Restoration (60 page)

Feyd offered me a portion of the dried meat he had pulled from his saddle pack. I shook my head. I hadn't eaten in three days, but I wasn't hungry. It didn't seem strange anymore, just as I no longer kept count of the scars that vanished after each of my forays through the portal of dreams. Something about changing back and forth to my Madonai form was eliminating them, I supposed. Only the two—the slave scar on my face and the knife scar in my side—were ever visible on my true form, and apparently my human flesh would soon be the same. Good riddance to all such annoyances.

“It was a sudden thing,” Feyd said, wrenching a bite from the leathery strip and chewing it slowly. “We were going to take the water sources near Karn‘Hegeth. The Aveddi thinks the Fontezhi might put a stranglehold on the water in retaliation for our attack on their grain stores. But then, two days ago, Roche brought Lord Sereg back to Zif'Aker, and they conferred with the Aveddi and Farrol for an hour, and immediately the Aveddi changed our plans. He said that a new garrison was being sent from Zhagad, and the commander was bringing orders to burn out the entire lower city without warning the people who live there. The Emperor commands a new racing drome be built on the site for horse races and such like. But everyone knows that Parassa has been fertile ground for the Yvor Lukash and his message. The Emperor wants to punish any city that sends us fighters.”

“But these things are happening everywhere. Why start with Parassa? Why risk so much and with such a sketchy plan just when he's building his ring around Zhagad?” I peered down at the quiet camp. No fires cheered the night; only a few lanterns and the brilliance of a half-grown moon revealed the dark forms of some seventy men and women along with their horses. Some of the raiders were asleep, some in quiet conversation. Every once in a while, someone would stare up at where we sat. I had already shifted and so was easily visible at the top of the hill. I could watch more effectively and think so much more clearly in my Madonai form. But on this particular night, my attention would not stay on the watch. The image of Kryddon's anguish would not leave me, and I felt uneasy and angry and irritated at everyone—Nyel. Aleksander, and even Feyd, who seemed more and more timid every time I came to him. I was sick of fighting, yet I could scarcely hold back from flying over the next ridge to Parassa and destroying the fools who ruled it. Short of such immediate release, I wished that I could understand Aleksander's reasoning. Why didn't he hit the fresh troops the moment the old garrison had gone? Had anyone thought to warn the people of Parassa? “Are you sure you've been told everything?”

Feyd's mouth was still full of meat, and he swallowed hurriedly. “The Aveddi says that secrecy is paramount on this mission. That's why he brought so few fighters and why he will give detailed orders only as we proceed.” He raised his strip of meat to his mouth again, but lowered it without taking a bite, wrinkling his brow and fixing his eyes on the ground. “Knowing that I speak with you, the Aveddi has been most careful that I am given all the information that our commanders are given. Everyone knows that I am privileged far beyond my unworthy fighting skills. Sometimes my father is not told so much.” He wiped his mouth and offered me his waterskin, but I shook my head again. “They treat me as if I am a priest.”

My attention had been fixed on the camp for the past hour, as if I could wring Aleksander's thoughts out of the night. But the wistful strain in Feyd's words forced me to attend the young noble at my side. My gold light reflected in his eyes and made the silver beads woven into his hair and beard shine—full regalia for a son of Suza come to fight for his homeland. Weeks had passed since I'd even considered his odd position. “Would you like me to find someone else, Feyd? I know it's not easy being set apart from your comrades. I've never asked you—”

“Oh no, holy lord!” His ivory skin flushed, and his dark eyes grew wide. “I am honored to be in your service. Privileged beyond all men. Every day I thank holy Gossopar for sending you to our aid, and I pray him to lift this darkness from you and draw you into the light at his side.”

“This ‘darkness'? Why do you say that?” I was on my feet without knowing how I got there, yelling at my dreamer, though his words were all innocence and my sudden fury unreasonable. Insolent beggar. “I am not the one of darkness! I make my own choices and will always—”

“Pardon, my lord.” Feyd threw himself prostrate at my feet, which only served to infuriate me the more. “Please, holy lord, forgive my foolish tongue. I am but an ignorant man, unworthy to consider the workings of the gods. Chastise me as you will for my offense.”

“Why do you speak of gods and darkness? Tell me what you mean.” The fighters in the camp likely heard my bellowing, as the day's disquiet came boiling out of me. “Answer me!”

Feyd spoke in a tremulous whisper. “Because you are with us through the night, holy one, coming always with the close of day. You live in my dreams; I feel you there ... see you there, majestic in your fortress in the realm of night, even when you choose not to manifest yourself to me in flesh. And even when your presence in our world lingers into daylight, the night enfolds you. This dark burden of your trial, of your sorrow that even the Aveddi himself does not understand, cloaks your deeds in terror as if your glorious light is but a deeper darkness. Forgive me, holy lord. Clearly I am wrongheaded and see falsely.”

I fought for control, barely restraining my hand that was raised to strike him for his mewling cowardice ... for his fear. Why should he fear me? I was not his enemy. And, of course, even as I voiced that claim, the absurdity of my upraised hand with angry flames shooting from the fingertips was not lost on me. “What do you see in your dreams that makes you fear me?” I asked, forcing my hands together behind my back. “I fight at your side. I shed my own blood in your cause just as you do. Tell me, Feyd.”

Though his words were muffled by the ground, each sounded clearly like a lash striking flesh. “You stand upon the ramparts of a mountain fortress, holy lord. Always it is night, and the wind lifts your black cloak and fills your wings. But in my dream they are not wings of light, holy one, and your face is terrible, as when you are in battle. Please forgive me, lord ...”

Of course. I should have expected nothing else. Hating ... despising ... my own fears that were exposed by the young man's honesty, I nudged him gently with my foot. I held my voice quiet. “Feyd, stand up. Now. Come on.”

Slowly, trembling, the young man got to his feet, his eyes cast down.

I spoke a word of enchantment, waited a moment, and then lifted his chin. His eyes were closed. “Look at me, Feyd. Come, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he raised his eyes, which now reflected only moonlight, no Madonai brilliance.

“I am a man, Feyd. A sorcerer, not a god. I am not holy. Far from it. Truly I need whatever help I can get, whether Gossopar's or that of a brave Suzai warrior whose fighting skills are not at all unworthy. But neither do I come from the darkness.”

“Of course, ho—Of course.” His eyes fell to the earth again, and he did not raise them as we sat down on the grass, and I took up my watch. Neither of us spoke again.

When I saw the stirring in the camp below us and heard Aleksander's command, I shifted back to my Madonai form, uneasy with it as I had never been. Feyd bowed to me and mounted his horse, ready to follow Aleksander into battle.

“Go with Gossopar, my friend,” I called after him.

“And you, holy one,” he whispered. Perhaps he thought I couldn't hear him.

 

 

To survive this night we were going to need Gossopar and any other god that might be available. Parassa had a Derzhi governor, usually a low-ranking noble of a major house, and a garrison of a three hundred Derzhi warriors. When assigned to Parassa, the governor would bring a small troop of personal warriors of his own house, but the responsibility of the city garrison rotated through the hegeds every half year, as Parassa was considered an immensely undesirable posting. Though prosperous, the town was of little strategic importance, located far from the frontiers and on only one minor trade route. And the Suzaini had been pacified for so long and were so widely dispersed throughout the Empire, rebellion was of little concern. No glory could be found in Parassa, and no amusement in a dull farming town so remote from court life.

Though the garrison numbered only three hundred and the governor's party perhaps fifty more, Aleksander was mad to think he could stop the burning, much less hold the city afterward, with only Marouf, his forty eager Suzaini fighters, and thirty Thrid. Perched atop a ruined watchtower and looking down on the dark city as Aleksander revealed his plan to his commanders, I was even more convinced of his foolishness.

“We take the citadel first,” said the Prince, pacing briskly in front of Marouf, Feyd, Farrol, Gorrid, D‘Skaya, the tattooed Thrid woman who had developed into a formidable commander, and two men I didn't know. “Only the governor and his personal troop occupy the citadel tonight. The governor will give the signal to begin the burning as soon as he hears that all is ready. The garrison is to be deployed about the entire lower city, so they're spread thin ... and we'll make sure the governor's signal is never given. Marouf and I will take the front gates of the citadel, just as at Gan Hyffir. Once the alarm is sounded, D'Skaya will give the defenders just enough time to surge to the front gate, and then she'll hit them from the rear. Hardile, you and Soro will follow me. Farrol will hold the reserve, twelve men, at the customs house halfway between the citadel and the lower city—just in case someone from the garrison decides to break discipline and ride to the governor's defense. Gorrid will patrol the citadel periphery to intercept any messengers trying to sneak out.”

Though temporarily in falcon's form so I could listen without detection, I had a clear view of our dilemma. Parassa was not a closed city, so the gates were no obstacle. Kill a few guards and we were in. But the governor's citadel was at one end of the city, high on a bluff, far from the smells and diseases of the river, while the lower city that we had come to protect was sprawled for half a league along the waterfront, separated from the more prosperous quarters by a narrow finger of the river. To bottle up the governor and his guardsmen while preventing the garrison from torching the poor quarters would require splitting Aleksander's troop into two pitifully inadequate forces. Even with my increased strength and melydda, I could accomplish neither task alone. Surely Aleksander knew that.

“Once we've taken the citadel,” Aleksander continued, “we'll join Farrol and use the customs house for our base as we deal with the garrison. Handling the garrison warriors will be easier than you believe. Remember, they're likely uncomfortable with what they've been told to do. Just stay alert and follow my lead. Remember that if anything happens to me, Farrol will be in command.” He stopped and faced each one of his commanders. “Kill no one and allow your fighters to kill no one who does not challenge you. Is that clear? Swear to me that you understand this.”

All of them swore as he asked, and with handclasps and shoulder grips and wishes of good fortune, they mounted up and headed back to their waiting fighters. Aleksander was the last to go, perhaps because Feyd was waiting beside his horse. “Aveddi, if I might ...”

Aleksander looked down at the earnest young Suzaini. “He is here tonight?”

“Indeed, my lord, I believe he is.”

“Gods, Feyd, convince him to talk to me. I need to explain all this. Some matters are too dangerous for anyone—even you—to know.”

Feyd answered as I had instructed him. “He chooses not, my lord, and this will not change for a time yet. But if you tell me what part you need him to play this night—”

“I need him not to slaughter every blighted warrior that holds a sword! I need
Seyonne's
eyes and
Seyonne's
wisdom. That's what I need. Tell him that. Otherwise he can fly off somewhere else and do as he damned well pleases.”

Feyd stood openmouthed as Aleksander rode away, and then he glanced uneasily to the top of the ruined tower. “I heard,” I said as I shifted form, illuminating his pale skin with the golden light that his human eyes perceived as darkness. “You've no need to repeat it.” Likely Feyd thought the words would burn his tongue or perhaps that I, the one of darkness, would cut out the offending organ. “Shall we see if we can find something useful to do?”

Clearly Aleksander's proscriptions had nothing to do with the defenders in the citadel. The fighting was fierce, and the Prince did not object when I eliminated the soldiers dropping hot balls of tar on top of him or the warrior who nearly decapitated Marouf. When the short, fierce combat seemed under control, I went searching for the Derzhi governor and found the soft, balding man cowering in a wardrobe. Leaving him trussed and gagged, his satin breeches fouled from his fright, I flew out over the walls in falcon's form to see why in Verdonne's name the garrison had not rallied to the governor's defense. Surely someone would have heard the sounds of fighting. It made no sense.

I circled the citadel and spied someone running through the tightly shuttered streets, away from the citadel and toward the lower city. Sword and vest named him a soldier. Not Derzhi ... I swooped low, only to see his dark outline blur and resolve itself into the form of a zhaideg. Gorrid! Only the surly Ezzarian shaped himself as the scavenger wolf. Where was he off to? He was supposed to prevent any Derzhi messengers passing the citadel gates.

Gorrid loped across one of the stone bridges that spanned the Volaya tributary, then into the streets, skirting the palatial customs house where Farrol hid with Aleksander's reserves. Farrol's watchers must have missed him.