The Year of Our War (28 page)

How could he?

There’s no such thing as honor. Chivalry isn’t real. The walls are crumbling.

I didn’t have anything to put in a will. Wrought manor belongs to Tern, Rayne could have my books, and Lascanne would keep the Filigree Spider. Goodbye, Tern. I began with nothing, and soon I will be nothing again, but now as the Emperor’s Messenger, my highest achievement, I know it’s worth the risk for the Fourlands’ sake.

Where are we now?

I sat with the needle poised, hating the drug, hating myself, then pushed it in slowly. The skin was sensitive and it hurt so much I had to stop, blinking away tears, but then I found a vein and blood climbed up into the barrel.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to do this. Tern, bring your cocoa voice here and murmur me to sleep.

I pushed the plunger down and it started hitting instantaneously. I just had time to pull the needle out—a smear of my blood in the glass—and dropped it as my coordination packed up completely. A streak of warmth gushed into my back, spreading rapidly down my legs to my feet, and burst in my head like a dark explosion. I lay back, wings open, struggling for breath, and I closed my eyes and fell without end, into the darkness, into myself.

S
omething moved. A sound. The sound moved in a dance, pale blue curlicues against a blazing white silence. I tried to speak and moaned a row of gray dots. The blue wisp got broader and darker, like a strip of cloth. It filled my field of sound, and tinted rapidly from sky-blue to a hue that was nearly black.

“Mmm,” I agreed in resonant rouge.

“Do I
have
to
shout
?” Pale blue, black, pale blue, black—Felicitia’s voice. I woke to find myself lying on something green against a hard black surface under a glaringly bright sky.

“He made it,” said Felicitia, bluely.

“Yeh.”

“It’s a hard ride. Take it from me,” Felicitia added.

A powerful hand raised me to my feet. I tottered about and fell over. I got up under my own power, rubbed my eyes and looked around. We were on a grassy lawn a hundred meters long, between two immense but graceful black obsidian walls that stretched straight up without blemish into the sky. The windowless walls had no decoration, and no steps were visible on the outside. They curved away, and I could see that at the farthest extent they swelled into round towers, with tall spires piercing the air. The walls were too smooth for even Genya to climb, the soaring pinnacles more slender than anything the Fourlands could sustain. I recognized Sliverkey Palace.

Felicitia on one side, Delamere on the other, walked me over the yielding grass until I remembered how to use my legs. I said, “Is Dunlin here?”

“Let us go see, my persistent lad.”

“What about the Vermiform?”

“The Captain of the Guard? They’re somewhere around. You have your sword?”

I checked my sword but without much hope for the efficacy of a blade against a million carnivorous worms. We walked around the corner of the building onto more lush lawns, covered with glossy Insects, brown and dark purple with a brassy sheen. Insect bodies were poised immobile on the grass, or frozen chasing in a tidal-wave onslaught on the gatehouse. I caught my breath and hauled at my sword. Felicitia giggled, and I recognized that of course real Insects would not stay still so long.

“The Tine brought those back from the battle,” Felicitia informed me, “and they made sculptures out of them, see? They’re modeling the battles in Insect shells so that Epsilon will always remember.”

We walked to the great entrance, a black archway in the inner wall, and up the stone steps which led through it. On the top step a stripy furry mass lay stretched out. At first I thought it was a rug, perhaps another of the Tine’s trophies, but as we approached I saw its massive haunches and shoulder blades, over which rich orange and black fur rolled with the huge tiger’s breathing. Its liquid eyes were shut, one paw hung over the top step, its tail was tucked underneath its great bulk.

“Step over him,” Felicitia whispered, and as I raised a foot to do so the great beast shot upright, fur on end, and roared, showing a rough pink tongue and a fringe of long white teeth made of string. The tiger was taller than me; as it sat on its haunches, it could look Delamere straight in the eye.

“Who’th there?” it snarled, blinking yellow eyes. “Who approacheth the Palath?”

“If you please,” said Felicitia, “tell His Majesty that Aver-Falconet has brought a delegate from Epsilon to speak with him.”

The tiger eyed me, its whiskers twitching. “I thall. But thay here till I weturn.” It flicked its tail and bounded away noiselessly on soft paws as big as carthorse hooves.

“What was that?” Leigh asked.

“Fiber-toothed tiger. He can’t bite you, it’s like being mauled by fluff, but I’ve seen him pounce the length of the courtroom.”

I waited, fretting and trying to think what I could say to Dunlin, until the tiger gamboled back and slid to a halt. “Come in! Come in! Fortunate favorite of Hith Majethty.”

We followed the tiger, who padded between obsidian columns, its stripy back at the level of my chest and its huge head moving from side to side. I searched the walls to see if Dunlin had added heraldry but there was simply the spotless stone which gleamed as if wet. The passage was so vast I couldn’t see the edges; it was like a hall carved from black ice, the floor so well polished that we could see our reflections in it. The tiger’s image moved like an orange cloud, the Equinne’s bare feet held better on the cold floor than my boots did, but Leigh seemed uncertain of the tiger and hung back behind Felicitia.

At length the Fiber-tooth came to another arch, and sat down outside it. Felicitia raised a hand to its deep fur withers and the beast shook itself. “You may pasth thwew,” it said.

Through the arch I could hear lively talk and flurries of laughter. I thanked the tiger and paced in at once, Felicitia and Delamere behind, to Dunlin’s court.

Hundreds of creatures looked up as we entered. Tigers and Jeopards lounged on tasseled cushions by the wall, some with velvet collars. They turned their heads as I passed, mesmerized by the flaunting feathers in my ponytail, tempted like kittens to bat them with their enormous paws. Long-haired, well-hung Equinnes stood in a group; they bowed muscularly to Delamere. The Equinnes wore little, impossum-fur cloaks trimmed with platinumpus. They proudly carried their tubular weapons at rest on their shoulders.

Tine with lustrous shells stood in the corners of the room, their scimitars razor-sharp, the hilts wound with tendons. There were women I didn’t recognize, with war-painted faces, and blue resin armor.

Leaning against the columns, and round the edge of the stone table, were human soldiers, in mottled green and brown livery. They stopped their chatting as we pushed through, and I was aware of how many were gazing, puzzled, at my wings. A girl with fin-crests fringing her tail, and silver skin like an eel leaned to her friend and whispered; they foundered in bubbly laughter. A gap in the crowd indicated the presence of an invisible creature, a Drogulus. There was a representative of the Sharks, a shabby group of waster-adventurers from Plennish, and eight or nine Market Analysts from the Triskele Corporation.

On the other side of the room were Polyps and some Nasnas—abhorrent beings that look like a man severed longitudinally, and a Hide-Behind, which I can’t describe (of course).

An ebony-skinned Fruiting Body of the Chloryll wore a ball gown made of living leaves. She curtsied as we passed, her dress crackling, underwear of fresh flowers visible beneath. An Equinne delegate winked at her.

Flying animals drifted or hovered in the roof vaults. A motionless creature with stiff metal wings surveyed us with one bulbous glass eye. Dirigibles clustered like toy balloons, paper messages tied to their outgrown legs. Problemmings bounced and jostled against the ceiling, their black eyes like beads peering down. These rodents were lighter than air—they gathered in hordes, threw themselves off the edges of cliffs, and floated up into the sky.

The shaved women in Insect-bitten lacquer armor were the last to make way. I already felt the pressure of the curious crowd thronging close behind me. When they saluted and stepped aside, I saw my emerald-ink map spread on the table. Dunlin was seated behind it, on a solid obsidian throne. I bowed. Delamere bowed. Felicitia curtsied.

“Rhydanne,” Dunlin addressed me, “you know I have no wish to speak to you.” He sat with chin resting on one hand, folds of a mantle pinned at the shoulder, an attitude that reminded me of the Emperor, except for his chain mail and the girth of his arms. A crested helmet sat on top of the throne; a cloth bearing his azure emblem hung there too, its eagle’s wing folded over the armrest.

“I’ve come a long way with an important message,” I said.

“From the Fourlands? Is it a long distance away? Or is it as close as one dying breath?”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but—”

“Jant, I find it hard to speak to the person who stranded me here. Although I cannot deny I’m enjoying life in Sliverkey.” He raised his voice to the crowd, which rumbled approval.

“You have done very well,” I admitted. I had left Sliverkey an empty edifice, and Dunlin’s court was now held where my days of dancing and debauchery had been.

“Jant, look closely. I haven’t copied the Circle, or instigated a rule anywhere near as absolute as that I held in Awia. All I have done is ask these people to help me, and each realized they could make more impact against the Insects by fighting together than alone. We have saved the city of Epsilon!” he said energetically, to a susurration of agreement from the crowd and a cheer from the ardent Equinnes. “Aver-Falconet, take the weight off that broken leg. Come and sit here.” Dunlin indicated an onyx chair at his left side which Felicitia slid onto, smiling broadly. The chair at Dunlin’s right was unoccupied. “Give me your message, Comet, and then leave us.”

“I have a report from the Fourlands,” I said, thinking quickly. “Your Majesty may think of it as a land you’ve left behind, but Insects run from the Shift to the Fourlands, and maybe between any other world as well!”

“How?”

“I’m not sure, Your Majesty. Instinctively. Like I can go any direction in the air when I fly, Insects scurry between worlds without being restricted by their boundaries. They don’t see the difference between them—to Insects, all worlds are one.”

“Via the bridges?” Dunlin said.

One of the resin-clad women banged her ugly spear on the ground.

“You can speak at any time, Mimosa,” Dunlin told her. “You don’t have to ask permission.”

“Sir. I saw a bridge at Vista Marchan, before my city fell.”

“So, the Insects that I am clearing out from Epsilon are simply running somewhere else. To the Fourlands, is that it? And the Castle is taking good care of them there?”

“He says the Circle’s overwhelmed,” Felicitia chipped in.

“I do not exaggerate. The Empire will soon be lost. We will be another part of the Paperlands. Thousands have died, Lowespass is finished. Your people in Awia and the Plains manorships are fighting on, but it’s a losing battle. The Castle is divided and Insects are running unhindered as far south as Hacilith. So I have come to ask for your help.”

“Sent by whom?” Dunlin demanded.

“I come of my own accord.”

“Thought so.” He closed his eyes, reflecting on the news that his homeland was torn apart, and that he was the root cause. Dunlin tried to let no emotion show, but I glimpsed a second of despair before he masked it. “How
can
I help you? There is no way!”

“I ask you to relieve the pressure on the Fourlands by letting Insects come back into Epsilon.”

The crowd gasped and hissed. Dunlin said, “I believe I am speaking for all here present when I say we have struggled hard these past few months to clear the city and savannah, and the citizens of Epsilon don’t want Insects back. These people neither know nor care of the Fourlands, Rhydanne; the world we come from is not so important in their eyes.”

“You remember Rachiswater?”

“Of course I remember the Palace.”

“The gardens are trenches now. Governor Awndyn was nearly killed there.”

“The musician? What drove her to fight?” Dunlin halted as he realized his court might interpret the love of his homeland for a weakness that would put them all at risk.

“If you let Insects back onto the savannah and were ready for them there, you could destroy them before they became a serious threat.” No answer. “Dunlin, I rescued you from the battlefield. I gave you this place. You have to help us.”

“My brother is now King of Awia?” Dunlin asked, with the tone of one who expects the worst.

“Yes, although Staniel is surrounded, powerless in Rachiswater in much the same way as Tornado is in Lowespass. The front runs through his town and by the boundary of Eske, and our troops are spread too thinly along it. Staniel is called ‘weakling.’”

Mimosa said, “Sir. Time is precious. We have other matters to discuss.”

Dunlin raised a hand to calm her. “Please attend in the spirit of this court, or Vista is on its own. I listened to your incantations and they didn’t work, now let us momentarily concentrate on this Messenger’s plea. Jant, tell me how my manor is faring and whether my brother is well.”

I described Tanager’s flight to Rachis Town, and the wreckage of Micawater. I finished by saying, “One way or another Staniel will not last long. Awia only has days.”

“Yes,” Dunlin mused. “How will I find out? It’s too dangerous to have regular contact between the Fourlands and Sliverkey…People risk death every time they Shift through. As did I…Jant, where am I in the Fourlands now?”

“Already the stuff of legend,” I said smoothly.

“I mean, you took my body back to Rachiswater? I lie in the Lake Mausoleum with the rest of my family and where Staniel will someday join me? Staniel ordered flowers and drapes to be spread on my tomb?”

I said, “Sacrifices have to be made in times of conflict.”