Cinda Chima - The Crimson Crown

“Why did you leave?” Raisa asked. “Since you paid a big price in terms of rank.”

“General Klemath and I had philosophical differences,” Dunedain said. “Perhaps we should leave it at that.” She glanced from Raisa to Amon and back. “Now, did you want to know about the West Wall?”

“Oh. Yes,” Raisa said. “Please.”

Dunedain delivered a succinct review of political, military, and economic issues along the escarpment. What she said married well with Raisa’s recollection of her brief time there.

“To sum up, the road is repaired, and trade should increase as the weather improves. I would suggest investing more funds in shoring up the Waterwalkers and making sure they view us as good neighbors. That would more than pay off in saving military costs if they serve as the first line of defense. No one goes through the Fens if they don’t allow it.”

Dunedain paused, as if to verify that Raisa wanted more, then continued when Raisa gestured for her to go on. “There’s been a distinct improvement in the Dyrnnewater, and that helps. The Waterwalkers are the kind to hold a grudge if they perceive they’ve been injured or they feel they’re not getting respect.”

“We are all that kind, Sergeant Dunedain,” Raisa said. She thought a moment. “Tell me—how do you get on with wizards, Sergeant?”

“I do not like them or dislike them, ma’am,” Dunedain said. “I’ve had little interaction with them, frankly. I am not Demonai, though I could have been. I was named Demonai, but decided to go to Wien House instead.”

“Why?” Raisa asked, watching Averill against the wall. He sat, hands folded, wearing his trader face. “Most would consider it a rare honor, especially for a mixed-blood.”

“The Demonai are too narrow-minded, too focused on clan interests. We need a broader view, or I believe we will be overrun.” The sergeant rubbed the back of her neck. “A soldier can always find work,” she said. “It’s the way of the world—people fighting with each other.”

“If you were general of the armies, what would you do differently?” Raisa asked. “If you had the authority to do what you wanted.”

“I would send the stripers back where they came from,” Dunedain said, lifting her chin defiantly. “The army should be the same mix of peoples as in the Fells—clan, wizards, and Valefolk. Down-realmers, if they’re here permanently. If wizards won’t join the army, we should figure out another way to work with them. I’d also make sure the army and the guard are coordinating. Sometimes I think we are at cross-purposes, Your Majesty.”

“What would you want from your queen,” Raisa asked, “if you commanded the army?”

“I would want sufficient resources to arm and equip the troops effectively. I would want someone who understood me and my world and listened to what I had to say. I would want her to let me know what our military goals are. And then I would ask her to trust me to do my job,” Dunedain said bluntly.

Raisa smiled. “Thank you for your insights, Sergeant Dunedain. I appreciate your willingness to speak plainly.”

“Wait for me in the duty room, Sergeant,” Amon said. “We’ll talk further before you head back.”

Dunedain saluted both of them, turned on her heel, and left.

Raisa stood, head bowed, chewing on her lower lip. Then looked up at Jemson and Averill. “Well? What do you think?”

“I like her,” Jemson said. “I like the way she thinks and expresses herself.”

Averill scowled. “She has strong opinions,” he said. “And so do you, Briar Rose. How well would that work?”

“You just don’t like what she had to say about the Demonai,” Raisa retorted.

“No, I don’t,” Averill admitted. “It’s naive to think that we can all come together and sing the same song with so much history behind us.”

As the meeting broke up, Raisa pulled Amon aside and asked him to arrange for a replacement for Char Dunedain at the West Wall.

“I want to bring her back to Fellsmarch,” Raisa said. “Make up a good reason.”

“As a potential replacement for Klemath?” Amon asked, leaning close to speak in her ear.

Raisa nodded. “I need someone I trust. I want to be able to act boldly if need be, without fighting Klemath every step of the way. If Dunedain checks out, I’ll make the switch. Keep it quiet, though. The last thing I need is a general in the field who knows he’s going to be replaced.”

Amon nodded. He continued standing, looking at Raisa, a crease between his dark brows, until she said, rather sharply, “What?”

“You’ve changed, Rai,” he said. “You seem so—so confident. Like you know what you’re doing.”

Another backhanded Byrne compliment. A few months ago, she would have reacted to that. Oh? So you’re saying I was timid before?

Instead, she shrugged and said, “We’ll see if I know what I’m doing. I’ll need all the help I can get to pull this off.”

Han walked on down the passageway, heading roughly north according to his internal compass, and deeper into the mountain.

The tunnel bored straight back for what Han guessed might be a mile or so, though it seemed much farther underground. He didn’t allow his wizard light to penetrate more than a few feet forward. He didn’t want to advertise his presence to anyone who might be in the tunnel ahead. Eventually, the path turned west and began sloping upward.

Han trotted along as fast as he dared, not knowing how long it would take him to walk through the mountain to the western slope of Gray Lady.

Once, a nearly transparent cobweb of magic stretched across the corridor, and Han barely managed to skid to a stop in time. That particular barrier had not been in his notes. It looked different—cruder than the others he’d seen. He disabled it with a standard fix.

From then on, the way was open, with only trivial traps and hazards. He’d half expected to find natural barricades—from cave-ins over the past thousand years—but these tunnels were well lit and clear of dust and rock debris.

Han passed steaming pools, their banks frosted with mineral stains, bubbling hot springs that fed underground rivers, steam geysers that stank of sulfur. He saw no one, and no real evidence that anyone had passed this way in a millennium. Currents of fresh air brushed his face from unseen sources.

Some of the branching tunnels were mapped, some not, their entrances obscured under veils of magic revealed only by the charm Crow had given him. Where do they go? Han wondered. Nobody would tunnel through solid rock for no reason.

But he had no charms to get him through those barriers, and no time for it anyway.

As the tunnel sloped gently upward, side tunnels and intersections came more often. Magical barriers reappeared—simpler, less-elegant charms.

The tunnel ends in an apparent dead end, a large chamber centered by a hot spring , Han’s notes said. The walls opened and the ceiling soared, and he was there.

The pool before him resembled the bottomless springs scattered throughout the Fells—places where the fires within the earth came close to the surface. Deep and clear, rippling with heat, it looked like it could boil the flesh off a carcass in a matter of minutes.

The spring is a mirage , Han’s notes said. You’ll find a stone staircase leading down into the water on the far side. At the bottom of the spring, there’s a door leading into the cellars of the Council House.

Han circled the spring. Extending his hand, conjuring more light, he saw steps extending down into the clear water. The moist heat of the spring scalded his exposed skin. He could smell the sulfur bubbling up from its depths, see the steam rising from its surface. If it was a mirage, it was convincing.