Lamentation

Chapter 13

Rudolfo

The gates of the Summer Papal Palace were closed and under heavy guard when Rudolfo and the caravan approached. They’d seen the piled-up stack of old stone buildings shoved in against the high peaks of the Dragon’s Spine from a long way off, but it was midday before they were near enough to see the somber men in gray positioned at its entrance.

The remainder of their journey had passed without incident, and†="0 along the way they’d picked up a few more stray Androfrancines making their pilgrimage at the new Pope’s request. The first small group was a document-retrieval expedition that had been waiting at Fargoer Station near the edge of the Churning Waste for the Gray Guard to escort them home to Windwir. Watching from his place on the far fringes of the caravan, Rudolfo studied them. They were quiet and kept to themselves, a small locked box between them. Their robes were deep blue, marking them clearly as set apart from the others.

The second group they added to their number was a handful of Whymers-including a medico and a mechanical engineer-accompanying a cartload of books to the Papal Summer Palace.

Rudolfo shook his head. Ordering the return of all Androfrancines and Androfrancine property seemed an error in judgment on the part of the new Pope, though others might see it as sound strategy. And he understood the motivation beneath it. The Order had been dealt a mortal blow by the Desolation of Windwir, and when light fades, huddling in the dark with what and who were left seemed the right course of action.

Better to scatter, to disappear, to wait until morning, the Gypsy King thought. As his Wandering Army had done.

By now, they would be home and quietly preparing to defend Rudolfo’s prairies from the armies that even now were marching on Windwir to support Sethbert.

Twice along the way, birds had found their way to him. The first, from Vlad Li Tam, had encouraged him. The shipbuilding banker stood behind him, his iron armada in place around the massive whitestone port cities of Entrolusia. But Rudolfo knew that despite the best intentions and despite the new arrangement between them, House Li Tam was one house against many. And with a new Pope wearing the ring and crown, even that ally could waver.

Still, it had been welcome news to hear the Ninefold Forest Houses had a friend.

The second note had disturbed him. Certainly, he couldn’t expect his words to weigh more than a Pope’s, but he’d hoped that Isaak and Jin Li Tam would stay put in the relative safety of the Ninefold Forest. Learning that even now they journeyed toward him blackened his already dark mood.

When they were close enough to see the gates and the guards, he called his scouts to a halt and rode in when Cyril beckoned him closer.

The arch-scholar extended a hand up to Rudolfo and he took it, gripping it firmly. “You’ve seen us through,” Cyril said. “You’ve earned my gratitude for that.”

Rudolfo forced a smile to his lips. “I am happy to help.”

“If I can return the favor,” the arch-scholar said, “I surely will.”

Rudolfo nodded. “Do you know this Pope Resolute the First?”

Cyril glanced from left to right to make sure he was out of earshot. “A newer archbishop-one of Introspect’s back-scrubbers. He worked in acquisitions and land law. I believe he’s kin to the Overseer of the Entrolusian City States.”

A key turned in a lock somewhere buried in Rudolfo’s brain. Interesting, he thought, that this archbishop was away from Windwir and now suddenly the Pope after Sethbert’s move against the Androfrancines. His hand moved up to his beard and he nodded slowly. “I see.”

“I’m sure he’ll treat fairly with you,” Cyril said.

Rudolfo studied the old scholar’s face. Dark circles hid his eyes and a week’s stubble grayed his face. “Let us hope so,” he said.

He looked up to the gates beyond the cluster of stone outbuildings that made up the surrounding village. The guards there were watching them but not moving to investigate.

Cyril shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I’m not sure what happened to Windwir. I’m not sure anyone can know it with any certainty. But I do think it had less to do with the Houses of the Named Lands and more to do with the children of P’Andro Whym. We’ve long played with ancient fire; it would not surprise me if we did this to ourselves.”

Rudolfo nodded but said nothing. Sometimes telling an entire truth could put one at a disadvantage.

We will all know the truth soon enough, he thought.

He rode back to his men, signing his instructions to them from the saddle. He saw their downcast, angry eyes but knew his orders would hold. Had Gregoric been here, perhaps it would’ve been different. Perhaps his old friend would’ve read Rudolfo’s intentions underneath the hand signs and nonverbal cues and refused to obey.

But Gregoric was four hundred leagues distant, watching that curious old man and his entourage of diggers.

As his Gypsy Scouts vanished back down the road, away from the Papal Summer Palace, Rudolfo brushed the dust from his cloak, straightened his turban and rode to the gate.

“I am Lord Rudolfo of the Ninefold Forest Houses,” he said to an Old Gray Guard captain waiting there. “I am General Rudolfo of the Wandering Army. I would parley with your Pope Resolute the First, Displaced King of Windwir and Holy See of the Androfrancine Order.”

When they b‹an" Androught forth irons for his wrists and feet, Rudolfo smiled and offered himself up to them.

Sethbert

Lord Sethbert, Overseer of the Entrolusian City States, took his breakfast in the late morning sun. He speared the pickled asparagus with a small golden fork and lifted it to his mouth.

General Lysias stood before him, and Sethbert made a point of not inviting him to sit. “Well, Lysias,” he said, talking with his mouth full. “What word today?”

Sethbert swallowed the asparagus and washed it with chilled coffee, cooled in the river three leagues west and brought in to him by runner on demand.

The old general looked well rested finally. But there hadn’t been much for the old bugger to do of late. The Wandering Army had vanished four days ago. Their tents had come down in the dark, and by sunrise the field they’d occupied was barren. Of course Lysias had sent in the scouts, but none had returned. They found their bodies hidden in the wood the following morning.

“A patrol found scout-sign last night,” Lysias said. “They’re good-but not so good to have covered their tracks entirely. Regardless, there aren’t many of them.”

Sethbert smiled, selecting a slightly larger fork to stab a large slab of beef and raise it to his mouth. He tore a bit off with his teeth and chewed it down to meat pulp before speaking. “Rudolfo’s a clever fox,” he said. “He means to keep an eye on me.”

“I suspect so, though they’re staying near the city. Which brings me to another matter.”

Sethbert felt his eyebrows arch. “Yes?”

“We still have the matter of the trespassers to resolve.”

Sethbert laughed, bits of meat spraying the table. “Still digging their graves?”

Lysias nodded. “They’ve not violated the Exercise of Holiness… yet.”

Sethbert nodded. “Another clever fox. What do you know of this Petros?”

Lysias shrugged. “Not much. After he left with the boy, he went to Kendrick and held some kind of council there with the townsfolk. Most that came back with him were refugees and traders with no real destination beyond Windwir.”

Sethbert shook his head. “And he means to bury them all?”‹‹_hei/p›

“All that he can, Lord,” Lysias said. “Scouts to the west and south say word is spreading and more are on their way.”

The sun had moved in a way to obscure the general’s face, but for a moment Sethbert thought he saw admiration painted upon it. “I should speak to him,” Sethbert said.

“I’m not sure that would be prudent, Lord.”

“Perhaps not prudent,” Sethbert said, “but at least proper. I do have guardianship of Windwir for the time.” He loved the irony of those words. He wondered what his cousin, Oriv, would think if he knew the entire truth? Or if he realized the intricate puppetry that had spared this new Pope the fate of Windwir? Sethbert had paid a small fortune to ensure his mother’s sister’s firstborn son was safely away before he shook the cage of Heaven and taunted down the anger of the Gods.

“If my Lord wishes,” Lysias said, “we could ride out this afternoon.”

Sethbert nodded. “That would be fine, General.” He sipped from the chilled coffee. “Is there more?”

Lysias looked uncomfortable. “Word of your-” he struggled to find the right word to say “-involvement in the fall of Windwir is spreading through the camp.” He paused. “At the moment, it is mere rumor. Overheard bits between officers. You’ve not been careful in your boasting.”

Sethbert laughed. “Why should I be? Call the camp together and I’ll tell them all gladly. You were the one who felt it should be kept quiet. I’ve indulged you, General, as much as I am wont to.”

Lysias was a conservative, Sethbert knew, relying on the control of information as a part of his wartime strategy. Academy trained, this old veteran was brilliant at his work but shackled to a way of doing things that no longer mattered.

Because of me, Sethbert thought, smiling. I’ve changed the world.

The general gritted his teeth. “I thought you understood, Lord Sethbert, the importance of discretion in this matter.”

Sethbert waved his words away. “The rumors are inconsequential. Let me show you.” He clapped and a servant entered. “Which one are you?” Sethbert asked.

The servant bowed. “I am Geryt, Lord.”

“Geryt, do you believe I destroyed the city of Windwir with one of the Androfra‹of 0emncines’s metal playthings?”

The servant looked from Sethbert to Lysias, obviously unsure of how to answer.

“Well?” Sethbert said.

Pale-faced, the servant finally spoke. “I’ve heard such, Lord Sethbert, even from your own lips.”

“Yes,” Sethbert said slowly, leaning forward, “but do you believe it?”

The eyes came up and locked with Sethbert’s. “I do not know what to believe, Lord Sethbert.”

Sethbert smiled and sat back, waving the servant away. “My point exactly, General Lysias. No one knows what to believe. One will believe Sethbert speaks the truth, another will say that it is madness to believe one man could bring down a city.” His smile widened. “And some will even believe it was that damnable Gypsy King.”

Lysias nodded, but the dark look in his eyes told Sethbert that the general didn’t agree. It didn’t matter. The old general certainly was right, but Sethbert couldn’t tell him so. Sethbert had been a bit too vocal when he’d first seen the fruit of his labor. The pillar of smoke, the blasted city, even the look of utter desolation on that Androfrancine boy’s face had been the most potent of liquors, driving him giddy with accomplishment.

After all, he thought, who wouldn’t feel a bit drunk after saving the world?

Jin Li Tam

Jin Li Tam sat outside her small tent with Isaak, picking at the bowl of steamed rice and dried vegetables while she listened to the scouts talk in low voices.

So far, they’d encountered nothing but scattered groups of Androfrancines making their way north. They’d moved off the roads to avoid them, and she was grateful that Isaak had permitted this. A part of her had feared he’d wish to join them.

But he hadn’t.

And part of her had thought perhaps he’d not tolerate their need to make camp, to take food, to take sleep along the way.

But he’d quietly acquiesced.

“You don’t want to go back,” she told him between bites.

He looked over to her. He’d pulled back his hood, and the last of the sunlight glinted off his round head. “I am a danger to them,R‹er ew 21; he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I am a danger to the entire world.”

She’d put as many of the pieces together as she could, and out of respect-if a machine could be shown respect-she’d not pressed for more. But now, just two days away from the Papal Summer Palace and Gods knew what awaited them there, it was time to check her assumptions.

“Sethbert used you,” she said. “This much is obvious. The Androfrancines unearthed some ancient weapon and Sethbert somehow bent your script to his own dark purposes.”

Isaak said nothing for a moment, his eye shutters fluttering like steel moths. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I understand that the sons and daughters of House Li Tam are among the best educated in the world,” he said. “You are familiar with the history of the Old World?”

She nodded. “What of it we know. Most of it is lost.”

“When P’Andro Whym led the extermination of the Young Wizard Kings-the Seven Sons of Xhum Y’Zir-their father shut himself away for seven years, and at the end of that time, brought forth a spell-”

Her breath went out from her. “The Seven Cacophonic Deaths,” she said.

Isaak nodded. “He sent his Death Choirs into all the lands, singing their blood magick and calling down the wrath of that grieving archmage.”

Jin Li Tam knew the story well. After that Third Cataclysm, the Age of Laughing Madness settled upon what generations to come would call the Churning Wastes. A few had survived, but they were driven mad by what they’d seen. A few-a very few-had hidden themselves beneath the ground or in the mountain caves of the Dragon’s Spine that cut across the far north. These had come forth later, digging the ruins and gathering up what little remained for what was left of the world. Of course, by then that first Rudolfo had already disappeared north and west, beyond the Keeper’s Wall, to hide himself away in that ocean of prairie at the far end of the New World.

Jin’s voice lowered. “You have the spell?”

Isaak nodded. “I sang it in the central courts of Windwir and watched the city reel from it.”

Jin shuddered. “How could such a thing happen?”

Isaak turned away. “My script was modified. They were always so careful with us. Brother Charles expunged my memory each night, careful that I should not keep such knowledge. But his apprentice-under Lord Sethbert’s instruction-altered my activity script.”

Jin shook her head. “Not that. I can piece that together myself. Sethbert has fingers on many strings. What I don’t understand is why they would even undertake such dangerous work in the first place?”

Isaak looked at her, and steam trickled from his exhaust grate. “The preservation of all knowledge is at the heart of the Androfrancine vision.”

Jin knew this was true. Along with an abiding curiosity about how and why things work. She’d heard stories of fabulous machines and intricate mechanicals kept locked away in the hidden vaults of the now dead city. Her father, along with others close to the Order, had benefited from this. There was the mechanical bird in his garden-a trinket really. But more practical than that, there were the iron ships at his docks, powered by engines that the Androfrancines had built from ancient specifications and housed in high, broad iron-shod cruisers. It made House Li Tam the most formidable naval power in the Named Lands.

Perhaps, she thought now, the root of Windwir’s fall lay exposed in that.

They hid in their city, guarded by Gods knew what in addition to their Gray Guard. And they doled out scraps of knowledge and innovation to those they favored, withholding it from those they did not. They held on to what they learned until they felt the world was ready for it.

They’d been so cautious about those outside of their city but had somehow not brought the same level of care within their own Order. Somehow, Sethbert had learned of the spell and had then learned how to use it to bring down the Androfrancines.

She looked at the metal man across from her. She wondered if he wasn’t another example of their failure to watch themselves as well as they watched the world. “I’m curious about you, Isaak,” she said.

He blinked at her. “Why would you be curious about me?”

She shrugged, smiling. “I’ve never met a metal man before. You are somewhat of a rarity.”

He nodded. “There was a time when there were thousands of us. When Rufello drew up his Specifications and Observations of the Mechanical Age, he was working with the broken and discarded remains of mechoservitors found in the ruins of the Eldest Days, broken artifacts from the Age of the Younger Gods.”

Jin finished chewing her rice before speaking. “When were you built?”

He hesitated, and Jin noted that hesitation. He’s not used to speaking about himself.

But then he continued. “My memory scrolls have been replaced at least twice since my first awareness. I hav‹warifye no record of those times. My first memory is Brother Charles asking me if I were awake and could I recite the Fourteenth Precept of the Francine Accord.” He paused, and she watched his eyes alternate between dim and bright as the gears in his head whirred. “My last awakening was twenty-two years, three months, four weeks, six hours and thirty-one minutes ago. I’m not sure when I was built, though I suspect that knowledge is stamped somewhere onto me. Brother Charles was a meticulous craftsman.”

She studied him. His chest bellows moved in and out to keep whatever strange fire burning in him hot enough to boil the water and keep him moving, to keep air moving through him to power his voice. His eyes were jewels of some kind-dull yellow and glowing with varying degrees of brightness. His mouth was more of a flap that opened and closed-probably to humanize him more than for anything else. A wonder of the ancient world, brought back carefully by adapting old knowledge to present-day capability.

“He was indeed a meticulous craftsman,” she said.

Isaak looked at her and the eyes dimmed. “He was… my father.”

The bellows began to pump faster and harder. Water leaked from around the eyes-another humanizing characteristic: A machine that could cry. A high pitched squeal leaked from his mouth.

She put down her bowl and reached across, placing her hand on his shoulder. It was hard beneath the coarse wool robe. “I don’t know what to say, Isaak,” she told him.

In the end she said nothing, and simply sat with him while he cried.

Neb

Neb looked up from the wheelbarrow and saw the riders from the south, a large group of them. He started counting horses but gave up-there was no way he could count them. There were too many.

Dropping the load of bones, he turned and ran for Petronus, shouting at the top of his lungs. The old man looked up from across the blackened field, but he was too far away for Neb to see the expression on his face. Other nearby workers stopped what they were doing until Petronus waved and shouted at them to get back to the task at hand.

Neb ran as fast as he could, but the riders still overtook him and he fought his way through the storm of ash they kicked up. As it cleared he saw they had surrounded Petronus, and a large man on an enormous stallion-Sethbert, he realized-leaned down to speak with the old man.

Neb approached but stayed off to the side, listening.

“I thought,” Sethbert said, “you were in Kendrick.”

Petronus bowed. “I went, Lord. I’ve come back.”

Sethbert snorted. “I see that. And what exactly are you doing?”

Neb watched as the cavalry around Sethbert surveyed the group, quickly counting heads. An unfelt breeze lifted ash from the ground and he heard a low whistle. “We’re here,” a voice said in the faintest whisper. Neb nodded and his stomach went to water.

“We are burying our dead,” Petronus said.

“Surely,” Sethbert said, “you are aware that an Exercise in Holiness has been decreed?”

Petronus nodded. “We’ve been very careful not to enter the city itself. We were going to wait until we had your permission to suspend the Exercise for humanitarian reasons. It is my understanding that precedence was set for this by-”

Sethbert raised his hand. “I know, I know. I’m not a fool, old man. I know a bit about Androfrancine Law. But we can move past that. I will do far more than grant you permission.”

Neb saw a pained look cross Petronus’s face, as if he knew what Sethbert was going to say next and dreaded its outcome.

Sethbert straightened himself up as high as he could in the saddle, his jowls shaking as he jiggled around. “Bring them in,” he shouted to his men. “Bring them all in.” The soldiers started herding the workers.

He smiled down at them, and his horse danced a bit while they waited. When everyone was gathered, he addressed them.

“I commend you all,” Sethbert said, “for the work you have undertaken. It is a noble thing that you do.” His eyes scanned the crowd, making contact with theirs if he could. “Petros here has said there is a loophole in Androfrancine Law that would allow me to grant you permission to enter Windwir for humanitarian reasons. I will go further than that,” he said, his voice raising as he said it. “I will underwrite this venture on behalf of the Androfrancine Order and as Windwir’s appointed Guardian, I will protect you as you work. Every one of you will get a fair day’s wage for a hard day’s work and I’ll send a contingent of cooks and supplies.”

Perhaps he expected a cheer to go up. It did not. Petronus looked at him, his eyes hard. “We don’t do this work for money, Sethbert. We do it because it needs to be done.”

Sethbert snorted. “Exactly.” He leaned down. “Look, old man, whether you want it or not, you’ll have my help or you’ll not be permitted to enter the city.”

Petronus gritted his teeth. “It won’t change how the world sees you when it knows what you have done,” he said quietly. Then he spit at Sethbert.

Neb watched the look on Sethbert’s face shift from shock to fury. He wiped the spittle away, and when his foot shot out it was fast and hard. The boot hit Petronus’s jaw, and the old man was spun around as he fell. Neb raced in but wasn’t able to hold him up. They fell together into the ash. Sethbert glowered down at them. “One last condition,” he said. “Anything you find here belongs to the Androfrancine Order. I will send men daily to collect whatever you may happen to find. I already have at least one spy in your camp and I will know if you try to cheat me.” Sethbert smiled. “Do you understand me?”

Petronus rubbed his jaw, his eyes bright and dangerous. “I understand you.”

Then Sethbert noticed Neb. “Did you find your voice, boy? Are you ready to tell me the story of the Desolation of Windwir?”

Their eyes locked and Neb felt himself shiver. He couldn’t move.

Sethbert laughed. “I didn’t think so.”

As he turned and rode away, Neb watched him go. Suddenly, he wished he’d never met Pope Petronus. If he hadn’t, perhaps he would’ve found a way to kill Sethbert.

But the look on Petronus’s face, the fire in his eye, the ice in his voice-they resonated deep inside Neb. It won’t change how the world sees you when it knows what you have done.

Perhaps, Neb thought, someone else would make Sethbert pay for his sin.