it is to do such. Yet the guns we captured on Margrum have three times the range and one quarter the weight. How could they do it?” There were chords of anger and humiliation in his voice. “The traitor,” Scrupilo jerked a snout in the direction of Vendacious, “thinks they may have Johanna’s brother, but Johanna says they have nothing like Dataset. Majesty, Steel has some advantage we don’t yet know.”
Even the executions were not helping. Day by day, Steel felt his rage growing. Alone on the parapet, he whipped back and forth upon himself, barely conscious of anything but his anger. Not since he had been under Flenser’s knife had the anger been such a radiant thing. Get back control, before he cuts you more, the voice of some early Steel seemed to say.
He hung on the thought, pulled himself together. He stared down at bloody drool and tasted ashes. Three of his shoulders were streaked with tooth cuts—he’d been hurting himself, another habit Flenser had cured him of long ago. Hurt outwards, never toward yourself. Steel licked mechanically at the gashes and walked closer to the parapet’s edge:
At the horizon, gray-black haze obscured the sea and the islands. The last few days, the summer winds coming off the inland had been a hot breath, tasting of smoke. Now the winds were like fire themselves, whipping past the castle, carrying ash and smoke. All last dayaround the far side of Bitter Gorge had been a haze of fire. Today he could see the hillsides: they were black and brown, crowned with smoke that swept toward the sea’s horizon. There were often brush and forest fires in the High Summer. But this year, as if nature was a godly pack of war, the fires had been everywhere. The wretched guns had done it. And this year, he couldn’t retreat to the cool of Hidden Island and let the coastlings suffer.
Steel ignored his smarting shoulders and paced the stones more thoughtfully, almost analytical for a change. The creature Vendacious had not stayed bought; he had turned traitor to his treason. Steel had anticipated that Vendacious might be discovered; he had other spies who should have reported such a thing. But there had been no sign… until the disaster at Margrum Climb. Now the twist of Vendacious’s knife had turned all his plans on their heads. Woodcarver would be here very soon, and not as a victim.
Who would have guessed that he would really need the Spacers to rescue him from Woodcarver? He had worked so hard to confront the Southerners before Ravna arrived. But now he did need that help from the sky—and it was more than five hours away. Steel almost slipped back into rage state at the thought. In the end, would all the cozening of Amdijefri be for nothing? Oh, when this is over, how much will I enjoy killing those two. More than any of the others, they deserved death. They had caused so much inconvenience. They had consistently required his kindliest behavior, as though they ruled him. They had showered him with more insolence than ten thousand normal subjects.
From the castle yard there was the sound of laboring packs, straining winches, the screech and groan of rock being moved about. The professional core of Flenser’s Empire survived. Given a few more hours, the breaches in the walls would be repaired and new guns would be brought in from the north. And the grand scheme can still succeed. As long as I am together, no matter what else is lost, it can succeed.
Almost lost in the racket, he heard the click of claws on the inward steps. Steel drew back, turned all heads toward the sound. Shreck? But Shreck would have announced himself first. Then he relaxed; there was only one set of claw sounds. It was a singleton coming up the stairs.
Flenser’s member cleared the steps, and bowed to Steel, an incomplete gesture without other members to mirror it. The member’s radio cloak shone clean and dark. The army was in awe of those cloaks, and of the singletons and duos who seemed smarter than the brightest pack. Even Steel’s lieutenants who understood what the cloaks really were—even Shreck -were cautious and tentative around them. And now Steel needed the Flenser Fragment more than anyone, more than anything except Starfolk gullibility. “What news?”
“Leave to sit?” Was the sardonic Flenser smile behind that request?
“Granted,” snapped Steel.
The singleton eased itself onto the stones, a parody of an insolent pack. But Steel saw when the other winced; the Fragment had been dispersed across the Domain for almost twenty days now. Except for brief periods, he had been wrapped in the radio cloaks that whole time. Dark and golden torture. Steel had seen this member without its cloak, when it was bathed. Its pelt was rubbed raw at shoulder and haunch, where the weight of the radio was greatest. Bleeding sores had opened at the center of the bald spots. Alone without its cloak, the mindless singleton had blabbered its pain. Steel enjoyed those sessions, even if this one was not especially verbal. It was almost as if he, Steel, were now the One who Teaches with a Knife, and Flenser were his pupil.
The singleton was silent for a moment. Steel could hear its ill-concealed panting. “The last dayaround has gone well, My Lord.”
“Not here! We’ve lost almost all our cannon. We’re trapped inside these walls.” And the starfolk may arrive too late.
“I mean out there.” The singleton poked its nose toward the open spaces beyond the parapet. “Your scouts are well-trained, My Lord, and have some bright commanders. Right now, I am spread round Woodcarvers rear and flanks.” The singleton made its part of a laughing gesture. “‘Rear and flanks’. Funny. To me Woodcarver’s entire army is like a single enemy pack. Our Attack Infantries are like tines on my own paws. We are cutting the Queen deep, My Lord. I set the fire in Bitter Gorge. Only I could see exactly where it was spreading, exactly how to kill with it. In another four dayarounds there will be nothing left of the Queen’s supplies. She will be ours.”
“Too long, if we’re dead this afternoon.”
“Yes.” The singleton cocked its head at Steel. He’s laughing at me. Just like all those times under Flenser’s knife when a problem would be posed and death was the penalty for failure. “But Ravna and company should be back here in five hours, no?” Steel nodded. “Well, I guarantee you that will be hours ahead of Woodcarver’s main assault. You have Amdijefri’s confidence. It seems you need only advance and compress your previous schedule. If Ravna is sufficiently desperate—”
“The starfolk are desperate. I know that.” Ravna might mask her precise motives, but her desperation was clear. “And if you can slow Woodcarver—” Steel settled all of himself down to concentrate on the scheming at hand. He was half-conscious of his fears retreating. Planning was always a comfort. “The problem is that we have to do two things now, and perfectly coordinated. Before, it was simply a matter to feign a siege and trick the starship into landing in the castle’s Jaws.” He turned a head in the direction of the courtyard. The stone dome over the landed starship had been in place since midspring. It showed some artillery damage now, the marble facing chipped away, but hadn’t taken direct hits. Beside it lay the field of the Jaws: large enough to accept the rescue ship, but surrounded by pillars of stone, the teeth of the Jaws. With the proper use of gunpowder, the teeth would fall on the rescuers. That would be a last resort, if they didn’t kill and capture the humans as they came out to meet dear Jefri. That scheme had been lovingly honed over many tendays, aided by Amdijefri’s admissions about human psychology and his knowledge of how starships normally land. But now: “— now we really need their help. What I ask them must do double duty, to fool them and to destroy Woodcarver.”
“Hard to do all at once,” agreed the Cloak. “Why not play it in two steps, the first more or less undeceitful: Have them destroy Woodcarver, then worry about taking them over?”
Steel clicked a tine thoughtfully on stone. “Yes. Trouble is, if they see too much… They can’t possibly be as naive as Jefri. He says that humankind has a history that includes castles and warfare. If they fly around too much, they’ll see things that Jefri never saw, or never understood… Maybe I could get them to land inside the castle and mount weapons on the walls. We’ll have them hostage the moment that they stand between our Jaws. Damn. That would take some clever work with Amdijefri.” The bliss of abstract planning foundered for a moment on rage. “It’s getting harder and harder for me to deal with those two.”
“They’re both wholly puppies, for Pack’s sake.” The Fragment paused a second. “Of course, Amdiranifani may have more raw intelligence than any pack I’ve ever seen. You think he may even be smart enough to see past his childishness,” he used the Samnorsk word, “and see the deception?”
“No, not that. I have their necks in my jaws, and they still don’t see it. You’re right, Tyrathect; they do love me.” And how I hate them for it. “When I’m around him, the mantis thing is all over me, close enough to cut my throat or poke out my eyes, but hugging and petting. And expecting me to love him back. Yes, they believe everything I say, but the price is accepting unending insolence.”
“Be cool, dear student. The heart of manipulation is to empathize without being touched.” The Fragment stopped, as always, just short of the brink. Steel felt himself hissing at the words even before he was consciously aware of his reaction.
