“Nevil has stolen half the human race and almost all the equipment that wasn’t nailed down. I don’t want the rest of you in his claws.”
Ravna nodded; she had spent the afternoon talking to the kids, and worrying about the same thing. “But you’ll provide a military escort, right?”
“Of course! And unless Nevil has magic we don’t know about, my troops totally outgun him. But consider. We have only Nevil’s word of this agreement”—there was still no direct communication with Tycoon—“and if there is a deal between those two, we have no idea what it is. For all I know, Tycoon could field a force that would trump mine. There is no treachery that I put beyond these two.”
That was something the remaining Children agreed on, too. “Okay. I think I can persuade most of the Children to stay behind.” Ravna no longer looked like the victim of a sadistic mugging, but the kids were still amazingly solicitous of her. She had to be careful in making casual statements lest they take them as imperatives. “I am going, however.”
Woodcarver emitted a sigh. “That’s what I was afraid of, and I fear it undoes all our other caution.”
Ravna smiled. “I take it that you’re not going?”
“I’m not crazy.” Woodcarver’s tone was sour. “On top of everything else, there’s the possibility that all this is a feint, and Tycoon is set to attack us here.”
Ravna nodded. What Woodcarver said made sense, but—“You know, I think there’s still a chance for Pilgrim. From Wenda, I gather that Jo and Pilgrim crashed right in the middle of Tycoon’s operation. I know Tycoon wasn’t aware of that! It’s possible that Pilgrim is still in hiding down there. And Tycoon is not the monster Vendacious was. Even if Tycoon has captured Pilgrim, I think he’d be safe.”
Woodcarver sat back. All her eyes were on Ravna, except for the puppies, who were looking at each other. They did that just when the old Woodcarver would have said something really nasty. When she finally spoke, Woodcarver just sounded sad: “But Jo didn’t tell Wenda what had become of Pilgrim. And when we were all on stage, we learned nothing more; Tycoon was too busy ripping at her. Face it, Ravna. Both Jo and Pilgrim are dead.”
This was a dark outlook Woodcarver was not showing in public. Maybe the pessimism was entirely little Sht’s influence, or maybe it had more history. “You also grieve for Vendacious, don’t you, Woodcarver?”
Woodcarver’s heads came up abruptly. “Yes. I grieve for a monstrous pack, who after a century shared virtually none of my blood. Even my own advisors call my sympathy ‘the Queen’s madness.’”
“Not … madness.” But Ravna remembered her horror when Gannon was crushed; Woodcarver’s grief was a different thing. “You packs—you in particular—have done something most civilizations can’t do until they’ve externalized thought; you’ve taken biological selection by the throats and put it in service to ideas. Your offspring packs are your great experiments.”
“And two of them were the greatest Tinish monsters of all time.”
“True,” said Ravna. “But consider. Old Flenser changed the Northwest almost as much as you have—and he created and recreated Steel, and Steel designed and assembled and guided Amdiranifani.”
After a moment, Woodcarver replied, “Long ago, I imagined Vendacious as a weapon against Flenser. That weapon ran amok. It has killed so many. It probably killed the pack my members especially loved. And yet, however much I hate Vendacious, I can’t share everyone’s joy at his total death.”
Ravna nodded, trying unsuccessfully to imagine a reformed Vendacious. “So now, listen more to your members. Hope for what still may be.”
Of course, their wagon trip up the Streamsdell Valley was nothing like Ravna’s days with Chitiratifor. This expedition had decent food and good tents to sleep in. Domain troops were spread out around them and scouting ahead. The travelers who suffered were the Children who were most desperate to come. Øvin refused to give up on Edvi. Elspa had more hope for her sister Geri, even though she had heard Tycoon’s terrible voice. Jefri said he was optimistic about Amdi, but he didn’t look optimistic. Giske Gisksndot didn’t talk about her feelings at all, but anger radiated from her. Right after Nevil’s big announcement, the Chief Denier had “generously” allowed her to speak with her husband. Giske knew that no hostages would come home with her, that Rolf was determined to keep their two sons. “Powers be damned, I just want to see them!” she had cried to Ravna, begging to be included in the expedition. In the end, Ravna couldn’t refuse her, but she worried what Giske might do when she finally confronted Rolf and Nevil.
The only traveler who seemed unconcerned was Ritl, though she complained as much as ever, especially when she was around Ravna. The singleton had not been given a choice about coming, but then she hadn’t been left in the Domain by her own choice either. Fate had bounced the animal from place to place, but within the limits of her intelligence, she seemed to be searching for something. Ravna hoped that Tycoon would be grateful for her return—or at least not hold that return against Ravna and company.
After five days on the road, their expedition came in sight of Nevil’s hanging valley. Benky’s troops set up a perimeter and the travelers made camp by the river. While everyone waited impatiently for some sign from above, Flenser-Tyrathect spread himself out on sun-warmed boulders by the river. Flenser had brought several telescopes. He idled away the time peering up at the lip of the hanging valley. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “I wager that Nevil won’t invite us into his caves. I remember when I was a co-conspirator.” His heads, except for the ones eyeballing the heights, all bobbed in a grin. “He never trusted me with the exact location, but it was clear that Vendacious and probably Tycoon knew about it. I predict that Tycoon will support ‘Best Hope’ just enough to be a problem.”
Ravna had come over to sit nearby, beside the member with the white-tipped low-sound ears. Even at its best, this crippled creature couldn’t have climbed the rocks, but the rest of Flenser still kept it close. Ravna stroked White Tips along the neck, almost as she would a dog. It always accepted such affection. That had been one of the things that had made her want to trust Flenser-Tyrathect. White Tips emitted a rumbling purr; all of Flenser might be less of a sarcastic twit for a few minutes now.
“So you think the prisoner release is going to be down here?” said Ravna. “I don’t see signs of anyone but us here.”
Jefri and others were walking toward them from the tents. Despite Jef’s ambiguous reputation—some of the loyalist Children thought he was Ravna’s secret agent and others were convinced he was a traitor—Jef had ended up being their chief human advisor on this outing. As long as he was clearly working from Ravna’s game plan, everyone seemed willing to accept his expertise. The camp wouldn’t have settled down so quickly and comfortably without Jefri and Benky.
Elspa was just a few feet behind Jef. She gestured to Flenser. “Still no sign of Deniers?”
“Nope, sorry.” Flenser waggled his telescopes authoritatively. Today he had better eyesight than anyone.
Elspa plunked down near Ravna. “I pray … I pray they have my Geri.”
Jefri came around to Ravna’s right so he was standing by White Tips. He muttered just loud enough for Ravna’s ears and the pack. “They better have Amdi. There’s no excuse for not returning him.”
Flenser’s voice came even more softly, barely more than a hum that Ravna felt where her fingertips touched White Tips. “And they better have Screwfloss.”