The Way of the Power (9 page)

“Until when? You can’t be there forever.”

“Until we figure out our next step. After all, we hadn’t planned on any of this happening.”

Canto crouched at the edge of the well. He stared into its emptiness and sighed. “You may stay there. But only for the season. When the rains come, you must leave.”

“We’ll also need horses to get out there.”

“I can’t spare —”

“The Tilsons are still awake right now. I doubt they’ll sleep much at all tonight. They probably are itching to talk with somebody — everybody.”

He glowered at Fawbry. “You may have some horses. No more requests. Leave. Now.”

Fearing Fawbry might push for even more concessions, Malja cleared her throat and jerked her head toward the stairs. With all the energy of a funeral procession, she led her group to the surface and back to their quarters.

* * * *

For Malja, Stray, and the Artisoll, packing was easy. Malja always traveled light, and the others had nothing with them at all. Tommy put aside a few trinkets he had collected over the past months with the Carsites, packed his clothes, and in minutes, sat in the Artisoll’s room watching her every move.

Fawbry took longer than the rest. When Malja entered his room, she found stacks of clothes, piles of painted rocks, and loads of wooden figures. “I have a lot of admirers,” he said, adding another wooden figure to the group.

“All of these are from the women here? It’s amazing we weren’t run out of town sooner.”

“I know how to be discreet.”

“You also know how to deal in the world of words. Thank you for that. Without you, I don’t think we’d be leaving for a comfortable home, let alone on horseback.”

“Just earning my place.” He kicked over the rocks and grabbed two days of clothes. “This is all I’ve ever needed. The rest can stay. Besides, I doubt we’ll return.”

As they walked back to Malja’s place and gathered up the group, a young woman approached. Malja recognized her right away — the jealous one at the party. Lynoya.

She ignored the eyes of everyone and moved straight to Malja. With her head lowered, she said, “Canto has ordered me to come with you.”

Malja looked to Tommy. “We weren’t told about this.”

“I’m to make sure that you stay in Cafloden unless you are leaving for good. I’m also to report back when you do leave, and if the rains come and you haven’t left, I’m to report that, too.” Lynoya lifted her head, revealing tears stained cheeks. To Tommy, she said, “I don’t have a choice. Canto’s orders.”

Tommy stared back — as silent with his face as he always was with his voice.

Before things could turn, Hirasa ushered her friend away. “Don’t worry. We understand. Let’s get you ready to go. You can ride with me.”

After several quiet seconds, Fawbry and Stray lugged the few bags they had down to the horses. Malja stepped behind Tommy and whispered, “This had better not become a problem.”

Chapter 8

The horses had to have been
the feeblest animals the Carsites owned. Six in total — two gray with age, one with a deep dip in its back, one that appeared to avoid putting pressure on its right hindquarter, and two in good health though wielding bad attitudes. Despite a few quiet mutterings, the group took the poor animals with grace.

The Artisoll was afforded her own horse. Hirasa and Lynoya shared a horse, as did Fawbry and Tommy. Malja and Stray each took one of the feisty horses, and the one with the bad back was left to carry their meager possessions.

As the day started out, they moved slowly away from the morning sun. The protruding rock formations cast long shadows across their path. Nobody looked back. Not even Hirasa or Lynoya.

With her horse wanting to wander, Malja had to work hard to keep with the group. This involved a lot of pulling on the reins and squeezing her legs. Though her do-kha continually healed her wounded thigh, the act of horse riding caused the injury to flare warnings of pain.

After an hour, though, Feisty (a simple enough name that worked well for the mare) had come to see that life would be easier if she followed what Malja wanted — mostly. Malja’s thigh welcomed the change as she shifted to using the reins exclusively for the time.

She came alongside Fawbry and Tommy. They formed a charming couple with Tommy steering the horse while Fawbry held on from behind. Malja choked back the urge to poke fun at them. She had something serious to say. “I’m sorry you lost your job. From what I’ve seen, you made a good Sheriff.”

“For having only one hand, I suppose I did fine enough. But I didn’t lose my job. I gave it up. And don’t start thinking I did it for you. I simply had to do what was right. I had hoped my actions would have had more of an impact on Canto — maybe even change his mind.”

“All I wish to say is that I appreciate it.”

“It works out better this way. Now I have more time to help protect the Artisoll. That’s most important.”

The way Fawbry spoke, the way he looked at the Artisoll as he said her name — something didn’t seem right. Before Malja could ponder this, Fawbry placed his stump on her shoulder. “I can tell you’re thinking about those horrible things Canto said. Well, don’t give it any weight. You did not cause the apocalypse. Here or anywhere. What he said — it was just politics.”

“I never was good at that. You’re the one who can manipulate words.”

“You do okay.”

“Okay doesn’t ever get the job done.”

“All you have to do is put it in the right frame of reference. For you, think of politics akin to battle between two strong forces. When you fight someone, it’s your experience, your physical strength, and your skill that guide you through. In politics, it’s the same thing — except instead of physical strength, winning relies on mental agility.”

“Sounds simple enough, but when I find myself in the middle of it, the words often don’t come. I strain to figure out what somebody wants from me. Perhaps I lack the mental strength.”

Fawbry laughed. “I doubt you’ve ever lacked in any kind of strength. You do, however, lack the right perspective. Think of this: war, battle, combat, even the smallest fight between two people — they are all, more or less, concerned with the same thing.”

“They are?”

“They all are about controlling power. War is for the power to rule. Battle is for the power to dictate the war. Combat is for power over the battle. The smallest fight between two people? Well, that’s for power in a relationship or over who makes a decision or countless petty matters. But however you want to look at it, it’s always about power. Politics is exactly the same. Whether it is a debate between two people or a maneuver to be the leader of a world, it’s all for power. And because you understand fighting, you also understand politics.”

As Malja considered Fawbry’s words, she watched the area for any sign of trouble. If Canto felt comfortable enough to give them such lousy horses, he might feel bold enough to “solve” his problem with an ambush. Except Canto never struck her as the kind to betray his word. He may stick to the barest of meanings of his words — he promised them horses, not good horses — but he would not renege on this arrangement. Yet still Malja’s nerves tingled as she looked around.

When she returned her attention to Fawbry, she found that he had grown silent. His full attention had turned to the Artisoll. With his head leaning to the side and his mouth slightly agape, he looked like a child in love with a new pet. No. The more she thought on it, the more Malja saw that Fawbry was the pet gazing upon his master for approval.

Tommy fared no better. He appeared to be in a trance fixated upon the Artisoll. He mooned over her like a traveling actor overemphasizing a romantic scene.

Not far behind, Hirasa and Lynoya rode. Lynoya’s fierce stare into the back of Tommy burned so hot, Malja half-expected Tommy to yelp in pain. But he didn’t notice. That bothered Malja the most.

The fact that Tommy had lost interest in Lynoya and discovered affections for the Artisoll meant little to Malja. People fall in and out of love all the time — especially at a young age. But the way Tommy flaunted this shift, the way he drooled over the Artisoll right in front of Lynoya, could only be seen as cruel — and Malja had never seen Tommy act cruel before.

A few pebbles rolled down a rock formation off to the left. Malja snapped her head over, her eyes scoping for any sign of movement. Probably an animal, of course, but she had to be sure. After all, White Streak still lived.

After a minute, unable to find anything wrong in the distance, Malja eased her horse back until she rode next to Stray. “Did you see anything?”

“No,” he said. “But I heard it as well as you. Whoever is watching us will not act soon. If an attack had been planned, it would already have happened.”

“You think someone’s trying to see where we go?”

“After a small group of us decimated ten trang-gaul, they would be more cautious for a second attempt. If this is a different threat, they clearly know how dangerous we can be. Otherwise, as I said, they would have attacked already.”

“I suspect you’re right. But keep ready. It’s been my experience that most worlds’ soldiers are not too disciplined. All it will take is one impatient action to launch a sloppy attack.”

Stray gave one of his swords a firm shake. “Such an attack would be welcome. I’d only have to use one blade.” His face dropped all mirth and his voice lowered. “For now, we have a greater problem than being followed.”

“Oh?”

“Your colorful friend.”

“You mean Fawbry?”

A struggle played out on Stray’s face. Malja chose to say nothing. As a fellow warrior, she understood that Stray had something he needed to share, but part of him had no desire to open up any of his life to her. Doing so created holes in the armor against the pains of Life. Doing so made one vulnerable to attack.

She would wait. Either he would decide to speak or he would clamp down on his thoughts. She had full confidence that if what he needed to say had crucial implications for their mission, he would speak.

At length, Stray looked up at the sky and a calm glaze overcame him. “I was born in the bilge of a cargo ship heading for the ports of Welall. It’s a small country on the opposite side of the world from Ro, Dovell, and Bechstollan. Like all the small countries on that side, Welall has little wealth and little power. It’s mostly volcanoes — not much to live on.

“I have no idea why my mother was aboard that ship nor do I know who my father was. All I really do know is that by the time we docked in the city of Keo, my mother had died and the crew dropped me at an orphanage.

“Keo is full of orphanages. It’s a city known more for its parties and prostitutes than anything else. Those living in the rich, Large Three countries travel across the world to Keo, and cities like it, so they can act like animals rutting with everything in sight. All that rutting creates a lot of unwanted children. So, the orphanages.”

Cold memories chilled Malja’s skin. “I was stolen from my mother and raised by two foster fathers. I think I can understand. You know, it seems that the more worlds I travel, the more I see how cruel we can all be.” She couldn’t help but look over at Tommy — still gazing upon the Artisoll.

“I’m afraid my story doesn’t get any better. At least, not for a bit. But it’s important you understand my background in order for you to grasp the magnitude of the rest.”

“I suspect we still have a long ride ahead, so talk as much as you want. Just keep your eyes on the shadows.”

Stray stroked his horse’s mane as his gaze scanned the horizon. “I was a big kid and an ugly one, too. None of the parents from Ro or Dovell wanted me. They all sought after the cute-looking, foreign babies. So, I grew up in the orphanage until I was eight. That’s when the local foster parents take an interest because from eight on, you can be bought cheap and put to work right away. Luckily for me, that work consisted entirely of hard labor on a farm. Others like me ended up in whorehouses or worse.

“I lived in the barn with three other kids. We worked from before sunrise to well into the night. The only time I saw my foster mother was when she screamed my name to come pick up the bowls of slop for dinner. I saw my foster father every day in the fields and at nights when he would get drunk and beat us. Then he started to come in once a week or so and choose one of my less homely brothers for a private evening. He tried to take me to his bed once, but all that fieldwork had made me strong. I fought back, broke his nose, and that ended my time on the farm. I must’ve been thirteen when I found myself alone, on the streets of Keo, without any idea of how to get by.”

Malja clamped her hands tight on the reins to prevent Stray from noticing them tremble. “When I was ten, my so-called fathers decided I was no longer worth their time. They threw me away. Left me in the woods to die. Clearly, both of us learned to survive the hard way.”

“With my size and my strength, most people thought I was older. I became a street brawler, fighting for money, food, sometimes for a place to sleep. I even built a small reputation. People didn’t pick fights with me or cause me trouble. One night, a friend of mine needed some muscle to mug a few people. That night changed everything. Had it been different, I would have become a professional thug. As it turned out, we mugged the wrong man.” Stray chuckled. “He would say that as things turned out, we mugged the right man.”