The Silver Lake (23 page)

“A wise plan,” the marshal agreed before anyone else could speak. “As always, the seer and the ghazi will work together to ensure a victorious conclusion, as the God of Battles commanded when She accepted both into Her service so many centuries ago. The seers will petition the God for clarity regarding our role in this conflict and the ghazis will go out into the city and discover all they can about these spirits and how long they’ve been preying on the unsworn.”

“We might well begin by asking the temple of Oristo why there are so many unsworn,” Kaptin Omal added. “They have the closest ear to the ground, ministering to the poor as they do.”

Brax snorted, but was ignored.

“And the delon?” Kaptin Daxin of Sapphire Infantry Company inquired, watching as Spar’s head began to droop wearily. “What’s to become of them?”

“Perhaps we could find them abayon in the city,” Kaptin Nateen suggested.

“We don’t need abayon,” Brax broke in.

Kaptin Daxin studied him with a somber expression. “Don’t you want to live with a proper family, Brax? Run and play without adult cares for a year or two longer as the young should?”

Brax studied the bi-gender kaptin with a frown. “No,” he said finally. “It’s too late for that. I’m an adult already.”

“And Spar? Is he an adult, too? Don’t you think he deserves a family?”

“I’m his family.”

“Regardless,” Kaptin Omal interrupted. “You have to live somewhere and you cannot live here. There are no delon at Estavia-Sarayi. Period.”

Brax glared at him. “Why not?” he asked, trying to tone down the level of disrespect in his voice as Kemal gave him a cautionary glance.

“Because they live and train in the village militias and in the city garrisons,” Kaptin Rabin of Bronze Cavalry Company answered, raising his gaze from the gouge he’d carved into the tabletop. “They come here only as delinkon.”

“Then we’ll be delinkon.”

Kaptin Daxin smiled. “Temple delinkon are chosen by the militia commanders once they’ve shown superior skill and ability, Brax, and they serve at sixteen, not at...?”

The question was pointed. Brax made to answer sixteen but found himself unable to speak the words. Resentfully, he shrugged.

“Fourteen, I think.”

“And Spar?”

“He’s about nine. But we have shown superior skill and ability already,” he added hotly. “We survived Havo’s Dance. We’re tougher than we look.”

“I don’t doubt it, but this isn’t about toughness, Brax.”

“So, what’s it about, then?”

Kaptin Daxin shrugged. “Tradition mostly.”

“Bollocks,” Kaptin Rabin retorted. “It’s about practicality. We haven’t the facilities here to care for you or to train you. You’d never keep up, especially you, Brax, not with the sword or bow and certainly not on horseback.”

“I can knife fight.”

Kaptin Omal didn’t bother to mask a sneer. “You’d be killed in your very first engagement.”

“She wouldn’t let that happen.”

“She lets it happen every day, Delin,” the marshal answered. “We’re not invulnerable just because we serve the God of Battles. Without proper training, you would endanger both yourself and others in your company.”

“I’d catch up,” Brax insisted. “She’d make sure I did.”

“Oh, She would, would She?” Elif chuckled.

Brax crossed his arms with an equal mix of confidence and bravado. “Yes, She would. I can feel it. I’d ask Her and She’d help me.”

“Then She can help you in one of the city garrisons,” Kaptin Omal answered firmly. “You don’t belong here.”

Kemal laid a restraining hand on Brax’s arm as the boy took one, angry step forward. “Kaptins, perhaps we might consider billeting the delon here temporarily. Just until we receive further orders from the God,” he added as Kaptin Omal glared at him. “After all, She did lead them to us.”

“From what I’ve heard, Ghazi, it seems that Estavia didn’t so much lead them to us as She led them to you,” Kaptin Daxin noted with a faint smile.

“Then perhaps Ghazi-Priest Kemal should take charge of them and return to his own village to raise them properly,” Kaptin Nateen suggested.

“Out of the question,” Kaptin Julide answered at once. “Kemal’s needed to command his troops at Anahtar-Hisar this season.”

“Then send the delon south with him as far as Satos-Koy.”

“It’s much too dangerous,” Kaptin Daxin protested. “They’d be killed.”

“I’m not suggesting they join the garrison at Anahtar-Hisar,” Kaptin Nateen growled back. “I said Satos-Koy. There are plenty of youngsters in the lake villages, you know that. It
is
where most of them come from, after all.”

“Really?” Kaptin Daxin replied with equal sarcasm, “I thought they sprang, fully armored, from the mouths of the Gods.”

“Enough,” the marshal said sternly as Spar began to sway, despite one hand wrapped tightly around Jaq’s collar. With a glare that took in the entire council, Brax threw an arm about his shoulders to steady him as the marshal raised a hand. “It’s late and wherever the delon eventually end up, they do not need to wait on our decision for respite. They will remain with us as our guests until Estavia makes Her intentions for them clear. Kemal, you will escort them to Chamberlain Tanay and ask her to find them a bed in the guest quarters.”

“Yes, marshal.”

“And, Brax?” She fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Be careful what words you put in the God’s mouth. She may not be so predisposed to your interpretation as you believe.”

Eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar words, Brax, nonetheless, nodded stiffly, allowing Kemal to usher him and Spar from the room. Behind them, he heard Kaptin Omal take up the argument again.

Now, much later, lying beside Spar in a room so big he couldn’t feel the walls around them, he pulled the soft silk sheets up to his chin and reached inside for Estavia’s presence, smiling sleepily as the God stirred in response.

“I know You want us to stay here,” he
thought,
“but You’re going to have to tell them that as clearly as You can. They seem kind of ...”
he paused, searching for a more polite word than stupid to describe what was, after all, Her command council, and settled on ...
“thick.”

A ripple of amusement whispered across his thoughts.

 

 

 

“Whatever. They are right in one way, though,” he allowed reluctantly. “We do need your help with training. We’ve got to prove to them we wouldn’t be a danger to anyone. Except the enemy,”
he added almost as an afterthought.
“Whoever that is.”

The reassurance that filled his mind made him smile and he let go of the last of his worries about the future. The God would take care of them. He could feel Her promise sizzling through his veins. The command council would understand that eventually. Hunkering down under the sheets, he closed his eyes. As the bright lights and the mist-covered plain rose up in his mind again, he fell asleep to the sound of horses’ hooves drowning out the last throes of Havo’s Dance outside.

In the bed beside him, Spar listened as Brax’s breathing slowly deepened, then sat up carefully. He’d slept for a while himself, arms wrapped around Jaq, letting the dog’s body heat warm him and feeling his heartbeat thump against his chest, but once Brax had stopped muttering to himself, he’d awakened to lie staring into the darkness as he’d done every night since they’d lost their home. He didn’t like strange places no matter how safe they were supposed to be. There was always someone or something hiding in the shadows watching for weakness and waiting to take what little they had away, and he wasn’t nearly as convinced as Brax that they would be allowed to stay here. No guard had ever helped them out and, as fancy as these warriors might talk and dress, they were still guards. And guards had killed Cindar. Brax might have forgotten that in his enthusiasm for Estavia’s love and comfort, but he hadn’t. Brax had already angered Kaptin Omal, and Kaptin Liel seemed to be able to look right through them. Spar had made sure he hadn’t met the frightening gaze of the bi-gender seer kaptin that made him feel so strange inside. In fact, everything about this place made him feel strange, ever since that tower in the lamplight had tried to tempt him into ... whatever it was it wanted. It made his head ache. He wished Brax had never brought them here. He didn’t like any of it.

Except Tanay, he amended reluctantly. He liked Tanay even if she was a priest of Oristo. Tanay had taken care of them.

 

 

Brax had peppered Kemal with questions as he’d led the two of them down a long corridor that smelled of spices and cooking meat. Most of the answers had meant nothing to Spar, but now, as he rested one hand on Jaq’s broad back, he cocked his head to hear the man’s response.

“The chamberlain runs the temple,” Kemal answered simply.

“I thought the marshal did that.”

“The marshall commands the Warriors of Estavia. The chamberlain runs the temple; sees that everyone’s fed and clothed, that sort of thing. Every Sarayi has one; usually a senior priest of Oristo.”

“Figures.”

Kemal glanced curiously down at Brax’s sudden frown. “So, tell me, is it priests in general that you don’t like, or priests of Oristo in particular?”

“Mostly priests of Oristo.”

“Why? Do they think they know everything more than priests in general?”

Ignoring the teasing in Kemal’s voice, Brax just shrugged and, making a quick decision, Spar jabbed Brax in the ribs with one elbow. The older boy started.

“What?”

Spar gave him a sharp, expectant look. They needed Kemal. Brax should have known that without his help.

“Not a good idea, Spar,” the older boy countered.

He folded his arms, silently demanding that Brax take him seriously, and finally, Brax threw one hand into the air.

“Fine. The priests of Oristo ratted out our abayos to the Western Trisect dockyard garrison,” he said bluntly, turning back to Kemal.

“Ratted out?”

“Yeah. They thought he wasn’t a good enough abayos, so they ratted him out and the garrison guards killed him.”

Kemal looked confused. “He was killed because he wasn’t a good enough abayos?”

“No, he was killed because he was a thief,” Brax answered, his voice dripping with condescension.

“But thieving doesn’t carry a death sentence in Anavatan.”

“Yeah, well,” Brax glanced at Spar, then sighed. “It does when you resist arrest and crack a garrison guard—and a priest—in the head. They took him down. He died.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, it was a priest of Oristo that set the guards on him in the first place,” Brax continued, refusing to be mollified.

“But you said he was a thief.”

“That’s not the point,” Brax snapped. “The priests didn’t care that he was a thief. They set the guards on him because they didn’t think a thief made a proper abayos.”