Читать книгу The Last Warrior - Susan Grant - Страница 16

THE WEATHER HAD TURNED during the night, summer to autumn, the thick, humid heat of the past week replaced by the crackling air of harvest season. From the hooks behind the door she snatched a wool wrap and yanked it around her shoulders. She burst out her front door and ran around back to the medical clinic, where the current practitioner, Chun, slept with his family. The young physician, once mentored by her father, was trying to button a shirt with one hand as he answered her furious knocking at the door.

“Green flag,” she said. “Don’t know more. Tell Navi. Be at the Kurel canteen when Little Lume is straight up.” The young accountant, Navi, also worked at the palace. At high noon in the mess hall, no one would think anything strange about the royal tutor deep in conversation with the palace accountant and guest healer.

A nod from Chun assured her he knew what to do.

She waited at the ghetto gates until the suns lifted above the horizon, slowly, like two old men climbing out of bed. Then she darted toward the palace, her mind considering a multitude of possibilities for the summons. The streets were quiet, most windows still shuttered after the festivities had gone on late into the night. The streets stank of stale liquor, manure and urine. On the palace grounds, General Tao’s soldiers lay sleeping here and there, some with empty bottles clutched in their hands, others with women in their arms.

She hurried past them, her heart skittering, instinct calling out danger. Crossing the bustling upper bailey, she nodded to the regular staff, all the while pretending the green piece of paper hadn’t been balled in her fist only a short time ago. A guard stood at the workers’ entrance. Only his mouth was visible below the shadow of his helmet. Alarm twanged like the first pluck of a taut string. The entrance had always been unguarded before.

He waved her through. The only thing she could think to do next was to report to the classroom as normal and await contact from Markam. Before she’d traveled more than halfway across the grand foyer, Markam fell in step with her, his hands clasped behind his back. Shadows under his eyes proved he’d had no more rest than she.

“How do you do that,” she half scolded, “appearing out of thin air?”

“You’re simply not observant enough, Elsabeth. I was here the entire time.” Very subtly, he scanned the area to be sure no one was listening. “It’s begun. Xim arrested Tao last night. For treason.”

Her heart dropped like a stone down a well. She’d cautioned the general not to let down his guard, fearing she’d revealed too much. Instead it carelessly had been too little. He hadn’t retired to his chambers with that dancer; instead, he must have gone to seek answers after she’d refused to give him any.

Markam quickly summed up the events leading to Tao’s arrest and the planned trial, the assured guilty verdict and the inevitable hanging. “Opportunity coincided with intent. A single moment, a slip of the tongue and Xim pounced.”

Poor Aza. “Is there no hope the king will grant clemency? The general’s his brother-in-law.”

“None. Xim must follow through. If he blinks, Tao looks all the more powerful.”

“General Tao is a hero. Xim will have to convince the people the man they cheered yesterday isn’t one, after all.”

“Torture and truth potions will extract any confession Xim desires, all in front of so-called neutral observers and witness-scribes who will provide the testimony to the people. A death sentence will swiftly follow, before any real protests can form.”

He sounded so certain. She blurted out, “You can’t leave him to die.”

“Of course not. He’ll have been freed by then. Getting him off palace grounds isn’t the problem. It’s stowing the man where Xim can’t find him.”

Suddenly she didn’t like the expression on Markam’s face. “No.” She shook her head. “Not Kurel Town.”

“There’s no safer place, Elsabeth. You know this.”

“Tao’s estate lands. He owns countless acres.”

“Too predictable.”

“In the countryside, then. The wilds. Not as far as the Plains or the Peaks, but far enough away from here.”

“True, he could probably survive out there, for a time, while the weather is mild, but when winter comes where will he go? A hunter’s cabin? A shepherd’s hut?”

“The snows are months away. We have time.”

“And if Riders find him? They’ve roamed wide since the drought. They’ll steal his horse and leave him out to dry like a piece of jerky. Or, worse, enslave him.”

Few in the capital had ever laid eyes on the elusive plainsmen, but evidence of their existence surfaced when livestock would go missing, especially in the late-summer months when the Riders occasionally raided Tassagon herds to pad their winter coffers. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for the general to be abducted by the Riders. They were said to be a mix of Tassagon savagery and Kurel scholarship, and fiercely independent. But they could kill the general as easily as they could spare him and, in either case, he might never be heard from again. Her mind analyzed every alternative, even as she swallowed the realization that Markam was right. There was no safer place to hide Tao but where few Tassagons dared tread.

But General Uhr-Tao in the ghetto?

Dread coursed through her with the sense that this was a rash, even suicidal move. For centuries, only the Kurel had kept the fires of science and technology burning. Many of the precious, secret volumes that other humans had long forgotten, the last existing links to the origins of the founders of their world, were hidden within the ghetto. Within the Log of Uhrth was the very prophecy that directed her actions now. Yet, could she justify bringing a Tassagon Uhr-warrior within reach of that precious book?

She felt as if she were sliding toward a cliff, grasping for a way to stop her fall, but finding no way to keep from plunging over the edge.

“Let’s not be rash.” She made fists behind her back as if that would somehow contain her anxiousness. “The army and also the common people love him. This could cause a spontaneous uprising. There could be violence in the streets, Tassagonian against Tassagonian, not just against Kurel.” While she wanted Xim deposed, her Kurel sensibilities had always insisted a new king gain the throne in a nonviolent fashion. A peaceful revolution. The events now spinning out of control made her palms sweat with the dread of having to explain her role in any violence to the Kurel elders. “We need to be in charge of when and how Xim is removed from the throne.”

Markam agreed with a firm nod. “Tao’s escape will give the people hope. It will tide them over, and buy us time.”

“And make Uhr-Tao a folk hero. Xim won’t like it.”

“Precisely. He’ll focus on Tao instead of the army left in his possession. This buys us time, as well.”

“All this buying of time,” she snapped. “We’re racking up quite a debt. At some point, we’re going to have to pay what we owe.”

“One always has to pay, Elsabeth. One way or the other.” A chill ran through her with the fatalistic turn to his voice.

“An Uhr-warrior in the ghetto…” A hunter let loose in the midst of the flock. Her heart drummed a warning. Swallowing, she stared straight down the hallway to the classroom and pretended she didn’t hear it. Remember your vow. “I’ll have to let the elders know. If I’m caught harboring the king’s number-one fugitive, there will be severe consequences, including banishment. And when I tell them, they may order him to leave.”

“You’ll advocate for him.”

“It’ll take more than that. He’ll have to fit in. His commitment to following our ways will have to advocate for him.” Elsabeth groaned silently, imagining the training this would require.

“Tao will cooperate,” Markam assured her. “He’ll understand the reasoning behind his asylum.”

“In my home. He’ll have to live with me.” No other option existed. She had to be the one to take him in. By Uhrth, she would be personally responsible when she brought the Butcher of the Hinterlands to live amongst her people.

A Kurel bookworm sheltering a Tassagon Uhr-warrior.

Mercy.

Remember what you’re fighting for, what all of us are fighting for. The fate of humanity seemed to be falling more and more squarely on her shoulders with every word they spoke. She took a steadying breath and turned to Markam. “I assume you’ve thought of the best way to get him out without anyone noticing.”

Markam’s eyes glinted craftily. “With a little polishing, yes.” Together, they cobbled together the plan to free the kingdom’s most important prisoner. It was outrageous, the idea of sneaking him out under everyone’s noses—madly so—and it just might work.