“Perhaps the Acacians are not either,” Sabeer said. She spoke to Herith, but her eyes were on Rialus.
He looked down and stayed that way as the conversation circled around the idea of Acacian cowardice.
Some time later, Sabeer remained the only one who saw something other than cowardice in the events of the day. “The princess did not avoid Howlk and Nawth,” she said. “You cannot say she is a coward.”
“Exactly,” Rialus said. He regretted it the moment the word was out of his mouth. She had just said something so obviously true the affirmation slipped out of him.
The other chieftains fell silent. Devoth turned and looked directly at Rialus. “No, she showed bravery in that, at least. How did she know to cut loose the amulet?”
“She knew more than that,” Sabeer said. “She knew our strengths and avoided them. She did not strike at us-at the Auldek-or engage the mounted warriors. Arrows may be cowardly, but they felled thousands of divine children. She hurt us more than we hurt her. Clever, in a way.”
Having not taken his eyes off Rialus, Devoth pressed, “Rialus, how did she know these things?”
Rialus kept his head bent, his attention on the page. He did not want to speak. Words bubbled in him too ferociously. He did not want to let them out, and yet he did not even shrug. He did not motion with his fingers or purse his lips or give any answer to Devoth at all. He knew he should, but he did not. He wrote, How did she know? How did she know?
“Stop scribbling.”
How did she…
“Stop scribbling and answer me!”
“I have no answer to give!” Rialus snapped. He slashed the stylus across the words he had written and tossed it down. He looked around at the Auldek faces staring at him. “What do you want me to say? That I snuck out of camp in the night, ran across the ice to them, told them all your secrets, ran back across the ice, and crept into my quarters unseen? Would you believe that? Even know I’m a spy? If you were wise, you would kill me, kill me now before I bring your entire race to ruin!”
Rialus finished shouting. His face flushed red and his hands trembled. The Auldek around the table stared at him with mild revulsion, as if he had just demonstrated his insanity in some depraved manner. Devoth asked quietly, “Is that true?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I did,” Rialus said. His voice dropped to match Devoth’s and lost its edge, but he looked at the chieftain as he said it. “I met a lioness on the way and I broke her neck.”
The room was silent for a moment. The chieftains stared. The officers and assistants behind them craned forward. “Broke her neck?” Devoth asked.
“With my bare hands.”
A grin tugged at one corner of Devoth’s lips, and then won over the other as well. “All right, Rialus leagueman. All right.” He slapped Rialus on the back and shared his sudden humor with the others. “He is a lion killer,” he said. “Our Rialus. Who would have thought it?”
“Lioness killer,” Sabeer corrected. The others guffawed, enjoying yet another joke at Rialus leagueman’s expense.
Rialus sat looking at the scribbled words on the parchment before him, hating them.
B y the time he left the meeting, well into the night, he knew of the other significant development in the war. The night after the battle, Mena and the Acacian army had packed up their camp and departed. That was why there had been no continuation of the battle the next day. Mena had the tail end of her forces into the ice slabs before outriders on woolly rhinos could reach them. This was another thing the chieftains debated at length. Whether it was cowardice on Mena’s part or some design they could not fathom, there seemed only one course of action: to pursue. The Acacians ran toward the Auldek’s goal anyway, so why not chase them out onto the Mein Plateau, then on toward the heart of Acacia?
T he next morning the jarring sensation of his station grinding into motion awoke Rialus. Whips cracked like ice serpents, brutal, punishing sounds met by bellows of protest from the beasts. Flakes of dust rained down on him from the beams above. The engines of the station gurgled and groaned. All the familiar sounds and sensations. They were in motion again.
“We’re going home,” he said out loud, knowing that Fingel would be sitting on her mat, engaged in some small work already. “We’re going home.”
It proved to be a difficult homecoming. The clear weather of the recent days ran away, pursued by a blizzard of snow and ice crystals. Rialus stayed huddled in his station as much as he could. Though he was secure inside, Rialus could not escape Nawth’s anguished jabbering at being left behind. How could his voice travel so far, grate on the ears with such intensity? Nawth’s entreaties were so close to language. He sounded like he was fumbling with speech to make a case for himself. It was made worse by the cacophony of cries and moans and bellows of the other freketes swooping in the air above. And his circling brothers… they heard him. They left him anyway. Rialus could not be certain, but he thought that even days later the wind brought snatches of Nawth’s ongoing misery to him, across miles of ice. Haunting. He would never forget the sound.
Allek brought him news of the troubles they were having. Rialus could not have said why, but the Numrek youth seemed to like spending time with him, belittling him, teasing him. Allek could not do so to anybody else, so Rialus served the purpose.
The weather was a frozen chaos. “You would get blown by the wind,” he said to himself. “The cats would chase you as you bounced and screamed.” Even without the storms, the ice fields would have been harder to navigate than anything they had faced so far. The enormous slabs of sea ice thrust up at chaotic angles. Dropped off into crevices they could not see the bottom of. Ice that looked thick shattered beneath the slightest touch. Animals slipped on the slopes and fell, wedged down below. They broke legs or bit each other or kicked their human handlers-to death in several cases.
The stations that had rolled over so much now could barely progress at all. The ground was too irregular. “It’s not even ground at all!” It had none of the natural shape of mountains or hills or river channels. One of the stations was damaged beyond repair when the ice under one side collapsed, canting it sideways in a manner that broke its spine and sent pitch sloshing about, aflame, inside it.
And came the time an entire station-one of the dining halls that fed the divine children in efficient shifts-fell through the ice and disappeared into a cauldron of glass-blue water. Everyone in or on the station went into the water. People and animals near it slipped screaming on the tilted slabs. Nearly everyone involved died. The divine children who managed to claw back to the surface and get pulled out were as pale as death by the time they did so.
One Auldek was inside the station. Of him nothing was heard. Another had been on a kwedeir just beside it. Mount and rider went into the water. Neither came up. Allek had not been there, but you would think he had been by the glassy-eyed way he described the Auldek’s plunge. He imagined him stoic in the moment of realization, still instead of thrashing, looking up with stern acceptance of his fate as his iron-boned weight plunged him downward.
More likely he was screaming like a girl and jabbering water words as he died. Again and again, Rialus thought.
“If that had been one of the chieftains’ stations, or the temple of records… I can’t even imagine it. The Acacians did it,” Allek said.
Rialus looked up. He noticed that Fingel did as well. “What?” he asked.
“We think so. The ice was… weakened in places. Lines cut in it. Some of the pitch they stole from us, Sabeer said. They cut lines in the ice with it, made weak sections.” Allek scratched his neck, and then looked askance at Rialus. “Your people are wicked.”
Wonderfully so, Rialus thought. He glanced at Fingel, who dropped her eyes back to the stitch work in her hands.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Kelis had not dreamed so vividly in years. He had not slept so long either, so deeply. Unlike other people, he had always been fully aware when he was dreaming. He knew the difference between the functioning of the waking
