“That is not all of it—though I’ll grant that it’s a necessary precondition. But Isabella … you have thrown yourself into the thick of things before. You are fearless. Not in the sense that you feel no fear; I know better than to think you that foolish. But you do not let it hold you back, and there is power in that. You will hurl yourself in front of that caeliger and refuse to accept anything less than cooperation, and you will bend whoever has come to your will. I believe this, with all my heart.”
We lay in silence again, while I tried to ensure I could speak without my voice wavering too badly. When it was steady at last, I said, “All the same. I want you and Thu both to be prepared to do … whatever you have to.” Defend yourselves, I thought. Run away. Whatever it took. I had lost one husband in the mountains; I would not lose another.
“We will,” Suhail promised. “Now sleep.”
Perhaps I did, a little. But my memory is of an all-too-short time at his side, before Suhail rose for his dawn prayer and Kahhe came to say it was time.
*
The worst part was the waiting.
I laid my sign out in the meadow we had chosen, just below the point at which the greenery of spring thinned out to the barren rock of the upper slopes. It was an enormous sheet made of yak-wool blankets hastily stitched together, a square of suspiciously regular brown, with a huge white star painted in its center—a shape snow was unlikely to melt into. Below that I had written “LAND HERE” in the largest letters the space allowed, but I could not be certain anyone would be able to read them from the air.
There were so many things I could not be certain of. What if they did not enter between Gyaptse and Cheja? There were other cols, or the river gorge through which the first caeligers had passed. I had no idea when the caeliger was coming; if its base was very far away, they might not return today, or even tomorrow. We might sit out here for a week without anything happening—and then I would wonder whether I should stay, or make my dash for the outside world in the hope of preventing more flights. (How I might do that, I could not even begin to guess.) They might overlook my sign, or crash in attempting to land, or see movement nearby and rake the ground with their rifles before touching down.
I had all the time in the world to think up one disaster scenario after another, for the caeliger did not come at dawn, nor at noon. The only mercy of this was that waiting dulled the edge of my fear, which cannot remain sharp for so long without something to hone it. The whetstone finally went to work in the early afternoon, when movement at the col drew my gaze. The caeliger had returned, and this time it looked like it would succeed in clearing the pass.
My lips formed soundless prayers. Though ordinarily I devote little attention to religion, in that moment I begged for the mercy of any deity that might care to listen, from the Lord of my childhood Assembly-House visits to the sun the Draconeans worshipped.
The caeliger almost scraped the snow of the col; I think a downdraft must have pushed it unexpectedly to earth. But then it shot forward at a slant, as if it were skiing down the western slope, and attained the free air of the Sanctuary.
A pole lay on the ground at my side. I seized it and, with all the strength in my arms, began to wave its banner back and forth: a piece of yak wool, the brightest blue the limited dye palette of Draconean fabrics could offer. Surely they would have scouts looking below; they must see this movement, a spot of unusual colour against the expected hues of spring, and shapes too regular for nature. I had not intended to speak, knowing my voice would be lost before it reached so high, but holding back proved impossible; I shouted at the top of my lungs, begging them to see me.
And the caeliger flew on. It soared past me and my increasingly desperate cries, dropping altitude as it went, until it was nearly on a level with me. Then it began to turn, and I realized it was simply preparing its approach. I ran for the edge of the meadow, flagpole in hand, to get out of their way.
I did not choose my direction at random. The surrounding terrain afforded little in the way of concealment for Draconeans; even with their spring-grey scales helping them to blend in, the odds of them being spotted from above were too great. But there was a little hollow where one could crouch, and Ruzt was there. If matters here went badly, she would break cover and relay a warning to the rest of her people. I laid my flagpole down near her, exerting all my will not to look at the hollow, and waited.
The landing of the caeliger was a lengthy enough process that I had time to thank any deity who might be listening that we had developed synthetic dragonbone. Had my people landed in something obviously assembled from pieces of dead dragons … it did not bear thinking about. Someday we would explain that entire matter to the Draconeans, but not that day.
Shouts were coming from the caeliger, but at this close proximity the noise of the engine was too loud for me to make out any words. Men swarmed in the gondola—more men than our vessels had carried from Vidwatha to Tser-nga—carrying out the work necessary to bring it firmly to earth. I knew enough of such operations to be sure they were not quite done when one of the crew flung himself over the edge of the gondola, staggered on the thin spring grass, and set off toward me at a run. “Isabella!”
It was my brother Andrew, whom I had left behind in Vidwatha nearly a year before. We collided in the middle of the meadow, Andrew enveloping me in a hug so tremendous, I thought he might re-injure the ribs I had cracked crossing the Cheja Glacier. He was laughing hysterically, as well he might: it was clear that Tom and Lieutenant Chendley had made it back to the lowlands and the army there, and so Andrew had believed me dead.
Our collision swung me around so that I could not see what was going on at the caeliger. As soon as I could, I wriggled free of my brother’s embrace so I could turn to look. Under ordinary circumstances I would have been delighted to stay where I was, for each reunion did more to strengthen me than any medicine … but I could not forget the burden of expectation that lay upon me.
Behind me, the caeliger was being staked to the ground. The number of men aboard made me certain their point of most recent departure was a good deal closer than Vidwatha. Hlamtse Rong, perhaps, or some locale even more remote, where the Tser-zhag were unlikely to notice them. Close enough that all they need do was get the caeliger up and over the col, whereupon they could seek a landing on the far side.
A man in winter uniform was standing not far away, looking as though he knew he ought to order Andrew to release me at once and behave as befitted a soldier, but was reluctant to disrupt our moment of happiness. When he lifted his goggles, I recognized him as Colonel Dorson, the fellow who commanded the caeliger base in Vidwatha. “Dear God, Lady Trent,” he said when I faced him. “How can you possibly be alive?”
“Did the locals rescue you?” Andrew said. He still held my arm—as if, were he to release me, I might vanish in a puff of smoke.
I gave him a sharp glance. “What do you know about them?”