From time to time the Skimmers and the tiny people called Rooftoppers chimed in as well, and Barrick began to grasp how little he had truly known about his father’s kingdom, especially its capitol, when he lived in Southmarch.
“A question occurs to us,” Queen Upsteeplebat said at last. “Where are the Funderlings? Where are the stonecutters? The children of Egye-Var are here, as are those of us who worship the Lord of the Peak.…” She gestured to her Rooftoppers. “But where are the minions of old Karisnovois, King of the Mud and the Rock?”
Aesi’uah turned to look at her mistress, Yasammez, but it was Saqri the queen who spoke instead.
“That is part of the reason we are here,” Saqri told her. “The Funderlings are at this moment far below us, fighting to protect the deep place they call the Mysteries from the autarch and his thousands—the place we call Ancestor’s Blood.”
“What do you mean, fighting? Below us?” Barrick didn’t like the sound of that at all. “We sit here talking when this autarch is already in the depths?”
Yasammez stirred. “Too late to pretend innocence, last bearer,” she told Barrick coldly. “Come out and speak or hold your peace.” After this cryptic remark, she stared at him for a long moment, then lowered her dark, dark eyes once more.
“We would hear the answer that this young man seeks,” said Upsteeplebat. “But first we would know his name.”
It was bizarre for Barrick to realize he could be in a meeting of nearly a hundred souls in his own castle—or at least beneath it—but not be recognized. He bowed toward the tiny, handsome woman. “I am Barrick Eddon, son of King Olin, Majesty. I am a prince… now the only prince… of Southmarch.”
The murmur of surprise that rose seemed laced with more than a few angry mutters. Most of the latter seemed to be coming from the Skimmers. Turley, their leader, turned to Barrick with a worried look.
“Your pardon that we didn’t recognize you, Prince Barrick. My daughter speaks well of your family—especially your sister, whom she helped leave the castle.”
“My sister? Briony?” It had taken a moment for his sister’s name to come to him. Briony seemed… diminished now, somehow, her place in his memory and thoughts smaller than it had been in the past, as though a mist had flowed between them. “Is she truly here?”
“She lives,” said Saqri. “But I cannot discover where she is. These days the restlessness of the sleeping gods disrupts all the gifts of Grandmother Void, but what have become most difficult are far-seeing and far-talking.” She spread her hands—The Sea is Calm. “Later I will tell you all I know… but right now we have more pressing matters than even sisters and brothers.” She looked at Yasammez as though she would say something to her ancestor, but then turned back to the rest of those watching. “The Funderlings and the men who fight with them are far below us in the place they call the Maze, making a stand against Sulepis and all his men and monsters. The hour is fast dying when we can still help them directly. Thus we come to what we think will be the final struggle.”
“But that is why we have joined together,” said Upsteeplebat through her speaking-trumpet. The tent quieted so everyone could hear her. “The Exiles and the Firstborn, the commoners and the high ones of the Fireflower—we have joined together to fight for our home. Why do we waste time talking?” She pulled a tiny streak of silver from a sheath and lifted it high. “I pledge my sword as a token of my people’s willingness to risk their lives in the service of this goal.”
The roar of shrill cheers from the box was drowned out by Turley Longfingers, who rose yet again to say, “All well and good, but why should we? What benefits our clans when we could be away before the next tide and find elsewhere to fish and ply our crafts?”
“There is more to a decision to fight with us…” Saqri began, but Yasammez abruptly rose to her feet beside her, swift and ominous as a black cloud scudding in from the horizon.
“The water-man is right that this is no fight for his people,” Yassamez declared, “but he is wrong about the reason.” She looked around the room from her thicket of armored spikes, her anger almost visible. Some of the mortals actually cringed as her gaze touched them. “The reason the Skimmers should not fight—that none of you should fight—is because there is no point. Victory cannot be snatched from the jaws of this failure because these are the final moments of the Long Defeat. Ancient apologies should be made and accepted by those…” she looked directly at Saqri,”… who believe in such things. But the rest of you might just as well return to your families to spend your last hours with them. There is no cure for this disease. There is nothing ahead of us but death.” Her long pale fingers rose to the ember-red stone on her breast. “So I declare as holder of the Seal of War.” She said this not in anger, but with calm and horrifying certainty. “Those who ignore me will learn soon enough that I speak the truth.”
And then Yasammez turned and walked from the tent, leaving open mouths and silence behind her.
19. Mummery
“The north was almost empty of men in those days because of the great cold that had followed the Theomachy, after Zmeos, the jealous god of the sun’s fire, was defeated by his three brothers, Perin, Erivor, and Kernios… ”
Ferras Vansen could barely sit still. “Where are they? Where are the Qar? I thought we had an understanding!” The fearsome Yasammez was beyond anyone’s understanding, of course, but her councillor Aesi’uah had as much as promised Vansen that the Qar would fight side side by side with Vansen and the Funderlings—after all, what else could the Twilight folk do?
“I do not mind waiting a little while longer for them,” Cinnabar said. “It will give me time enough time to put on my armor. Where is my son, Calomel? He was going to help me with it.” The magister shook his head mournfully. “I have not worn armor since my youthful days in the warders. Even if it will still fit me, I fear I misremember which strap goes to which buckle… Calomel? Where are you, boy?” When the Funderling youth appeared, his father said, “Go and get it all for me, son. It’s time.” Calomel trotted off.
The guards brought the Qar’s messenger to Vansen and the other commanders.
“Spelter?” said Malachite Copper. “They sent you?”
Vansen glanced up in surprise as the drow entered the makeshift command post. He liked Spelter, but why should the Qar use a humble military scout as their envoy when so many others like Aesi’uah could speak the mortal tongue just as well?
The bearded man bowed, a quick downward flick of his chin. His inscrutable, vulpine face seemed even more blank than usual. “Magisters, Captain—I bring you greetings from Lady Yasammez.”
“I am glad to have her greetings,” Vansen said, “but what I need is to know what’s in her mind. She gave me to understand the autarch was her enemy, too. He is not stopping, and we are falling back to protect the Mysteries.”