I squinted. I could just make out a mounted patrol beyond the water. A raft with Jaicuri piled high had been caught by daylight. The people aboard were trying to move away from the waiting patrol by paddling with their hands.
Thai Dei turned up so we knew his people were watching. I figured he would want me to visit the Speaker. But he said nothing. I told my bearers, “Take me to his worship.”
As we approached I observed, “The citadel looks like something out of a spook story.” And it did, with the sky overcast behind it and crows swarming around. Dejagore was a paradise for crows. They were going to get too fat to fly. Maybe we would get fat eating them.
The Nar at the entrance would not let One-Eye and Goblin inside. “So take me home,” I told them. “Wait!”
“Stick it, buddy. I got no need to put up with Mogaba’s crap. The Lieutenant is alive. So is the Captain, probably. Mogaba ain’t shit nowhere but inside his own head anymore.”
“You could have at least argued until we were rested up.”
One-Eye started shuffling sideways so he could turn and head back down the steps.
Ochiba caught us before we reached street level. He was cast in the same mold as all Nar. His face remained neutral. “Apologies, Standardbearer. Won’t you reconsider?”
“Reconsider what? I don’t especially want to see Mogaba. He’s been eating magic mushrooms or chewing lucky weed or something. I been shitting my guts out for over a week. I ain’t in no shape to play games with no homicidal lunatic.”
Something fluttered behind Ochiba’s dark eyes. Maybe he agreed. Maybe there was another war going on inside him, a struggle between keeping faith with Gea-Xle’s greatest Nar ever and keeping faith with his own humanity.
I was not going to pursue it. Any hint of outside interest would push waverers in the direction of “That’s the way it’s always been.”
That was the top two, then, quietly questioning Mogaba’s way. If these guys doubted him things were probably worse than I thought.
“As you wish.” Ochiba told the sentries, “Let the litterbearers in.”
Nobody missed the significance of who my litterbearers were. It was a pretty direct statement.
I felt comfortably confrontational.
63
Was Mogaba happy to see Goblin and One-Eye, and them looking so fit? You better believe he wasn’t. But he did not pursue his displeasure. He just ticked something on his mental get-even slate. He would make me even more unhappy than he had planned. Later.
“Can you sit up?” he asked, almost like he cared.
“Yeah. I made sure. That’s partly why I took so long. That and I wanted to make sure I’d stay rational.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been suffering severe fevers and dysentery for over a week. Last night they took me out and threw me in the water to cool me down. That worked.”
“I see. Come to the table, please.”
Goblin and One-Eye helped me into a chair. They put on a fine show.
There were just six people in the conference chamber, us three and Mogaba, Ochiba and Sindawe. Through the window behind Mogaba I saw water and hills. And crows. They squabbled over space on the window sill, though none would come inside. An albino turned an especially baleful pink eye my way.
I suppose we looked too hungry.
For one instant I saw that same room in another time, with Lady and some of the same faces around the same table. Mogaba was not among them. The window behind them opened on greyness.
One-Eye pinched my earlobe. “Kid, now ain’t the time.”
Mogaba watched intently.
“Less recovered than I thought,” I explained. I wondered what the vision meant. And vision it was because it was too fully realized for imagination.
Mogaba settled into a chair opposite me. He pretended solicitousness, avoided his usual assertiveness.
“We face numerous grave problems, Standardbearer. They are out there and indifferent to whatever animosities we have developed amongst ourselves.”
Goddamn! Was he going to turn reasonable on me?
“They will be there whether or not we want to believe the Lieutenant or Captain survived. We will have to face them because I do not expect to be relieved any time soon.”
I would not argue with that.
“We would be better off had Lady not interfered this last time. We are isolated and trapped now because the Shadowmaster was forced to find a solution for managing two fronts.”
I nodded. We were in a worse situation. On the other hand, we would not have yowling hordes piling over the wall every few nights anymore. Nor would Mogaba be flinging men hither and yon without regard for their lives, just trying to irritate the Southerners into doing something stupid.
Mogaba glanced out the window. We could see two Shadowlander patrols raising dust in the hills. “He can starve us out now.”
“Maybe.”
Mogaba grimaced but controlled his anger. “Yes?”
“For no rational reason I feel confident that our friends will break us out.”
“I must confess that I remain a stranger to that sort of faith. Although I concede the importance of maintaining an optimistic aspect in front of the soldiers.”
Was I going to argue? No. He was more right than I could be.
“So, Standardbearer, how do we survive a protracted siege when most of our food stores are exhausted? How do we recover the standard once we do get out of these straits?”
“I don’t have any answers. Although I think the standard is in friendly hands already.” Why was he interested? Almost every time we talked he asked something about the standard. Did he believe possessing it would legitimize him?
“How so?” He was surprised.
“The Widowmaker that was here the first time carried the real standard.” “You’re sure?” “I know it,” I promised. “Then share your thoughts about food.” “We could try fishing.” Wisecracking was not a good idea with Mogaba. It just made Mogaba angry.
“Ain’t no joke,” Goblin snapped. “That water comes down here from regular rivers. There’s got to be fish.”
The little shit wasn’t as stupid as he acted sometimes.
Mogaba frowned. “Do we have anyone who knows anything about fishing?” he asked Sindawe.
“I doubt it.” They meant among their Taglian soldiers, of course. Nar are warriors, back for a dozen generations. They do not sully themselves doing unheroic work.
I was negligent. I failed to mention that the Nyueng Bao came from country where fishing was, probably, a way of life.
“It’s a thought,” Mogaba told me. “And there is always baked crow.” He glanced back at the window. “But most Taglians won’t eat flesh.”
“A conundrum,” I agreed.
“I will not surrender.”
No reply seemed adequate.
“You have no resources either?”
“Less than you,” I lied. We still had a little rice from the catacombs. But not much. We were stretching ourselves every way possible, in accordance with hints recorded in the Annals. We did not look like famine victims.
