The Silver Lake (28 page)

Outside, although the last morning of Havo’s Dance officially marked the beginning of High Spring, the air was cold and smelled heavy and damp. Taking a seat on the long, marble bench beside Elif, Brax looked out across the rows of warriors gathering before him and shivered as the sense of anticipation grew. To keep from fidgeting, he ran silently through the list of Morning Invocations—and possible trade opportunities—that Cindar had taught him years before. Speaking almost absently to Estavia’s presence within him, he felt Her give a very un-Godlike snort as he began with the green-and-brown God of the Seasons.

Havo at dawn.

“The priests of Havo climb to the highest minarets at the very first hint of day,”
he
began. “They can see down on the entire city so it’s not too smart to do business until after they’ve come back down.”

Another snort.

First Oristo, and then Usara after Havo.

“Their priests sing inside
—
the Hearth God’s in the kitchens, the Healing God’s in the infirmaries. It’s pretty hard to sneak a meal at Oristo’s and the food at Usara’s is usually pretty bland ‘cause it’s for sick people. I dunno why. Maybe sick people’d throw up if they ate better food.”

A thread of amusement feathered through his mind, followed by a sudden spark of interest as She anticipated his words.

After Usara, Estavia.

“Your warriors worship outside—but I guess You knew that—in front of their garrisons and towers.” A
mental tweak made him shrug.
“All right, in front of our garrisons and towers,”
he amended.
“Anyway, this is the best time to make a quick snatch and grab when there‘s only merchants around to chase you, but you need to
be
long gone before they’re done ’cause the city garrison patrols can come after you pretty fast. ”

The warmth of the Battle God’s pleasure blossomed in his chest, but ebbed again as he continued.

Next Ystazia.

“All the Art God’s people sing—not just the priests—and mostly they do it inside their workshops and studios, although the potters like to sing beside their kilns. Again, it’s a poor time to visit these places ‘cause they’re standing over their shine. Besides, musical instruments and books are too hard to sell off, anyway,”
he added thoughtfully.

An image of a blacksmith’s shop filled his mind.

“Weapons and armor are even harder to sell,”
he explained.
“They’re too big and too heavy to hide for long.”

He sensed Her satisfaction with his answer and continued.

Finally, Incasa.

“This is the worst time to do a job, plan it, or even think about planning it. The priests of Prophecy worship all over the place, sometimes in the temples, sometimes outside, sometimes in large groups, sometimes in small. And they can read your mind when they pray. Most lifters eat
or crap,” he added, almost as an afterthought,
“when Incasa’s people sing. It’s safest.”

Estavia snickered, then returned Her attention to Her warriors as the last of them filed into place and, warmer now, Brax listened as the final notes of Usara’s Invocation sounded in the distance. Beside him Spar shifted nervously and he squeezed his hand.

“Here it comes.”

Before him, the warriors froze as still as statues as the hollow clank of iron-shod hooves against cobblestones heralded the arrival of Marshal Brayazi on the biggest, blackest horse Brax had ever seen. Staring out at them for a single breath, she drew her sword. Then, rising up in the saddle, she sang the first clear, piercing note of the Battle God’s Invocation. The echoing voice across the strait sounded as much within his head as without and, far away, he could feel Estavia shaking off the watery confines of Gol-Beyaz like a dog shaking off sleep.

The wind picked up. It ruffled through the hair of those infantry who stood helmetless and whipped through the cloaks of the riders behind. Brax saw Kemal’s head tip back, then Yashar‘s, and unconsciously echoed the movement as the pressure of the God’s response began to tighten his muscles. He found that he was holding his breath and forced himself to breathe deeply.

The marshal sang the second note, the third, and the fourth, and the hair on the back of his neck began to rise. The sky darkened. Convulsively clenching and unclenching his fists, he rubbed his knuckles against his knees, unable to sit still as the God’s growing presence began to sizzle through his veins like a stream of tiny fire ants. Around him, the rest of the seated shifted impatiently, then, as a sudden tremor ran through those standing, the warriors swept their swords from their sheaths.

A single shout from the marshal and the God of Battles burst into being above their heads.

The power of Her manifested form hit Brax like a hurricane, slamming both in and out of his body at the same time and jerking him into the air as Estavia towered above him like a colossus, a thousand times more frightening and more powerful than She’d been on Liman-Caddesi. Streaks of red flame shot from Her twirling swords to etch a crimson path along the blades of her followers and he suddenly screamed in pain as a bolt of lightning shot down his right arm, across his chest, and out the fingers of his left hand. As it burned a path of flames through his body, a thousand stars exploded in his head.

Time twisted around him. He saw a man bathed in silver light commanding lines of warriors on a hundred battlefields; saw them calling to their God to come and fight with them and felt Her joyful, savage answer as She thundered down upon their enemies. He saw towers and battlements overlooking fields and villages, and a great, snaking wall of stone and power that wrapped about a silver lake so bright it burned his eyes to look at it. He saw a tiny, mounted host in the distance led by a figure surrounded by shining lights, saw the spirits of the wild lands forcing their way through the walls of Anavatan season after season until they burst through in a flood of murderous need and saw himself as a man, both armed and armored, taking the field against them. He saw a child of power hovering on the edge of being, but as he reached for it, he was snatched away and driven down into the frigid, mist-covered waters of Gol-Beyaz.

His breath froze in his lungs, his vision blurred, but just before everything went dark, he felt himself caught up in the embrace of a God. Warmth flooded back into his body. He looked up into Estavia’s face and felt a peace and a stillness greater than even death could have delivered. She held him cradled in Her arms for what seemed like an eternity, then, Her red eyes glowing down at him with a possessive love so powerful it nearly shredded his mind, She slammed him back into his body so hard he felt his teeth drive through his lower lip. His back arched and, as blood sprayed from his mouth, he saw Cyan Company break ranks and rush toward him. Then everything went black.

He awoke in an unfamiliar room looking up into the branches of a huge green tree. For a long moment he stared up at it, trying to remember what was wrong about trees growing inside, then he tried to speak. He managed a harsh croak.

“Wha ...”

Faces swan into his vision, Spar, Kemal, Yashar, and ... Jaq.

The dog swiped at his face with his tongue and Brax shoved him away with more strength then he expected.

“Get outta here, dog!”

Spar placed one protective hand around Jaq’s neck as Yashar chuckled.

“Well, that answers one question: he’s alive and none the worse for wear.”

Kemal crouched down by the side of the bed.

“How do you feel, Delin?”

Brax closed his eyes. How did he feel?

“All burned up,” he answered.

“Are you in pain?

He blinked in surprise. He wasn’t. Even the injuries on his face and arm felt better. “Not ... really. Just ... kinda scraped.”

“Hm.”

Kemal sat back on his heels as Brax ran one fingertip across where the gash on his lip should have been but wasn’t.

“All right, not so scraped.” He glanced around. “How long have I been here?”

“Over an hour.”

“Kemal carried you here after your ... experience in the courtyard,” Yashar supplied.

“Experience?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember. She held me.”

The two men exchanged a suddenly worried look.

“How did she hold you?” Kemal asked gently.

Brax shrugged. “I dunno ... just ... Why? Does it matter?”

“Sometimes. How did you feel when She held you?”

“Peaceful. Safe.”

“Alive?” Yashar asked.

“What kinda question is that?”

“An important one, Brax,” Kemal answered. “Estavia is the God of Battles ...”

“... Not known for nurturing behavior,” Yashar added. “Unless you’re dead. Or ...” he glanced over at Kemal, then shrugged. “... about to die. Sometimes She’ll send one of Her warriors—one of Her favorites usually—a premonition of death.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would She do that?”

The older man shrugged. “To prepare them, maybe, or to welcome them to Her embrace. I don’t really know.”

“Is that what it felt like, Brax?” Kemal asked again.

He made a dismissive gesture. “No. It was more like She was saving me.”

“So you didn’t see or smell anything unusual? Roses or maybe tulips?”

“What? No.” He tipped his head to one side then gave a lopsided grin. “So, you think I’m one of Her favorites?”

Kemal stood as Yashar rolled his eyes. “I can’t think why you might be,” the older man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re already as argumentative, overconfident, and arrogant as any of them.”

Brax frowned. “How many more are there?”

Kemal shook his head. “That’s not the point ...”

“Kem,” Yashar gave a slight jerk of his head as Kaptin Julide entered the infirmary. As they straightened, she gave a sharp nod their way before glancing over at Brax.

“Ghazis.”

“Kaptin.”

“How is he?”

“Recovering,” Kemal allowed cautiously.

“The God gave him quite a ride,” Yashar added.

“Yes.” She looked him up and down with an appraising expression. “What does the physician say?”

“He hasn’t been in since he woke up, but he’ll probably tell him to rest,” Kemal replied dryly. “No doubt,” the kaptin agreed, ignoring his tone. “Well, he has a week.”

“Kaptin?”

“The council’s made their decision. Based on this morning’s
events,
they’ve agreed the delon are favored by the God and should remain with us, and yes, before you ask, specifically with Cyan Company, and even more specifically with you as
your
delon. You’ll begin their training at once and they’ll accompany you when you leave for Anahtar-Hisar a week from today.” She caught them both in a firm-eyed stare. “Congratulations, Ghazis. You’re abayon. Raise your delon well and make your company proud. I’m sure they’ll have a lot to say about how you do it.”

As she turned to leave, Brax raised himself up painfully “Kaptin?”

“Yes, Brax-Delin?”

Momentarily distracted by the casual endearment, Brax shook his head. “The spirits,” he said after a moment. “The ones that are attacking the unsworn?”

“What about them?”

“What are we doing about them?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “We are consulting with the other five temples in formulating a strategy against them.”

“What can
they
do?” he muttered, sinking down under the sheets again, ignoring Kemal’s frown.

“They can gather intelligence. A warrior that runs headlong against an enemy without it swiftly becomes a corpse,” the kaptin admonished and Brax nodded reluctantly.

“I guess so.”

“You need to learn both patience and cooperation,” she added. “I’ll leave that impossible task in the hands of your new abayon. Ghazis.”

With one last glance at Kemal and Yashar, she turned and left the infirmary. The two men exchanged a slightly shocked look before turning to the boys. Spar’s features were carefully neutral, but Brax’s expression was already abstracted.

He narrowed his eyes.

Why did that seem so familiar?

His mind shied away from the images, afraid of the icy backlash that had come after, and he pushed the fear away with an impatient mental shove. She loved him; he was one of Her favorites, and no icy plunge into Gol-Beyaz or possible premonition of death was going to change that. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he looked up at Kemal.