Little Molly gave her a hard look. "You ask some strange questions for a beggar-girl. Where's my coppers? I won't say another word until you give them to me, not another word . . . !"

Briony produced a silver coin from the purse hidden under her ragged clothes. "Here. That's worth a dozen crabs at least. Now answer the question, please. Where might King Olin be?" Even as she spoke, she heard a strange, blatting horn call rise above the camp, a signal for evening prayer or else an alarm call-perhaps even the alarm about Eneas' attack. Time was slipping away. "Tell me!"

Little Molly looked around in worried surprise; Briony could hear some of the men shouting to each other. Many others were hurrying in all directions across the camp, perhaps to get weapons or armor they had left in their tents. Eneas had made good his word. Now it was up to her.

"How would I know such a thing?" the little woman moaned. "Who are you? Why do you want to know such things?"

"You would not believe me if I told you, Molly, but I have given you what I promised-now earn it. Where would they keep an important prisoner?"

"But I don't know! The mayor's house in town, maybe. They used to keep prisoners there, I've heard, although maybe that's when the goblins were here. Oh, and the Xixies have built a great pen on the city green for something-animals, everyone thinks. I heard some of the traders talking about it who brought in the metal-twenty wagonloads of iron bars just to make it! Can you imagine?"

Briony rose to her feet. "Keep the silver, Little Molly. May Zoria bless you."

She left the Funderling woman looking after her in astonishment.

The fast-darkening evening was alive now with figures rushing past, with torches waving nearby and in the distance, and men's loud, excited voices. She prayed that Eneas and his men would do as they said, striking only long enough to force the garrison to call for reinforcements before they fled back over the hills. The autarch's troops would never follow them in the dark, and with luck would not send more than a token force to search for them the next day, a.s.suming them to be local bandits or a surprise counterstrike by Hendon Tolly.

What was the purpose of Tolly's parley with the autarch, if that had been more than just gossip-simply the southern monarch demanding the city's surrender? But Hendon would never attend such a humiliation in person. Had he been trying to ransom Olin for some purpose of his own? A chill ran through her. What if the autarch no longer held her father? What if he was in Hendon Tolly's hands now?

Briony had followed the track now all the way to Market Road, where the farmhouses and open land gave way to the true city. Buildings were packed in side by side here and the streets were narrow, which made avoiding soldiers more difficult, but evening had fallen and the encampment's torches were too infrequently s.p.a.ced to shed much light, which made her disguise better.

Even here, where the soldiers did not seem to be responding directly to the alarm horn, Briony could hear urgency in the voices of the pa.s.sing men. Some leaned out of upper windows and called to Briony in Xixian; a few even came down to the doors and beckoned her in, but she only waved her hand in thanks and limped along as fast as she dared. Long-legged Dowan Birch had taught her how to keep her sinews loose even as she held a demanding pose which would otherwise quickly exhaust her, so she could continue this awkward, halting gait for a while more, but the constant ache of it was beginning to weary her badly.

She hurried over Gra.s.shill Bridge and past the burned husk of a temple. When she was almost to the green Briony stepped off the main road, doing her best to make sure she wasn't followed. Even in ordinary times the streets around Sh.o.r.emarket after dark were a haunt of thieves and worse. She made her way a little distance south of the square, then onto the green, walking slowly toward the torches. Their light made the wide thing seem to glow, a sickly pale light like a mushroom crouching at night in the undergrowth.

The tent was a hundred paces across but only a dozen high at the center, guyed by dozens of ropes, a vast, peaked expanse of white that took up much of the center of the green where the city's sheep had always been grazed. Torches blazed all around it, and several solders guarded not only its front entrance but the sides and doubtless the back as well. Briony was a little relieved to see there wasn't much light beyond the ring of torches. As long as she kept a good distance away, she wouldn't be seen while she tried to decide what to do.

She moved as quickly as she could along the edge of the green, staying in the shadows of trees or in the doorways of empty houses, of which there were more than a few. As she had feared, there were guard posts on each side, but the distance between them was large and the corners of the tent kept them from seeing each other. Shaso would have scoffed at whoever set out the sentries, she decided. The fool had made sure a spy would only have to avoid the eyes of one sentry post when approaching the building, which made the guards vulnerable to misdirection, among other things.

Briony did not need misdirection, though, because even as she watched from behind a well at one end of the green, a group of armored hors.e.m.e.n rode past with a great drumroll of hooves and clanging of weapons on shields, headed no doubt toward Millwheel Road and the besieged garrison-reinforcements. The jaws of the trap would close on Eneas soon if he didn't put s.p.a.ce between his company and this pack of hounds.

Merciful Zoria, help them find their way out in time! Eneas was a good man-a wonderful, brave man. She cared for him, she had to admit, more than she sometimes realized. A thought struck her. Eneas was a good man-a wonderful, brave man. She cared for him, she had to admit, more than she sometimes realized. A thought struck her. And help me, too, sweet G.o.ddess, please! And help me, too, sweet G.o.ddess, please! She had almost forgotten to pray for herself. She wondered if Zoria could be bribed and decided it couldn't hurt to try. She had almost forgotten to pray for herself. She wondered if Zoria could be bribed and decided it couldn't hurt to try. If the Eddons regain the throne, I will build you a beautiful temple, Mistress! If the Eddons regain the throne, I will build you a beautiful temple, Mistress!

As the reinforcing Xixians thundered by the men at the tent's nearest guard post stepped out to watch them. Realizing that she would never have a better moment, Briony ran down the length of the green, waiting until the reinforcing troops had almost pa.s.sed the tent. Then, with the guards now facing almost completely away from the nearest corner of the great tent, she broke from the trees along the edge and sprinted across the green, head held so low she had to fight against stumbling all the way. But perhaps Zoria had decided to accept her offered bargain. No one raised an alarm, and a few long moments later Briony was crouched near the corner of the tent where the light from the torches was dim, breathing far harder than she should have been just from running. She was terrified, but did not have enough time to consider that fact: she scrabbled at the bottom of the tent and found, as she had hoped, that there were bars beneath. She slid herself under the heavy fabric of the tent until she was squeezed between the canvas and the cold iron bars like a bed warmer slid between coverlet and mattress. There were some small lights at the far end of the tent, but it was otherwise dark beyond the bars, and the air stank of unwashed bodies so badly that Briony, who had been living among soldiers, still nearly squeezed herself back out of the tent again, despite the risk of being spotted.

As her breathing and the tripping of her heart slowed, Briony heard a sound very close by, a woman or a child quietly weeping. A moment later her breath caught at what sounded like murmured words in her own tongue. What prisoners were these? Was it some kind of brothel of captured Marchlander women? For a moment she entertained a feverish fantasy of waiting for the autarch here and stabbing him when he came to ravish another victim, but she knew even as the anger burned through her that it was a foolish and useless idea-the kind of scene that Nevin Hewney would have written after drinking too much.

"Who's that crying?" she asked quietly. "Can you understand me?"

The weeping abruptly stopped.

"Where are you from?" she asked. She had given herself away now; she couldn't turn back. If only it wasn't so wretchedly dark! She had no idea how this prison tent might be set out-was it one big cage? Or were many separate cells grouped here under the ghostly tent? "Won't anyone answer me?"

"Frightened," a small voice told her from somewhere nearby. "Want to go home."

"What's your name?" she asked. "Why are you here?"

"Men took us. We'n been doin' nought wrong. Came into village and took us, uns did."

"Where did they take you from?"

"Mam?" said another voice, slightly older. "Did you come for us? Will you take us out from here?"

Zoria's heart! Why had the autarch stolen Brennish children? "And you're all prisoners?" Her heart seemed clenched like a fist. "Are there any grown-ups in here? An older man?" Would they know who her father was? "A king?"

"No king," the small voice said, sniffling again. "Just us littl'uns."

Before she could ask more questions, a sudden light flared on the other side of the pitch-black tent: someone had pulled back the flap and now stood in the opening with a torch. Briony crouched. More torches, more silhouetted figures-then the light dazzled her, and she had to look away. Briony stayed very still until she heard voices and the clang of an iron door opening and closing on the other side of the huge structure. The torches withdrew and the flap dropped, leaving the interior of the great tent pitch black again. Could the guards be looking for her?

"Can anyone else tell me if they know anything about why you're prisoners, or whether the king of the Marchlands is one of the prisoners?"

When there was no reply Briony began to make her slow way around the exterior of the cage, still beneath the tent. She had to cross one doorway, but to her relief the flap was down and, judging by the voices of the guards, none of them were even looking back at the tent they were guarding. At last she reached the place where she judged the torches had been, the main entrance, but stopped short of the doorway.

She took a breath, but there was no sense hesitating, nor did she have the time-the guards might be coming back any moment. "h.e.l.lo? Who's here? Can anyone hear me?"

The voice, when it came, made her skin p.r.i.c.kle all over. "What . . . ? Meriel? "

"Praise Zoria! Father, is that you?" She pushed herself as close to the bars as she could. It was all she could do not to shout. "Father? It's me! Oh, the G.o.ds are kind! Father!"

Suddenly, she could feel his presence. His hand came through the bars and found her face, which was already wet with tears. "By all the G.o.ds . . . ! Briony? Is that truly you?" Olin's voice was hoa.r.s.e, but it was undeniably his voice. "This is a miracle beyond belief! I was almost asleep . . . I thought . . . your voice; I thought it was your mother. Am I truly awake?"

"Yes, Father, yes! It's me!" She clutched at him-he was so thin! Still, it was really her father, after all that time, clearly and plainly him him. "I never thought I'd see you again!" She laughed through her tears. "I mean . . . I still can't see you . . . !"

He was also laughing. "Are you well? What are you doing here? G.o.ds, child, this makes no sense at all! Are you here by yourself?"

"I heard the autarch was holding you. I came to . . ." She couldn't bear to waste time talking about it. "It's a long story. But we have to get you out of here!"

"No, it is you who must get away from here, my lamb. They will be back soon to return me to my usual prison. They only put me here because someone attacked an outpost, and Vash feared it might be an attempt to rescue me. The autarch is out of the camp this evening and his minister is terrified something might go wrong while he's away."

"All the more reason to get you out now," she said.

"It's not possible, Briony. This is not simply a barred enclosure-it's a cage, with bars on top and bars on the bottom that are sunk in the earth." He kept his voice low, but she could hear stirring among some of the other captives. "I do not know exactly what the autarch plans, but he is obsessed with Southmarch and thinks somehow if he can take the castle he can awaken a G.o.d. Are you with Shaso or Brone? Can you tell them that?"

Briony laughed, but it was painful. "Shaso is dead," she said. "I'm sorry, Father, but he was burned in a fire in Marrinswalk. Brone is either a prisoner in the castle or a traitor-maybe both. Hendon Tolly is holding the place, but I hear he has been bargaining with the autarch about something."

"Then how did you get here? Are you with Barrick?"

"Never mind. We have to get you free." But suddenly Barrick's name was working in her like a spark slowly growing into a flame.

"You can't! It's too late for me, my dear one. But you must not be caught. Get away! Get away before the guards come back."

"No." And now it was burning inside her, a fire she had kept banked for months. "Why did you lie to me? Why did you do that, Father?"

He sounded surprised but not shocked. "What do you mean?"

"You never told me about . . . your curse. About Barrick. About what happened that night his arm was broken." She bit her lip, fighting the tears again. "Why did you lie to me?"

Long moments pa.s.sed. Her father had been holding her arms, but now he let go and even took a half step back from the bars. "I'm . . . sorry."

"But why? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell us?"

"I was ashamed, girl! Can't you understand? Ashamed that I pa.s.sed my tainted blood to those I loved most in the world. Ashamed that I almost killed my own son!" His whisper was hoa.r.s.e. "And now it is beginning again."

"What is beginning?"

"The poison! The poison in my veins-I can feel it again. Oh, merciful G.o.ds, Briony, I might have been a prisoner for much of the last year but I at least I was free of my cursed blood! Can you understand? For the first time the madness that used to afflict me nearly every moon did not touch me. But as we drew closer and closer to the castle-to my own home!-the affliction returned. Even now I can feel the gall boiling in my veins . . ."

"But I would have helped you! You should have told me! We could have found a way to cure it-Chaven would have found something . . . !"

"You cannot cure someone of their own blood," the king told her in a bitter murmur. "Not unless you slit their throat and hang them up like a slaughtered pig."

Briony began crying again. "Then it's my curse, too, Father. You had no right to keep it from us."

"Don't you see?" He came back to the bars then, caught her shoulders, and pulled her against the cold metal so that he could put his cheek against hers. "I would have done anything I could to keep it from you. You and Kendrick showed no signs of it."

"But what is it? Why us? Why the Eddons?"

"Because of love," he said. "Because of treachery and death, too. But mostly because of love." And then he told her a tale so astounding that for a few moments Briony forgot everything else and thought of nothing but her father's pained voice.

"We have . . . fairy blood?" she asked when he had fallen silent at last. "The Eddons . . . ?"

"The Qar claim it is the blood of a G.o.d," Olin said. "That is what the autarch believes as well. That is why he keeps me, he says . . ."

"To do what?"

Her father tried to explain, but at last shook his head-she could feel it moving violently against her hand. "I do not understand it all for certain, but remember-we have only until the midnight at the end of Midsummer's Day to prevent him-he has told me that hour is when this will all take place. It's only a scant few days away now." He hesitated; she could feel him deciding not to frighten her more than he had to. Had he always been so transparent to her? Or was it Briony herself who had changed? "Quickly," he said, "while we still have time, tell me all your news about . . ." But he never finished the sentence. Voices were approaching the tent from somewhere behind her. Olin quickly stepped away.

"Hide," he muttered. "Quickly!"

She had barely an instant to back away from the spot and hide before the tent flap flew back and a guard stood in the opening with a torch. As Olin turned toward the light, she saw her father for the first time and her heart flooded over with love for him. He was so thin! A group of children were ranged behind him, almost a dozen in all, sitting or lying down on the straw piled at the bottom of the cage.

Briony watched a tall, thin old man in a minutely decorated robe step in beside the guard. He gestured and another guard began unlocking the bars. "Tell your young friends that if any of them come too close to the bars, they will be killed," the old man said. "I want no trouble, King Olin. It is time for you to go back. Whoever those bandits were, they have fled. The White Hounds are after them and will make short work of them."

"I prefer not to go back now," said her father, his voice pitched a little louder than it needed to be. "I like it here with the other prisoners. They are but children, you know-no one has showed them any kindness at all. I thought better of you, Vash."

"I do the autarch's work, King Olin. And I credit you for your sympathetic heart. but that is all the more reason you must go back-I do not want you fomenting revolts among the children." He said something in Xixian to the guards. The lock clanked and the door creaked, and Olin let himself be led out by a guard at each arm.

"Very well," her father called back over his shoulder, as if to the other prisoners. "Just remember, I love you all. Have courage-there's hope as long as you remember who you are!"

Briony was weeping as the flap fell back. The guards were long gone before she dared to move or speak again. A few quiet conversations proved that the child-captives could tell her nothing interesting. She felt terrible leaving them to their unknown fate, but there was nothing else she could do. At the next distraction she slipped out of the tent.

I love you, too, Father. Briony hurried across the darkened green. With luck, she would be back in Eneas' camp by midnight and they could think of a way to save King Olin. Briony hurried across the darkened green. With luck, she would be back in Eneas' camp by midnight and they could think of a way to save King Olin. If love has cursed our family, perhaps it can save us as well. If love has cursed our family, perhaps it can save us as well.

17.

Defending the Mystery "The village was in mourning because so many of the young men of the town had died during the Great War between the G.o.ds, which the church calls the Theomachy. The castaways were welcomed with great kindness . . . . . .

-from "A Child's Book of the Orphan, and His Life and Death and Reward in Heaven"

"THEY ARE TOO MANY!" the young Funderling shrieked as he rushed past. His face was dirty and flecked with blood, and he had dropped his weapon and shield somewhere. "The autarch's army has overrun Moonless Reach . . . ! Run!"

Ferras Vansen turned to grab him, but Malachite Copper was equally determined not to let the soldier's panic affect anyone else. He caught the fellow's arm first and hit him hard with a flat hand on the side of the face. The Funderling soldier stared at Copper in surprise, took a wobbly step, then crumpled and fell to his knees.

"Now get up, man, and show that there's some mortar where your stones don't fit true. What's going on?"

"Forgive me, Master Copper . . . !" The young fellow was terrified-it was clear that all he wanted to do was to keep running.

"Give us your news," Copper said, "like the sworn apprentice to the Stonecutter's Guild that you are."

The soldier's lip trembled, but he did his best to harden his expression; it was a less than perfect show. "They've broken down the last barrier, and they're driving Jasper and the rest back like sand fleas, Master Copper. It was terrible." He turned to Ferras Vansen and the others as if they had disagreed. "Terrible! Flames and something like burning oil all over-people screaming . . . and the smell, Masters, the smell . . . !"

"What could that be, Physician?" Vansen asked. "Chaven, did you hear?"

"Ah, ah, what are we discussing? Yes, the flames, that would be some blend of naptha and resin." The physician appeared slightly befuddled, as though he had only been half-listening. "War Fire, as they used to call it in Hierosol." He turned to Vansen. "There is nothing you can do against it except try to douse the flames, but they burn cruelly hot."

"I do not believe that," Vansen said. "There is a defense against any weapon-Murroy used to tell me that."

"Who?" The physician looked surprised.

"Never mind." He turned to the frightened soldier, who had calmed a little. "Do you bring any message from Sledge Jasper? Does he live?"

"I . . . I do not know, C-Captain." The Funderling looked frightened of Vansen now, finally realizing how badly he had acted. "When the guardhouse came down . . . and then we were attacked . . . I should have . . ."

"But you thought you were the only one who could carry the news," said Cinnabar Quicksilver, who had been silent thus far. "We understand, son. Was Dolomite still holding his section when you went past? Think. He was? Good-now go and find the quartermaster's fire, and he'll give you something to drink and a place to lie down. We'll get help to Jasper and the rest."

"Th-thank you, Magister."

As the young soldier limped off, Malachite Copper had already begun finding reinforcements to help Sledge Jasper and the rest keep their withdrawal back to Ocher Bar from turning into a rout.