“You’ve no hint what happened to Marissia or even Gavin?” she asked Teia. As if the girl would have held that back.
“No word at all, High Lady. Nor way to ask without arousing suspicion. Else I would have done it, I promise. I care for both of them, too, you know.”
Karris did. She was silent for a long while, querying Orholam and her own heart if she was ready for this next step. Orholam, please, this is the last moment to let me know if I’m stepping out of your will with this.
But he said nothing, and she saw nothing except that it must be done.
“Teia, I hoped that we could defang the Order. But serpents make poor pets. They offered a murder to you, as a gift? And allowing one of their own to kidnap the Prism’s own room slave? These are not actions of a group that can be brought back into Orholam’s goodness. Teia, what you’ve told me changes what we need to do. Much as I wish we could concentrate our forces in one direction at a time, this war must be fought on two fronts simultaneously. Are you familiar with the bull luxiatica Ad abolendam?”
“Uh, something to do with the luxors?”
“It’s a letter sealed with lead giving certain powers to an office or a person. It’s too dangerous for you to carry anything like that, so if you are challenged, yours will be hidden in my desk—in the secret compartment you found. Please don’t give me occasion to have to produce it.” Dear Orholam, forgive me. Even as I denounce serpents, I’m creating one.
“What are you talking about?” Teia said. “Why would I need such a thing?”
Will they put me on Orholam’s Glare for this? Will I deserve it? Her face as still and hard as the Iron White she aspired to be, Karris said, “In secret, I’m conferring upon you the title of Malleus Haereticorum. ‘Hammer of Heretics.’ You are now named and empowered as a luxor, Teia. The first named in my lifetime, and let us hope the last. Your mission is no longer merely to infiltrate the Order of the Broken Eye. You are to destroy them. Do whatever you have to do—up to and including murdering innocents. The blessing and forgiveness of the Chromeria and the Magisterium entire rest upon you for every lie and sin you deem necessary to accomplish this task. This is war. Kill the Order, Teia. Kill them all.”
Chapter 37
“Pity that by saving the village, we’ve destroyed it forever,” Big Leo said. “The Blood Robes’ retribution for this is going to be ugly.”
The Mighty were seated around a small fire in a hollow on an island, listening to Sibéal Siofra report what had happened below the falls as they had fought above them. The Mighty and the Ghosts would rendezvous in the morning—the battles had concluded after sunset, so there was no way the skimmers could cover all the leagues of river between them.
Sibéal had come alone overland, sneaking through the woods with the natural ease of her people. Conn Arthur had known the Mighty would want to hear how things had gone as soon as possible.
And Big Leo, bless the glowering lunk, had had the presence of mind to decide that the most vital provision that must be stolen before they scuttled the barge was wine. They passed several bulging skins around the fire, feeling young and invincible.
Except for Ferkudi. He’d been selected to be the lookout, which meant sober. He was vocal about his martyrdom.
The distraction raid below the falls, Sibéal reported, had been a huge success. She confirmed that the villagers had sunk their own barges before the Blood Robes arrived, hoping to protect their stockpiled grains. The Blood Robes, however, had brought their barges. When the Ghosts of Shady Grove attacked, they’d overwhelmed the Blood Robes’ barges so quickly they hadn’t needed to sink them. Instead, sparing only a few people, they’d stolen them and their nearly full load of flour.
The rest of the Ghosts had pressed on to the warehouses, seizing them as well, because the resistance was so light that the conn thought the Blood Robes would smell a trap if he pulled back.
He’d wisely shored up his defenses at the warehouses, avoiding a disaster when they discovered that there were over a thousand Blood Robes camped less than a league away—and coming fast.
“A thousand!” Cruxer exclaimed.
Instead of engaging in a hopeless battle, the Ghosts set fire to the warehouses and retreated before the reinforcements arrived.
Final tally: fifteen to twenty enemy killed. One dead and two wounded among the Ghosts. And all of the Blood Robes’ provisions either stolen or destroyed.
But Big Leo was right: The White King’s men wouldn’t believe that the opposing force had simply materialized without local support. There would be retribution. Conn Arthur had told the people to flee, but Sibéal said that some wouldn’t listen. Some never listen.
“We can’t let our fear of what they’ll do to retaliate dictate what we do,” Kip said. “If we let that work, they’ll do it again and again until we can do nothing at all.”
“On the other hand,” Ben-hadad said, “not to be coldhearted, but the more brutal the Blood Robes’ retaliation, the more people will come to our banners.”
“Which brings both help and trouble,” Cruxer said, “in logistics and loyalty. With the skimmers and a small platoon of drafters? We’ll be unstoppable raiders. I’ve got nothing against munds, but they’ll slow us down.”
Sibéal piped up, “Like people who haven’t trained to fight their whole lives slow you down?”
Cruxer looked at her flatly. “Yes. But your Ghosts have strengths that more than balance out your weaknesses. I don’t think that will be the case with… non-drafters.”
“We’ll deal with that when it comes,” Kip said. “For now, know that I see the problems coming. I don’t know what we should do about them yet, but I’ve got them in mind.” These were things he would need to discuss with Tisis first.
The Mighty needed to sink into this country. They needed to learn the people and the land. They needed friends if they were going to stop the White King.
“First thing we need to do,” Kip said, “is divide the loot.”
“Loot? The flour?” Big Leo asked.
“When you’re hungry in the forest and someone gives you gold to snack on, I want you to think about that tone,” Tisis said.
“The loot is ours,” Kip said. “We bled and died to take the White King’s flour—”
“The White King’s flour?” Sibéal asked.
“He stole it and the villagers had no way to get it back, did they? That said, after Conn Arthur makes clear that all of the flour and the barge itself is ours by the laws of war, he’s going to take only two sevs for each of us—little enough that each of us can add it to our pack without us having to add wagons, and enough that each of us can split our share with those who join us soon. Then the conn finds whoever is in charge from the village, makes clear what is ours, and then gives all the rest and the barge itself to the village. We want to bind the survivors to us, make them grateful. Make them spread good stories about us. And for Orholam’s sake, make sure they hide the barges until the Blood Robes are long gone.”
Sibéal Siofra nodded her head. “Saving their lives means a lot. Saving their livelihoods may mean more in the coming days.”
Orholam’s balls, Kip thought, they were going to need things like food and weapons and shoes and tents and cooks and everything else. Eight people could live off the forest without its slowing them too much. Especially with the skimmers. They wouldn’t be able to do that with the conn’s hundred and twenty added to that. And if even half the Cwn y Wawr joined? That put them at nearly two hundred and fifty souls. And two hundred and fifty mouths. Five hundred feet.
At that number, skimmers became a huge headache. With every new one they built, the quality got worse, the speed of the whole group got slower, and the likelihood of either losing one into enemy hands or having a spy steal their secrets magnified. That could have consequences for the whole war, not just the Mighty’s raids here.