The Dark Ferryman (15 page)

Grace looked down as her boots whispered through a branch, and she saw the unmistakable bitten ends of a leaf trail around her ankle before it whipped away on the stem. She smiled then, to herself. It was not that nothing living trod here besides them, it was that the queen hid their presence away, so that nothing living might be used to spy against her, later. The smile faded with the realization that even a sanctuary was not truly a sanctuary for Queen Lara.

Jeredon pointed a finger at the bench and raised an eyebrow at Nutmeg who pursed her lips but sat down in a bunch of skirts and petticoats, folding her hands, and becoming primly quiet for a Dweller. Sevryn drew Grace close to him, hip to hip, as if unwilling to be away from even the slightest touch of her.

Lara did not settle on the bench, but leaned her back against the slender trunk of one of the trees ringing it. “We were attacked by Bolger raiders who had been as finely drilled and outfitted as any troopers we could bring to field. They scattered our defenses and would have brought us down nearly to the last man standing but for two things: 1) the river we were fording working as much against them as for them, and 2) Abayan Diort did not order them to slaughter us so much as test us. Having done what he instructed them to do, the raiders pulled back but not before leaving us with an impression. If Diort can hone an edge like that to his Bolger troops, we must consider gravely what he can do with his Galdarkans and Kernans. We cannot afford to be in a civil war with this commander. We must, therefore, bring him down as quickly and uncivilly as we can, before he consolidates himself and his troops. We may be too late even in that. Street gossip from the cities tell us that the Kernans and others have begun a resurgence in the religious belief that their Gods will begin speaking to them soon, instructing them against a great calamity which will befall civilization. As we know, religious fervor goes in cycles but this seems inevitable and due, as well.” She tugged on her dusty tunic, her loosened chain-mail corset chiming faintly as she did so. “I would like to say that this had all been a strategy to inspire him with overconfidence and lure him into a trap, but unfortunately, I cannot. We have not fought a true war in centuries, even among ourselves, and it catches us—if not unaware, then unprepared.”

“I won’t ask this lightly, Lara, but are you certain it was Diort who sent the Bolgers after you?”

She lifted her chin before answering Osten. “He appeared near the end of the rout, looking over the skirmish, and then whistling them off. Why would you doubt anything other than that he’d ordered it?”

“Because I haven’t seen or heard word that the Galdarkan welcomes Bolgers among his troops as raiders. Laborers and craftsmen, yes, but not raiders. Quendius used them in my experience, and still does.”

Her eyes narrowed a bit. “Diort and Quendius work in concert.”

“They did. Diort’s movements this last season indicate that he has left his alliance with Quendius and consolidates his people on his own. I think that any involvement he may have had was coerced and Diort no longer sees fit to bow his head to the other.”

“He called them off.”

“Or they noticed him and decided not to be caught between two armies? I play the contrarian here, my queen. It seems unlikely that Diort would have moved upon you and then drawn back when he could have taken you. Remember that I was up to my knees in Bolgers, so my observations may be a bit . . . inaccurate,” added Osten wryly.

“So noted. But, it remains that we were routed by raiders when we shouldn’t have been, and he was a witness. Yes, I am humiliated, but more than that, I don’t like to give a man hope that taking us will be easy. Whatever his reason for being there, it remains that Bistel engaged him, and we went out looking for him after to ascertain the strength of his troops. He saw us in weakness and that can only encourage him to trespass again. Are we in agreement on that?”

Osten gave a half bow, graceful in contrast to his massive build. Jeredon and Sevryn murmured agreement as well.

“Will we have time to prepare?”

“If the winter holds as predicted.” Nutmeg agreed with an affirmative chuff, which Lara ignored, adding, “It will be a long, relatively dry winter according to weather folklore and our own observations. Osten will be taking muster.” Her brilliant gaze turned to Sevryn. “You had other news for us?”

“Nothing which would lessen or soothe anything you’ve told us thus far. Daravan gathered me in the night to take me on a sortie with him. We encountered a small war party by the southwestern bay shore. I took a souvenir. Before I show it, however,” and he paused a long moment. “I have a second, unexpected tale. I traveled as quickly as I knew how to return to your side. The Way known as Hunter’s Cut exists no longer. It came apart as I traversed it, and I swear to you, I don’t know how or why.” He paused. “It was as if Kerith noticed me, and saw the bondage the Way put upon it, and threw it off. I can’t support that. Only that Hunter’s Cut is ripped apart, and in its stead lies a whirlpool of chaos that has ripped the mountain apart.”

“A Way disintegrated?”

He nodded. “I’ve never seen power like that, and there is no reason that I survived it except that I had an extremely swift and frightened horse under me.”

“Could it have been an illusion?” This from Jeredon, his jawline firm except for a tic of muscle.

“I’ve never known one of us who could cast illusions, let alone one like that. I can send a scout back to take a look at it to confirm that it is destroyed.”

“That will be done.” Lara’s voice, low yet disturbed. “You may have been there by coincidence.” Her lips thinned as thoughts filled her eyes.

“It remains,” Jeredon said tightly, “that no Way once established has ever vanished.”

“Perhaps,” murmured Lara. She raised her hand. “As awful as this is, it’s not the news you raced to bring me.”

“No, Highness, it is not. I cut this from an enemy.” Solemnly, he took his grisly souvenir from inside his vest, where he had the limb in an oilskin pouch. He opened it and passed it to Osten who took it and began to examine it with a great sniff of curiosity. The appendage looked even more bizarre than he remembered.

Lara did not touch it, but her gaze fastened on it and did not stray. Jeredon poked a finger at it, examining a length of retractable talon.

“Intelligent?”

“Very and the most wicked fighter I’ve ever come across. Daravan says to tell you that he believes it to be one of the Raymy, although he is getting confirmation.”

Nutmeg drew her breath in with a hiss. Lariel merely paled a little, her eyes darkening in contrast to her fair skin.

“This is true?”

“He says it may well be.”

“He isn’t a man who would stir us up in vain,” her voice drifted off. “I cannot let us be sandwiched between two enemies. Abayan Diort will be destroyed before those things make land. Destroyed or bowed to us, entirely. You are dismissed, all, and not a word outside these gates. Jeredon, I want you to recruit and train archers as ably as you can before we go to council. Osten will give you whatever men you think suitable. Sevryn, send that scout out you recommended. Thank you for your attendance.” She opened the gate with a wave of her hand, and their leave to go seemed obvious.

Not another word did she utter until she was alone, and the gates had swung shut behind her guests. The silence seemed complete when she whispered, “And there you are.”

A shadow stirred. She did not turn but said wearily, “Have you brought confirmation, Daravan?”

A tall, broad-shouldered shadow separated itself from other shadows on the other side of the river Andredia. He crossed its narrow bed in a single leap to gain her side. “My pardon, Lara, for seeming to eavesdrop on you. I did not wish to interrupt.”

“You didn’t surprise me, although I’m surprised that Sevryn didn’t sense you. He’s keen that way.”

“Preoccupied, I think, with the news he had for you.”

“They were Raymy?”

“According to sources, yes.”

“Have you reason to doubt them?”

“Not at this time.” He pushed his cloak and hood off his shoulders. “I hate bringing you news like this.”

“Think how much worse it would be if you hadn’t caught them, to bring it to me.” She let herself sit on one of the curved benches. If it had been the one where Nutmeg perched, no vestige of her warmth had been left behind. The stone held a chill that the garden itself tried to deny. She watched the Andredia flow by.

“You need to rethink your position with Diort.”

“Never.”

“That sounded intractable.”

“It is.”

“You can’t afford not to consider options, Lara. Osten had a point, if you’d been of a mind to listen.”

“Giving in to a tyrant who impresses his people into following him isn’t an option.”

Daravan took a moment of silence before asking mildly, “You’re certain that’s what he is doing?”

“I’ve seen evidence of it myself.”

“But not in all villages. All cities. All towns. Many take up the sword and follow willingly.”

“Many aren’t willing to wait to see what destruction he intends to bring them before he extends his rule over them. With that war hammer in hand, who could refuse him? I won’t let him follow the path that Quendius has set down for him.”

“I’m not so sure Quendius has a hand in this.”

She looked at him sharply. “By what reasoning?”

“Quendius is, by all observation, someone who revels in destruction and subjugation. Diort has done little more than unify, although as much by power as by seduction, I’m willing to admit. He had destroyed, twice, but the dam he took down last year held contaminated water, water that the wasteland had been seeping into, and the city it bordered was no less contaminated. The area you visited held sign of dying aryns, did it not? He is not wanton with his actions, no more than you are, unlike Quendius. I believe Abayan Diort is at odds with Quendius. He was never more than a reluctant ally, and now he knows his strength. He is of Kerith, to the bone. Quendius is of nothing and cares for nothing.”

“And he will stop at nothing.”

Daravan dropped his chin in a nod.

“I can’t meet Diort as an equal if we haven’t beaten him.”

“You think not?”

Lariel blushed faintly. “I presume that to be the case. Even if I wish alliance, it would have to be out of strength, or he’d absorb us the way he has the common folk. We will not be absorbed, Daravan. Whether we go down as one, or Stronghold and Holding by Stronghold and Holding, we will not be absorbed meekly. You know that.”

“I’m not suggesting that. There is more than one way to forge an alliance.”

“And who would you suggest I hold up for him to marry? Which one of us would suit him? Myself? Someone else? He may already have the woman he wants in the traitor Tiiva.”

“If she went to him. Perhaps only the best would do. If you married an ild Fallyn off to him, we’d never have a truce.” Daravan chuckled dryly at the thought. Contentious to the core, there was not an ild Fallyn alive who did not think that they could and should replace Lariel and her brother.

“I’d rather not think on it.” Lara folded her hands in her lap, slightly bruised and swollen by her sword handling, and chafed the stiffness out of her fingers lightly.

“Then what it is you’re not telling me?”

She glanced up. “Do I tell you everything?”

“Decidedly not. But I thought you might share this time.” He sat down on the bench, not too far from her, but not quite close enough to touch. She could smell his horse’s sweat on him, as well as the perfume of her pavilion, and his own unique, masculine scent.

“Abayan didn’t call his raiders off. I deem that he would have, but one of us rose against his maneuver in such a way, we were all surprised. And she has little or no recollection of it, nor does anyone else in the troop. Only I saw, and remember. Even Osten seemed foggy about it, so that I question myself. But I saw it. I know I did.”

"What happened?”

“She built a fire on the water against the raiders, Daravan. I have never seen its like or even guessed it could be done. She raised a tide of fire on the river and brought it down on them.”

“It can’t be done.” He didn’t ask, she noted, who Lariel referred to.

“Rivergrace did it.”

“Her Talent is water. We all know that. And you’re telling me she has no memory of it?”

“Dazzled at first, and then seemingly unaware of what she’d done altogether. Or afraid to admit to me that she had. Osten doesn’t remember seeing it, only that the raiders fording the river turned back in disarray. None of the others remember even that much. The waters were running red with blood.”

“I’ve never heard of an ability like that. Perhaps to set fire to oil on water . . .” Daravan’s words trailed off.

“No.” Lara eyed her hands briefly. “Not like that. None that I know of.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t her but something other. Hunter’s Cut didn’t collapse without provocation. We’ve often wondered how long it would take the Gods of Kerith to acknowledge us, to work against us. Perhaps those days are here?”

“Did you come to encourage me with that news? First tell me the Raymy are returning, and now hostile Gods?” She laughed, in spite of herself. “Is there never any good news about you?”

He took one of her hands and brushed his lips across her knuckles with more of a breath than a kiss. “The good news is that you were born to be a Warrior Queen, and now it appears we have need of one.”

BISTEL VANTANE REINED in his horse, and eased back in his seat, stretching his long legs in the stirrups for a moment. Intermittent sunshine bore down on him, through long thin clouds that scattered across the sky, forming a blanket only to wisp away before blanketing again, rain or snow from the chill of it, that might or might not fall that evening. The rider at his flank reined in, quiet and solemn. Bistel looked down across the Dweller and Kernan homesteads, five of them laced together in a massive farming operation, one that might equal one of his own winter grain fields. They had worked hard here for generations; he knew the heads of the families back to their great great grandfathers and perhaps even beyond that, if he cared to remember. He had not, from those early days. He would be one of the first to admit that the disdain the Vaelinars carried toward the first races of Kerith had been one of their greatest faults. It was a fault still resting in many Vaelinar. Not him, or so he hoped. He had finally learned.