Nearly, for she immediately saw the pallor on Righteous Drum’s cheek, saw the beads of sweat on his forehead. The Snake had trained with the Dragon, and she immediately
recognized the symptoms of nearly fatal ch’i depletion. Instead of throwing herself at him, she shoved herself under his remaining arm and bore him clear of the door.
“What happened, Father?” she asked, frantic with worry. “I thought… I thought you were dead. I heard you calling me.”
“I was nearly dead,” he said. “I thought I was. You were right, my daughter. The loss of my arm weakened me more than I imagined, but we will tell you all—all of you—the details when we have gathered.”
His voice grew very soft and for a moment Honey Dream thought he was speaking for her ears only, then she realized that exhaustion had struck him anew.
“Details,” he said, “and terrible developments.”
Righteous Drum let Honey Dream lower him to a seat on one of the crates that still littered the interior of the warehouse.
“Thank you. Are the other two through?”
Honey Dream turned to check, surprised to realize that in her joy and relief at seeing her father still alive, she hadn’t even thought about the fact that the last two to return were Flying Claw and Brenda Morris.
Brenda had apparently been next through the gate, and she looked almost as bad as Righteous Drum. Worse in some ways, for ch’i depletion does not batter and bruise the body, and from how Brenda moved, there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t ache.
Flying Claw tucked his arm around Brenda, withdrawing it quickly when Brenda winced.
“Sorry. I feel like I hit a wall,” she said, laughing around a sudden intake of breath.
“You did,” Flying Claw said. “From what Loyal Wind says, repeatedly. Here, try leaning on my arm.”
“I’m okay,” Brenda protested. “I mean, I can walk.”
They shared grins, companionable and easy. Honey Dream was reminded of when she’d spied on “Foster,” and saw a return
of that ease he had felt with his captors. She felt a twinge of the familiar jealousy, but tamped it firmly down.
“They are both here,” Honey Dream said to Righteous Drum, and jealousy was washed away in the unexpected joy of seeing her father alive when she’d truly believed him dead. “You all look as if you had a rough time of it.”
“We’ll tell you all about it,” Righteous Drum promised, “or rather the others will. I may not be dead, but I must sleep.”
Pearl listened
as the tale unfolded. With its monsters and close brushes with the sun, with long miles traveled on the back of ghost horses, it seemed more like one of those epics her mother would tell her at bedtime than the dryly factual report Riprap and Flying Claw gave between them.
She guessed that was why Nissa had let Lani be present—the toddler had returned from her outing and was now drowsily content to sit between her mother’s feet and play with paper and crayons spread on the floor. Lani’s contentment was a relief, because at this moment their resources were stretched rather thin.
Deborah was upstairs tending to the truly astonishing amount of battering Brenda’s slender body had sustained during her rescue of Righteous Drum. Nissa had offered to help, but Deborah had waved her way.
“I know what happened to us,” she said, “and you’re going to need to hear this in as much detail as possible.”
Honey Dream was also present, convinced that Righteous Drum needed nothing so much as uninterrupted sleep. With a sense of attentiveness she had not shown to this point, the Snake had taken her place in the group now gathered around
the long table in the family room. At first, Pearl had cynically attributed Honey Dream’s attentiveness to a desire to be near Flying Claw, but Honey Dream watched him calmly.
No. Not calmly. Not detached. She’s still very aware of him, but that hunger. That look as if she’d eat him alive if he’d just hold still long enough. That’s what’s missing.
Pearl wondered at the change, then decided there were too many variables to account for to be certain. Was Honey Dream feeling guilty for having been caught in her trysts with Franklin? Was she simply relieved that Righteous Drum was alive? Was she overwhelmed by the enormity of this new task that had been put before them? Before Des had insisted they recount important events in order “or else we’ll constantly be asking questions, and you’ll end up taking longer,” Flying Claw had blurted out that Pai Hu was in terrible danger, and that they must save him.
Too many variables, Ming-Ming
, Pearl thought,
and our carefully planned campaign smashed almost before we set it in place. I’m beginning to think we should be grateful we got one gate in place.
Riprap was finishing up. “So we’re back, and we have the promise of the Nine Yellow Springs that they’ll facilitate our gates—but I’m wondering if that’s going to matter.”
“I believe it will,” Shen said, “possibly more than ever. If something is attacking the West, then it is quite likely that it is attacking the other guardian domains as well. Once we figure out what that is, we’re going to need to get to it.”
“And since the Nine Yellow Springs run through all places,” Flying Claw said, “or so it was explained to us, they may be able to take us to our enemies.”
“Can we just ask them to do that?” Riprap asked.
“I think not,” Shen said, shaking his head slowly. “I would like to consult with Righteous Drum—he is far more knowledgeable than I am on such things—but I don’t think the Nine Yellow Springs have intellect and intent as we do. I don’t think they necessarily know what an enemy is.”
“Which would explain,” Flying Claw said, “how something as monstrous as the Leech got close to them.”
“Do you think the Leech is connected to whatever is after Pai Hu?” Nissa asked.
“I think so,” Flying Claw replied. “There are similarities—the draining away rather than the actual destruction.”
“I wonder,” Waking Lizard said, “if their enemies are somehow related to our enemies. You weren’t there in those final days before our emperor fell, but there was something wrong about the armies we faced. I wish we could learn more.”
Nissa brightened. “We could. We still have our prisoners. That Twentyseven-Ten seemed smart, and he’s had time to think about what that ‘captain’ of his got him into. Maybe he’ll be more willing to talk—and if he’s not, maybe one of the others might know something useful.”
“It can’t hurt,” Riprap said, surging to his feet with an eagerness Pearl admired. She’d helped Nissa change the field dressing on Riprap’s wounds. They’d both agreed that although the slice on his forearm was long, it wasn’t wide enough to merit a trip to Dr. Andersen. Even so, Riprap had to have bled a lot, but an hour or so of steady eating—when he wasn’t talking—seemed to have renewed his resources.
Youth
, Pearl thought, and decided she was glad to have it on her side.
“Wait,” Shen said. “Do we wish to begin with Twentyseven-Ten? He has had his say, and nearly three weeks have passed since then. I wonder if one of his associates might be more eager to talk.”
“You mean, after being bottled up in there, just the four of them?” Riprap said. “You know, I think that’s likely. At first the other three were probably pretty grateful not to be killed, but now they’ve had time to consider how differently they would have handled matters.”
“I have,” Shen said almost apologetically, “visited them occasionally. I’ve been very careful,” he added in response to the horrified looks this confession garnered him from
Nissa and Riprap. “Pearl has always known what I was doing.”
“Of course,” Des said with a grin. “Wards.”
“And common sense,” she responded.
“My visits have been short,” Shen went on, “and by necessity restricted, but I have gathered a sense of their personalities. Flying Claw was correct in assessing Twentyseven-Ten as the ranking member. He is the only one with sophisticated magical training. One other—Thorn—also has some abilities, but I do not think he had the same training. I have detected some rivalry between him and Twentyseven-Ten, kept in check because we present a much larger threat, but there. He might be the most likely to talk.”
“Why don’t I go with you and bring Thorn out?” Riprap suggested. “I can be the muscle, but if you’ve established a relationship with them, let’s use that.”
Pearl nodded. “But Riprap, if you’re going to act as muscle, change those grubby clothes and make sure they don’t see those fresh bandages.”
“Right.”
Thorn was a short, stocky, powerfully built man. A broad white line of scar bisected one eyebrow, making it curiously hard to focus on his eyes. He was clad in a tee shirt with a sporting-goods logo and loose jeans. His feet were bare, and Pearl noticed that his toenails needed trimming.
Tea was offered and accepted, as were refreshments. These matters of politeness taken care of, Albert set down his cup and addressed the prisoner.
“What can you tell us about the man who commanded the expedition into this world?”
“The Captain?” Thorn’s voice had a rough edge that Pearl recognized as fear concealing itself beneath aggression.
“That’s right. Is that the only name you have for him?”
“Yes.” Thorn paused. “I think even that is a lie. I think his rank was more than captain or less.”
“How can that be?”
“I am not certain he even had a rank.” Thorn paused
again. No one offered to help him along. “What I mean is that he came to us with soldiers of his own—just a few—and told us to call him ‘Captain.’ He wore a uniform, too, but he didn’t seem—I’ve had time to think…”
Bitter
, Pearl thought.
“He did not seem like a military man. He seemed accustomed to command, but not military command—or if military, then not military that I know.”
Albert caught this last. “This Captain, then—we’ll call him that for convenience—he was a stranger to you?”
“Yes. A stranger to me, and to all the others who the Horse assigned to this mission. I do not think he was a stranger to the Horse, but I do not think he was well known to him either.”
“They did not act as if they were friends?”
“Not as enemies,” Thorn hastened to clarify, “just as associates.”
“Where do you think the Captain was from?”
“I don’t know. He looked like a person.” Thorn’s eyes widened as he realized the magnitude of his error in this room where one man’s skin was dark brown, where a woman had fair hair and blue eyes, where unlike was more like than like. “I mean, like a person from my homeland. Your friends saw him—or at least they saw his body. They know what I mean.”
“They do,” Albert said soothingly. “As do I. Leave physical appearance aside. How did he speak? Did he have an accent?”
Thorn’s gaze flickered to Riprap, and Pearl wondered at this.
“Sometimes he spoke quite well, but with a slight accent. There were other times, though, that he spoke as I have heard this man…” Now Thorn’s gaze rested squarely on Riprap. “… and some others of your company speak. I believe in their case a spell is involved?”
Albert nodded. “Very perceptive of you, Thorn. More tea?”
“Please.” Thorn held out his cup.
“Yes. A spell is involved that eases communication between members of our company. So you think the Captain used something similar.”
“I think so. I think he spoke our language fairly well—very well—but sometimes he seemed to pause and I would sense that the word I heard and the one he spoke were not the same. Often these were military terms.”
“Thus your deduction that for all his giving himself a military title,” Albert said, nudging a bowl of toasted, sugar-dusted almonds that Thorn had already shown a preference for closer to their prisoner, “that he was not a military man.”
“Yes. I think this was so. I am sure of it.”
“How long did you work with him before coming to this world?”
“Not long. A few days, enough for us to learn the basics of what was expected of us, to coordinate some maneuvers.”
“Did you have a sense that this matter was considered urgent?”
Thorn considered, reaching for a nut and rocking it gently between the tips of his fingers. Pearl noticed with some amusement that Flying Claw was watching this action, ready for Thorn to try something—perhaps use the little nut as a projectile. But the almond was popped into Thorn’s mouth, and he answered as he crunched it between his teeth.
“Not urgent. Not so much that. More that the means were there and with the means the opportunity. I do not think they thought this would be a difficult task, especially with sixteen against four. We thought we were coming after only four,” he clarified.
“‘They,’” Albert said. “You say ‘they.’ Was the Captain then not the only one of his type you met?”
Thorn’s expression became uneasy. “Well, as I said, the Captain brought a few of his own with him. Three. They’re dead, too.”
Albert made a slight noise in his throat, a prompt that
acknowledged this information but hinted that he thought this was only a partial answer. Thorn buckled.
“Yes. There were others. Especially toward the end, when our victory seemed assured. Rumors came from odd quarters: scouting units or those who worked the siege equipment. They spoke of ‘advisors’ who used peculiar spells or adjusted equipment. Most of us simply concluded,” Thorn lowered his voice, looked a little ashamed, “that they were barbarians.”
“And who is to say they are not,” Albert agreed. “There is no reason to think otherwise. Did you gather any information about where they were from?”
Thorn hadn’t, and neither had the other two when they were brought in and given a chance for tea and chat. Twentyseven-Ten was last, the idea being that he might be more talkative if he thought he was being slighted, but, although he did talk more freely than he had before, none of the details he offered seemed useful.
“Yet,” Riprap said, after he returned from helping Shen escort Twentyseven-Ten to the apartment over the garage. “Yet. Something we heard today may make more sense when we’ve learned more.”
“‘Remember the nature of the universe,’” Nissa mused aloud, paraphrasing Pai Hu’s final utterance. “I wonder what he meant by that?”