Marán spun, sitting up, and I slid out of her, unnoticed. “You’re pregnant?” she said, in rigid shock.
“A time and thirty days now. The seer and I calculated, and it happened on Festival night, the first night the three of us were together.”
Marán stared at her friend, and for an instant what might’ve been unutterable hatred flashed across her face, but it was gone so quickly I wasn’t sure I’d seen correctly in the candlelight. She took a deep breath.
“This is a surprise.”
“I hoped I was just late,” Amiel said. “But really, I knew better. Isn’t it funny, Damastes, all the times Pelso and I tried to make a baby, we failed. Then you succeed on the first attempt. I guess your seed is strong.”
I hid my wince. Amiel had said exactly the wrong thing, considering all the times Marán and I had tried to create a child.
“So,” Amiel said after a time, “that’s why I won’t be able to go to Irrigon.”
“I don’t follow,” I said. “You’re not that pregnant. Did the seer say there was some problem?”
“Oh no,” Amiel said. “My health’s excellent. But I’d like a few days to recover from the chirurgeon’s ministrations.”
“What?” Marán said.
“I’m already an embarrassment,” Amiel said. “This would make things worse.” She shrugged. “So I’ll deal with it. I had to once before, long ago when I was a girl.”
“You mean … have the baby aborted?” Marán said.
Amiel nodded. I started to say something, but held my silence hard.
“Don’t you want the child?” Marán said sharply.
Amiel smiled, wistfully. “Of course I’d like a babe. A child of Damastes the Fair? A man who’s welcomed me into his house, treated me always as a friend, and loved me better than anyone I can remember? The seer said she’s certain it’s a girl. Who wouldn’t wish such a baby? I’ve wanted one for the last few years, feeling my time was running short.”
“Then have the baby you shall,” Marán said firmly. She recollected my presence. “I’m sorry, my husband. I didn’t even think of asking you.”
“You didn’t need to,” I said, and was honest. We’d have the child we’d both wanted now, and I didn’t give a rap for what anyone said or thought. Not that I had any choice, not if I wished to look at myself in the shaving glass.
“Amiel, we told you once you were welcome here,” I said. “Welcome now, welcome forever. We shall go on together. As three.” I stretched out my hand to Marán. Amiel clasped our hands in hers, tears running from her eyes.
“Thank you. I didn’t dare even think … Thank you. Thank you, Jaen, Irisu.”
“The emperor sealed Damastes and me in marriage,” Marán said. “He prayed to the gods and goddesses our union be blessed. I pray to those same gods for the three of us.”
“As do I,” I said huskily.
“And I,” Amiel whispered.
“Now let us secure our alliance,” Marán said. She tenderly took Amiel’s head in her hands and kissed her, long, deeply. The two lay down, their legs twining, rubbing against each other as their passion grew. Marán took her lips from Amiel’s.
“Damastes, come love us. Love us both. And when you come, come in us both. Now we are three for all time.”
• • •
The two women rode behind me, talking excitedly about the decorations for the nurseries in our three palaces, whether it would be better to have them all the same, or do them in different styles so the child could learn variety.
Karjan was beside me, and flanking us were twenty of my Red Lancers, again commanded by Legate Segalle.
I was feeling a little hungry, a lot thirsty, and was looking forward to our midday meal. We’d been traveling for some days, and had crossed onto Agramónte land two hours ago. It’d become Marán’s and my custom to stop in Caewlin for a meal. It was a wonderful little village, with maybe a hundred or so people, just a few days from Irrigon. There was one merchant — who sold everything from spices to peas, generally on credit against the harvest — a village witch, and an excellent tavern known for its country ham, its fresh-baked bread, ales brewed on the premises, and its salads, spiced with herbs grown by the owner. We’d helped build her garden with exotic herbs from the capital, and now it threatened to devour the tavern.
I should have noted something wrong as we came around the final tree-lined bend, for I saw no playing children, nor heard the lowing of cattle or the gabble of geese. But part of my mind was on my stomach, and the rest on how I could further improve the Guard Corps.
Then we rode into desolation. The village had been utterly destroyed. The neat thatched roofs were gone, and torn brick lay open to the uncaring sky. Caewlin had burned, and then rain had drenched the fire. The windows of the tavern were shattered, and its door had been pulled from its hinges and lay in the yard. Men had torn down the nicely painted fence around the garden, and then horses had trampled the plants. Bodies were scattered about, some animal, more human. They’d been dead about a week, I estimated, long enough to bloat and blacken into thankful unrecognizability.
Amiel gasped, Marán swore, but it might as well have been a prayer.
My soldiers’ lances were down, ready, although there was nothing to fear, nothing at all but death and the dry buzz of flies in the spring silence.
“Who …” Amiel’s voice trailed away, then came back more strongly. “Who did this? Why?”
Legate Segalle pointed at a tree that had a wide stone bench around it, a tree that had been the communal meeting place. Nailed to it was a battered, swollen head, barely recognizable as human. I couldn’t tell if it had belonged to a woman or a long-haired man. There was a dagger driven into the tree below it, and around the dagger’s grip a yellow silk cord was tied.
“Tovieti did it!” he said.
“No,” I said. “The other way around. Somebody thought these people were Tovieti. I suspect I know who the murderer was, or rather who ordered these deaths.”
Marán looked away, then boldly met my gaze. “If they were Tovieti,” she said, “then they got what they deserved.”
“Tovieti, mistress?” It was Karjan. “Y’ think she was Tovieti?” He was pointing at the corpse of a baby, facedown in the dust. The top of the infant’s skull was crushed, and there was a dark stain against the tree.
Marán’s face flushed with rage. “You,” she snapped, “be silent!” She spun on me. “Can’t you keep your retainers in hand?”
I looked pointedly at the child’s body, then at Marán. She stared back, then her eyes dropped. We rode on in silence.
• • •
The rest of the journey was quite different from the first part. Marán and I spoke only when necessary, and Amiel also held her silence. When we stopped at an inn, we slept in separate chambers. The trip seemed interminable, but at last we rounded the curving river road and saw Irrigon.
There were thirty horses tied to a rail in front of the main house. They were still saddled, and showed signs of hard riding. One was a sleek thoroughbred I knew. There were cased bows on most of the saddles, quivers tied to the skirts. Some had spear cases under the stirrups, and many had bulging saddlebags, bags, and rolls that held obvious loot. My temper snapped.
“Legate!”
“Sir!”
“Dismount the Lancers for action! Kill anyone who threatens us! Four men, seize those horses!”
“Sir!”
Two men in armor peered out of the main entrance, saw my soldiers, and, shouting the alarm, ran out, pulling swords.
“Legate!”
“Fire,” Segalle shouted. Bowstrings twanged and the two skidded down the stairs, feathered shafts sprouting from their chests. Other men ran out of the house, shouting. My voice rang over all.
“Silence!” And silence there was. “All of you,” I ordered. “Lay down your weapons or die! You have a count of five! One …”
“Those men are mine,” another voice bellowed and Marán’s brother Praen came out. He wore riding gear, a steel waistcoat, and a sword belt.
“I ordered silence,” I shouted. “Count Agramónte, do not interfere with my men, or be prepared to face the consequences! Two! Three!”
Swords thudded to the ground, and men unbuckled their belts and let them fall.
“Your hands in the air,” I ordered.
“Damastes,” Marán said.
“I ordered silence!”
She obeyed.
“Legate, escort these men to that stone barn. Remove all animals and anything that can be used for a weapon. Secure and guard all doors until we can have them nailed shut.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I said, those men are under my orders,” Praen shouted. “You have no right — ”
“Count Agramónte,” I said, “I am an officer of the emperor. These men have committed a series of horrible crimes, and I propose to escort them to the nearest city, turn them over to the warders, and prefer charges, as I once promised you I would.”
“Charges of what? Killing vermin?”
“Murder, sir.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I assuredly can and shall,” I said. “Further, I may well choose to prefer charges against their leader.”
“The hells you will! These brave men are soldiers, and they’ve been helping me rid the land of traitors! Tovieti! Don’t you realize the good they’re doing? Or are you one of the yellow-cord men yourself?”
“Legate,” I said, “this man is clearly disturbed. He is on property he has no right to be on without my leave. Take two men and escort him off these grounds.”
Segalle hesitated, then said, “Yes, sir.”
“You have a choice, Count,” I said. “Leave Irrigon of your own will — or tied across the saddle of your horse!”
“You son of a bitch!” Praen said. But he came down the steps quickly, and took the reins of the thoroughbred from the soldier holding them. He pulled himself into the saddle, then glowered. “You’d better rethink your decision, Cimabuean,” he said. “For you don’t know the hornet’s nest you’re bashing around!”
He didn’t wait for a response, but spurred his horse into a gallop.
“Legate, assist your men,” I ordered, then dismounted and went inside, not waiting to see what Marán and Amiel were doing.
• • •
Marán found me in the library. “I can’t believe what you just did,” she said. “Treating my brother … my own brother, like he was a common criminal.”
“Exactly what he is,” I said, trying to hold my calm.
“So you feel free to do as you wish, ignoring any promises, any oaths you might have made,” she snarled.
That did it.
“What oaths, my lady?” I shouted. “Are you assuming that because I married you, I’m under some sort of obligation to kiss the ass of anyone who carries the name Agramónte? Or that I’m supposed to ignore any crimes your thug of a brother chooses to commit? An oath? The only oaths I can remember taking are those to the emperor to serve him well, and a vow of marriage to you.
“I’ve never broken either, nor thought of breaking them. I’ll remind you of my family’s motto: We Hold True. What’s yours? We do whatever we want? Is that what it is, Countess? Is this what you call honor? I piss on your honor, your dignity, if you think the name Agramónte somehow entitles you to kill anyone you wish.
“Do you remember that baby, Marán? Remember the baby you lost? Do you think that baby’s mother had a moment to mourn, to scream, before she was cut down by your fucking brother?”
Marán’s eyes were cold, hard. “Praen called you a son of a bitch,” she hissed. “And you are!” She stormed out.
• • •
I had to go to our tower for a change of clothing. The door to our bedroom was closed. Amiel was huddled on a couch outside. Her eyes were red, her face drawn. I said nothing to her, nor she to me. I went into my dressing room, and got what I’d come for, and came back into the anteroom. Amiel gazed at the closed bedroom door, then at me, and her eyes welled once more. The door clicked shut behind me.
• • •
The next day the Feast of Corn began. The small village beyond Irrigon was packed, and tents were set up for a league on either side. Every village in the Agramónte reach had sent at least one representative, plus there must have been a hundred hawkers and merchants with trays or booths. The first day wasn’t a feast, since the elaborate dishes and dancing could only begin after the corn was planted. Before the seed was sown, we would eat only unleavened bread, no meat, and raw vegetables without salt.
When the seeds were in the ground, and seers had cast spells to notify other village wizards to begin planting, the real merriment would begin — five days of feasting, dancing, and celebration.
Our duties were quite simple, in spite of what the emperor seemed to think. We would merely offer a prayer for the success of the sowing, then stand by and look noble and approving while a respected seer ordered a maiden, chosen for her virginity and beauty, to sow the first seed. The Agramóntes were expected to mingle with their people for the whole of this day, and so, about two hours after dawn, we left Irrigon for the village and the midway.
Marán behaved as if I didn’t exist, I reciprocated, and a miserable Amiel brought up the rear. We wore gaudy finery and were expected to be unarmed. However, it was absurd to go into that throng without any weapons, so I had a sleeve dagger hidden, and, in my belt pouch, a particularly nasty little device Kutulu had given me. It was a knuckle-bow, with a slender, spring-actuated dagger in the grip, locked in place by a stud worked by the thumb. In addition, I had Karjan; Svalbard, a monstrous Lancer who’d been with me since Kait; and two other Red Lancers. I’d considered having them wear Agramónte livery, but my stomach roiled at making honest soldiers wear the garb of murderers, and so the four wore undress uniform, with hidden knives.
We reached the midway and strolled down the line of tents. I was examining a bauble, a cleverly made carving from a root, that quite accurately represented Irrigon, when I heard shouts. I craned to see what was going on. It was Praen and two of his flunkies! I swore — I’d assumed Praen would’ve had sense enough to be invisible on this day. But here he came, in bright regalia, bluff, arrogant face gleaming, no soldiery at his beck.
The outcry grew louder, more enraged, but Praen appeared to take no notice. He pushed his horse into the throng, intending, I guessed, to ride down the carnival way to the sowing grounds. A melon arced through the air and burst against his green silk vest. Praen realized the crowd’s temper and, being Praen, did exactly the wrong thing. “You dirty pigfuckers,” he bellowed, waving a fist.
There was a roar of laughter, and then a rock thudded against his side. He shouted in pain, and another rock struck his horse, and it reared, neighing in surprise. Praen scrabbled for his sword. He had it half-drawn when a man darted up and grabbed his leg. Praen kicked, but couldn’t free himself. His blade flew through the air as he fought for balance, then he was pulled from his mount into the crowd. The mob growled pleasure and closed in. I saw fists, then cudgels, rise and fall.
“We’ve got to help him,” Marán shouted, and started forward. I grabbed her arm.
“No! They’ll get you, too. Get back to Irrigon,” I ordered. She fought with me, not listening. “Karjan,” I shouted. “Take her! We’ve got to get out of here!”
There was a rearing, shouting mass where Praen and his retainers had been, but I paid no mind. There were angry faces much closer, glaring at us. My dagger flashed into my hand, and I kicked away the merchant’s table in front of us. His eyes were wide in horror. I shoved him aside and pushed my way out the back of the tent, Lancers and the women on my heels. Tents from the next row were almost back-to-back here, forming a maze of ropes and piled merchandise. I slashed the ropes of the tent we’d gone through, and it collapsed limply, keeping anyone from coming after us for a moment.
We ran down the cluttered way, leaping ropes as we went. Amiel tore away her skirt to run faster, and Marán did the same. At last she’d realized our desperate jeopardy. We reached the row’s end, and I held up my hand.
“Now,” I said, “into the open. But walk. Try to look calm. Maybe the craziness hasn’t spread down here yet.”
Breathing hard, the seven of us walked out, trying to pretend nothing had happened. All eyes were on the screaming mob around the bodies of Praen and his lackeys, and no one noticed us at first. We hurried out of the midway, onto the road back to Irrigon.
I looked back, and saw Praen’s horse, blood-drenched, rearing above the throng, hooves lashing. A man wearing a butcher’s smock, waving an already-bloodied ax waited his moment, then swung, burying the ax in the animal’s neck. It screamed like a woman, then went down. “Run now,” I ordered, for I knew where the blood on that ax had come from, and the murderers would soon be looking for other victims.
For precious moments we had no pursuers. Irrigon was in sight when I saw, coming toward the mansion, a group of forest workers, carrying their tools. They saw us and exploded into screaming rage, unlimbering their axes and brush hooks.
Now it was a race to see who could first reach the yawning gates of the castle. We were first, but only by moments. The guard dropped his lance, ran to the ropes that slid the gates closed, and fumbled with their ties. “The tower,” I shouted, then cried for the Lancers to turn out.
One forester, a rustic wearing ragged homespun pants and no shirt, ran through the still-open gate, waving a rusty, ancient sword. He saw me, shrieked hatred, and charged. He swung, and I parried his blow with my dagger. Its blade snapped clean, just at the hilt. The forester shouted in triumph, recovered clumsily, and came in again. I ducked inside his guard, smashed his face in with the knuckle-bow, flipped the blade out, and slashed his throat as he stumbled back — then I had his sword.
Two men charged the man at the gate ropes, and his panic grew worse, as he tried to defend himself, tried to free the ropes. One forester smashed a shovel blade into his neck, almost cutting his head off.
The Lancers boiled out of their quarters, buckling on their gear, fumbling with their weapons. There was no chance to close the gate, as more landsmen ran into the courtyard. A peasant cut at me with his brush hook, and I slashed its wooden handle in half. He gaped at the stub he held, and I ran him through, then booted his corpse into another, turned, and fled.
Marán and Amiel disappeared into our river tower, and Karjan and the other three held at its entrance.
“Fall back,” I shouted to the Lancers. “Fall back into my tower!” I ran hard for its doorway. Our only chance was to barricade ourselves inside it, hand out the weapons in the small armory, and prepare for a siege. I don’t know if Segalle misunderstood my orders, or if he had ideas of his own, for there was no one behind me when I reached the tower. Instead, the Lancers were going on line in the middle of the courtyard. Perhaps Segalle thought the mob would break against his thin line, and he could drive them out of Irrigon after that. Perhaps he could have, with a hundred men instead of a bit more than a dozen. Fifty, a hundred, peasants crashed into the courtyard, saw the handful of soldiers, and roaring black madness, charged. My Lancers were good men, experienced, trained soldiers. But fourteen men and one officer can’t stand against a hundred. The wave roared over them, dissolved into knots of battling men, and then I saw no more scarlet uniforms, just the screaming mob.
“Inside,” I ordered, and Karjan and the others obeyed. There were two huge crossbars inside the door. We heaved them over the heavy iron brackets set into the stone walls, and the only entrance was secured. We blocked off the internal passageways out of the tower with foot-square pieces of firewood and were safe for the moment. There were no windows on the ground level, and those above had heavy iron bars. Men slammed into the outside of the door, and I heard shouts of anger. “One man stand guard here,” I ordered, and a soldier nodded.
We went up the winding steps to the second level. Here was a small warming kitchen and storage chambers. One held an assortment of weapons. I found the keys in our bedroom and opened the armory, and we took out bows, arrows, and swords, then went on up into our living quarters.
Marán had found a dagger, and held it ready. Amiel was close to panic, looking about wildly. “Come now,” I said, trying to sound calm. “We’re safe now. They’ll never break through fifteen feet of stone.” She nodded nervously, and forced calm.
Marán took a bow and arrows from Svalbard, and strung the bow. She went to a window and cranked it open. A rock clattered against the wall below, and she drew back.
“Open them all,” I ordered. “Break the glass. If something shatters the window, flying splinters could blind you.” The panes smashing drew howls of glee from outside.
The courtyard was a seething mass of people, shouting, screaming, staring up. An arrow arced, and I moved away from the window. The ledges were machicolated, so I could peer through the slots without becoming a target.
The mob screamed delight as five men appeared on the main building’s inner steps. They held two struggling, naked women. I recognized both — young peasant girls Marán had trained as maids. A man lifted one and cast her spinning, screaming, into the crowd, and the horde closed around her. The second landed nearby. Their screams tore through the rabble’s cries, and I looked away. I hope they returned to the Wheel quickly.
I spotted three people — two men, one woman — shouting orders, trying to bring the crowd under control. All three had yellow silk cords looped around their necks. An arrow whipped into the woman’s rib cage, and she cried agony and fell. “Die, you fucking bitch,” Marán shouted, and I grinned tightly. But there were more Tovieti down there, and they kept behind others while trying to bring order.
But the mob remained out of control. It swirled back and forth, going in and out of Irrigon, smashing, looting. Other servants died, or else, sensibly, joined the chaos. The rabble found the barred barn, tore away the barricades, and discovered Praen’s homemade warders. The people knew them for what they were and tore them apart. Those I hope died very slowly. Minutes later, they dragged Vacomagi, our bailiff, out of the main house, and didn’t allow him to return to the Wheel for a long, terrible time.
It grew quieter, and I had a moment to take stock. It didn’t take long, and wasn’t heartening. In addition to Amiel, Marán, myself, Karjan, and the three other soldiers, there was a scullery maid and one of our candle lighters in the room. Neither of them knew anything about weapons, so they wouldn’t be of any use.
“What now?” Marán said, voice tight, controlled, again proving herself an Agramónte.
“We have food,” I said. “And arms.”
“For how long?”
“We’ll have to use our supplies carefully.”
“What’ll they try to do next?” Amiel asked.
“Probably find ladders,” I said. “We’ll shoot the climbers off when they get closer.”
“Then what’ll happen?” she asked.
“They’ll try again, and we’ll stop them again.”
“Will they win?”
I considered and decided honesty was best. “They could,” I said. “It’ll depend on whether anyone gives a damn about us and rides for help. Or maybe a passing boat might see what’s happening.” I glanced out a window that overlooked the water, and then down. The course was smooth, deserted.
The scullery maid moaned. “Twa, three days gone ‘fore anyone notices? They’ll be gnawin’ our bones.”
“Not mine,” Marán said, touching her dagger. “I’ll go to the Wheel without their help if it comes to that.”
“Good,” I agreed. “None of us will give them any pleasure.” I went to Marán and hugged her shoulders. I felt her body stiffen, and quickly took my arm away.
There were shouts outside, and I chanced peering out. A man stood in the center of the courtyard.
“Agramóntes,” he shouted. “See what we have?” He waved something. Marán came up beside me, but I pushed her back. I’d seen what the man held — a cock and scrotum.
“Guess th’ count won’t be takin’ no more of our women f’r a lark, eh?” the man went on. “Now it’ll be th’ other way roun'. Wonder how many men your titty countess’ll handle ‘fore she goes mad? An’ what about her friend? Mebbe she can take all of us on!”
I heard a grunt from Svalbard at the next window, and a spear arced out. The man tried to roll away, but he was too slow, and the weapon drove through the small of his back and pinned him, screaming, to the ground. I could have finished him with an arrow, but I let him die slowly.
“Now they’ll attack,” I said grimly.
But I was wrong. They came with fire.
• • •
The first fires might have been by accident. But once Irrigon began burning, no one tried to put the fires out. The cheering, laughter, and shouts grew louder, and I saw men and women tossing things into the flames.
Some of those “things” still moved …
Sooner or later, the flames would provide inspiration, and they did. Svalbard saw them first — men carrying lashed-together bundles of wood toward the tower. We shot them down, but others came, moving more stealthily along the walls.
Now I became ashamed of my lack of faith in the scullery woman. “Ah don’t want t’ burn,” she whimpered and hurried downstairs. I thought she’d gone to find a hiding place and wished her well, hoping that when and if the doors burned through, they wouldn’t winkle her out.
She shouted for the candleman, and he reluctantly went down the stairs. A few minutes later, the two tottered back up. They had a large pot, hung on a fireplace poker. The pot steamed and bubbled, and I remembered the ancient oilpots on Irrigon’s roofs.
“They’ll burn us,” she said, almost cheerily, “an’ we’ll boil them first wi’ laundry lye.” She went to the window overlooking the door, peeped out, then she and her assistant dumped the pot over the window ledge. Screams of pain racked the gathering twilight, and the woman beamed happily. “That’ll hold ‘em back.”
It did. For a time. Then I felt hot, as if I were an ant trapped in a sunbeam focused through a malevolent child’s glass. I smelt smoke, and saw, in our fireplace, the always laid firewood begin to smoke, curl, and blacken. There was more smoke, coming from above, from the wooden chandelier, from wooden fretwork on a wall, then from the paneling itself. They’d found a seer, and his spell was attacking every piece of wood in the tower.
I shouted for the soldier guarding the door to come up, and we hurled furniture down the stairwells.
Karjan grimaced at me. “Y’know, sir, I could’ve stayed wi’ th’ Lancers in Urey an’ none of this’d be happenin'. At least not t’ me.”
“Cheerful bastard,” I hissed at him.
I went to Amiel and gave her a hug. She, at least, welcomed the affection. “Do we have any chance?”
“Of course,” I said. “Nothing’s ever for certain.”
I looked at Marán, but her gaze was still chill, unforgiving. But I had to try. I went to her. “If the worst happens,” I asked in a low tone, “will we go to the Wheel as enemies?”
She began to say something, then stopped and took a deep breath. “No, Damastes,” she said finally. “You’re my husband. We’ll die together.” She was silent for a time, then coughed. The smoke was growing thicker. “Maybe, in our next, when we return, maybe …” She didn’t finish. I waited, but she just shook her head and stared out the window.
Amiel soaked handkerchiefs in water, and we tied them around our faces.
“The stone won’t burn,” I said, my voice muffled, “and their magic isn’t good enough to make fire from the air. We’ll wait until the doors burn through, and they come up, then see how long they can keep coming.” I hope my words sounded less futile to the others than to me.
Then an idea came. “Who can swim?” I asked.
No one needed an explanation. Marán swam, like an eel, and the soldiers had damned well better, since that was part of their training.
“I can,” Amiel said, “after a fashion.”
“I’ll swim with you,” Marán said. “Don’t worry.”
“Or I can,” Svalbard said. “You’ll have no worries.”
“I wager I c’n float,” the scullery maid said. “Better’n fryin', no matter what.”
The candle lighter just bobbed his head.
“All right,” I said. “Marán, go through our wardrobe. Try to find dark-colored clothing. Everybody should wear pants, some sort of shirt. No shoes. We’ll jump as soon as we’re ready. If you think you can take a weapon with you, take a knife. But throw it away if it’s a burden. Jump feet first, and keep your hands over your head. There shouldn’t be anything in the water to hurt you, and it’s deep under the tower.
“When you land, swim for the far shore. I’ll be the last to jump, and I’ll try to help anybody who’s in trouble. Try not to splash and draw attention.”
We hastily changed clothes, trying not to think about the long drop, and what terrible things could be at the end of it.
“I think,” Amiel said, “I think I want to pray. Does anyone else?”
All of us did, all except the scullery woman and Karjan. I prayed not only to my own gods, but to Varum, god of water, and hoped someone, anyone, would be listening.
The smoke was thicker, and flames flickered around the room. All of us were coughing. I peered out a river window and couldn’t see any sign of life below or on the water.
“Now,” I ordered.
The two soldiers went first, and hit the water cleanly. They surfaced and swam for the opposite shore, less than a hundred feet away.
Marán took Amiel’s hand and led her to the window.
“Ready?” I said and kissed her lips, then Amiel’s.
“Go,” my wife snapped, and the two leapt into darkness. I heard a little yelp, and winced. But it evidently went unheard. Next was the scullery woman, then Karjan and Svalbard. As they jumped, I heard screams of joy, and the roar of flames. The outer door must have gone down and the rush of air was feeding the fire.
I waited for a count of three, time enough for anyone below to swim clear, then jumped. I fell for an instant, splashed into cold darkness, and swam away hard. The flames of Irrigon made the water a dark mirror, and I could see bobbing dots moving toward the far shore.
I was about halfway across when a dark bulk clambered out of the river. One of the soldiers, I guessed. We were safe — but my hope vanished as I heard a shout. Two men ran out of the darkness, and a sword gleamed as it slashed into the man’s body. He cried out and fell.
“Downstream,” I shouted, and saw splashes as my people heard and swam away from the bank, back into the swift current. Torches flared up both banks. I tried to stay low in the water, keep my hands and feet below the surface. The current took me and swept me along.
I don’t know what the peasants thought, but none of the torches moved up- or downstream, but remained in tight knots on either side of the river, their fires dwarfed by the roaring cataclysm that had been Irrigon. Arrows, spears, rocks rained out, but splashed into emptiness.
The river narrowed about half a mile downstream where there was a ford. Once ashore, we could follow the road east, keeping under cover, and find safety in perhaps four days, beyond the Agramónte lands. I knew enough woodcraft to elude any pursuers, even foresters or hunters. We’d build mantraps to take care of them.
Perhaps, I let myself think, perhaps we wouldn’t all return to the Wheel this night. I swam strongly, looking around, looking for the others. I held to the center of the river, and then saw, ahead of me, the twin brick islands that had been built one on either bank of the river. The space between had been dredged for small boats. When someone wanted to cross, there were heavy planks with ropes on either end to pull across for a footbridge.
The current quickened as the river narrowed, and I swam out of it, felt pebbles and sand under my feet. I waded toward the bank until the water was waist-deep, and scanned the night. I saw a drifting head, waded to it, and pulled the scullery maid to me. She was nearly done, said she’d tried to help the candle lighter, but he’d flailed at the water, made a sudden sound, and vanished. She waded to shore and collapsed on the gravel. Then came Svalbard and Karjan. They’d seen no one else.
I heard splashing, faint cries for help, and swam toward the sound. “Help me. Help me.” It was Marán. She was in water over her head, but only chest-high for me. She was pulling a limp Amiel. “Thank Tanis,” I gasped and then Karjan and Svalbard were beside me.
I looked for the other soldier, but never saw him. I don’t know if he was killed with his mate, or if he drowned.
I pulled myself through the water after my wife and Amiel. “Be careful,” I heard Marán said. “There’s something wrong with her.”
I put my arm around Amiel, and she gasped in pain just as I felt the broken stub of an arrow between my fingers, just below her right breast. We carried her to shore. There was a thicket nearby, and we moved into its heart and laid her on the moss. I unbuttoned her shirt and saw the wound in the dimness. Blood was seeping slowly around the arrow.
“Damastes,” Amiel said. “I hurt.”
“You’ll be all right,” I said.
“Damastes, I don’t want to die.”
“You won’t.” I tried to sound sure.
“I don’t want my baby to die. Please. Help me.”
“I’ll start now, sir,” Svalbard said. “I can make the edge of your land in two days, running hard. Bring help back. You travel slow, move mostly at night, and it’ll be all right.”
That was as good a plan as any.
“Take care, sir,” he said. “We’ll get our own back.” That was the most I’d had from Svalbard in the years I’d known him. Without ado, he vanished into darkness.
“Amiel,” Marán whispered, “I remember a witch. She’s two villages from us. I know she wouldn’t join these bastards. When it’s light, I’ll go for her.”
“Good,” I said approvingly. “And Karjan’ll go with you.”
“I’ll stay wi’ your lady,” the scullery woman promised. “Me an’ th’ tribune’ll keep her safe.”
Amiel’s lips quirked. “All right,” she whispered. “Now I feel like everyone’s going to help me. Now I know I’ll live. And my baby’ll live, too. Won’t she, Damastes?”
“She will,” I said.
“Good,” Amiel said again. Her hand fumbled out, and I took it. “Marán,” she said, “take my other hand.” I felt my wife move up beside me. “I love you,” Amiel said. “I love you both.”
“I love you,” I whispered, and Marán echoed me.
“I think I’ll sleep now,” she said. “When I wake, maybe the witch will be here, and help me stop hurting.” Her eyes closed.
Marán was crying silently. “Why in the hells do any gods let things like this happen?” she whispered fiercely. I shook my head; I had no answers.
Amiel, Countess Kalvedon, died an hour before dawn without waking.
• • •
Flames roared high into the cloud-whipped sky, taking Amiel’s body into its embrace. Nearby a second pyre crackled, consuming what little we’d found of Praen’s body.
There were three hundred soldiers around the field, all in full battle dress with arms ready. Svalbard had been lucky, and encountered an army patrol less than half a day’s run from the river. They’d gone at the gallop for reinforcements, then ridden back, following the river road, and we’d joined up a day and a half beyond Irrigon.
We’d returned to Irrigon, and the soldiers had combed the countryside. The prisoners they took were penned in a hastily fenced compound, more and more as the days passed. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about them and would cheerfully have freed them all and rewarded them with gold if Amiel could thus have been with us.
Marán and I stood between the pyres. Behind was the smoldering ruin of Irrigon.
“It’s over,” my wife whispered.
“What?” I said.
“Damastes á Cimabue,” she said, and her voice was firm, without a quaver. “I declare it finished between us. What was once, is no more, and will never be again.
“It’s over,” she said again.