Reunion vale, p.14
Reunion Vale, page 14
William muttered, “Is that something you learned at the university?”
“There’s a Myrcian town called Thistlekirk in eastern Trahernshire,” said Grigory, “right up against the border on the edge of the Losianbeorg mountains. We could cross there, and then it should be pretty easy to go through the hills to Laguton.”
“And from Laguton,” said Robert, “it’s an easy journey on good roads to Leornian.”
“We’re not going to Leornian,” said William. “We’re going to Dunstan and the captain general’s headquarters.”
Robert thought of Faustinus’s warning not to take Grigory Sobol to Lord Broderick’s camp. He didn’t like the idea that he couldn’t trust his brother, but at the same time, William was Broderick’s representative on this mission, and William hadn’t exactly proven himself trustworthy. Perhaps Faustinus had good reason to suspect bad things would happen if Grigory ended up in Broderick’s hands.
Grigory himself seemed a bit wary. “Is there some particular reason we have to go through Dunstan?” he asked.
William shrugged. “It’s the most direct way to Formacaster from where we are. But we can decide all that later, once we get over the Halyna, thanks to this bridge you’ve finally told us about, and across the border.” Pointing to Grigory, he said, “You lead us from here. Show us the quickest way to this bridge.”
The quickest way would have been on the main roads of the Halyna Valley, but these were all choked with pilgrims either coming or going from the holy mountain. So Grigory took them on winding little paths through the wilderness that only occasionally intersected with larger roads. They still saw other travelers from time to time, but by now, they had perfected their “vow of silence” routine, and no one appeared to care where they were going.
The rain continued, off and on, for the rest of that day, and another huge thunderstorm struck that evening. Robert didn’t think he’d ever been quite so damp in all his life. There came a time, after being out in the rain for hours and hours, when the water had thoroughly drenched his cloak, and he almost wanted to take it off, because at that point it was only weighing him down.
On the second day after leaving Mt. Vesna, Grigory left behind even the smaller paths. It was too dangerous, he said, because now they were getting near the logging camps, where the timber for his great engineering project was being cut. They saw the aftermath of this cutting in the hills around them. And at one point, they had to hurry across a barren, open field full of fresh stumps and sawdust. But they never met the logging parties themselves.
That night, they camped on a little ridge overlooking the Halyna. The water had burst its banks, and in some places, it spread out over low-lying fields on either side. Robert considered himself a strong swimmer, but anyone trying to swim the Halyna at the moment would be a suicidal fool. The Trahern, he realized, probably wouldn’t be much safer. If they couldn’t get over this bridge at Grigory’s worksite, they might be trapped in Loshadnarod for weeks.
The third day, they moved only in fits and starts. Every quarter mile or so, Grigory would motion for them to get down, and they would wait amid dripping ferns while they listened for anyone nearby. The ground was rough and rocky, too, with huge boulders scattered around the forest floor and long, narrow gullies that cut across their path. In the afternoon, after a quick and silent lunch of dried venison, they walked along the bottom of one of these gullies, while nearby they could hear heavy carts coming and going.
As the sun set, they started uphill through dense underbrush. “We’re quite close now,” said Grigory, when they stopped to rest halfway up. “This is a spot where we’ll be able to see what’s going on. Then we’ll be able to decide, once and for all, which way we intend to go.”
They neared the top, a little outcrop of gray rock, clear above the trees. Off to his left, down a slope covered in thick ivy, Robert could see a wide yellow road with carts and wagons passing back and forth in both directions, along with troops of horsemen and a few rather forlorn-looking pilgrims slogging their way along deep, muddy ruts. The road curved around the base of the hill that Robert and the others were climbing, and headed west, paralleling the Trahern. Robert could see the great river now, too, through the trees beyond the road. The brown, churning water was already halfway up the bank, rising over the roots of many of the trees.
Finally, they got to the top of the hill, and Robert could look west down the valley, in the direction of the setting sun. There, an astonishing sight met his eyes. It was the narrow pass called Reunion Vale, where the swift-flowing river was constricted by high rock walls, like a road running between a pair of stone gateposts. These cliffs soared high above the surrounding forest, almost as high as the hill that Robert and the others were standing on. Robert and William had passed by the Vale in the woods at night on their way to meet Grigory, and so this was the first time Robert had actually seen it.
Even more remarkable than the rock walls of the Vale was the huge structure of stone and wood rising between them, covered in cranes and scaffolding. It looked like a barrier to close off the valley, but at its base, a large portal had been left open to allow the river through. From its foundations in the riverbed to the very top, it must have been over two hundred feet high. It was taller than anything manmade that Robert had ever seen in his life, except the towers of Wealdan Castle and Leofe Tower at the Bocburg. And those weren’t technically manmade, but hillichmagnar-made. It was a marvel.
“What is this?” asked Robert in wonder. “Is this your bridge?”
“It’s a dam,” said William. “You’re planning to dam the Trahern. That’s what you’ve been building up here.”
“I don’t understand,” said Robert. “Why would you dam up the river? So that Myrcians don’t get any water?”
“No.” Grigory put his head in his hands. “You see that hole at the bottom? That’s a sluice gate. When the valley fills with water behind the dam, the plan is to open that. The force of the water going through all at once will destroy the dam from the bottom up. Which isn’t a problem, because the whole point....” He seemed unable to continue.
“The point is to hit Myrcia with a massive flood,” said Robert, feeling sick.
“Were you planning on telling us about this?” demanded William. “Or were you going to let this be a surprise when Mertun and Dunstan and Edricking all get wiped off the map?”
Grigory looked miserable. “I didn’t think they’d be able to finish it without me so quickly. I thought I was the only one who knew how to build and fit the sluice gate properly. I even took the drawings of the sluice gate with me. I intended to warn people once we reached Myrcia. I thought there would be time.”
“I don’t believe you were thinking at all,” snapped William. “Except you were thinking about getting back into bed with your precious Sir Presley. It looks to me as if you’ve been deceiving us this entire time.”
“You have to believe me,” said Grigory in a plaintive voice. “I never wanted to do this. That’s the entire reason I wrote to Presley to begin with. I wanted to get out of Loshadnarod before they made me build something that would kill thousands of people.”
“It looks like you were a bit too late,” said William, looking back at the dam. “Now it’s more important than ever to go to Dunstan. Lord Broderick can send the army up here and burn this down.”
“It’s too late,” moaned Grigory. “They’re ready to fit the sluice gate. And once that’s done, the reservoir will start to fill. And once that starts, you can’t destroy the dam without causing the very flood you’re trying to avoid.”
“Is there some way we could destroy this sluice gate?” asked Robert. “If you’re the one who designed it, you must know how to destroy it, right?”
Grigory didn’t answer immediately. He stood at the edge of the rock, looking downstream at the huge dam. He sighed heavily a few times and shook his head. His expression was one of deep disappointment, like a fond parent heartbroken to see his children grow up rotten. It occurred to Robert that this dam was probably the greatest, most significant thing Grigory had ever built in his life, and probably would ever build, even if he lived to be 100.
“No,” Grigory finally said, in a low voice, quavering with emotion. “No, we can’t just destroy the sluice gate. That’s not enough. We’ve got to destroy the whole thing. That’s the only way to be sure.”
“Then let’s hurry and get to Dunstan,” said William. “Lord Broderick can send a team of sappers, and they can—”
“No, we can’t wait,” said Grigory. “It has to be now, and we have to do it.”
“Just the three of us?” said Robert.
“Yes. Trust me.” Grigory’s voice sounded stronger and more resolute now. “I know exactly how we can do it. We just have to wait until nightfall.”
Chapter 18
Grigory considered it a victory when he convinced William to tie up the two sentries at the bridge rather than killing them. They hid the men behind a boulder, tied to an old oak tree that legend said could trace its lineage back to the one where Ovida and Valamir had met. Grigory did not know if that were true, but as they raced across the nearly completed bridge, he could only think of two people being reunited who belonged together. Today was Presley’s birthday. He would never forget the last of Presley’s birthdays they spent together, making love and eating cinnamon rolls from Crane’s Bakery. He wondered if Presley missed the bakery now that he lived in Formacaster.
On the other side, William and Robert had to silence two more sentries, but again, Grigory thanked Earstien that they were able to do so without killing either. His abhorrence of death at his own hands seemed to grow by the minute. As much as he knew they had to destroy the dam so that Princess Agnessa’s plan could not be put into place before he reached Myrcia and raised a warning, he worried he might kill someone in the process. Hopefully they had waited until late enough at night that everyone would be back at camp and done working.
It seemed a real stroke of luck that the Immani Fire they needed to destroy the dam was stored on the opposite bank of the Trahern from camp. Of course, it wasn’t simply good fortune. Ippolit and Grigory had decided to lock the volatile substance away in a strong stone building on the north bank, far from camp, for safety’s sake. Grigory hadn’t even thought about the fact he was wearing his key to the building around his neck when he hurried away with Robert and William, but now he was glad he had been. Yes, someone might have changed the lock, realizing that Grigory was gone with his key, but again, the concept of locking anything was still so alien to Loshadnarodskis, that he thought they probably had not. If the lock had been changed, well, William said he would know how to open it anyway.
Several feet short of the building, a simple square stone structure with a thick wooden door, William stopped. “I’ll keep an eye out here. You two be quick.”
Grigory and Robert hurried on, Grigory fishing the key out from under his shirt where it hung on a chain around his neck. But when he reached the door, he saw that the lock was already open. He held his breath, looked at Robert, gestured at the lock, and waited for Robert to nod in understanding. Robert unsheathed one of his daggers, and Grigory took a deep breath before pushing the door open.
They both bounded through the door, Grigory obviously letting Robert go first. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and when they did, they landed on the only person inside—Ippolit. Robert reached him before Ippolit understood what was happening, fortunately. He slammed a hand over Ippolit’s mouth and backed him against a wall with a dagger at Ippolit’s throat. Grigory pulled the door closed, so the light from the safety lantern inside would not draw attention. And so no one would be able to hear them through the thick, windowless walls.
“Don’t kill him,” Grigory whispered to Robert. “He is my apprentice. Well, he was.”
Robert kept his eyes on Ippolit. “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth, but my dagger is staying where I have it. Don’t make me use it.”
Ippolit squeaked, and Grigory thought he wanted to nod, but he didn’t dare with the blade in its current position. Robert removed his hand, and they all stood there, holding their breath. Then tears began to fall from Ippolit’s eyes.
“Everyone said you had turned traitor and run off to the Myrcians,” Ippolit said, his voice trembling. “But I said that couldn’t be true. Some terrible accident had happened or you had been captured. I believed in you, Master Sobol. More than anyone else in the world.”
Grigory could no longer meet Ippolit’s gaze, and he turned his face away. He had broken Ippolit’s heart, and he feared his parents would feel much the same when they learned the truth. But had they not been the people who taught him to value life and follow his own soul? Surely they would learn to understand his decision and forgive him. But he saw now that Ippolit never would.
“I cannot build something that kills so many people,” Grigory said. “I hope someday you will be able to see why I had to do this. But I would not have been able to live with myself if I had stayed and made this thing happen.”
“And so you have given yourself to the Myrcians? Our enemy!”
“They have not always been our enemy. Once they were our ally. There were friendships and trust between our two countries. This entire war is wrong.”
“But we didn’t start it,” Ippolit argued back. “The Myrcians attacked us first.”
“After we provoked them.” Grigory sighed, hating everything about the mass stupidity that had led to this moment.
“We did nothing wrong!” said Ippolit.
“Yes, we did,” Grigory said firmly. “I was there. I was part of it. We broke our word and stopped sending them silver. We insulted them and threatened to bankrupt their country. I should have said something then. I should have made the queen and the prince understand what would happen. But I didn’t.” He watched Ippolit, hoping for some sign of agreement, or even understanding. But he just saw hatred and pain.
“It does not matter,” Grigory finally said. “I cannot allow the dam to be completed.” Switching to Myrcian, he said, “Robert, tie him up and gag him. I will start gathering the supplies we need.”
“The Blessed Matushka will never forgive you for this,” Ippolit spat out, before Robert shoved Ippolit’s own scarf in his mouth. Grigory shook his head, feeling sorry for Ippolit, who believed in an imaginary idol that had no resemblance to the real Daryna. Grigory also felt sad for Daryna, because so few people understood who she really was.
He could not watch as Robert tied Ippolit, but he had his own task to accomplish anyway. Grigory was no expert with Immani Fire, but he knew igniting the vapors would cause an explosion. A few large barrels placed at the right points along the abutments should do it. The scaffolding, he had been pleased to see, still reached from valley floor to rim. They could scurry down and back up, connect them all with long fuses, and light it from the top. And then run.
“That’s done. What can I carry?” Robert asked as Grigory gathered fuses.
“Those two barrels. I’ll grab these two, and it ought to be enough.”
Robert did as instructed, and Grigory picked up his barrels. He glanced over his shoulder a final time at Ippolit. His eyes still looked moist in the faint light of the safety lamp, and Grigory wished he could explain things better to make Ippolit understand, but even if he had all the time in the world, he didn’t think he would be able to. “I’m so sorry. Truly, I pray for nothing but good to follow you the rest of your days. The blueprints I left for the bridge are good. I hope you can finish it properly someday.”
Back outside, they found William, who took one of Grigory’s barrels, and they all headed for the scaffolding as quickly as they dared, given what they carried. Nadya may have accused him of neglecting the dam, but he had drawn the original blueprints. And he knew exactly which points along the valley wall he would need to destroy in order to collapse the dam. It upset him to think that he was about to alter the beautiful valley, sacred to all Raskolniks because of Ovida and Valamir, but he told himself that the two great hillichmagnars, who had dedicated centuries to improving humanity, wouldn’t want this dam to kill thousands of innocent people. They would understand his choice, Earstien willing.
No one stood at the top of the scaffolding, which did not surprise Grigory. No one would think to guard the way down into the valley, because surely no one would be so mad or resourceful as to attempt what Grigory was about to do. They would need to climb down two levels to place one set of barrels and then down 5 more, almost halfway, to set the other two. This beginning part would be difficult, because they would have to hand the extra barrel to a person stationed below, since one hand would be required for the climb. But then the second couple of barrels would be quicker. If they worked fast and nothing went wrong, surely they could be back at the top in ten minutes.
Everything went fine down the first two levels and the barrels were put in place. Robert had shown some enthusiasm for learning how to lay the charges when Grigory had explained his plan in the afternoon, so he stayed and readied the first two barrels while Grigory and William continued down. They had made it three levels when Grigory stopped, seeing Misha leaning against one of the thick wooden beams of the dam.
“Grigory!” he said in a whisper. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
William dropped to the platform beside Grigory before he could answer Misha. With the merest flick of the wrist, William had a blade out, but Misha was one of Loshadnarod’s best soldiers, and he had his out just as swiftly. Once more Grigory’s stomach tightened, and he realized he wasn’t entirely certain who to help if the two began to fight.
“Wait, William,” Grigory said. “Misha, please don’t tell anyone you saw us here.”
Misha kept his eye on the knife in William’s hand. “I would never do anything against you, friend,” Misha answered in accented, but clear Myrcian. “I’m glad to see you well.”
