The Black Star (Book 3) (77 page)

Dante squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Tell me where to move them."

A bunch of directions ensued, followed by Dante mumbling into his loon. Presumably, more than fifty miles away, two hundred armed men were getting to their feet and drawing closer. Blays wasn't sure what to think. Sitting on his ass in a tree all day was not his idea of productive behavior, and until that were rectified, you might as well leave everyone else out of harm's way.

But maybe bringing them closer would provoke Dante to more aggressive action. Like Mourn had said, they already knew exactly where their target was. It seemed to him that, with that knowledge in hand, you ought to be able to work out the next step by producing one idea after another until you ran out of bad ones and tripped over a good one.

Alas, he was no longer a brain of the operation. More like an arm. Or maybe an appendix, fit to burst. As the third day dawned, to delay such an explosion, he decided to attempt to navigate Somburr's maze-like mind instead. Somburr suggested that, with the right type and quantity of poison, they might sprinkle it all around the Minister's loren. In time, the tree would draw up the water and soil, pass it into the lorbells, and thus into the population. He admitted the plan would take weeks, if not months, to bear fruit, so to speak, but seemed more concerned about the timeline than the morality. Eventually, Blays wandered off onto the flat to clear his head.

"Oh shit." Dante's voice echoed from inside the round. "Oh
shit
."

Blays recognized the tone. He dashed back, bursting through the brown blankets hung over the entryway. "Are we doomed? We're doomed, aren't we?"

Dante stared across the vacant space of the round. "The Minister's just spoken with his advisors. He suspects Lew was a Narashtovik spy. He wants to move—soon. Before we've got time to prepare for their invasion."

"How long?" Somburr said.

"He says that, if the channel is cut through the Woduns at a low enough elevation, the snows will be no matter. His people say the armies will be ready within a week."

"How many?"

"Twenty thousand. Or more." Dante's face was as pale as the fibrous mat between the skin of a lorbell and its sweet pulp. "How can they have so many?"

Somburr bared his teeth. "Irrelevant. All that matters is it's
too
many."

"So." Dante looked to Blays. "He still hasn't left his chambers. But once the troops arrive, he intends to go out and see them. That may be our only chance to strike him before he opens the mountains."

Blays didn't know why it was his job to respond to this, but he couldn't stop himself. "When his entire army is watching."

"Maybe we can hit him while he's coming down the stairs."

"Like I said: army."

"We'll have soldiers of our own."

Cee laughed bitterly. "And they'll have a hell of a time staying hidden when, a few days from now, twenty thousand members of our sworn enemy turn the forest into one big campground. How are
we
going to get through them?"

"I don't know!" Dante lurched to his feet. "But unless you've got a better idea, this is our best shot. Do I need to remind you that we don't need to survive to achieve our goal? All we need to do is get our hands on Cellen long enough to use it. As soon as it's gone, Narashtovik is safe for another thousand years."

Everyone fell quiet for a bit, which was distressing, because it gave Blays too much time to agree with himself that it was time to speak up. "So I may have forgotten to mention this, but did I ever tell you I can walk through walls?"

Dante swung his head around so hard it was a wonder it didn't fly off his neck. "What are you jabbering about?"

"I mean that, if you had the right kind of wall in front of me, I could walk through it as if it weren't there."

"Are you being serious? Is this something you learned from Minn? And what do you mean, the right
kind
of wall?"

"I can walk through stone. I don't think I can walk through wood. Don't know why. Except maybe that trees are stubborn." Blays patted the wall of the round. "Present company excluded, faithful home-tree."

"Parts of the palace are stone. It's one of the only buildings in Corl that uses it."

"That's a good bit of irony. The Minister walls himself behind the strongest material he can, and it's the one thing that can't keep me out."

"So how do you get to the palace?" Cee said.

Dante twisted his sideburn. "The same way we got to the deepstone."

"An incident that may have tipped them to our methods," Somburr said. "You have eyes on the loft. Does security look any different?"

"He's got more troops around. Very few people are being allowed into the palace."

"Questions to answer: does he sleep alone? Do his bodyguards check on him at night? If so, how often? Assume Blays can get the item outside, but that they will be alerted that something has gone wrong. If they shut down the loren's staircase, how do we get down?"

Dante rubbed his palms together. "Are we doing this?"

"Answering those questions will clarify our course."

"What he said," Blays said. "I gotta say, whatever those answers turn out to be, I like this idea a whole lot more than trying to wrestle Cellen away from him while he's on his way to review his endless hordes of warriors."

Dante nodded. "I'll tell the men to head to the new valley and be ready to move here at a moment's notice. I'd better let Nak know what they'll be up against if we bungle this." He gave Blays one of his looks. "Then we'll see about getting you into the palace."

That meant more sitting for Blays, but he did so with considerably more patience and satisfaction than he had during the last couple days. After a few minutes, it occurred to him that he'd only walked through rock once, and given that it didn't sound like anything was going to go down until tomorrow night at the soonest, he better go make sure the ability was something he could repeat. Mourn had scouted the lay of the land, so Blays had him lead the way to a suitable practice ground: a tall, tapering spur of rock just a couple feet wide at its end.

Blays accumulated a few bruises with his initial efforts, but as soon as he settled down, remembered that he'd done this before, and convinced himself he would do it again, he did. He reappeared on the other side of the spur with a grin big enough to swallow himself.

"That probably didn't look too impressive, what with me being invisible." He reached out and knocked on the rock. "But I just walked straight through this thing."

Mourn stared at it. "I wonder how it feels about that."

Blays practiced until his control began to waver. He returned to the tree pleased with himself, confident that, whatever else happened, he'd be able to uphold his end of the plan.

It was a quiet day. Dante drew a fastidious map of the palace, charting entrances, rooms, and which parts of the building were made out of stone.

"Right here." He tapped the sketch's outer wall, drawn with the solid dark line that meant it was rock, then used his finger to follow a path up two flights of stairs to the middle of the third floor. A block of rooms in the center was bordered with the same solid lines. "These are his quarters. This is his bedroom. You'll have to go through its door like a normal person—and that's it. The rest of the time, you can walk around as a ghost."

"You're sure he keeps it on him?" Blays said. "Bear in mind, and I know this is a tricky one, but I'm not you. I can only shadowalk for ten or twelve minutes before I tire out."

"I can't shadowalk at all. I was hoping you might teach me some day."

"Wouldn't that be something. Specifically, it would be something for a much later date, when the fate of everything
doesn't
hang in the balance."

Dante stood up from the maps. "I'm sure he keeps it on him. I'll keep watching him, though. We've still got much to learn."

Dante immediately went to sleep, resting up before he spent the night observing the Minister's sleep routine. Blays and Somburr went outside to chat about how to get to the palace loft and back down to the ground. Somburr's simple disguises sounded feasible, if prone to disruptions from other soldiers. Somburr spent the rest of the day drilling Blays in Weslean, trying to teach him enough to get by if for some reason he were directly questioned as they headed up or down the stairs. This was highly annoying work, but at least it passed the time.

When Blays went to bed, Dante was back up, staring into space. Blays woke a few times that night, but it didn't look as if Dante had moved an inch.

By morning, his eyes were puffy, and though neither of them was the model of hygiene at that moment, Dante's hair looked flatter and greasier than ever. "He sleeps with it. Keeps it in a bag in his pocket and literally keeps it under his pillow at night."

Blays shrugged. "Better that than us having no idea where it is."

"We caught another break, too. His bodyguards stay outside his quarters all night. After all, there's only one way in, and the walls are solid stone. What would they need to check in on?"

Somburr slitted his eyes. "Sound like you ought to shadowalk in, slash his throat, and then shadowalk out. If we move in the middle of the night, it will be hours before anyone's aware."

"That would be my recommendation," Dante said. "Also, they're using passwords on the drawbridges—the three-part one, and the one up to the Minister's flat. I've already spied them out."

"They'll change them nightly. You'll want to listen tonight, too."

"I will. But now I need to sleep."

While Dante snoozed, Blays went over the language some more. It seemed kind of pointless, given that he couldn't understand it well enough to know what he was being asked, but then Somburr showed him a set of gestures Somburr would use to let him know how to reply: yes, no, his name, etc.

Dante got up early that afternoon, conversed with Nak for a while, then sent the scouts to keep tabs on the path between them and their troops, who would start marching toward the capital at dusk. If Dante were coordinating everything right, and it didn't hit any snags, Narashtovik's troops would arrive at the advance team's loren at the same time Dante, Blays, and Somburr were infiltrating the city.

The day waned. Dante gave the orders. Blays couldn't see any of it, of course, but twenty miles away, a few hundred heavily armed and well-trained troopers set out at high speed. As Dante continued to watch through the eyes of his furry little minions, Somburr, Ast, and Cee briefed Blays on what Corl was like. This was probably extraneous, but on the chance they got separated and Blays had to make his way down to the ground alone, it would be eminently useful. He'd seen a number of tree-villages on their way through Spiren, but it was hard to imagine one as dense as Corl.

"You were right about the password, Somburr," Dante muttered after sundown. "But I've got the new one."

The minutes trickled by. The troops reported in with their progress: they'd advanced eight miles so far and estimated they'd arrive by midnight. Right on schedule.

Blays would have liked to get out and walk about, burn off some of the energy threatening to drive him wild, but now wasn't the time. And yet, much as had been the case when they'd begun their trek into the mountains, he didn't feel as nervous as he thought the situation called for.

Stars fought for air with the canopy, but were soon overwhelmed by a solid sheet of clouds piling up from the east. Rain spit through the leaves in scattered drops.

"Ready?" Dante said.

Blays looked up. Was it midnight already? "Would it matter if I said no?"

"Of course it would. You're the keystone of the bridge."

"Then if I'm wobbly, best to dash across as fast as you can."

He descended to the forest floor with Dante and Somburr. The rain had thickened, hissing on the tree tops. He was glad. Rain gave them every excuse to keep their hoods up.

Within a few minutes, he could see the lights shining from the branches of the lorens, constellations of life brought down to earth. Smoke hung in the damp air. Before they got too close, Somburr stopped and closed his eyes. He and Dante became different people. Blays' sleeves and even his hands changed shape.

"Well, that's distressing," he said.

"From here on out, no more Gaskan," Dante said. "We're Spirish soldiers. We're cold and wet and we just want to get back inside."

"That part won't be hard to fake. Pretend I said that in Weslean."

Dante glared at him, then moved on. More lights sprung from the branches, but besides the sough of the rain, the woods were disturbingly quiet. They came to a set of roots webbed with housing and headed up the stairs. The smell of dung and hot lorbell oil wafted from below.

The stairs curled around the trunk. Flats stretched to all sides, supporting shacks and tents. About eighty feet up, they came to a gap in the stairs. Dante exchanged a few words with the guard there and a crossing was lowered into place. Blays kept his eyes forward. They moved on.

Higher up, the quality of the housing improved. Voices babbled from public houses, disembodied in the thick, damp air. They were allowed through another crossing, then a third. Blays was glad he couldn't see the ground. Even though the stairs were clearly the great road of the tree, there were few people on them. Most of the citizens were being kept home by the hour and the rain.

A long, long ways up, they walked out on a flat and followed it all the way to another tree. The staircase there sported at least double the guards. They looked soaked and miserable and none of them said a word until Dante got to a convoluted trio of retractable platforms. A man in a dark beard grunted something. Dante mumbled back the password. The man turned and gestured and stairs cranked into place.

It felt more than a little crazy that they were doing this, actually walking into the home of their greatest enemy, without being scrutinized by more than a few words from the occasional soldier. Then again, it was more than a little crazy that Somburr had them wearing illusory disguises, that Dante had stolen the password with the help of an all-seeing dead squirrel, and that, for an encore, Blays was about to pop out of sight and walk through the walls of the heart of the capital. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from giggling.