The Margrave

14

The Emperor was furious. “Crops destroyed, cattle sick! Now our houses shaken. But I will never be forced into mercy.”

“Indeed,” Imalan murmured, “it cannot be forced. But the Makers have told me that if you will not relent neither will they have mercy on you. On the fourth day the spores of their wrath will fall.”

“Then I will wait and see them,” the Emperor said.

Deeds of Imalan

THE SEKOI TOOK A LONG DRINK of the wine and sighed. “That, my friend, was most welcome.”

“Help yourself, Graycat.” Godric nudged the flagon with his foot. “There’s plenty. What’s the news on the laddie?”

“Not good.” The creature was dusty from its long ride; its yellow eyes narrowed. “But the first to hear it should be the keeper. Where is he?”

“Under that calarna. Never speaks. Never eats. Even the chief’s getting worried.”

The Sekoi hesitated, then emptied the cup and put it down. It turned and walked through the hectic camp, around Alberic’s lavish tent, past the hastily built ovens steaming with the war band’s evening meal. In the faint twilight above the trees, Pyra burned red.

Galen was sitting in shadow, knees drawn up. His hair was a long tangle; his face edged with that brooding darkness that the creature had come to recognize as the Crow, a darkness that seldom left him now.

The Sekoi bit a nail absently, and crouched.

“Galen.”

The keeper stirred. He looked up, eyes black. Then he said, “You don’t need to tell me. You haven’t found him.”

There was no way of softening it. “No.” The creature sat by the dying fire and piled dry sticks on it, glad of having something to do.

“I knew you wouldn’t.”

“Did you?” The Sekoi sounded sour. “Well, you were right. I have ridden for two days through every village and settlement for miles. Sikka’s group went as far as Elerna. Nothing. As if he had disappeared from the world.”

“He has.” Galen lifted his palm up; the purple and blue crystals swung from his fingers. “Do you think I haven’t been looking too? There’s no trace of him, not in the soil, not among the trees.”

“Then we must search harder.” The creature stood, began pacing. Its whole body was agitated. “I will ask Alberic to send more men out. Raffi is ill, you know that. This Journey he made—he is not whole after it, and we have to find him before the Watch do! Galen, I say again, you must give up this oath and forget the Margrave. Raffi is more important!”

The keeper was silent, the flame light making sharp angles of his face. Even before he answered, the Sekoi crouched slowly in despair.

“I know you blame me.” Galen’s voice was raw with pain. “I blame myself. I pushed him too hard. It was too soon, and I should have seen that. I’ve always pushed him hard, because I’ve never known from day to day whether I would still be alive at nightfall, and someone has to carry on, to keep the secrets of the Order. He was afraid, and I ignored it. When he failed I said things I will never forgive myself for.” He turned the beads, running them gently through his fingers. “I must pay for that. And if I could, God knows I’d look for him over the whole planet if I had to. But I made the oath by everything I hold most sacred, and it binds me.” He looked up. “My friend, I know you find our ways strange . . .”

“Mad,” the Sekoi muttered.

“. . . but like us, you know about faith. I have to leave Raffi in the hands of the Makers, hard though that is. They will take care of him. He’s in less danger away from us—I have to believe that.”

“It will tear you in two,” the creature said softly.

Galen looked away. “If that’s what the Makers want.”

“And will he have sense-lines? Will he be recovered enough to guard himself?”

“I don’t know.”

“And if the Watch should find him! If he is tortured . . .”

“I don’t know!” Tormented, the keeper stood and limped out of the light. He caught at a low bough of the tree and held it as if it gave him strange support. He didn’t look around, but his voice was harsh, oddly distorted. “It might take months to find him. And I cannot turn away from the Margrave. Not now. This is why the Crow came. This is what he has been sent to do.”

The Sekoi looked gloomily into the fire. “For us,” it whispered, “our children matter more than all the world.”

A shriek startled them, a thin, high scream. Galen turned. “What’s that?”

“It sounds like Alberic.”

Instantly Galen ran, the Sekoi close behind, racing through the camp, the gaudy haphazard tents, bursting into Alberic’s silken, private pavilion. The dwarf was in his high bed, both hands clutching the coverlet. His bodyguards had clustered around him, and they were all staring in disbelief at the growing tear in the ceiling.

“What is it?” the dwarf hissed.

“It’s coming in, Chief.” Godric hefted his ax. “Sit tight.”

The cloth tore. A huge head peered in, its eyes perfectly round, unblinking. Then with a speed that amazed them all, an enormous black owl squeezed its body through and sank like a silent cloud. It perched on the rail at the foot of the bed. Alberic was out and behind Godric in seconds. “Kill it! For Flain’s sake get rid of it!”

Godric lifted the ax. He looked very reluctant to move. “How, exactly?”

The Sekoi pushed forward impatiently. Shoving the ax aside, it stepped out in front of the owl and spoke, a long fluent sentence in the Tongue.

The owl answered in a fluty voice.

“Flainsteeth!” Alberic grabbed Galen. “What’s going on?”

“Be quiet!” The keeper watched, intent.

The Sekoi nodded, and folded its long arms. It was listening courteously, asking rapid questions. When it turned, its face was lit with relief. “Good news. The Silent One has seen Carys.”

“When!” Galen took a step forward.

“Two days ago. At a smallholding a league from here.”

“Alone?”

“When they spoke. But there was a woman asleep in the house and another, a man in Watch uniform.”

“Is she safe?”

“She seems her own, highly confident self.” The Sekoi turned back and spoke; the owl answered, its head swiveling, its round eyes fixed on Alberic.

“What’s it looking at me for?” the dwarf muttered uneasily.

“You are the leader of this flock, so it pays you respect.”

“Fascinating.” Alberic’s greedy eyes glinted. “I never knew those things could talk. What a spy network they’d be. Can you teach me that lingo?”

“That would not be allowed.”

“Not even for twenty gold pieces?”

The Sekoi’s eyes flickered sideways. “Fifty, and I might consider it.”

“Thirty.”

“For Flain’s sake!” Galen raged. “What did she say!”

The owl churred.

“She told it we were coming, and that she was heading for Flor’s Tower, traveling west, along the Wall. The Watch have built this folly to try to stop the spread of chaos. Apparently there is no way through the Wall for twenty leagues, until you reach the great Watchtower of Maar. That is the only gate.” It asked another question; the owl answered and preened a feather carefully out from under its wing.

“Beyond the gate,” the Sekoi said quietly, “the Unfinished Lands burn and erupt. The Pits of Maar are a day’s flight out beyond the Wall. The Silent Ones do not go there. Nothing can live there.”

Alberic had sidled forward. His eyes were sharp; his small finger jabbed out. “Look at that. It’s wearing jewels.”

The owl swiveled its head and looked down at him as if he were a particularly juicy mouse.

“It says,” the Sekoi muttered, “that it would peck your eyes out before a bow could be fired. I recommend you to believe it.”

“What happened to respect?” Alberic folded his arms. “Anyway, owls don’t wear collars. Why’s this one different?”

The Sekoi shrugged gracefully.

“Don’t give me that, tale-spinner. You know. Your fur’s all fluffed up.”

It was true. The fur at the creature’s neck was stiff, a sure sign of tension.

Galen said, “Has it seen Raffi?”

“No.” The Sekoi glared at Alberic. “And these things are not for you, thief-lord. They are Sekoi matters.”

“Touchy!” Alberic grinned, sly. “I hear you’ve had to move that Hoard of yours. Now there would be a nice little find.”

The Sekoi made a small mew of disgust; turning back, it spoke again, urgently. The owl churred and spread vast wings. Alberic ducked as it flew straight at him, circled low, and was gone through the tent flap before he could yell an order.

“Blast you, keeper, your spies and your messages.” He turned and scrambled back into bed, fussily arranging the pillows. “That girl was always trouble. We’re better off without her. Now go on, tell me we’re heading for Flor’s Tower.”

Galen stared down at him morosely.

“We’re heading for Maar.”

“WHAT!” The dwarf sat bolt upright. “Now wait a minute!”

“You heard me.” Galen bent and grabbed a handful of the gold silk nightshirt. His eyes were black with despair; the Sekoi took an uneasy step forward. “You’re going to attack the gate just long enough for me to get through it. After that I don’t care what you do. You can rot in your own greed.”

Alberic looked at him shrewdly. “As long as you don’t expect me to wait around.”

“I expect nothing from you.”

“Just as well. If you go in there it would be a waste of time; you won’t be coming back. Stop creasing my outfit, keeper. If you hadn’t expected too much from your boy, he’d still be with you.”

For a split second they stared at each other, eye to eye. Then Galen dropped him like a sack and swung around. He shoved past the Sekoi and limped out into the dark. Alberic straightened his clothes and snapped small fingers; Milo came running up with a goblet of wine. The dwarf took it in both hands and leaned back on the pillow. Looking at the Sekoi he said, “He’s on the edge.”

“He’s always been difficult.”

“He’s a godforsaken lunatic, and if he thinks I’m as suicidal as he is, he’s wrong. I joined up with the Crow to win, not to be martyred. You tell him.” He sipped thoughtfully. “I’ll keep men out looking for Raffi. Though the poor kid’s not had much of a life. He’s better off out of it. Now, I’ll go to forty gold pieces to learn a few words of that owl chat.”

The creature sighed. “Perhaps another time.”

Alberic nodded, and drank. “You just keep an eye on that fanatic.”

The Sekoi ducked under the tent flap and went out, looking up at the Arch of the Seven Moons.

“Hey. Excuse me.” A boy stood in the tree-shadow. For a second the creature’s fur tingled; then its keen nightsight adjusted, and it saw the spotted boy, Alberic’s kin, standing awkwardly by.

“It’s just . . .” Milo came forward, wringing his hands. “Now Raffi’s gone, the keeper needs a new scholar, right? I was just wondering . . . I mean, Uncle depends on me, of course . . . Well, he couldn’t do without me but I’d really like . . . that magic and stuff. Maybe if you could just ask Galen . . .”

The Sekoi shuddered delicately. “That would not be a good idea.”

“I’m bright. I could learn.”

“I’m sure. But the keeper is very upset. This is not the time.”

The boy looked downcast. “Later, then?”

The Sekoi shrugged, and said kindly, “Perhaps.” It watched the boy wander off. The camp was quiet now. The Sekoi walked to the trees and stood, listening. Around it the whole planet of Anara slept, trunk and root, tunnel and vein, a billion leaves and beasts and birds, and in every one the same thread of life, that inexplicable tingle of energy. And somewhere, lost in all of it, alone, was Raffi.

“Small keeper,” it breathed sadly. “Where are you?”