Second Guard (25 page)

Tali waved farewell, wondering at Varah’s contentment with her new lot: six years of servitude, followed by babies and motherhood? I’d rather take the bruises, Tali thought with a
small laugh as she limped down the hallway.

Saavedra’s keep that evening served to heal both body and spirit. Chey and Zarif had also been officially chosen as Clash contenders that day, so everyone’s spirits
were brighter than usual. Brindl made them yerba tea infused with rare gingerroot to ease their aches and pains. In celebration, she also tucked a small piece of sweetbread on each plate and
drizzled it with elderberry syrup.

Saavedra wrote in his journal, chiming in less than usual, lost in what seemed a storm of thought. For several months, Zarif had been teaching Brindl and Chey how to read. Brindl made faster
progress than Chey, though Tali knew that Saavedra both supplemented her lessons and provided her with time to practice. She’s also more eager, thought Tali, watching Chey yawn as Zarif
explained verb tenses. In contrast, Brindl sat on the edge of her seat, her brow furrowed in concentration. But that’s hardly a fair assessment, Tali scolded herself. Chey had probably fought
in a dozen weaponry spars that afternoon, while Brindl had dusted old books and cleaned bird coops. Had the situation been reversed, it might well be Brindl yawning.

Though she felt somewhat guilty for it, Tali favored the evenings when the reading lessons were put aside early. Then, the stories would blossom like flowers in that small room as the fire
crackled and more tea was poured. After their trip to the salt mines, Tali and the boys had managed to coax many folktales and ghost stories out of “Brindly Brin,” who was by far the
best storyteller of the group. But Chey told Tali’s favorite story, a godtale about the creation of packhounds that made her miss their nightly visits with Boulder.

When Zarif finally brought the reading lesson to an end, Tali swallowed her embarrassment and asked Chey if he would tell the godtale again. Chey seemed pleased to oblige, and as he started
speaking Tali felt herself relax, floating on the raft of his words.

“After she placed her children in the sky,” Chey began, “our great Mother Machué found herself lonely once more. She had no interest in creating more children. She had
seen how that had turned out with Sun and Moon, now busy with their own sons and daughters. So Machué amused herself by watching the trials of men, especially those of her guild. If only the
children of Earth had time to entertain her with songs or paintings or poems, she would feel less lonely. But day after day they toiled upon her apron, many working themselves to the bone tilling
soil, felling trees, and mining salt. Machué cried a new river, the great Magda, watching them suffer. A few clever men chained wild alpacas to the work of the land, but these creatures spit
and bit and kicked for their freedom. So Machué decided to make a beast just for man. She molded this new creature from the same clay as humans, but gave it four legs, a stronger back, and
best of all, a grateful heart. For food it needed only scraps. It took payment in head pats and ear scratches. And from this great beast we now call the packhound, Machué’s children
learned of loyalty and love.”

The room hushed for a moment, letting the story settle around them. It was a warm and comfortable silence, everyone lost in his or her own thoughts and dreams.

“Saavedra, do you believe in the godtales?” Tali finally asked, breaking the silence.

Saavedra looked up from his journal, almost startled. “I’m sorry, Tali. Did you ask a question of me?”

Their old friend never seemed to be quite present anymore, Tali decided. She leaned over and poured herself another cup of tea, wincing as her elbow grazed a particularly nasty bruise on her
upper leg. “I wondered if you believe in the godtales even though they can’t be proven like the facts in your history books.”

Saavedra smiled. “I suppose you could say I admire them more than I believe them. Sometimes, dear Tali, I think the godtales contain more truth than history books.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Zarif asked, ever the scholar.

“The winners of history tell the tales, the losers merely survive them.”

“If they are lucky,” Chey added.

“Indeed,” Saavedra nodded. His eyes seemed far away again and Tali worried for him. Ever since they had involved him in the mystery of the Queen’s salt, he had become more and
more distant, sad even. When the old man left to check on the aviary, Tali asked Brindl if there had been any recent news.

Brindl shook her head. “I’ve only seen the messages that Nel sent you, reporting that guards still watch certain traders in Zipa and Porto Sol,” she said in a low voice, her
eyes glancing at the door. “But I believe Saavedra receives bluejacket messages he does not share with me. He rarely sleeps now, for worry. I believe Commander Telendor has set him with a
heavy task. Jaden too has been here to see him several times, though Saavedra always asks me to leave the cottage while they talk.”

Tali sank back down in the chair and let her eyes close for a moment. What did Jaden want with Saavedra? Did Saavedra know more than he was letting on? She must try asking him again, though she
knew that was nearly as futile as getting information out of her father. The two stubborn Castillians were alike in that way: they both preferred to keep things to themselves.

“Oh!” Brindl said, jumping out of her seat. “But we did get news from Ory this morning.” She riffled though a pile of scrolls on Saavedra’s large table. “Here
it is. One of the kitchen girls gave it to me while I was fetching breakfast.”

Brindl handed the scroll to Tali. As Tali unrolled the parchment, she saw that it was not the letter she had expected, but several little drawings instead. Of course, Tali realized; Ory cannot
read or write. The sketches showed Boulder pulling a cart, playing with Ory along a stream, and sleeping contentedly among a pile of hounds. The young boy’s message couldn’t be any
clearer: Boulder was happy in his new life. The parchment rolled itself back in Tali’s hands, but she hesitated—just for a moment—to give it back to Brindl.

“You keep it,” said Brindl. “It’s your turn to have something from Ory.”

Tali gave Brindl a quick hug and then passed the scroll to Chey, whom she knew would be just as eager as she was for news of Boulder. Chey’s face lit with a huge smile as he scanned the
drawings. Zari looked over his shoulder and chuckled. Just then, Saavedra returned, his hand clutched around a folded letter, his face lined with apprehension.

“Is everything okay, sir?” Tali asked as the merry mood in the cottage faded.

“Yes, yes. Of course, dear.” Saavedra’s voice sounded worn and distracted, but he smiled kindly and patted Tali on top of her head.

“Do you have news to share with us, Saavedra?” Tali asked. “Some part of our mystery you’ve unraveled?”

Brindl looked up, surprised by Tali’s bold question. Saavedra shifted his weight from foot to foot, and wrung his hands, as if rubbing lanolin into the cracks. He sighed heavily, then
shook his head and sank into his chair.

“It is for your own safety that I keep this door closed to you, my young friends.”

“But we would share this burden with you, sir,” Chey said quietly.

“I will tell you all, and soon,” promised Saavedra, gladly accepting a cup of tea from Brindl. “Perhaps upon your return from the Clash of Warriors.”

Brindl added another log to the fire to warm the chilly room. “When do you three depart for Fugaza?” she asked, changing the subject.

“In two days’ time,” Zarif answered. “On the morrow we ready our packs for the journey, and we leave the following dawn.”

Saavedra pushed himself up from his chair once more. “That reminds me. I must ask a favor of you,” he said, plucking a folded parchment already sealed with red wax from the table.
“This is for Princess Xiomara. Please deliver it to her by your hand only.”

“The princess?” Tali asked, surprised by the task. She wanted desperately to ask Saavedra why he didn’t send a bluejacket instead, but she knew better not to question him this
time. “Will they let us near her?”

“With this, yes,” Saavedra said, slipping a finger inside the neck of his tunic and fishing out a leather cord. A silver key had been attached to it, engraved at the top with the
Queen’s mark, XXII. The room went quiet. The Queen’s Key was a token bestowed only on those closest enough to know the darkest secrets of the realm. Tali had heard about the keys often
enough in stories, but had wondered if they were real or not. Saavedra wound the necklace around the letter and handed them both to Tali.

“I would like to hear your own story this night, Saavedra,” Chey said. “You keep promising to tell us of your life in the Far World and how you came to Tequende.”

“Ah, there is little enough to tell.”

“You are too modest by much,” Tali answered him.

“I am but a servant to the realm.”

“Though you were born in Castille?” Zarif asked, obviously trying to get him started. “There must be a reason you left your life behind there and chose a new one in
Tequende.”

Saavedra smiled now. “Your curiosity will turn you into a fine scholar one day, Zarif. I was the last of twelve children, so I became a soldier in search of adventure…and more
food!” The group laughed companionably at his words. Chey nodded, obviously recognizing the truth in them. Large families meant small portions.

“Did you see many lands?” Brindl asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“Many. Many. But all of them ravaged by greed and power-hungry men, who used people like me to fight their battles. I had already made up my mind to leave the Castillian army when I was
taken as a prisoner of war in Araby.”

Tali saw Zarif’s mouth open as if he longed to quiz Saavedra about this last revelation, but a storm cloud passed through the old man’s eyes at the memory, and Zarif wisely left the
matter for another time.

Saavedra rubbed his chin. “When I was finally released years later, I learned of a highland realm in the Nigh World devoted to peace and scholarship. I made a direct course for this green
realm, and here I’ve been ever since.”

“That’s not quite the end of the tale, Saavedra,” Tali scolded. “You left out the part where you became an adviser to Queen Nineteen herself!”

“In Castillian matters only,” Saavedra said, waving off Tali’s attempt to boast about him. “No, I preferred writing about the past rather than influencing the future. I
also tutored young Xiomara, who one day, I wager, will be Tequende’s most enlightened Queen yet.” He hesitated a moment, then rubbed his palms on his knees. “But all that was
before I was named master over an impressive number of…bluejackets,” he continued, then let out a loud laugh that made his young friends laugh with him, happy to see the old pigeonkeep
back to himself for a change.

T
wo days later, they traveled to Fugaza. The day was warm and good for riding. It was the first time that Tali had traveled with members of the
Second Guard, and she loved being a part of the prestigious caravan that had assembled on the Queen’s Paseo. The centurios led their legions in five neat columns, their crisp uniforms
creating a ribbon of blue that flowed up and down the hills of Tequende.

Tali and her fellow pledges traveled many leagues behind them, followed by a large number of servants and supply-laden llamas and mules. As they passed through small villages, wide-eyed children
gathered alongside the road, some selling fruit and small bags of nuts to the travelers. Zarif, always generous with the large allowance he received from his family, bought enough to share with the
other eight pledges and the servants as well.

For twelve hours they sat in the saddle each day, watching the landscape roll past. Tali wearied of the long ride but did not complain. It gave her bruises a chance to heal before her battle at
the Clash. At times, her golden mare pulled on the harness as if bored by the slow, steady pace of the caravan as it wound up and down the highlands, and Tali wondered how much faster the journey
would be zipping through the salt tunnels.