The Rebellion (7 page)

“There’s no possibility of us chasing after this gypsy and just handing the woman over as if it were a public play,” I said sharply.

Matthew flushed and his shield slammed into place. “Ye said ye’d give her to her people, an he mun be one of them.”

“And so I will, but discreetly.”
If she lives
, I thought.
And if I can find them
.

Matthew let out a formless exclamation of surprise, dragging me back from my worries. We had reached the top of a
long rise, and Sutrium lay before us in the blighted light of the gathering storm.

It had grown much bigger than I remembered, spreading farther west until it joined up with settlements along the side of the Suggredoon River and stretching east and north into straggling outlying districts and farmlands. Beyond the city lay the great sea.

In some ways, Sutrium was not unlike the coastal town of Aborium. We had journeyed there on the very expedition that had led to the rescue of the empath-coercer Dragon. Whether it was my imagination or the knowledge that Sutrium was the home of the main Councilcourt, it seemed a dark and menacing place.

Unlike Aborium, there were no watchtowers. It was too big for such things to be of any use. But in any case, there was no need, since there were three huge soldierguard camps on the city outskirts. One lay slightly inland on the banks of the Suggredoon; another closer to the sea, near the ferry port; and the third to the east, among the farmlands.

How would the very first Councilmen, who had sworn not to follow in the steps of the Beforetimers, view the sprawling city? I wondered. Surely all their fears that humans might tread the same doomed path of progress would be realized at the sight of it. In my mind’s eye, I saw for a moment the shadowy, half-drowned city beneath Tor.

Thunder sounded again, and as if it were some heavenly signal, Gahltha emerged like a shadow from a thick copse of Ara trees a little way down the slope. He waited, a dark shape against the pale speckled trunks and tremulous clouds of foliage, until Jaygar brought us close.

“The way to the funaga-li barud is not watched by danger,” the black equine sent in his stringent mental voice.
“Funaga” was the closest rendering of the beast thought symbol for human. The form used by Gahltha was subtly derogatory, for though the old acid bitterness had vanished from his nature, there were still traces of it when he considered humans outside of Obernewtyn.

“It would be wise for ElspethInnle to ride this equine,” Gahltha sent. “Only the funaga walk without shackles/burdens in this place.”

“Wait a moment,” I sent, and climbed into the back of the cart to change my skirt for trousers. Coming out again, I stood up on the wagon’s bench seat, and the black horse came alongside, allowing me to transfer smoothly to his bare back.

Sensing his approval at the ease of my mounting, I felt smug. Gahltha had taught me to ride as gypsies did. And there had been many times during his painful lessons that I had felt certain they were simply a sadistic way to murder me. Yet I had survived, and there were few now at Obernewtyn who could match my skill. In fairness, that was because few rode as frequently. None among us rode a horse except at its invitation, since all thinking beasts were regarded as equal to human-folk. I would as soon ask Matthew to carry me as ask one of the equines. Horses took part in expeditions at their own choosing, masquerading as beasts of burden. They never carried humans otherwise, except at great need.

Gahltha was the exception.

After bringing me from the high mountains, he had insisted on going back into them often; whether out of nostalgia or to remind himself of his promises, I never knew. Each time he went, he asked that I ride on his back. At first I had refused, disliking the way it increased the mystique my activities had already woven about me, but his determination had worn me down. And like him, I had come to love the headlong gallops
over the whispering grasses, flattened to his back and feeling as if the two of us were, in those moments, a single wild spirit.

This had the unexpected result of causing the proud Obernewtyn equines to question whether carrying humans must always be a sign of slavery. More than one of the beasts had suggested that a time might come when it would be useful to have Misfits who rode well. The matter was still under discussion among their kind.

“We must be nearin’ th’ outer gate,” Matthew sent as we reached the first shingled dwellings at the outer edge of the sprawling city. He got into the back to cover the woman’s face, and I concentrated on summoning the mental focus I would need to coerce the soldierguards at the city gates if there was any difficulty.

I reached out to take Gahltha’s reins in my fingers as Matthew returned to his seat. My hands and body, like his, were stained a light gypsy tan. Brydda Llewellyn’s mother, Katlyn, who had come to live at Obernewtyn, was a skilled herb lorist, and to aid our most common disguise, she had perfected a dye that simulated gypsy skin tone and that would not wash off easily. Despite prevailing prejudices, it was far safer to move about the Land as homeless gypsies than to pretend to be normal Landfolk, for they rarely traveled.

I concentrated on the disguise, enhancing it slightly with coercion so that people would see a boy in the gypsy clothes—just in case news of the incident at Guanette had spread to Sutrium.

With a mental apology to Gahltha, I pulled the reins tight. They did not drag at his mouth, being a modified bridle that only looked as if it would control and direct a horse. The old bit and bridle were anathema to human and beast alike at Obernewtyn, but even so, I wondered if it would not have
been wiser to use it on expeditions that would take us into the heart of Council territory, where spies would be watching for any deviations.

Well, it was too late now.

To my relief, there was a crowd at the gate; traders and farmers and the odd green-clad jack returning after a day’s work trading outside the city. The number of people lined up to show papers would mean a longish wait but less individual attention.

Approaching the end of the line, we fell in quietly behind the rest, ignoring cheeky signals from a cluster of children. Such a reception was so common for gypsies that we would have stood out if we had reacted to it.

For the most part, the people about us were grim-faced and sour-looking, and many bore the ugly marks of plague survivors. There was no chatter or end-of-day banter, only a brooding silence. People did not look into one another’s eyes, and the few words spoken were punctuated with wary, sliding glances.

It was a timely reminder that Sutrium was a dangerous city, filled with a treachery that must not be underestimated. The main thing was to get past the gate without any sort of fuss that would draw attention to us.

I looked up at the dark clouds, willing the storm to break. The soldierguards would scarcely glance at us if it was pouring rain on their heads.

Jaygar’s mental voice speared into my mind without warning. “I will kill/trample funaga-li!”

As if suddenly mad, the horse began to push his way through people in front of us, dragging in his wake the wagon containing the unconscious gypsy, Maruman, and a helpless Matthew.

5

I
SENT OUT
a coercive mental bolt, forcing Jaygar to a halt. Then I looked around frantically, trying to see what had provoked the normally placid equine to such a dangerous outburst.

I did not need to look far.

My own fury swelled at the sight of a small mare ahead of us trembling under the weight of a load of wood. But what made my blood boil and what had surely incensed Jaygar, was the sight of a fat youth sitting on top of the load, unconcernedly eating a bun.

Even as I watched, the mare staggered sideways under the weight of her burden, and the lout cursed her unsteadiness, whacking her with casual cruelty over the head.

“Release me!” Jaygar raged. “You have no right.”

I did not loosen my mental hold. “I have the right to restrain any beast/funaga who endangers the rest,” I sent, quoting from the expedition charter Rushton had made us draw up over long guildmerge sessions. Jaygar knew as well as I did that Avra had approved it on behalf of the Beastguild. “Now will you obey/calm?”

The horse snorted angrily. “You would risk us/all for an unknown funaga but not for this beast?”

“Risk comes from acting in thoughtless haste,” I gritted. “I
will help the beast my own way. Now, will you obey, or must I waste more time in arguing with you?”

Chastened, Jaygar agreed, and I asked Gahltha to come up beside the mare. To my astonishment, he refused.

“I will not let you endanger yourself,” he sent. “This equine is one alone, and your life’s purpose will save/help many more than one life.”

“She is your kind,” I sent. “Surely you don’t set my life above hers?”

“Protect Innle before/above all,” Gahltha sent.

“Is that what Atthis told you?” I fumed. “Well, I am not Atthis’s servant/slave. I won’t spend my whole life waiting to perform a single deed, Gahltha. Not for you, nor for Atthis. I will do what I can now, because tomorrow might never come. Now take me up beside the mare, or I will get down and walk!”

After a long moment, Gahltha moved forward, but there was an offended stiffness in his bearing. I wished I had the empathy to show him what I felt. So often words said only half of what you wanted to say, even words sent directly from mind to mind. But empathy was the one power I lacked utterly.

As we drew level with the mare, I made myself calm down. I did not want to show an interest that would be remembered later. From the corner of my eye, I noted the exhausted sag of her head and the scars on her knees and fetlocks from previous falls. Taking a deep breath to quiet my outrage, I reached out a probe to examine the bindings on her load. When I detected a weakness, I began to work at it with my mind, backward and forward.

This was exhausting, because the probe had to be densely focused to produce even the slightest physical force, but
anger gave me additional determination, and in a short time, the tie snapped with an audible twang.

The lout on top of the load gave a bellow as he and the wood crashed to the ground.

A second after, a streak of lightning split the sky. People looked up fearfully, ever mindful that this might be a firestorm. But it began to rain, and it was not the burning rain of a firestorm.

The lout got to his feet, red-faced with embarrassment, and flayed the mare viciously. She was so exhausted that she barely flinched under the onslaught.

“Get out of my way,” I said insolently, pushing Gahltha forward to distract him. I blinked to clear the rain from my lashes.

“Halfbreed trash!” he yelled. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Then do something of your own will,” I rejoined promptly. “Show us you can move your fat bum as fast as you flap your lips.”

He stepped forward, lifting his stick to strike me, but Gahltha snorted and reared, pawing the air. The youth cried out in fright and cowered back.

Thunder cracked again and lightning slashed above, shedding an eerie light on the motley crowd as the rain gathered force. The storm created a mental static that interfered with my Talent. I concentrated hard and prayed it would not get any worse.

“What’s going on back here?” demanded the gate soldierguard, striding back along the line.

“The stupid horse lost its load,” the lout blustered. “Then that gypsy tried to set his horse on me. Savage brute of a thing.”

“T’was the lightning affrighted him,” I said, lowering my voice.

“He overloaded the mare and the ropes broke,” a woman said, spurred by a coercive prompt. I did not want the soldierguard to focus his attention too specifically on me.

“Look at the poor thing,” another woman shouted after a mental prod. Then she blinked and looked startled with herself.

“It’s a wonder it didn’t keel over in the very path,” someone else growled of his own accord.

“And what if it did?” the lout demanded truculently. “It’s my property. I’ll kill it right now if I feel like it.” I felt Jaygar’s anger like the sun on my back.