The Thousand Names Part 59

"There's the Marcus I know," Alhundt said. "Always ready to take a bullet for the cause." She stopped, ten paces from Marcus and just short of the statue where Winter was hiding, and gave him a long look. "So what's the plan this time? Got a pistol shoved up your a.s.s?"

Marcus winced. "I don't know what to say."

"It won't work, whatever it is. This isn't a game of cards with the other captains. You're up against the Divine here."

"Jen . . ." Marcus hesitated.

Alhundt started forward again. "Just do it. Get it out of your system. Maybe that will finally convince you."

She pa.s.sed Winter's statue, barely a yard away. Winter tensed.

Now or never.

When Alhundt took another step, Winter sprang, rounding the plinth with one hand extended. The moment seemed to stretch, as though she were running through mola.s.ses. Her fingers were inches away from the Concordat agent's back when Alhundt spun, graceful as a dancer, and brought her left hand up. A wall of scintillating sparks snapped into existence, and Winter felt herself leaving the ground. A moment later she slammed against the belly of the lizard statue, pressed upward against the stone by a force so strong it was a struggle just to draw breath. Through the screeching, fizzing wall of light, she could see Alhundt step closer, hand extended, head c.o.c.ked to one side as though examining a fascinating insect.

"This is your plan? Have some idiot boy try to stick a knife in my back while you keep me talking?" She snorted. "Honestly, Marcus, I would have thought that even you could have come up with something better than that." Alhundt peered closer. "Has he even got a knife? What were you going to do, boy? Try to strangle me?"

Through the scream of the sparks, Winter could barely hear Marcus' voice. "He's a distraction."

There was the thunderclap of a musket going off in close quarters. The force holding Winter up abruptly vanished as Alhundt turned away, and Winter fell heavily across the stone lizard's taloned feet. The Concordat agent was facing Marcus now, her unearthly reflexes having easily deflected the musket ball. Her other hand came up, ready to unleash a devastating wave of force that would tear the captain to shreds- Something felt like it had given way in Winter's chest. Pain radiated from her much-abused side, as if she'd been stuck with a knife, and even drawing breath was a painful effort. It took all the energy she could muster to extend her hand a couple of feet. Her fingertips brushed Alhundt's s.h.i.+rt. With a supreme effort, she tugged herself forward and pressed her palm into the woman's back.

Do it, she told the naath. Come on. Whatever it is you do, do it!

Something flooded out of her. She felt the naath rush through her chest, down her arm, through the tenuous contact and into the other woman. At the same time, she could sense Alhundt's power, a spiky, twisted thing coiled around her essence like a wall of thorns. It flared as Winter's naath leapt the gap between souls, and pure energy sparked and coiled on a plane far from the merely physical.

Alhundt screamed. Winter would have joined her, but she didn't have the breath.

The two ent.i.ties slammed together. Or joined together, mixed but separate, like oil and water. Wherever they touched, dangerous energy crackled. Winter remembered what Feor had said about naath, that they were jealous things, and she suddenly understood the girl's pain. During the recitation, she had had this conflict roaring inside her, as the half-complete incantation warred with her own. Maybe that's what the naath does. Tears people apart with the force of their own magic. But whatever Alhundt was feeling, Winter also felt, echoing down the link between them. So does it shred me as well? The prospect left her curiously ambivalent. She seemed to have pa.s.sed beyond fear.

Something was changing. On the boundaries, where the magics sparked and warred, one of them was giving way. Winter's naath expanded, oil spreading out as the water retreated. It converted the other into more of itself, twisted and pummeled and restructured it until it could incorporate the foreign thing into its own fabric. The process began slowly, then accelerated, change running through Alhundt's magic as fast as thought could follow. Then, where there had been two warring powers, there was only one. Winter's naath flooded back through the link, diving back into the depths of her soul like a monster returning to its cave, sated with its kill.

The link broke. It felt like hours had pa.s.sed, but in the real world time had barely moved forward at all. Winter's hand fell away, flopping limply against the plinth. The screech of Alhundt's magic ended abruptly, leaving a tooth-jangling hum echoing in Winter's ears. The Concordat agent herself crumpled on the spot, folding like an empty sack to sprawl bonelessly on the flagstones.

The sound of Marcus running was distant, irrelevant behind the shooting pain that wracked Winter's body. Darkness closed around her. She closed her eyes and surrendered, gratefully, to unconsciousness.

Chapter Twenty-seven.

MARCUS.

"Are you certain?"

Jen lay on the bedroll, arms at her sides, left hand wound round with bandages. They'd dressed her in whatever could be scrounged from the stores, all much too large. The sleeves of the white s.h.i.+rt overhung her fingers, and the army-blue trousers had the cuffs rolled up like a little boy's. Marcus had retrieved her spectacles, one lens cracked through, and set them beside her head.

He couldn't help staring at her. With her features at peace, she looked like the woman who had cried on his shoulder and shared his bed, rather than the unholy monster she had revealed herself to be. The movement of her chest was so slight, the whisper of air through her lips so faint, that he felt if he looked away they might cease entirely. He rode with her in the carts during the day, and stayed with her in his tent at night. What sleep he did manage was brief and troubled.

No doubt the paperwork was piling up, but Fitz would take care of it. Marcus took his meals alone with his silent patient, and waited. Everyone knew just enough to leave him alone.

"Are you certain?" She'd implied there was more in his file that he knew . . .

The tent flap rustled, and there was a knock at the pole. Marcus looked up.

"Who's there?" His voice was still hoa.r.s.e from that horrible day at the oasis.

"Ja.n.u.s."

Of course. Marcus sat in silence for a long moment, indecisive.

"May I come in?"

"Go ahead."

The tent flap parted. Ja.n.u.s' left leg was bound up in wood and linen, and he supported himself with a crutch under that arm. He slipped inside with surprising dexterity and hopped over to Marcus' camp chair.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit," he said. Marcus nodded dumbly, and the colonel settled himself down and stretched his splinted leg in front of him. "It could have been much worse, so I suppose I should be thankful. Still a d.a.m.ned nuisance, though."

"Worse?" Marcus said.

"The leg."

"Ah."

Marcus lapsed into silence again. Ja.n.u.s regarded him thoughtfully, gray eyes glittering.

"Another day," the colonel said, "and we'll be at Ashe-Katarion. The fleet should arrive the day after that."

"That's good."

"I'll be going back to Vordan on the next courier run."

"And taking your Thousand Names with you," Marcus said, letting a hint of bitterness into his voice.

"Yes." Ja.n.u.s leaned forward. "Does that bother you, Captain?"

"You never cared about any of this, did you? The campaign, the Redeemers, any of it. It was all . . . a means to an end."

There was a pause. Ja.n.u.s c.o.c.ked his head.

"I can't deny that it was part of my plans," he said. "But I think you do me an injustice. I was commanded to destroy the rebels and restore the prince, and I have done that to the best of my ability."

"Only because it furthered your private war with the Last Duke." Marcus turned to look down at Jen. "What about the Colonials?"

"The Ministry of War will no doubt find a new commander. I'm sure it won't be long until some colonel disgraces himself badly enough to deserve it."

"Ah."

"On the other hand . . ." Ja.n.u.s paused. "The job is yours, if you want it."

"Mine?" Marcus blinked. "I can't. I'm not-"

"Not n.o.bly born, I know. But conferring a colonelcy on a commoner is not entirely without precedent. I'll certainly speak for you, and I suspect my word will carry a great deal of weight on my return. Provided you agree to stay here for the remainder of your career, out of sight of anyone who matters, I believe the Ministry could see its way clear to authorizing the promotion."

"Oh." Marcus paused, not quite able to bring himself to offer any thanks.

"It's the least I can do," Ja.n.u.s said. "a.s.suming that's really what you want."

"I'm not sure I follow you."

Ja.n.u.s sighed. "May I speak frankly, Captain?"

"Of course, sir."

"You should return to Vordan. You're too good an officer to waste his days in a sinecure. We're going to need men like you." Ja.n.u.s paused. "I am going to need men like you."

"What?" Marcus felt a flush of anger rise into his cheeks. "You need me? You've spent this whole campaign keeping me in the dark-"

"I told you as much as you would accept." Ja.n.u.s flashed a brief smile. "Honestly, Captain, if I'd told you the truth when I first arrived, you would have thought I was mad."

"I'm half sure you're mad now." Marcus gritted his teeth. "My men died chasing that thing across the desert. I had to stand by and watch you sign my best friend's death warrant. What makes you think I want to have anything to do with you ever again?"

"Because I think you are a patriot, Captain. Loyal to your country, and to your king."

Marcus stared at the colonel for a moment in stunned silence.

"You may not like it," Ja.n.u.s went on, "but you cannot deny what we saw. The Penitent d.a.m.ned, the elite servants of the Pontifex of the Black, working hand in glove with Duke Orlanko's Concordat. Evidently the Last Duke's a.s.sociation with the Sworn Church has gone well beyond a casual alliance. If we do nothing, Orlanko will take power, and Vordan will be as good as ceded to Elysium." He nodded at Jen. "In the hands of people like her. We'll have the Priests of the Black back in the cathedral, rooting out heresy with knives and hot pokers. The Great Schism all over again."

Another long pause.

"Even if I believed . . ." Marcus hesitated. "Even if I believed any of that, what a.s.surance do I have that you would be any better?"

Ja.n.u.s smiled again. "All the more reason to come with me, Captain. If the day comes when you believe I no longer have the kingdom's best interests at heart, you'll be in a position to do something about it."

Marcus said nothing. His eyes went to Jen. Ja.n.u.s caught the expression and frowned.

"You know what she was," he said. "Is."

"I know," Marcus said. He was quiet for a moment. "The cutters don't know what's wrong with her."

"Unsurprising. It's a bit beyond their area of expertise."

"Is she going to wake up?"

Ja.n.u.s blew out a long breath. "In all honesty, Captain, I don't know. What happened to her was . . . unique. I would not have expected her to survive at all. Given that she has, she might wake up tomorrow, or in a month, or not at all. And if she wakes . . ." He hesitated. "I don't know how much will be left of her."

"You don't know."

"I don't. I'm sorry."

"Did you study my history before you came here?" Marcus said.

Ja.n.u.s nodded. "Of course."

"Then you know what happened to me. To my family."

The colonel ducked his head. "A tragedy."

"They all died. That's what they told me, afterward. I wasn't there, you see. I was still at the College. By the time I got home they'd gone ahead with the funerals. Visiting the cemetery was all I could do. There wouldn't have been anything left to see, anyway. The whole house burned."

Ja.n.u.s nodded.

"All dead," Marcus said. "But Jen . . . when we were in the temple, she said . . ."

"Are you certain?"

There was a long silence.

"I don't want to hold out false hope for you, Captain," Ja.n.u.s said. "Orlanko and his creatures are masters of deceit. There may have been no more truth in it than in her affection for you."

"I know. But-"

"You want to know for certain."

Marcus said nothing.

"If the truth exists anywhere," Ja.n.u.s said, "it's buried under Orlanko's lair in the Cobweb."

"I'll dig it out," Marcus said. The anger in his voice surprised him. "With my bare hands, if I have to."

"Come with me," Ja.n.u.s said. "I swear I'll help you, if I can."

After a long moment, Marcus nodded.

WINTER.

Winter pushed the tent flaps open cautiously, and blinked in the full glare of the morning sun. Scrubby gra.s.s underneath her feet meant they were no longer deep in the Desol. Ahead, the land fell away in a spectacular cliff. Beyond that, stretching to the horizon, was the sea. The water was deep blue against the cloudless Khandarai sky, and she could see tiny white-tipped waves far below. The air smelled different-salty, and somehow alive compared to the baked, dead atmosphere of the Desol. Even the heat was moderated by a cool breeze blowing off the water.

She'd awoken to crisp linen sheets and a surprisingly small amount of pain. Some of her wounds were bandaged, while others had been closed with fine silk st.i.tches that were already sinking under the surface of newly healed skin. Her side still hurt when she touched it, but not nearly so badly as it had. When she lifted the sheet to examine her skin, she saw that the ma.s.s of bruises had turned a startling yellow-green.

Waiting at the foot of her bed was her uniform, freshly laundered, the various cuts and abrasions expertly st.i.tched and patched. Beside it was a brand-new coat, with a lieutenant's stripes properly sewn into the shoulders.

Outside, a white fabric awning threw its shadow across a wooden table and a couple of chairs set with pillows. One of them was occupied by Colonel Vhalnich, who was reading a book with his legs stretched out on a cus.h.i.+oned footrest. He looked up at the rustle of the tent flap, then shut the book and flashed her a brief smile.