The Rival (57 page)

"Oh," she said.  Then she glanced up.  "He's injured."

"He's had a Vision," Flurry said, not trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice.  At least they knew they had the Black King's great-grandson.  But Cinder wasn't smart enough to realize that.

She wasn't reliable at all.

He sighed.  He had to be two places at once.  He had to stay here, with the boy, and he also had to get reinforcements.  Cinder couldn't be relied on for either task.

"What're we going to do?" she asked.

He wished he knew.  "Give me a moment."

He swooped down, hurtling like a spark from the sun.  He brushed the boy's hair, flew past the woman's face, and then rose again.  Images stuck with him.  The boy was covered with dirt; his eyes had deep shadows and he looked as if he had been crying.  There was drool on the side of his face, his skin was wan and he appeared terrified.

But not as terrified as the woman  —  or, more accurately, girl.  She was Infantry, wearing the old uniform that was in vogue when Rugar first left for the Isle.  She too was filthy and her uniform was wrinkled.  It smelled faintly of the Cardidas river. 

She wasn't used to Visions, or the demands they made on Visionaries.  She was panicked and frightened and angry.

She would be of no use to the boy, at least, not for a while.  He would have to recover on his own.

Flurry nodded once, then flew up to Cinder.  She was still hovering, one finger against her small mouth, as if she were deep in thought.

"You stay here," Flurry said, "and keep an eye on them.  If they go anywhere, you follow.  If they go off the road, you follow until you know where they're headed then report back here."

"How will I know where here is?"

Flurry glanced around.  She had point.  It looked like most of the rest of the farmland here, the rolling fields and the road cut like a river between them. 

He pointed to a small patch of brownish corn.  This farmer hadn't realized his crop had bugs.  "That corn is your landmark," he said.  "I doubt you'll need it, but in case."

"Where're you going?"

"To get reinforcements.  We can't capture him on our own."

"Other Wisps won't be able to help," she said.

He blinked at her, started to answer, then stopped.  If she had misunderstood the instructions, how many others had as well?  He was doubly relieved that he found the boy.

"I'm going to get Foot Soldiers," he said.

"There aren't any nearby."

He smiled.  "That's where you're wrong," he said.  "Rugad put pocket garrisons all over the southern part of the Isle.  I just have to find the closest one."

"How do you know these things?" she asked.

He chucked her chin, unable to resist.  "I just pay attention," he said.

She frowned as if she were trying to make sense of that.  He didn't wait for her understanding.

"If you lose him, you'll be branded a Failure," Flurry said.

As her eyes widened in fear, he flew off.  He didn't know if losing the great-grandson would make her a Failure or not, but he did know, after such dramatic examples of what happened to Failures, that she would stick to the boy like a burr.

He hoped that wouldn't make her do anything stupid.

He glanced back.  She was still hovering, her tiny hands pressed together as if she were flattening a flower between them.  She was worried. 

Good.

That meant she would do her job.

Now he had to do his.  He had to get reinforcements, and fast.

That boy was the reason Rugad came to Blue Isle.

Flurry couldn't afford to lose him.

None of them could.

SIXTY-EIGHT

The troops had gone above.  Servis was leaning against the stone wall, his knife out.  He was using its tip to clean his fingernails.

Con was pacing.  His breath was coming in shallow gasps.  He had never faced a dilemma like this.  The soldiers said the King knew, but what if they lied?  What if they didn't know?  He had to get above, he had to see.  He had to know for himself.

"Servis, how far would you go to follow orders?" he asked.

"Dinna ask, baby Aud," Servis said. 

"I am asking."

"Tis me job ta follow orders."

Con turned.  Servis was no longer picking at his nails with the knife.  He had laid it across his leg, his hand on the hilt.  He was watching Con.

Servis had misunderstood.  He had thought that Con was asking what Servis would do if Con tried to leave.  Con already knew that.

Servis would have to kill him.

And that was the key to orders, wasn't it?  Doing what one had to, doing what was required.

Con didn't have orders.

He had a Charge.

He touched the vials of holy water in his pocket.  Sometimes doing God's work meant using every available opportunity, no matter what the result.

He had a higher calling.  He had to see the King.

"It's my job to follow orders, too," Con said.

"I canna let you leave, baby Aud," Servis said.

"If you do, who'll know?" Con asked.  "They're fighting above.  They may not even come back this way."

"I'll know, baby Aud."  Servis's voice was soft.  "I'll know."

Con nodded.  And there lay his answer.  Even if the King already knew, even if the King sent those troops, Con wouldn't be satisfied.  He wouldn't know until he saw for himself, until he followed his Charge all the way through.

All he needed was a moment, a simple moment, and he would be able to fulfill his Charge.  He knew the tunnels  —  or at least had a map of them.  And if he were quiet, he would be able to see it all through.

With his thumb and forefinger, he worked the stopper out of a vial of holy water.  "Don't you believe in a higher order?" he asked.  "Don't you believe that God's work takes precedence over all others?"

"Dinna play such games with me, lad," Servis said.  "I canna let ye go."

"But you're a believer, Servis."  Con took a small step closer.  He couldn't get too close, and yet he couldn't be too far either.  He had to find the right point.  "The Church teaches that God leads us all, even the King.  And if God leads the King, then he certainly guides the King's guards.  My Charge should have more weight than your order."

Servis sighed.  His hand hadn't moved from the hilt of his dagger.  "I dinna have the learnin ta think a these things, baby Aud.  Dinna make me.  I'm a simple man and I will do simple things.  Like follow orders."

"My orders are from God," Con said.

"N I only have yer word on that."  Servis was growing agitated.  He leaned forward.  "I dinna know who gave ye the Charge or if tis false.  I canna give up me orders fer yer Charge."

"But you would if you know my Charge came from the Rocaan."

"Maybe.  If'n I saw the Rocaan give yer Charge to ye."

"But you didn't.  You only have my word.  The word of a holy man." Con's fingers tightened around the vial.

"Yer a boy."

"I'm an Aud," he said, throwing Servis's words back at him.

Servis stared at him, then slid his hand off the knife hilt. 

Con's heart made a small flip.  Servis was listening.  "There is another way I can convince you," Con said.

Servis put his hand flat on the ground.  Con's fingers tightened on the vial.  This would be the moment, if he were to take one.  This might be his only chance.

But he kept his hand in his pocket.

"Keep talkin, baby Aud."

"Come with me.  Come into the palace and help me find the King.  If at any time I put the King in danger, kill me."

"I was hopin we'd get through this without one a us killin the other," Servis said.  "Na matter what ye have in yer pocket."

Con felt his face grow warm.  "Just holy water," he said.

"I'm na Fey," Servis said.

"But I was hoping to surprise you."

Servis grinned.  "T'would take more than water in the face ta surprise me."

Somehow Con believed it.  He sighed.  "Please," he said.  "This Charge is my life, my future, and maybe the future of Blue Isle.  We can't let it stop here, in this tunnel, with the Fey above us.  We can't."

Servis grabbed the knife, and pushed himself to his feet.  Con held his breath.  Servis put the knife in its sheath.  "T'would seem," he said, "that yer right.  Tis a good compromise.  I'll go with ye.  Because yer right.  No one'll know what happened here sides us.  And we're little men in a big game.  Tis better fer us ta do what we believe."

Con let out the breath he had been holding.  "Thank you," he said.

"Dinna be thanking me," Servis said.  "At least we're safe down here.  If the Fey are winning above, goin ta the palace will get us both killed."

"That's a risk I have to take," Con said.

Servis clapped his hand on Con's shoulder.  "Spoken like a fighter, baby Aud."

"No," Con said quietly, feeling the need to correct Servis, a need as strong as his desire to go to the palace.  "Spoken like a holy man."

"Ah, boy, have ye ever thought that maybe they're not so different?"

"They're different," Con said.  But he spoke with a surety he no longer felt.  The world was changing too quickly for him. 

He only hoped he continued to make the right choices as it did.

SIXTY-NINE

Adrian hated the heat. He hated traveling in it, and wished that he could be on his farm, in the shade, waiting for the coolness of twilight to finish his chores.  At least Luke was tending things.  Luke would make certain the crops were taken care of, and the house remained.  If the Fey showed up, he was under instruction to give them what they wanted.  Or, if he felt there were too many of them, he was to hide.  Years ago, they had set up a number of hiding places on the farm, just in case. 

Coulter walked ahead of Adrian and Scavenger.  Coulter's chin was up, his eyes half closed.  He appeared to be following a trail that Adrian couldn't see.  Scavenger was breathing heavily.  He wore a dozen knives and two swords, the weight nearly crushing him.  He had insisted on coming, but he didn't want to face his own people again unarmed.

He probably didn't want to face them at all.

Adrian had brought his old sword out of retirement, and he also took a quiver full of arrows and the bow that Luke had made him the year before.  He doubted they would do much good, but they were a start.  He had some supplies as well.  No sense traveling without food.  They had no idea how long they would be gone.

Coulter was leading them down the road to Jahn.  It made sense that Gift was going this way; his stated desire was to return to Sebastian. 

The idea of fighting, any sort of fighting, terrified Adrian. In truth, he was no more a soldier than Scavenger.  The last time he had gone to war to save his country.  This time, he hoped he wouldn't have to fight at all.

The only one with any real power in this group was Coulter, and he still didn't know how to use most of it.

At least Luke was not involved this time.  None of them felt good about leaving Luke behind, but it was his wish.  He had no desire to fight the Fey again, no desire to be part of a force.  He believed the Fey wouldn't even appear at the farm, and Scavenger agreed.  Scavenger said the Fey were following an old fighting pattern, one that destroyed the center of power, but left the wealth of the country alone.

It made sense to Adrian even if he didn't like it.  He had a bad feeling about all of this, but he said nothing.  His life was going to change again.  The comfortable world he had been born into was long gone.  The world of his imprisonment was destroyed, and the easy world he had built afterward was gone too.  He didn't know what would replace them, and he wasn't sure he would live long enough to find out.

At least Luke was home, and out of the fighting.  Adrian couldn't bear it if his son got in trouble again because of Adrian's actions.

The corn was breathing in the soft wind.  Adrian loved the creaks and groans of growing crops, the slight buzz of insects as they went about their business, the smell of greenery.  That was his life, not this all pervading fear that started in his stomach and seemed to fill him.

Scavenger was ignoring the crops.  He was scanning everything, the sides of the road, the road, the sky above it.  Every few moments, he would lick his lips as if tasting the air.  His squat body was in better condition than it had ever been.  The work on the farm had given his arms a power that they hadn't had when he'd been in charge of the Fey dead.  He was trimmer too, than he had been when Adrian met him, and his skin was even darker from his time in the sun. But there were new lines on his face now, and his eyes seemed to be looking for something very far away.  His nervousness was like a pervasive high-pitched whistle.  Adrian was trying to ignore it, but somehow that seemed to make the whistle worse.

Suddenly Scavenger stopped.  He bit his lower lip until it bled.  As Adrian kept going, Scavenger grabbed his arm.  The grip was tight.

"Get Coulter.
Now.
"

Adrian pulled his arm from Scavenger's grasp and ran the short distance to Coulter.  "Hey," Adrian said.  "Stop.  Scavenger saw something."

"There's no time to stop," Coulter said.

Adrian took Coulter's arm, using a grip as firm as Scavenger's had been.  "He's worried."

"He can't see anything important."

"He's been with them all his life.  He might be able to see more than you."

Coulter stopped walking then.  Two spots of color appeared on his pale cheeks.  His eyes were dark blue, darker than they had ever been.  "This better be important," he said, as if the decision to stop were Adrian's instead of Scavenger's.

Adrian said nothing as he led Coulter back to Scavenger.  Scavenger stood in the middle of the road, his square head tilted toward the sky. 

"What is it?" Coulter asked, the fullness of his displeasure coming through his voice.

Scavenger didn't reply.  Instead, he pointed up.

Coulter followed the point.  So did Adrian. 

The sky was so blue, it looked as if it had been dyed by one of the Fey's Domestics.  The wispy clouds from earlier were gone.  The sun was directly overhead, and the slight heat shimmer that warm days sometimes had made parts of the air appear as if they were underwater.