The Rebellion (20 page)

Then the irony of it struck me just as forcibly, for I had been only too ready to leave for Sutrium. Ever had it been my way to long for Obernewtyn when I was severed from it and yet to hate it when I was there.

I blinked in surprise, seeing this was exactly how I felt about Rushton.

How strange.

But perhaps not. I loved Obernewtyn and the feeling it gave me of being part of something larger than myself, but often I felt absorbed and devoured by it as well. In many ways, I had used my secret quest to raise a barrier between Obernewtyn and my lone self. My fear of Rushton—if that was the right word for it—was the fear that giving myself to him would cause me to lose myself, that in some queer way I would be absorbed and no longer myself.

Shivering—and only partly from the chilled water—I
climbed from the barrel and toweled myself vigorously. Better to worry about what to do with the gypsy than to think of Rushton. That was a far more immediate problem.

Dressing hurriedly, I went to the kitchen. A fire had been lit, and Matthew was repairing a tear in his breeches.

Before I could speak, Kella rushed in behind me. “Dragon,” she cried breathlessly. “She’s gone.”

Matthew jumped to his feet. “Gone? What do ye mean, gone?”

“Just what I said,” Kella answered. “She refused to answer the door to her chamber this morning. I thought she needed time, so I left her. But just now I noticed that the door was open, and she wasn’t in there!”

“Well, for Lud’s sake,” Matthew said impatiently. “She’ll be downstairs with—”

Kella gave him a look of such searing fury that he flinched. “Stop telling me and let me tell you! I’ve checked everywhere. The horse yard, the healing hall, the bathing room, the repair shed. She’s gone, I tell you.”

Her eyes accused Matthew, and he paled. “It’s my fault. I meant to apologize for shoutin’ at her when she came out,” he whispered.

“You should have gone in to her,” Kella blazed. “That’s the usual way to go about an apology. Or did you expect her to beg for that as well?”

“Kella …”

The healer swung to face me. “We have to find her!”

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” I asked them.

“To Obernewtyn!” Kella said at once, voicing her own longings.

“She … she might have gone to th’ market,” Matthew said hesitantly. “I … she’s been pesterin’ me since we got here to take her.”

He flushed crimson under the healer’s scathing look. “What are ye lookin’ at me like I murdered her for?” he shouted, his highland accent thickened with anger. “I’m nowt responsible fer her. She shouldn’a be here in th’ first place.”

“Well, maybe you’ll be lucky and she’ll be killed. That would teach her obedience, wouldn’t it?” hissed Kella.

Matthew whitened to the lips.

“That’s enough,” I said, shocked at the cruelty of her words. “The thing is to find her, not to decide whose fault it is that she’s gone. Matthew, you go out and look for her on foot. I’ll farseek her, and if I can’t find her, I’ll go out on Gahltha. Leave a channel open for me. I’ll reach out to you,” I said, knowing he might not be able to farseek me in the fog of static that was Sutrium.

He ducked his head and hurried out as I turned to the healer. “Have another good look around the safe house. See if she has taken anything from the chamber with her.”

She nodded and ran out.

I sat down on a chair and composed my thoughts, blocking out all apprehension and shaping a probe to Dragon’s mind-set. If she was near, and not on badly tainted ground, the probe would locate her.

It took less than a minute.

She was wandering through the stalls in the central trade market of the adjoining district. I fixed her position in my mind and then farsought Matthew.

“I will go there straightaway,” he sent, his mind leaking emotional surges of relief and anger.

Kella came in. “She has taken nothing with her.”

“She is in a market in the next district. Matthew has gone there on foot. I’ll go over with Gahltha and bring her back.”

“Thank Lud,” Kella murmured.

I hurried along the hall and down the stairs, farseeking to Gahltha as I went. Fortunately, I was clad in boyish clothes, so there was no need for me to waste time in changing. Only the gypsy who had followed me would know me in that guise, and if I had outwitted him once, I could do it again.

Gahltha was waiting, snorting with impatience at my slowness.

“You have forgotten the coldmetal painmaker,” he chided as I vaulted onto his back.

With a curse I dismounted, found a bridle in the wagon, and buckled it on him with an apology.

“Do not sorrow for forgetting the fetter, ElspethInnle. Would that all the funaga would forget. Where is the little mornir?”

I sent Gahltha an explanation as I remounted, and as soon as we were clear of the little square, he broke into a brisk trot. It had stopped raining, but the drains ran swiftly, filled to overflowing after a day and night of rain. In seconds, the chilly breeze had leached all the bath’s warmth from my bones.

I resisted the urge to ask Gahltha to go faster, knowing it would attract too much attention. I could have used a coercive cloak to stop anyone noticing us, but the more obtrusive the behavior, the more energy required to hide it. The effort of cloaking a wild gallop over any distance would virtually drain my immediate energy, and I had the sudden, uneasy premonition that I was going to need my powers very soon.

I chafed at the delay, my mind filled with visions of Dragon wandering through the market with her unforgettable
face and hair. If anything alarmed her, she would resort instinctively to her phenomenal power, calling up the dragonish illusions for which she had been named.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the market came into view at the street’s end, but drawing nearer, I felt a stab of dismay.

This was a far larger market than the one beside the safe house. If anything happened here, hundreds would witness it. The feeling of danger increased as Gahltha brought me to the perimeter of the crowds.

The empath-coercer could not have chosen a more perilous time to come to the market; late afternoons were traditionally the busiest part of the day. Hoping for a bargain, men and women shopped as late as possible, for it was well known that traders believed that a day without a sale offended Lud and that they would be punished by another poor day to follow.

I never ceased to be amazed by their paltry image of a Lud who would care for the sale of a bit of fish or a stretch of cloth. The horse-holding yard was filled to capacity, which meant I would have to tie Gahltha to the less secure bars along the outer edge of the corral. Gritting my teeth at the delay, I led him into a side lane and scooped some mud from the bottom of a drain. I had almost finished smearing it over him when I heard footsteps.

I knelt and pretended to examine his fetlock. Peering covertly behind, I nearly fainted at the sight of a troop of soldierguards marching along the lane.

There was nothing to be done but to concentrate fiercely and produce a general coercive cloak that would stop them noticing me.

“Seems as if we ought to have more to do than play nursemaid
to some Herders,” grumbled one of the soldierguards at the front of the column.

“Council wants to keep them happy because of them financin’ th’ Sador business,” another muttered.

The Herders were financing the invasion of Sador? Could it be so? Where would they come by such coin?

“More like they don’t dare move against them, for fear they’ll get Lud to send another plague.”

“It was nothing more than coincidence that they predicted pestilence and the plague came,” snapped another soldierguard. “Council’ll put them in their place before long, and that’ll be an end to our nursemaiding them.”

“Will it? Herders have coin aplenty, so I’ve heard, and they ain’t averse to greasin’ soldierguard palms. I ain’t fussy as to where coin comes from, long as I get some.”

“Shut up and get a move on,” called a lean, surly-looking captain at the back of the column.

Their voices faded as they passed out of the lane, and I leaned against Gahltha’s noisome flank, weak-kneed with relief.

Gathering my wits, I farsought Matthew to warn him that soldierguards were in the market and possibly Herders as well. As my probe touched him, a panicky burst of images and words surged painfully into my unprepared mind.

I blocked the chaos and requested the use of his eyes. Instantly, Matthew made himself passive so that I could literally see through his eyes. It was a difficult maneuver but one we had perfected.

He was standing in the midst of a crowd of people facing one of the market speaking stones, onto which people climbed to advertise wares or make announcements. Standing
atop it was a Herder, his red armband marking him as one of the more important priests in the Faction hierarchy. Two brownband Herders stood on either side of the speaking stone like guards.

But none of this explained Matthew’s panic.

“Look!” His voice rose in my mind. His head turned, and I saw Dragon. Standing out in the open between the crowd and the speaking stone, her blue eyes ablaze with fury, the flame-haired empath-coercer was standing protectively in front of two small children. She resembled some avenging goddess out of a Beforetime story, the sun burnishing her red-gold curls and her face glowing with unearthly loveliness.

Her mouth moved, and only then did I realize that she was shouting at the Herder priests!

15

S
ICK AT THE
magnitude of the disaster unfolding, I flung myself onto Gahltha’s back, bidding him to carry me to the other side of the square. Passing through the center of a trade market on horseback was forbidden, but I used my coercive power recklessly, forcing people not to notice us and clearing a path.

I saw that the group of soldierguards had taken the easier and longer route around the perimeter of the market, and I prayed for something to delay them.

“What in Lud’s name has happened?” I demanded of Matthew.

Rather than explaining, he sent a vision of a woman and the two children being manhandled by the Herders. The woman had shouted something at the redband priest and had been struck to the ground. One of the brownband Herders had grabbed at the little boy, who had screamed in terror and clung to his sister.

Dragon had flown from the crowd of watchers like a spitting fangcat defending its young, and the beleaguered Herder had retreated with alarm.

“I arrived just as it began,” Matthew sent. “The priests were collecting boys to be taken and trained as acolytes on Herder Isle, and the mother refused to let them take her son.” There was a pause before he continued. “The senior Herder
has just told the brownbands to take both children. I’m afraid Dragon will … uh-oh!” Matthew sent frantically.

By now, I was close enough to hear the empath-coercer’s childish voice, and I craned my neck in order to see her over the heads of the crowd. She had her arms around the two cringing children and was glaring at the approaching Herders purposefully.

“Don’t,” she cried in a warning voice that froze my blood. “Don’t dare!”

Then she dropped into a fighting crouch she must have learned from watching the coercers train and bared her teeth at the priests.

They fell back again in astonishment, and there was a murmur of amazement from the crowd.

I could not repress a groan. Dragon would vision. I was amazed she had not done so already. I had to stop her from unleashing her incredible powers in front of so many witnesses.

“Lud preserve us,” Matthew sent despairingly along the probelink between us. “Th’ soldierguards are here!”

I turned. Sure enough, the troops had reached the speaking stone. Their captain was looking around, taking in the fracas at a glance.

“What is going on?” he demanded, marching up to the senior Herder. But before the Herder could answer, the captain’s eyes fell on Dragon. He gaped, thunderstruck.

For a moment, I thought I saw recognition in that look, but then I realized that was impossible. Dragon had led a solitary, feral existence before coming to Obernewtyn, and she’d not left our sight since. Still, something in that look filled me with fear, and I directed a savage coercive bolt at Dragon, augmenting it with the destructive power at the depth of my
mind—a power I had once used to kill but had since been able to keep in check, swearing never again to take a life. Still, I had no time to fashion a subtle arrow of it, and my probe clubbed through her shield, obliterating it and knocking her instantly unconscious.