Chairman Nicko Mal stood at his front door impatiently waiting for Brisack to make his way up the thirty grand steps that lead to the mansion.
“Well?” Mal hissed as the doctor jogged up to him. “Where is he?”
Brisack reached the top and took a deep breath to refill his lungs. “I don’t know!”
Mal squinted. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Brisack panted as he followed Mal into the mansion and to the library that used to be a throne room for five previous kings. “He wasn’t in his house, he wasn’t in his office, and he wasn’t at the inn where he takes all his meals. Those are the only three places I’ve ever seen Gadiman. He didn’t go on holiday, did he?”
The severe scowl of Mal told Brisack he should know that answer.
The doctor collapsed in his usual chair. “I can’t imagine where he’s off to.”
Mal sat across from him and grumbled. “Well, it’s his own stupid fault. The first time we’re going to let him in on our planning session, and he disappears. He can’t complain, then, when we don’t include him again.”
Brisack nodded, and ran his hand over his balding head to smooth down the last hairs. “So, tell me what happened with Relf this evening. Before we can speculate what they might do, I need to know exactly what he said.”
“Agreed,” Mal said, taking a piece of parchment and handing it over. “I’ve already made some notes. First, Relf barged in here as if this were his house . . .”
---
If Mahrree and the children thought the trip to Idumea was uncomfortable, going back to Edge was even worse. Every spare inch of the coach was taken up by leftover dinner and dried goods from the Shins’ pantries and cellar.
But it was a good kind of uncomfortable; no one would complain. At least it smelled pleasant. Altogether there was a sweetly savory scent that Mahrree wished she could have bagged and hung around her house. The mixture of apples, bread, dried beef and apricots would always remind her of this night, one she hoped she’d never forget.
What could have been more satisfying than rushing home to Edge with much needed relief after saying such a poignant goodbye to Relf and Joriana? Mahrree felt they had been granted so many miracles in such a short time that it seemed as if the tender mercies of the Creator were focused entirely on her family. It didn’t seem fair to be the recipients of so much.
They had suffered some too, but in the balancing of the Creator the miracles always outweighed the tragedies. They just needed to wait long enough, as her father Cephas frequently told her, for a happy ending.
Mahrree sat with each child leaning against her. Jaytsy wept quietly and Peto stared out the dark window.
“He’s an old wolf,” Peto whispered. “He’ll be all right.”
“Of course he will,” Mahrree said, kissing his light brown hair. “And so will she,” she patted Jaytsy’s thigh. “It’s been an amazing trip, hasn’t it?” she said brightly. “When we get home we’ll have to write down everything.”
Peto sneered. “Sounds like school work.”
“That’s what we’ve been missing!” Mahrree snapped her fingers. “School work! Well, as soon as we’re home, we’ll begin on our own. No sense in us not keeping up.”
“Oh, Mother!” Jaytsy sniffed. “What would the Administrator of Education say? Teaching your children at home?”
Mahrree smiled at her children’s attempted chuckling. “I don’t really know. He was the only Administrator I didn’t talk to last night.”
“I’m sure Father had that Administrator seated far, far away from you at dinner so you couldn’t debate him,” Peto said. “You’d definitely be written up by that gad-awful-man for sure if you did.”
Mahrree and Jaytsy chuckled as Peto continued. “I can see the Administrator of Loyalty now in his little office somewhere, writing ‘Mahrree Peto Shin’ in big bold letters on some ugly file, then sneering at it. ‘You’re in trouble now, lady!’”
Peto’s old man voice was so funny Mahrree laughed out loud.
“You know, he was there last night,” she told her children. “At least for the dancing.”
Jaytsy frowned. “Was he that tall, gangling man in black? Looked like a constipated weasel?”
“Yes, I didn’t realize you noticed anything else,” Mahrree said with a hint of suggestion, “but the young men you danced with.”
“Oh, I noticed him,” Jaytsy shuddered. “He kept watching me. And Father, too.”
Mahrree fidgeted. “Really? I didn’t notice.”
“Then it’s probably good,” Jaytsy murmured, “that you didn’t notice him watching you, as well.”
Peto snickered as Mahrree exclaimed, “What?!”
They heard a knock on the side of the coach, and Peto put his head out the window.
“Hey, I heard laughing. Don’t have so much fun without me, now,” Perrin said from his horse.
“Well, you’re where all the action is, Father,” Peto said. “I have to keep the women entertained all by myself.”
Perrin grinned and nodded as Peto sat back.
Mahrree decided not to say anything more about Gadiman. Each member of her family was trying hard to keep up a cheerful attitude, but it was a precariously balanced mood. The slightest knock would send it all crashing down.
“I swore last time I was going to bring something to read,” Jaytsy sighed. “I wished I would’ve grabbed something from the study.”
“Well, it’s too dark to read and the selection of books was too dull. I tried a few of them,” Mahrree told her.
“Oh, I don’t know. There was one titled ‘Physical Characteristics of Soldiering’ that could’ve been interesting,” Jaytsy hedged.
Mahrree laughed. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t full of details of handsome young men, Jayts! Ah, it’s a good thing we’re leaving. Seeing all those young men around you last night . . .” Mahrree waited for Jaytsy to finish.
“They were all right,” she said as she played with the hem on her cloak.
When another pause went by with no further details, Mahrree decided to try again. “I noticed Lieutenant Thorne danced a lot with you.”
“Yes, but . . . I don’t know. He was so serious. Handsome, I’ll admit that,” she said analytically as if evaluating a new dessert, “but so army-ish. Much worse than Father. He kept wanting to talk about tactics and horses. Blah!”
Mahrree breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Why, did his grandmother say anything to you?”
Mahrree turned to her daughter. “Did she say anything to you?”
“Yes!” Jaytsy exclaimed. “Mrs. Cush stopped me between dances to tell me how young her daughter was when she got married, how darling Father looked holding that baby, how I could make a lot of people happy—It was disturbing! I don’t want to be a mother in two years. I have to see the world first.”
“And so you shall, Jaytsy,” Mahrree declared. “All of it, before any Thornes can come prick you again.”
They chuckled and Peto rolled his eyes.
“By the way,” Mahrree said, trying to sound nonchalant, “I also noticed Lieutenant Thorne whispered something to you as they were leaving. Uh . . . what was it?”
Jaytsy shrugged. “Something odd like, if I ever wanted to know all the secrets of the garrison, he could give me a private tour and show me things I’d never imagined.”
“And you giggled at that?”
Jaytsy sighed in exasperation. “Mother, I know what you’re going to say next, and I agree: it was well after midnight, I was very tired, and everything for some dumb reason seemed giggle-worthy. Just . . . dumb.”
Once again Mahrree was taken aback by how mature her daughter could suddenly be, even if she wasn’t very articulate.
“There was a lot that was dumb last night, when you think about it,” Jaytsy continued. “Did you see that old lady with the bag that was covered in colored stones? I mean, just how much did that thing weigh before she put an
ything in it?”
The trip was easier once they, by unspoken agreement, focused on everything “dumb” they were leaving behind in Idumea. The jams. The crowds. The constant stream of people to and from the Shin mansion. Sometimes it felt more like the garrison than a home, with the number of uniforms that tramped in and out. They carefully avoided any topics that would remind them of who they left behind, and what they might find ahead.
When they arrived at the first changing station between Idumea and Pools, Perrin rode over to check on them.
“Spirits holding up?” he whispered to Mahrree.
“Yes, very well. We’re all being careful. How’s the caravan?”
“So far the wagons seem secure, and the teams held out pretty well at this pace,” Perrin told her. “I hope the replacements are just as steady, but we may be getting some mixed qualities coming up. I’ve spoken to a few owners and they understand the need for their horses. They think the Administrators have organized all of this, and I’ve heard nothing but praise for their ‘generous action’ for Edge.” His tone developed an irritated quality.
“Maybe word will get back to Idumea about the citizens’ perceptions,” Mahrree pointed out, “and by the time the Administrators find out, they’ll take all the praise themselves and go easy on your father."
Perrin sighed. “That would be the best solution, wouldn’t it? Looks like the last of the horses are changed. It’s about fifteen miles to the next stop between Pools and Vines. We won’t have any reason to stop in Pools. Gizzada’s is closed for the night, even though a wagonful of his sandwiches could feed the village for a week.”
Mahrree and Jaytsy spent the next leg of the trip thoroughly criticizing each dress from the night before, while Peto sighed loudly about his boredom. But he stopped when they heard the shouting.
And they realized it was Perrin.
“Behind! Behind! HILI!”
Mahrree gripped the window frame and peered outside. In the dark she couldn’t discern anything, but thought she recognized Poe on horseback whipping past the coach to follow Perrin, along with the two lieutenants.
“Mother, what’s going on?” Peto asked.
“I don’t know. Something’s wrong,” she said, straining to hear anything above the clattering of the coach. There seemed to be more riders behind them than just four.
Then she heard a distant sound that churned her stomach.
Swords clanging.
Then there was more shouting, and a horse quickly overtook the coach.
Instinctively Mahrree drew back. The man on the horse passing the coach wasn’t in a uniform, but wore dark clothing and his face was blackened.
Mahrree sat back, breathing heavily.
“What is it?” Jaytsy asked.
The driver of the coach answered her as he shouted to the teams ahead of him. “Attack! Under attack!”
“Down, on the floor, now!” Mahrree ordered.
As her whimpering children slid off their seats and huddled together on the floor, Mahrree put her head cautiously out the window, only later to realize that wasn’t at all cautious.
The dark rider was now overtaking the wagon ahead of them. He leaped from his horse onto the wagon and out of Mahrree’s view. She sank back down, trying to think and trying not to panic.
“What do they want?” Peto wondered.
“I think they want the food,” Mahrree said, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“Who is it?”
She didn’t want to say it, but there was no other possibility. “Guarders.”
Jaytsy whimpered.
Another yell made them all flinch. It was Perrin, and he was overtaking the coach.
“Father!” Jaytsy cried out.
Mahrree muffled her with her hand, although she doubted Perrin would have heard her over the noise of the coach and the horses. “What do you expect him to do, come in here and hold you? He needs to do his duty. You do yours. Sit low and safe!”
Mahrree sat back up and tried to see what was happening in front of them, if nothing else but to gauge if she should feel panicked or brave.
She spied Perrin leaning toward the wagon with the Guarder on it, and a body flew off the side. Mahrree tried not to gasp, but she couldn’t help it. As they passed the body flopped by the side of the road, Mahrree saw in the quick moment that she could focus on it that it was dressed in soldier blue.
Yes, she should feel panicked.
Only one soldier was left on the wagon ahead with the Guarder, and Perrin was riding next to them on horseback. She tried to look ahead in the dark, but saw instead a leg start to come down off the top of their coach. The soldier sitting in relief driver position was making his way down the side.
The soldier looked behind, and Mahrree turned to see Poe riding hard up to them holding the reins of another horse, presumably from the enemy. He came up alongside the coach and the soldier made a clumsy but safe landing on the spare horse. Together they rode up to the wagon and out of Mahrree’s view.
She sat back, frustrated. “I have to know what’s happening! There’s an empty seat now up there,” she mused to herself and looked up as if she could see through the black siding.
“Mother, you can NOT go up there!” Peto declared.
“She’d never do that, Peto!” Jaytsy said.
But Mahrree was already putting her head out the window trying to see the footholds the soldier used. She sat down again. “You’re right,” she said, partially disappointed but more relieved. “If I were wearing trousers I might be able to do it, and if the horses weren’t galloping. And if it wasn’t dark. And if I wasn’t terrified of the whole situation—”
Several more shouts shut her mouth. One glimpse out the windows told them the coach was surrounded by men on horseback, all in black, perhaps as many as ten.
Jaytsy screamed and ducked down again. Peto looked like he would be sick. Mahrree tried to pray, but all that would come out was, “Please, Creator! Please!”
She watched out the window—this time trying to be discreet about it but likely failing—as another figure on horseback who proved to be her husband came into view with his sword drawn. In the dark it was hard to be sure, but Mahrree thought it was dirtied. She felt Peto and Jaytsy come to her side to watch, but she was too engrossed in what was going on to tell them to get back down.
Perrin slashed at a rider nearest their door and the man fell from his horse without a sound.
“That was quick,” Peto breathed, genuinely impressed.
Another rider pulled out a sword and then fell from view.
“No, I wanted to see that!” Peto moaned. He leaned out the window to see his father fight the Guarder behind them, but they were lost to the night.
Before Mahrree could yank her son back to safety, a strange rocking motion shifted the coach, and Mahrree twisted to look out the other side. A dark rider had leaped onto the coach and was climbing up past the window.
“What do they want with us?” Jaytsy whimpered.
“They don’t want us, just the coach,” Mahrree said, not at all sure of her assessment. Now she wanted to cry out for Perrin, too. But she couldn’t let panicked win. Not yet.
The coach bounced erratically, suggesting that the dark man and the lone driver were fighting on the top. The horses kept their gallop and Mahrree wondered if there was anything she could do.
Poke the Guarder through the coach wall? Throw an apple at him? Mahrree’s bravery was woefully uncreative.
The swaying stopped and a strange whoop came from above them.
Mahrree looked out the window to see the body of another soldier falling away.
That was it. The end. They’d lost control of the coach, and she and her children were now at the mercy of people who weren’t know for mercy . . .
She sat down, sure that the terror on her face was evident even in the dark.
“Mother, who’s driving the coach?” Peto asked, not too steadily.
&n
bsp; Mahrree just shook her head. Another yell came, and she looked out the window to see her husband nearing. With a swipe of his sword, a Guarder riding right behind their back wheel fell from his horse, then another slash from Perrin caused the last Guarder on that side of the coach to vanish as well. Mahrree looked to the other side, but didn’t see anyone in view. The other riders must have gone up ahead.
“Mahrree!” Perrin yelled.
She stuck her head out the window.
“Good—you’re still there.”
Before she could ask him where in the world he thought she might’ve gone, he said, “You’re going to have to help me gain control of this coach.”
“What?!”
Perrin glanced up at the driver in black and shook his head. “No time!” He nudged his horse closer to the coach and leaned over.
“I hate doing this,” he muttered as he tried to match the speed of his horse to the coach. “Always messed up in training. Never could get the timing . . . just . . . right.”
He leaned, grabbed the handholds on either side the door, and left the horse successfully.
“Ha! When it matters, I guess,” he said as his feet scrabbled to find the step.
Mahrree and her children couldn’t even breathe.
“Mahrree, watch how I go up, count to fifteen, then follow me. Have Peto hold the door so it won’t come back and hit you. You’ll have to take the reins while I secure the coach. Are you watching?”
Mahrree spluttered for a moment before she managed a panicked, “Are you serious?”
But Perrin was already inching his way to the front of the coach. He reached for the same holds the soldier had used a few minutes ago to climb up to the driving bench. Soon he was out of sight, and the coach swayed unpredictably again. A loud grunting noise above them fortunately didn’t sound like Perrin. It did, however, sound like Perrin punching someone in the gut.
Mahrree sat with her mouth wide open, stunned, as Peto slowly counted.
The coach bounced again.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
Jaytsy squeezed her hand, if in support or agreement, Mahrree wasn’t sure.
“Thirteen . . . fourteen . . . fifteen. Mother, fifteen? I know I said otherwise, but Father’s waiting for help.”
Peto sat up and swung the door open, then put his arm through the window to hold the door. “If you won’t go, I will,” he said, and Mahrree could tell he meant it.
The mothering instinct finally took over, easily defeating panic that tried to take a stand against it. “Oh no you won’t, young man!”
Another violent sway threw Mahrree toward the open door.
“All right, all right! I’m going!” She cautiously turned to back out the door, feeling for the grips above. Firmly grasping the leather handles, she stepped out to the side of the coach.
“Be careful, Mother!” cried Jaytsy unnecessarily.
Even in the dark Mahrree could tell two men were wrestling on top of the coach. She focused instead on finding the holds, ignoring the cold wind and rocking that tried to toss her from the side. She put her foot on the first hold—a small block protruding from the side—and reached for the next one.
“Not made for short women!” she yelled at the coach. As if in response, the coach hit a bump and propelled her upward enough to grab the block above. Not sure if she should feel grateful or disappointed, Mahrree firmed her grip. She knew she was going to make it up there; it was just a matter of actually doing it.
She refused to look up to see what was happening with her husband, but took the next hold up and placed her boot again, glad that the wind was blowing her skirt out of the way, then climbed again and again until she saw the empty driver’s seat in front of her. She crawled onto it and sighed in relief.
“The reins!” she heard Perrin yell. Then she heard him grunt.
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, she told herself. She saw the ends of the reins just below her where the drivers’ feet were to rest. Laying down on the bench and reaching out her shaking hand, she snatched them with a triumphant, “Ha!”
She sat up in the seat and the coach shifted again. Startled, she spun around to see her husband on all fours on the roof, grinning down at her. “Good job!”
Mahrree exhaled and held the reins up to him. He shook his head.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said, a little winded.
“Then why aren’t you standing?”
“Do you want to try to stand on a swaying coach? I’ll trade you!”
She held the reins up to him again with a challenging smile, until she saw— “PERRIN!”
He turned just in time to see another Guarder climbing up the side of the coach. Perrin’s swift kick in his face sent the dark man into the air and made Mahrree wince.
But another Guarder was climbing up the back, and still another on the side. Perrin stayed on his knees, drew his sword and Mahrree pivoted to the front. She couldn’t bear to watch him use the sword, or worse, see something used on him.
Just keep control of the horses, she thought. Never mind this was only the third time in her life she had ever held the reins of horses, and that she really didn’t know what else to do but hold them firmly. She focused ahead at the teams in front of her, still in full gallop. In the dim light of the moons she could just make out the full and awful scope of the attack.
The scenario playing out on the coach was being repeated two wagons in front of her, and, by the amount of horses she saw overtaking her, would be happening on nearly all of the wagons as well. Guarders and soldiers fighting for control of the caravan.
“Dear Creator, will we lose everything?” She tried to concentrate on the wagon ahead of her to see who was controlling the horses. It occurred to her that if it were Guarders, they would have left the caravan by now. She prayed it was Hili or the relief driver of their coach holding the reins.
Behind her she heard the furious clanking of steel, and worried tears washed down her face. As long as someone in black didn’t suddenly land next to her, her husband was prevailing.
She chanced a look behind her just in time to see Perrin run his sword through another man, who fell ungainly from the coach. Mahrree thought she would retch, especially when she saw another Guarder who climbed up the side hit Perrin solidly in the jaw with his fist.
“No, no, no, no!” Mahrree whispered to the horses as she turned quickly around.
She felt a presence above and behind her, then suddenly next to her.
It was a man. Wearing black.
She screamed and the body flopped limply on her lap, unconscious, or worse.
With a noise Mahrree remembered making only once before when she found a large centipede creeping through her little girl’s dinner, she flailed and kicked until the heavy body slumped to the other side of the bench. As she cowered on her end of the seat, she watched in horror as the man in black slowly, much too slowly, slid off the other side and into the darkness. A jolting of the coach’s back wheel suggested they’d run over him. For the third time in her life Mahrree made the same noise, which used every vowel sound in the alphabet, followed by a severe shudder.
“Perrin!” she whimpered and saw another body tumble off a wagon further up ahead, seemingly dressed in black.
There was another sway of their coach, another clang of steel behind her, and the suggestion of one more body falling off the side.
“Wasn’t me!” Perrin shouted.
One morbid side of her mind wished she was keeping tally of her husband’s kills. The other part of her mind recoiled at the word ‘kills.’
Another body fell off another wagon somewhere ahead, but she kept her eyes forward. A distinct slicing sound behind her sent a spray of something onto her cloak and the seat next to her. She glanced down to see liquid shining in the dim moons’ light. Grimacing, she chanced a look behind her.
Her husband cringed down at her
and gestured with his sword that dripped again on the driver’s bench and her cloak. “Sorry about that. But it’s not mine. You’re doing well, by the way.” He turned and Mahrree saw him thrust with the sword again at someone just out of view.
She looked straight ahead and tried to ignore the moaning sound that fortunately didn’t sound like her husband, followed by another muffled thud.
I should’ve said that to him, she thought. You’re doing well. What I am doing but sitting here flinching and weeping?
She felt a presence next to her again, but before she could cry out she realized this time it was her husband.
“That’s the last of them back here,” he said as he positioned himself on the bench next to her. “I can’t see anything else coming up. But I need to get to the other wagons.”
Mahrree fought the urge to throw her arms around her husband’s neck, because they weren’t out of trouble yet. “How? We can’t go any faster, and we can’t leave the road or we’ll end up in those freshly plowed fields that are now turning into freezing mud.”
“I know, I know—let me think.” Perrin took the reins from his wife and scanned the dark scenery for any abandoned horses.
The distant horn blast startled them both. They looked at each other expectantly, then heard the second long, loud tone.
“The fort at Pools!” Perrin breathed.
Cheers rose from the wagons ahead as Guarder horses came rushing back past the coach, with fresh soldiers and horses in close pursuit. Perrin joined the cheer, but Mahrree just held her head in relief.
A few moments later an officer rode up to the coach and turned his horse to match their pace.
“Colonel Shin? I’m Captain Lebs. We’re here to escort you to the fort and attend to your wounded.”
“Thank you, Captain!” Perrin saluted cheerfully.
Mahrree patted her chest to catch her breath before turning to call down to the coach. “Are you two all right in there? We should be at the fort soon.”
There was no response.
“Peto! Jaytsy!” Mahrree screamed. “Answer me!”
Perrin looked at her, alarmed.
“Fine, Mother! We’re fine,” Peto’s muffled voice finally came back up to them. “Just a little, um, buried. Seems the crate of dresses Grandmother packed wasn’t secure. Just a small nightmare, covering me in silks . . .”
Jaytsy’s nervous laugh rose up. “He looks lovely, Mother. Peto in pink. I wish there was more light in here.”
“Dresses?” Perrin asked Mahrree. “With the need for food you packed dresses?”
“Your mother packed dresses, and lots of food,” Mahrree clarified. “She thought women in Edge might need some new clothing. Quite a gesture on her part when you think about it. I think she gave us nearly everything she owned.”
By the time they reached the fort, Peto and Jaytsy had managed to pack most of the dresses back into the crate that had been perched on the seat opposite of them. As the coach pulled through the fort’s gates, Colonel Snyd was waiting with a lantern in one hand, and his sword in the other. When he recognized the Shins, his stance relaxed and he sheathed his weapon. The wagon drivers pulled over to the stables to inspect the condition of the horses and wagons, but Perrin stopped the coach in front of the command office, slid off the bench and helped Mahrree down.
Snyd shook his head. “You looked a sight neater last night, Colonel Shin. The only thing messing up your uniform was a baby, not—”
Instead of finishing his sentence, the colonel held the lantern higher. Mahrree saw splatters and smears on her husband’s riding coat that she hadn’t noticed before. She quickly looked down to avoid seeing more blood, but discovered a few drying spots on her cloak instead.
Colonel Snyd smiled sympathetically. “Mrs. Shin, I didn’t expect we’d meet again so soon. I certainly hope your ride here was . . . well,” he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “What can I say?”
Colonel Shin shook his hand. “I can say thank you, Colonel Snyd. Your men came just in time.”
Jaytsy and Peto tumbled out of the coach and hurried over to their father.
Snyd chuckled in understanding as they each gripped one of Perrin’s arms. “Quite an evening you two have had,” Snyd said. “Two exciting nights in a row, eh?”
“Father was more entertaining tonight than last night,” Peto said. “I counted thirteen.”
“Thirteen what?” Mahrree asked.
Perrin leaned over to him. “I think you missed three,” he whispered.
Mahrree pressed her hands to her temples and groaned quietly. “Colonel, is there a washing room I could go for a few minutes to freshen up?”
“Of course,” he said gesturing to the open door behind him. “Sergeant Oblong,” he called to a waiting soldier, “show Mrs. Shin and her daughter to the guest washing rooms. See to it that they have some warm water, too.”
Mahrree nearly wept to see a cheerful and familiar face approach them.
“If you’ll follow me, ma’am,” Oblong said as he led them down a wide corridor. He pushed open a door for them. “Clean towels are over there, and I’ll go fetch you the water. And please tell Colonel Shin it worked,” he added in an urgent whisper. “I’m being promoted next week!”
---
Only after Mahrree and Jaytsy, now willing to hang on her mother for comfort, left to enter the fort did Perrin turn to his son.
“First, counting kills is not some kind of competition—”
“And second,” Snyd said, “never discuss the number in front of the women.”
Perrin pointed at him. “Right.”
“So it was that bad, Colonel Shin?” Snyd asked, nodding at his bloodied coat and leading him and Peto into his command office. Peto took a chair by the door to watch the changing of the horses across the compound.
Perrin shook his head as he slumped into a chair. “It was very bold. Right outside the village border. I never remember them attacking in such a manner.”
“It’s a very tempting load,” Snyd pointed out. “We have no idea how severely they’ve been affected.”
“But that’s not what bothers me,” Perrin said, eyeing the man he knew hoped to be the next High General. Seven years ago when he trained Snyd in new protocols, he’d regarded Perrin as little more than the general’s nuisance son. Last night at The Dinner he’d been predictably cordial, but Perrin felt Snyd sizing him up.
Tonight, the evaluating contest continued, but it took on a different tenor. Now both men were to posture as to who knew more and had better hunches as to what was really happening. That’s the way it went with brassies, Perrin knew. Enlisted men decided things with their fists, but senior officers established their hierarchy with deliberately dropping nuggets of information. It wasn’t a matter of who was stronger or a better fighter; it was about who possessed the more valuable nuggets.
“Nor I,” Snyd said. “It’s how they knew so quickly. We barely got the message over an hour ago about the caravan, yet they had dozens of men, according to my scouts, just as quickly? Shin, someone was talking.”
That was obvious, Perrin thought. He didn’t feel like playing any games tonight, and he wasn’t interested in establishing himself in the colonel pecking order, so he simply asked, “Who? The only one who knew soon enough would’ve been Riplak. The other messenger the High General sent went straight to the reserves. I saw him there.”
“How long has Riplak served your father?” Snyd asked, his eyes narrowing with the implication that he’d worked out the solution long before Perrin arrived.
But Perrin had no patience for that. “My father’s known him for years. Riplak even worked in his stables when he was a teenager, and my father helped him get into Command School. He’s been his assistant for over a year now. He’s trustworthy.”
Snyd shrugged at that, suggesting he’d visit that evaluation again later. “Maybe it was just a stroke of good luck on the Guarders’ part. Maybe they were on their way somewh
ere else and happened upon your caravan. But what if they weren’t?”
Snyd watched him for a response, but Perrin just sighed wearily. He never was one for my-brass-is-shinier-than-your-brass. He just wanted drivers and a fresh horse.
Snyd gave up and slapped his desk almost cheerfully. If the other man wasn’t even going to play who’s-got-the-bigger-brass, it was as good as a win. “Well, I’m on it, Colonel Shin. We’re rounding up whoever we can right now, and I’ve ordered the men to keep the Guarders separate so they can’t kill each other. We’ll also replace the soldiers you lost. I have my captain taking a count right now as they change the horses to see how many more you need to get to Edge.”
Perrin smiled genuinely. “Excellent. That’s exactly what I need. Thank you.”
“I have to admit,” Snyd said, sitting back in his chair and settling in for another round, “I’m surprised at the Administrators. This show of generosity is quite unexpected.” He raised an eyebrow.
Perrin gave him a deliberate look. “Yes, yes it is, Colonel.”
Snyd broke into a sly smile, realizing that a candidate for High General had just kicked himself out of the race. “Understood. I also understand the need to get you on your way as quickly as possible. I won’t detain you any longer, except,” he said in the generous manner of one who knew he would someday become the other’s superior officer, “to order you to clean yourself up. Your wife and daughter have seen enough of our work tonight.”
Colonel Shin glanced down at his hands turning brown with drying blood. “Yes, of course.” He had to concede it was a good idea. “Peto, come with me.”
He left the office and headed to the soldiers’ washroom, his son following close behind.
Perrin was acutely aware of his son watching him as he rubbed his face and hands with the cold water, using the bar of lavender soap for extra measure. His coat and the new uniform underneath, also showing dark splashes, would have to wait. Maybe that’s why the blue was a deeper shade now, he considered—to hide the stains better.
As he took a cloth and dried himself, he asked, “How much did you see, son?”
“A lot, Father,” Peto looked down at his shuffling feet. “Probably more than I should’ve. That’s how the crate fell.”
“What do you mean?” Perrin put down the cloth and inspected himself in the mirror looking for anything else that would make his wife cringe or his daughter whimper.
“I was kneeling on it, up against the window and hanging out to watch you. One of those last bumps knocked the crate over and broke it open. Knocked me down, too.”
Perrin groaned softly to himself. Worse than the talk of explaining “How Peto Came to Be” was the discussion of “How to Make Sense of Bloody Violence.” He should’ve had this talk when Peto was eight as well.
Perrin turned around and leaned against the water pump table. “And what did you think about what you saw?”
Peto shook his head. “I never knew you could do all that. I mean, I’ve seen Uncle Shem and the others practicing, and figured you must know some of it, but you’re always on the horse giving the commands. I never saw you . . . you know, doing it. Slashing someone. I must admit,” he looked down at his feet again, “I was kind of proud of you.”
“Kind of proud,” Perrin repeated quietly. “I kind of appreciate that. But what did you think about what you saw happen to those men?”
Peto inspected his boots for another moment before lifting his head, his pale eyes clouded. “It was awful, Father. Some of them died, didn’t they?”
Perrin wasn’t about to say, At least thirteen; the others will die from their injuries by morning. Instead he said, “I’ve always been far too effective, I’m afraid.”
Horrified, Peto whispered, “How do you do it?”
Perrin sighed inwardly with relief. It was the boys who were enthralled by the blood that worried him. “I do it for you, for your mother, for your sister. I don’t enjoy it, Peto, but it’s satisfying to know you’re safe because I know how to use steel. I don’t want you to have to see that again. I’m just glad it was dark. I don’t like seeing what happens, either. And I never want to get to the point where I do.”
Peto nodded at him and bit his lower lip. “Father,” he whispered, “I really don’t want to be a soldier.”
“You don’t have to be, Peto. It’s probably not your calling.”
Peto furrowed his brows. “My calling?”
“What you feel driven to be. What the Creator wants you to be. Many men ignore it or try to fight it. Sometimes I find myself fighting it, too,” Perrin confessed. “But I know that being in the army is my calling. In time, you’ll know yours too.”
Peto was thoughtful for a moment before he eyed his father. “Are you sure it was sixteen?”
“Positive. While some soldiers keep track for bragging purposes, I always keep count to make sure I didn’t miss anyone who may come back later to surprise me. Learned that in the forest before you were born. And sixteen’s pretty good for an old guy like me.”
Peto shook his head. “You’re not really old, Father.”
“I guess you’re right,” he sighed. “I could be doing this for another twenty-seven years until I retire.”
They left the washroom and found Jaytsy and Mahrree waiting for them by the coach. Mahrree’s face was brighter now that Perrin’s was.
“Sure you don’t want to ride with us in the coach?” she asked.
“I wished I could,” Perrin said, “but I understand a crate of dresses has taken my favorite seat. I think I’m best put to use where I was.”
Jaytsy hugged him. “That was so scary!” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re my father.”
“Ah, Jaytsy, enough of that mushy stuff,” Peto said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the coach. “He doesn’t need to hear that. Toughen up, girl. Some dim-witted soldier somewhere wants to marry you, remember?”
Jaytsy smacked his arm and sent a grateful look to her father before she loaded into the coach after her brother.
“Ready for the next leg, Colonel Shin?” Mahrree asked him.
“Only if you are, Mrs. Shin. I should give you a field promotion for driving.”
“For holding the reins,” she corrected.
“And for marshalling all this food and clothing.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Hmm—marshalling, field promotion . . . how about the title of Field Marshal?”
She pulled a face. “How about we just pray for a quiet night?”
“Already have been.”
---
“What did he do?” Chairman Mal shouted as Brisack jogged up the stairs to the mansion for the second time that night. It was late and cold, but Mal was practically on fire with fury.
“I don’t know,” Brisack panted as he reached the top. He bent over to catch his breath, gulping in freezing air that seized his lungs. “But they all went,” he gasped. “None have come back. No notes. No explanations. I don’t know—”
“And Gadiman?” Mal exploded.
“I can’t find him anywhere,” Brisack said as he struggled to stand back up. “But when I do—”
“You’ll bring him to ME!”
Chapter 20 ~ “I realize it’s not exactly a mansion in Idumea--”