8.

 

After, the cage was lifted, water thrust at him. He ignored it and spat bile and vomit out of the cage, further disgracing himself, though in the eyes of the Leeran soldiers and himself, the reasons were different. Bueralan had been close: he had needed but another hour, perhaps not even that, to speak to Zean, he was sure of it. That he had no idea how he would speak—that he might have drawn the attention of the mother to him by doing so, and if she had been responsible for the ritual and the power, he would be in trouble—occurred only to him later, as the day’s heat wore on, and the saboteur settled in to wait for news of Zean and the others.

By the time the afternoon’s sun had risen, Bueralan had accepted a second offer of water from a soldier near the cart, enough to wash his mouth of the taste, to clean away the remnants of the vomit on him. He had begun to gather himself as well, letting the logic of what he saw come to him—the ritual, its implication for communication, the jubilant mood of the soldiers as their own voices returned to them fully—and he began to move around in his cell as much as he could. It had not been damaged in the fall, and he had gained no new room in it, yet he still tried to stretch his back. The muscles of his stomach ached, but it was the muscles on the lower half of his back that were protesting with more regularity, just as the muscles along his shoulder blades were beginning to do. There was little he could do to relieve the pain of either, he knew, but he tried the little he could. Falling into a crouch—the pressure on his calves was coming quicker and he knew that they would soon begin to complain as regularly as his back—the captive saboteur stared ahead of him, trying to catch sight of General Waalstan.

Instead, he saw Dural.

The lieutenant was walking toward him, chains and shackles thrown over his right shoulder. The long, winding length of the Leeran force had begun to stop, and Bueralan’s cart was just doing that when he arrived, nodding to the soldiers on either side. Neither were the ones who had picked him up, or shared water with him later. Waalstan was very careful to ensure that Bueralan did not have an individual guard who took responsibility for his food and care. He knew the danger in giving him a single individual, a man or woman to talk to regularly who was not him, or the lieutenant.

“I thought you said there would be no walks?” Bueralan said to Dural as the cage door swung open. “But you found your leash, I see.”

“You’ve been sick. You’re not walking anywhere.” He tossed the shackles onto the floor. “Put them on.”

Ignoring the open door, ignoring the urge to grab the iron and swing it, ignoring the dozens of eyes that watched him, Bueralan clamped the pieces around his ankles and wrists. Once he had, Dural closed the door and dragged the chains out through the bars, hooking them onto the edge of the cart. He pulled on them and stepped up next to the driver, where he ordered him down the hard-packed main road that led further up the mountain.

Bueralan crouched down as the cart moved and quelled a rising panic. He was not surprised when the cart broke through a ring of soldiers toward the front of the force to reveal not just General Waalstan, but Zean.

His blood brother leaned casually against the side of his mount, the brown mare pawing at the ground and breaking up dirt beneath her hooves. He was unarmed and unconcerned by the soldiers who stood around him, watching only the cart, watching only him. Bueralan saw a flicker of concern and anger in the other man’s eyes, emotions drawn from the flecks of vomit, the confines of the cage, and whatever else the saboteur had not noticed about himself. Finally, after a long, drawn-out silence, Zean straightened and turned to the general. “Now we can talk,” he said.

“Captain Le.” Ekar Waalstan was as he had first seen him: the brown civilian trousers and white shirt, and unarmed. “I was impressed when I met you, but I am doubly impressed by your man. I want you to know that. Half an hour ago, he caught one of my scouts and informed her that he had poisoned the rivers ahead of us, but was willing to discuss the treatment of those same waters if I met him to talk about your fate.”

“I am here to pay his ransom,” Zean said. “There are no other conversations to be had.”

“Did Samuel not tell you? I do not ransom.”

“He said that.”

“You did not believe him?”

“No.”

“Believe him.” Waalstan turned and indicated to the cage. “Your captain belongs to me now. He is my spoil of the war, though a slightly ill one, as you can see. In many ways, it should make you think of the poisons you have been laying down for my men, for he will drink the water before any of mine. He will not die, of course, for he is my assurance that you and the rest of Dark, who I assume are spread out around me and are hearing these words just as you are, do as Samuel Orlan has requested of you. That you take him to the cathedral in Ranan.”

“Do you know what he promised us?”

“That he would free your man.”

In his cage, Bueralan pulled on his chains, trying to catch the eye of his blood brother. Don’t listen to him, Zean. Just step back and go. You can’t stay.

“Do you know what he wants us to do?” the other man asked.

“I believe so.”

“He wants us to kill a girl.”

Waalstan smiled.

“A child, in fact,” he added. “Does that not bother you?”

“Does it not bother you?” Turning, the general approached Bueralan’s cell. “He will not listen to you, Captain. Do you think he will listen to me?” He spoke softly, raising his voice to readdress Zean. “Have you ever had faith, soldier? Real faith, I mean? I suspect not. A lot of men and women haven’t, and in this day and age, who is surprised by that? But the men and women in front of you have faith. They know what it means for there to exist something better than you, for there to be a being, a deity who is more powerful, more knowing, more moral than themselves. Through their faith they acknowledge the care of another, they believe in fate, in a path that has been inscribed on the soul of each and every one of us.”

He reached the cell and, wrapping a hand around the bars, pulled himself onto the back of the cart. He was within easy reach of Bueralan’s chained hands.

“I do not fear the man beside me, nor you, nor Samuel Orlan, because I have faith in the fate my god has given.” He leaned on the top of the cage as he spoke while, beneath him, Bueralan tried to catch Zean’s gaze. “But fear drives Samuel to Ranan, to a pair of large doors at the front of a cathedral and the child that is behind them. What awaits him there is the same fate that awaits Captain Le, I promise you.”

“Without us, Orlan would not go to Ranan. Have you considered that?”

“He will go, regardless. He must,” Waalstan said. “So must you. It is the only chance that you have to save your dear captain’s life.”

Don’t go to Ranan. Bueralan caught Zean’s gaze and held it, trying desperately to impart his words to him. I will find a way out of here. None of you have to take risks. Following Orlan is a bad choice. Whatever waits in that cathedral will be blood gorged—it doesn’t matter if it is a “child” or a “mother”—the risk is one you shouldn’t take. It is too dark a gamble on our set of weary souls. Don’t take that risk. Not now. Not here. Take the others, take them away—

Zean shrugged. With a swift movement, he pulled himself onto his horse. “None of us wins in this, General. I will tell you about Ranan when I see you next.”

After he had gone, Waalstan bent his head, met Bueralan’s gaze through the bars. “He may be just as dangerous as you.”

“He’ll kill you before your war is done.”

It was bravado, a hint of defiance, a reaction to the situation that saw him caged and ill and knowing that Dark would, once they returned to the town where they had left Orlan and Ruk, begin to ride to Ranan. They would not like it; they would know instinctively to cut the head off the army would not stop it, not even if the head was figurative.

Yet he could offer them no alternative but to leave him.

Outside the cage, General Waalstan smiled sadly. “I know I will not see the end of this war. In that regard, however, I will not be alone.”