Trint huddled close to Ester, who had to clutch Alisha’s skirts so she didn’t get lost. Alisha, meanwhile, gripped the handles of the cart with fierce intensity. After she stopped and asked a guard where to find the nearest evacuation point, Ester finally find the courage to ask what was going on. Alisha’s response was not very comforting.
“They didn’t tell us much, child. Just that the city’s being evacuated and all the men are being summoned to help with defense. I guess all these soldiers hanging around the streets will finally do some good.”
Ester’s heart sank. They had just found a home and now they were going to lose it? It didn’t seem fair, especially now that Lucio and Teehma were gone. Even Tertio, whom they were just beginning to like, had disappeared. Everybody was abandoning them.
Alisha saw the look of distress on her face and instantly regretted her tone. Why was she being so cruel? These were children, not. . .not replacements. With a soft exclamation, she wheeled the cart over to the side of the street and pulled them to her. They resisted at first. Her attitude was beginning to strike them as slightly mad.
She tried again, opting for a light grip on their hands rather than the bear hug her impulsive nature was inclined to give.
“I want you to know something,” she began, once she was sure she had their attention. “I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t like it any more than you do. Lascombe’s never been attacked in my lifetime, nor my mother’s, nor her mother’s. I don’t know why we’re being attacked now, or by whom. My mind’s a whirl—” she stopped before she could go too far down that track. “But when Tertio and I agreed to take you into our home, we wanted to give you not just food and shelter, but a family—we wanted you to consider us as the two grown-ups in the world whom you could always trust. I know I haven’t been as open as Tertio, but—” she took a moment to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen into Ester’s face. The unexpected movement made the girl jump, but she didn’t object. “—I intend to take care of you kids. Even though we may not have a building to live in at the moment, you still have a home, okay?”
Both children nodded. Then she pulled them into an embrace, hugging them so close that Trint wriggled to get free. This was funny enough to lighten the mood, which gave Ester the courage to ask another question.
“When will we see Tertio again?”
Though Ester could not see her face, she could tell that Alisha struggled to find a good answer. “I don’t know, Ester. I hope soon. We’ll just have to trust that Kynell will take good care of him.”
The time for conference was over. A Sentry approached and asked them brusquely to hurry along to their evacuation point. They obeyed by joining the general throng. They were destined to spend their whole day in the crowd, shifting their aching feet, avoiding sharp elbows, and wondering where and when the line would end. When they were hungry, Alisha would feed them something from her cart and when they were bored, she would tell them a story from her childhood. As the afternoon passed, both children began to enjoy having a mother again.
The line jerked forward for the thousandth time. Ester secured a firm hold on Alisha’s and had just grabbed Trint’s hand when she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“There you are, you little rat! Thought you could escape, did you?”
Then she heard Trint cry out and felt his hand pulled out of her grasp. Hearing their exclamations, Alisha turned around just in time to see the boy, slung over a man’s shoulders, disappear into the crowd.
__________
When Relgaré died in the battle against the Cylini, he left behind not only four children, but a handsome, healthy wife. Quinia still bore herself like a queen. She had not approved of her husband’s extensive campaign against the people of the marshes, still less of his ill-fated alliance with Commander Hull. Nor was her grief over Relgaré’s death eased by the “converted” Corfe fellow who had taken over the palace, running Sentries here and there, and stealing the ears of two of her sons. On top of this offense, she had not heard from her daughter, who had married an Ulanese prince, for many months, and her other son had disappeared behind Alric’s Wall. She was beginning to despise the Ulanese, however friendly their past may have been.
To add to her frustration, the entire city was now being evacuated and she had no clue why. Like the populace at large, she knew that Corfe was intending to fight the man named Amarian, who was claiming to be the Obsidian Advocate. Like the populace at large, she figured the fight was imminent, since soldiers were roaming the streets. And like the populace at large, she was fearful, though she wasn’t quite sure what she was fearful of. How she despised being on such equal footing with the populace at large! Relgaren had told his mother nothing the past few days, which had forced her to make her own observations. Observation number one: the garrisons on all the walls had been doubled. Observation number two: the representatives of the Keroulian Square had all been sent home to their constituencies. Observation number three: Relgaren had reverted to chewing his nails, even while sitting in court.
Her attempts to sound him out had been rebuffed. And Lors was no better. Now he was so full of his own self-importance that he had no time for her. So be it. She sighed, running a brush through her long black hair in the light of the morning orbs. Only a few cycles ago, unwelcome gray hairs had started to peek in, but she had managed to pluck them out. Yet the recent stress of her husband’s death and her children’s absence had caused them to come in greater numbers than could be managed. Oh well. Forty-six cycles was not a bad time to start going gray.
The silence of her two sons troubled her more than she cared to admit. She had always tried to maintain an open relationship with her children: she had refused to farm them out to nannies when they were young, and when they were older, she had insisted on personally educating them in all the social graces, drawing from the considerable insights she had gained as queen. Most remarkably, she was one of those worthy mothers who enjoyed her children’s company. They therefore grew to respect and to like her. Then Corfe had come. Before the arrival of that imposter, Relgaren had spoken freely with her about his new duties. Now, he was as silent as a tomb. Perhaps he felt that she would speak against Corfe, in whom he put so much stock? She had so far said nothing on the subject, although her lack of enthusiasm was palpable. On the rare occasions when Corfe was presented to her, she had been courteous and had even gone so far to address him as “Lord Corfe.” Of course the man merited no such title, but she couldn’t bring herself to label him “Advocate.” The whole notion of advocacy was superstitious nonsense, and she refused to take part in it. Kynell and Zyreio did things as they would. They did not need human puppets to do their dirty work for them.
A discreet knock echoed through the room. With a slight wave, she sent her waiting ladies into another chamber and answered the door herself. It was her man, An-Sung, a distant relative of General Chiyo. He had come from the West around the same time as his cousin and had served the House of Anisllyr just as loyally, if not as famously. As captain of the Queen’s Guard, he had long assisted Quinia in public transactions. Now, their shared dislike of Corfe had given their association a conspiratorial air.
“My queen,” he said with a bow. His voice was low and rough, as if he had eaten pebbles for breakfast.
“Yes, come in, An-Sung.” With a glance down the hallway, she closed the door and conducted him to a chair, only to have him insist that she sit first. When she had complied, he perched himself on the edge of a low settee.
“Now tell me what in the world is going on,” she insisted. “Why are we evacuating?”
An-Sung was a handsome man, as graceful as his fellow countrymen but taller and with softer features. Quinia had long ago admitted to herself that this was the reason she was happy to have him as her captain. That he had used this trait to good effect with women in the past, she also knew, though it did not bother her. She had always been faithful to Relgaré, so jealousy was not an issue, and he had also kept his indiscretions quiet, so as not to embarrass her. An-Sung was not the type to fall in love or allow a romance to interfere with his duties. If anything, his affairs had made him more cynical. Now, as he sat upright before her, she thought they made a fine pair: an attractive skeptic and an aging, worried widow.
“There is an army coming toward us from the east, my lady. The king is attempting to ensure the safety of the women, children, and elderly. I am to escort you away from danger.”
“I’m not going anywhere, An-Sung. You know that.”
He bowed his head but said nothing.
“And whose army is this? Where does it come from?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it, as if reconsidering. “To be honest, my lady, I am not the best person to describe it to you. Perhaps if you will see Patronius
Telenar and General Chiyo?”
The name of an old friend, so suddenly dropped, brought a flush to Quinia’s cheeks. Chiyo had been a steady support for her house and his absence had caused her great pain. In his last letter to her, Relgaré had said that he had been dissatisfied with his general and so had sent him with a small regiment into the marshes. She had been appalled at his decision but not surprised. General Hull, now known to be Amarian, held almost complete sway over her husband in his final days. She had always assumed that Chiyo perished in the swamps along with his men. Now he was back, with that Patroniite in tow. The priest she could dispense with, but the general might very well restore some common sense to this place.
“I am glad to hear that General Chiyo is still alive. Tell him that I would like to see him at once. He may bring the priest if he must.”
“Yes, my lady.” He stood to go.
“An-Sung.”
“Yes, my lady?”
“No more talk about evacuation. A queen’s place is with her people and her children.”
“But my lady. . .”
She held up her hand and he said no more.
__________
The balance of power was shifting in Lascombe. The king, with Corfe’s support, had given Chiyo backstage control of the evacuation as well as of the defenses. Corfe, of course, would continue to be the liaison to the public, since it was in him that they were all placing their hopes. Fortunately Corfe had no pretensions about conducting a successful defense; when not making morale-boosting appearances to the troops, he spent most of his time closed up in his room, praying for his Prysm army to appear.
As soon as the three scouts from Ulan had left the room, Chiyo had summoned Telenar. When Telenar arrived, the general was pacing up and down, nervously fingering a copy of the Ages.
“You know, all of us throughout the West, as well as here in Keroul, are encouraged to read this. But you, Telenar, seem to have an uncanny knowledge of how to interpret it.”
“I try not to do too much interpreting. What’s wrong?”
“Everything is wrong. I’ve just heard from three scouts whom Corfe sent out a few weeks ago. They have returned in advance of the army, which will be here by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”
Telenar felt like he’d been punched. “Tomorrow?”
“
If
they take the time to build proper siege engines, which we might assume, but should not plan on.”
“Tomorrow?” Telenar repeated lamely. It seemed an odd time for the end of the world.
“I’m assuming Vancien has had no success with his efforts?”
“You would be the first to know, I think.”
“And has Amarian tried?”
“Sorry?”
Chiyo rubbed his chin as he tried to voice to his unformulated thoughts. “Kynell knows that I’m a soldier, not a theologian. But Amarian has changed so many things already. Why not this, as well?”
Telenar was flustered. He could scarcely admit it to himself, but Amarian’s story was not pleasing to him. The man was still so arrogant. It seemed to Telenar that there would be a certain degree of humility in being the Advocate for the wrong side, and Amarian continued to bear himself like a prince. Now it would be Amarian, not Vancien, who might be the key to defeating Zyreio? It was hard to stomach.
As was his habit, he took off his glasses and began to clean them. “Uh, well. . .I’d just assumed. . .”
“We’ve all assumed, maybe too much. Perhaps we should call both of them in here as soon as possible.”
Still processing this new direction, Telenar nodded and was about to embark on his mission when they heard a knock at the door. It was An-Sung.
Chiyo had too much on his mind to offer a polite welcome. “An-Sung? What are you doing here?”
The other man, several inches taller than his cousin, saluted. “I come at the request of the queen-mother. She is pleased to hear of your return and requests your presence as soon as you are able to join her.”
“I am sorry, but as you can see, I’m a little occupied. I hope the queen is preparing for her departure?”
“She has chosen to stay in the city. And she requests your presence as soon as possible,” he repeated.
Chiyo had dealt with his cousin before and knew it would be quicker to oblige him than ignore him. “Very well. Telenar, get Vancien and his friend and bring them back here.”
An-Sung nodded to the priest. “Patronius
Telenar. The queen-mother requests your presence, as well.”