whipped
forward by princes and mages.”

Bee smiled bounteously. “The people of Lutetia are grateful for your efforts. We think
you have done enough.”

“And wishful to see the backs of me and my army, is that what you are saying, Beatrice?
Is this what you have seen in your dreams, that I will turn away when I and my army
have won the victory that allows the citizens of Lutetia to overthrow their hated
prince?”

She opened her hands, palms up. “Is this how you interpret my remarks, General? Can
we ever see the truth when desire blinds us? Or do we call it truth because it is
what we wish to see? If you try to enter the city, the citizens of Lutetia will resist.
What you do now is up to you.”

Judging by the crease of his forehead and the blade of his narrowed eyes, General
Camjiata was not well pleased to be told to go fishing or go hang by a ragtag assembly
of disorganized civilians whom his soldiers could easily crush. That the young woman
he had groomed as his protégé had absconded to speak for them could not sit well either.
But his was not a lightning temperament; he could swallow his temper and consider
all the implications before he acted.

I muttered, “You would have done better to marry Bee when you had the chance, General.”

He murmured in reply. “Well, Cat, so I see you have cherished a cunning plan deep
against your heart all this time. I admit, I am impressed. I did not expect this.”

He leaned forward, one hand on the reins and the other on his sword’s hilt. At his
back his soldiers shifted their arms. When victorious men see resistance from the
defeated, they can become mean and impatient.

“I do have one question for the citizens of Lutetia. I have a report that cold mages
were allowed to enter the city.”

“The old mansa of Two Gourds House is dead, my lord general,” said Bee. “The elders
of the Assembly deemed it proper for his people to return him to his mage House so
offerings can be made and songs sung over his body.”

“It was not just one old man’s corpse, but a whole troop of living ones. When folk
claim to have rebelled against the old order, and yet assist the cold mages who have
for so long worked hand in glove with the princes and lords to oppress them, I wonder
if they are still only puppets acting in the service of my enemies.”

“Do you think to bully us, General? Do you mean to stand ankle-deep in the blood of
our men and women while you proclaim a legal code meant to bring justice and peace?
If that is the war you intend to fight, then know you can kill us but never truly
defeat us.” Her voice dropped to a more intimate tone. “You know what manner of person
I am, General. Do not make an enemy of me. We can still be allies.”

He tipped back the edge of his tricornered hat as in mocking salute. “I see you learned
from the Expeditioners how to take advantage of a conflict between two greater swords
to allow the small knife its killing thrust. This has truly been a piece of drama
worthy of you, Beatrice.”

“My thanks,” she replied with a mockingly pretty courtesy.

He raised his voice. “Citizens of Lutetia, let those of you who can hear my words
repeat them to the many too far away to hear. Remember that I am a man who listens.
When your revolution discovers itself in internal strife, as it inevitably will, you
need only send a messenger. I shall be pleased to help you settle your city in a more
orderly fashion. But on this night, obedient to your request, we will withdraw.”

“What about Andevai?” I demanded as he reined his horse around. Grabbing his reins,
I tugged him to a halt.

He raised a hand dismissively. “Why, Cat, I am marching on Rome to make her into what
she ought to be. The offer we discussed remains open.”

“You said you would help me find him!”

“I expect I am not the only one looking for your cold mage.” As horns sounded the
call for an orderly march, he bent close. “Drake is yours, Cat. I commend him to you.
If you can find him, for I expect he has already left the field.”

“Noble Ba’al! You goaded Drake to this point, didn’t you? You used him and now you’re
discarding him. That’s why you never stopped Drake and me from all our fighting in
public. You plan to blame Drake’s death on me, as my personal vengeance. His fire
mages will turn their loyalty to you, never guessing you schemed his downfall all
along.”

“Surely you guessed I never trusted James Drake. As for you, Cat, I give loyalty where
I receive it in return. You have made it clear your loyalties lie elsewhere.”

I held his gaze with my own. “I could run you through right now.”

He leaned so close I could have kissed his cheek as I might have my own father’s.
“But you won’t. Not today.”

He eased the reins out of my grip and rode away into the embrace of his army and his
imperial dream.

I dismounted and ran forward as Bee hopped down off the table.

“Dearest!” she exclaimed, grabbing my hands. “I was so worried about you and Rory.
Are you coming back now?”

I crushed her against me out of relief, but also so I could speak directly into her
ear. “Was Vai one of the mages who fled into the city?”

“No. I’m sorry, Cat. I spoke myself to the mansa of Four Moons House, who was carried
in among the wounded. He was with the Romans but got through the lines. He is very
bitter about losing Andevai, for there was a strutting and unpleasant young mage with
him who seemed unsuitably pleased that Andevai has gone missing. Then a young mansa
named Viridor claimed that after the storm, Andevai rode away to find Lord Marius.
It’s all so confused. Dearest… oh, Cat.”