The Outworlder (13 page)

“I did.” He glanced up as Jared slid into the
seat across from them, setting a mug of ale in front of Sahara and
reserving one for himself. “Your girl’s pretty brave, Jared,” Rafe
said. “To stand up there in front of a hostile crowd and preach
open rebellion against the Dragon-Lords. Pretty damn brave.”

Jared’s eyes flickered at Sahara over the rim
of his mug as he took a sip of his ale, and then he shook his head
curtly. “She’s not my girl.”

“I’m nobody’s girl,” Sahara added hotly.

Even in the gloom, Sahara saw the grin that
flashed across Rafe’s face. His teeth were white and straight,
striking against the bronze of his skin. “Okay,” he said. “But in
all seriousness, I was hoping to speak with the two of you. I think
I might be able to help.”

“Really?” said Jared. “What did you have in
mind?”

Rafe leaned forward over the table and peered
around the tavern. Everyone had resumed their own business and no
one seemed to realize that Sahara and Jared were still in the
room.

“These people are complacent,” he said.
“That’s what happens when evil is around you all the time—you get
used to it. You learn to live with it. It’s how we survive.” He saw
Sahara bristle in protest, and he laid a hand on her forearm. “Not
everyone is able to fight all the time,” he said. “Most people,
especially the ones with families, are happy to live by the beehive
so long as no one kicks it.”

Sahara jerked her arm out from under his
hand. Rafe looked at Jared as if seeking an explanation, but Jared
didn’t offer one.

“Get to the point, Rafe. What can you do to
help us?” Jared asked.

“Well, as I said, most people can go along to
get along. And as long as nothing seems to be wrong, they’ll be
hard to persuade that they should do things any differently. You
need something to wake them up. They need to feel that the danger
exists…and they need to know that we have a real chance of success
this time.”

“Oh, is that all?” Jared said, rotating the
base of his mug on the table. “You have any idea how to make that
happen?”

Rafe grinned again. “Of course I have an
idea! You two know the terrain west of the city. Hell, Sahara’s
been further in that direction than anyone here…even you, Jared.
And everyone knows that you’re the only one who dares to scout out
that way.”

“What’s your point?” Sahara asked, her
impatience finally getting the better of her.

“Just this. Everyone also knows that the
Dragon-Lords regularly send out scouts into that region to make
sure we’re staying in our place.”

“That’s why I’m the only one who dares to go
out there,” Jared said.

“Exactly. But what do you say to the notion
that we three venture that way and do a little hunting?”

Sahara’s eyes widened as she realized what he
was suggesting. “You mean go out there and kill one of their
scouts?”

“Exactly.”

Jared gave a low whistle. “And the advantage
of doing this would be…?”

“Think about it. If we can kill one of those
scouts and bring back the proof, people will see the evidence that
they’re basically imprisoned within the city. They’ll also see that
we did something about it. And besides, it will kick the beehive.
Once the Dragon-Lords discover that one of their scouts has been
killed, I don’t think they’ll take it quietly.”

“So we’re forcing the issue to a head,”
Sahara said. “Making action necessary.”

“Yes.”

Sahara watched Jared as he turned his mug
slowly on the table. She felt like she could almost hear the
movement of his thoughts, the tracing out of possibilities until
they led to one inevitable question.

“What if this backfires, Rafe?” Jared asked
at last. “What if Arnauld and the other lords consider us
warmongers and traitors for inciting conflict with the
Dragon-Lords? Or worse.”

“Well, Arnauld has to think about the safety
of his wife. If the Dragon-Lords come to demand payment for the
water, it will be too late for us to do anything about it. Your
girl’s right about that much. Aliya will have to go...or the entire
city will be destroyed.” Rafe paused, then added, “I think that in
itself will sway him to our plan.”

“Then you think we should tell them first?”
Sahara asked. “I thought this was going to be a secret
mission!”

“Of course we should tell them first,” said
Rafe. “Otherwise, as Jared says, we’ll be taken for warmongers and
traitors. The council meets tomorrow, and I say we put it to them
then.”

“The sooner the better,” said Jared. “By my
reckoning, a scout should be patrolling the western dunes in three
days. I was planning to be there anyway.”

“So that’s where you go when you vanish
without telling anyone!” Sahara cried. “You go to spy on the spies,
is that it?”

Jared grinned at her. “I’ve been charting
their patrol routes for almost two years now. They’re not too
bright, these scouts. Their routines are extremely regular—the same
path on the same day at the same time. Three days from now, he’ll
be there.”

“And, God willing, so will we,” said
Rafe.

The council hall was filled to capacity. As
Arnauld called the men to order, Sahara studied the room. It was
clad in dark wood and the ceiling was made of panels of stained
glass. They seemed to be depictions of moments in Silesian history,
but Sahara could not decipher their meaning. Only one—the final
panel in the series—held any relevance for her. It showed a city
consumed in fire and an enormous dragon crouched on the summit of
the mountains.

I guess they’re called Dragon-Lords for a
reason
, she thought.
There’s always a dragon, at the end.
Always.

The light that filtered down on them through
these ceiling tiles was a wash of colors, providing sufficient
light to see clearly, but without the blinding glare and heat of
the midmorning sun.

The council members took their places around
three sides of the heavy table, with Arnauld seated in a richly
carved chair in the center. Sahara, Jared, and Rafe sat alone on
the other side of the table. Sahara felt like she’d been summoned
before the bar of judgment.

Her breath caught in her chest as the shard
of a memory erupted into her consciousness.

“
We sentence you to life on the desert
planet of Silesia for your crimes and your insurrection.”

The voices of the Dragon-Lords rolled over
her like a suffocating wave, drowning her in the darkness. She
stood in the center of the oubliette, hands pinioned behind her in
iron chains. She couldn’t see the Council, but she could hear
them.

In a way, it was a triumph. She was dangerous
enough to warrant it. And maybe someone else would be inspired to
take up the work where she’d left off.

Life in a labor camp? She raised her head
slowly. It might not be so bad…or so long. She would find a way to
escape. And when she did, she would make them pay.

“Are you okay?” Jared whispered, nudging her
with his elbow.

Sahara came suddenly back to herself, to the
council chamber of Albadir. She drew a shaking breath and
nodded.

“Hold it together,” Rafe murmured on her
other side. “We haven’t even been asked to speak yet.”

Sahara wanted to tell him to go to hell, but
she bit her tongue. He had no idea that she wasn’t suffering from
nerves.

While Arnauld gave his long opening
statement, full of updates about crops and the timetable for the
autumn harvest, she studied the simple banner that hung on the wall
behind him. It was emblazoned with the sign of the three-leaved
flower that Sahara had seen in the library.

It must mean something significant
,
she thought.
It’s not just a pretty flower. It has to be more
than that.

The other three walls were dressed with huge
maps. The immense amount of blank space on the maps still amazed
Sahara—only Albadir and the northern mountains were drawn with any
clarity. Hazy sketches hinted at the geography to the south and
east of the city, and the space to the west of the dunes was
utterly blank.

Didn’t they explore their world
before?
she wondered.
Or is this just really all that’s
left?

“My lords,” Arnauld said, finally drawing his
monologue to a close, “we are gathered today to consider two
things: first, the plans for the autumn festival, and second, a
proposal which Jared Alareth and Rafe Margolis wish to put before
you.”

“My lord?” Rafe’s voice was clear, even
commanding. Sahara glanced up at him in surprise. She hadn’t
expected him to speak with so much authority.

“Speak your thought, Rafe,” Arnauld said.

“I ask you and the council to consider first
our proposal, and then turn to this more trivial matter of the
autumn festival.”

“The autumn festival is no triviality!”
boomed a voice from the right side of the table. A stout man with a
wizened head scowled at them from beneath huge bushy eyebrows. “I
object to that remark!”

“Your pardons, all—and especially you, my
lord Horatio —but it is trivial compared to the matter which Jared
and I have for your consideration.”

Horatio subsided with a gruff mutter about
“young rascals” and their “scheming.” Sahara breathed a sigh of
relief and almost smiled. They were past the first hurdle.

“Proceed, then, Rafe,” said Arnauld, sitting
down and yielding him the floor.

Rafe stood. “My lords, Jared and I mean to
travel to the western desert with the outworlder Sahara. We will go
at least as far as the dunes, if not beyond.”

“What is this, another of Jared’s madcap
cartographer’s missions?” asked a fair-haired lord with a heavy
silver ring on his thumb.

Jared rose. “No, Marcus, we‘re not traveling
to fill in the blank spaces on the map. Not this time.”

“Then what is your purpose, and why do you
require our approval?” asked Arnauld.

Sahara took a breath, then leaned forward and
drove her knife into the table so viciously that everyone around
the table jumped and gasped. Then she sat back, smiling.

“Because we’re going hunting.”

There was a long silence, and everyone stared
at the curved blade and ivory handle of Sahara’s dagger, the point
buried at least an inch deep in the table.

Arnauld, never taking his eyes off the knife,
asked, “Hunting for what, dare I ask?”

“A Dragon-Lord scout, my lord,” answered
Rafe.

Arnauld’s eyes flickered up to rest on the
young man’s face. “You know what this will mean? If you find one
and kill him?”

“Of course,” said Jared. “That’s why we’re
going.”

Arnauld glanced at Jared and remarked with an
edged voice, “Aren’t your gifts better suited to minstrelsy and
long hours in the library, Jared?”

“Minstrelsy!” exclaimed Sahara under her
breath, glancing up at Jared in surprise.

Jared inclined his head in the slightest hint
of a bow. “My lord, it’s true that I am a man of many talents. I
know herbs, I draw maps, I study history, I sing lays, I can
survive in the desert. But I have never neglected the art of the
sword. And I will prove it on any man who dares claim
otherwise.”

His eyes flashed at the other lords around
the table, and no one dared to meet his gaze.

Sahara bit her lower lip. She had never seen
Jared look as fierce or as lordly as he did at that moment, and she
was suddenly intensely proud of him. Proud, and curious.

A minstrel!
she thought.
I wonder
if he would sing to me?

Rafe interrupted her thoughts by speaking
again. “My lords, we seek the consent of this council to proceed on
this mission. Will you give it?”

“I most heartily object!” Horatio thundered,
bringing a ponderous ruddy fist down on the table. “What kind of
fool nonsense is this? Why, you’ll bring the whole contingent of
Dragon-Lords and their minions down on our heads, you half-witted
rascals!”

“No need for name-calling,” said Jared
smoothly. “We all know that it’s only a matter of time before they
come to exterminate us anyway.”

Noises of surprise burst out around the table
and Horatio articulated them. “No, we don’t all know that!” he
protested. “We’ve lived in peace here for almost ten years! Why
should that change now?”

“Seven,” corrected Rafe. “It’s only been
seven years.”

“So what, curse you! For seven years we’ve
lived in peace! We cannot know the future, but one thing is
certain: if you do this, you will bring destruction down on our
heads. We have built a life here!”

“It’s built on sand,” said Sahara. “If the
Dragon-Lords come tomorrow and claim their ancient right of a
blood-offering and slaves, what will happen to this life you’ve
built? It will crumble before your eyes. But if you take the future
in your own hands, you can make it what you will. Force their hand!
Make them act before they’re ready! We will make them pay for their
tyranny!”

“It can’t be done,” said Arnauld softly.
“What you offer us as a possibility is, in fact, an
impossibility.”

“If we seek them on their own ground, then
yes, it is,” said Rafe. “But not if we can draw them out!”

“And what if you fail to draw them out,
Rafe?” asked Arnauld, still speaking very low. “What then?”

“I’ll tell you what then!” Horatio
interjected. “Then we’ll have a massacre on our hands! They’ll come
for us in their own good time, and we’ll be no better off than we
were before!”

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” said Jared.
“We will be better off! We’ll have roused ourselves from this
sleepy existence, where we accept each day as it comes, how it
comes, without ever questioning whether there might be a better
way. Without ever acknowledging the fragility of our own
future.”

“Everyone knows how fragile our future is,”
said Marcus quietly. “Why do you think we live only for today?”