No. Marcus pulled up short, as though at the edge of an abyss. I’m not thinking about Ellie.
He’d been quiet too long. They were all looking at him: a guarded, curious stare from de Manzet, worry from Val, genuine sympathy from the Preacher, Fitz as straight-?faced as ever. Every one of them could have done what Quord did. But they’ve put their faith in me, as always. Better not to let them wonder if that was a bad idea.
He cleared his throat. “For the moment, we need to wait on events. I want order kept in the camps, no matter what news trickles in. Keep things as normal as possible, but no large meetings and no passes to the city. Curfew is sundown, and spread the word that I’m taking it seriously. The days when we could afford to go easy on people who skirt the rules just ended.” Marcus looked at Give-Em-Hell. “I’m going to be leaning on you for a lot of this. Are your troopers up for stopping fights instead of starting them?”
“It’s not our preferred trade,” Give-Em-Hell said with a grin, “but we can manage.”
“If I might make a request,” Fitz said, “I think special care should be taken with the men of my First Regiment. The Old Colonials are... stubborn. I don’t think they’d go as far as treason, but brawling is a distinct possibility if there’s a disagreement. It’d be better if there were outsiders around to keep the peace.”
“Noted. Anything else?”
“The Second,” de Manzet said. “They still don’t have a commander.”
“Ihernglass is officially only missing.”
De Manzet shrugged. “Be that as it may, someone is going to have to take charge.”
“Right now, Colonel Cytomandiclea is in acting command, with the assistance of Colonel Giforte,” Fitz said. “But it’s an informal arrangement.”
“That’s tricky,” Val said. “You can’t just put someone new in charge. Not with their... special circumstances.”
“I’m sure the Second Division would obey whichever commander the Ministry sees fit to appoint,” Marcus said loudly. “But yes, I agree that there might be complications for morale. I’ll speak to the queen about it.”
“While you’re at it,” de Manzet said, “try to find out if we’re at war or not.”
3
Winter
Thok. Scrape. Tug. Thok. Scrape. Tug.
The sky overhead was a brilliant, crystalline blue, unmarred by clouds. The mountain peaks in every direction were capped with snow, but the sun beat down on her back with a pleasant warmth.
Thok. Scrape. Tug.
Her shoulders burned. One arm ached, as though it knew deep in the bone that it still ought to be broken.
Thok. Scrape. Tug.
She had a... thing, like a pick but a little bit wider. She brought it down with both hands, to bite deep into the earth. Thok. Then she twisted it, with a scratchy sound of soil on metal. Scrape. Then she tugged and pulled, one boot braced against the earth, until it came free. One stride forward, and start again.
Thok. Scrape. Tug.
Winter had no idea why she was doing this. It had something to do with potatoes, and a fall harvest, but beyond that she was lost. Mrs. Wilmore’s long-?ago lessons on running a farm hadn’t covered potatoes, and in any case she’d forgotten almost everything. But Snowfox had told her this was how she could help, and so here she was, helping. It had been some time, but she figured sooner or later either she’d run out of field or someone would tell her to stop.
She liked the work. The Eldest had made it clear she was an honored guest at the Mountain and she wasn’t obligated to lend a hand, but Winter found herself dreading the quiet of her empty chamber. The honest simplicity of swinging a pointy stick into the ground, over and over, brought her a kind of peace. She suspected her untrained efforts weren’t really all that helpful, but at least it was something.
Something other than—
—?red eyes, a sea of red eyes—
—?the flawless face of a crystal statue—
—?the roar of cannon and the howl of the killing wind—
—?bad dreams.
Thok. Scrape. Tug.
One of the Mountain people was waving to her. Winter stopped and waited while the young woman trudged across the field. She hadn’t learned any of their names.
Better for them if I don’t. Better for them if they stay away. On some level she knew this was nonsense, but she couldn’t banish the chains of guilt. Jane. Bobby. Dozens of soldiers whose names and faces were fading shamefully from her mind, merging into a single broken figure. People who get close to me end up dead.
“Winter! They are asking for you,” the woman called. She spoke in Murnskai, which Winter still didn’t understand perfectly, but the Mountain people were used to talking slowly for her benefit. “Eldest requests your presence in the high chamber.”
She’d known this was coming. The world was calling, dragging her back to the place where bad dreams were forged. For just a moment, she wondered if she could say no. Stay here in the fields forever, learning to plant potatoes.
The demon in the pit of her soul gave a restless twitch. It sensed the presence of its kin.
There’s no escape from dreams.
“He has returned,” the Mountain woman said. “The masked one.”
The Steel Ghost.
Winter straightened up with a sigh and dropped her potato pick. She could feel her life, her responsibilities, settling back onto her, like a cloak lined with lead weights. Her voice was a croak after days of disuse.
“Show me the way,” she said.
*
The Mountain referred to both the hidden valley—?preserved from the weather and the vengeance of the Church by precarious threads of magic—?and the enormous fortress that occupied one end of it. Naturally occurring caves and cracks had been expanded into a warren of rooms and tunnels, with arrow-?slit windows and well-?stocked storerooms. It was far too large for the few people who lived there, being designed to house the entire population of the valley in case of invasion, and so the corridors the young woman led Winter down were mostly empty. Here and there, young men and women in long priestly robes gave her a respectful nod as they hurried about their errands.
They followed a spiral staircase through several turns, until they were well above the valley floor. Here the rooms had larger openings, lips of rock carved into balconies, many overrun with the birds’ nests and guano. The highest chamber was completely open on one side, like a house with one wall missing, and a massive fire burned there day and night. Winter had seen it from the valley floor, like a glowing, unblinking eye.