The False Martyr (88 page)

Valati Lareno caught his
arm. “I spoke with your wife,” he whispered in Dasen’s ear. “She
said that she knew a treatment for the Wasting Death, and I was
able to procure the required herbs.” He handed Dasen a satchel the
size of a loaf of bread. “It needs to be boiled into a tea.” He
caught Dasen’s eye and held it. His hand pressed on his arm until
it hurt.

“
This is not a time for
one of your games,” Dasen growled, barely remembering to keep his
voice low.

“
That may be, but this is
not a game that stops just because it isn’t a good time to play
it.”

Dasen looked down at the
bundle of herbs and felt his mind clear. He didn’t like it, but the
valati was right. He nodded.

“
What is that, my lady?”
the valati announced, voice loud enough for half the camp to hear.
“You studied herbalism in your homeland and were able to create a
remedy from your knowledge? By all means, what do you
need?”

Dasen held the sachet of
herbs over his head. “I can make no promises, but I will do what I
can. I need boiling water.”

“
There’s no fuel for a
fire,” a middle-aged man said. His sunken cheeks were marked by two
weeks of matted beard. His blue eyes were dull and haunted. His
arms, skin hanging limp where they had wasted to bone, shook. But
he stood taller than any around him and held an air of command. He
wore a suit that underneath the mud and filth was that of a
successful merchant. And now he was the sorry spokesman for this
camp of the dead.

“
Use the fences,” Dasen
declared, pointing toward the split rails around the
camp.

“
Watch yourself,” a
soldier grumbled. He closed on Dasen hand on the pommel of his
sword. Dasen recognized him as the man from the wall who had
lowered the bridge. He had the patch of a lieutenant, but he would
have to be severely out of favor to have received this commission.
As if to confirm that, he was shabby. His gut bulged beneath his
armor. His pockmarked face was unshaven where it shown from the
cloth around it. His hair was long and greasy. He smelled of stale
beer and sausages even over the skink of the camp.

“
What purpose do you
suppose those fences have, Lieutenant . . . ?” Dasen drew out the
title, obviously looking for a name.

“
Lieutenant Merths, my
lady. And the fence is there to keep these people from leaving the
camp. It’s the governor’s order.”

“
Do you honestly think
that pathetic fences is what is keeping these people here? Do you
think any of them could make the walk back to Gorin if they did
escape? The answer is no. We will use a section of the fence
farthest from the road if that makes you feel better.” Dasen turned
from the lieutenant as if the matter were decided. “Start taking it
down!” he ordered. “Use the sacks as tinder. Lieutenant, bring us a
flame.”

“
My . . . my lady, I . . .
I don’t think . . .“

“
I told you to bring me a
flame, Lieutenant. Now, are you going to do it, or do I have to
find one myself?”

“
But . . . the governor
has . . . .”

“
I don’t care if the order
came from Valatarian himself! We will start the fire! You will have
to kill a noblewoman, a valati, and a dozen counselors to stop us.
Do you think that is what the governor had in mind when he gave you
his orders?”

“
I . . . I suppose not,
ma’am.”

“
Then stop whining and get
me wood and a flame.”

The lieutenant looked
uncertain but eventually realized that he was defeated. He turned
to two men near the door and ordered them to disassemble a section
of the fence. Dasen ordered a pot filled with water and empty sacks
to be added to the wood. He then turned his full attention to the
preparation of the medicine as the valati rallied his subordinates
to hand out the food and water.

An hour later, the water
was boiling. Dasen added the herbs and stirred them until the water
took on a decidedly yellow tint. By this time, the sun was sinking
and the evening was cooling, but Dasen was soaked through with
sweat. He did not know how he could have a drop of water remaining
in his body. He had no doubt that the cloth around his mouth and
nose were the only things that were keeping his identity from being
obvious.

When he guessed that the
herbs had boiled sufficiently, he conscripted two of the guards to
lift the heavy pot from its place above the fire and set it on the
ground. Finally, the people of the camp began to line up for the
tea. The counselors had finished distributing the food by this
time, so they assisted, taking cups to those who were too weak to
stand. Soon, every person had been treated.

“
Will it help prevent the
disease?” a guard tentatively asked from Dasen’s
shoulder.

“
It should,” Dasen
answered but had no idea if it was true.

“
May we have some? There’s
several of us that’ve gotten sick. They send us home, but a couple
have died.” The young man – he was no older than Dasen – looked
decidedly nervous. “I’ve got a family,” he explained, “a wife, a
baby, just six months old. If I get sick, they’ll
starve.”

Dasen looked at the guard,
wanted to tell him to go to the Maelstrom. Then he saw the fear in
the young man’s eyes and realized what was happening in Gorin West.
This guard, all his fellows, the workers on the docks, the
tradespeople, the innkeepers, the soldiers were all one step from
ending up here. If they defied the governor, if they didn’t come to
work, or ran out of money, or were out past the curfew, this is
where they would go. They would die slowly, wasted by disease and
starvation. These were not bad people. They may even be brave, may
want to change the world around them, but the risks were too high,
not just for themselves but for their families. Dasen’s eyes went
to the wagon,
for their
children
, he thought.

He grabbed the cup from
the soldier’s hand and dipped it into the pot. The tea was still
warm but no longer hot. He handed the cup back to the
soldier.

“
Thank you, ma’am!” he
bowed and removed his helm. A second later, he had drained the cup
and was cursing at the foul taste, but that did not stop his
fellows, including Lieutenant Merths, from filling their own cups
and thanking him as they did so.

#

It was decidedly dark when
the caravan returned from the camp. Dasen as Lady Esther had fallen
asleep in the back of a, now empty, wagon. He was exhausted,
hungry, thirsty, and emotionally spent. As soon as the wagon had
rolled from the camp, his indignation had rushed out making him
realize that it had been the only thing that had been sustaining
him. Without it, he literally collapsed and was asleep within
minutes.

But he had felt good. He
felt like he had finally made a difference in all this madness,
that he had finally done something to help the people who were
being destroyed by this war. And it was Deena Esther who allowed
that. She had liberated him. Before, he had always hated to have
people look at him, to imagine what they were saying about him, to
feel the weight of their eyes and judgments. Now, as Deena Esther,
it was as if he were shielded from those prying eyes. The people
who looked on him now weren’t judging him. They were judging a
fantasy. Thus it was that Dasen slept a righteous sleep, confident
that he had done well this day and resolved to do the same again
tomorrow.

“
We’re back, my lady,”
woke Dasen from his sleep. He rubbed his gummy eyes and stared at
the dark city around him. His body nearly shook from resident
weariness. His head was cloudy, thoughts slow. He looked around
trying to orient himself, to remember where he was and what he had
been doing. He saw the wagon, the walls of the temple rising beyond
it, the faint glow from the stained-glass windows. He heard the
murmur of the people crammed inside. The city around him was quiet,
but the people inside the temple were not yet sleeping.

“
What time is it?” he
asked through the cloth that was still across his mouth. He had
become so accustom to it that he barely noticed it was there.
Sitting up and looking down the hill toward the city, he saw lights
in the windows. It was into the night but not late.

“
The sun set about an hour
ago,” Valati Lareno answered. “Shall we return you to your inn? I’m
sure you would like a bath and a hot meal after such a
day.”

Dasen shook his head to
remove some of the cobwebs then clenched his temples in hope of
mitigating the pounding in his head. He desperately wanted the bath
and meal, but he felt that he was forgetting something. His eyes
and mind began to clear. He released his head and looked toward the
valati. He was framed by the shape of a fortress.

“
I have something to do
first.” Dasen rose far less majestically than he’d hoped. One of
his feet was asleep, and it made his walk to the back of the wagon
into a clumsy series of stumbles. At the wagon’s open back, Valati
Lareno guided him to the ground. Dasen barely took his eyes from
his ultimate destination long enough to acknowledge the valati, and
when he was down, he immediately turned toward the walkway that
wound up the hill through the garden to the fortress’ back
entrance. Foot still asleep, his stride was unsteady, punctuated by
what felt like a walkway of needles. His teeth clenched against the
pain in his foot, but he barely noticed for the fury that was
rising within him. The haze of his nap was gone, replaced by the
memory of what he had seen and the promises he had made.

“
My lady,” Valati Lareno
called, “where are you going? The inn is in the opposite direction,
and you should have an escort. I sent someone to fetch your man. He
should be here in a few minutes.” He followed Dasen up the hill
accompanied by a half-dozen counselors and initiates.

“
I’m not going to the
inn,” Dasen growled. “I promised the people at that camp that I
would speak with the governor, and that is exactly what I intend to
do.”

“
My lady,” Valati Lareno
wove scandal into his too-loud voice, “you cannot just storm the
fortress of Gorin and make demands of the governor.”

Even through his anger,
Dasen realized how carefully those words had been chosen. He did
not bother to respond. He realized how the valati was manipulating
him, knew that he was doing exactly what that weasel wanted, but it
was also the right thing to do. It was the thing that Lady Esther
would do. It was what he should have done when he toured his
father’s mills. As Dasen, he was sure that he would not have the
courage required to stand up to a governor with unlimited power,
but Lady Esther was a different creature. She was strong, sure,
immortal. Who knew that make-up and a dress could be such powerful
armor?

The path to the fortress
was winding, steep, and longer than it appeared. Dasen hobbled past
close-trimmed hedges interspersed with rose bushes, under low,
flowering trees, through pointless trestles covered in red ivy with
his holy entourage in tow. With each step, Valati Lareno implored
him to reconsider, told him all the laws and rules he was breaking,
warned him of the risks he was taking. Each comment was nearly
yelled as if he hoped to proclaim them to the entire city when it
was only a half-dozen of his own people who could possibly hear his
exhortations.

Dasen reached the top of
the hill almost entirely out of breath. He brought his hands to his
knees and gasped to recover the air required for the tirade he
planned for the surely recalcitrant guards he would find protecting
the metal gate between the garden path and the main wall of the
fortress. He looked up expecting to see the guard’s lowered spears.
Instead, he found the face of the governor.

“
Lady Esther?” the
governor said, surprise clear. He looked around himself on the
other side of the rot iron gate, at the four guards and old man
that accompanied him, then at the half-dozen soldiers in the
garden, and finally past Dasen to the holy men in his wake. “Did
you think I meant for us to dine
tonight
?” His eyes studied Lady
Esther from top to bottom in the light of the lamps that hung on
either side of the gate. Two of his guards lifted the lamps they
carried to illuminate the subject of their leader’s
attention.

“
What are you wearing?” he
asked with honest surprise. “Why, you are filthy. You look like a
soldier coming off campaign. What kind of trouble have my friends
from the temple been getting you into?” He stared long at Valati
Lareno, who had taken a place several paces below Dasen.

“
I’ve been to your camp,”
Dasen spat, finally recovering his breath and moving past his
shock. He was still speaking through the cloth and almost ripped it
away before remembering that he almost certainly had a full day of
unobscured stubble beneath.

“
Oh,” the governor
replied. His small smile fell, and his eyes became uncertain. “It
was my understanding that only the valati and a few of his people
would be going to the camp. If I had known, I would have insisted
that you remain here. It is, I am afraid, no place for a lady. I
hope that you were not molested in any way. It is my understanding
that it is very nearly lawless.”

“
It is an abomination,”
Dasen yelled. “It is a sacrilege against the Order. It is an
affront to everything these Unified Kingdoms are meant to be.”
Dasen approached the gate as he yelled, causing the guards to block
his way. Two of them moved to restrain him. He looked down at their
hands moving toward him then at their faces. They seemed to
reconsider the wisdom of touching a noble woman without her
permission, no matter the need.