Wolfs blood, p.73
Wolf's Blood, page 73
“You’re saying that is the situation here?” Bryessidan said. “These islands are all they have?”
“That, and the fact that they would rather work with us and keep control of these gates than risk any one of us taking over. Don’t for a minute think that for all their good manners they think of us as friends. Your heir might someday earn their trust, but those of us who have shown our willingness to invade will never be trusted. It’s part of the risk of raiding. Really, if we had to lose, we came away better than we might have done.”
“I hate what they’re doing,” Bryessidan said. “They’ve turned us against each other. We had an alliance. Now, from the way the others have been treating me it’s as if they expected me to try and usurp the nexus, and that they’re glad to give it back to its ‘rightful’ owners.”
“We would have ended up having to watch each other,” King Hurwin said, thoughtfully. “I realized that. Would you want Queen Iline having a door into your land?”
“Not really.”
“So, you see, the Nexans have only anticipated what we ourselves would have had to deal with sooner or later. Clever of them, really. Not only will we police ourselves, we’ll police the others as well, just in case anyone gets any bright ideas. Yes. These Nexans will be a force to reckon with in the years to come, don’t you ever forget that.”
“So you’re going to accept their terms?”
“What choice do I have? All the reasons I stated back in your counsel hall moonspans ago still hold. My kingdom is sea-girt and isolated. The gates make it less so. As long as the Nexans don’t ask anything unreasonable—such as tithing in blood or slaves—then I will make treaty with them.”
“And what is to keep them from breaking this one as they broke the last?” Bryessidan asked, his voice tight with frustration.
“I dare say that these Nexans do not feel that the former treaty—made, remember, with those they conquered—was precisely binding on them. There is even some merit in that line of thought—especially for those who arrived here from the New World.”
“I cannot believe you are taking this so calmly!”
“What else is there to do?” Hurwin said, reaching for a pitcher and pouring himself some water. “We lost, yet most of my ships will go back with most of the gear and crews intact.”
“Most?”
“Ah, they didn’t have you read that extra sheet, did they?” Hurwin’s formerly placid smile became a little bitter. “Each nation must give one ship—one small ship, admittedly—loaded with the arms and armor of the sailors of the other vessels over to the Nexans. They know they won’t get everything, not even with their aerial spies supervising, but they’ll get quite a lot.”
“But not the crews,” Bryessidan said.
“No. They don’t want the crews. They’re smart enough to know slaves are a bad idea. My guess is that the ships will be dry-docked somewhere or other, and that they’ll raise the crews themselves, perhaps from the New World, more likely from the Old.”
“On that free day,” Bryessidan said angrily, “they insisted upon. That was a term that stuck in my craw. One day out of every season, agreed upon in advance when those who wish to be considered for residence on the Nexus Islands must be permitted access to the gates.”
“They’re smart,” Hurwin said, “and we’d be smart to take them up on it. Malcontents in all our lands will end up as their problem, not ours, and, who knows … Someday …
Someday we might just sneak in a spy or two, Bryessidan thought.
The thought gave him some feeling that he was retaining a small measure of control. Until King Hurwin’s arrival, Bryessidan had balked against signing the treaty with the Nexans, even though Gidji, to whom Amelo had recited the terms, had sent him a letter urging him to do so.
Now, seeing that even the monarch of the seas saw no alternative but to give in, Bryessidan felt there was less shame in making peace with the Nexans.
Where there is life, there is hope, he thought when the next day he signed the formally prepared document in the presence of witnesses both of the Nexans and of the former seven allies.
He knew that his signing—and King Hurwin’s—would be used to pressure those monarchs, such as Queen Iline and the disdum of u-Chival, who for their own reasons were still arguing terms. He no longer cared. There were even rumors that the u-Chivalum were considering withdrawing into isolation once again, to protect themselves from the contaminating influences of other lands.
Let them, Bryessidan thought, signing his name with a flourish, then pressing his thumbprint in his own blood over the words. Running away doesn’t solve anything, but you need to learn that for yourself.
Now that he had decided to sign the treaty, Bryessidan felt curiously free, freer, in fact, than he had since he had been crowned king. It was as if in making his own peace with the Nexus Islands, he was also making peace with his father’s wars and the mark they had left on the Mires.
Bryessidan supervised the. evacuation of each and every one of the denizens of the Mires, and he himself was the last to turn toward the gate. Before he did, he turned to Derian Counselor and Once Dead Ynamynet.
“I am certain we will meet again. May it be the beginning of friendship, as well as peace.”
Ynamynet gave him a wintery smile that could have meant anything, but tall Derian flicked his horse ears and said with what seemed like genuine warmth. “I hope so. Your Majesty. There are always far too many enemies, and far too few friends. I’ve seen enough to treasure even those met in the strangest circumstances.”
And Bryessidan, bowing with the courtesy of monarch to monarch before he stepped through the gate, thought of the wolf-woman Firekeeper, of the yarimaimalom, of the maimalodalum, and realized with a certain amount of surprise that he would be pleased to someday be among those strange creatures Derian Counselor named friends.
He was met on the other side of the gate by his wife and queen. Gidji’s face was alight with real joy, and she hugged him as if he was nothing more than a man. and she a woman, not him a king and her a queen, and their marriage arranged besides.
“I worried about you, Bry.” she said softly, so softly that only he could hear. “I worried from the moment you donned your armor and left the palace. I worried that my foolish talk of empire might end up robbing me of riches I never knew I had until I watched them walk away from me.”
And Bryessidan, loosening his wife’s embrace only enough that he could look at her with wonder, thought that even in defeat there might be victory, if you were wise enough to know when it was offered.
XLVII
TINIEL LISTENED, BUT his ears almost refused to hear as Aurick of Pelland told him that he must return to the Nexus Islands.
“I told them that you had thrown yourself on my protection.” Aurick said, “but whether that will mean anything to them or not, I cannot say. I only wish you to know that as important as my honor is to me, my first duty is to the service of my rulers. They have ordered that you be surrendered. If the Nexans release you, and you wish, you may return. I should be able to find some place for you in my household.”
He wheeled on his booted heel and left the room. Tiniel watched him leave, and when the guards came for him, let them escort him to the Pelland gate without word or protest.
One person and one person only was waiting for him when he came through the gate: Isende.
Tiniel looked at his sister, his twin, and saw a stranger. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. His garments were very fine, the tightly woven brown cloth of the Pellander-style tunic and breeches was shot with a trace of something that made the fabric shimmer. His laced boots were in the Pellander style as well, high and tightly fit to his calf. His hair, freshly cut, was topped with a round cap that held a pheasant’s feather.
The outfit would have been dreadfully hot and confining back in Gak, but in the cooler climate of the Nexus Islands, it suited him just fine.
By contrast, Isende wore something halfway between a smock and a loose dress made from some coarse fabric. It was belted at the waist with a strip of cloth cut from an entirely different weave. The garment fell below Isende’s knees, stopping at a ragged hem at the middle of her calf. Her feet were clad in rope sandals. Her hair was tied back from her face. She looked very tired.
“We had little warning you were coming,” she said, “but I had arranged to see you alone. Oh, Tin … How could you have done that?”
He blinked at her, and drew himself up as tall as he could.
“I did what I thought was right.”
“You did …”
Isende thrust something that she had held tucked beneath her arm at him. Tiniel took it, only realizing after he held it that it was his drawing pad. His face grew hot as he thought of the dreams and imaginings he had committed to those pages, but he held on to his dignity.
“I found this in your rooms,” Isende said. “I went there, trying to understand how you could have done what you did.”
“I did what I thought was right,” Tiniel repeated sternly.
“Were any of the people here ever real to you?” his twin asked him. “Did you ever really get to know them?”
He frowned. “I knew them as well as was necessary.”
“Well, then,” Isende said, reaching out and grabbing his free hand above the wrist. “I think it’s about time you got to know them a little better.”
He thought she would take him to the dining hall, where the Nexan community tended to gather even when meals were not being served, but she headed instead to the headquarters. They met remarkably few people along the pathway down, and those they did pass acted as if Isende were alone. These few also all seemed to be armed, and Tiniel thought with a certain amount of pride that he was apparently feared.
Isende led him up through the main portico and in through the front door. Once they were inside, Tiniel could hear more stirring. Isende led him toward what he vaguely recalled—he hadn’t had much business here—were a series of large rooms that had probably been used as offices or reception parlors back in the days when the Nexus Islands had been a flourishing crossroads for trade.
Now they had been converted into a series of infirmaries. The scent of alcohol stung Tiniel’s nostrils. This, strong as it was, could not cover the sweeter, sickly scent of infection and rot, of stale urine, and of bowels out of control.
Isende paused outside one of the open doors.
“Doctor Zebel. I’ve brought him. Is it all right to come in?”
“As I said,” came Zebel’s familiar voice, “but if he causes any trouble, I won’t answer for him.”
Tiniel had always thought of Zebel as a friend. Certainly, the doctor, along with a few of the guards, had been the only ones to show him and Isende any kindness during their first captivity. Zebel’s voice was without inflection now, and when the twins entered he deliberately turned his back.
Isende said, “This is where the worst of the wounded are. Do you remember Junco Tom” He sailed with his father and sister on the fishing boat, but since she was grounded, he begged to be assigned to fight ashore.”
Tiniel looked down at the young man on the bed. The man was obviously awake, but his eyes were shut. He moved his shoulder as if to put his hand on the outside of the blankets, but although the muscles twitched, no hand appeared.
“One of the u-Chivalum swords smashed Junco’s upper arm. Doc—he’s in the next room—tried his best, but there was no saving the limb. We had to amputate. It was very nasty.”
Isende moved on before Tiniel could fully adjust to that “we.” He knew her too well to suspect that she was giving herself airs. Had she been forced to be part of the medical staff? Was that a punishment for her being related to him?
Anger rose in his breast at the unfairness of it all. Isende should not be punished for his choices. Besides, if he had made a peace, the Nexans might now be thanking him for it.
He wanted to ask Isende, but she was moving over to another bed. On it lay a woman Tiniel vaguely recognized.
“This is Yornisaya.” Isende said. “You might remember her. She was one of those who went to Gak with you. She also worked in the kitchens. She’s also an apothecary, and we owe her a great deal for blending many of the medicines we had to treat the injured. When the u-Chivalum army emerged, she ran up to the hillside to help bring away the wounded.
“A solider did not approve and cut her across the head with the blunt edge of his sword. I suppose he thought he was being merciful. However, where the edge would have cut and might have glided off the bone, the solid impact of the metal knocked her out. There are bones cracked in her skull. We have done our best to relieve the internal pressure.”
As if cued, Yorinsaya turned her head to one side and Tiniel saw her scalp had been shaved and what looked like a triangular piece of bone cut away. The wound had been patched with something—maybe metal?—but was ugly nonetheless.
“We think she will live.” Isende said, reaching down and squeezing Yornisaya’s hand, “but we don’t know if she will ever see again.”
“See?” Tiniel said.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The blow robbed her of her sight. As we do not know what was broken, we do not know how to fix it.”
Isende moved on to the next bed.
“Do you remember little Eteo?” she said, indicating a dark-skinned boy too old to be a child, but certainly not a man. “He was running messages between Skea and the various subcommanders. One of the Pelland archers saw him and shot at him. Eteo took an arrow to his back and one to his leg before he fell.”
Isende peeled back the blankets. Tiniel turned his gaze away. To his astonishment, he felt Isende’s hand grab his hair and pull his head around so he could not help but see.
“Look!” she said, and her voice sounded as harsh as Firekeeper’s did. “You did what you felt was right. You should see what happened.”
Tiniel did look then, and saw the long line of stitches going over Eteo’s back and down his leg.
“He sprained his ‘good’ leg when he fell,” Isende said, “and so it is going to be quite a while before he walks at all. By the time he can, muscles are going to have atrophied. It’s going to be a long time before he can run again, but he’s a brave boy, and I believe he will.”
She patted Eteo’s shoulder and pulled up the covers.
Humiliated by the memory of her tugging his hair, Tiniel did not try and turn away again, although the injuries he was forced to view sickened him. Isende seemed to know each and every person, and how they were injured. Gradually, it dawned on him that she had been working in the infirmary voluntarily.
Most of the patients either ignored him or pretended he wasn’t there. Some, though, stared at him with hatred so intense that Tiniel longed to flee.
I only did what I thought was right! he longed to explain, but he didn’t think anyone here cared to listen.
When they left that first room, Tiniel learned that those patients—grim as their injuries had been—were the hopeful cases. The next room held those for whom the chance of recovery was slim—and who would have had no choice at all but that Doc, who like Grateful Peace had been temporarily protected against querinalo, was helping with their treatment.
Here were those who had taken injuries to the gut or lungs, those who had lost so much blood that their bodies had retreated into an unbreakable sleep.
Once again, Isende insisted on introducing each and every one, telling Tiniel who they were, what they had done, and how they had received their injuries.
Time and again, he heard the refrain, “an u-Chivalum solider,” “an u-Chivalum archer,” “an u-Chivalum spear,” and knew that he, rather than the man or woman who had actually wielded the weapon, was being blamed.
The final room was in some ways the worst, for none of the injured spared him by turning away their gaze, and all suffered without words, for they had no words—at least that humans could understand.
Here were the injured and dying yarimaimalom, the Wise Beasts of the southern woodlands in the New World, the Bound of the north. Administering their care was Harjeedian of Liglim, and serving as his translator was Plik. Harjeedian gave Tiniel a look so hard and so full of anger that Tiniel wondered if the aridisdu would curse him, but he only turned away and stalked from the room.
Tiniel thought he could not bear it if Plik, too, denied him, but when the maimalodalu looked at him, he saw only pity.
Isende was continuing her litany, telling Tiniel about this wolf, that fox, this wildcat. and Tiniel listened with increasing impatience.
Hadn’t she realized she’s made her point? She blamed him. Fine. She could just be that way. Those animals should have known that human weapons were too much for them:
Plik interrupted, placing a small hand gently on Isende’s arm.
“Save your throat. Isende. You’ve told him, and I fear he does not understand.”
Isende flinched at the gentle touch, and looked at her brother. “You don’t, do you?”
Tiniel straightened his shoulders. “In war, choices must be made. I made mine. Each of these made their own.”
Anger flared in Isende’s eyes, eyes that Tiniel had once thought so like his own.
“You are to be brought before the council,” she said. “But I have one more thing to show you.”
Tiniel looked at her. then sighed in what he thought was dignified resignation.
“Lead on.”
She did, taking him to the back of the large building and down a short flight of stairs. The room was lit with glow blocks, and cold wafted up so that Tiniel wondered that his sister in her light shift did not shiver.
“Ynamynet,” Isende said, as if explaining, “is proving to have a gift for cold. She used it here, so that we could have time to prepare a proper funeral.”
The cellar had been converted into a morgue, and the dead of the Nexus Islands were arrayed in neat lines upon the floor.
