When True Night Falls (24 page)

He felt his heart skip a beat. The guards, their uniforms ... he tried to remember what they had been wearing when he left the Manor. Red fitted tunic, sword just so, insignia of rank....

Insignia of rank.

He couldn’t remember exactly what it was before. He had never looked that closely. But this was surely different: more ornate, more elaborate. As if the guards who now watched the Manor’s gate were from the same source as the others, but of a considerably higher rank.

The others had been the Regent’s private guard. There was only one rank any higher than that. And only one reason he could think of, short of revolution, why the Matria’s elite soldiers would now be guarding this building.

He stepped back onto the pathway, careful not to move too quickly. Careful to let his own pace match that of the people around him, brisk but unhurried. He let the currents of humanity carry him away from the building, until the gleaming white walls were out of sight. Only then did he dare to stop. Only then did he try to think.

Everything he had seen and heard in this place indicated that Toshida and his Matria were in perfect accord, personally and politically. Whatever private bitterness the man might harbor about the limits of his rank, Damien gathered it had never been expressed openly. Indeed, the man had all but sworn him to silence on the matter. So why would the Matria send in her own guards to take the place of his? What service would she require that the Regent could not—or would not—fulfill?

The more he thought about that the less he liked his conclusions. He remembered Tarrant’s accusations, some of them aimed at this Matriarchy. Was it possible that Mercia’s leader was somehow allied with their enemy? Certainly Tarrant had believed that to be possible. If so, and if her guards had come at the break of dawn to surround the Regent’s Manor....

Where was Hesseth? he wondered suddenly. Panic flaring suddenly in his gut, at the thought that she might have been taken prisoner. Damn it, how could he find out?

He took a deep breath, and tried to think clearly. Weighing his options. At last he turned about and began to walk again, this time toward the east.

There was no true wilderness available to him, not within the city walls. And there was no other privacy he could have, unless he dared to rent a room in some hotel or hostel. But that meant having to show his identification, which entailed its own special risk. He decided against it. There were several parks in the city, replete with trees and myriad garden paths, and if he headed toward the largest one he stood a good chance of finding some green little nook that would shield him from prying eyes.

He was in luck. The park was nearly deserted, with but a few hardy joggers and one nursemaid with a gaggle of children to avoid. He chose a lesser path whose loose, rocky surface would be inhospitable to sportsmen and followed it until all other roads were lost from sight, whereupon he was fairly certain that no one would disturb him.

Carefully he lowered himself to his knees, and tried to make himself relax. A short prayer served to focus his consciousness, and a simple Working to summon his Sight. Now he could see the earth-fae as it flowed about him, a power as of yet untamed by any human will. It was flowing west, which was hardly ideal; he would have to work against the current to get any information from the Manor. But he had done that kind of thing before, under far worse conditions than this. He let the words of a Knowing shape themselves upon his lips, traced its unlocking patterns with his mind’s inner eye, and saw the fae begin to gather in response. Forming a picture that only he could see, sounds and sights and meanings placed within his mind by the rich power of the earth.

Hesseth,
he prompted it.
Where?

He saw her awakened at dawn by the sound of movement within the Manor. Saw the almost animal alertness with which she moved, clawed hands grabbing up a few valuable items and wrapping them in a blanket, which she then belted to her person. There were voices in the corridor now, very close, very wrong. He could feel her tension building, could smell her fear as she grabbed up a pile of folded maps and tucked those into her belt as well. Balancing need against risk as the voices drew ever closer. Mere whispers, really. Damien wondered if a human ear could have heard them. Perhaps they considered themselves safe from discovery, not knowing of his sorcery or her rakhene senses. Too late now. She pushed upon the piercedwork window and with feline agility leapt up to the sill; even as her door was thrust open, she dropped down beneath the window, strong claws digging deep into the thick wood frame.

Voices in her room, speaking in foreign accents. He heard her breathing softly, was aware of her scanning the side of the building for danger. Nothing yet. With care she lowered herself, sharp claws biting into whatever wooden fixtures were within reach. Once she had to tuck herself behind a column as a guard passed by beneath, but no one thought to look up at the building itself. Damien watched as she gained the ground, scaled a broad tree by the gate, navigated branches that no human could have traversed to make her way across the iron fence, and from there, via trees, gained the ground once more....

He felt something unknot inside him, to know that she had gotten away from them safely. If the forces of the Matria were indeed being mobilized against them, then they were in serious trouble. Thank God Tarrant had upset him the night before, so that he’d been unable to sleep. Thank God he’d been gone before first light, so that the soldiers had missed him.

He took a minute to breathe deeply, willing his panic to subside. It was all right now. The Matria didn’t know about his sorcery or Hesseth’s skills, which gave them an initial advantage. By the time she learned to compensate, Rozca would make his move, and that should distract them for just long enough ... he felt the pieces of his plan coming together like fragments of a jigsaw puzzle, forced their shapes into alignment. First he had to find Hesseth. Then he had to finish what he had started. Then, when all his preparations were complete, when he had compensated at least in part for his carelessness in the five days preceding....

It was time to get the hell out of here.

Toshida didn’t like being roused at daybreak by the Matria’s guard. He didn’t like finding out that his own men had been dismissed, to make way for hers. Even less did he like being summoned to her presence within minutes of awakening, so that the time he might have spent composing himself and preparing for an audience was instead spent trekking to her chambers in the presence of four of her guards.

At least she didn’t keep him waiting.
Thank heaven for small favors,
he thought, as one of her attendants ushered him into her audience chamber. He tried to compose himself so that his anger wasn’t visible; years of practice in that art permitted him perfect control over his countenance, so that only the emotions he wished to communicate were mirrored in his expression. Not rage. Not rank indignation. Not all the things he truly felt.

“Your Holiness,” he greeted her. Bowing ever so slightly. Kissing her hand with less than perfect enthusiasm. Let her see in this small way that she had insulted him. Let her see that this time she had gone too far.

If she noticed the subtle signs of his displeasure, she made no sign of it. “You have two guests in your Manor,” she told him. “The priest from the western ship, and his
Sanctified.”
She spoke the word in a manner which made it clear she did not consider the title justified. “I want them.”

“They’re guests of the city,” he said evenly. And then added, ever so quietly, “My guests.”

She dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “They pose a danger to us, my lord Regent, and therefore they must be taken into custody. I’m sure you can understand the necessity of that.”

He kept his voice calm, his face carefully neutral. It wasn’t easy. “What I understand is that you’ve already gone after them, your Holiness. Your guards have taken over my home and office; are you telling me you need my permission before going any further? A curious time to be drawing that distinction.”

“We did what was necessary,” she said curtly. “No insult was intended. We had to move quickly so as not to alarm them.”

“In which I assume you succeeded?”

Uncharacteristically, she hesitated. “No,” she said at last. “Both of them were out when my people arrived. I was hoping you knew where they might be.”

“They’re free to come and go as they please,” he reminded her. “Or were, until this morning. Nor did they usually inform me of their plans.”
They were guests, not prisoners.
He felt anger surfacing; he did his best to fight it back. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

For a long moment she stared at him. He expected to feel the dizziness he associated with her power, but for once he was spared that ordeal. “All right,” she said at last. “Their possessions are still in the Manor, which means they’ll most likely come back there. I want them apprehended. You ken? Your guards or mine, as long as they’re taken.”

“On what legal pretext?” he asked calmly.

Her eyes narrowed to amber slits. “A vision from God, Andir. A revelation. These people are evil, and they mean us great harm. They must be arrested immediately, so that the Matrias can deal with them. Pick whatever law you want to support your action, as long as you take them. Soon. That is the Will of the Lord. I—”

She was interrupted by a gentle rapping on the door. “Yes? What is it?”

The attendant entered the room. “Begging your Holiness’ pardon, this message just came.” He stepped forward and handed a folded square of paper to her, then bowed deeply as he exited. She took it and unfolded it quickly; Toshida made out the scrawl of hurried writing on its face.

Her expression of anger was more a hiss than a curse. “Two sailors from the
Golden Glory
came to the Manor to collect the priest’s and the woman’s possessions. They claimed to know nothing of their whereabouts, were merely responding to instructions given some time ago. The guards, having no orders to the contrary, let them proceed.” She looked up at Toshida. “If they’re on that ship, I want them. If they’re not on it yet, then take them when they get there. Ken verda?”

He bowed ever so slightly. A minimal gesture. “As you command, your Holiness.”

“I know this is an unusual order, Andir. But these are unusual circumstances. We took a chance letting the foreigners land here, and perhaps we moved too quickly.”
Perhaps you moved too quickly,
was the unspoken criticism.
It was your decision to let them live.
“Just get those two into custody, whatever it takes. We can work out the legalities of it later, when they’re no longer capable of harming us. Free, they threaten ...
everything.”

“Yes, Matria.” His tone was humble, but inside his thoughts were seething.
A Sanctified woman and a priest. What harm could they possibly do? Unless you fear the knowledge they bring with them, of places where leadership is based on deeds, not visions. Is that it? Is it not them that you fear, but what they may do to your people? What they may awaken in me?

“As you command,” he told her. Because there was nothing else to say, no other way to proceed. For now, his duty was to serve her will. Even when he didn’t fully understand it. Even when he might not agree.

For now.

The captain of the
Golden Glory
was annotating his log when the crewman came to him.

“He’s here,” the man said simply.

He closed the leather-bound book and locked it. “Toshida?”

The sailor nodded.

With a sigh he rose up, muttering a prayer to his newfound God. Not that this one was likely to help him; wasn’t that the whole point? He noted with some curiosity, as he left the wheelhouse, that it didn’t really bother him. In fact, it was oddly reassuring to think that his fate was totally—and permanently—in his control.