The False Martyr (69 page)

“
It was me!” Teth rose to
her feet. “I started crying and Mrs. Tappers tried to help me. And
as for you, I will go wherever I want. I will talk with anyone I
please, and you will not threaten them.” She closed on Kian, trying
to sound commanding, but her will was far too
diminished.

“
That is where you are
wrong.” Kian snatched her outstretched finger and twisted it,
nearly buckling her knees. He used the finger to hold her up in a
rigor mortis of pain. She gasped, but he just drew her into him. “I
am in charge here,” he spit the words into her face. “You will do
exactly as I say. You will not question me. You will not challenge
me. Do you understand?” He twisted her finger until it felt like it
would break. Teth nodded. She had no choice but to nod.

Kian released her. She
fell to the floor grasping her hand and panting. Mrs. Tappers was
immediately at her side, rubbing her back and trying to inspect her
finger. “You’ve made your point. Now, get out!” Her voice was
rougher, stronger than Teth had previously heard, as if a damper
had been lifted.

“
As you will, my lady.” He
flashed his wolfish grin and was gone before Teth could formulate a
response. She pounded her good hand into the ground and
cursed.

“
It will be alright,” Mrs.
Tappers assured her. “He is not nearly as smart as he thinks he is.
He has us for now, but the tide will turn soon enough. Soon
enough.” She rubbed Teth’s back then rose. “Now, may I get you some
tea? I’d like to get to know you better. I suspect that we have a
surprisingly large amount in common.”

Teth snuffled and flexed
her finger. Already it was feeling better, probably wouldn’t even
be swollen for all the pain it had caused. “I’d like that,” she
said and tried to smile.

#

“
I should probably get
back,” Mrs. Tappers said an hour later. “Mark is a better talker
than a worker. It’s good for business, but not for actually getting
things done, and the dinner service will be starting before we know
it.” She looked at Teth with a small smile. For all her talk of
them having so much in common, Teth realized that she had no idea
what it was since Mrs. Tappers had said hardly a word about herself
in the time they had been speaking. Teth felt suddenly guilty that
she had not asked her host more questions, that she had spent the
entire time telling her about herself without ever telling her who
she really was or how she really felt. It had been a conversation,
Teth realized, of almost no consequence, and it had been wonderful.
It was the first time in weeks that she had felt like a normal
person, talking about normal things. Now, she had to go back to
Dasen. She dreaded it with all her heart.

She looked down at the
empty plate before her – how many of the little sandwiches had she
eaten and not even noticed? There had been a platter of them. It
was empty now with only a single section on Mrs. Tappers plate with
a single bite missing from a corner. Maybe the matron would allow
her to stay here for a while longer. Or maybe she could help with
the dinner service. Anything to keep from having to see Dasen, from
having to remember what she could never have.

“
No, my dear,” Mrs.
Tappers said, obviously reading the desperation on her face. “Go,
be with your husband. I used to feel like you. I had done some
things that made me feel as if I had lost the Order entirely. I
could not imagine how anyone could ever accept me, but the Order
bless him, Mark did. He knew exactly what I had done, exactly who I
was. He accepted me anyway. And eventually, I realized that what
the counselors had always told me about the Order was wrong. We are
all part of It, are made by It to be what we are. The only way we
can defy It is to stop being what It has made us to be. Do you
understand?” She paused and watched Teth. She knew that Mrs.
Tappers was saying something more than her words, but she could not
place it. “Dasen accepts you for what you are. He knows what you’ve
done, and he doesn’t care. The Order is the same. It made you. You
cannot defy It by being what you were made to be.”

Teth felt the words
tearing through her. Mrs. Tappers was, of course, correct. Teth was
exactly what the Order had made her, but that Order was not the
benevolent thing that Mrs. Tappers thought It to be. The Order that
had created Teth was the work of a demented old man, and he had
built her for no other purpose than to suffer. Somehow, she did not
cry. Rather, she felt her resolve strengthen. Even Mrs. Tappers had
said it. We only escape the Order by acting against what we
are.

“
Thank you,” she said. She
stood and hugged her host. It seemed to take Mrs. Tappers by
surprise. “You are right. I will try.”

Mrs. Tappers took her hand
and turned her to the door. “We will talk again, my dear. I am glad
that the Order has brought you to us. We all need to be reminded
occasionally of where we are and how we got there.”

She moved to the door and
opened it. “I will have a tray brought to your room in two hours,”
she said loudly as she issued Teth into the empty hall. “Thank you
for telling me of your journey, Master Esther. I hope that we can
provide you with everything you need in these trying times. Please,
feel free to find me at any time.”

“
Thank you as well, Mrs.
Tappers,” Teth said as a man in a dark suit walked past them. “I
feel much comforted for having spoken with you. I will try not to
take so much of your time in the future.”

“
It is not a problem at
all. You are my guest. I am here to serve you in any way I can.
Now, have a good and restful night.”

“
And you.”

The door closed behind her
as Teth turned down the hall toward the stairs that would lead back
to her room and Dasen. She walked slowly, sighing with every step
for her dread, and nearly ran into Garth.

“
Master Esther,” the Morg
said. “I have been looking for you. I trust you are
well.”

“
I am fine, thank you,”
Teth replied, trying to feign the air of regal disregard she’d be
expected to show a servant. “I have been with the lady of the
house. She has been most gracious.”

“
I am glad to hear it.”
Garth watched the halls around him, clearly uncomfortable with his
role. Teth followed his eyes. In one direction, a clump of children
stared unabashed at them from the middle of the hall. In the other,
a man and woman had stopped at the bottom on the stairs. They
pretended not to notice the Morg and noble, but the constant
darting of their eyes and forced conversation gave them away. “I
know the news of the invasion has greatly unsettled you,” he
continued, voice rumbling even as he tried to keep it low and
formal. His words were forced as if read from a script for the
first time. “I thought some exercise might help improve your mood
and clear your head.”

Teth felt her heart leap
at the offer. “I . . . I would . . . .” She took a deep breath to
calm herself and remembered her character. “I suppose it couldn’t
hurt. What did you have in mind?”

“
The inn has a large
courtyard. Master Tappers has said that we can use it.”

“
Alright,” Teth forced
herself to sound half-hearted as she fought her desire to embrace
the Morg. “I’ll do anything to keep from having to sit in that
room. Where is it?”

“
This way, my lord.” Garth
gestured toward the hall to their left. Teth tried to keep herself
from running down it. If she had her way, their exercise would last
until after Dasen was asleep and begin again before he was awake.
She would lose herself in it, and eventually, she would be in shape
to fight, only this time when the fight found her, she would
surrender. She would work against her nature, and she would
die.

Chapter 40

The
37
^th
Day of Summer

“
I hate horses,” Ipid
groaned under his breath as he fought to keep himself from the even
gray stones beneath him. To his sides, the city common lands were a
green blur, marked by herds of the sheep and cattle that had been
delivered to the invaders.

As he watched, a rider
appeared in the field, charging across the plains toward a clump of
cattle. The animals panicked, creating a stampede. The rider flew
past them then circled around. He darted back, forth, around, horse
a part of him even more than the legs that directed it, until the
herd had returned to the exact spot it had started. It was a game,
Ipid realized as he watched another rider emerge from the tents,
but not the only. Beyond the cattle, warriors practiced maneuvering
in groups, flowing like starlings across the grass in effortless
formations. And on his other side, at least a hundred more were
playing a mounted version of the game he had witnessed the
afternoon that the Kingdoms surrendered.

Over the previous two
weeks, the people of Wildern had become fascinated by these games.
Ipid had seen the crowds watching as he rode from town, had
overheard conversations among his servants, had received reports
from Captain Tyne. Now that they had stopped marching, it appeared
the Darthur did little other than play these games. They were as
much a part of their culture as learning a trade was in Ipid’s. A
nomadic people without cities or establishment, they cared for
their herds, traveled their plains, and made war. They had nothing
else. They had almost no ability to build or craft, had to trade
for anything that was not made from leather, bone, or grass. They
had no technology or art or knowledge of the Order. Yet, barring a
miracle, they would soon rule the world.

Arin had told Ipid little
of how they had accomplished that. He knew it started when Arin’s
father unified the clans and pushed out from the plains. But, even
united, they were not large in numbers, had no ability to make
their own weapons, did not have their vassals, or – as Belab had
said – the te-am ‘eiruh in those early days. In isolation, Ipid
doubted that the Darthur, for all their ability, could conquer any
single nation on this side of the mountains. No matter how fierce,
the first walled city would have bled them dry, so how had they
ever conquered so many so quickly?

Ipid could only file the
question away with thousands of others as his horse, thankfully,
slowed to a walk to match those of the warriors that accompanied
him. They escorted him through the main camp along the same path
he’d ridden nearly two weeks before to accept his people’s
surrender. The camp had changed considerably in that time. The
vassal nations had spread out, taking up residence in and around
the area villages. That left primarily Darthur here with their hide
tents arrayed in countless circles. At some of those, warriors sat
with plates of food that might have fed a family for a day. Others
tended weapons, mended saddles, or gathered to partake in the next
round of the games. Universally, they were relaxed.

And so, Ipid realized, was
he. Ironically, the camp of the invaders was the one place where he
did not feel that his life was in danger. Only a few minutes before
as he rode through the empty streets of Wildern, he had watched
every window and alleyway with shoulders raised, very nearly
expecting to feel a crossbow bolt slam into his back. Though there
had been no real dissent in Wildern or elsewhere in the Kingdoms to
this point, Ipid could feel it simmering beneath the surface,
growing and spreading, preparing to burst forth. Food was growing
tight as people finished the stocks they had built and became more
dependent upon the meager rations that Jon and his bookkeepers had
set. The work foisted upon the people was arduous, dangerous, and
outside the comfort of most of the city’s residents. Harsh curfews
and the heavy presence of the watch had kept disorder to a minimum,
but it did not stop the grumbling that existed in the ration lines,
among the work crews clearing the city center, or on the shop
floors where the wagons, weapons, harnesses, and thousand other
items required by the army were being built. It was only a matter
of time before those grumbles became something more, until they
began to consolidate around some catalyst, until something happened
to transform words into actions. Ipid could only hope that the
catalyst would be the one of his choosing, that Lord Stully would
serve as the leader and rallying point that the revolution needed,
that he would live up to the bargain they had made.

“
Ipid,” a voice called.
They had just entered the village that the tents surrounded, the
hide tents and warriors giving way to a bustle of people working
frantically to meet those warriors’ needs. A thin youth dashed from
a doorway, dodging between Ipid’s guards with practiced
precision.

“
Jack,” Ipid stammered as
the boy came to his side. He cursed himself for taking so long to
identify the boy who had been in charge of the te-adeate boys with
this portion of the Darthur. “How are you? I am on my way to meet
with Arin but planned to see you and the other boys when I was
done. How have you been?” It was a lie, quickly formulated,
compelled by his mounting guilt – he had not spared a thought for
the boys who had been in his care since he’d ridden into
Wildern.

“
You don’t need worry
‘bout us,” Jack assured. He trotted along the side of Ipid’s horse.
“Sorry, Lord Chancellor. I suppose I should be treatin’ ya with the
proper respects. I just saw yir face an’ firgot myself. I’m sure ya
got a lot more ta worry ‘bout than us.” Jack looked behind him for
an opening to dart back through the riders.