The Silver Lake (46 page)

Nearly hysterical by now, Spar’s mind hurled outward, seeking help from someone, from anyone he could trust. Streaking down the paths of memory, it hit Tanay’s sleeping mind like a thunderbolt, almost throwing her from her pallet. The force of it awakened first Oristo deep in Gol-Beyaz, then First Abayos-Priest Neclan, before it ricocheted back toward him. He cried out, and then the image of a frail old woman seated in a room of warm wood and colored glass rose up to steer the vision in the proper direction, and suddenly at Serin-Koy’s Usara-Cami, a blank-faced man with Bayard’s features sat bolt upright in his bed. For an instant he and Spar locked eyes, then, with an almost physical jolt, the man caught up the boy’s latent ability and hurled it toward the shining net of Battle-Seer Elif’s prophetic sight hovering above her sleeping form at Estavia-Sarayi. The old woman’s cataract-filled eyes snapped open to stare into Spar‘s, and then she whipped out one mental hand toward him.

Almost crying with relief, he caught it.

The vision tumbled over him and through him, falling faster and faster like the stones of the collapsing wall he’d first seen, but this time they did not fall before the eyes of a frightened and inexperienced child, but those of a cunning and powerfully dangerous battle-seer. With an impatient gesture, Elif stripped the subterfuge and extraneous details from the vision, called up one clear image: a horde of Yuruk attacking Yildiz-Koy, then banished it. It vanished like so much mist in a windstorm and the last thing Spar saw before the peaceful darkness of a dreamless sleep came over him was Elif thrusting the vision into the sleeping mind of Kaptin Liel with the metaphysical equivalent of a smack to the back of the head. As Sable Company’s most powerful seer jerked awake in surprise, Elif and Spar allowed themselves the pleasure of one cynical snort.

Far away in Cvet Tower, Illan Dmitriviz Volinsk nodded in satisfaction. Although his little seer had—very skillfully he admitted—managed to keep his figurine from the board for the moment, the game had only just begun. All that mattered now was that the Warriors of Estavia were moving in the direction he desired. Returning to his place before his window, he stared out at the moonlit waves as the warm breeze returned to whisper playfully about his face.

THREE DAYS LATER, four barges carrying two hundred archers and infantry set out from Anahtar-Hisar. Three made for the eastern shore to pick up reservists from Caliskan, Camus and Adasi-Koy while the fourth, carrying Estavia’s newest Champion, went west to Ekmir, Kenor, Kepe, and Serin-Koy. Picking his way carefully along the crowded deck, Brax supposed that he should be thankful that the complement of Bronze Company cavalry had ridden out the day before. The return trip was already three times longer than the journey south had been—then it had just been a question of filling the sails, now it took a line of rowers on either side of the barge to fight their way north—but at least they weren’t doing it covered in horse shit.

“The current’s stronger in High Spring,” the barge-mate had explained the first day. “That’s when the Gods are at Their...” he’d paused for dramatic emphasis... “friskiest like everything else.”

Brax had shot him a look cynical enough to impress even Spar, but hadn’t been able to resist leaning over the side to see if he could spot any... friskiness going on. There had been nothing but tiny bubbles rising from the smooth surface, just like the last time, and both Kemal and Yashar had laughed at him.

“It has nothing to do with the Gods,”
Kemal had explained.
“The upper current runs north-south, remember, and with so many people on board, it’s natural that it would take longer.”

Brax had just shrugged. He hadn’t been particularly interested in anything Kemal’d had to say to him right then. Squeezing into a small spot at the larboard railing, he stared back at the receding turrets of Alev-Hisar, the tower both Kinor and Kepe-Koy shared, remembering the frenzy that had gripped Anahtar-Hisar when they’d heard the news: the Yuruk were planning a raid on the village of Yildiz-Koy and one third of the garrison was being deployed to meet the threat. Including Kemal and Yashar. Brax had been wildly excited about the prospect of carrying out his promise to Estavia so soon, but the older of their two abayon had squashed his mood almost immediately.

“You’ll only be coming with us as far as Serin-Koy.”

“What?”

Yashar cut off Brax’s budding protest with a short chop of one hand. “No arguments, Delin. This is battle, not practice, and you’re still far too young.”

“I can stay at the back.”

“There is no back; only the last line of defense.”

“Other delinkon go into battle.”

“Not at your level of training.”

“But...”

“No. You’ll remain behind in Serin-Koy with Bayard and your new kardon. End of discussion.”

“There’ll be plenty of battles to come,” Kemal added, trying to take the sting from the decision. “There’s no need to face them all at once.”

“I told Her I would fight for Her,” Brax answered between clenched teeth.

“And so you will, when you’re old enough.”

Seething with resentment, Brax made to protest again; then the God touched his mind with the faintest of caresses and he bit the words back at once. Kemal eyed him suspiciously, but ignoring the penetrating look, Brax simply turned on his heel and left the room.

Some time later, Spar and Jaq found him standing on a low spot on the God-Wall, shooting arrows at a straw target with a dark expression on his face. The younger boy crossed his arms, his own expression demanding an explanation for Brax’s sudden acquiescence, and the older boy just shrugged.

“She told me to wait,” he said simply, fitting another arrow to his bowstring.

Spar’s eyes narrowed.

“She did. She told me to wait.”

Something moved behind the younger boy’s eyes for an instant, and Brax cocked his head to one side.

“What?”

Pulling one of Jaq’s ears, Spar just shook his head.

“No, really, what?”

“Nothing.”

Now it was Brax’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Yeah, so, how come you’ve got that ‘gotta take a piss’ look on your face?”

Spar showed his teeth at him, then shrugged. “I was just wondering ...” he began, then paused again.

“What? Where the latrine is?”

“When you started obeying anyone on the first order,” the younger boy snapped.

Brax snickered. “Since now. I guess I’m just more mature these days.” Laughing at Spar’s familiar sneer, he unstrung his bow. “I had to talk to Estavia and do some thinking,” he allowed, “and I couldn’t do either with everyone flying about like bees around a hive someone had just kicked over, now could I?”

Spar gave his usual one-shouldered shrug. “So, what’re we doing, then?” he asked.

“About what?”

“About Serin-Koy?”

“What about Serin-Koy?”

Spar gave an annoyed snort. “Are. We. Going?” he asked tightly.

“ ‘Course we are.” Brax jumped down. “Kemal and Yashar are our abayon now, like Cindar was, yeah? So, we do what they tell us to do, but ...” he held up one finger, “we keep our eyes and our ears open, just like in the old days.” His expression grew serious. “And if you get any bad feelings about anything at all, you tell me right away and we go to ground. Just like in the old days, too. Got it?” When Spar nodded, he threw his arm over his shoulder. “All right, then, let’s go play nice and let them think I was just off sulking.”

Spar shot him a cynical glance and he laughed.

“Don’t be an idiot.” As the sound of their names filtered out to them, he jerked his head toward the tower. “C‘mon. They probably want us to practice not going into battle today.”

Although his expression had remained doubtful, the younger boy’d allowed Brax to draw him back to Anahtar-Hisar and Brax’d smiled in satisfaction. They would go to Serin-Koy, just as he’d told Spar they would, but the God had a plan for him—he could feel it—and if She told him to go to Yildiz-Koy, he would go, whether their new abayon said he could or not. But at least this way Spar would be safe.

Now, looking out at the western shore, it seemed impossible to believe that they could be hurrying toward battle on such a perfect day. The grain fields beyond the villages were awash with the pale green spread of new growth and the distant hills already looked lush and wild. If he stared long enough, he could almost see each blade of grass and each tiny blue-and-yellow wildflower stretching all the way out to the horizon. Everything was so still, so peaceful, and so ... he felt his chest tighten ... open. He swallowed, his throat dry. Anyone could see you out there in that huge empty place with all that sky. How could anyone live and work out there without feeling horribly ... stared at.

Suddenly wishing he was back home amidst the safe, concealing buildings and wharves of Anavatan, he turned away, concentrating on the crowded deck until his heart stopped pounding. Around him, the warriors of Cyan Company played dice or dozed in the warm afternoon sun, content to treat the journey like an extended leave. Even Spar was curled up asleep, arms wrapped around Jaq, unconcerned about the future. Taking a deep breath, he thrust the sense of panic away.

Don’t be stupid,
he chided himself.
She wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you. So shut up, calm down, and get some sleep.

Reaching in to touch the comforting warmth of the God’s presence, he slid down until his back pressed against the railing and made himself close his eyes.