Lamentation (21 page)

Ready or not, Petronus knew he did not have much time.

Neb

After they ate their stew, the Marsh girl led Neb back to the Marsh King’s cave. She passed him a pile of tattered blankets and pointed to a corner in the damp, earthen room. He rolled himself up into the corner and watched her do the same thing across from him. The idol glowed dully in the dark, offering light and heat. From where he lay, he saw that the idol clutched at a mirror, the face of P’Andro Whym contemplative as he modeled self-examination.

Once she was beneath her blankets, she propped her head up on one hand and looked across to him. “I can’t imagine what it was like,” she said in a quiet voice.

He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he had an idea, and he swallowed back the sudden terror that gripped him. He felt a lurch in his groin, a squeezing ache that made him want to throw up.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry, Nebios ben Hebda. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Nebios ben Hebda
. A Marsher name. “It’s fine. I just can’t talk about it yet.” His stomach lurched again. “You don’t think the Marsh King will make me talk about it, do you?” Suddenly, he wanted to run as far from this camp as he could.

She shook her head slowly. “The Marsh King would not force such a thing. There is grace in the Marshlands.”

So far, the Marshers had been nothing like he had expected. Very little was shared about them in the parts of the Great Library that he was permitted to study from. They weren’t the half-crazed savages that legend painted them. Oddly customed, to be sure, but not—to his eye, anyway—the lunatic children left over from the Age of Laughing Madness. Children who perpetuated their violent insanity from generation to generation according to the lecturers and texts of the Orphan School. And whose king heard the future from a bust of P’Andro Whym and roared out that word beneath the Moon Wizard’s tower.

They were a complex and spiritual people.

He studied the girl for a moment longer, then realized he had no idea what her name was. He asked and she laughed at him.

“I do not haÃ220ughve a name like yours,” she said. “You would laugh to hear it.”

He smiled at her and shook his head. “I would not laugh.”

She lay on her side, facing him, her hair spilling around her gray-streaked face. “My name is Winters.”

“Winters?”

She nodded. “Winteria, actually. I did not name myself.”

Neb changed the subject, his mind wandering quickly back to the morning. “What do you think he will want to talk to me about?” he asked.

She frowned and thought about this. “I suspect he will ask what you know of the gravediggers’ camp, of Sethbert’s camp, whether or not you’ve seen Lord Rudolfo yet or caught sign of his scouts.” She shifted in her blankets, and Neb was surprised to see a bare shoulder peeking out from beneath them. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “He’ll also want to know what you know of the metal man and the Lady Jin Li Tam.” She paused and her voice softened. “But I’m sure he will not ask you about the other,” she said.

He sighed. “And afterwards, he’ll let me go?”

She laughed again and rolled over, her back to him now. “You can go now if you want to, Nebios.” She looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Or did you think perhaps I was assigned to you as your jailer?”

He laughed, too. “I didn’t know what to think.”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to know what to think when your dreams become entangled with another’s.”

Neb lay still and watched her back. Her shoulders slowly started rising and falling, and when he was certain she was asleep, he drew the ring from his pocket and held it up to the idol’s light. They were cast of the same metal, he realized.

Slipping the ring back into his pocket, he pulled the blankets over his head and ciphered himself to sleep.

When his dreams swallowed him into that hopeless burning vision of Windwir’s fall, he looked around to see who might be watching, but saw no one whatsoever.

Rudolfo

Rudolfo kept the others waiting for a fashionably appropriate time, taking longer than needed to prepare himself. For the parley, he selected his best turban and matching sash in the brightest green he had, trimmed with the pÃmmeongurple. He wore these along with a shirt the color of burnt cream, all over the top of the mesh armor he had received from Pope Introspect for a small heresy he helped suppress.

He selected his best sword—a long slender affair with a hard steel basket and a light blade that could shave a man. He strapped it on, climbed into the saddle and rode with his Gypsy Scouts for the appointed place.

A cluster of scouts from all sides gathered at the bottom of the hill. The only one who came alone was the one Rudolfo assumed to be the Marsh King. He was a giant of a man, maybe the biggest man he had ever seen. Beneath his stinking, filth-matted furs he wore silver armor, and in his hands he held a massive silver axe. He rode a giant stallion that danced beneath him as he listened to the people around him.

Nearby, Rudolfo saw a petite woman sitting sidesaddle on a roan, her golden hair piled high upon her head and tucked beneath her shining crown. She wore a gold breastplate and greaves, but her arms were draped in red silk that matched her battle-skirt. She was still beautiful, though the years were catching up to her. He’d bedded her a handful of times, both for business and for pleasure. She was adequate but took few risks.

It explained the Queen of Pylos in many regards besides just the bedroom.

Rudolfo nodded to her and smiled. She did not return the gesture, but instead stared at him with open contempt.

He looked further but saw nothing of Sethbert. The fat goat had sent his General Lysias on his behalf, making his feelings clear on this matter without speaking or even appearing. Rudolfo was not surprised.

He was also not surprised to see Ansylus—the Crown Prince of Turam—next to Lysias. His family had married into Sethbert’s to the point that the resemblance between them all was uncanny. It was obvious that he viewed those gathered here with disdain, and Rudolfo doubted he’d even speak.

Vlad Li Tam looked up as Rudolfo sidled in closer. “Lord Rudolfo,” he said. “It is agreeable to see you again.”

He tipped his head. “Likewise, Lord Tam.”

Then Vlad Li Tam looked to the Entrolusian general. “It is best that your master did not attend. I would be frank with you.”

General Lysias glared. “I’ll not ask you to be.”

Vlad Li Tam smiled. “Regardless, I shall be. But in just a moment.” He turned to the Queen of Pylos. “Queen Meirov, you are radiant as summer.” She took her eyes off Rudolfo long enough to smile demurely at Lord Tam. Vlad then looked to the Marsh King. “You grace us, Lord.”

The Marsh King grunted but did not speak.

“Now, to business,” Vlad Li Tam said. “The Pope is calling for the cessation of hostilities and the immediate arrest of Sethbert.” He looked at the General. “Here is my frankness, Lysias. Your Overseer brought down Windwir and broke the back of the Androfrancine Order.”

“That is absolutely false,” Lysias said, but Rudolfo saw the lie on his face before he told it. Lysias pointed to Rudolfo. “There is a Writ of Shunning against this man.”

“A worthless writ,” Vlad Li Tam said. “For the man who issued it is, as you no doubt have heard, not the true Pope.”

Lysias spit. “That will be known when he declares himself and the Order has opportunity to investigate his claims.” He looked around at the others. “Until then, Pope Resolute the First is the heir of P’Andro Whym.”

Vlad Li Tam sighed and shook his head. “Even now, word of the new Pope spreads across the Named Lands. Some claim they have seen him, traveling under heavy guard, dressed in the rags of an Androfrancine abbot, never staying in one town for very long. In only a few months’ time loyalties will begin to shift, and you will see the Named Lands descend into war like they have never known. In the end Windwir will lie desolate, and yonder gravediggers will have more unfinished work ahead because of Sethbert’s folly.”

He pointed in the direction of the city, and Rudolfo followed his finger. He could just make out a line of men working with shovels in the rain while others pushed wheelbarrows through the mud.

“I plead with you,” Vlad Li Tam said, “leave men behind to help the gravediggers with their work, but let these be the last graves we dig for a season. War will not mitigate our loss.”

General Lysias spun his stallion. “We’ll not stand down. Resolute is our Pope.”

The Crown Prince looked around at them. Finally, he spoke. “I’ve heard nothing to convince me otherwise.” He turned his horse as well.

They rode off and the Queen of Pylos watched them. When they were out of earshot, she spoke. “I have no love of Sethbert, it is true. But I must concur. I do not need proof as he does of your invisible Pope, but I do need to know that he indeed
is
Pope, and for that to happen he must declare himself.”

Vlad Li Tam nodded. “And you, Lord Rudolfo?”

Rudolfo nudged his horse forward, giving the queen a hard look. “I had no argument withÃo ath= the Androfrancines. I rode here to honor my kin-clave when I saw the pillar of smoke. I found a metal man in the ruins who spoke backward, and I learned over time that Sethbert had paid a mechanical apprentice to rescript the metal man to bring down Windwir.” His eyes narrowed, never leaving hers. “On my honor, I did not do this terrible crime, Meirov.” He turned to Vlad Li Tam. “I am pledged to the light, Lord Tam. I will follow your Pope and will extend my Gypsy Scouts to him should he require their services.”

Vlad Li Tam nodded. “Very well.” He looked to the Marsh King, who said nothing. “I am certain that the Pope will reveal himself soon.”

Queen Meirov turned her horse and moved down the hill toward her waiting men. “I should hope so, Vlad Li Tam. If Sethbert indeed brought down Windwir and your Pope proves true, I will serve the light as well.”

Vlad Li Tam smiled. “Excellent. We will discuss remuneration for your assistance and arrange the appropriate letters of credit when the time comes.”

She gave Lord Tam one final, brusque nod and rode back in the direction of her camp.

Lord Rudolfo watched her go. He quickly signed a message to Vlad Li Tam.
Tonight then?

Vlad Li Tam nodded.
Run them north to the other.

When darkness settled on the city and when the Marsh King’s next War Sermon bellowed out into the night, Rudolfo and his Gypsy Scouts would liberate the mechoservitors that Sethbert kept hidden in his camp.

He turned his horse and started down the hill. He was surprised when the Marsh King fell in beside him. The large man looked at Rudolfo, sadness etching his face. “I care nothing for Popes or metal men,” he said. “But your success is mine and my people’s. Come to my camp and parley with me as you will.”

The Marsh King spurred his stallion to a gallop, and Rudolfo watched him ride until he was nothing but a speck on the horizon, moving north.

As he watched, he decided that he would indeed go to the Marsh King’s camp and parley, perhaps even bring a bottle of chilled peach wine, made in the orchards of Glimmerglam and shipped by barrel downriver to stock each of his nine manors.

Rudolfo wondered what he would wear for such an occasion.

Neb

Neb woke up to a hand on his shoulder and sat up quickly. Winters crouched near him, dressed in a burlap dress that clung to her emerging curves. This close, she smelled of earth and smoke and sweat.

“I brought you breakfast,” she said, pointing to a chipped bowl set at a small table.

Neb rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You’re not eating?”

She shook her head. “I fast today. The world is changing.”

He kicked himself out of the blankets and stood. She stood, too. “Is the Marsh King back?”

“Soon,” she said. “Eat first.”

He went to the table and sat on the rickety wooden stool that waited for him there. The bowl was filled with boiled oats that still steamed, and the smell of buttermilk, honey and dried apples made his stomach growl. Near the bowl was a plate holding an assortment of roasted chestnuts, a chunk of bread and a bit of white, strong-smelling cheese.

Winters sat across from him, watching as he ate the food and washed it down with cold water from a metal cup.

“There was a parley this morning,” she said. “All of the lords attended, including Lord Tam of House Li Tam.”

“Did the Marsh King go?”

She nodded. “Our people were represented.”

He tried the cheese. Its sharpness saturated his mouth, driving out the sweet and sour flavor of the boiled oats. “What do you think will come of it?”

“Nothing but war,” she said. “Though when this hidden Pope declares, I think alliances will shift.” She looked at him. Her large brown eyes hardened. “Of course, the Marshfolk care nothing for Named Land statecraft and even less for Androfrancine politics.”

“Then why has the Marsh King brought his army south?”

Winters scowled. “Curiosity and kin-clave,” she said. “The Marsh King’s dreams have long foretold an end of the Androfrancine light. As have the kings that went before. For many years we even warred with the Androfrancines, thinking perhaps we could bring about that end.”

Neb looked up from his breakfast, surprised. He’d known all his life about the skirmishers, but had never heard a sufficient justification beyond ancient grudges and the residue of madness inËe oed. the Marsher line. “But why?”

She smiled, and in the soft light of the cave it carried a sweetness that he felt tugging at his heart. “Because when the light goes out,” she said, “the dreams of the Marsh Kings will be realized and we will be guided to our new home.”

She reached across the table now and laid her hand on Neb’s cheek. “Dear, dreaming boy,” she said. “If you could see the Marsh King’s dreams, you would weep with joy from the beauty of it. Your father has seen them, and the power of them brought him back from death to parley with you in your sleeping hours.”

Neb wasn’t sure which made him more uncomfortable, the Marsher mysticism or Winters’s hand cupping his cheek. He felt warmth moving through him, and something fluttered in his chest and stomach.

Winters dropped her hand, and he realized from the look on her face that she’d felt the discomfort, too. She looked away and blushed.

“I don’t understand,” Neb finally said. And he meant both the strange feelings this ragamuffin girl stirred up inside of him as well as the Marsh King prophecies.

“We are at the end of our sojourn, Nebios ben Hebda,” she said. “When all that was left of our peoples came to this New World from the lands beyond the Churning Wastes, the first Marsh King wore sackcloth and ashes, bathing himself in the dust of the earth that he came from and calling upon his children to do the same. Strangers in this land, we eschewed the Androfrancines and their light, loving shadow more because we knew the knowledge of the past could not create a safer future—it would merely remake the past. Even P’Andro Whym knew that a day was coming when his sins would be visited upon his children.” Her words tumbled out fast, her eyes alive as she spoke and her sentences rushing together. “A home-seeking is upon us and by the waking and the sleeping dreams, you are the one who leads our pilgrimage homeward.”

Suddenly she was speaking in tongues like the Marsh King, her eyes wide with wonder and fear. Neb saw the muscles tighten in her jaw and neck as she tried to fight the ecstatic utterance, but she couldn’t.

Neb opened his mouth to ask her if she was okay, if there was anything he could do, but his mind wasn’t able to pull the words together into a question. He felt something like panic growing in him, starting in his stomach and spreading throughout his body. He felt arousal and fear and rapture as his body tingled head to toe.

He opened his mouth to ask what was happening to him, and when he did he found himself suddenly speaking in tongues with the Marsh girl, their voices weaving in and out of one another as they finished one another’s sentences in a language that was no language but longing and terror and terrible sadness.

Her eyes Ëoma tehad rolled back into her head now, and she fell away from the table to twitch on the floor. Neb felt his own muscles pulling him down as well, but he forced himself to his feet and went to Winters before falling to his knees before her.

Her arms snaked out around him, her strong fingers digging into his skin and pulling him down to the dirt. Holding her close to himself, Neb let his words wash through him and out of him, dancing with her own words as they held one another on the floor. Finally, the fit of language ceased and they lay still, eyes closed, their ragged breath the only sound in the room.

When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him. He felt the ache in his jaw and the rawness in his throat, ragged from words he was unaccustomed to speaking. “I don’t understand what happened,” he said, his voice rough and quiet. “I don’t understand how I could have any part in this.”

She stretched her neck toward him and kissed him on the cheek. “Dear, sweet, Dreaming Boy,” she said with a voice that seemed far away. “Understanding is not always necessary.”

Neb’s muscles were sore now, and he realized suddenly that he was still entwined with the girl. The tingling had become something different. The warmth of her body and the firmness of her hands as she held him were building toward something in him that was frightening and exhilarating all at once.

He disentangled himself quickly, scrambling to his feet. She did the same, and he realized that her face was as red as his. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She laughed. “There is nothing to be sorry for. The spirit moves as it will, so also the body.”

He looked at his half-eaten breakfast at the table, but knew already he wouldn’t be able to finish it. “I think I should go back to Windwir soon. They will be worried for me.”

A sad looked passed over her face. “I understand. I will see if the Marsh King has returned from the parley.”

She walked close to him, near enough for him to feel her warmth. Then the Marsh girl Winters quickly touched his cheek once more, and left through the back entrance of the cave.

After she’d gone, he sat and thought about her and her people.

A home-seeking is upon us
.

Neb hid all of her words in his heart and wondered about the world that had changed.

Petronus

Vlad Li Tam’s wagons of donated supplies.

“I would talk with the captain of this company,” Vlad Li Tam said to the sentries who stopped him.

“That would be Petros,” one of the guards said, turning to look for him.

Petronus stepped forward. “I’m here.”

“I come bearing the grace of House Li Tam and the Pope of the Androfrancine Order,” Vlad Li Tam said. “I would speak with you about your work here.”

Petronus gritted his teeth. “I’d gladly speak with you about our work, Lord Tam.”

The slight, older man dropped from his saddle, heavy in the armor he wore beneath his canary colored robes. “Let us walk together.”

They moved away from the camp and toward yesterday’s work. Petronus guided them toward a recently filled trench, feeling the anger build in him with every step. When they were out of earshot, he rounded on Tam.

“What game do you play at?” he asked, not even trying to mask the rage.

Vlad Li Tam smiled. “I play at the game of survival, Petronus. I play at the game of keeping the light alive.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as his smile faded. “I should ask what game
you
play at, Petronus. You could have stayed dead. You could have stayed in Caldus Bay. But here you are.”

Petronus knew Tam was right, and he knew that at least part of his anger was directed inward, toward himself. “I had to see it,” he said, his voice thick with loss. “I had to see what they’d done to themselves.”

“And then you had to bury them?” Vlad Li Tam’s voice wasn’t chiding, it was matter-of-fact, as if he were stating some obvious truth about Petronus’s soul.

He nodded. “I did.” He waved his arms around, taking in the four points of the compass. “These others weren’t prepared to do it. They’re too busy posturing and pointing fingers.” He stared at Vlad Li Tam. “We both know who really brought down Windwir.”

Vlad Li Tam’s eyes flashed. “They’ve done this to themselves. We both knew they would when they started playing with words that should not be played with. It was only a matter of time.”

Petronus felt his fists clenching and unclenching. “You claim House Li Tam had no part in Ëhad"1ethis?”

Vlad Li Tam shrugged. “We monitored increased intelligence gathering in the City States coinciding with the discovery of the final fragment. My forty-second daughter, Jin Li Tam, was Sethbert’s consort until recently. She’d known something was under way but not exactly what. I knew an event of some kind was likely.” He stepped closer to Petronus and put a hand on his shoulder. “When or who—these facts eluded the best work of my sons and daughters.” He leaned forward. “But I do know this much—word of the final fragment was not initially leaked by the Androfrancines. They were most cautious.”

“And you did not leak it yourself?”

Vlad Li Tam shook his head. “I did not.”

“But you knew of it?”

He nodded. “I did. I had been approached years ago about storing something of great value and great danger in the Li Tam vaults. There was talk of scattering the fragments under Pope Introspect, but it was quickly abandoned.”

Petronus studied the man, then studied the line of his face, and tried to gauge the truth of his words. But Vlad Li Tam was a master of queen’s war and a master of himself. There were no telling movements, no revealing posture, no hints whatsoever to catch him in a lie. And not even the best Francine training could see through that perfect mask. “Then we need to know how Sethbert discovered the spell and what compelled him to take action.”

Vlad Li Tam shook his head and chuckled. “An Androfrancine to the end.”

Petronus felt his blood rise. He pointed to the filled-in trench, then pointed to a line of diggers closer to the center of the city. “A city lies dead, Vlad. A way of life is ended. What little remains of the light is guttering. If it weren’t for the mechoservitors, it would be all but extinguished now. I want to know why.”

“We all do, Petronus. But strategy would dictate that first, we shore up what remains.” Vlad Li Tam sighed, looking away for a moment before meeting Petronus’s eyes. “I’m afraid I have not been completely truthful with you.”

Petronus felt his eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Vlad reached into his belt pouch and drew out a yellowed scroll, rolled carefully and tied with Androfrancine purple. He passed it to Petronus.

Petronus read the note and paled. He read it again, this time more slowly, and the words finally came together. He looked up. “These are plans for the relocation of the Order, away from Windwir.”

He nodded. “Under Introspect’s seal.”

Petronus’s mind spun. “Why would they do this?”

“Defensive posturing,” Vlad Li Tam said. “It seems they had a sense of what was coming, too.”

Petronus racked his brain, trying to find some scrap of memory that might make sense of this. For two thousand years, the Great Library and the Order had occupied Windwir. They were the backbone of the Entrolusian economy, centrally located yet distant enough for a modicum of safety and privacy.

Suddenly, he saw Vlad Li Tam’s strategy more clearly and understood it. “The Ninefold Forests,” he said quietly.

Vlad Li Tam nodded. “I have been under Holy Unction by the Order for nearly thirty years—really, since just after you left—to groom Rudolfo for this.” Petronus studied him, surprised when the line of Vlad Li Tam’s face betrayed him in such a small lie.

Longer than that, he realized, but he didn’t say anything. The one person other than Vlad Li Tam that could truly say when this started had died in the Desolation of Windwir. But Petronus suspected that the work—both the study of the spell and the plans to relocate Windwir—had started well before he’d stepped down from the Papacy and returned to fishing.

Another reason you should have stayed, old man.

Petronus forced his mind back to matter. “You mean to continue Introspect’s plan, then?”

Vlad Li Tam’s eyes were hard, blue glass. “That depends on the word of my Pope.”

Petronus nodded. “Does Rudolfo understand exactly what this means?”