The Silver Lake (69 page)

Two miles away, two figures wrapped in furs and wool crouched beside a small fishing boat drawn up before the base of Dovek-Hisar. The one passed the time drawing maps in his mind while the other let the sand-and-grass-colored ripples caused by the Yuruk’s presence filter through her mind. As the first few heavy drops of rain began to fall, a single strand of brilliantly golden hair strayed from the depths of her hood, only to be tucked away almost primly.

“You’re very arrogant, my young oracle,”
Panos said in Graize’s direction.
“Arrogance is red and so is blood, but water is blue and you can’t breathe it, even if you think it might taste delicious.”

Glancing down, she studied the cold, lake water with a frown. “It tastes of ice and snow still.”

Hares made an inquiring noise and she shook her head, her black eyes narrowing.
I should have stayed in Volinsk whatever that pushy old woman wanted, she

thought.
I
hate
being cold.
Leaning against the boat, she pulled a silver flask from her pocket.
“But you need me to help you breathe, don’t you, so here I am. Being cold.”

Saluting the huge statue of Estavia standing silent guard above Her temple across the strait, Panos took a deep drink. “You’re cold, too, my dark warrior, much colder than my lovely warm tower to the
north.”

She handed the flask to Hares who tipped it up thankfully.
“Ah, well,”
she sighed.
“As soon as the first of Your number finishes with His plan, I can get warm and so can You. Then we’ll both be happy.”
Tucking deeper into her furs, she settled down to wait.

CROUCHED ON ESTAVIA-SARAYI’S eastern-most battlements, Brax squeezed his eyes shut as the wind sent a scattering of fine rain mixed with ice pellets scoring across his face, causing the old scar on his cheek to burn sharply. Squeezing the pommel of his new sword, he risked a glance at the western horizon, but the sky had grown so dark in the last few hours that it was impossible to know the time.

As if in answer, the notes of Usara’s Evening Invocation filtered across to him, carried by the sounds of the Hearth temple’s revelry to the southwest. He sighed glumly. It looked like this year’s First Night was going to be just as cramped, damp, and miserable as last year’s. Thanks to Spar.

Shaking the rain from his hair like a dog, he shot a jaundiced glance in the younger boy’s direction, but Spar ignored him. Only partially protected from the weather by Jaq, who’d insisted on following them outside, the younger boy stood, staring fixedly down at the churning waves of the Bogazi-Isik. And he’d stay there, too, Brax grumbled to himself, until whatever he was waiting for happened or until they were blown off the battlements. And even then Spar’d find a way to get them back up here again, so he might as well make himself as comfortable as possible.

If possible.

Digging at a drizzle of rain running down his neck and under his cuirass, Brax pressed his back against the sentry box wall and, closing his eyes against the weather, went over the day’s events.

The time had passed as quickly as Yashar’d said it would, the excitement over his oath-taking marred only by the darkening sky. As the day’d moved toward dusk, more and more people had turned their attention to the west, their expressions both distracted and concerned. When, just after noon, a spattering of hail had swept across the rooftops, Marshal Brayazi’d ordered Estavia-Sarayi locked down early.

The temple delinkon had fanned out at once, closing doors, windows, and shutters, while Brax and Spar had watched from the gallery as Sable Company’s black-clad sentinels had muscled the main gates closed. The solid boom echoing across the courtyard had caused Spar to jump nervously, but when Brax had glanced over, his mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes narrowed resolutely.

A somewhat muted early supper had followed, after which the temple had begun its preparations for nightfall. Just before Havo’s Evening Invocation, Kemal and Yashar had escorted Brax and Spar to Kaptin Haldin’s shrine past a double line of Cyan Company already armed for battle. As Kaptin Julide gave them an encouraging nod, Brax could almost feel the sense of greedy anticipation growing in the air.

Inside the shrine, however, the familiar, muted silence had settled around him like a comforting balm. Crossing the room, he’d laid his sword across the altar while Yashar had taken first him and then Spar in his usual bear hug and Kemal’d lit the mangel in the far corner. Once it burned with a steady glow, the younger man had caught them up in his own hug before staring searchingly into Brax’s eyes.

“This is the very heart of Her temple,” he said, trying to mask the worry in his voice. “You’ll be safe here. You’ve got food, drink, a pallet ...”

“And a pot,” Yashar interjected.

“And a pot,” he agreed. “Yashar and I are just one level up in the Cyan Company’s shrine. If you need anything ...”

“Which you won‘t,” Yashar interrupted again, giving Kemal a stern glance from under his bushy, black eyebrows. “You’re safe, you’re warm, and Jaq’s here to guard your dreams, so get some sleep and we’ll see you in the morning, yes?”

Brax nodded. Spar, his gaze already far away, just stroked one of the dog’s silken ears with a disinterested expression.

“Good.” Yashar turned toward the door. “Come on, Kem. Stop fretting like a mother hen, it’s nearly time; we need to get into position or they’ll start without us. Oh, and, Spar, here, I almost forgot.” Reaching out, he pressed something into the younger boy’s hand. “A game to pass the time with if you don’t want to go to sleep right away.”

Spar looked surprised for a moment, then his face lit up with such a wide and innocent smile of pleasure that Brax grew immediately suspicious, but before he could say anything, Yashar caught Kemal by the arm and drew him from the shrine. Their younger abayos gave them a last, worried glance and then the door was closed and they were alone.

Spar immediately climbed onto the pallet and, after scrunching down under the blankets, wrapped one arm around Jaq’s neck and closed his eyes with every indication of going to sleep at once. Brax regarded him mistrustfully for a moment, but finally he, too, took up his usual position beside Kaptin Haldin’s tomb, back against the altar, face raised to the great ebony statue of Estavia. The shrine was warm with the mangel burning, and slowly his head tipped back and he slept.

Spar’s eyes snapped open the moment the older boy’s breathing deepened. Bringing his hand up from the covers, he stared down at Yashar’s gift: a pair of wooden soldier’s dice, the blue of his eyes fading before a thick, black mist. Closing his fingers around them once again, he began to shake them slowly back and forth, using the hypnotic movement to draw his mind away from the warm woolen blankets and quiet, familiar sound of Jaq’s snoring, and down into the cool depths of prophecy. When he was ready, he opened his mind more fully than he ever had before.

Crouched on a rocky spit of land beneath the great bulk of Lazim-Hisar, a stone’s throw away from the pulsating blue God-Wall, Graize lifted his head as the featherlight touch of Spar’s thoughts passed across his mind. For a heartbeat he felt the warmth of a hearth fire, saw walls of white-and-golden marble rise up all around him, and then the scream of a gull swept it away once more.

Rubbing his badly damaged beetle between finger and thumb, he shrugged carelessly. He had time for neither random encounters nor meaningful messengers tonight. Maybe tomorrow when the rising sun had silenced the legion of spirits that filled his mind with their sibilant demands from far beyond Anavatan’s shining defenses; but for now he had ears only for them as he’d promised.