Lamentation (13 page)

He was much taller than Rudolfo, his hair and beard the tangled, matted mess befitting his rank in the Marsher tribe. He wore stained and tattered cotton trousers, a hide shirt—buckskin, though it was caked with mud and cracking—and low boots that seemed newer than the rest of his effects. Probably taken recently, Rudolfo thought.

He stood before the man and nodded to his magicked scouts to release him. “Do you know this tongue?” he asked, and when the man stared blankly at him, he shifted easily into one of the nonverbal languages.

But you know this one, don’t you?
he signed, in the ancient hand language of Xhum Y’zir’s dark house.

The skirmisher’s eyes widened. Rudolfo needed no further prompting.

Tell your Marsh King that Jakob’s boy has buried his own dead.
He waited and the man nodded.
Tell him the Androfrancines are under Rudolfo’s protection by Rite of Kin-Clave regardless of what he may hear.
The man nodded again.

Rudolfo looked at the empty patch of twilight and his hands moved again, this time in the language of his Gypsy Scouts. They fell back, and Rudolfo turned his back on the skirmisher, climbing back into the saddle of his horse.

When he looked back the skirmisher was running eastward, and the moon, blue and green and full, was slowly lifting into a charcoal sky.

Jin Li Tam

The half-squad met Jin Li Tam and Isaak at the great arching doorways of the Seventh Manor. Their lead, a slight man with a long mustache and a neatly kept beard, stepped forward.

“Lady Tam,” the scout said, “I’ve been instructed to request that you stay.”

One of her eyebrows arched. “And if I do not wish to stay?”

She’d dressed in loose trousers and an equally loose shirt, complete with a set of high, soft riding boots cut from doeskin. Isaak stood beside her, carrying her pack. She had her knife, tucked away beneath her shirt, but was otherwise unarmed. Though she couldn’t fathom Rudolfo’s men using force to keep her.

“We will not keep you against your will, but we cannot permit the metal man to leave.”

Isaak stepped forward. He’d put on clean robes, and because they were outside, his hood was up. His dim eyes lit the dark recesses of it as they flashed and shuttered. “You cannot hold me,” he told the scout. “I am the property of the Androfrancine Order and am compelled to obey the instructions of my Pope. It is not a matter of choice for me.” He turned to her. “You are under no such compulsion. It would be safer for you to remain here.”

She had no doubt of that.
Stay with Isaak,
Rudolfo had said.

He pulled himself up to his full height, towering above the scouts—taller even than Jin Li Tam. He limped forward.

The scouts moved to block his way and he kept walking. When they put their hands on him, he pushed through and pulled them off their balance. “Please desist,” he said. “I do not wish you to be harmed.”

And he kept walking, his damaged leg catching as he went. Jin Li Tam watched as he moved down the cobblestones toward the manor gates. He was not moving fast, but she hadn’t thought he would. Obedience might be written into him, but at least he could control the pace at which he moved. She had no doubt that he could walk without effort, day and night, following the most likely bird-path to his destination far to the northwest. She looked at the scouts, who stood by watching their lead expectantly.

“Whatever else he is,” Jin Li Tam said, “he is a machine made for service to the Androfrancines. You’ll not stop him. His script requires obedience to them.”

The lead nodded. “We’ve been told to expect as much. But we had to try.” He sighed and looked to his men. “And we’ve readied a horse for you as well, Lady Tam.”

She smiled at him. “I see that Rudolfo’s Gypsy Scouts are formidable as well as intelligent.”

He bowed slightly. “We emulate our leader.”

She returned his bow, careful to bend slightly less as fitting for her station. “Shall we ride then?”

Ten minutes later, they overtook the metal man easily at the edge of town. He moved slowly, limping down the road, as if every step took him where he did not wish to go. He paused as they approached and looked from Jin to the lead scout.

“If you don’t mind,” the lead scout said, “we’ll be joining you.”

The scouts rode out ahead and Jin Li Tam hung back, matching her speed to Isaak’s. The air hung heavy with the smell of evergreen and baking bread. Tonight, she thought, would be the full moon.

“What do you think awaits you?” she asked Isaak quietly.

But when he looked at up at her, saying nothing, she knew it couldn’t possibly be good.

Petronus

Petronus waited by the river in the last dark gray before night became morning. He was glad the boy had spoken again and he was intrigued by the message. He’d urged Neb to say nothing to the others and then, when his bladder woke him and told him the night was nearly past, he rolled from his blankets and shambled quietly down to the river.

The moon hung low in the sky, and as he urinated into the river, he watched that blue green globe and wondered at the power of the Younger Gods. Once, in the oldest, oldest times, it had been gray and barren. But according to the legends, the Younger Gods had brought it water and soil and air, turning it to a paradise. He’d even read one surviving fragment from the Hundred Tales of Felip Carnelyin, who claimeƒyinougd to have traveled there to see many wonders, including the Moon Wizard’s tower—a structure that could be seen with the naked eye on some nights. Of course, the fragmented parchment of Carnelyin’s exploits was now gone forever, reduced to ash in the ruins of the Great Library. He sighed and dropped his robes, turning away from the moon and the river to look back on the field of ash and bone. The moonlight painted it in deep, shadowed tones.

“Are you here yet?” Petronus asked in a low voice.

He heard a chuckle. “I’ve been here. I just didn’t want to interrupt your business with nature.”

Petronus snorted. “I didn’t splash you, did I?”

He felt the faintest breeze. “No.”

And in the light of the setting moon, he saw the shimmer of a man so close he could reach out and touch him if he wished to. “So you’re Rudolfo’s First Captain?”

“Aye. I am Gregoric.” Petronus watched the ghost move, pacing like a cat. “And who might you be?”

Petronus found a large stone by the water’s edge and sat on it. “I am Petros.” He thought for a moment. “Of Caldus Bay.”

“You had the look of a fisherman,” Gregoric said.

Petronus nodded. “All my life.”

The Gypsy Scout chuckled again. “For some reason I doubt that. You’ve been somewhat more than a fisherman, I’ll wager, though just what I’m not sure.”

Now Petronus chuckled. “I think you just expect too little of fishermen.”

The shadow crouched, leaning forward. “I have a man in Kendrick. He heard you work the crowd over. He watched you win them to this work. And I’ve watched you build your camp and dig your graves. I’ve seen how well you skirt the spirit of the law by following its letter. You’ve worked in statecraft
and
warcraft, I suspect.”

Petronus inclined his head. “I think fishing is a bit of both, actually. Regardless.”

“Regardless,” Gregoric said. “You don’t need me to tell you that Sethbert will not tolerate your toying with the law.”

Petronus smiled. “They’ve stayed away so far.” But he knew the scout was right. So far, they’d been fortunaƒ;d " fte. Riders in the distance, coming close enough to see them with their shovels, then racing south. But any day, he expected them to close the gap and approach, to challenge them and perhaps even drive them off. Or try to.

“I have it on good authority,” Gregoric said, “that you’ve had some help.”

The lieutenant, Petronus thought. “We’re doing the right thing here. I think there are many who would agree.”

Petronus could hear the exhaustion in Gregoric’s voice. “Aye. It would be unseemly to leave the bones of Windwir to bleach in the sun.”

Petronus rubbed his temples. He still wasn’t sleeping well. His dreams were full of fire and screams, but he couldn’t tell if it was Windwir that he imagined burning or if it was that Marsher village so long ago. Either way, he slept less and less each night.

“Did you call me out to tell me what I already know? That the mad Overseer will come for us soon enough?”

The shadow rose and stepped back. “No,” Gregoric said. “I came to tell you more than that. I think you are more than you are telling me. I think you are a man who needs to know what has transpired.” He paused and changed position again. “Sethbert used a metal man to bring down Windwir. He bought a man inside the walls of Windwir who wrote the scrolls for these mechanicals and scripted one of the mechanicals to recite the Seven Cacophonic Deaths of Xhum Y’zir in the central square of the city.”

Petronus shuddered. He felt his heart stop a moment, felt his skin go cold. “I wondered how it went.” He paused, wondering how much he should trust this Gypsy Scout. But then he continued. “I thought at first that the damned fools brought it upon themselves—that somehow they called down the city upon their heads.” He picked up a rock, weighed it in his hand and then tossed it out into the river. “I guess I wasn’t too far from wrong.”

“No,” Gregoric said. “I guess you weren’t.”

Petronus stood. “So why have you told me this?”

“I thought you should know what kind of man you’re up against,” Gregoric said. “You’ve heard the new Pope’s decree—otherwise, you’d not be so careful to remain outside the city’s gates.” He waited a moment. “His accusations against Lord Rudolfo are untrue. Sethbert killed the Order with its own sword.”

Petronus’s eyebrows went up, but he said nothing.

The silence grew uncomfortable, then Gregoric spoke. “We found the metal man that Sethbert used. Lord Rudolfo sent him back to the Ninefold Forest with Sethbert’s former consort, Jin Li Tam of House Li Tam.”

Petronus felt the ice again moving over him. He remembered the mechoservitor that the young acolyte had demonstrated for them. They’d kept at it, after all. They’d built their metal servants and they’d continued their study of the spell.

And in the end, they’d brought doom upon themselves.

“I told them they should burn it,” he said to himself quietly.

“Burn what?” Gregoric asked.

Petronus didn’t answer. Instead, he turned toward camp. The sky was graying now and he could see their tents huddled together between what had once been the docks and what had once been the wall of the best and brightest city in the Named Lands.

“If Sethbert could do this to an entire city, I can’t imagine dealing with a bunch of interlopers would give him much pause,” Gregoric said. “We’ll watch out for you, but you should know that there are not many of us. Lord Rudolfo has sent the Wandering Army back to the east and has ridden for the Papal Summer Palace to parley with Resolute the First.”

Petronus nodded. “Any help you can give us would be appreciated. We’ve much work to do here.” He started walking toward the camp, suddenly aware of how utterly tired he was, feeling the exhaustion soak through him, dragging at his feet and pulling at his head.

Gregoric whistled low, then called out to him once more. “Why are you doing this, old man?”

Petronus stopped and turned. “We all have debts to pay at one time or another,” he said.

He glanced at the moon again, that blue green sphere that was now merely a sliver on the horizon. He wondered what the Younger Gods would think of what their wayward sons had done.

Rudolfo

The gates of the Summer Papal Palace were closed and under heavy guard when Rudolfo and the caravan approached. They’d seen the piled-up stack of old stone buildings shoved in against the high peaks of the Dragon’s Spine from a long way off, but it was midday before they were near enough to see the somber men in gray positioned at its entrance.

The remainder of their journey had passed without incident, and along the way they’d picked up a few more stray Androfrancines making their pilgrimage at the new Pope’s request. The first small group was a document-retrieval expedition that had been waiting at Fargoer Station near the edge of the Churning Waste for the Gray Guard to escort them home to Windwir. Watching from his place on the far fringes of the caravan, Rudolfo studied them. They were quiet and kept to themselves, a small locked box between them. Their robes were deep blue, marking them clearly as set apart from the others.

The second group they added to their number was a handful of Whymers—including a medico and a mechanical engineer—accompanying a cartload of books to the Papal Summer Palace.

Rudolfo shook his head. Ordering the return of all Androfrancines and Androfrancine property seemed an error in judgment on the part of the new Pope, though others might see it as sound strategy. And he understood the motivation beneath it. The Order had been dealt a mortal blow by the Desolation of Windwir, and when light fades, huddling in the dark with what and who were left seemed the right course of action.

Better to scatter, to disappear, to wait until morning, the Gypsy King thought. As his Wandering Army had done.

By now, they would be home and quietly preparing to defend Rudolfo’s prairies from the armies that even now were marching on Windwir to support Sethbert.

Twice along the way, birds had found their way to him. The first, from Vlad Li Tam, had encouraged him. The shipbuilding banker stood behind him, his iron armada in place around the massive whitestone port cities of Entrolusia. But Rudolfo knew that despite the best intentions and despite the new arrangement between them, House Li Tam was one house against many. And with a new Pope wearing the ring and crown, even
that
ally could waver.

Still, it had been welcome news to hear the Ninefold Forest Houses had a friend.

The second note had disturbed him. Certainly, he couldn’t expect his words to weigh more than a Pope’s, but he’d hoped that Isaak and Jin Li Tam would stay put in the relative safety of the Ninefold Forest. Learning that even now they journeyed toward him blackened his already dark mood.

When they were close enough to see the gates and the guards, he called his scouts to a halt and rode in when Cyril beckoned him closer.

The arch-scholar extended a hand up to Rudolfo and he took it, gripping it firmly. “You’ve seen us through,” Cyril said. “You’ve earned my gratitude for that.”

Rudolfo forced a smile to his lips. “I am happy to help.”

“If I can return the favor,” the arch-scholar said, “I surely will.”

Rudolfo nodded. “Do you know this Pope Resolute the First?”

Cyril glanced from left to right to make sure he was out of earshot. “A newer archbishop—one of Introspect’s back-scrubbers. He worked in acquisitions and land law. I believe he’s kin to the Overseer of the Entrolusian City States.”

A key turned in a lock somewhere buried in Rudolfo’s brain. Interesting, he thought, that this archbishop was away from Windwir and now suddenly the Pope after Sethbert’s move against the Androfrancines. His hand moved up to his beard and he nodded slowly. “I see.”

“I’m sure he’ll treat fairly with you,” Cyril said.

Rudolfo studied the old scholar’s face. Dark circles hid his eyes and a week’s stubble grayed his face. “Let us hope so,” he said.

He looked up to the gates beyond the cluster of stone outbuildings that made up the surrounding village. The guards there were watching them but not moving to investigate.

Cyril shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I’m not sure what happened to Windwir. I’m not sure anyone
can
know it with any certainty. But I
do
think it had less to do with the Houses of the Named Lands and more to do with the children of P’Andro Whym. We’ve long played with ancient fire; it would not surprise me if we did this to ourselves.”

Rudolfo nodded but said nothing. Sometimes telling an entire truth could put one at a disadvantage.

We will all know the truth soon enough, he thought.

He rode back to his men, signing his instructions to them from the saddle. He saw their downcast, angry eyes but knew his orders would hold. Had Gregoric been here, perhaps it would’ve been different. Perhaps his old friend would’ve read Rudolfo’s intentions underneath the hand signs and nonverbal cues and refused to obey.

But Gregoric was four hundred leagues distant, watching that curious old man and his entourage of diggers.

As his Gypsy Scouts vanished back down the road, away from the Papal Summer Palace, Rudolfo brushed the dust from his cloak, straightened his turban and rode to the gate.

“I am Lord Rudolfo of the Ninefold Forest Houses,” he said to an Old Gray Guard captain waiting there. “I am General Rudolfo of the Wandering Army. I would parley with your Pope Resolute the First, Displaced King of Windwir and Holy See of the Androfrancine Order.”

When they brought forth irons for his wrists and feet, Rudolfo smiled and offered himself up to them.

Sethbert

Lord Sethbert, Overseer of the Entrolusian City States, took his breakfast in the late morning sun. He speared the pickled asparagus with a small golden fork and lifted it to his mouth.

General Lysias stood before him, and Sethbert made a point of not inviting him to sit. “Well, Lysias,” he said, talking with his mouth full. “What word today?”

Sethbert swallowed the asparagus and washed it with chilled coffee, cooled in the river three leagues west and brought in to him by runner on demand.

The old general looked well rested finally. But there hadn’t been much for the old bugger to do of late. The Wandering Army had vanished four days ago. Their tents had come down in the dark, and by sunrise the field they’d occupied was barren. Of course Lysias had sent in the scouts, but none had returned. They found their bodies hidden in the wood the following morning.

“A patrol found scout-sign last night,” Lysias said. “They’re good—but not so good to have covered their tracks entirely. Regardless, there aren’t many of them.”

Sethbert smiled, selecting a slightly larger fork to stab a large slab of beef and raise it to his mouth. He tore a bit off with his teeth and chewed it down to meat pulp before speaking. “Rudolfo’s a clever fox,” he said. “He means to keep an eye on me.”

“I suspect so, though they’re staying near the city. Which brings me to another matter.”

Sethbert felt his eyebrows arch. “Yes?”

“We still have the matter of the trespassers to resolve.”

Sethbert laughed, bits of meat spraying the table. “Still digging their graves?”

Lysias nodded. “They’ve not violated the Exercise of Holiness . . . yet.”

Sethbert nodded. “Another clever fox. What do you know of this Petros?”

Lysias shrugged. “Not much. After he left with the boy, he went to Kendrick and held some kind of council there with the townsfolk. Most that came back with him were refugees and traders with no real destination beyond Windwir.”

Sethbert shook his head. “And he means to bury them all?”<‹hei/p>

“All that he can, Lord,” Lysias said. “Scouts to the west and south say word is spreading and more are on their way.”

The sun had moved in a way to obscure the general’s face, but for a moment Sethbert thought he saw admiration painted upon it. “I should speak to him,” Sethbert said.

“I’m not sure that would be prudent, Lord.”

“Perhaps not prudent,” Sethbert said, “but at least proper. I do have guardianship of Windwir for the time.” He loved the irony of those words. He wondered what his cousin, Oriv, would think if he knew the entire truth? Or if he realized the intricate puppetry that had spared this new Pope the fate of Windwir? Sethbert had paid a small fortune to ensure his mother’s sister’s firstborn son was safely away before he shook the cage of Heaven and taunted down the anger of the Gods.

“If my Lord wishes,” Lysias said, “we could ride out this afternoon.”

Sethbert nodded. “That would be fine, General.” He sipped from the chilled coffee. “Is there more?”

Lysias looked uncomfortable. “Word of your—” he struggled to find the right word to say “—
involvement
in the fall of Windwir is spreading through the camp.” He paused. “At the moment, it is mere rumor. Overheard bits between officers. You’ve not been careful in your boasting.”

Sethbert laughed. “Why should I be? Call the camp together and I’ll tell them all gladly.
You
were the one who felt it should be kept quiet. I’ve indulged you, General, as much as I am wont to.”

Lysias was a conservative, Sethbert knew, relying on the control of information as a part of his wartime strategy. Academy trained, this old veteran was brilliant at his work but shackled to a way of doing things that no longer mattered.

Because of me, Sethbert thought, smiling.
I’ve changed the world.

The general gritted his teeth. “I thought you understood, Lord Sethbert, the importance of discretion in this matter.”

Sethbert waved his words away. “The rumors are inconsequential. Let me show you.” He clapped and a servant entered. “Which one are you?” Sethbert asked.

The servant bowed. “I am Geryt, Lord.”

“Geryt, do you believe I destroyed the city of Windwir with one of the Androfrancines’s metal playthings?”

The servant looked from Sethbert to Lysias, obviously unsure of how to answer.

“Well?” Sethbert said.

Pale-faced, the servant finally spoke. “I’ve heard such, Lord Sethbert, even from your own lips.”

“Yes,” Sethbert said slowly, leaning forward, “but do you believe it?”

The eyes came up and locked with Sethbert’s. “I do not know what to believe, Lord Sethbert.”

Sethbert smiled and sat back, waving the servant away. “My point exactly, General Lysias. No one knows what to believe. One will believe Sethbert speaks the truth, another will say that it is madness to believe one man could bring down a city.” His smile widened. “And some will even believe it was that damnable Gypsy King.”

Lysias nodded, but the dark look in his eyes told Sethbert that the general didn’t agree. It didn’t matter. The old general certainly was right, but Sethbert couldn’t tell him so. Sethbert had been a bit too vocal when he’d first seen the fruit of his labor. The pillar of smoke, the blasted city, even the look of utter desolation on that Androfrancine boy’s face had been the most potent of liquors, driving him giddy with accomplishment.

After all, he thought, who wouldn’t feel a bit drunk after saving the world?

Jin Li Tam

Jin Li Tam sat outside her small tent with Isaak, picking at the bowl of steamed rice and dried vegetables while she listened to the scouts talk in low voices.

So far, they’d encountered nothing but scattered groups of Androfrancines making their way north. They’d moved off the roads to avoid them, and she was grateful that Isaak had permitted this. A part of her had feared he’d wish to join them.

But he hadn’t.

And part of her had thought perhaps he’d not tolerate their need to make camp, to take food, to take sleep along the way.

But he’d quietly acquiesced.

“You don’t want to go back,” she told him between bites.

He looked over to her. He’d pulled back his hood, and the last of the sunlight glinted off his round head. “I am a danger to them,R‹er ew 21; he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I am a danger to the entire world.”

She’d put as many of the pieces together as she could, and out of respect—if a machine could be shown respect—she’d not pressed for more. But now, just two days away from the Papal Summer Palace and Gods knew what awaited them there, it was time to check her assumptions.

“Sethbert used you,” she said. “This much is obvious. The Androfrancines unearthed some ancient weapon and Sethbert somehow bent your script to his own dark purposes.”

Isaak said nothing for a moment, his eye shutters fluttering like steel moths. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I understand that the sons and daughters of House Li Tam are among the best educated in the world,” he said. “You are familiar with the history of the Old World?”

She nodded. “What of it we know. Most of it is lost.”

“When P’Andro Whym led the extermination of the Young Wizard Kings—the Seven Sons of Xhum Y’Zir—their father shut himself away for seven years, and at the end of that time, brought forth a spell—”

Her breath went out from her. “The Seven Cacophonic Deaths,” she said.

Isaak nodded. “He sent his Death Choirs into all the lands, singing their blood magick and calling down the wrath of that grieving archmage.”

Jin Li Tam knew the story well. After that Third Cataclysm, the Age of Laughing Madness settled upon what generations to come would call the Churning Wastes. A few had survived, but they were driven mad by what they’d seen. A few—a very few—had hidden themselves beneath the ground or in the mountain caves of the Dragon’s Spine that cut across the far north. These had come forth later, digging the ruins and gathering up what little remained for what was left of the world. Of course, by then that first Rudolfo had already disappeared north and west, beyond the Keeper’s Wall, to hide himself away in that ocean of prairie at the far end of the New World.