What Was Forgotten (14 page)

As Zayd walked back from the camp perimeter, he heard a meek voice calling to him.

“Gattra!
Gattra!
” The Dramandi woman was sitting on the ground next to the supply cart, hands still tied, and someone had taken the added precaution of tying her feet together as well. For the first time, Zayd saw a look on her face that was something other than hostility.

“What is it that you are moving?” she nodded towards rear of the camp, towards the other carriages.

“Things from Yasri,” Zayd said. He felt a twinge of regret in being so blunt. It must have showed.

“Yes…” She looked down for a moment. “But, what else did you take?”

Zayd’s eyes narrowed.

“You dug it up, didn’t you?” she whispered.

Zayd said nothing. How did she know? Some of the soldiers may have spoken of it, but as far as he knew, she did not speak the true-tongue.

“What have you heard?” he asked.

“It’s not what I heard, it’s what I
saw
.”

Zayd looked around before sitting on the ground to face her. “What was it you saw?”

She was on the verge of replying, but she hesitated. “What was it you saw?” he repeated.

“I saw spirits. I could see them again now, if I… if I
looked
. Do you understand?”

Zayd nodded and tried to hide his distaste. She was a seer, one of the Dramandi who could speak with the dead. The Ryferians called it
communing,
something done only by Trueborn priests. Zayd had always thought the term was deceitful. They did not commune – they purged. It was the will of Xidius, though, and he had accepted this long ago when Tauth finally surrendered.

“You worship their man-god, don’t you?” the Dramandi woman asked. “I can see your hate for me. But what they have taken from the ground is plagued by spirits. They stand by it. Guarding it. Waiting. Corrupting everything around them.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Does it matter? Whatever it is should be reason enough for you to put it back in the ground!” Her eyes were wide. Zayd ran his finger through the dirt as he looked at her. If she was lying, it was being masterfully done.

“I know that seers like you seek spirits out, so why are you so fearful that you see some now?”

“Because they are not the forebears of my people. I don’t know where they’ve come from, but I can tell there is something they want, and it is sinister.”

Zayd smiled and shook his head.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“If only you had had this realization before we went to war. You could have let our priests cleanse your land. You could have spared yourself from this.”

She shot forward as much as her restraints would allow. “Our land did not –
does
not need your cleansing or your
man-god
. We’ve walked through the evernight for hundreds of years and you think that you know better because your priests say so. For no other reason! I thought you would understand since you are not one of them.” She sneered and sat back. “You do not understand. You
are
one of them.”

Zayd stood. The woman looked away from him but gave him a sidelong glance. “There will be evil that happens, and when it does, you’ll wish you had listened,” she said.

It must have been a ploy; for whatever reason, the Dramandi did not want the monolith to be taken from their land. Or maybe they just did not want the gold in the possession of the Empire. There must be some significance to it even though the markings on it were not made by the Dramandi, so far as they knew.

There was some undeniable effect the monolith had. Zayd had felt it when he first saw it: the feeling of looking at a piece of some great mystery, or reading a riddle that you are afraid to answer. Zayd had always rationalized that feeling by the sheer immensity and awe that such a wonder naturally inspired. Yet he began to wonder if she was being truthful, and if so, what that could mean. If there was an aura of corruption around it, it might explain Willock’s death and Renton Allus killing Corporal Perrin for no real reason. There was always hostility between the Trueborn and the Tauthri, but it seldom led to murder. Renton had not been one to let his anger control him, and Zayd admitted to himself that Renton’s actions were wholly out of character for him. Nothing on the journey had been easy. Could she have somehow found out about Renton and Willock? Was she inventing ghosts to try to manipulate him?

Zayd turned to her. “The relics are going to Lycernum, and our priests will cleanse them of any influence.”

Before she replied, Zayd turned at the sound of heavy footsteps behind him. Barrett Stern approached. “Come with me,” he said, and began to walk away. After Zayd felt the hilt of his blade at his side, he followed. Barrett walked to the perimeter of the camp, away from the soldiers. Away from anyone who might see or hear them. Though Zayd could see perfectly, Barrett, carrying no lantern or torch for light, stepped carefully as he went and stopped once the light of the few campfires was obscured by the trees. Zayd kept his hand on his hilt.

“I saw that you talked to Praene.”
“What of it?”

“What did you talk to him about? It was about where we’re marching, wasn’t it?”

Zayd recalled what Daruthin had told him earlier. “Did you speak to him about it?”

“I tried. He wouldn’t hear of it, though. I wanted to see the map. That was what I was really after. Tell me – what did he say to you? Did he say
anything?
”

“Nothing of substance. He told me that he knew what he was doing and that I should mind my own tasks.”

“He was placating you.”

“I know. If he had a real plan he could simply explain it to us, but he’s reluctant.”

“He isn’t reluctant, he’s
lying
.” Barrett ran a hand over his beard and gave Zayd an apprising look before saying anything further. “Did you notice that he separated the Eighth and Ninth Regiments the day after the attack? The Ninth is now at the head of the column.”

Zayd had noticed. “I assumed that was only his favouritism. He chafed when Areagus had the Eighth bringing up the rear.”

“What if there is another reason?”

“The Eighth took most of the casualties from the attack. Does it not make sense to move the Ninth to the front?”

“What if it’s something else yet?” Barrett asked. “What if he has a plan?”

It was clear that Barrett had something very precise that he was not saying. “Why bring your concerns to me? Why not Alain or Savas?”

Barrett stared at him. “I still may, but…”

“You don’t know if you can trust them,” Zayd said.

“I didn’t think anyone else shared my suspicion.”

“You think he is defecting,” Zayd said.

Barrett nodded. “He has no family, no children, a lackluster military record… now he has a regiment loyal to him, and he’s in possession of a kingdom’s fill of gold. What reason does he have to go back to the capital? Why not disappear into the vastness of the Empire with enough treasure to drink fine wine every day until he dies? I am only unsure of how many of the Ninth are with him. Garinus Corwin, Devon Rindus, and their ilk, to be sure… perhaps all of his knights.”

The reason Barret had come to him finally dawned on Zayd; he knew Zayd was loyal,
had
to be loyal, or else the Ryferian garrison in Tauth would execute his family, and in Lycernum, his son. If Praene succeeded in defecting, it could be assumed the entire column was complicit. For Zayd and for every other Tauthri with him, the monolith
had
to reach Lycernum, or it would be the same punishment for them all.

“And what of the Eighth? Areagus’ men… I don’t think they would be so weak-willed.”

“I would agree… but I cannot be certain of it. Of anything. For all I know, you and I are the only two.” Barrett’s expression hinted to Zayd that he exerted himself in including him in that statement.

“We should remove Praene from command,” Zayd said.

“Be more prudent, would you? If we try to do that, the ogre will see it as an act of treason, whether or not Praene means to defect. Then it will be our heads.”

Barrett was right. Talazz, like all En Kazyr giants, was unfailingly loyal and observant of every rule and regulation. And despite how accepting he was of Zayd and the other Tauthri, the giant had no friends. Every soldier was a potential rule-breaker, and someone he may have to punish. During the siege of Yasri, Talazz and Renton had shared several old war stories with fondness, but the giant did not hesitate to carry out his duty when the time came. Zayd had always stood beside the giant. He was not eager to stand against him.

“Of course, we could remove Talazz altogether,” Barrett said. “While he rests.”

“What are you saying?”

“Kill the giant, capture Praene. Take control of the regiments.”

“Absolutely not!” Zayd growled. “I thought you held honour as a sacred principle!”

“Don’t lecture me,” Barrett waved a hand, dismissing Zayd’s objection. “I’ve always fought on the battlefield with honour, which is more than you can ever say. But this is not a battlefield, is it?”

“No, it is not,” Zayd admitted. “Regardless, we will not make murderers of ourselves, dishonour ourselves in the service of honour…… absolutely not.”

“Fine, fine,” Barrett said. “What else are we to do then, if we cannot remove him with force?” As a man who was his purest realization of himself only at war, Barrett seemed to approach every problem having already decided that the solution was the sword. Not here, though, Zayd knew. At least, not their own swords.

“Ten Tower fort,” Zayd said. “We must still be south of it.”

“What of it? We must be days away from it, at least.”

Ten Tower was the only Ryferian outpost between Yasri and where the army brought in supplies to the coast from the mainland. It was clear that Praene was not marching towards it, Zayd knew, but if he could tell how close they were to it, there could be a chance to remove Praene from command while keeping his head.

“One of us needs to get there. If Praene is going to abandon his duty, then he must have at least enough of his men ready to do the same, enough to overpower the rest of the column. Otherwise, how could he do it? We’ll need the soldiers at Ten Tower to intervene against him. Before he acts.”

Barrett stared into the dark forest, contemplating, mapping out his actions. He grunted. “Aye. Before… why
hasn’t
he already? We can’t leave this for long.” He paused, again looking into the darkness. “I will go to Ten Tower. But we will need Praene’s map, and he keeps it stowed away somewhere in his tent.”

“I will get it,” Zayd said.

Barrett nodded almost imperceptibly. “Tomorrow night. Make sure you are ready.”

Zayd tried to rest throughout the day, but the anticipation was like a voice that he could not silence, keeping him to only a few hours of light sleep. He ran his thumb over the scar of the sigil on the inside of his left arm. For a moment he thought it was the scar that kept him awake. Was it more sensitive somehow, or was it his nerves? Zayd pulled down his sleeve and dismissed it as the latter. He was nervous, and he wondered how much it showed.

The column stopped at midday for food and a short rest. Zayd scanned the column, looking for signs of anyone acting out of the ordinary. He looked to Barrett and saw that the knight was acting completely normal. Maybe others were noticing him if he truly was the only one expecting something to happen at that very moment. Barrett did not even make eye contact with him.

The Dramandi woman did, though. He caught her looking at him with apprehension and… was it fear? He approached her and held out his water skin which she accepted and, while taking a long drink, never took her eyes from him.

“What is your name?” Zayd asked.

“Did you dream?” she asked. He was taken off guard by the question.

“Not that I remember.” Her look did not change, still full of uncertainty. “Should I have dreamt?”

She reached out to touch him and Zayd drew back reflexively. “You have something on your arm,” she said.

“How is it you know that?”

Her hand dropped to the ground. “It does not matter. But you do, don’t you?”

Zayd didn’t know how she knew, but there was no point in lying. “Yes.”

“I need to see. You have to show me,” she whispered.

“Your name first.”

She was looking right into his eyes, and he could sense her seeking something out, measuring him for the most basic essence of trust; would he show her once she told him her name? Was he asking for it for a malign purpose? Zayd did not avoid her stare. A thought flashed into his mind the moment she spoke.

“Sera Naiat.”

He gave a slight nod of thanks, and looked around again to see if anyone was watching them before quickly raising his sleeve to show her the scarred sigil on his left forearm. She grabbed his arm and pulled it closer to her. The quickness of it surprised Zayd; he did not even have time to react. As she held his arm with one hand, she traced the scar with the other so lightly he almost did not feel it.
“How did you know it was there?” he asked. He slowly pulled his arm away.