She had halted nearby the mouth of one of these alleys. The commotion was coming from there. Sounds of somebody rooting among the rubbish. It was dark down there, and the noises abruptly set her heart speeding. Memories of being caught out late in Dral Blidst's woods, hurrying homeward, hearing unidentifiable animal sounds in the trees around her, scavengers tearing at wild meat, no doubt scenting her as well.
Praulth backed away. There was still no one else within sight. She looked skyward, trying to orient herself. She couldn't have wandered too far. She could get back to her rooms quickly enough. Surely she was no farther than a few streets away. Xink would be there waiting for her, and quite suddenly she wanted very much to see him.
But the ruckus from the dark alleyway increased, something heavy now being tumbled over on its side, and at last a voice, savage and unintelligible and enraged, rose in the darkness. It scarcely sounded human, and it put a terrible deep chill into Praulth that the night alone could not have managed. She felt eyes watching her from that alley.
Then she heard footfalls. Coming up that alleyway. And more of those furious gibbering cries.
Praulth turned and started to run; and before she'd made her first fleeing step, she knew that the thing in the alley was human, and that made it all the more frightening. She tried to draw breath to shout, but fear froze everything she needed to make the noise.
The creature from the alley smelled of the foul slops it had been scavenging. It overtook her and knocked her to the ground from behind and laid a terrible weight on her.
She heard and felt the fabric of her clothing being rent.
Dardas the Conqueror. Dardas the Fox. Dardas the Invincible. There was one other moniker that history had awarded the Northland war master. What was it?
Dardas the Butcher. Yes, that was right.
He had earned every one of those titles. Likely he had been known by many more, names whispered fearfully, conjuring up images of implacable bloodshed, a relentless army sweeping the cold bleak reaches of the Northern Continent... and Dardas commanding its every crushing move.
How many had been slain in his campaigns, in total? How many deaths was that one man responsible for? The number could never be counted. It could never be guessed. One might as readily number the drops of water necessary to fill a lake.
And that number was only growing. U'delph had been a slaughter. Surely other such atrocities awaited.
"Beauty?"
Dardas. Dardas. Undying Dardas. There, that was yet another name for him. But none would ever know him by it. Weisel would take the credit for Dardas's deeds in this modern age.
"What's happened?"
In Dardas's original life two hundred and fifty years ago, he had faced quite a few adversaries. He was hardly the only war commander the contentious Northern Continent had produced. He had contemporaries, some quite skilled. Some of those warlords raised armies and did battle and held off Dardas's advances... for a time. But none of those foes were remembered. They had all been pulverized by the legend that the Butcher had left indelibly behind.
"By the madness of the gods, Praulth, what's happened to you?"
To be remembered she had to defeat Dardas, even if he was only in the guise of General Weisel. Besides, when she wrote her history of this war, she could reveal the truth of things, fantastic though it was.
Xink was holding her, fussing over her torn clothes, making a useless nuisance of himself. Just draw me a bath, she told him. But he acted as if he hadn't heard.
Praulth was tired. She was cold. She hurt, here and there. She hurt within. But she had made it back to these rooms. When it had all finished, she had picked herself up from the street and come here.
Perhaps there was yet one more name for Dardas, she thought. Dardas the Rapist. For what was his invasion but the unwanted penetration of the Isthmus by the Felk army?
Just heat some water and fill the tub. I will wash myself. I will scrub myself. I will scour away every last thing that has been done to me, and it will not deter me, will not daunt me, will not stand between me and my victory over my rightful adversary.
But Xink, sobbing now, still didn't hear her.
AQUINT (3)
The shock was so great that his first reaction was to laugh. He put his hands on his sides, put back his head, and guffawed, loud and long. It was just so... so... so audacious! By the gods, the nerve it must have taken.
"I think the joke's lost on me," Cat finally said, with his usual disapproval.
They were outside the Registry, looking up at the north face of the building.
"The cheek!" Aquint managed, bringing his laughter under control. "The grit, the fortitude. What is the matter with you, lad? Can't you appreciate the magnitude of this stunt?"
"You might want to appreciate it a little less loudly," the boy said, his eyes flickering around at the other people.
Naturally, the sight had gathered a crowd. There was a lot of pointing and excited muttered comments. It was causing quite a stir.
Soldiers from the garrison were keeping everybody back, but dispersing the crowd wouldn't do much good. They would only reassemble a little farther away. Besides, the giant sigil could be seen from many streets away.
That obviously had been the whole idea behind it.
Aquint shook his head, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
"I'm stunned," he said.
"Then maybe you should try to act it," Cat said.
"Laughter is a way of dealing with shock. You might give it a try sometime."
"I don't feel like laughing," the boy said.
Aquint sighed. "When do you? Lad, the younger you are when you sample the joys and merriments of life, the better your memories of your youth will be."
Cat gave him a flat look. "Will that include all the times I've almost starved in the streets? Or been beaten? Or nearly been stabbed to death because someone wanted what I had?"
Aquint shrugged. Sometimes, there was just no talking to the boy.
"Well, never mind," Aquint said, adopting a businesslike tone. "What do you make of it?"
"Of what?" Cat asked, probably just to be difficult.
"What do you think, boy? That bold and enormous display there on the outer wall of the Registry. The giant circle with the slash through it, rendered in black paint. What do you make of it?"
Cat considered a moment, then said, blandly, "I'll bet the Broken Circle is responsible for it."
For a moment, Aquint was almost tempted to cuff the boy. Instead, he chuckled. "All right, Cat. Fun's over. Now, let's get to work. Come along."
It was early morning. The two of them had received an urgent summons from Governor Jesile. Now Aquint understood what it was all about.
Evidently, sometime during the night, somebody had scaled the north outside wall of the Registry and painted the Broken Circle's emblem there on the white stone. Probably there had been more than one person involved in the stunt. What was truly remarkable was that it had been accomplished almost literally under the noses of the garrison, without raising the alarm.
And that, Aquint judged, took real daring. Whatever else, it was an admirable feat.
He and Cat went around to one of the Registry's other entrances. They made their way to Jesile's office.
Aquint expected to find the Felk governor ranting and furious. He was prepared to let Jesile vent his frustrations by barking orders and demanding that the Circle be brought in, right now.
Instead, Colonel Jesile was at his desk, immersed in paperwork, his hard face showing no special emotion. He glanced up when Aquint and Cat were admitted.
He didn't offer them seats, didn't say anything for a long, curiously blank moment. Then he said, conversationally, "I've been contemplating the particular placement."