The Year of Our War (31 page)

“Please allow me to offer congratulations, Lord Micawater,” Harrier said, amazingly calmly.

I rubbed my wings to stop the muscles stiffening. “I have to report to the Emperor,” I said. I retrieved my sword, dug in my pocket for the sorry remains of the block of marzipan, which I stuffed into my mouth for energy food. Harrier offered a leather bottle of tan-tainted water. “San must know about this,” I added.

Lightning broke off murmuring to the awakening girl. “You’re right, Jant. Harrier and I will ride to Awndyn. It’s the nearest haven for Cyan, and Swallow needs us—if we can find her. I hope she’s still there—she only had five hundred men, and this place is infested.”

“It will be dark soon,” said Harrier. He had once listened to me complain at length about the labor of flying at night.

“I can go one-twenty k an hour in this wind,” I assured him, spidering to my feet and stretching my long legs against the tight leather, extending my wings and arching my back like a cat. I was getting used to the freezing gale; it reminded me of the mountains.

Lightning sent Harrier to fetch the horses before saying, “Offer my apologies to the Emperor. I beg his forgiveness, and I hope I am not too late…Beware of Ata; she is dangerous, especially now time is passing for her again. If you have to negotiate with her, mark every word; I’ve known the lady longer than you have.”

“I haven’t known her at all,” I remarked involuntarily.

“Cease the spite, Messenger; it’s dishonorable. I have watched Tern and yourself happily married for a hundred years without showing any of the envy I feel for your happiness.”

“But—”

“Go carefully. Go
fast
.” He struggled into the unadorned saddle of the larger horse and fussed about, inexpertly securing Cyan in front of him so that he could still pull a bowstring back.

“You could put her in the saddle bag,” I suggested. When I was a child Eilean transported me in a papoose. The Archer looked scandalized. “I am going to
carry
her,” he said proudly. “When we meet Insects Harrier will just have to fight twice as hard.”

I
watched them speed away, and then I ran back to the shore. I had to leave the cluster of boathouses that broke up the airflow, creating lees and bewildering down-currents. Then I sprinted faster, again jumped into the air.

I rejoiced in the lightness; compared to my last flight I was infinitely agile and maneuverable. The sea was there below me and couldn’t harm me. I beat the gusts and rode upon their backs, long-winged.

There are some advantages to flying over the sea. Unlike the land there are no people below so it is safe to piss from a height if you are desperate, which I was.

T
he lights of the Plainslands villages I used to navigate by—like stars on the ground—had gone out. Diw township was deserted, and Eske town was keeping a blackout in the knowledge that lights attracted Insects.

I aligned my flight west by the constellation called the Mad Sow’s Litter, and skimmed close to the forest canopy. I flew all night to the Castle, and arrived in the gray dawn. I loped up the worn stone steps and through the great gate, desperately trying to order my thoughts.

Hundreds of people packed the Throne Room benches. Mortals, governors, fyrd captains and townsfolk. The screen had been rolled back, so the Emperor’s gold sunburst dais was in full view from all parts of the hall. I didn’t know the screen could be moved, and I had never seen such a crowd of mortals here.

I strode down the aisle and knelt before the Emperor, my hands on the platform’s bottom step, salty wings chilled by airflow tense against my back.

The Emperor studied me carefully. “We have been waiting.”

His forehead was furrowed, his cheeks were pinched—tiny changes imperceptible in anyone else were significant with the Emperor because in my experience he had always looked the same. Alarmed, I realized they were signs of stress that, even with his powerful will, San could not disguise.

The Emperor began: “The first thing you should know is that Staniel Rachiswater is no longer King of Awia.”

“My lord! Has the King been killed?”

San smiled flatly, and I thought he looked tired. “No, indeed. He is a prisoner in his own Palace. Lady Eleonora Tanager seized control last night. She has eighteen thousand men, and Rachiswater’s lancers defected to join her coup.”

“I only knew she had fled her manor.” And she had taken the capital. Eleonora’s reputation was fearsome; I had met her once before, in a cocktail party, but she was as good a huntress there as she is in the forest.

“I await my lord’s command,” I said. King Staniel a prisoner in Rachiswater? Perhaps that’s what he always wanted: to be safe.

The Emperor waved his hand, as if dismissing Eleonora’s coup as the natural flow of things. “The Princess is defending Awia. Her countrymen rally behind her, and I dispatched Plainslands fyrd to her. I have sent some immortals and promised the help of the rest. Leave the whys and wherefores until the war is won—” He surveyed the mass of people behind me as he left unsaid—if any Awians survive.

I turned half away from the podium and examined the rows of Zascai warriors and civilians. San tapped his age-speckled fingers on the armrest of the throne. “I have made changes. I need their reports; and in return I am giving them reassurance, and hope.”

I said, “There are no immortals here.”

“They are all in the field. Hayl and Sleat with the Artillerist; Rayne and the fyrd from Carniss are helping Eleonora hold Rachiswater. The Swordsman and thirty other immortals are holding the front within view of Hacilith city walls. The Architect, Treasurer, Polearms Master and ten more are seeking a way to defend the Plainslands. They lost Altergate yesterday, and Laburnum the day before that.”

Maybe I was projecting my exhaustion onto him. Another glance told me that was a vain hope.

San said, “I suggest you give me your news now and your worries later.”

I took a deep breath and told him about the Sailor’s death. The mortals behind me leaned closer to hear, but after two minutes San cut me short. “I know this—of course! I recovered the Circle! What can you add? About Insects! How close have they come? Cobalt manor?”

I bowed my head. “No. All that is left in Cobalt are corpses. Diw is empty—Bittern evacuated her people to Grass Isle.”

“So Awndyn is next. So Lightning is in Awndyn when I needed him in Rachiswater, where half his archers are, the other half on the island! He will answer for this debacle!”

“He asked me to plead forgiveness.”

“Comet, what would you do with Peregrine manor? I know, you would give it to Lightning, who regards himself as the rightful owner. So then Lightning would keep indefinitely two of the six manors of Awia. He is breaking a primary rule of the Circle!”

I understood. If Eszai accumulated lands and were able to raise their own fyrd, they could dispute with Zascai governors or kings. And with time they might even be able to challenge the Emperor’s authority…

“I allowed Lightning to keep Micawater, his birthright. But no new lands. I think he and Ata will choose immortality over property.”

“Then who will inherit Peregrine, my lord?”

“Cyan Dei.”

“Cyan? She’s just a child!”

The Emperor nodded, white hair brushing his thin shoulders. “Yes, Cyan Dei is presently a child of eight. So, tell Governor Swallow Awndyn to protect her and her manor until she comes of age. As regental governor, Swallow has ten years to make Peregrine as productive as it should be, whilst equitably teaching Cyan the Empire’s ways. Tell Lightning to salvage Peregrine manorship for Cyan. And he should
listen
to the child as well.”

I shut my mouth, because my jaw was dropping. At a stroke the Emperor had brought Lightning and Swallow together. He had burdened Swallow with so much to oversee that she would find it hard to pursue her claim for immortality. And if Peregrine manor could eventually return over twenty thousand men to the fyrd, Cyan would gain the title of Lady Governor.

“Peregrine manor will stay in Lightning’s family, which is what he always wanted, Cyan the latest descendant of a long-dead dynasty. He will think it an excellent idea.”

“And Ata? She will be furious.”

“Tell her to direct her fury at the Insects!” I flinched, but the Emperor continued: “The fleet needs maintenance. Tell Ata that if she is successful, I will bestow point eight million pounds from the Castle’s Treasury to that end.”

“Yes, my lord Emperor,” I said, dazed.

San said, “We must deliver Tornado, or none of this will come to pass…” He became lost in thought; I waited, and there was neither motion nor murmur from the rows of battle-worn behind me, although a Sheldrake soldier was weeping silently, clutching his broad-brimmed hat.

Incense smoke rose in thin coils to the vaulted mosaics, the columns behind the throne glittered. Shafts of morning light from the high windows streamed across the hall, illuminating the ancient frescoes of Insect battles and the Castle’s founding.

“The fyrd need Tornado,” San said eventually. “He is a great symbol of the Empire’s might.”

I understood. Tornado was the most powerful fighter, the third oldest Eszai, the strongest man in the world in a millennium. The fyrd would rally behind him, if only because it was safer there.

“Comet, you and Ata must liberate Tornado from Lowespass Fortress. What intelligence do you have on Lowespass?”

It was time to tell him. However he reacts, whatever happens to me. I readied myself for the shock of being dropped from the Circle. Dislocated in denial of my own voice speaking I said, “The bridge—”

San looked up sharply.

“That’s where the Insects are coming from.”

San stood abruptly, called, “Close the screen!” We waited as the ornate partition swung back into place. Now the crowd could not hear us; above the dais, the cupola’s architecture damped our voices.

“Tell me,” demanded the Emperor.

I hunched up into a ball at the base of the steps. “I resign.”

Please render me mortal, so I don’t have to tell how I broke the world, and that I don’t know how to put the pieces together again. This was like my confession to San and the Eszai in the ceremony when I joined the Circle—easier to die than drag out the details of my past. What was I doing, trying to hide secrets from god’s custodian?

“Comet, that is only the easy way. Tell me. Once, then never again to anybody, living—or dead. Do you understand?”

“Y-es. Yes, I do…My lord Emperor, there are many other worlds: the Shift. I have been there. Insects cross between them by bridges and they lay worlds waste. They might travel by the tunnels too, if we consider how they first reached the Empire. Insects sense a place where the boundary between two worlds is thin. Then they build a bridge or a tunnel to reach it. They can see a passage through, but to anyone else, the bridge just stops in the air. Insects breed in some worlds; in others, seek food, and the Empire is at the very edge…”

“Go on.”

“Dunlin Rachiswater, the last King, is still alive—in the Shift.”

The Emperor raised a hand, about to ask how this could possibly be. He studied me intently, and read the answer. “I understand,” he said. “Go on.”

“Dunlin fights Insects there. They escaped across the bridge to Lowespass…But I found him! He agreed to restrain Epsilon City’s prodigious host for the space of a month. If we push now, we can send the Insects back.”

Now I had told the Emperor, I was light and empty. San needed this knowledge; he would know what to do!

The Emperor’s face was unreadable. Didn’t he believe me? Did he think this was a madman’s insane rambling? I pulled my wings tight to my waist.

“If we had the strength to make a push,” San said at last. “Hear me, Messenger. Go to Sute and instruct Ata. When she clears Lowespass of Insects she can come to the Castle and join the Circle. I shall give her Mist’s title when her campaign is complete, and not before. Now fetch me paper.”

I
wanted to ask the Emperor how life was, back when god walked the earth. What did it really look like? Sound like? What did it mean to live when everybody knew everything? While San wrote, the pen scratching, I tried to imagine existence with god nearby, enjoying its creation, when there were no Insects, no Castle—this two-thousand-year-old stone, just lush grass. The Fourlands does not really belong to us—it is god’s playground; god gave us responsibility for its creation, which we have failed to defend.

As ever, San read my mind. Almost imperceptibly, he said, “Once there was peace.”

I folded the letter, melted the sealing wax, and impressed it with Castle’s sunburst.

“Remember my orders. Now go.”

I stood and bowed, wings down in a flare of iridescent feathers, then backed and left the Throne Room, watched by the archers on the balcony. As I passed the screen it was opened slowly, and the Emperor called people forward to hear their reports.

O
utside, I seized the guard’s shoulder. “Lanner’s son?”

“Yes, Messenger.”

I pointed through the arched arcade to the black sarsen twists of the Northwest Tower. “See my standard? Lady Tern Wrought lives there,” I said. “Find her, and tell her…Tell her that I love her. Tell her
not
to journey outside the Castle. She is not to leave the Castle no matter what she hears. No matter what she feels.”

“I’ll tell her, Comet.” Shocked by my candor he added, “But won’t you be back?”

I masked fear with a swaggering smile, put a finger to my lips and shook my head. “For her sake I’ll try not to get myself killed.” I desperately wanted Tern, the center of eternity, and if I saw her now, nothing would induce me to leave her again. I stifled the thought; I had to go. Spreading my wings, I vaulted the balcony, fell two floors, righted myself in the air, sped up and over the Castle roof. I lay horizontally in the air, found my pace for five hundred kilometers. Wings touched tips above and beneath me with each beat; the sun setting with a flash, below into the gentle hills of the Awian downland. A band of refugees emerged along the coast road, with fifty covered wagons and laden piebald ponies, they faltered their way south toward Hacilith from Wrought. I passed over the Peregrine cliffs, the land dropped away and there was the coastline.

I flew over the wreck of the
Honeybuzzard
in all its shades of gray and white. Its shattered figurehead reared on my left, a wild-haired sea woman jutting up from the slimy rocks where her wooden dress’s cream folds scratched and grated. I shuddered, remembering the corpse helmsman; Mist, stocky and solid, was more terrible than a ghost.

I turned along the coast to the Sute Towers. Men stood on their crenellated tops acting as lookouts. The towers seemed unreal, illusory, frosted yellow gritstone forelit by the winter sunset shining under the edge of the clouds.

I reached the end of the serrated reef, the sea boiling around it. There was the lighthouse, a round stone tower built in the same pragmatic fashion as Ata’s towers but with a stone platform and metal roof.

For every night as far back as I could remember, a huge fire was built in an iron cage on the platform to warn ships off the reef. Every morning the flames were allowed to burn down and the ash cleared out. The lighthouse’s mechanism had been Shearwater’s invention, and the procedure of running it kept several of the island’s families in employment.

The lighthouse was useful; I navigated by its blaze at night and the stacks of seagulls carousing its rizing air by day. Even now I could get some welcome lift from it. I flew over the conical black roof, curving slightly to circle into the thermal. Nothing happened. Strange, I thought, and tried it again; nothing happened. I glided lower and tried it a third time but the lighthouse was quite cold. All the missing answers dropped into place. Of course! I somersaulted in the air and hastened inland.

T
he Sute Tower named August was the only one flying a pennant. The banner was plain white and wind-torn with no insignia, a badge of Ata’s self-sufficiency. Lookouts on the battlements scurried down a hatch as I approached. Some wore little bodhrans and wooden flageolets, laced to their belts, which Morenzian men play when on watch duty.

The Sute Towers have no entrances at ground level; their doors are halfway up, with wooden gantries for access. Stealth was not an option, and I could do little in the way of force. Ata frightened me. She caused the Sailor’s death, would she have qualms about killing me before she knew my mission? Oh shit. The towers were a web in which Ata sat spiderlike waiting for the fly to appear.