“It might. Well, it would. But there are two things that prohibit that from working. Again, when we are separated by great distances, even the most talented can only convey a few images at any one time. No one I’ve ever met could maintain the focus and concentration long enough to make… mind-writing like you described work. Or effectively anyway.”
“And the second thing?”
She took a step closer and said, “I will take that blanket, now.”
It took me a moment to comprehend, but after I handed it to her, she wrapped it around her shoulders. “The other is, something lively, colorful, dynamic-that’s easier to recall, receive, pass along. I can’t tell you why, precisely. But all of the memories in our language, our code, are meaningful. They are rarely static, and they are the kind of thing you would attach emotion to. That’s what makes a memory powerful. Here. Let me show you.”
Before I had a chance to decline, she closed her eyes and then I suddenly smelled an unexpected and potent odor: ginger. It bit at the nostrils so hard I could nearly taste it, and my stomach grumbled. The smell grew more powerful, and then faded away immediately as if it never existed at all. Immediately, another odor hit, equally out of place in the forest-bananas, overripe but not having spoiled completely. I’d only smelled them a few times, as they weren’t native to Anjuria, but there was no confusing the smell with anything else.
This disappeared as quickly as it came, though, replaced by a pungent perfume that swirled with vanilla and lavender and hints of some other cloying thing I couldn’t place. Followed immediately by the stinging brine and dead fish of the sea.
I would have suspected I was losing my mind if I hadn’t known it was merely being played with.
When the final odor disappeared, leaving the night air somehow flat and almost destitute, I said, “That’s amazing. Those are all yours? Memories of smells?”
“No. Those are shared memories. From early training, actually. Memories of smells are easier to transfer than images for some reason. I suppose emotions get caught up in them more? Not sure. Anyway, those are some of the first we learn to pick up and pass on.”
Now that I had her talking, I figured it was time to circle back to my original question. “So, what was the message?”
“Hmm?”
“The message you sent to someone back at Sunwrack.”
She suddenly handed the blanket back. “I’ve already blathered more than I should. And your bladder will pop soon. Get some rest, Arki.”
And just as she had the night before, she melted into the darkness and was gone, leaving me standing there, cursing myself for being so clumsy. And also a bit in awe.
Sleep would be even more difficult prey now, but I knew I had to try.
A hand shook my shoulder, and it was rough enough that I guessed I must have fallen into a deep sleep, despite the cold, the damp, and the uneven ground only slightly more comfortable than sleeping on broken glass.
I tried to orient myself. It was still dark, and the hand was still shaking me. I sat up and told whoever it was I was awake.
The hand withdrew. “Thought you might have died or something,” Vendurro said. “Weren’t even snoring, just curled up like some stone gargoyle.”
I looked around. Nearly everyone else was moving, gathering their sleeping rolls, packing any loose items, though we were all pretty light in that department, most of the supplies being back in the wagon or on the pack horses.
Vendurro stood, and I got to my feet as well, stiff all over, the blanket still wrapped tight. Everywhere I looked, breath was ghosting in the air. We were moving somewhere in a hurry. “What’s happening?”
“Can’t say for a certainty. Cap seemed real intent on getting the crew going. But whatever it is, it’s happening big and happening soon. Let’s hoof it.”
Almost with alarm, I realized the last thing I’d been thinking about before falling into that deep sleep was Skeelana, and that I was looking around at our party, trying to spot her.
I shook my head and focused on keeping up with Vendurro as we made our way through brambles and brush and onto the base of the hill that led up to the ridge. Though it took me long enough to recognize it, having been woken from the depths, it struck me suddenly that in addition to the lamellar on full display, weapons buckled and strapped on, shields slung over backs or bucklers clipped to belts, everyone was carrying loaded crossbows as well.
Vendurro must have read my thoughts. “Might get ugly right quick. Fighting in the dark is worse than fighting in full-on day. Can’t see the carnage or bloodletting, true enough, which is something of a blessing, but you also can’t make out friend from foe. Leads to bad decisions, bloody mistakes, even panic, you don’t have a steady hand running the crew. Lucky for us, we got Cap. He’ll see us through, even if we need to start loosing bolts before sunup. Buckle that quiver, ready that bolter.” I couldn’t be sure, but I think he smiled.
The small company was gathered together, looking to Captain Killcoin and his lieutenants who were standing a little further apart, arguing with Soffjian from the looks of it. The captain might have rankled at her being involved at all in this operation, but she did have the habit of turning him and his chief advisors into a unified front. Hewspear and Mulldoos might have had leave to question their captain’s decisions in private, at least to a point, but they never failed to support him in front of the troops, and never more so than when she was aligned on one side, and the three of them on the other.
I saw Skeelana then, holding herself apart from the rest, observing either everyone or no one. She was even less equipped for a confrontation than I was. Well, except for her ability to warp men’s minds of course. There was that.
Soffjian shook her head, rather violently, and then walked away, joining Skeelana, speaking quickly and quietly, clearly unhappy with the situation.
Captain Killcoin saw Vendurro and summoned him over with a quick wave of his arm, and when I didn’t immediately follow, he waved faster. I ran to catch up, ignoring the glances from the soldiers around me. Some were likely indifferent to my presence or my proximity to their captain, but I frequently sensed that others were none too pleased, even if being a part of Braylar’s inner circle meant increased likelihood of receiving a tongue lashing.
There was another Syldoon, one of the pair on watch at the ridge, I gathered, who had been waiting for Soffjian to move off but now joined the group as well. I approached the five men as Hewspear asked the soldier, “Has there been any movement? Anything unusual?”
The soldier had bloated lips and small eyes that could charitably have been described as beady. “No, sir. We alternated, just like you and Cap ordered. Been a fresh eye on the site the whole night. Torches on the wall, dying camp fires among the Brunesmen, so hard to make too much out. But nothing real peculiar.”
Mulldoos drummed his hand on the buckler on his hip as he faced Braylar. “What do you want us to do, Cap? Everybody got all dressed to scrap, but seems like we might be a mite early to the party yet.”
Captain Killcoin was looking up the hill, one hand on the top of Blood-sounder’s haft. I wondered if maybe he needed the elaborate whirling to capture the least muddied images and sensations, as he’d done in the grass. But even some of his men were familiar with the odd divinations, the two women in the group surely weren’t, and I knew he was in no hurry to reveal anything to them unless it was bled out of him.
I thought he was going to have to admit that Mulldoos was right, and order everyone to unclench the nerves and cool the bloodlust, but then I saw movement further up the hill, and heard metal and gear gently rattling as the other solider who’d been manning the ridge jogged down to us, stones and rotting leaves kicked ahead of him.