The Thousand Names Part 38

"Bobby!" she shouted. "Bobby, wake up!"

The corporal's eyes snapped open and she sat up with a yawn. "Sir? Did I-"

"Come on," Winter snapped. "Feor's gone. We've got to catch up to her before she gets into trouble."

"Yessir!"

Bobby jumped to her feet, military reflex overcoming hangover fuzziness, and followed Winter down the corridor. Winter heard stirring in the other rooms, and a few angry shouts, but paid them no mind. The common room was dark and empty, with no sign of Feor, and Winter dashed across it and out into the predawn street.

Thankfully, the Khandarai girl had not turned off into one of the many twisting alleys that webbed the lower city. Even this early in the morning, a fair number of people were about, mostly tradesmen and porters making deliveries. Among the increasing bustle, Winter caught sight of Feor moving down the street at a jog, heading farther out into the slums and away from the gate to the inner city.

She'd made it three streets before they caught up to her, forcing their way through the early-morning crowd. Winter grabbed Feor's good arm and jerked her to a halt, breathing hard. Spikes of pain lanced through her head with every heartbeat, and her throat felt as though it had been rubbed with sandpaper. Bra.s.s b.a.l.l.s of the Beast. Whose brilliant idea was this, again?

Feor turned, and after a moment she lost her thousand-yard stare.

"Feor!" Winter said. "Are you all right?"

"She's here," Feor said urgently. "Please let me go."

"Who's here? Where are you going?"

"Mother is here. I have to find her." She looked in the direction she'd been running. "I can feel her."

"Mother?" Winter fought for breath. "I thought . . . you said . . ."

"I have to go to her," Feor said. She looked back at Winter, her eyes full of tears. "Please. You don't understand."

"Sir?" Bobby said. "What's going on?"

Winter looked back at the corporal. Remarkably, she didn't even seem to be out of breath, much less suffering the aftereffects of a night's debauchery.

"She thinks she's found her mother," Winter said in Vordanai. "Not literally her mother. The high priestess of her order, or something like that. She wants to go to her."

Feor jerked at Winter's grip again. Winter bit her lip, indecisive.

"We can't stay here," Bobby said.

A quick glance up and down the street confirmed this. The three women were the center of a widening circle of stares, and the cast of the gray-skinned faces was decidedly unfriendly. Winter wasn't sure if they thought they were seeing two Colonials accost a Khandarai girl, or if a general dislike of foreigners was enough, but either way things seemed to be taking an unhealthy turn.

"We can't let her wander off on her own," Winter said. "I'm going with her. You should-"

"I'm coming with you," Bobby said, and smiled. "Besides, I think we'll be safer as a group."

Winter didn't have the strength to argue, and wasn't sure she wanted to in any case. She turned back to Feor.

"We're coming with you," Winter said. "No arguments."

Feor blinked, then shook her head. "Mother will-"

"I said no arguments. Come on-we can't just stand here."

The Khandarai girl hesitated, then gave a quick nod. She set a fast pace down the street, and Winter and Bobby followed close behind.

"Feor, how far do we have to go?" Winter said.

"Not far," Feor said. Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration. "She's moving, I think. And there are others-around this next street-"

She broke off, looking up. Winter followed her gaze. Ahead of them, a faint glow was building over the city. For a moment Winter took it for dawn. Then her slightly befuddled mind reminded her that they were walking basically west, away from the inner city. The light grew brighter as she watched, until she could make out coils of smoke rising into the still-darkened sky.

Fire. Shouts of alarm were beginning to rise all around. Fire was the eternal terror of every citizen of the lower city.

"Sir!"

Winter whipped around in time to see Feor take off again, toward the flames. There was no time to think. Bobby was already pounding after her, and Winter gritted her teeth against the pain in her head and followed.

a a a For the first few moments they were fighting a sudden tide of people. The beginnings of the blaze brought the lower-city folk out of their buildings like fleeing roaches, carrying their children or bundles of goods. There was no effort to fight the flames, and remarkably little screaming or confusion. This was a moment that these people had expected their whole lives, and they reacted with a silent, deadly determination to escape.

Winter was buffeted from all sides, swept backward a few steps, and torn away from Bobby. She looked about in panic and finally spotted the corporal sheltering in the gap between two wooden buildings. Winter worked her way over, shoving so hard she was practically knocking people over, until she could get out of the main stream of traffic.

"We'll never find her in this," Winter shouted in Bobby's ear. "The roofs, maybe-"

Then she stopped, because the human flood tapered off as quickly as it had begun, leaving the street empty except for a few slower-moving groups or those who'd been knocked down or dazed in the mayhem. Winter got a glimpse of Feor, who had, incredibly, made progress against the tide and was nearly at the end of the street. She pointed, got a nod from Bobby, and started to run again.

No actual flames were visible yet, but the glow was definitely brighter, and Winter could smell woodsmoke. Feor rounded the corner a few yards ahead of them, and Winter nearly collided with two young Khandarai helping an elderly man down the road. She spun out of their way at the last moment, ignoring the vicious looks, and kept after Feor. Bobby was a few steps ahead, but when she came to the corner she suddenly pulled up short, and Winter nearly cannoned into her as well.

The next street was a short one, only twenty or thirty yards before it ended in a T-junction, and judging by the distance they'd run they had to be getting close to the outskirts of the city. The glow was much more intense here, and Winter could see tongues of flame licking up in the brightening sky. None were close, however, and she realized there must be two fires, one to either side of them. Straight ahead, in the direction that led out of the city, the night was still dark.

A dozen men stood in the street. They wore white tunics and grubby white trousers, overlaid with a full-length black hooded cloak that each had tied in a peculiar loop around his waist to leave his arms and legs free. All carried drawn swords, the distinctive heavy-ended falchions of the Desoltai. They were young men, full-bearded, with dark hair and skin a darker shade of gray than the urban Khandarai. One raider had his face concealed behind a blank gray mask, featureless except for a pair of eye holes.

Winter knew him, though she had never seen him personally. Every member of the Colonials had heard the story of Malik-dan-Belial, the Steel Ghost of the Great Desol. He had been causing trouble for the prince and his Vordanai allies since long before the Redemption. Supposedly he was a sorcerer, or had made a pact with demonic powers. She'd always dismissed that kind of campfire story-but now, face-to-face with that blank, glowering mask, she thought about the arcane light that had bloomed under Feor's hands and wondered. He didn't need demonic powers, though. He had ten armed men, and she and Bobby wore only knives. Winter skidded to a halt, her heart pounding, and looked around for Feor.

One of the buildings letting onto the street was an ancient tumbledown stone place, little more than a wall around a central courtyard with more modern wooden buildings at the back. The makeshift front gates of this relic had been opened, and a small caravan was emerging.

First came a huge, bald man whom Winter recognized as one of the eckmahl, eunuch servants like the one who had originally accompanied Feor. Behind the giant walked an old woman, wrapped from head to toe in white linen under a tattered gray robe. She was supported on one side by a boy of fourteen or fifteen, who was also as bald as an egg. Another man walked beside her with the air of a bodyguard.

After these three came a cart, a four-wheeled vehicle with long wooden poles at the front and rear instead of traces. These had crossbars allowing men to haul the load, and there were eight-four ahead and four behind-doing just that. These men were dressed like ordinary Khandarai laborers, but they pushed with a measured, steady tread that spoke of coordination and training. Each of the haulers was trailed by a slowly dissipating wisp of white vapor, as though they were all smoking something in unison, and Winter caught a whiff of the smell of burning sugar.

At the sight of the interlopers, the old woman and her minders stepped out of the way of the cart. It proceeded slowly past the Desoltai and up the street, toward the edge of the city. Leaning on her young companion, the crone stepped carefully toward Feor, while the desert raiders looked at one another uncertainly.

The Steel Ghost said something, too quietly for Winter to catch. When the crone spoke, her Khandarai was dry but intelligible.

"We will attend to them in a moment." Her eyes were fixed on Feor. "First I must welcome my poor wayward lamb."

"Mother!" Feor fell to her knees, sobbing, and prostrated herself full-length on the dirt in front of the old woman. "Mother, I beg forgiveness."

"Shhh," the old woman clucked, in a tone that was not at all rea.s.suring. "All will be well, my child. You have been away for a long time."

Feor, head bowed, said nothing. The old woman looked up at the two Vordanai. Her face was invisible beneath a deep cowl, but the ends of bandages hung limp on her chest and swayed whenever she moved.

"And these are your friends?" she said. "Bring them here."

These words finally broke through Winter's indecision. Time to run. She didn't want to leave Feor, but she and Bobby weren't going to be able to rescue the girl from a dozen armed men. Maybe I can round up a squad or two and intercept them- She grabbed Bobby's arm and turned back up the street, then stopped in surprise. Standing in their path was the young man she'd a.s.sumed was a bodyguard, bald-headed like the rest but fit and dangerous-looking. She hadn't seen him move. He raised his hands, blood dripping slowly from his palms.

"Don't!" The shout came from Feor. "Mother, please. Leave them be. They saved me."

"Did they?"

"Sir?" Bobby said quietly. "I can go left, you go right, and one of us should be able to hit him from behind. He hasn't got a sword."

The young man smiled at them. Winter swallowed hard.

"I don't think that would be . . . wise," she said to Bobby.

"But-"

Footsteps behind them cut the discussion short. Three of the Desoltai arrived unhurriedly, and together with the bodyguard they escorted the two Colonials back up the street. The cart was still grinding away, and the rest of the Desoltai had gone with it, including the Steel Ghost. The old woman remained with Feor, who was speaking rapidly in low tones. Winter caught a few words-she was telling her story, sometimes tripping over her tongue in her effort to get it out quickly.

Something the girl said made the old woman look up sharply at Bobby. Winter kept one hand on the corporal's arm, and she could feel her stiffen.

"She's . . ." Bobby put one hand to the side of her head. "I can feel something. Something's wrong."

Feor had finished, returning to her facedown crouch. The old woman ignored her, focusing on the two Vordanai. When she finally spoke, her tone was even less friendly than it had been.

"I had hoped for better sense from you, my child."

"It seemed the only way. I owed them a debt."

"There are no debts of honor with heretics," the old woman snapped. "No deals with raschem."

"I'm sorry, Mother." Feor pressed her forehead to the ground. "Please. I beg for mercy."

"Mercy," the old woman said, almost contemplatively. Then she made a hawking noise, like she wanted to spit. "I cannot. Obv-scar-iot must be released to one who is more worthy of it."

"I accept your judgment," Feor said. "But these two-"

"Are raschem. If we let them go, they will fall into the grip of the schemer Orlanko. No." She shook her head. "I grant you the mercy of a swift death. Onvidaer, see to it." The hood swung up the street, toward the wagon. "We are falling behind. Akataer, with me."

"Mother!" Feor looked up, anguish in her voice, but the old woman had already turned her back. The young man, Onvidaer, stood in her place, while the three Desoltai gathered closer around Winter and Bobby.

Three. Winter's mind whirled desperately. There had to be a way out, somewhere. Turn and grab the sword arm of the closest? She might wrest the weapon away, if he was inattentive, but she was no swordsman. And Bobby would be left unarmed against the other two.

Her chest was tight. Once the old woman had pa.s.sed out of sight, Feor climbed slowly to her feet and stood in front of Onvidaer. She was a head shorter than the young man, but she looked up at him with a mix of defiance and something Winter couldn't quite place. Something seemed to pa.s.s invisibly between them.

Feor reached out and grabbed his hand, guiding it up to her own throat. She raised her chin slightly to let his fingers tighten around her windpipe, and there was a long, frozen moment.

Then Onvidaer let his hand fall away. "I cannot," he said wonderingly.

"You must," Feor said. Her throat was smeared with the blood from his palms. "She will feel my death. She must feel it."

He shook his head. "I cannot."

One of the Desoltai stepped forward. "I will take the duty, if it pleases you," he said. His tone was respectful, but Onvidaer glared at him as though he were a poisonous insect.

"Please, Onvi." Feor closed her eyes. "It is Mother's judgment. I accept it."

There were only two Desoltai watching her now. Winter tensed.

Onvidaer pursed his lips briefly, then appeared to reach a decision. The Desoltai who'd stepped forward opened his mouth to speak, but got no further. The young man stepped forward and brought his hand into the side of the desert raider's head. The crack of shattering bone was audible, and the Desoltai was lifted off his feet to fall in a crumpled heap on the earthen street.

The other two Desoltai started to shout and raise their swords, but Onvidaer moved so fast he was a blur. He grabbed the sword arm of the first, twisting it easily out of the way with another crack, then punched the man in the chest. Something crunched, and the Desoltai staggered backward. Before he could fall, Onvidaer spun behind the third man, grasped his head between his palms, and twisted it one hundred eighty degrees.

The two Desoltai silently collapsed. Feor, still staring at where Onvidaer had been, was trembling.

"Let these two go, then," Feor said. "But she must feel me die."

"No!" Winter said involuntarily.

"She must!" Feor said, turning to face Onvidaer. "Or you will die in my place."

The young man's face was an agony of indecision. He raised one hand halfheartedly, then let it fall. Feor, shaking her head in frustration, bent to s.n.a.t.c.h up one of the fallen Desoltai's weapons.

"Wait," Winter said, thinking desperately. "Just wait."

Onvidaer turned to her, apparently aware for the first time that she was speaking his language.

"A Vordanai patrol turned up," Winter said. "Ten men. Twenty," she corrected, thinking of the speed at which Onvidaer had moved. "You had to fight your way free."

Feor's eyes glittered with tears. Onvidaer c.o.c.ked his head, considering.

"A patrol," he said. "Following you."

Winter nodded eagerly, but Feor shook her head. "You will still be punished for failure!"

"Punished, but not killed," said Onvidaer. "I will endure."

"I-"

"Go," he said, gently removing the Desoltai blade from her grip. "Take your friends and go. Leave, and never return."

Feor fell to her knees. "N-never . . ."

Onvidaer looked up at Winter. "You will care for her?"

"Yes," Winter said without hesitation.

"Good. Do not make me regret allowing you to live."

He turned and ran after his mistress, great loping strides carrying him along faster than he had any right to move. Winter, Bobby, and Feor were left alone with the three Desoltai corpses.