“Sebek?”
“Is that his name? Terrible, just terrible. Won’t stay put. Won’t listen.” She pointed at Malcolm. “Even when he translates, it does no good. That Sebek gets himself bleeding. Stubborn fool.” She smiled at Persephone, waddling over duck-like. “So, how are we doing?”
“I’m fine, but I need you to do a few things for me.”
Padera glared with one eye. “I am; I’m checking your bandages,” she said, tugging at the covers. “Wait, who are you talking to?”
Persephone held the blanket tight. “Both of you. Malcolm, do you know about the pigeon loft?”
He nodded.
“I want you to send a message.” She paused, trying to remember what Arion had told her months ago when she had stood in the Karol and pleaded for Persephone to send word. Arion had a very odd way of saying it. Something about the limitations of the system they used to convey reports. The symbols used were few and specific. There was no symbol for beautiful, bumblebee, happiness, or eagle, just to name a few; the script revolved only around the needed ideas for military reports and orders: numbers, supplies, deaths, births, seasons, and such, and all of it was in a shortened form so a message could be tied to and carried by a small bird. “I can’t remember how Arion put it, but you need to convey that: Rhunes are not animals. We are capable of the Art. All we want is peace. Are you willing to find a way to end this war? That had been Arion’s message. I’m only now seeing the wisdom in it. The fane won’t see the message in time, but maybe after he returns home, he will. Once he has regained his fortress and we are no longer a threat, perhaps then he will read it. I hope he does, and it softens his heart so he won’t kill all that remains of our people.”
“I actually have some experience with the messenger pigeons,” Malcolm explained. “I can handle it myself.”
“Good, that’s better. I was worried about trusting the Instarya to write it correctly. This is important, Malcolm. Thank you. You’ve always been there for me, haven’t you?”
“As I will always be, until the very end.”
Persephone smiled. Sometimes he said the oddest things. No, it’s not what he says; it’s how he says it, as if he knows something I don’t.
“Let me see those stitches,” Padera said.
“No, I need you to find Raithe. Tell him I want to see him right away.”
“Of course, of course. Why not?” The old woman threw up her hands. “There’s only a war on, and the place is an obstacle course of broken rubble. Why don’t I rebuild the fortress while I’m at it?”
Padera and Malcolm left, and Persephone laid her head back down on the pillow. She had done all she could to save her people. That part of her life was over. Only one loose end remained between her and a peaceful death. She needed to make a confession to a man she had lied to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Wolves at the Door
I can honestly say I was never more frightened in my life. It was not that I thought I might die—I knew I would. I knew it with the same certainty that I knew I was in love—all this and I was only sixteen.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
Horns blew sometime past midnight.
Tesh had finally gotten used to the bell announcing attacks, but the bell had fallen along with everything else. Trumpets were the new heralds of doom, and they woke him from a nightmare-filled slumber where Brin was dying, trapped in the Kype. He couldn’t reach her. No matter how many Fhrey he killed, more always came.
He hadn’t planned to sleep, didn’t even think it would be possible. He promised himself he’d just close his eyes for a moment, but after sixteen hours of moving rocks to help build a makeshift wall, his body had betrayed him.
Now, Tesh ran across what remained of the courtyard. Jumping onto the collapsed remains of the old Frozen Tower, he looked down and saw seven bridges that hadn’t been there when he had gone to sleep. Across them, seven columns of soldiers flowed above the chasm. All around, men ran wildly, trying to find each other, trying to locate their leaders, trying to understand what to do.
“Has anyone seen Raithe?” Tesh shouted.
No one answered. No one knew. No one cared. Everyone had problems of their own.
He could join up with the men forming in the lower courtyard. He saw them from his perch, ragged lines coming together slowly. Both Harkon and Tegan were down there shouting. Raithe couldn’t stop him from fighting this time. Now, no one had a choice. Tesh looked back over his shoulder toward the dome and the Kype. The nightmare was fresh enough that he had to resist an urge to look for Brin.
My duty is to Raithe. “Raithe! Raithe!” he called, standing on the tips of his toes to see better.
“There you are!” Tesh heard a woman yell at him as she hauled a bucket of water. Her name was Tressa. All he knew about her was that most people spat on the ground after she walked by. “Raithe is in the smithy. He’s been wanting to talk to you.”
“Is that where you’re going?” Tesh asked.