Woodcarver worried that this would be the great peril of the next century.
But things were resolved much sooner than that. It was Flenser who sought them out, and not with a counterattack: About twenty days after the battle, at the end of a day when the sun dipped just behind the northern hills, there was the sound of signal horns. Ravna and Johanna were wakened and shortly found themselves on the castle’s parapet, peering into something like a sunset, all orange and gold silhouetting the hills beyond the northern fjord. Woodcarver’s aides were gazing from many eyes at the ridgeline. A few had telescopes.
Ravna shared her binocs with Johanna. “Someone’s up there.” Stark against the sky glow, a pack carried a long banner with separate poles for each member.
Woodcarver was using two telescopes, probably more effective than Ravna’s gear, considering the pack’s eye separation. “Yes, I see it. That’s a truce flag, by the way. And I think I know who’s carrying it.” She yammered something at Peregrine. “It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to that one.”
Johanna was still looking through the binoculars. finally she said, “He
… made Steel, didn’t he?”
“Yes, dear.”
The girl lowered the binocs. “I… think I’ll pass up meeting him.” Her voice was distant.
They met on the hillside north of the castle just eight hours later. Woodcarver’s troops had spent the intervening time scouting the valley. It was only partly a matter of protecting against treachery from the other side: one very special pack of the enemy would be coming, and there were plenty of locals who would like that one dead.
Woodcarver walked to where the hill fell off in supersteepness toward forest. Ravna and Pilgrim followed behind her at a Tinishly close ten meters. Woodcarver wasn’t saying much about this meeting, but Pilgrim had turned out to be a very talkative sort. “This is just the way I came originally, a year ago when the first ship landed. You can see how some of the trees were burned by the torch. Good thing it wasn’t as dry that summer as this.”
The forest was dense, but they were looking down over the treetops. Even in the dryness, there was a sweet, resinous smell in the air. To their left was a tiny waterfall and a path that led to the valley floor—the path their truce visitor had agreed to take. Farmland, Peregrine called the valley bottom. It was undisciplined chaos to Ravna’s eyes. The Tines grew different crops together in the same fields, and she saw no fences, not even to hold back livestock. Here and there were wooden lodges with steep roofs and outward curving walls; what you might expect in a region with snowy winters.
“Quite a mob down there,” said Pilgrim.
It didn’t look crowded to her: little clumps, each a pack, each well-separated from the others. They clustered around the lodge buildings. More were scattered across the fields. Woodcarver packs were stationed along the little road that crossed the valley.
She felt Pilgrim tense next to her. A head extended past her waist, pointing. “That must be him. All alone, as promised. And—” part of him was looking through a telescope, “now that’s a surprise.”
A single pack trekked slowly down the road, past Woodcarver’s guards. It was pulling a small cart— containing one of its own members, apparently. A cripple?
The peasants in the fields drifted toward the edge of the field, paralleling the lone pack’s course. She heard the gobble of Tinish talk. When they wanted to be loud, they could be very, very loud. The troopers moved to chase back any local who got too close to the road.
“I thought they were grateful to us?” This was the closest thing to violence she had seen since the battle of Starship Hill.
“They are. Most of those are shouting death to Flenser.”
Flenser, Skinner, the pack who had rescued Jefri Olsndot. “They can hate one pack so much?”
“Love and hate and fear, all together. More than a century they’ve been under his knife. And now he is here, half-crippled, and without his troops. Yet they are still afraid. There are enough cotters down there to overwhelm our guard, but they’re not pushing hard. This was Flenser’s Domain, and he treated it like a good farmer might treat his yard. Worse, he treated the people and the land like some grand experiment. From reading Dataset, I see he is a monster ahead of his time. There are some out there who might still kill for the Master, and no one is sure who they are…” He paused a second, just watching.
“And you know the greatest reason for fear? That he would come here alone, so far from any help we can conceive.”
So. Ravna shifted Pham’s pistol forward on her belt. It was a bulky, blatant thing… and she was glad to have it. She glanced westward towards Hidden Island. OOB was safely grounded against the battlements of the castle there. Unless Greenstalk could do some basic reprogramming, it would not fly again. And Greenstalk was not optimistic. But she and Ravna had mounted the beam gun in one of its cargo bays, and that remote was dead simple. Flenser might have his surprises, but so did Ravna.
The fivesome disappeared beneath the steepness.
“It will be a while yet,” said Pilgrim. One of his pups stood on his shoulders and leaned against Ravna’s arm. She grinned: her private information feed. She picked it up and placed it on her shoulder. The rest of Peregrine sat his rumps on the ground and watched expectantly.
Ravna looked at the others of the Queen’s party. Woodcarver had posted crossbow packs to her right and left. Flenser would sit directly before her and a little downslope. Ravna thought she could see nervousness in Woodcarver. The members kept licking their lips, the narrow pink tongues slipping in and out with snake-like quickness. The Queen had arranged herself as if for a group portrait, the taller members behind and the two little ones sitting erect in front. Most of her gaze seem focused on the break in the verge, where the path from below reached the terrace they sat upon.
Finally she heard the scritching of claws on stone. One head appeared over the drop off, and then more. Flenser walked out onto the moss, two of his members pulling the wheeled cart. The one in the cart sat erect, its hindquarters covered by a blanket. Except for its white-tipped ears, it seemed unremarkable.
The pack’s heads peered in every direction. One stayed disconcertingly focused on Ravna as the pack proceeded up the slope toward the Queen. Skinner—Flenser—was the one who had worn the radio cloaks. None were worn now. Through gaps in the jackets Ravna could see scabby splotches, where the fur had been rubbed away.
“Mangy fellow, isn’t he?” came the little voice in Ravna’s ear. “But cool too. Catch his insolent look.” The Queen hadn’t moved. She seemed frozen, every member staring at the oncoming pack. Some of her noses were trembling.
Four of Flenser tipped the cart forward, helping the white-tipped one slide to the ground. Now Ravna could see that under the blanket, its hindquarters were unnaturally twisted and still. The five settled themselves rumps together. Their necks arched up and out, almost like the limbs of a single creature. The pack gobbled something that sounded to Ravna like strangling songbirds.
Pilgrim’s translation came immediately from the puppy on Ravna’s shoulder. The pup spoke in a new voice, a traditional villain voice from children’s stories, a dry and sardonic voice. “Greetings… Parent. It has been many years.”
Woodcarver said nothing for a moment. Then she gobbled something back, and Pilgrim translated: “You recognize me?”
One of Flenser’s heads jabbed out toward Woodcarver. “Not the members of course, but your soul is obvious.”
Again, silence from the Queen. Peregrine, annotating: “My poor Woodcarver. I never thought she would be this flummoxed.” Abruptly he spoke loud, addressing Flenser in Samnorsk. “Well, you are not so obvious to me, O former traveling companion. I remember you as Tyrathect, the timid teacher from the Long Lakes.”
Several the heads turned toward Peregrine and Ravna. The creature replied in pretty good Samnorsk, but with a childish voice. “Greetings, Peregrine. And greetings, Ravna Bergsndot? Yes. Flenser Tyrathect I am.” The heads angled downwards, eyes blinking slowly.
“Sly bugger,” Peregrine muttered.
“Is Amdijefri safe?” the Flenser suddenly asked.
“What?” said Ravna, not recognizing the name at first. Then, “Yes, they are fine.”
