“But what is it? Why us? Why the Eddons?”
“Because of love,” he said. “Because of treachery and death, too. But mostly because of love.” And then he told her a tale so astounding that for a few moments Briony forgot everything else and thought of nothing but her father’s pained voice.
“We have… fairy blood?” she asked when he had fallen silent at last. “The Eddons… ?”
“The Qar claim it is the blood of a god,” Olin said. “That is what the autarch believes as well. That is why he keeps me, he says…”
“To do what?”
Her father tried to explain, but at last shook his head—she could feel it moving violently against her hand. “I do not understand it all for certain, but remember—we have only until the midnight at the end of Midsummer’s Day to prevent him—he has told me that hour is when this will all take place. It’s only a scant few days away now.” He hesitated; she could feel him deciding not to frighten her more than he had to. Had he always been so transparent to her? Or was it Briony herself who had changed? “Quickly,” he said, “while we still have time, tell me all your news about…” But he never finished the sentence. Voices were approaching the tent from somewhere behind her. Olin quickly stepped away.
“Hide,” he muttered. “Quickly!”
She had barely an instant to back away from the spot and hide before the tent flap flew back and a guard stood in the opening with a torch. As Olin turned toward the light, she saw her father for the first time and her heart flooded over with love for him. He was so thin! A group of children were ranged behind him, almost a dozen in all, sitting or lying down on the straw piled at the bottom of the cage.
Briony watched a tall, thin old man in a minutely decorated robe step in beside the guard. He gestured and another guard began unlocking the bars. “Tell your young friends that if any of them come too close to the bars, they will be killed,” the old man said. “I want no trouble, King Olin. It is time for you to go back. Whoever those bandits were, they have fled. The White Hounds are after them and will make short work of them.”
“I prefer not to go back now,” said her father, his voice pitched a little louder than it needed to be. “I like it here with the other prisoners. They are but children, you know—no one has showed them any kindness at all. I thought better of you, Vash.”
“I do the autarch’s work, King Olin. And I credit you for your sympathetic heart. but that is all the more reason you must go back—I do not want you fomenting revolts among the children.” He said something in Xixian to the guards. The lock clanked and the door creaked, and Olin let himself be led out by a guard at each arm.
“Very well,” her father called back over his shoulder, as if to the other prisoners. “Just remember, I love you all. Have courage—there’s hope as long as you remember who you are!”
Briony was weeping as the flap fell back. The guards were long gone before she dared to move or speak again. A few quiet conversations proved that the child-captives could tell her nothing interesting. She felt terrible leaving them to their unknown fate, but there was nothing else she could do. At the next distraction she slipped out of the tent.
I love you, too, Father. Briony hurried across the darkened green. With luck, she would be back in Eneas’ camp by midnight and they could think of a way to save King Olin. If love has cursed our family, perhaps it can save us as well.
17. Defending the Mystery
“The village was in mourning because so many of the young men of the town had died during the Great War between the gods, which the church calls the Theomachy. The castaways were welcomed with great kindness…
“They are too many!” the young Funderling shrieked as he rushed past. His face was dirty and flecked with blood, and he had dropped his weapon and shield somewhere. “The autarch’s army has overrun Moonless Reach… ! Run!”
Ferras Vansen turned to grab him, but Malachite Copper was equally determined not to let the soldier’s panic affect anyone else. He caught the fellow’s arm first and hit him hard with a flat hand on the side of the face. The Funderling soldier stared at Copper in surprise, took a wobbly step, then crumpled and fell to his knees.
“Now get up, man, and show that there’s some mortar where your stones don’t fit true. What’s going on?”
“Forgive me, Master Copper… !” The young fellow was terrified—it was clear that all he wanted to do was to keep running.
“Give us your news,” Copper said, “like the sworn apprentice to the Stonecutter’s Guild that you are.”
The soldier’s lip trembled, but he did his best to harden his expression; it was a less than perfect show. “They’ve broken down the last barrier, and they’re driving Jasper and the rest back like sand fleas, Master Copper. It was terrible.” He turned to Ferras Vansen and the others as if they had disagreed. “Terrible! Flames and something like burning oil all over—people screaming… and the smell, Masters, the smell… !”
“What could that be, Physician?” Vansen asked. “Chaven, did you hear?”
“Ah, ah, what are we discussing? Yes, the flames, that would be some blend of naptha and resin.” The physician appeared slightly befuddled, as though he had only been half-listening. “War Fire, as they used to call it in Hierosol.” He turned to Vansen. “There is nothing you can do against it except try to douse the flames, but they burn cruelly hot.”
“I do not believe that,” Vansen said. “There is a defense against any weapon—Murroy used to tell me that.”
“Who?” The physician looked surprised.
“Never mind.” He turned to the frightened soldier, who had calmed a little. “Do you bring any message from Sledge Jasper? Does he live?”
“I… I do not know, C-Captain.” The Funderling looked frightened of Vansen now, finally realizing how badly he had acted. “When the guardhouse came down… and then we were attacked… I should have…”
“But you thought you were the only one who could carry the news,” said Cinnabar Quicksilver, who had been silent thus far. “We understand, son. Was Dolomite still holding his section when you went past? Think. He was? Good—now go and find the quartermaster’s fire, and he’ll give you something to drink and a place to lie down. We’ll get help to Jasper and the rest.”
“Th-thank you, Magister.”
As the young soldier limped off, Malachite Copper had already begun finding reinforcements to help Sledge Jasper and the rest keep their withdrawal back to Ocher Bar from turning into a rout.
“I wish you had not done that, Magister,” Vansen quietly told Cinnabar. “He deserted his fellows. He did not even wait to see if his commanding officer had survived…”
“These are not true soldiers, Captain,” Cinnabar reminded him. “They are brave men, but they have not learned the ways of an army. I don’t think they will, either—we just don’t have the time. But I will do my best in the future to let you discipline them as you see fit.”
Now Vansen felt a little ashamed. He was not a Funderling so he could not understand them—was that what Cinnabar was trying to tell him? Ferras Vansen swallowed his resentment. This was not the time.
As more of Jasper and Dolomite’s troops arrived, they told a story much the same as the first frightened warder’s, but with an unexpected ending.