and had been elected interpreter. She explained in a whisper as Dantio described the events at Fist’s Leap.
“Surely,” Melchitte said, “if they knew you had torched the last food cache, they would be more inclined to turn back than press on? Coming this way they faced a harder journey and a war when they arrived.”
Dantio hesitated, eyed Fabia as if wondering what she knew that she had not told him, and then said, “I agree, my lord, and with anyone else I would not worry. But Saltaja does have chthonic powers and she would certainly want to press on to Florengia to join up with her brother. Only death waited for her at home in Vigaelia.”
Cavotti was skeptical. “She was old. She had no food. Even if she had four sixty men with her, they would be more inclined to kill her in anger than help her escape. How long will you need to destroy the shelters, Melchitte?”
The huntleader smiled. “Two days should be more than ample, my lord. If we encounter any ice devils, they will be exhausted and starving.”
Fabia could not let such folly go unchecked. Nor could she discuss her chthonic efforts to view the Queen of Shadows. She suspected that her attempts had been somehow blocked, for her dreams had revealed nothing except brief glimpses of Saltaja gnawing on bloody meat and crossing the Dust River on a bridge of corpses. She had no idea whether those were genuine sendings or the Mother of Lies plying her with nightmares.
“Lord Marno, I beg you not to underestimate Saltaja Hragsdor! She ruled all Vigaelia for fifteen years. No one has ever done that before. I will never be convinced that she is dead until I see her carcass. She did have food. She had four sixty head, on the hoof.”
Into the angry silence, Giunietta spoke softly. “The lady may be mistaken, but she means what she says.”
The Mutineer drummed fingers on the table. “I want to raze this place. If I leave a garrison here, I risk drawing an attack by Stralg’s forces to retake it. If he gains any inkling that his sister may be approaching, he will certainly try to reoccupy the site. But I see your point. Huntleader, we will take this warning seriously. I will leave you here with blue pack for a thirty to kill any stragglers coming over the pass. They should be in no condition to fight back. When you are ready to withdraw, take enough from the food cache for your own use, and then burn the rest, and the buildings. Start your patrols right away.”
Melchitte rose. “My lord is kind.” He stepped over the bench and headed for the door.
“And when you come back, bring our prisoner.” Something about Marno’s smirk raised Fabia’s hackles. She noted both Dantio and Giunietta looking at him strangely. She recalled Felice’s warning that he might have surprises of his own.
He popped one of the round, green peppery fruits into his armory of teeth and spoke around it. “What are your plans?”
“We have no plans, only wishes,” Dantio said. “First I must rescue the seers Stralg kidnapped. When he set out to invade Florengia, he ignored the Eldest’s protests and took a dozen seers with him. We know that most have since died, but the survivors must be informed that the compact is now broken and their ordeal is ended. If we can rescue them, the Fist will lose his eyes.”
Cavotti seemed curiously unenthusiastic at the prospect. “That will help in the long run, certainly. I agree that mercy requires us to release the poor women, but I must consider how best to use this turn of events. Giunietta, how can I inform them of the news?”
The three of them discussed seers. Fabia explained to Orlad and Waels, then began considering her own priorities. When Cavotti reached a long arm for a sweet roll, she was ready.
“My lord? Before we discuss what we want you to do for us, why don’t you explain what you intend to do with us?”
The ogreish, misshapen eyes turned to study her. Seeing that she bore his gaze without flinching, he said, “Aren’t we allies against the Fist? Don’t you trust me, lady Fabia?”
“I hope we can be allies. No, I don’t trust you.”
He raised his eyebrows, snuggling them up around his horn stub. He was amused. “Wise of you, perhaps. I’m not sure just how I want to use you. Your arrival has changed things considerably.” He pulled something out of the nearest bowl and crunched it with his millstone teeth.
“Ten years ago, Stralg controlled the Face, and we were a raggle-taggle pack of oath-breakers hiding out in the jungles around Ocean. Every year after that we grew stronger. Every year we grew stronger faster. Now Stralg is down to about three sixty-sixty and I have more men than he does. I need more, because I have been herding him this way, to the northwest. I knew he would want to keep his lines to Vigaelia open. He knew I knew that, and knew I would always leave this direction less defended than any other. We both have seers and know more or less where the enemy is. We are playing a gigantic game of tegale. ”
He paused to nibble while Fabia made a quick translation.
“The art in this sort of war lies in concentration and dispersion. Last rainy season Stralg occupied the town of Miona. He squeezed twenty sixty of his men in there, so we surrounded it and burned it. Few Heroes escaped, and almost no extrinsics. He hasn’t made that mistake again. That is why he has not occupied Celebre yet. At the moment he holds roughly the area from Umsina to Veritano, including Celebre, but he has only a token force in the city itself. Even our advantage in numbers would not hold him if he wanted to break out, but he doesn’t, because Veritano is his escape route, understand? He was stocking it, making ready for a pullout over the pass in the spring.” The Mutineer grinned, which was a nightmare sight. “A Stralg pullout! He goes first and the Old One takes the hindmost.”
Again Fabia translated for her neighbors. Waels was smiling, Orlad scowling.
“Armies never willingly give battle,” Cavotti said, “unless they are sure of at least a local advantage in numbers. Eventually I will force Stralg into a corner, bring up all my reserves, and crush him. I came here because we learned that he had left Veritano vulnerable. He miscalculated, or else he hoped to trap me into a bad move. Either way, I took the bait. I planned to burn it, expecting him to rush in and take it back so he could restart his escape plan. Reinforcement here would shrink his perimeter elsewhere, understand, and make life easier for us. But I do not want to lose men.
“Now you bring news that there is no back door for my lord Stralg. Not only have you burned his bridges, but Vigaelia has turned on the spawn of Hrag. His brothers and sister are dead. He is alone. This makes a real change, and will require new strategy. Any beast is most dangerous when cornered. I can try to keep him ignorant of this development. Or I may let him find out. If I do that, what will he do? Break out to the south, and abandon hope of going home?”
Dantio muttered, “Open negotiations?” but Cavotti was obviously addressing Orlad. There was a crackling tension between the two Werists.
Orlad asked Fabia a few questions to make sure he understood. Then he said, in his accented Florengian, “He takes Celebre?”
Cavotti nodded his oversized head, leering terrible teeth. “I think he may do that! He could seize the city and hold it hostage as his price for peace.”
Would the Mutineer then treat Celebre as he had Miona?
“So it seems that by returning we have doomed Celebre,” Fabia said. “My lord, we wish most of all to visit our father, if he still lives, and to comfort our mother. We ask your help in this. Will you refuse it?”
The great wall of teeth showed again. “I wish to destroy Stralg. That is the only thing that matters to me. Your request must be judged against the demands of war. I will give you my decision as soon as I have made it. In this nightmare game of tegale, I have one more tile to show you, although one of very minor importance.”
Cavotti was facing the door, she was not. She turned to see who was making that peculiar clattering sound.
Huntleader Melchitte had returned, chivvying along a prisoner who was at once taller than he was and about one-third the width. He was a Florengian, his ankles and wrists chained together so that he was forced to walk in a stoop, shuffling his bare feet. The only other thing he wore was a dirty loincloth, so narrow it would have barely made a sleeve for Cavotti. He was obviously only a boy, and Fabia felt a flash of anger that a child should be so maltreated.
She turned to say so, and was shocked by Dantio’s horror-struck expression. She took another look at the prisoner. He, in turn, was staring at Cavotti with a truculent expression that failed to conceal an understandable fear. That face? She had seen a face like that in a vision. And in Benard’s art. And she had spent half a year with
