The Water Road (34 page)

“You think?” Strefer laughed. “I
haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Then they must be afraid of what
you might do,” he said. “For one thing, only someone who is really desperate to
get his hands on something, or someone, is going to print up that kind of a
notice. For another, that’s one of the few notices I’ve heard that didn’t
mention how big the reward was.”

Strefer didn’t follow. “Which means
what, exactly?”

“You know the saying, if you have
to ask how expensive something is you can’t afford it?”

Strefer nodded.

“Well, it’s the same with a wanted
poster. A nonspecific reward means there is a lot of money at stake. Less
important bounties tend to have a specific price on their heads.”

“Ah,” Strefer said. “Well,
regardless, Rurek and I are both very grateful for what you did for us, killing
Spider and all. But I’m sorry to say we don’t have any money to give you. No
way to pay you for your efforts.”

Forlahn ignored Strefer’s confession.
“Who do you think is after you, anyway?”

Strefer sighed and thought for a
long moment. Everything Forlahn had done since he burst into that clearing and
rescued them had been kind, selfless, and brave. If he was interested in
turning them in himself, he could have made that intent apparent already. He
didn’t have to try and help Rurek heal. He could simply have carried her off
and collected the reward. But Strefer didn’t sense that was what motivated him.
Besides, he had his son with him, which was not something a real bandit would
do. It also occurred to Strefer that, with Rurek wounded, he could not get her
to Oberton on his own. A skilled tracker who lived in these woods every day of
his life, on the other hand, just might. She rolled over, opened the bag that
had been stuck to her like an extra limb for all this time, and slipped the
notebook out of its hiding place. “They’re looking for this,” she said, holding
it up so the light of the fire caught its rich red cover.

Forlahn squinted at it in the
flickering light. “A book? Are you serious?”

“Completely serious,” she said,
nodding. “It’s a notebook from the private collection of a high-level
Triumvirate functionary. He’s dead now. The back of his head looks an awful lot
like Spider’s, actually.” She stopped, leaving the question of precisely who
killed this person unasked and unanswered.

“I see,” Forlahn said. “I don’t
suppose you would tell me what’s so important about this book?”

“Maybe sometime later,” she said.

“Well then, will you at least tell
me what you were planning on doing with it that’s attracted so much attention?”

This much she would allow. “Rurek
was taking me to Oberton. He says they’ll publish it, that they won’t be afraid
of what it says.” She paused for a second. “I don’t know how whoever printed up
that wanted poster knows that, though.”

Forlahn nodded. “I’m sure they’ll
publish that. I’ve been to Oberton a few times. They are a very righteous
people. Can be hard to deal with sometimes, however.”

If he was telling the truth, Strefer
thought that her placing some trust in him was the right thing to do. Rurek
knew of Oberton, but had never actually been there. For all he knew, it was
more of a myth than a reality. “I just had an idea,” she said, feigning a
breakthrough already made. “Since my escort is wounded and you’ve been to
Oberton before, would you come along with us?” He did not say no, at least not
right away. “If we make it there safely and the book is published, I’ll sign
over all the proceeds of the sale to you. That way, you’ll be rewarded, in some
meager way, for what you’ve done for us.”

Forlahn sat silently for a long
while, his gaze drifting to the again smoldering fire. “It’s an interesting
proposal, I’ll give you that,” he said finally. “Let me think about it overnight.
I will give you an answer in the morning.”

“Fair enough,” she said, although
she suspected he might need more to be reeled in. “But let me make you a deal
to sweeten the bargain. I’ll tell you my secret,” she said, tapping the
notebook, “if you tell me yours.”

A quick look of distress passed
across his face, but was gone just as quickly. “All right. What would you like
to know?”

“What happened to your wife?” she
asked, almost reflexively. She had been thinking about the question nearly all
night.

“Very well,” he said, sighing. “I’m
afraid you’ll be disappointed, however. It’s not an exciting story, nor even a
very tragic one. It’s actually quite simple. She died in childbirth with
Malin.”

Strefer gasped. “I’m so sorry. That
sounds quite tragic to me.” She paused for a moment to allow a response, but
there was none. “So Malin never knew his mother?”

“Not at all,” he said. “Nor the
place where he was born. Kalen and I—Kalen was my wife’s name—lived together in
a small house across the river from Innisport. I was a hunt master. She taught
a few local children their basic lessons. We were very happy, our home we had
made together quite wonderful. All it lacked was children. When Kalen told me
she was pregnant, I was beyond thrilled. Only a few months later she was gone,
and I was left to raise Malin alone. I couldn’t stay in that house any longer.
I took Malin and left, just walked out the front door and left. We’ve been
wandering in these woods ever since.”

Strefer said nothing. What could
she say? She decided it was best to let Forlahn move the discussion along when
he was ready.

Which, in just a few moments, he
was. “So, Strefer, you have one of my secrets,” he said. “Now tell me of this
book of yours.”

The meeting with Birkthir had
changed things greatly. With his aid, Antrey was able to send a message to all
the clans, asking for representatives to come together at one place to meet and
discuss her proposal. By the time the
Gentle Giant
arrived back at Port
Jaray weeks later, the city was buzzing with activity as the clans began to
fill up the streets. It was clear that the regular residents of the city, a
combination of Islanders and Neldathi outcasts, were wary at the prospect of so
many people nursing so many different grudges packed into the same few blocks.

Antrey had made the conditions of
the meeting clear in her message. No more than five representatives from any
one clan could participate. Her intent was to limit the numbers of people who
would descend on the city to a manageable number. A large enough number to
cause trouble, potentially, but nothing too out of control for the local
authorities. She was disappointed to see that different clans had interpreted
the restriction in different ways. Some abided to the terms by the letter, sending
only five people. Others sent five designated representatives, along with a
much larger party of aides, functionaries, and hangers-on. So, while Birkthir
himself arrived with only four others from his clan, the Uzkaleyn arrived with
five envoys, each of which was attended by a dozen aides. In truth, they were
mostly warriors, which set Antrey’s nerves on edge. The only other condition
was that they leave the Islanders alone while in the city, which she hoped
would be strictly followed. They had no part in the upcoming fight between the
Neldathi and the Triumvirate. She hoped Naath’s trust in her would not have
been given in vain.

Naath had secured an Islander
assembly hall in the city that was situated at the edge of the docks, near the
city’s commercial buildings. It was just large enough to hold the designated
number of delegates, plus Antrey and her closest advisors. Hopefully, they
could do their business there without anything turning ugly.

The meeting was scheduled for early
afternoon, after everyone had taken a midday meal. Antrey had decided to steal
a trick from Atilleo, who always arrived late for Grand Council sessions while
he was president. It would allow her to arrive last and stride through the
fully assembled body in full view of everyone she had summoned here. Goshen and
Kajtan, among others, had been persuading her to act more like the leader she
hoped to be, at least around others. Antrey had little interest in ceremony,
but she understood the importance of appearance at this delicate stage. This
entrance would be suitable for a jeyn, one of whom the Speakers would talk for
years to come.

But as she entered the hall, Antrey
knew that the Speakers would have an entirely different reason to take note.
She walked in through the main door, which opened onto the central aisle, from
which benches sprang on either side. Antrey had expected the room to be a hive
of activity, bursting with the voices of dozens of separate conversations. But
the truth was far different, as the room was half empty and eerily quiet.

The benches to her right were
nearly full and contained some familiar faces. Birkthir was there with his
delegation. Based on the color patterns displayed by the other groups, Antrey recognized
members of the Mughein, Volakeyn, Haglein, and Paleyn. She even saw the black,
blue, and red pattern of the Kohar, the clan of her birth. Kajtan, who had
walked in behind her, slid into one of the benches in the crowd.

To her left, however, the benches
were entirely empty, save for one solitary figure seated in the center of the
front row. He did not turn as Antrey entered the room, allowing her a plain
view of the yellow, blue, and red stripes on his braid. He was from the
Chellein.

Antrey did her best to let the
surprise of the empty seats not show on her face as she walked down the aisle
with Goshen and Hirrek behind her. By the time she reached the dais at the
front of the room, turned, and stepped to the lectern, she had decided what the
half empty room meant. The only explanation she could grasp, or was willing to
believe, was that the clans on the side of the room that was nearly full were
those that had come to support her. The lone figure on the other side signaled
opposition, but precisely from whom or on what basis Antrey could not tell.
There was only one way to find out.

“Good afternoon, my brothers and
sisters,” she said in a halting Dost dialect that, she had been told, could be
understood well enough by all the clans. If those in the audience knew what
Antrey was saying, they did not respond to it.

“Your journeys have been long and
difficult,” she continued. “You cannot begin to imagine how much it means to me
that you are here.” She cast her eyes across the room, still and motionless,
sliding over the crowd and then onto the Chellein. He sat without moving, no
emotion evident on his face. It disturbed her slightly. “Before we begin our
discussions, I would ask Goshen to say a few words.”

Antrey turned away, but before
Goshen could take her place and begin speaking, she heard a voice lash out from
audience. Without looking, she knew it belonged to the Chellein. He shouted in
a high register with quick, clipped syllables that left Antrey only guessing at
what he said. She had learned to speak the language with some effort, but
translating, particularly quickly spoken words said in a strange dialect, were
beyond her. She looked to Goshen, who had already fired back a reply.

Goshen rolled his eyes, knowing
Antrey would want it all translated. “He says that he will not sit here and
listen to this,” Goshen said. “I told him to hold his tongue. He, then, called
me a blasphemer, and warned that I might lose mine.”

Antrey remained calm and turned to
the man, who was standing and obviously outraged. “Speak your peace, brother,”
she said. “We are here to talk.”

He shot back at her. “I am not your
brother,” Goshen translated. “You are not my sister. And that fraud,” said
while the man was pointing at him, “will pay for his blasphemy.” Then the Chellein
turned and faced the others in the audience. “I am Dega of the Chellein. I come
here as an envoy of my clan and my god, Solal. I speak as well for the Akan,
the Uzkaleyn, and the Sheylan. We have heard the stories of this halfbreed girl
and the lies of her blasphemous priest.” Goshen’s eyes gave Antrey a sorrowful
look as he said those words.

“She brings only the false promise
of revenge against the enemies of the Neldathi and the lies of this Goshen, who
seeks to lead us away from the gods that have protected us for so long. I am
here to say these clans will have no part of any rising led by blasphemers and
whores.” He turned and pointed up at Antrey. “She will lead you into nothing
but bloodshed and chaos. He will lead you away from the shelter of the gods. In
the end, they will bring destruction down upon you all.”

Kajtan shot up from his seat. “What
are you saying, Chellein dog?”

Dega, undaunted, walked over to
Kajtan, around whom others had risen in support. “What I am saying, old man, is
that if this pathetic coalition persists in its existence, it will be crushed
long before the Triumvirate gets wind of it,” he said.

The two men stood, nearly touching,
while the crowd behind Kajtan began to move menacingly towards them.

“Stop!” Antrey called out in the
Neldathi tongue. “There will be no violence here!”

Kajtan backed down and, at his
example, those around him did the same, all sitting back down in their places.

Dega walked back towards the other
side of the room. “Already, you do this bitch’s bidding,” Goshen translated.
“When this child leads you to slaughter, remember this day. Remember the mercy
we would show to you now, for it will be absent when we meet on the field.”

The threat caused silence to fall
over the room like a sudden downpour.

Antrey took a deep breath, stepped
off the dais, and walked over to Dega. “You have said your piece, Dega of
Chellein. Now leave us to our business. But tell your masters this: if it comes
to battle, and I pray that it will not, we will show you the mercy you deserve
as our brothers and sisters, even once you have been vanquished.”

Dega smiled a slight, smug smile at
her, but said nothing more. He turned and walked out of the hall in silence.

Antrey stepped back up on the dais
and addressed the rest of the crowd. “Any of you who want to leave now and
return to your clan, no one will try and stop you. I hope you stay and hear
what we all have to say about what the Triumvirate has done to us and what must
be done about it, but I understand if you do not.” She paused and waited for a
response. No one stood. No one walked away. She smiled and nodded.

Antrey turned to Goshen. “Go ahead.
I think we need to hear from you now more than ever.”

He flashed her a quick smile.
“Think of it this way, Jeyn Antrey. You have unified two groups of Neldathi at
one time.”

“Yes, but one of them is unified
against me.”

“Every story must start somewhere.”

~~~~~

Late that night, after the meeting
had ended, Antrey sat in the back room of the Islander hall, enjoying a well-earned
meal. Naath, Goshen, Kajtan, and Birkthir all joined her. Antrey was
particularly pleased to see Kajtan and Birkthir getting along so well. It gave
her hope that the clans could overcome their animosities and gather around a
common cause after all.

As they finished eating, it was
Kajtan who broke the silence that had fallen over the table. “I should have
seen this coming.” There was no attempt to correct him, though it was equally
true for all of them. “With no offense to you, Goshen, your ideas are quite…”
he left the sentence unfinished, searching for the right word.

“Unorthodox?” Antrey threw in.

“Yes, jeyn,” Kajtan said,
“unorthodox is as good a word as any. You have been with us for so long,
Goshen, perhaps we have forgotten that fact.”

“Agreed, this was inevitable,”
Goshen said. “I do not believe that even a small portion of our coalition
shares my faith in the Maker of Worlds. But acceptance will come in time, I
have no doubt of that.”

“That may be true,” Birkthir said.
Since joining Antrey’s inner circle, he had made clear that he found Goshen’s
faith troubling. “But we must not let this movement turn into a religious
struggle. That will only harden hearts and minds at a time when they should be
open.”

“Quite correct, thek,” Goshen
conceded. “I did not mean to suggest otherwise.”

It was left to Antrey to state the
obvious. “It’s me,” she said. “The biggest problem we face is me.”

“I do not believe that is true,
jeyn,” Kajtan quickly offered.

“Thank you, but there is no point
in sparing my feelings,” Antrey said. “There are legitimate concerns about my
leadership, as you and I discussed weeks ago. But we cannot wait while I
convince every thek south of the Water Road as I did with you.”

Birkthir nodded, but added nothing.

The silence was punctured by Naath,
of all people. “May I say something?”

“Of course,” Antrey said, giving
him a slight smile.

“I’m an outsider,” he said in a
well-polished Elein dialect that put Antrey’s speech to shame. “I can’t begin
to understand the relationships between all the clans. But it seems to me that
if Dega is serious, and there is no reason to assume he is not, then the clans
aligned with him will only be brought into the coalition by force.”

“That would somewhat undermine the
message of Neldathi brotherhood,” Goshen said.

“What’s the alternative?” Naath
asked. “Have half the clans working together against the Triumvirate while the
other half work against their own kind for the Triumvirate’s benefit? Surely
that would be worse.”

“He is right,” Birkthir said. “We do
not need unity about the gods—sorry, Goshen—or about how best to lead a clan.
But if this rising is to succeed as something beyond an annoyance to the
Triumvirate, we must all be unified against at least that common enemy. The
longer this rift remains, the more difficult it will become to heal it.”

“I agree,” said Naath. Kajtan and
Goshen both nodded reluctant agreement. “But I’m not certain how that can be
accomplished.”

“Dega’s coalition is eager for a
fight, for whatever reason,” Antrey said. “Because of Goshen, because I’m not a
full-blooded Neldathi, because I’m a woman, or just because they want to run
things themselves. It doesn’t really matter. What we have to do is give them
what they want and do just what I promised Dega we would do if it came to
battle. We have to crush them on the field and then welcome them as brothers.”

The room was silent for a moment as
the idea settled on them.

“That will be much easier said than
done, jeyn,” Kajtan said after a while. “Dega’s coalition has only four clans,
but they are some of the largest and most powerful. And they include the Akan,
the oldest of the clans. Apologies, Thek Birkthir.”

Birkthir nodded, knowing he was
right.

“They will put ten thousand
warriors in the field, perhaps twice that,” Kajtan continued.