The Rebellion (94 page)

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that.…”

“Maybe not,” he conceded. “I suppose not all the Twentyfamilies feel so sanguine about the division anyway. That Swallow you met at least tried to help.”

There was the sound of hoofbeats, and we stepped clear of the wagons to see Brydda riding over the grass to us. Sallah pranced a bit and waved her hooves in a showy fashion before settling to let the big rebel dismount; then she galloped off, farsending for Gahltha and the other horses to run with her. We watched them race off, their hooves sounding like distant thunder. Brydda laughed with sheer pleasure at the sight of them streaking along with their tails and manes flying like flags behind them.

“She loves being away from the city,” he murmured fondly, coming over to us.

We exchanged greetings, and the rebel explained the meeting would take place in a grain barn owned by Brocade. “It is early yet, but you may as well come with me now.”

“Who is coming?” Gevan asked.

“As usual, Malik does not see fit to let anyone know if he will appear or not,” Brydda sighed. “It is a favorite tactic of his, but I think in this case he will come, because it is the last
meeting we will have before the rebellion begins. He will not want anything to be decided without him. He distrusts his own people almost as much as he distrusts his enemies.

“Lydi of Darthnor and Vos of Saithwold are here already. They’re cronies of Brocade’s, and the three of them are thick with Malik, of course. Also Elii of Kinraide is on his way with Zamadi, who was one of Malik’s too, but they had a falling out. Cassell and Serba have come from Halfmoon Bay and Port Oran, but both Radek and Yavok sent seconds, as did Tardis. You’ve met Gwynedd before, of course. It was he who swayed the White Lady in your favor.”

“White Lady?” Gevan echoed.

Brydda smiled. “Well, groups tend to give their leaders informal titles. So, as I am the Black Dog, Tardis is the White Lady.”

I gaped. “Tardis is a woman?”

Brydda smiled. “Until the Battlegames, we all thought Tardis a man, which was as she wanted. But you saw her in Sador. She was the very beautiful, severe-looking woman with long fair hair.”

“What is Malik’s title?” I asked softly.

The big rebel’s smile faded. “Generally, titles are bestowed as a sign of affection and respect. Malik’s people fear him, so none would dare risk angering him by giving him a title that suits him. But I saw you frown when I named those rebel leaders who would not be coming to the meeting. I would not regard that as reason to suspect them of being kidnappers. Especially in the case of the west coast rebels. They often do not come to meetings this side of the Suggredoon. They claim with some justice that it’s unfair that most meetings are held here, though they can see it makes more sense to have them where fewer need to travel far.”

“I take it you don’t object to our probing the rebels who are here,” Gevan said.

“We have no desire to pry into rebel business, private or otherwise, nor to work against your people in any way,” I said quickly. “We will only be looking for thoughts connected to Rushton.”

“I don’t object because I trust you, but I’d not let the others know you would enter their minds for your purposes, if you take my meaning.”

Gevan explained our decision to offer limited aid to the rebellion.

“A sound ruse to test how close an eye these kidnappers are keeping on you. If they dislike this limitation, I’m sure they will let you know, and how long that communication takes and what form it comes in might give us a lead on where they are holding Rushton. But I haven’t had a whisper of anything that would suggest any of the rebels had aught to do with the kidnapping. The only unusual occurrence is that Domick seems to have disappeared as well. No one has seen him since Rushton came to Sutrium.”

I stared at him. “Are you saying Domick had something to do with Rushton’s kidnapping?”

He looked taken aback. “Of course not. I am saying only that when two men vanish about the same time, it is curious. I don’t imagine the lad crept after him on the road, but … Well, it nags my mind that maybe somehow there’s a link.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and then closed it again, for I had long suspected that Brydda had latent Talents that he drew on unconsciously, calling them a “knack.” And it
was
odd that Domick had vanished around the same time as Rushton. Or before, in fact, since he hadn’t responded to Rushton’s note.

“Brydda, you made a good point about using the offer of
limited alliance to force the kidnapper to show his hand again,” Gevan cut in, “but you should understand that when we talk of limited help, we mean it. We are prepared to help with communication between rebels, and in finding your traitors as well as with healing, but we will not fight.”

Brydda looked from the coercer to me. “You mean to offer us aid in reality?”

“Limited aid, unless we manage to flush out Rushton’s kidnapper today, and somehow I doubt that will happen,” I said. “What is the rebel purpose of this meeting anyway?”

“Not a lot. To clarify a few aspects of the first part of our plan. The meeting is more an expression of final solidarity than anything else.”

“The
first
part of your plan?” Gevan asked curiously.

“That’s right. There are three distinct phases. The first deals with this side of the Suggredoon. That’s another reason you should not worry too much about west coast rebels not coming to the meeting in person.”

“Why three phases?”

“We do not have the numbers to attack everywhere simultaneously, so our plan will be like a snowball rolled down a hill. It will gather mass and force as it moves. But tell me one thing—if you do join us and then find Rushton, will you immediately withdraw your help?”

Gevan and I exchanged a glance and a brief mental dialogue.

“No,” I said at last. “If we commit ourselves, we will remain until we are not needed.”

Brydda nodded his approval.

The rebel meeting took place late in the afternoon when the sun was as fat and golden red as a ripe peach suspended
above the horizon. The barn was old enough that the daubing had crumbled away between the horizontal boards, leaving gaps that allowed a multitude of crisscrossing beams of sunlight to stripe flesh and bales of hay and illuminate the dust rotating slowly in the air. The gaps meant that although no one glancing at the barn would realize it was full of people, we would see anyone long before they came close enough to hear us.

As Brydda had predicted, Malik attended the meeting. When we entered, he was deep in conversation with the silk-clad Brocade. Tardis’s representative, Gwynedd, sat a little apart from the rest, his muscular arms crossed and his long fair hair loose except for a plait on either side of his austere face, in the Norseland fashion. Dardelan smiled and lifted his hand in greeting, looking subtly older than the year before, and I wondered idly where Jakoby’s daughter Bruna was. Beside Dardelan was Elii, and I let my eyes rest for a time on the stern face of the young Kinraide rebel leader, wondering if he truly had no memory of me as one of the orphans he had led in search of the deadly whitestick.

Gevan and I seated ourselves near Brydda just as the prematurely white-haired Cassell came in looking frailer than ever beside a handsome, heavy-browed woman with a mass of crisp black hair: Serba.

Before the meeting began, several more unfamiliar men and women arrived and seated themselves on hay bales or stood lounging against the thick frame beams that supported the roof. The barn was near to full when Brocade rose to give a flowery speech of welcome. He then invited Gevan and me to speak on behalf of the Misfits.

My mouth dried instantly, for I had not expected to be named at once. Since Gevan had suggested I do the talking
while he coerced and probed those assembled, I stood and took a deep breath, then explained that we were representing Rushton, who was ill. I was trying to be alert to anything untoward in people’s faces, but I saw only what one might expect if they had known nothing of the kidnapping. Surprise, interest, disinterest, but no furtive guilt or glee. No half smiles. Malik and his cohorts sneered of course, but that was as much a reflection of innocence as anything else.

“Is Rushton mortally ill?” Elii asked with a bluntness I remembered from childhood.

“No,” I said, thinking,
Not mortally ill, but maybe in mortal danger
.

“Would you have us heal him?” Malik sneered.

“I do not think you would have more skill than our healers,” I said. “In fact, I come to make an offer. You met with Rushton and proposed an alliance, which he had to refuse given our oath of pacifism. But we are prepared now to offer limited aid.”

“Limited aid,” Malik mimicked. “I think
any
help your people could offer would be limited.”

“I do not think the limitations we impose on our offer will trouble any but you, sirrah,” I said coolly, “since they are designed to prevent mindless slaughter.”

“What exactly are you offering?” Elii demanded impatiently.

“We will not kill or fight. We will nurse and help to heal your wounded. We will aid in capturing enemies where this can be done without bloodshed. We will pass messages between your groups so that you can remain in constant contact. And, last but not least, we will seek out the traitors in your midst.”

There was a stir at this, which I had anticipated. I let them
mutter and mumble until Gwynedd asked how we knew about the traitors.

“Brydda told them, of course,” Malik snapped. “He tells his pet freaks everything.”

“We learned about the traitors by chance in the course of our own activities,” I said.

Elii called immediately for a show of hands as to whether our offer could be accepted. Predictably enough, Malik and his allies voted against us, while the rest voted aye. Vos cursed Zamadi, who growled an insult back at him, and as a babble of argument and recrimination rose, I took the chance to farsend to Gevan to see if he had found anything.

“Not yet,” he sent.

Serba rose, demanding silence in a contemptuous voice. “We did not come to squabble. Surely, on the eve of war, we are beyond that. The show of hands means we accept the Misfits’ offer. Of course, any rebel leader may refuse the offer of aid if they wish. I, for one, will be glad of help in flushing the traitors out of Port Oran. My only question is how soon before one of your people can arrive?”

This was directed to me.

“It will take a minimum of three days for someone to reach Port Oran,” I said. I turned to Gwynedd. “It will be five days for Murmroth, if you want our help.”

“I voted aye,” Gwynedd said levelly.

“How long will it take for your people to reach Guanette?” Malik demanded. When I gaped, he said, “I did not want Misfits with us, but I will obey the decision of the majority.”

I realized the need to obscure that we would be coming from the mountains. “It would take three days for one of our people to come to you there,” I lied in a flat, unfriendly voice.
“But you will remember our aid does not come free of obligation, Malik of Guanette.”

“I will keep that in mind,” he agreed so smugly that my mind churned with suspicion.

Brocade gave an exaggerated sigh and said he supposed he could bear having Misfits around if it would flush the maggots from his band, and Vos concurred. I boiled inwardly but only repeated that we would send Misfits to all who desired our aid.

Serba rose and suggested tersely that we proceed to the next matter. I resumed my seat beside Gevan, careful not to let my anger show.

“I would like to go over the first stage of the entire plan one last time,” Serba began.

“Are these Misfits to remain and hear our plans?” Vos interrupted in a voice as thin and hard as his frame.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the rebel woman spoke first. “Fool. How can you keep the Misfits ignorant of the very information they will be passing on for you? Do you blindfold your horse when you would gallop?”

Vos gave her a look of intense malice, but she outstared him, hands on hips, until his eyes dropped. She reminded me very much of Jakoby, and I could not help but admire how smoothly she had assumed control. Malik made no effort to prevent it. He seemed more inclined to jeer and heckle, which might simply be evidence that the dynamics of the rebel struggles had altered radically since the Battlegames. Yet the mocking half smile he wore troubled me. I could easily believe he was up to something, though I could not convince myself that he had kidnapped Rushton. It just didn’t make sense.

“None of them did it, far as I can tell,” Gevan concluded, catching my unshielded thought. “I can’t read Gwynedd, because his mind is naturally shielded, but my instincts rule against it. And your Elii’s mind is too sensitive to meddle with inconspicuously. Other than that, nothing.”

“Malik?”

“He is wearing one of the demon bands, and very pleased it is making him, too. I agree that he’s unlikely to be Rushton’s kidnapper, but he must have
something
to hide.”

“Probably he’s plotting to take over the Land after the rebellion and doesn’t want us warning Brydda.”

I shook my head fractionally then, for I wanted to listen. Serba was speaking in detail about the rebellion, saying that phase one was to begin after dusk, with each group taking control of the Councilman’s holding and cloister within their area. The cloister cells were to be used to hold prisoners, because these could be secured by only a few guards. If possible, the local populace were to be kept in ignorance of what was happening in their midst. At midnight on the same day, the soldierguard stronghold below the Gelfort Range would be targeted.

“The aim of phase one is to consolidate all the territory this side of the Suggredoon, excepting Sutrium. It would be disastrous for Sutrium to get wind of what is happening, because the soldierguard force in the two camps outside the city is formidable enough to give us trouble, especially if they manage to get messengers over to the west coast. Of course, as agreed, we will not discuss plans about the individual operations each of you has evolved even at this eleventh hour, for security reasons, but it is vital that you contain your areas,” Serba said.