One of those godsdamned eagle-lions Syrail was talking about, I'll bet, he thought bleakly.
It wasn't a happy thought, and watching the speed and nimbleness of the weird-looking, horned horses under the Arcanans searching for them didn't make it any happier. The way those things covered ground made it obvious that Raysith, Syrail, and he could never hope to stay away from them on foot. Not when they had airborne spies to tell them exactly where their prey had gone.
Kersai looked down at the rifle in his hands. He was tempted-so tempted-to use it, but there were at least fourteen or fifteen of them. He probably could have picked off several of them, but he'd never get all of them, and if he started the shooting, there could be only one possible outcome.
'Syrail,' he said quietly.
'Yes, sir?'
'Take the rifle. Then I want you and your mother to go hide up at the top of the ravine.'
'But-'
'Don't argue, Syrail. There's no time for it.' Kersai turned his head and looked at his son, there in the windy, sun-dappled afternoon, and wished there were time. Wished he didn't have to be brusque with the boy he loved so much on this, of all days.
'You have to go now, son,' he said more gently. 'I need you up there looking after your mother. Now, go. Take care of her, understand?'
'Yes, Dad.' Syrail's voice was low, wavering around the edges despite his effort to keep it steady, and Kersai put an arm around him and hugged him tightly.
'I love you, Syrail. I love you very much.'
The boy looked back at him, mouth working, unable to speak at all this time, and Kersai gave him one last squeeze.
'Now go,' he said softly, and Syrail obeyed him.
Kersai watched him go, then looked back down at the horsemen-if that was the right term for someone mounted on such preposterous creatures-advancing steadily towards his position. He needed a little more time for Syrail and Raysith to reach the next hiding spot he'd picked out for them. Besides, he wasn't in any great hurry for what he knew he needed to do.
He lay there, stretched out on the rock, savoring the caress of the surprisingly warm sun on his shoulders, and waited.
Kalcyr and his mounted troopers had almost reached the coordinates from the recon gryphon's overflight when a man stood up in front of them.
Kalcyr reined in his unicorn so abruptly the beast snorted and tossed its head in protest, and his eyes flitted about. The single Sharonian standing in front of him wore civilian clothes, and Kalcyr didn't see any sign of a revolver or a rifle. That didn't mean much, though. There could have been half a dozen more of them hidden away in the rocks and trees, every one of them with one of those accursed rifles waiting to blow him and his men out of their saddles.
The Sharonian-a youngish, redhaired fellow-kept his hands in plain sight and just stood there, watching Kalcyr. His expression was remarkably calm, but Kalcyr could see the tension hovering in his tight shoulders, in the way he held himself absolutely motionless.
Good, the senior sword thought harshly. Go ahead and sweat, you bastard!
Finally, the Sharonian spoke. It was only so much gibberish, and Kalcyr reached into a cargo pocket and extracted the PC loaded with Five Hundred Neshok's translation spellware.
'What?' he barked. 'What did you say?'
Folsar chan Tergis had kept Syrail informed on all of the nonclassified details of the Fallen Timbers negotiations, and Syrail had shared those reports with his parents. So Kersai had at least heard about the Arcanans' magical translating rocks. Even so, actually seeing and hearing one came as more of a surprise than he'd expected. Still, it wasn't as if it had come at him completely cold, and he drew a deep breath.
'I asked you what you want,' he repeated in the steadiest voice he could manage.
'What do you think we want?' the man who seemed to be in charge shot back. He sounded angry, and Kersai hoped that was only a trick of the translating magic.
'I don't know,' he said as reasonably as he could. 'You're obviously soldiers. I'm not. And, as you can see, I'm not even armed.'
He opened his coat carefully, aware of the dozen or so crossbows aimed straight at him. He held it open, letting them see that the garment had concealed no shoulder holster or other hidden weapon.
'So, you're not a soldier, hey?' the mounted man said with a scornful expression.
'No, of course not,' Kersai replied.
'So, if you're not a soldier, why are you hiding out here?'
'Why?' This time Kersai let a little incredulity into his tone. 'You've invaded us. As far as I can see, it only makes sense to stay out of your way.'
Kalcyr had to admit the other man had a point. In fact, he had a better point then he knew.
One of the troopers behind him stirred uneasily. Kalcyr sensed the motion and turned his head to give the offender a savage glare, and the man froze.
Lily-livered bastard, Kalcyr thought. Probably one of those pricks who stays up at night moaning over the Kerellian Accords. These bastards started the massacring, and Five Hundred Neshok's right about taking chances with these 'Talents' of theirs.
'So, 'civilian,''thinspace'' he said. 'What's your name?'
Kersai looked up at the cavalry commander. The Arcanan wasn't looking back at him; instead, his attention appeared to be focused on the crystal in his hand, and Kersai's eyes narrowed as he remembered what Syrail had told him about chan Tergis' last transmission. About the crystal which had flashed blue like some sort of inanimate Sifter.
'Syrail,' he said quietly-and truthfully. 'Syrail Targal.'
Kalcyr grunted in satisfaction as the verifier spell in the PC blinked with blue confirmation. The Sharonian looked older than he'd expected, but then again, the man who'd given the name to Five Hundred Neshok probably hadn't been in the best possible condition when he'd done so. Besides, nobody at the fort, except for the military Voice assigned to it, had ever actually met this Syrail, as far as anyone knew.
'Stand where you are,' he commanded, then nodded to two of his men.
'Take a look,' he said.
The selected troopers climbed down, passing their reins to one of their fellows, and advanced on the Sharonian. The PC had translated Kalcyr's order to them into Sharonian, as well, and the civilian obviously knew what was coming. He made no effort to resist, although Kalcyr's men were no gentler than they had to be. They were, however, thorough, and one of them grimaced, then waved a small, bronze falcon-shaped badge triumphantly.
Kalcyr reached down and took it, letting it lie in his palm. Then he looked back at the man from whom it had been taken.
'So, you're a Voice.'
Kersai kept his mouth shut.
It wasn't easy. His heart raced, and he could feel the air fluttering in and out of his lungs. He knew now what was coming, and he felt the sweat beading on his brow.
A part of him wanted desperately to answer the Arcanan's question's truthfully. Another part wanted even more desperately to lie. But the truth would probably have been useless … and the lie would probably have been detected.
He clenched his fists at his side, standing between the two men who had searched him and who still held his elbows. There was a reason he'd brought that badge along. He'd hoped it would never be needed, that this moment would never come. But the moment had come, and he found himself clinging to his love for his son and his wife as he gazed silently up at the hard-faced, hard-eyed Arcanan.
'So, the gryphon's got your tongue, has it, 'civilian'?' Kalcyr demanded. The Sharonian only looked back up at him, and the senior sword felt a cold, hard sense of satisfaction. The man's very silence was proof he was exactly what Kalcyr had been sent out here to find. Not that denying the truth would have done him any good in the face of the verifier spells Five Hundred Neshok had loaded to Kalcyr's crystal.
