David Drake - The Gods Return

Burne jeered. "You could have a more intellectual conversation with the lamp up there." His muzzle twitched toward the simple pottery appliance hanging beside the door. Because the suite's wealthy occupant was never expected to look into this alcove, the lamp's only decoration was a leaf pattern impressed around the filler hole on top.

"But whoever's sending the beasts here must be pretty intelligent," he added. "The same person who's behind the scorpion worship, presumably," Tadai said. He raised an eyebrow in question. "There've been hundreds of people stung by the creatures in the past few weeks.

That's not serious-" "Not serious?" Sharina said in amazement. Tadai waved a hand. "Your highness, we must keep the matter in proportion," he said. "There've been that many knifings in the dives that the drovers and rivermen frequent. And soldiers, I'm afraid. For the most part a scorpion sting is merely unpleasant." "Yes, your highness," said Dysart. He stretched out his right leg and pointed to a welt the size of a thumbnail just above the inside of his ankle. The swelling was red, but the center was dead white. "It's numb, is all. Though I'd rather it hadn't happened." For an instant Dysart's eyes rested on Burne, grooming the base of his tail. He continued, "We made a sweep of the offices after this happened and found seven more, but they keep creeping back in the nighttime." "Is it possible that the priests of this new scorpion god control the scorpions themselves?" Tadai said, frowning in concentration. "That they have real power, in other words?" "I think…," Sharina said, pausing to consider how much to say. If Liane were here, she'd discuss her dreams fully; but though Sharina trusted these men's ability, she didn't care to disclose her secret fears to them. "I think that there's someone or something beyond the priests. I think if we question a priest, though, we'll get… closer to the source of the plague." "Right," said Tadai, nodding agreement. "I'll give orders to the city patrols to report to their district headquarters immediately if they see signs of another gathering, and for the watch officers to report to me." "If I may suggest, your highness and milord?" Dysart said, running the tips of his pudgy fingers over the document case. "Speak," Sharina said, this time with icy calm. "Rather than the uniformed patrols, let my department locate the gathering," Dysart said. "If the Prefect would keep a strong body of his patrolmen ready to respond at once, I think we may have better results." "What about the city garrison?" Sharina said. "Milord, you have four regiments, do you not? Have one company ready to move instantly with the rest of the regiment to follow in ten minutes." "Yes," said Tadai, nodding and frowning. "Yes, a very good idea. I'll have to talk with Lord Quernan, my military advisor, however. Though the city garrison is under my command, quite frankly I don't know very much about soldiers." "If I may suggest-" Sharina said. Burne, crouching on her right thigh, snickered. She realized that she'd just used the form that Dysart had irritated her with. "Of course, your highness," said Lord Tadai-of course. But the matter really was in his department, and Sharina didn't want to seem to be acting arbitrarily. "You might use Lord Baines's regiment for the purpose," she said. "If you have confidence in Lord Baines, that's quite enough for me, your highness," Tadai said. "I have nothing against Lord Baines," Sharina said with a wry smile, "but as I chance to know his Camp Marshals, men named Prester and Pont. They'd probably be in charge of a task like this, and I have a greatdeal of confidence in them." "Then if we're agreed on a plan…?" said Tadai. Burne launched himself from Sharina's lap to her shoulder, then sprang to the top of the closed door. His long chisel teethclick ed as he bounced back onto the bed between the two men. Tadai started sideways.

Dysart thrust his arm out to protect the rat, then withdrew it when he saw that Tadai hadn't tried to strike. Scorpion legs spurted from the edges of Burne's mouth. "Scarcely a mouthful," he said, "but it could have sent word to whatever wants to know. I heard it on the top edge of the door, but I had to wait till it came out enough for me to snatch it." Sharina rose to her feet. "Thank you, Master Burne," she said. "I'm going to be very pleased when we've found the source of this problem." *** "You've become an exceptional horseman," Reise said in muted surprise as he and Garric trotted in the midst of the escort. They were within half a mile of Barca's Hamlet, but only the tall slate roof of the millhouse was visible. Since the Change a pine forest covered what had been the Inner Sea east of Haft. "Thank you," said Garric. Carus was almost as skilled a rider as he was a swordsman, and there'd been no better swordsman in the kingdom while he ruled it.

"You've learned to ride well too." His father chuckled. "I've known how to ride since before you were born," he said. "I was part of the entourage which accompanied the Countess. It wasn't a skill I needed in Barca's Hamlet." "Ah," said Garric. In the borough where he grew up, plowmen followed oxen and the only horses were those on which a few drovers arrived during the Sheep Fair. He tended to forget that Reise's life extended beyond being a father and the keeper of a rural inn. "The difficulty wasn't rememberinghow to ride," Reise said. He gave Garric a rueful smile. "It was in managing not to scream from the pain until my thighs got back in shape. Or as close to shape as is possible at my age." Garric and Carus laughed together. "I'm familiar with the problem," Garric said. Carus provided a horseman's instincts and techniques, but the ghost could do nothing to train muscles which weren't used to gripping the flanks of a horse. The leading troops of cavalry had ridden into the hamlet and were lining both sides of the only street. Attaper and the first section of Blood Eagles followed, their horseshoes clinking and sparkling on flagstones laid during the Old Kingdom. "Duzi!" said Garric. He'd never seen the street when it wasn't covered by a layer of dirt, save for the doorsteps of the more fastidious householders. "They've swept it!" "Mucked it out, rather,"

Reise said proudly. "The prince is visiting them, you know." There'd been changes at the mill; indeed, clay soil heaped to either side of a new channel showed that work was still going on. A tall man whom Garric didn't recognize stood in front of the building at the head of his household: his wife holding an infant, three other children in ascending order of age, and a servant boy with the features of Arham or-Buss-a farmer from the north of the borough who raised more children than he did any other kind of crop. The tall man took off his velvet cap-an Erdin style, like the short matching cape-and waved as he cheered. The whole household did the same, causing the startled infant to begin screaming. "Mordrig or-Mostert," Reise murmured. "He's the Sandrakkan merchant who bought the mill from Katchin's widow. He had to convert it from tidal operation to a flume brought down from Pattern Creek now that Barca's Hamlet isn't on the sea any more."

There were more people in Barca's Hamlet than Garric had ever seen before, even during Sheep Fairs and the Tithe Processions when priests from Carcosa dragged images of the Lady and the Shepherd on large carts through the hamlet. There were outsiders, the various sorts of entertainers who're drawn to large gatherings the way flies find a fresh corpse, but mostly they were people from the borough and neighboring boroughs. He recognized many faces, though not always with a name attached; but mostly he recognized the sort of folk they were.

They were the same as Garric or-Reise had been, but he didn't belong here any more. "I didn't expect all these people!" Garric said. It wasn't that the crowd was huge in absolute terms: Valles and now Pandah had larger populations than the whole eastern coastline of Haft, and an address by the Prince brought out a good proportion of either city. But it was too many for Barca's Hamlet. They were overwhelming the eighteen years of Garric's memories. "You should have expected them," his father said quietly. Garric wore his silvered breastplate, but the helmet with flaring gilt wings was miserably uncomfortable to ride in and unnecessary now, even though he was well ahead of the main body of the army. Instead he wore a lacquered straw hat with a wide brim-in the latest Valles style, he'd been told, but practical nonetheless. Hidden beneath the colorful straw, because hewas the prince and Lord Attaper had insisted, was a leather-padded steel cap. He didn't want to uncover the armor by waving the straw hat to the crowd, so he waggled his right arm high instead. The saddle raised him as much as a dais would in a more formal setting. "Fellow citizens of the kingdom!" Garric called. He doubted anybody but Reise and the closest Blood Eagles could hear him, because the crowd was screaming its collective heart out. The sound seemed thin, though: open air didn't give the cheers the echoing majesty that he'd become used to in squares framed by high stone buildings. Garric swept his arm down, hoping to cut off the shouting. "Fellow citizens of Haft!" he cried. The gesture worked pretty well. When a few people decided they were supposed to stop cheering, those around them had an excuse to quit also. He wondered if everybody in the borough would be speaking in raw whispers tomorrow morning. "Friends!" Garric said.