Ian Irvine - Rebellion

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“I swore I’d look after Benn. He’s just a little boy.”

“And you’re a girl.”

She bridled. “I’m a grown woman. I’m seventeen . Nearly as old as you.”

She said it with such earnestness that Rix had to smile. “Not quite.” He counted the days. “Tomorrow’s my twentieth birthday.”

“Besides,” she said with quiet dignity, “Benn’s the one who matters.”

“Why does he matter more than you?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I promised Mama, before she died, that I’d look after him. I’ve been looking after myself since I was twelve — ”

Someone bellowed, from the shore. Rix twisted around and squeezed her left shoulder, hard. “Don’t move.”

She broke off. “What’s that?”

“Someone shouting orders. At the guards.”

They lowered themselves until their eyes were just above the water and edged around the door to face the shore. Mist danced and drifted in the wind, revealing then concealing the guards patrolling the edge of the lake. A burly officer was running towards a group of guards, waving a signal flag and shouting.

“What’s he saying?” said Glynnie. “Is it about us?”

“I couldn’t hear. But I’m prepared to bet it is. Back.”

Rix turned the door and began to push it out into the lake, using great scissor kicks. The effort sent jags of pain through his wrist; it felt as though the join was on fire again.

“We can’t leave Benn,” said Glynnie.

It was a struggle to break through the pain now. Just speaking took an effort. “He’s lost to us, Glynnie, and he wouldn’t want you — ”

“How would you know what Benn would want?” she hissed. “You don’t know him. You don’t know any of us.”

“I know he loved his big sister,” said Rix. “And he’d do anything to protect you.”

She did not respond.

Rix started panting. It was the only way to control the pain.

“What’s the matter?” said Glynnie sharply. “You sound like you’re having a baby.”

“I’m all right.” He lifted his arm off the door, into the water. The cold did not ease the pain this time.

Glynnie lifted his arm. His wrist was crimson and swollen all around the join with his dead hand.

“Oh!” she said, like a healer realising the worst.

Onshore, the officer skidded to a stop, let out an indecipherable bellow, then pointed out into the lake towards the submerged outlet of the drainpipe. Several of the guards ran to him. Others raced back along the shore and were lost behind a banner of mist.

“They know how we got out, and they’ll have a boat in the water in minutes.” He looked around for inspiration but found none in the grey water or the leaden sky. Hope evaporated. “I can’t fight any more. We’re lost.”

“We’re never giving up, Lord,” Glynnie said fiercely. “We got to survive — then come back and find Benn.”

“Yes,” he said dully.

They were making slow progress, less than ten yards in a minute, and it was not enough. The cold was seeping into Rix’s bones now and it was a struggle to think. He vaguely remembered seeing something earlier that might help them, but could not dredge up the memory.

“Nowhere to go — can’t swim ashore — find us right away — ”

“What about a boat?” said Glynnie. “There are dinghies on the shore.”

“We can’t get to them.”

“We’ll have to leave the door in a minute. It’s too big; too easily spotted.”

Glynnie’s teeth chattered again. She was trembling from the cold and her lips were blue. “Where can we go?”

“We can’t stay in the water much longer,” said Rix, kicking as hard as he could. “But we’ve no way of getting out.”

“There’s a lot of rubbish floating further out.”

The memory resurfaced — that gyre where all the timber had collected, forming a great wheel of debris on the water. If the wind hadn’t drifted it away.

A rattling sound echoed across the water, followed by a thump, then a rhythmical splashing.

“What’s that?” said Glynnie.

“Someone pulling up an anchor chain and rowing to the outlet. Then they’ll check the mooring piles…”

Another anchor chain was pulled up, and a third. The enemy must know that the escapee was Rix, and they were determined to find him. He had fought Lyf twice with Maloch, and hurt him, too. Lyf would want him dead.

“And then?” said Glynnie.

The light was fading now, though it could not save them.

“With three boats, and lanterns, they can search the whole area in half an hour, and turn over every bit of floating debris.”

Nothing would escape them. No one.

“How fares the destruction, General?”

Lyf was perched on the wall at the top of Rix’s leaning tower, half a day after the fall of Caulderon. He was often drawn to the place, perhaps for the contrast with his reeking temple and his ever-more frantic search for the key.

“My king, a third of Palace Ricinus had been blasted down already,” said General Hillish, a squat, muscle-bound man with slash-tattoos across his forehead. A round head joined his torso without any visible neck. He stood on a box so he could see over the wall and pointed out the details.

“I have a thousand Hightspaller slaves hauling the rubble away,” Hillish continued. “Another thousand are digging out the cleared area to expose the foundations of the kings’ palace of old.”

“Very good,” said Lyf. “Before the invaders came, our palace stood there since the beginning of recorded history. Are you searching out its original stones?”

“We are, my king. Many were re-used in later buildings. I have a hundred masons checking every stone and marking all those from the kings’ palace.”

“Excellent. I’m going to rebuild it exactly the way it was before, to show that Cythe will always prevail. Where’s Rochlis?”

“Here, my king,” said General Rochlis, from the doorway.

“What progress can you report?”

“We’ve rounded up more than half the people on your list, including a goodly number of Herovians, and taken them away… to be dealt with.”

“Why did you hesitate, Rochlis?”

“My king, I’m a professional soldier. In battle I ask no quarter, and give none…”

“But?” said Lyf, irritably. One after another, his people were questioning or reinterpreting his orders.

“But putting people to death simply because they might cause trouble… my king, it…” Rochlis, an honourable man who always did his best, was struggling to find the words.

“It’s not that many,” said Lyf. “Barely two hundred.”

“Nonetheless, it turns my stomach. I’m sorry, my king.”

Lyf had once been an honourable man too. He was no longer honourable, but a good leader was careful not to drive his people too far.

“I won’t force you,” said Lyf, making his displeasure evident. “I’ll see to the executions myself.”

“My king,” said Rochlis, sweating, “I believe it to be unwise. It can only make the ones who escaped — ”

“Who escaped?” cried Lyf. “The city was sealed.”

“The chancellor and his retinue, for starters.”

“I suppose I should have expected him to get away. He’s a wily foe.”

“But he’s taken Tali with him.”

Lyf’s face froze. “How did this happen?”

“He must have had a hidden escape tunnel, further concealed by magery.”

“Find her! If the chancellor discovers that she bears the master pearl, and cuts it out, his magians might be able to command my four pearls.”

“We’re hunting her now, with every means at our disposal.”