Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2) (43 page)

“It was nothing,” she finally said. “Thought I saw something
up there.” The shadow may have been a figment brought on by her dizzy spell.
But somehow, she knew it wasn’t a figment. She knew they were not alone in this
place, though how she’d come by the notion was a mystery even to her.

“Let’s get Shep and get moving before we draw every unsavory
character on the block.”

“What about the horse?”

Lokes marched over and shot Seurag in the head. “There. Now
we really oughta skedaddle.”

It took Toler a moment to register what had happened,
delirious as he was. When he saw the head of his old horse ruptured and slumped
on the floor, he began to cry like a child. Lokes helped Weaver pull the
shepherd to his feet.

As they began to drag him away, he reached out for the
animal, opening and closing his fingers. He began to speak through the tears in
phrases that were stunted and incomplete. “Take my… get my… it’s there. I want…
don’t leave it. My… not you. Don’t take me… leave me my…”

Weaver realized he wasn’t reaching for his horse, but for
something among his belongings. They set him down, and she knelt beside him.
“What is it? What do you want?”

“Sa—sad… Sad…”

“He’s sad,” said Lokes. “Big deal. Let’s go.”

Weaver shook her head. “That’s not it. Saddle. He wants his
saddle.”

“No way I’m humping that thing around on my back.”

“Go get him his saddle, will you?”

“The dway’s got two broken legs. How you figure we gonna
carry him and that saddle both?”

“I don’t think both his legs are broke. I think the one’s
just a sprain. Seemed like he could put weight on it.”

“Okay, Doctor Dubya. Whatever you say. Regardless of the
particulars, he can’t walk. I ought to do for him, same as his horse.” He mimed
a gun.

“Will. You lay a finger on that boy, I’ll bury you with him.”

Lokes cackled. “‘Bout time someone got around to it, eh? You
know, that saddle ain’t gonna fit through the gate anyhow.”

“We’ll make it fit.”

Lokes sighed and trudged over to the horse, grumbling as he
unhooked the strap and shouldered the saddle.

Nothing’s ever easy with ol’ Lokes
, Weaver thought,
and couldn’t help but think it fondly.

Lokes didn’t stop when he reached her and Toler; he went
straight to the Longworth’s gate, where he put his back to the wall and pushed
the metal grille with his foot until he could finagle the saddle through the
gap. He dropped it on the other side, shoved it across the floor with his boot,
and came back. “Don’t you say a word,” he warned, throwing Toler Glaive’s arm
over his shoulder.

Weaver didn’t. She took the other arm and helped Lokes drag
the injured man across the remaining distance. It was a hassle getting Toler
through the gate. He didn’t seem to know where he was half the time, or who
they were the other half. Between his injuries, his withdrawal and his starwind
sickness, the dway was in bad shape.

“What’re we gonna do with him now?” Lokes asked after they’d
made the shepherd as comfortable as they could.

“We get some sleep. We hope the rain stops overnight and
figure it out in the morning.”

“I guarantee you, there ain’t no magical solution gonna pop
its way into that pretty little head of yours while you sleep. Ain’t no way we
can take him with us. That’s just the way it is.”

I’ll think of something
, she wanted to say. “No use
fretting over it now.”

“Who’s frettin’? I’m facing facts, is all. One of us has got
to. Now, uh… where were we?” Lokes began to remove his leathers.

“I don’t think so,” Weaver said. “Not while he’s sitting
right here.”

“Aw, shit, Jal. Really? The dway don’t know up from down…” He
saw the look on her face and knew she wasn’t going to budge. “Come off
somewhere with me then.”

“I ain’t leaving him and all our gear for the city-scum to
take.”

“We won’t be gone but a second…”

Don’t I know it
, she thought, slipping into her
bedroll. “G’night, Will.”

“Jal. Jal… come on, now.” He came over to her. “What’s the
matter?”

She knew it was hardly worth the effort of telling him what
the matter was, but she gave it a try anyway, hoping he might show a little
understanding for once. A little compassion. “You know, when I fell back there,
you never once asked me if I was alright.”

“Didn’t have to ask. I could tell.”

“I wasn’t, though.”

Lokes sighed. “What’s wrong with you then?”

“I’m fine now. Forget it.”

She could hear him breathing, his lungs betraying an attempt
to still his anger: two quick breaths out, followed by one slow, measured
inhale. “Suit yourself.”

When he reached for her arm, she shrugged away from his
touch. “Goodnight.”

There was a brief silence. She tensed up, unsure what to
expect. Then she heard him stand. He stood above her for a long moment before
skulking off into the darkness.

He didn’t come back for a long time. For the rest of the
night, there were only the sounds of hard rain on the roof and the doleful
cries of the shepherd, trapped in a fitful sleep with the stuff of his
nightmares.

Weaver dreamed of Guildcross; of the Guildhall with its broad
deepstone corridors hewn from the mountain itself, a mystery of locked chambers
and forbidden passages. She dreamed she was in the sand pits, forming a cipher,
when the sand came alive. It began to resist her control, pushing back against
the shape she’d made for it, singing to her in its resonant voice, a million
voices speaking as one. ‘
Take us
,’ it told her. ‘
Use us. We are
without number. Ours is the burden of consequence
.’ When she could hold
back the sand no longer, she dropped the cipher to let it swarm in and swallow
her whole.

She jerked awake with a deep inhale. Lokes still hadn’t
returned. When she looked over at Toler, his eyes were closed. He was mumbling
to himself, his head swaying back and forth, his forehead glistening with
sweat.
He’s having some horrible dream, too
, she suspected.
Or else
the pain’s so bad it won’t let him sleep
.

She rolled over and tried to doze again, but she couldn’t.
She lay awake a long time, listening to the rain and the strange empty sounds
of the department store. She tried listening out for Lokes, but wherever the
stubborn jackass had gone off to, he was being quiet about it. She listened too
for the shadow, that shape of a man she’d seen on the balcony. She watched the
darkness for movement, but there was none. Sooner or later she drifted off.

When she awoke the next morning, Lokes was sitting by a fire
he’d built in a nearby corner of the store. She didn’t know whether he’d come
back to lay with her during the night or if he’d just shown up when morning
came. The look he gave when he caught her staring at him said he hadn’t. Toler
was awake too, though he was still lying where they’d left him the night before,
staring blankly up at the ceiling.
Men
, Weaver thought, and the word
might as well have been a curse.
I got Lokes sore at me, Fink trying to kill
me, and Toler too coffed up to know his butt from his boots
.

There was one piece of good news over which the men had no
say, at least.

The rains had let up.

CHAPTER 35

A Slave Among Brothers

“Will you tell me how it happened, my master?” Diarmid
Kailendi’s face was taut with concern as he leaned forward to hear his
warleader’s tale. He and Lethari Prokin were sitting in the small office above
the factory’s production floor while a pair of Diarmid’s men guarded the door
from outside.

Lethari began the tale, glossing over the details of Sigrede
Balbaressi’s wounding while emphasizing the captain’s request for a merciful
death. As for the singular detail which would’ve changed everything—that Sig
had discovered the goatskin record—Lethari left that out altogether. Neither
did he recount the exact words they had exchanged as Sig lay dying, though
Lethari did not deny being the one to end Sig’s life.

Lethari finished his story convinced he had portrayed his
actions in a positive light. He had done Sigrede a simple favor and ended his
suffering.
Sig would not have survived the pale-skin’s wound
, Lethari
told himself.

Diarmid was unsatisfied with Lethari’s explanation. “The
proper thing to do when a man is wounded in battle is to bring him to a shaman.
Sigrede Balbaressi was strong. He was one of your captains. More than that, he
had a wife and child. Do you not think you were quick to grant his request for
mercy?”

Lethari cleared his throat. “I was drunk with the lust of
battle. If I was quick, it was only because my sand-brother was in agony. And
because it was his wish. Were it up to me, I would have tried to save him, futile
as that effort may have proven.”

“Did he say nothing of his family?”

“He did. He said, ‘
Tell Shonnie and Harlais I will be with
them again
.’ He expected to die, Diarmid. Sometimes a man knows.”

Diarmid frowned and fell silent for a time. “I will not lie
to you, Lethari. No matter the circumstances, it will not sit well with the
master-king that you have slain one of your own captains. It does not sit well
with your captains either, from what I hear.”

“Of this, I am aware. I assure you, my intentions were pure.”
Lethari knew it was a lie before the words had escaped him. Killing Sig had
ensured the goatskin record’s secrecy; Lethari had known it then, and he knew
it now.

“You must leave it to Tycho Montari’s judgment, then. Rest
assured, he will hear of this. Best you tell him yourself and face his judgment
before he hears it elsewhere. If you believe your actions were true, so will
he.”

He will find my words truer if I return to him laden with
spoils
, Lethari knew. That was why he needed Diarmid’s support. If the
other captains conspired to drag Lethari to Sai Calgoar in chains, the king
would not see his crimes in the same light.

Now that the routes written on the goatskin record were
stale, and with his return to Sai Calgoar imminent, Lethari needed to get rid
of it more than ever. What an agonizing twist of the fates that he had
inscribed the record on so durable a thing. He had wanted Daxin’s dying words
to last. To be permanent. Now, he wished only for their extinction. “I value
your counsel, Diarmid. Let us now speak of other things. The camp looks well.
How have you fared in my absence?”

“These have been trying times,” said Diarmid. “But not all
for the worse.
Yarun merouil
came to collect their brothers.” He opened
one of the desk drawers and handed Lethari the smelted metal seal he had given
Raith to ensure his acceptance at the camp.

Lethari ran his thumb over the raised scorpion and the pair
of olive branches to either side.
Peace and poison
, he thought.
It is
the Prokin way
. “So they made it through the wasteland on their own, did
they?”

“Not entirely, my lord.”

“Oh no?”

“Borain Guaidir was their pathfinder.”

Lethari nearly choked on his own spit. “Borain Guaidir,” he
repeated. “
Foirechlier
.”

“The very same.”

“Did he enter the camp?”

Diarmid shook his head. “He stayed well away. I only knew he
was there because our scouts reported nine in their party, while only eight
arrived at the gate. When I asked Raithur Entradi, he told me Borain had served
as their guide through the desert.”

“Do Raith and the others know of Borain’s treachery?”

“I do not think so. He has been seen traveling with them even
now.”

“
Yarun merouil
are still here in the city?”

“Yes, my master. They are disciples of the young healer.”

“The young healer,” Lethari said, massaging his chin. “I know
of no such person.”

Diarmid looked surprised. “The healer has drawn a multitude
of followers unto himself. He was once a
tathagliath
, but now has
designs on the city north. He wishes to overpower the Scarred and depose their
Commissar.”

“The gray shadow-walkers,” Lethari said. “Are they his
allies?”

“No. They do not support his vision.”

“Good. Good. Whoever this young upstart is, he must not be
allowed to depose Pilot Wax.”

“I know, my Lord Lethari. A change in power would be
disastrous. I have waited for your return with great hope. Our combined
feiach
is large enough that we might end his bid.”

“I agree. If the city north falls, its wealth will spill out
to steal our advantage. This healer must be thwarted. Raithur and his people
are with him, you say?”

“Yes.”

“How many of their brothers did you find before they came to
collect them?”

“Four.”

“And since?”

“None, my master.”

“Raithur Entradi and his
yarun merouil
are worthy
adversaries. I bear no more love for him than any other
lathcu
, but we must
respect his prowess. When we strike at this young healer and his followers, we
must be swift and brutal. We must injure his efforts to the point of
abandonment. My only worry in striking the pale-skins is that they may fear to
trade with us.”

“Some may. But the young healer has far from gathered the
whole of the city south to himself. There are thousands who have yet to join
him. As long as no caravan is allowed to reach the city, many
lathcui
will have no choice but to continue bringing us their trade.”

“And what of the trade you have seen from them of late? How
is it?”

“They bring us puny vegetables, meats harvested from starving
stock animals, hides and furs from creatures of the wild, clothing sewn from
patchwork, scraps of steel and tin, and machine parts. In exchange, we give
them rich coffees, tobacco, wood, grain, hides, milk, cheese, and new livestock
to thicken their herds. The pale-skins are the best-fed I have ever seen them.
They will thrive all the more with the plenty your
feiach
has brought.
We are profiting twice by trading their own stolen goods back to them.”

Lethari laughed. “Stupid mongrels. When the trade empire
crumbles and the pale-skins are left with no choice but to depend on our goods,
Tycho Montari will order our withdrawal from this camp. Then, the steel city
will die.”

“You have inflicted great damage if you believe the trade
caravans will cease so quickly.”

Lethari leaned back in his chair. “The fates smile upon us.
Our offensive has unfolded better than I expected. Each caravan falls more
easily than the one before it.”

“You impress me,” said Diarmid. “Never before has a
feiach
won so many victories in so short a time.”

“You have won many victories of your own,” said Lethari. “I
will be certain to report them to the master-king upon my return. I know he
will be pleased to hear of them.”

“I welcome your favor, my Lord Lethari.”

“I am glad to give it when you have overseen everything so
well.”

Diarmid sucked air through his teeth. “There is still the
matter of Cean Eldreni, my master.”

“What about him?”

“His men have raised a complaint.”

Lethari was troubled. “They have expressed their discontent
to you? Why have they not come to me?”

“They did not think you would hear their plea.”

Lethari rose and went to the window. “I am warleader here.
The authority in this camp is mine.”

“That is why I wished to meet with you, my master. Something
must be done.”

“They wish him released, do they?”

Diarmid nodded.

Lethari sighed. Cean Eldreni’s men were right; had they come
to him, he would not have assented to their request to set him free. But the
fact that they had gone to Diarmid instead irked him all the same. He could not
keep Cean locked in the slave cages forever, he knew. Cean’s threat of
abandoning the
feiach
to ride for Sai Calgoar was no cause for an
extended imprisonment. The longer Lethari held him, the more suspicious it
would look. “I will release him when we ride for the City of Sand in a few
days’ time. Not before. He will remain with the
feiach
as I have
commanded. If he attempts to ride ahead, he will travel home in chains.”

“What about the attack on the young healer and his followers?
Cean Eldreni’s men will not fight for you until you release him.”

“They will fight for me,” Lethari said. “I am their
warleader, and they are sworn to me above their own captain. Any who refuse me
will be held in contempt before the master-king. See to it that all are
reminded of that.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“When was the last time you were home, Diarmid?”

“It has been a long time.”

“Do you wish to return?”

“I wish to serve my master and my king,” said Diarmid.

“There is no need to be formal, Diarmid. If you need rest, I
will pursue the master-king’s mercies on your behalf. We will appoint someone
to take your place here for a time.”

Diarmid rose from his chair. “Do not send me away, my lord. I
have not been wounded. There is neither wife nor child waiting for me in Sai
Calgoar. If I have done something to displease you, I—”

“You have done nothing wrong,” Lethari said. “Do not forget;
I oversaw this camp myself for many a year before you came. I know how trying
are the burdens of the man who leads it. I suggest you take time to rest. The
post will be waiting for you when you are ready to return. It is easy for a
young man to put success above his own well-being.”
That is easy even for an
old man
, he thought.

Diarmid was silent for another long stretch. “As my master
wills it. I trust you will lead the attack against the young healer?”

“I leave that to you. Make it your final triumph before the
king fetches you home. I offer you Sigrede Balbaressi’s men, who are without a
captain, to aid you in the effort. Govern them as if they were your own. They
may not enjoy being kept longer from home, but they are fine warriors and will
give your
feiach
the strength it needs to overwhelm this young healer.
As for me, my journey to the City of Sand must not be delayed. I would stay and
fight with you otherwise. I will keep the remainder of my men to conquer any
pale-skin caravans I encounter on the way home.”

In truth, Lethari was expecting to encounter at least one
caravan before he reached Sai Calgoar. According to the goatskin record, a
group of traders would cross his path just before the long year ended. If he
was successful in stopping them, it would be a long time before the traders
attempted to reach Belmond again. This would allow Diarmid the time he needed
to secure the
calgoarethi
stranglehold over the steel city.

This young healer, whoever he might be, was already proving a
thorn in Lethari’s side. Had he not needed to leave Sig’s men behind, his
chances of victory against the caravan would be greater. But the fates had
smiled on him thus far, and he did not think they would turn their backs on him
now. This final boon provided by the goatskin record would be its last. After
that, he would find a way to destroy it once and for all.

“I will not fail you, my master,” Diarmid said.

“I know you will not,” said Lethari. “Now, let us speak of
warfare another day. Tonight we have a celebration to prepare for. See that our
plans for the feast are under way. This is a time of plenty for our people, and
we must celebrate it. We are on the cusp of a new age. One in which we are
destined to repay the misdeeds of the
lathcui
who invaded our ancestors’
homeland so long ago. If ever the time was ripe for us to take back these
lands, that time is now.”

“As you say, my master.” Diarmid bowed and went to the door,
hand poised above the knob.

“One more thing, Diarmid. If anyone else from my
feiach
comes to you with a request, whether for Cean Eldreni or otherwise, remind them
who their master is.”

“I will, Lethari.”

“Go well with the fates.”

Diarmid closed the door behind him, and his footsteps faded
down the catwalk. Lethari fondled the smelted scorpion seal while he looked out
over the bustling factory floor, where a mixture of routine activities and
feast preparations were taking place. With his other hand he ran his fingers
over the flaw Amhaziel Bilmadi had given him.
A creature, both beast and man
,
he thought.
Who is this creature, and when will he come to me? When you come
to the place where the orange light shines bolder still than the afternoon sky
.
The man-beast will rise from the dust and return to it so that you may
collect its offerings. But do not be discouraged, for the children are coming.
And they will become the children of the last generation
…

That was what Amhaziel had foreseen. But where was that
place? Who were these children, and what part did they stand to play in all
this? Sometimes Lethari wished he could skip every moment between now and the
day things became the way he had dreamed, just so he could see whether his
dreams came to pass.