He looked up at them again. “I’m afraid I’ve pressing matters to attend to.” He paused. “You’re free to go… but no farther than Kendrick. I may have other questions of you.”
But Neb was fairly certain he would not. Sethbert’s interest in him had been the story of Windwir’s fall. No doubt so that he could bask in his handiwork.
For a moment, he considered opening his mouth, somehow protesting this turn of events. Certainly, this old man Petros had some reason for the lies. Neb might have thought him mad, but he’d seen the hardness in the bright blue eyes and could see that the old man was playing Sethbert like a Marsh whistle. That and the familiar face and the familiar name were enough for Neb to know that he would have to figure out how to kill Sethbert another time.
As they walked out from under the canopy, he felt the pressure on his shoulder shift, and realized the old man had been speaking the entire time. His fingers, moving ever so slightly, had been tapping a message out into his shoulder. Of course, Neb didn’t know what it meant. He’d just started nonverbal language training this last year. If the school had not been destroyed, he’d have been at least competent by the end of his last year.
Once they were out of earshot, Petros leaned over. “I’ve just saved you from a foolish path.”
And suddenly Neb knew where he’d seen this man’s face before. Certainly, he was older and larger now… and dressed quite differently. But this old man bore a striking resemblance to a portrait Neb had walked under a thousand times in the Hall of the Holy Sees in the Western Wing of the Great Library, where the faces of the Popes gazed down from the walls with sober faces, careworn faces. The second newest painting-hung ne c_thext to Introspect’s-was the only face that smiled, though it was slight.
Petronus.
Of course, it couldn’t be. That man had been dead for over thirty years.
Chapter 9
Rudolfo
Rudolfo spent the day with his captains directing intelligence skirmishes on the Entrolusian advance camps. The first battle had cost the Overseer six young officers and one seasoned master sergeant along with a host of infantry. They’d also accounted for a half-squad of Sethbert’s elite Delta scouts, though there could’ve been more. It was hard to tell until the magicks wore down.
A good first battle. And he had a bird this morning from House Li Tam. Vlad Li Tam’s iron armada steamed for the Delta now and would blockade the mouths of the Three Rivers. It was a small armada, but even small it could easily handle the City States’ navy. The Androfrancines had seen to that, not wanting the bank that stored such a significant percentage of their wealth to be unprotected. And the Li Tam shipbuilders had been the only shipbuilders that could build the iron ships, even with the specifications the Androfrancines had reconstructed from the ruins of the First World.
House Li Tam’s engagement was a start, nothing more. Rudolfo knew that the Emerald Coasts had no foot soldiers or cavalry to spare. They would keep what they had near home, knowing that the City States had more to contend with than the three brigades that had ridden north to Windwir.
But the armada would help. And as word spread, others would join. Rudolfo couldn’t imagine any of the Named Lands entering the war on the side of the Entrolusians. He’d already sent a dozen birds to a dozen lords, careful to use words like The Desolation of Windwir and This War of Entrolusian Aggression. Even those who hated the Androfrancines-and there were few who did-would not be able to find common ground with someone who had burned away that city’s knowledge. Those few who sneered at the ancient Order did so out of jealousy. Rudolfo had no doubt that they’d have killed the Androfrancines, too, without a moment’s hesitation. But they would never have touched the library.
For two thousand years, the Androfrancines had built that library, storing knowledge dug from the ashes of the Old World. The wonders they’d dared share with the world-the scraps they’d doled out carefully over time-were amazing to behold. But who knew what wonders they’d kept hidden away, knowing that the world was not yet ready? Who knew what wonders they had yet to sell as humanity grew out of another adolescence, when its adulthood was cut short by the Third Cataclysm known as the Age of Laughing Madness.
For a moment he t fp›‹ least="least" isaak,="Isaak," inside="inside" innocence="innocence" in="in" immediate="immediate" hoped="hoped" himself.="himself." him="him" held.="held." held="held" head="head" having="having" had="had" fondness="fondness" felt="felt" extraordinary="extraordinary" despite="despite" counterparts="counterparts" bring="bring" between="between" been="been" back="back" at="at" androfrancine="Androfrancine" an="an" acolyte.="acolyte."›
It had been an easy decision.
Now Gregoric nudged him. “Here they come, General.”
Rudolfo looked, and down the ridge from them he saw the grass bending back as something-or several somethings-came in their direction. A brown bird lifted from their midst, and he smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “They’ve driven back another camp.”
“It’s a good start,” Gregoric said.
Rudolfo looked at him. They’d grown up together, Gregoric just a bit older. He’d been, surprisingly enough, the son of his father’s First Captain of the Gypsy Scouts. Later, when Rudolfo’s father lay dying and the mantle of the Ninefold Forest Houses was new upon Rudolfo’s twelve-year-old shoulders, he’d promoted Gregoric’s father to General. It had been his first decision, knowing that despite their seclusion in the northern, prairie-hemmed forests, the world would be watching for signs of strength in the young, new lord.
Gregoric had followed his father into the First Captaincy, and he’d been a flawless leader for the scouts. Even under crisis, it was obvious that he was getting his sleep, unlike Rudolfo. He ran a hand through his short dark hair.
“It’s a very good start,” Rudolfo agreed. “It will get harder as he applies his better assets. He’s ever been the overconfident sort-I expect he’s fared worse than he thought he would. I even think,” he continued, “that we may have done better than Lysias expected, judging by his response yesterday.”
A low whistle cut up the hill and Gregoric returned it. The underbrush rippled as the squad of Gypsy Scouts slipped into the perimeter.
“Captain,” said a nearby voice, “and General.”
“What have you learned?” Gregoric asked.
“We have another confirmation that they’re only three brigades strong. We also learned they had a survivor-a boy. Beyond that, nothing more.”
“Excellent work,” Gregoric said. “Scrub down, get your men fed and get some sleep.”
“Aye,” the first scout said. “You heard the captain.”
Rudolfo waited until they were out of earshot. “A survivor. That’s new.”
Gregoric nodded. “He has another seven brigades. That’s what concerns me.”
“And he’s still not brought forth his best effort,” Rudolfo said.
“He’ll have to pretty soon,” Gregoric said, looking down the slope. Rudolfo followed his gaze and saw another wave of movement sweeping in through the high grass.
This time a white bird flew up, and both of them drew their swords. The infantry on the perimeter saw the bird, too, and drew blades as well. Rudolfo shot a glance to the Captain of the Archers nearby, and the captain nodded.
Gregoric started down the hill and Rudolfo followed. At the foot of the hill they waited, and the squad raced past.
“They’re just behind us,” the lead scout hissed as he slipped past Gregoric.
And they were, only these weren’t the magicked scouts they’d so easily mowed through yesterday. This pack was made of harder stuff. Rudolfo felt a searing pain in his side and realized even as he swung his sword down that a knife had slipped in and cut him.