The Silvered (8 page)

Barrow had been with them as long as Mirian could remember. Some years older than her father, he’d recently stopped tying back his thinning gray hair and had cropped it short in an old man’s style. Fitting, she acknowledged, given that he was an old man. But Jon had to hold the ponies and her father was clearly not going to leave the safety of the carriage and Barrow was all there was if she was not to go alone.

There had been shooting. And screaming.

In all honesty, Mirian didn’t want to go alone. She nodded once and the two of them made their way quickly back to the top of the hill. Slipping off the road and into the trees, she motioned for Barrow
to follow as she cut across the arc of the curve until she could see back the way they’d come. Dropping to her knees, she crept forward as far as she could. To her surprise, Barrow dropped to his knees in turn and threw himself down beside her.

The wolf’s-crest carriages had been stopped and were surrounded by men wearing deep purple jackets over black trousers and boots. They wore black bicorns on their heads and held muskets. Imperial army uniforms. Imperial army weapons. The one gesturing, gold glittering as he waved both hands, was so pompous, even at this distance she knew he had to be an officer. She could see two wolves on the ground, one of the coachmen under guard and all five women of the Mage-pack kneeling in the circle of men, bodies bent and twisted, hands clasped to their heads. They looked to be in pain, but she couldn’t be sure as she couldn’t see their expressions. As she watched, Lady Hagen dropped her hands to the fabric of her skirt and straightened, the effort obvious even to Mirian’s less than perfect eyesight.

A breeze lifted Mirian’s hair, and she heard Lady Hagen’s voice as clearly as if she were kneeling with her.

“You have us bound, so kill us and be gone.”

Bound. Magically bound, or the Mage-pack would not be kneeling there waiting for death.

The officer waved his hands again. It looked almost as though he was sprinkling gold dust from his fingers. He had to be responding, but Mirian couldn’t hear him. Did he speak Aydori? Lady Hagen was speaking Aydori, but that didn’t necessarily mean she expected the enemy officer to understand her.

“We are only five.” She sounded angry. Imperious. Not stooping to insult him personally even while her tone insulted his entire nation.

Mirian strained to hear what the Imperials replied, hoping hearing at distance meant she was finally showing some of the mage-craft everyone seemed to think she had. The breezes refused her command. It must be Lady Hagen then, not bound so tightly as they thought and doing what she could.

The officer raised a hand as though to strike her. The man beside him, covered in enough blood for it to be visible even at a distance, grabbed his wrist.

“The emperor? What does Leopald want with us?”

What did the emperor want? Mirian hoped Lady Hagen was stalling for time because it should be obvious to anyone what the emperor wanted. Control the Pack Leader’s mate. Control the Pack Leader. She had no idea how the emperor’s men had managed to neutralize the Mage-pack—although the gold she could still see glinting in the officer’s hands was so out of place it had to have something to do with it—nor did it matter.

She leaned in close to Barrow’s ear. “The Pack Leader must be told his mate’s been taken. He
has
to stop them before they cross the border!”

Barrow, who was, after all, sensible above all else, nodded and then proved he was after all not as sensible as all that when he said, “Go back to the carriage, Miss Mirian. I will find the Pack Leader and give him this information.”

“You won’t be able to get near him. I will.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then he nodded. “Jaspyr Hagen.” Seated on the outside of the coach, Barrow’d had a better view of her conversation with the Pack Leader’s cousin than her mother had.

“Yes.”
And a run to the border would probably kill you
. She couldn’t say that, but neither could she have it on her conscience. “Tell my parents where I’ve gone and then get them to safety.”

“They will not…”

“Tell them I’ve gone to join Jaspyr Hagen.” She struggled to keep the edge from her voice, but didn’t entirely succeed. “That should calm them.”

After another moment’s scrutiny, he nodded again. “As you wish, Miss Mirian.” His tone had changed and, for the first time, he didn’t seem to be addressing the child she’d been. Rising to his knees, he ignored the leaf litter on his coat and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Lord and Lady keep you safe.”

“Our orders were to return with six mages. There must be six!”

Reiter resisted the urge to visibly count their captives again no matter how much he’d enjoy irritating Lieutenant Lord Geurin. Lingering this far behind enemy lines would get them killed. “Five will have to do. Sergeant.”

“Sir.”

“Divide the captives among the squads and get ready to move out.”

“No!”

Reiter stiffened and turned to face the younger officer. He’d had to accept a certain amount of aristocratic attitude since they’d left the bulk of the army, but this was over the line. “No?”

The soldiers surrounding them froze, and even the lieutenant had brains enough to flinch although he tried to hide it. He wet his lips, glanced down at the women, and stepped forward. “A word alone, Captain Reiter.”

Secret orders, as suspected. War was bad enough without Soothsayers getting involved. “Sergeant.”

“Sir.”

“As ordered.”

“Sir.”

As Reiter followed Geurin behind the carriages, he could hear Black barking orders and the baby screaming. It sounded hungry.

“This one’s had pups.”

No. He wasn’t going there.

Safely out of sight of both their men and the captives, Geurin turned the sixth tangle over in his fingers and said, “Our actions follow the visions of the Imperial Soothsayers.”

“No shit. We’re ass-deep in enemy territory with ancient weapons, capturing mages,” Reiter continued as Geurin’s eyes narrowed. “Soothsayers are a given. Now, tell me something I don’t know.”

“There’s a prophecy about the fall of the empire.”

That was something he didn’t know. “Concerning these women?”

Geurin straightened and stood as though he were reciting. “When wild and mage together come, one in six or six in one. Empires rise or empires fall, the unborn child begins it all.”

“Seriously?” Reiter let his musket hang off the strap, lifted his bicorn, and ran his free hand back through his hair, the front sticky with blood. “That’s the reason we’re here? My eight-year-old niece writes better verse.”

“Is your eight-year-old niece an Imperial Soothsayer?” Geurin’s lip curled. His tone remained respectful enough that Reiter ignored his expression. “Or the Soothsayer’s Voice? Or a Court Analyst? Or
His Imperial Majesty Emperor Leopald himself who gave the order to release the tangles from the vaults? One of these six women…”

“Five.” Reiter pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and smeared the blood around a bit. He’d need water to get it off.

Geurin’s nostrils flared dramatically. “One of the
six
women we have been ordered to capture is pregnant with the child who could bring down the empire!”

Could. Prophecy hinged just a little too much on
could
in Reiter’s opinion. However, as the lieutenant had pointed out, he wasn’t a Soothsayer, or a Voice, or a Court Analyst; he was just a soldier, and he had a soldier’s response. He wasn’t proud of it, but he owned it. “If they haven’t had the child yet, why not kill them here? Why drag them back to the capital?”

“Empires rise or empires fall,” the lieutenant repeated. “If His Imperial Majesty controls the child, he determines what the child sets in motion.”

That sounded reasonable, as far as anything connected with Soothsayers could be called reasonable. Soothsayers were a remnant of the old ways, still around for the advantage they could give. Where
could
was, once again, the operative word, referring to men and women who were undeniably crazy, their words translated by political expediency. Still, he had his orders and now they even made a certain amount of sense. Controlling the beastmen through their women implied the Imperial army would fail to take Aydori by more direct means, and the Imperial army had not yet met a defense that could stand against them.

“You and Sergeant Black escort the women back to the army with squads one to five. I’ll take squad six and find our missing mage.” Reiter held out his hand for the unused tangle. “This is my command. That makes it my responsibility she’s found.”

And I don’t trust you to find your ass with both hands and a map,
he added silently as Geurin hesitated, no doubt weighing the cost of showing up a mage short against the benefit of being the first to report.
I definitely don’t trust you to find your way back to the border on your own.

“Sergeant Black…”

“Will go with you.” Thus ensuring they’d actually make it out of Aydori.

Geurin nodded, although at what, precisely, Reiter wasn’t sure. “We were sent to this place on the road because all six mages were Seen here. She can’t be far.”

The tangles were surprisingly heavy given how little substance they had, and the last tangle seemed to weigh as much as all six had combined. As Reiter slid it into his pocket, he wondered if that was because it carried the weight of the Soothsayers’ prophecy or the weight that would come down on his ass if he returned without the sixth mage.

The pain had faded, no longer knives driven in through her temples but a dull, unpleasant, albeit bearable, throbbing. Fresh knives stabbed in if she attempted to use her power. A lesser but constant pain if she remained quiescent. Danika gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders. Her power was not all she was. If these creatures who had slaughtered Lady Berin and Marinka thought she would crumble and beg, they could think again. She was the Alpha Female of the Aydori Pack and would not show her throat to the enemy.

Moving only her eyes, she checked on the captured Mage-pack.

Annalyse still had her head down, shoulders shaking as she wept—probably for Lady Berin, possibly for them all. Jesine, Sirlin’s wife, was sitting up, weight back on her heels, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she breathed deeply. The highest level Healer-mage in the Mage-pack, it was possible she could control the pain caused by the net. Beside her, Stina Menkyczk, wife to one of the senior officers of the Hunt Pack—widow now if Tomas was right and the entire Hunt Pack had been destroyed—dug her hands into the dirt of the road and whimpered. Danika didn’t know if her pain came from fighting the net or because her niece lay dead and her niece’s baby daughter continued to wail, not understanding that her mama could not rise and change and go to her. Kirstin Yervick stared wide-eyed around her, met Danika’s gaze and bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She’d left twin ten-year-old sons with their grandparents in Trouge to travel with her husband to Bercarit. Danika was actually impressed that Kirstin was holding her tongue. It wasn’t something the other Air-mage was known for. Sarcasm, yes. Silence, no.

Danika couldn’t turn far enough to check the servants, but now
that they’d stopped fighting to get past the soldiers, they seemed safe enough. She could hear Natali, Lady Berin’s maid, murmuring a string of complex curses and could only hope none of the enemy spoke more than the very basic Aydori the lieutenant had attempted.

The golden net wrapped around Danika’s head stopped her from raising the winds and throwing these men back across the border like ragdolls, but voices were only air given form and texture and the breeze blew past the two officers talking quietly behind the carriage.

“When wild and mage together come, one in six or six in one. Empires rise or empires fall, the unborn child begins it all.”

Her hand moved unbidden to her belly. Soothsayers who lived far enough in the future to give voice to “prophecy” were so insane every word could have a dozen different meanings. Danika had heard rumors that Emperor Leopald kept Soothsayers at the Imperial Court, but she’d had no idea he was actually mad enough to use them to determine policy.