thump-Montegola. Celebre was visible from the ranch, he had been told; he would see it in the morning. The sun was up now, obviously, and what they called a winter day here already seemed hot to him. Waels slept on at his side. It was the work of a moment to turn a blanket back into a chlamys and slither down the ladder. By the time he paused in the barn doorway to take stock of the yard, he could hear Waels following.
There was the wagon that had woken him, with four guanacos hitched and a spotty-faced youngster slouched on the bench. Beyond it stood the house and a couple of other buildings, built of wicker and thatch, but seemingly well kept. And yes, even from where he stood, that gleam of white towers across the plain must be Celebre itself. It was much bigger than he had expected. His heartbeat rose.
“Could eat a mammoth,” Waels said, stretching and blinking at the sunshine.
“Nice day, feels like summer.”
“We are not in Nardalborg anymore, my lord.”
Rain clouds far to the east suggested a change later. Dantio and Fabia were just emerging from the house, followed by their host. Cavotti had disappeared the previous evening on other business.
The rancher, Eligio, wore a peasant’s loincloth and flaunted a brass collar in full view. That seemed like rank insanity in Stralg country. When Orlad had asked his rank he had answered merely, “Spy.” He had good reason to be surly, for he looked no older than Waels but had lost an arm and one eye and would never battleform again. He ran thirty or so llamoids and a staging post for the Liberators. His wife, Carmina, seemed impossibly young to be the mother of the two children. She was an excellent cook, but Orlad reluctantly postponed thoughts of breakfast.
“You might have warned us that you were leaving.”
Eligio barely looked at him. “You’re staying here. Go back to the loft and keep out of sight.” He greeted the driver with a fast twitter of Florengian.
Fabia said, “Or go and beg Carmina to run you up a stack of her onion pancakes. The gods dine here.” She hooked a foot in a wheel and swung up to the wagon as if she had been doing it for years.
Dantio said, “Nice legs,” and followed more circumspectly.
Eligio and the boy were still yammering away, both at once, with much hand-waving. Orlad stepped to within biting distance of Eligio.
“Why are they going? Why are we not?”
“Don’t worry. We can trust them, Orlad,” Dantio said quickly.
“I still want to know what’s going to happen.”
Eligio looked at him as if he were moronic. “ They’re going to a safe house in the city, and don’t ask me what they’re going to do there because I don’t know. You stay here for now. No one enters Celebre without showing his neck to the scum on the gate.”
“So how do Waels and I get in?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s time.”
“Why not now?”
“The less you know the safer.”
“Why don’t they wait and come with us?” Orlad was surprised at how protective he felt toward his siblings now.
Eligio rolled his eyes. “Because they’re not Heroes, stupid. You want my help or not? If you do, throttle your gullet.”
“You’re speaking Vigaelian!” Orlad said, realizing belatedly.
The Florengian showed a set of teeth as jagged as a saw blade. “I help interrogate prisoners. It’s a hobby of mine.” He looked up to Dantio. “Leave the stuff I gave you at the triple fountain after dark. Check if they’ve picked it up every pot-boiling or so. If they haven’t arrived by dawn, try again tomorrow night. If they don’t appear then, they won’t be coming. If it isn’t safe to meet up, try to leave a broken pot there instead. Then they’ll come back here and wait for news.”
Putting on the best face he could, Orlad smiled up at Fabia and Dantio. “Until tonight then. Twelve blessings on you. Give my love to Mama. Tell her I like my steak raw.”
“Twelve blessings on you,” Dantio said. “Raw it will be.”
Fabia said, “Try and stay out of fights, you two.”
Waels flashed her his heart-stopping smile and said, “Why?”
As the wagon rattled out of the yard, Eligio growled, “You want to eat?”
“Very much we do, my lord,” Waels said. “And then we want some lessons in looking after guanacos. All I’ve learned so far is that they don’t smell as bad as onagers.”
Orlad had learned that they didn’t kick as hard, either, but he wasn’t going to mention that.
CHIES STRALGSON
had never been so frightened in his entire life. Not even on the night he was kidnapped, because then he had been falling-down drunk. But now…
Now the sun was setting and Chies was driving down the gully road at breakneck speed because he couldn’t control the team. The car leaped and bounced and rocked, heading steadily closer to Veritano with Sesto following, yelling at him to slow down. The best thing that could happen now would be for him to tip the car and fall out and break his neck. Or throw Saltaja out, but he was certain that would never happen.
He had always known he had half-brothers and a half-sister somewhere beyond the Edge. No one had ever mentioned an aunt. Certainly not a foul, mad, murderous, gangrenous aunt. An aunt who invoked Xaran! An aunt who had cast the evil eye on him and murdered ten Werists.
Sesto had promised, speaking in his curious new singsong, that they could pass Veritano on a trail so far from the buildings that Witness Giunietta would not notice. But Chies couldn’t control his rig. And Melchitte had at least two other patrols out, somewhere. And the dead Werists up on the Altiplano would be missed soon, so searchers would go looking. And war-beasts could outrun llamoids with one paw behind their backs and follow a scent for days. When they caught the killers they would tear them to pieces.
Saltaja was haggard and stank of rotting meat. She had lost fingers and toes and most of her nose. And teeth. She was so weak that Chies had to keep one arm around her to hold her in the chariot. He had tied the reins around his waist so he wouldn’t fall out, but that was hunting technique and he had never practiced driving that way. He ought to head straight to Veritano and scream for men to bring ropes and spades to tether and bury a Chosen. He wouldn’t, because she wouldn’t let him. He would do exactly as he was told.
He would also tell Sesto to do whatever she said, and Sesto would obey, too. She spoke no Florengian, yet that had not stopped her using her evil eye. She’d first enslaved Chies and Sesto, then given her orders through them to the other men. She had made them line up so she could hobble along the line, muttering at them, one by one. Then they had been told to strip and kneel down. And then they had just stayed there on their knees while their flankleader split their heads open with a wood ax and she chanted a hymn to the Evil One!
If a Werist flankleader had killed his own men on her orders, what chance did a boy like Chies have of resisting her? But he was not proud of himself, even so. He had thrown up when the killing started, and lost control of his bowels when she kissed him. He must smell as bad as she did. Now he was terrified by the chariot’s breakneck plunge down the hill and she did not seem worried at all.
“How old are you, Nephew?”
“Sixteen. Just turned.”
“And so tall! Have you made your vows to the gods yet?”
He shivered, wondering why she wanted to know that. “No. The rebels kidnapped me before the turn of the year.”
“That will help. What’s that smoke?”
“Steam. Hot springs.”
“Ah, I could use a good soak. So could you. Stop at a warm pond.”
“I’ll try,” he mumbled. He could not turn the team of four with only one hand, but if he let go of his aunt she might be hurt, and he knew he mustn’t let that happen, whatever he did.
“Tell me about the war,” she mumbled.
