Path of Honor (20 page)

“They think I’m a traitor, after all. I’d be a worm in their apple, and you too. Bad judgment to be friends with a known traitor,” Reisil said.

“So what changed? Why tell us now?” Juhrnus leaned over his chair, gripping the back with white-knuckled fingers.

“We all must make difficult choices. We all pick our allegiances. And I—I have come to wonder whether the decisions the
ahalad-kaaslane
council has made are the best for Kodu Riik. Call it hedging my bets if you’d like, but I have grave doubts that the path we have chosen is the correct one. Not if it excludes you and Reisil.”

Reisil snorted. “
Now
you wonder?”

For long moments Sodur did not answer, did not look up from where his fingers smoothed over the rough grain of the table. The wind blustered, and the door and windows shuddered.

“So, the
nokulas
were allowed to spread and now have begun to move down from the mountains, thanks no doubt to the hard winter and the drought,” Reisil said at last, returning them to the subject. “And what, one just wandered into Koduteel?”

“Would that it had. No, this
nokula
was . . . born . . . in Koduteel.” He ignored Reisil’s indrawn breath and Juhrnus’s expletive. “He used to be human. He’s—” Sodur’s lips tightened. “I don’t know him anymore. And it’s not just his body—his mind is gone too.”

Reisil’s fingers traced a whorl on the table and Juhrnus came to sit, his face blank with shock. “The
nokulas
were men?” she said.

“And women, children, maybe animals too—I can’t begin to guess.”

“How?”

“Magic. Has to be.”

Understanding arrived like a key clicking in a lock. The secrecy, the politics, the entire last year began to make sickening sense. “Iisand Samir,” Reisil breathed.

Sodur’s head jerked around, his gaze like a burning brand. He nodded reluctantly.

“So it’s not grief over the Mesilasema’s death that has kept him locked away. Is he the only one?”

Sodur shrugged. “So far.”

Reisil’s brows lifted skeptically.

Sodur flushed. “He’s the only one
I
am aware of.”

“And you’ve kept it from everyone. What about his family?”

“We moved the three youngest out of the city. They’re too young to ask questions. But Aare and Emelovi refuse to go. We’ve kept them away from their father, but it’s not been easy.”

“We?”

He scratched behind one ear. “That’s not something I can say. I’m breaking faith in telling you this now.”

“Breaking faith? I’d think you were getting good at it by now. Why bother telling us at all?” Bitterness leached into her voice.

Sodur had picked up his spoon and was turning it over in his hands. He dropped it back into his bowl and shoved the dish away. “There are things that we need you to do. Our enemies have caught scent of our weaknesses and have begun to position themselves. Young Kebonsat’s arrival to pay court to the Iisand’s eldest daughter is certainly no coincidence.”

Hearing Kebonsat’s name, Reisil flinched. She jumped up and fetched crockery cups and the hot currant-and-lemon brew. Tears burned in her eyes, and she willed them away. She knew, had always known, that there was no future for her and Kebonsat.

“So what do you want from us?” Juhrnus asked at last.

“The Scallacians,” Reisil answered for Sodur.

“You know?” Sodur looked worried, as if the knowledge might be common gossip. Reisil bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him. It wasn’t up to her to keep
his
secrets after all. Finally she said in a brittle tone, “Saljane saw the ship coming through the Straits of Piiton. I couldn’t imagine why they were coming. But you sent for them; you’re going to ask the sorcerers for help.”

“There’s no doubt it’s a risk. This may shatter any vestiges of trust we still have in the court. The sorcerers could very well turn on us and do to Koduteel what the wizards did to Mysane Kosk. Which is why we need you close by.”

Reisil began to shake her head, and Sodur forestalled her. “I know you want to go find the wizards, but at the moment, the Scallacian sorcerers are more dangerous to Kodu Riik. Just knowing how you broke the wizards’ circle in Patverseme will make them cautious. Who knows—maybe you can learn something about the plague from them.”

Reisil searched his face. “What else? You’re still not telling us everything.”

Sodur stroked Lume’s head, the silver lynx leaning into his leg. “If what we’ve learned is correct, then the plague and the
nokulas
both are spawning in Mysane Kosk. And that means the wizards aren’t going to help. They want us dead. And don’t think they won’t be ready for you this time. If you put yourself in their hands, chances are you won’t come back.”

R
eisil wrapped up the leftover bread, head aching, eyes dry and burning. Her legs and arms felt unwieldy, as if they belonged to someone else.

Juhrnus and Sodur stood over the unconscious Metyein, Juhrnus standing stiffly apart from the older man. Reisil knew exactly how he felt. So many times she had wanted to claw at Sodur and kick and scream, just to make him know how hard she felt his betrayal. Only physical distance kept her from giving in to her rage.

“When do you want to move him?” Juhrnus asked.

Sodur’s expression was somber. Reisil could read his intent as if he’d spoken it aloud.

“No,” she said, coming to stand protectively at Metyein’s shoulder. “I won’t let you undo what I have done. How can you even think it?”

“And when he tells his father? Or worse—what if he overheard us? Damned foolish—” He scrubbed his fingers over his scalp. “We’ve got to be careful. This can’t get out. None of it. His life isn’t worth the safety of Kodu Riik,” Sodur said.

“It is to me.”

“Need we even worry?” Jurhnus asked. “Is he even awake?”

Reisil stared at Sodur. He gave a quick nod, and she dropped her hand to Metyein’s chest, calling up her magic. It flowed into him, and instantly she knew he
was
awake, though for how long, she couldn’t guess. She pressed her hand down warningly, hoping he was coherent enough to understand his danger.

“You may be assured,” she said. “He’s lost a lot of blood. When he does come to, he’s going to be confused, delirious even. I doubt he’ll remember anything after he was wounded.”

Sodur’s shoulders dropped. “Good. Then Juhrnus and I will take him home now.”

Reisil stood aside as they pulled back the blankets.

“Should we do something about the blood? Someone might ask questions,” Juhrnus said.

“We’ll scavenge something,” Sodur said. He glanced up at the ceiling. “The wind’s letting up. Better hurry.”

Juhrnus hoisted the limp man over his shoulder, having already tucked Esper into his chest sling.

Sodur followed, pausing to look back at Reisil. “Tomorrow you should move into the palace. Before the sorcerers arrive. I’ve made the arrangements. And congratulations. Today you made great strides with your powers.”

Reisil shut the door behind him harder than necessary. Her head swam, and she crossed to her bed, yanking off her boots as she went. She slid into the warm pocket made by the Lord Marshal’s son, uncaring of the blood staining the blankets. In moments she fell asleep, her dreams haunted by snarling monsters with human faces and the desolate cries of plague victims.

 

Metyein forced his body to remain slack as he was upended over Juhrnus’s shoulder. He hardly felt the cold as they stepped onto the parapet, snow kissing the back of his exposed neck.

“What idiot put steps on the outside of this thrice-damned place,” Juhrnus grumbled. Sodur didn’t answer, setting a steadying hand on Metyein’s back. Metyein concentrated on remaining limp, though every muscle in his body fought to clench as Juhrnus skidded and slipped. At last they arrived safely at the bottom.

“How do you want to get him into town? I already returned the cart I borrowed,” Juhrnus said.

“Can you get him to the gates? We’ll find a horse or cart there.”

“Let’s go.”

The road was no less slick than the lighthouse stairs, and twice Juhrnus fell to his knees, despite Sodur’s steadying grip. At the gate, a guard opened the inset pedestrian entrance.

“He had a bit of a blow in the Fringes,” Sodur explained in a disgusted voice. “Juiced himself. His father sent us to retrieve him.” He made a show of spitting. “Lad ought to know better.”

“Fringes is no place for a cup and a wench,” the guard said. “Boy ought to take his urges to Rotten Row. Plenty willing women and good ale as well.”

“Aye and that’s the Lady’s own truth. He’s spoiled though, won’t be told. Has to find out for himself. If not for the weather and his father, I’d let him wake up in the morning with his prick rotted off.”

The guard chuckled. Juhrnus staggered through the gate after Sodur and up a narrow street. Sodur halted him outside a barbershop.

“Wait here. I’ll see what I can find,” Sodur said.

Metyein heard Sodur’s footsteps scuffle away, and then Juhrnus dropped him onto a wooden bench. Metyein’s breath left him in a gust, and he bit his tongue as his elbow banged against a wall. Cold and damp seeped up through his clothing as the snow on the seat began to melt.

“Sorry about that,” Juhrnus muttered. “You still alive?”

Metyein held still, trying to keep his breathing even. Juhrnus pushed Metyein’s head aside and perched on the arm of the bench.

“Give it up. You’ve been doing a pretty good job pretending to be a corpse, but you aren’t fooling me. Don’t worry. I won’t tell Sodur.” Metyein sympathized with the bitterness he heard in Juhrnus’s voice. He felt the same harshness for his father.

“I’m alive,” he answered, opening his eyes. “Barely. Thanks to your Reisiltark. She—” He broke off, his throat closing. “I don’t understand how. . . .”

“Consider yourself lucky, and don’t think too hard about it. Just thank the Lady, thank Reisil, and don’t forget what she did for you.”

“I won’t. And I won’t tell what I heard either.”

Juhrnus looked up the street. There was a sound of rattling wheels. He looked back down at Metyein, his face set. “They aren’t my secrets. You do what you want with them.

Now shut your eyes.”

Obediently Metyein closed his eyes and let himself go limp. The wheels rumbled up and stopped.

“Where did you find that?”

“Masonry warehouse. If it can carry stone, it can carry him.”

“What about clothes?”

Metyein heard the rustle of cloth.

“Not up to his usual standards.”

“These don’t have a lot of laces or buttons. And I don’t care what questions he has to answer about what he’s wearing so long as no one links him to Reisil,” Sodur said. “Let’s load him up. We’ll find a less exposed place to change him on the way. I found this too. Should keep anyone from asking questions.”

Hands grasped Metyein, pulling him up by the shoulders and lifting him at the legs. He found himself heaped into a small cart—a wheelbarrow, he realized, his nose itching as he inhaled rock dust. He swallowed the sneeze, his eyes watering. Sodur and Juhrnus prodded at him, shoving him inside the rough box and then spread a foul-smelling blanket over him. It stank of cat piss, rancid meat and lamp oil.

“Whew! What midden did you pull that out of?” Juhrnus exclaimed.

“You don’t want to know. But it’ll serve.”

With that they began trundling Metyein through the city. He peered out from beneath the filthy wool. Through the narrow opening, he could see a wedge of the gray stone buildings tilting inward over the narrow street. For the first time Metyein noticed Koduteel’s ravaged beauty beneath the shining veil of ice and snow. Dirt and wretchedness clung to the buildings, filling the cracks in the cobbles and sneaking in through the shutters and doors. Even the more respectable houses seemed shaken and infirm. Groups of poor huddled together outside taverns and inns, hoping for a handout. Bright lights burned in the yellow district’s bakeries, and ragged children climbed the roofs to curl up against the chimney pots.

Watching Koduteel wheel slowly by, a prescience settled over Metyein. Soon the streets would fill with the sick and the dying, and the nearby forests would be stripped for the pyres. His mind shied from thinking of his mother, brother and sisters. Even sequestered in Doneviik, sooner or later the plague would find them.

Beneath the blanket Metyein clenched his fists, a cold wire twisting around his innards. His father had to be neck-deep in covering up the Iisand’s illness. Derros cas Vare despised the young Verit. It was one thing he and Metyein agreed on wholeheartedly. Aare was arrogant, cruel and ambitious, and he despised the
ahalad-kaaslane
. Metyein’s father would do most anything to keep Aare off the throne. Being Aare’s Lord Marshal would gall beyond reason, and Aare wouldn’t be fool enough to appoint anyone else. But with the plague’s arrival, it wouldn’t be possible to keep the secret anymore. Which meant that Aare would be made regent, if not crowned Iisand. And either way, the
ahalad-kaaslane
would lose what little power they had left. Aare would kill them all rather than share his power. Reisiltark especially, unless he could make her serve him.

Beneath the blanket Metyein snarled, remembering the pressure of Reisiltark’s hand on his shoulder warning him not to move. Twice tonight she’d saved his life, and not because his father was the Lord Marshal or because she was scheming for power. She’d never serve Aare. Never betray the Lady. Metyein clenched his fists. Whatever else happened, she wouldn’t face Aare alone. He would give her his sword arm. Soka’s too, once he told him—

Memory scorched through his brain. Soka. Had he escaped? Been caught? Or worse? He forced himself to remain still. His own danger was still real. And even if Soka wasn’t all right, the
ahalad-kaaslane
were taking him home, where Soka would send word. And if not—