"Indeed, Lady," Musa said. "A man who accomplished all that Commander Brocker accomplished in his time would have chosen strong captains."
Fire had been thinking more of what Brocker had endured personally than what he had accomplished militarily – King Nax's mad punishment for Brocker's mysterious crime. Fire watched her three guards absently as they brought out a quick meal of bread and cheese. Mila handed Fire a plate, avoiding her eyes.
This was Mila's way now. In the last few weeks, since Archer had ended things, she'd shrunk somehow – gone silent and contrite around her lady. Fire, in turn, had been trying to be extra kind, careful not to subject Mila to Archer's presence any more than was necessary. Not a word had passed between the two women on the subject, but both of them knew that the other knew.
Ravenous, Fire tore off a piece of bread and bit into it; and noticed Mila sitting mutely, staring at her own food but not eating it. I could flay Archer, Fire thought. Sighing, she pushed her attention back to the matter of Captain Hart.
He was a man who had achieved much wealth after retiring from the army, gradually accustoming himself to comfort. Might comfort soften him now?
Over the next couple of days, Fire arranged for Hart's cell in the dungeons to be cleaned and improved. He was given fine bedding and carpets, and books, and lighting, and good food and wine, and warm water to wash whenever he asked for it; and rat traps, which were perhaps the greatest luxury of all. One day with her hair swirling around her shoulders, and wearing a dress perhaps a bit more low-cut than was her usual style, she wandered down to his underground lair to visit.
When her guard opened the door for her, he looked up from his book to see who was there. His face slackened. "I know what you're doing," he said. And perhaps he did. But it wasn't enough to stop him staring, and Fire knew she'd found her way in.
She imagined a man in prison might be lonely, especially if he had a pretty wife at home who preferred wine and young men to her husband. She sat next to him on his bed during her visits. She ate whatever food he offered her, and accepted cushions for her back. Her nearness loosened him, and a battle began that was far from easy. At his weakest, Hart was still strong.
Clara, Garan, and Nash soaked up what Fire learned like the sand of Cellar Harbour during a rainstorm.
"I still can't get him to say anything useful about Mydogg," Fire said. "But truly, we're in luck, for he happens to know a great deal about Gentian, and he's less unwilling to spill Gentian's secrets."
"He's Mydogg's ally," Clara said. "Why should we trust what he thinks he knows about Gentian? Couldn't Gentian be sending out false messengers for Mydogg to catch, just as he does with us?"
"He could," Fire said, "but I can't quite explain it – the certainty with which Hart speaks. The confidence in his assertions. He knows the tricks Mydogg and Gentian have been playing on us. He's quite positive his knowledge of Gentian is not of that ilk. He won't tell me his sources, but I'm inclined to believe his information."
"All right," Clara said. "Tell us what you've learned, and we'll use whatever means we can to confirm it."
"He says Gentian and his son, Gunner, are coming north to attend the palace gala that happens in January," Fire said.
"That's nervy," Clara said. "I'm impressed."
Garan snorted. "Now that we know about his indigestion, we can torture him with cake."
"Gentian will pretend to apologise to the court for his rebel activities," Fire said. "He'll talk of renewed friendship with the crown. But in the meantime his army will move north-east from his estate and hide in the tunnels of the Great Greys near Fort Flood. Sometime in the days after the gala, Gentian intends to assassinate both Nash and Brigan. Then he'll ride like blazes to the location of his army, and attack Fort Flood."
The twins' eyes were wide. "Not nervy after all," Garan said. "Stupid. What kind of commander starts a war in the middle of winter?"
"The kind that's trying to catch his enemy by surprise," Clara said.
"In addition to which," Garan continued, "he should send someone anonymous and expendable to do his assassinating. What'll happen to his clever plan when he gets himself killed?"
"Well," Clara said, "it's no news Gentian's stupid. And thank the Dells for Brigan's foresight. The Second is already at Fort Flood, and he's taking the First quite near there as we speak."
"What of the Third and the Fourth?" Fire asked.
"They're in the north," Clara said, "patrolling, but in readiness to fly wherever they're needed. You must tell us where they're needed."
"I've no idea," Fire said. "I cannot get him to tell me Mydogg's plans. He says Mydogg intends to do nothing – sit back while Gentian and the king reduce each other's numbers – but I know he's lying. He also says Mydogg's sending his sister, Murgda, south to the gala, which is true; but he won't tell me why."
"Lady Murgda to the gala as well!" Clara exclaimed. "What's got into everyone?"
"What else?" Garan said. "You must give us more."
"I've nothing more," Fire said. "I've told you everything. Apparently Gentian's plans have been in place for some time."
Nash was clutching his forehead. "This is very grim. Gentian has a force of some ten thousand, supposedly, and we've ten thousand at Fort Flood to meet him. But in the north we've ten thousand scattered far and wide – "
"Fifteen thousand," Fire said. "We can call on the auxiliaries."
"All right then, we've fifteen thousand scattered far and wide, and Mydogg has what? Do we even know? Twenty thousand? Twenty-one thousand? To attack wherever takes his fancy – my mother's fortress, or Fort Middle, Fort Flood if he wishes, the city itself – with days, possibly weeks, before our troops can organise to meet him."
"He can't hide twenty thousand soldiers," Clara said, "not if we're looking for them. Even in the Little Greys, he can't hide them, and he could never get all the way to the city without being seen."
"I need Brigan," Nash said. "I want Brigan here, now."
"He'll come when he can, Nash," Garan said, "and we're keeping him informed."
Fire found herself stretching out with the feelers of her mind to soothe a king who was frightened. Nash perceived what she was doing. He reached for her hand. With thanks, and with something else he couldn't help, he kissed her fingers.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was a curious matter of Dellian politics, the yearly gala at court to which everyone of any significance was invited. The seven courtyards were converted to ballrooms, and loyalists and traitors came together to dance, to sip from goblets of wine while pretending to be friends. Almost everyone capable of travel attended, though Mydogg and Gentian generally didn't dare, a pretense of friendship on their parts being a mite too incredible; and for a week or so the palace was bursting with the servants and guards and pets, and the endless requirements of guests. The stables were too crowded, and the horses fidgety.
Brocker had explained to Fire once that the gala was always held in January, to celebrate the lengthening of days. She learned now that December was a month of preparation. On every level of the palace, Fire saw workmen engaged in repairs. Window-washers hung from the courtyard ceilings and wall-washers from the balconies, polishing glass and stone.