And the conference continued.
Shots, Banichi had said. Sniping. They were coming in to overset whatever balance had been struck.
Towns existed north and south of here, and some further east. There was no sign yet, of a wider conflict, of farmers and craftsmen drawn into what still remained, thus far, a matter for lords and Guild. That might yet happen. If passions were too far stirred, it could well happen, common clansmen against common clansmen of the neighboring province—that was what they had to avert. It was the lords’ job to prevent it.
And that—the scattered bits from his musings began to try to gel—the lords had to get provocations away from the people. If they had not lost the dowager already, their own last and best chance—with Cajeiri safely committed to Taiben—was to snatch up Ilisidi and veer around Tirnamardi and the Kadigidi, northeastward, through those forestland corridors and toward the mountains, where his best guess said he might find Tabini, or at least find help. Those mountains, hazed in twilight, floated above the landscape where they waited, a vision distant as the moon in the sky, and seeming downright as difficult to attain, bone-weary as they were.
He could, if he were a coward, draw off his staff, even yet, pick up Cajeiri, get back to the coast and try to raise support in the north, maybe even back off to Mospheira and make another try from there. His mind was awake. Alternatives were spinning through the attic of his thoughts, none viable.
Folly, riding in there, blind and possibly much too late. He contained so much knowledge—but, ironically, it was knowledge an eight-year-old boy had, that Jase had, the star that was the station and the ship not yet apparent, but he knew it was there, and that thought held like an anchor. For once in his life he had backup, of sorts, and he could afford a risk. He could be a total fool, charging into the situation, as if he could rescue the two oldest, canniest connivers in all the aishidi’tat…
Ilisidi wouldn’t call him a fool. She’d bet on him showing up. Probably so would Cenedi, who wouldn’t have gone throwing his life away on an attack against the Kadigidi. She would be thinking about those mountains, too, and yet still stood by a pivotal old politicking fool, to be sure he didn’t collapse and cave in the belly of the aishidi’tat—
Forcing the issue, damn her. Forcing all of them. Forcing the Guild itself, from its perch in Shejidan, to have a look at the escalating chaos… and to face a new fact: that Murini-aiji didn’t control the middle lands or the north.
Banichi rode back to them, swinging his mechieti in close.
Jago moved near, companionably. And a movement in the tail of Bren’s eye advised him one of the rangers had gotten down, and now left afoot, running.
“Toward the hunting gate?” he asked his staff.
“Not that far, nandi,” Banichi said. “Get down. We shall, to rest here and wait. He should make the fence about twilight.”
Half an hour or so. Banichi himself dismounted, while his mechieti resumed interest in the scattered heads of grain. Bren experimentally slung both legs over the side, his mechieti likewise occupied, and slid down. Banichi caught him under the arms and set him down gently as if he were Cajeiri.
“There,” Banichi said gently. “Go sit down, Bren-ji. Your staff has business with the Taibeni.”
“If I have a regret, nadiin-ji, it is ever bringing you into this situation.”
“The paidhi-aiji’s company is usually interesting.” A wry smile from Banichi. He couldn’t help but laugh, however thin and soundless it came out, and however upset it left him.
“Go,” Jago said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Rest, Bren-ji. Your company may be interesting. But our talk will be dry detail.”
A stray civil servant, indeed, wasn’t highly useful to Guild at this point, particularly Guild trying to think of all possible eventualities. He took Banichi’s advice, walked over to a spot where it seemed little likely that mechieti would step on him. There he sat down, knees drawn up, head on hands for a moment. He seemed to have filled his quota of sleep, such as it had been. Rest seemed unlikely. Clear thought was not producing any comfort. Seeking some occupation for his hands, then, he unloaded his gun, checked its condition and blew out a little lint before he reloaded, all the while trying not to think more than five minutes ahead of him.
He never had mastered that knack.
Chapter 13
Wind blew the grass, clouds moved with incredible slowness, the mechieti grazed, one of them always head-up, watching the surrounds. And a close band of atevi sat laying plans while the sun went down.
Bren wished he could sleep. He couldn’t. He sat, rested his knees together in front of him, feet apart, and his arms against him, not a graceful position, but one that kept him mostly off the cold ground, and kept the wind at his back—since wind there had begun to be, now, a brisk wind that equaled the chill of the ground, against which his jacket was no defense at all.
The sun slipped past the edge of the world, and he rested his head down, aware that his bodyguard had come back to him and settled down to rest. He wouldn’t make them go through it all again for his information—he wouldn’t rob them of the sleep they’d won, and pursued, while strangers watched over them.
He did drift, waked in total disorientation, still sitting up, conscious of complete night, of movement around him, and for a single panicked moment not knowing what mechieti were doing in his cabin.
Atageini land, a hellish mess, the dowager somewhere beyond that ridge, and Banichi and Jago up talking to people who were, yes, Taiben rangers. Tano and Algini were with him, one on a side, and everything was, considering the presence of a couple of dozen mechieti, very quiet, very hushed. He didn’t want to chatter questions. But he tried to get his legs to move. It took a couple of efforts and finally Algini’s help to get up. He stood, a little embarrassed, rubbed numb spots, not an elegant process.
“Our spy is back,” Algini told him.
“What do we know?”
“The house remains protected, and inner defenses are still live, nandi,”
Supremely good news, and it represented a great risk on the part of the ranger that had gone in to find out.
“The estate perimeter fence is inactive,” Tano said. “One believes they have taken the house as the sole point of resistance, and the stable burned, which was likely the light we saw, but overall the house is still a point of resistance, and one believes now the neighboring towns may feel it necessary to intervene.”
Not good news. Townsmen who elected to get involved in a Guild action were as likely to create confusion for their own side, and the Guild on the other side would not spare them.
“We are moving in, nadiin?”
“One believes so,” Algini said.
Time he did talk to Banichi and Jago. He walked, still massaging a stiff leg, over to the conference.
“Likely we can get inside, nandi,” Deiso said as he joined them. “Getting out again—if they add forces—may be a very great difficulty. One advises your lordship retreat at this point.”
“No,” Bren said without even thinking on it. “No. If my staff goes in, I go. And we know the inside.”
Outrageous, in atevi terms. He only dimly reckoned that, after it came out of his mouth.
“Reason with him, nadi,” Deiso said.
“He is capable, no matter his size,” Banichi said, entirely unexpected, and the statement sent a little quiver of adrenaline through his nerves. Capable, he was. It was better than Lord of the Heavens.
And he had no wish, after Banichi saying that, to act the fool. He folded his arms and listened to Banichi lay out the plan, attempting dignity, and silently absorbing the simple outline, which was to go in the way the scout had: he had gotten through without problems at the fence. The rangers had wire-cutters in their collective kit, and meant to go in without need of going the long way round.