Battle Magic (50 page)

“Has the emperor gone home?”

The God-King shook his head. “He has only retreated, and not far. He is resting and summoning his northern troops. We can only be grateful that he is also giving us time to rest and wait for more of our allies to come.”

“Will they be enough?” The war was almost a more comfortable subject than anything that had happened to her in Gyongxe.

“It is our land. Things happen in Gyongxe that can happen nowhere else,” he replied. “We must pray that is enough.”

A man had come to speak with him. Evvy watched, thinking, I can’t take Rosethorn and Briar from him. If I go, I bet Luvo will return to his mountain, so I can’t take Luvo, either — if he’ll stay for me, anyway. But I can’t leave and turn a whole country over to Weishu. Not without trying to help.

I just can’t let them get me again, that’s all.

Rosethorn went in search of First Dedicate Dokyi when they returned from their bath. Briar envied her energy, but he was still tired and his leg pained him. He apologized to Luvo for being poor company and went back to sleep.

The Snow Serpent River glittered in the sunlight. He sat on the bank, fishing. In the dream he knew that he rarely fished, but he was doing it here, and the crystal waters had produced a bite. He wrestled his fish up onto the riverbank. He had landed a body, that of an old woman. He looked at the river. It ran with the bodies of the dead: men, women, children, animals. They bristled with arrows or showed gaping wounds as the river turned them over and over in the rapids.

For some dream reason he put his hook and line into the water again. The next body he pulled onto the bank was Evvy. Her feet streamed blood.

He sat up in bed, gasping.

No more of that, he told himself. No more of that at
all
. He found a cloth and dumped some water on it from a pitcher beside his bed, then used it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. Rather than try to sleep again, he would make himself useful, tired as he was. He collected a pack with his medicines and found his way to one of the infirmaries where the wounded were kept.

Much to his surprise, his work as a healer was not wanted, though the medicines were. It was true: Gyongxe had plenty of healer mages. He did find that his friends among the wounded soldiers wanted to see him. They were eager to introduce him to
their friends. Briar did the rounds, sitting with each of them and joking, fighting to keep a cheerful face no matter how upset he might be at the extent of a soldier’s wounds. Many of them had mage fire burns, a sight that deepened Briar’s hate for Weishu. Why couldn’t the man be happy with what he had?

He was almost finished in the main infirmary when he saw Rosethorn, Evvy, and Luvo were also visiting the wounded. When he was done, Briar joined Evvy. Everyone wanted to meet the girl and the heart of the mountain. He helped those who could to sit up so they might talk with the odd pair. Evvy, so shaky in the bath and in their room, was endlessly patient as she lifted the crystal bear for those who could not sit. Briar realized that Luvo was giving out a soft hum, one so deep that he felt it in the soles of his feet as much as he heard it. It seemed to leave the wounded stronger.

They might have been there all night, except the healer in charge shooed them away so her staff could feed everyone and change bandages. A messenger found them with an invitation to join First Dedicate Dokyi for supper.

Rosethorn and Evvy were glad to see Dokyi. The old man was leaner than he had been when they saw him last, but his gaze was no less sharp as he looked each of them over. He clasped hands with Briar and bowed to Luvo, but he embraced first Evvy, who had been his winter student, and then Rosethorn. “You did well,” he told the woman quietly. “
Very
well.”

“Thank my horse,” she said wryly, her voice just as soft. “He took me there and back. And if we did so well, why do I still see moving paintings? My errand is over, yes?”

Dokyi smiled. “That effect may remain while you are in Gyongxe, where we sit between the divine and the earthly.”

“Paintings didn’t dance and cavort this last winter,” Rosethorn told him.

“Carrying the burden changed your ability to see the portals. That is what the paintings are.” Dokyi looked at Briar, who was chatting with the temple’s other supper guests, the God-King, Parahan, Sayrugo, and Soudamini. “Though I have yet to explain what happened to Briar.”

“He touched the pack that I carried my burden in,” Rosethorn explained. “We had to tie him to his horse for half a day. He wouldn’t sleep in the temple fortresses after that, though he didn’t tell me why.”

Dokyi grinned. “Ah. That explains why he jumps so. Like you, he now sees the little gods as they really are on the walls, alive in their doors to our world.”

“Are you two going to eat?” called the God-King. “Or do we have to finish all this ourselves?”

Rosethorn had needed a meal like this with friends and very little talk of the war. It was understood by the adults, she was certain, that they would be working on strategies soon enough. Evvy was quiet, not sulky. Something she told the God-King struck him as quite funny; he nearly choked, he laughed so hard. They broke up in a good mood and went to bed early.

In the morning, Briar and Rosethorn found a workroom in the part of the Living Circle temple given over to the use of the Earth temple. There, with pots and earth from the temple supplies, they began to replenish their thorny seed balls. Evvy helped, carrying
in jars of water and filling the pots with enough earth to take the seed.

“I do not understand,” Luvo said as he watched them work. “Surely this emperor will go home now that he has lost so many of his people to the fighters of Gyongxe.”

“That is exactly why he
won’t
stop until we find a way to beat him like a drum,” Briar said bitterly. “He could lose three times as many people as he did and still have plenty more to throw against us. He wants this place. He wants the temples and the God-King’s palace and all their treasures. He wants a hold on all the religions that have temples here. And he won’t take no for an answer. He’s the kind of fellow who will burn a whole garden because one plant is sick.”

“I do not understand,” Luvo replied again.

Briar had just finished the tale of Rosethorn’s attempt to save the rose garden when Jimut arrived carrying two small wooden kegs.

“What are these for?” Rosethorn asked when he set them on the table.

“Well, a slinger who’s a long way off might not get one of your cloth seed balls very close to the enemy,” he said cheerfully. “That’s why I had to go back to my old way of fighting when we twisted the emperor’s tail.”

“It doesn’t seem to have hurt you,” Rosethorn replied with a smile.

“Yes, but I felt bad,” he told her. “Most of my friends never got to see what happens when one of your little balls explodes. And I was, well, I was exploring hereabouts, feeling like I have nothing to do. I just happened to find the wine cellars….”

Briar began to laugh.

Jimut said loftily, “
And
they have all these empty kegs waiting for transport to the Yanjingyi wine makers, except there’s a war. So I got an idea. What if you put one or two cloth balls in an empty keg and load
that
into a catapult? A small catapult, maybe, like the ones they have on the rooftops here? The keg will pop when it hits the ground, and your seeds will scatter and grow.”

Rosethorn clapped his shoulder. “That’s a
very
good idea. Now, go find the First Dedicate of the Water temple and ask her to donate her kegs. I’m certain she will be pleased to do so.”

Jimut stared at her. “I thought you might handle that part.”

Rosethorn sighed in mock regret. “I would, but I am growing thistles so they will give us more seed. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t come myself.”

Jimut looked at Briar, who shrugged. “I’m doing the same thing,” Briar explained.

“I’ll come,” Evvy volunteered, “if you think it would help.”

Jimut sighed. “No offense, Evumeimei, but you are not always careful about what you say. I will be in enough trouble when she hears I was prowling in her wine cellar.” He wandered off.

Rosethorn watched him go. “I hope Parahan and Souda appreciate that fellow,” she said, thinking aloud. “He’s clever, he thinks fast, and he doesn’t frighten easily. And he’s loyal. They should promote him.” She turned it over in her mind as she settled seed after seed in the earth and called to the growth in them. Up sprouted the plants, to bloom and go to seed. It was work she would set a novice to at home, or several novices. It was pleasant to greet the plants — their thorns were as long as her forearm once they were
more than two feet tall, though they were sweet-natured to the gardener who appreciated them — but she wanted to do more.

She
could
do more. For all the harm she had done, she was not a battle mage; she was a medicine mage, a planting mage. Rose Moon was nearly over; winter came early here. How much of the fields had the imperial armies destroyed already? “Evvy, you are now a thorn seed harvester,” she announced, moving her sprouting plants to Briar’s side of the room.

“I am?” the girl asked, though not irritably. She had been dozing on a heap of sacks.