Quentis dropped her hand from his arm. He felt a small chill where her warmth had been.
"What are you saying?" she asked.
It was too late to retreat. Bryck had started this. Now he had to see it through. "Our only hope of victory against the Felk is to get the people of this city to rise up. Callah's civilian population vastly outnumbers the garrison. If everyone rose as one, the Felk would be crushed. As for what the Circle can do alone, it's negligible... except as an example to others. If they believe in us, they might believe in the uprising."
Quentis drew a long breath. Bryck watched her and admired the control she displayed. He realized that he had longed to confide in someone for some while, but he had denied himself. His war against the Felk, despite his having assumed leadership of the Broken Circle, still felt, more often than not, like a purely private endeavor. And he had felt the loneliness of that, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it.
"Fabrication," she said at last, with a soft note of wonder.
Bryck waited, wondering if anger would follow.
"If you create the falsehood and find ways to give it credibility..." Quentis went on, pondering aloud, "then you need only find others to believe in it as reality. And then it is real." Her amber eyes brightened. "So our goal is to make the people of Callah believe that the revolution is already under way. That they would be joining a movement already in full swing. It would be a kind of... of self-inducing momentum, wouldn't it?" She appeared quite taken with the notion.
Bryck nodded. "Yes. The Broken Circle represents hope. The last hope for freedom from the Felk these people will probably ever know."
She regarded him. Then she said solemnly, "Wherever you come from, Minstrel, and whoever you are, I am grateful for you."
It wouldn't have done to kiss her just then, not with the bilious taste of vomit still on his lips. But he wanted to, at that moment. Wanted very much to kiss this woman. Wanted all the warmth and passion that would come from that.
Instead, of course, he went back inside. One of the new recruits, Cancallo, the woman whose sons had been conscripted into the Felk army, was on her knees with a damp rag, scrubbing away Setix's bloodstains from the floor. The body itself was gone.
There was much talk all around the city about the great sigil on the north wall of the Registry. Many people had noted the significance of its placement, which Bryck found gratifying. It was meant to symbolize full defiance of the Felk, who had invaded this city from the north.
The huge black symbol was already being painted over, naturally. The Felk had commandeered a work crew of Callahans to do the job, but even that wasn't going to lessen the impact, Bryck judged.
There were other operations for the Circle to undertake. They couldn't relax their efforts now. He had been candid with Quentis earlier. Things were only going to grow more violent and dangerous.
And eventually, hopefully, these people of Callah would follow the Broken Circle's lead and rise united against the Felk.
It was well past curfew. Bryck was in his bunk, behind his screen of painted birds in flight. He hadn't eaten, unwilling to risk vomiting again. As with most nights, sleep wasn't coming easily. He had tried repeatedly to clear his mind, but such efforts only seemed to spur his thoughts faster. He knew the only thing to do was to wait for physical fatigue to overcome the mental agitation.
After some long while he felt the first threads of dreams poking through his tiring consciousness. These were odd nonsensical intrusions that vanished the instant he focused his mind on them. Some he recognized fleetingly as memories, mostly from his distant past, incidents from his boyhood distorted and reshuffled into strange episodes.
It was dark in the room, and there were others in here, already sleeping. It might be time for the Circle to find new, bigger lodgings. Or perhaps they could spread their numbers out to different locations.
Inevitably an erotic image of Quentis surfaced in his dwindling thoughts. It was a fantasy Bryck had visualized before, often enough apparently for his mind to mistake it for a memory. It played out familiarly, and he felt a vague pang of shame for the arousal he was experiencing.
But when he distantly heard the screen around his bunk being softly jostled and felt the warm hands searching under his blanket, Bryck responded as he would in the fantasy, drawing the visiting body onto the bunk and pressing himself eagerly against it.
Until a sudden alarming thought cut through him.
"Quentis?" he breathed, his heart pounding in the darkness. "It is you, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said. "It's me." And her mouth closed tightly over his.
As the fantasy became reality, the fabrication became a true memory; and when she left his bunk later that night, after the full satisfaction of the event, Bryck clutched that memory and did not let go.
RAVEN (4)
The two agents stared at her with cold eyes. Raven didn't flinch.
"We are officers in the Internal Security Corps," the taller of the two of them repeated. Then he added, with emphasis, "We report directly to Lord Abraxis."
"Show me your orders," Raven said, standing her ground. These two had appeared out of a portal just a few moments ago, without much warning. She had come as soon as she'd heard.
The shorter agent slapped a scroll grudgingly onto her palm. "And who are you to question us?"
She returned them a mild gaze, one full of the sort of passive sexual confidence that she had discovered unnerved so many men. It was as if she were allowing these males this glimpse of her beauty, deigning to let them stand in her presence, but if they thought for an instant they could attain her, in any fashion, she would cruelly crush their dreams.
"I am the chief of Military Security," she said, tone almost nonchalant.
"Military Security?" The tall one sniffed. "Yes, we've heard about you."
"Lord Abraxis made it quite clear to us that you have no official authority," said the shorter one.
"Did he?" Raven purred, taking her time reading the orders. She finished and handed back the scroll. "Well, what do you two want here in this camp?"
The two agents glanced at each other, incredulously.
"Didn't we just say you have no authority over us?" asked the short one.
"No." Raven shook her head. "You said Abraxis said Military Security has no authority over you. However, you two aren't in Felk now, or skulking about in some conquered city-state. This is the field. And it's my jurisdiction, whether you want to acknowledge it or not."
They gaped at her. Hers was a simple tactic. She was simply refusing to bow to these Internal Security officers, however rightful their authority might be. Weisel had almost certainly overstepped himself by creating his Military Security agency and appointing her as its head, but that didn't mean she was willing to cede her position just because these two had shown up.
"I ask again," she said. "What do you want here?"
They traded another uneasy glance. The tall one cleared his throat and said, somewhat contritely, "We're here to investigate the disappearance of Mage Kumbat."
"Surely you've heard the report we relayed to Lord Matokin, via Far Speak," Raven said.
"We have." The shorter one nodded.
"And? It was unclear that Kumbat was Far Moved from this location and failed to arrive at his destination?" Raven shrugged. "My understanding is that Far Movement magic isn't entirely trustworthy... though that's kept hushed up for obvious reasons."
"We've heard the report," the tall one said firmly. "But we are here to investigate, nonetheless. I hope, for your sake, that you don't intend to impede us in any way." His tone turned subtly threatening.