He waited until the young lieutenant pulled up and hailed him. “Windwir is closed,” he said.
The wind rippled out as the magicked scouts took up positions around them.
Petronus pointed. “Windwir is a {;Wiv› field of bones. We aim to bury them.”
The faintest hint of surprise registered on the young man’s face. “I’m afraid I can’t let you pass.”
Petronus stepped closer. “What is your name, Lieutenant?”
“Brint,” the young man said. He studied Petronus and the motley band of travelers.
“Have you not faced a loved one’s passing?”
Petronus watched the young man’s face. He saw the stab of loss rise to the surface and then quickly vanish as the officer forced his emotions aside. It was just slight enough that the untrained eye might miss it, and Petronus suddenly realized he wasn’t dealing with the spoiled son of an Entrolusian noble.
Petronus’s hands moved close to his body so that others could not see. Whose are you? he signed, first in the intelligence subverbal of the Forest Houses and then in the hand dialect of House Li Tam.
The lieutenant blinked but kept his own hands still. “I have seen several loved ones pass,” he said in a quiet voice.
Petronus leaned forward, his voice also low. “Did you bury them or let them lie where they fell?”
The first look was anger, but it was followed by a look of deep weariness. The lieutenant said nothing for a full minute, then stared down at Petronus. He whistled, and the wind blew back from around them as the Delta Scouts retreated. When they were out of earshot, he leaned down from his saddle and spoke in a quiet voice.
“Be watchful. I can let you pass but I cannot keep you safe.”
“The light will keep us safe,” Petronus said, quoting the Whymer Bible’s opening admonition.
The young lieutenant shook his head. “There is no light now.” He looked around again, scanning for any sign that his men were nearby. “And the one now asked to guard it is the same who snuffed it out. You will not be safe here.”
Then, he turned his horse and rode off in the direction of the wind.
By nightfall, Petronus and his ragged band of gravediggers had set up their camp by the river, just outside what had once been the river dock gate and clearly in compliance with the Exercise of Holiness. That area had been granted special Dispensation to keep the supply chain moving through the duration of the Exercise in years past.
The one good thing about having been Pope was understanding the rules one had to play by.
Rudolfo
Rudolfo and his escort rode northwest to the Papal Summer Palace high up and secluded in the Dragon’s Spine. Riding high in his saddle, he could see the purple line of those jagged peaks on the horizon. Once they reached the foothills, they’d turn west and follow them until they found the Waybringer’s Path and followed it up to the palace and the village that had sprung up around it to care for the Androfrancine foothold when it was not in use.
He’d left two mornings ago, slipping out of the camp before the sun rose, dressed in subdued colors and trading his turban for a black hood. His half-squad of scouts rode, too. He would not have it otherwise, and he would not approach this so-called Pope with magicked scouts regardless of the war.
“What will you do?” Gregoric had asked him as he climbed into the saddle.
Rudolfo had settled himself in, whipping his dark cloak over his shoulder. “I will tell the truth,” he said, smiling despite the weariness that pulled at him. “Though I’m not sure they will hear it.”
He’d seen the note declaring the Exercise of Holiness and had crumpled it into a ball when he saw that Sethbert had been deputized by the new King of Windwir.
That pompous cesspool carp had sent him a note three days before the Papal decree. Rudolfo should have expected this sudden setback.
You will pay for what you have done, the note read, and Rudolfo knew that though on the surface it could be read in many ways, it was about the Lady Jin Li Tam. It had taken some time for the spies to take word back to the Overseer-largely because the one Physician of Penitent Torture Rudolfo had brought along had not yet finished redeeming them, turning them to Rudolfo’s cause. Rudolfo was pleased to send those spies back to Sethbert with news of his betrothal to Jin Li Tam.
Perhaps, he thought, that had been an error in judgment.
The forests and grasslands stretched out before them now and they raced north, stopping only when they had to. The narrow road-more a track really-passed through a few scattered settlements, but the riders stayed low on their horses, their eyes fixed on the line of mountains.
They rounded a corner and a white bird dropped from the sky into Rudolfo’s net. He held up his hand and they halted. They waited, and Lieutenant Alyn, the lead scout, made his way back to them ten or fifteen minutes later.
“There’s an Androfrancine caravan yonder,” he said, pointing to a point where the road disap {thes Npeared around a slight rise. “Mostly on foot. A few with carts or wagons.”
Rudolfo stroked his beard. “Are they armed?”
The scout nodded. “A few guards-none in gray. They look to be up from Pylos or Turam.”
Making their way to the Palace, he realized, compelled to obey their Pope. “Very well,” Rudolfo said. “I will ride forward. You will accompany me.” The others looked uncomfortable but unsurprised. “The rest of you-follow at a distance.”
Rudolfo rode ahead and Lieutenant Alyn fell in just behind. He reached beneath his cloak and loosened his sword in its scabbard as he went.
As he cantered around the bend, Rudolfo raised his hand in greeting. He quickly scanned the collection of carts and old men in tattered robes, sized up the handful of guards, and whistled a tune from the Hymnal of the Wandering Army low enough for Alyn to hear it. The lieutenant nodded once, slowly.
“These are dark days for pilgrimage,” he said to the guard who approached him. “I’ve a half-squad of scouts and would offer you escort if you ride to heed the Pope’s homecoming call.”
The guard, riding a tired old paint, scratched his head, pushing his steel cap back as he did. “You bear the coloring of the Gypsy Scouts,” he said.
Rudolfo nodded. “We do.”
“You’d do best to ride on then. There is no longer any kin-clave for the Foresters.” He waved to the Androfrancines, some of whom were now standing and looking in their direction. “Especially with this lot.”
Rudolfo studied them. “Really?”
The guard lowered his voice. “Me, I’m a Turam Bookhouse guard on half-rations and half-pay to see these oldsters back to their new home. I care little for the politics of kin-clave. The rumor birds say Sethbert brought down Windwir with a spell.”
“It’s true,” Rudolfo said. “I’ve seen it.”
“Yet the Writ of Shunning is to the Foresters and their Gypsy King… that damned Rudolfo.”
Rudolfo shrugged. “Who can know what to believe?” He watched the other guards as they also approached now. “Still,” he said, “you are short a few blades for the work ahead.”
The look on the guard’s face brought a smile to Rudolfo’s lips. “What work do you speak of?”
Rudolfo stretched high in the saddle and pointed north and east. “That line of scrub there marks the bank of the First River. You’ll pass within two leagues of it, and those are Marsher lands.”
The guard nodded. “Aye. We planned to slip past the Marsh King’s skirmishers in the night.”