Seeds of Rebellion
Page 50
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“A displacer?” Rachel exclaimed. “Ferrin?”
“That was the name,” Drake confirmed.
“When did you learn all of this?” Elaine asked.
“This afternoon.” Drake studied Rachel. “I take it this alters your plans.”
Rachel looked apologetically at Elaine. At minimum, this would mean a postponement of her training. “We have to find him.”
“We’re in the right part of the world,” Elaine observed. “Any idea where he might be headed?”
“They came south from Ithilum and crossed the Telkron at Potsug,” Drake related. “Most of the forces in the region are being mobilized to track him down. Based on the resources involved, the effort feels more like a war than a manhunt.”
“Which will make finding him hazardous for fellow fugitives,” Elaine said. Her face scrunched in thought. After a moment her expression brightened. “Have you any items Jason owned?”
Drake cocked his head. “He left me with some items before he entered Felrook. I have his signet rings—one pertaining to Caberton, the other to the chancellorship. Let me fetch my horse.”
Elaine held up a hand to stop him. “Rachel. Call Mandibar.”
“Can I do that?” she asked. “How far away is he?”
“Visualize the horse. Speak the summons.”
As they had ridden to the ridge, Elaine had drilled Rachel on issuing suggestions to animals. It was a tricky art. When dealing with matter or energy, you demanded obedience. When dealing with animals, you asked for compliance. If you tried to compel the animal to obey, natural defenses would engage and the suggestion would fail, stunning the speaker, riling the animal, or worse. If you suggested too gently, the animal might simply ignore the recommendation. The suggestion worked best when supported by enough will to make it convincing, while leaving the actual decision to the animal.
Rachel had practiced mostly with her own horse. After erring often by suggesting too softly, she had eventually found the right amount of insistence to employ. She could now confidently convince her mount to stop, go, slow down, speed up, come, neigh, stomp, rear, buck, calm down, and eat. She had also issued several similar suggestions to Elaine’s donkey with routine success. But she had never called out to Mandibar with Edomic, and she had never tried speaking to an animal out of view.
“Okay,” Rachel said. Closing her eyes, she imagined Mandibar: his size, his musculature, the sheen of his fur, his name printed on the saddle in neat black letters. She called his name and asked him to come.
Hoofbeats answered her effort of will, and the stallion soon loped into view, slowed to a trot, and plodded over to Rachel, nudging her with his nose. She felt an excited flutter at the prompt success of her summons.
Drake whistled softly. “What can’t she do?” He paced over to Mandibar, opened a saddlebag, and pawed through it. He came away with a pair of rings and handed them to Elaine.
She cupped one in each palm, hands bobbing gently, as if weighing them, then gave one back. She held up the other between her thumb and forefinger. “This ring has the stronger connection to him.”
“That makes sense,” Drake replied. “He had the Caberton ring longer, and has an undisputed claim to ownership.”
Elaine held the ring to her ear and closed her eyes, as if listening to secret music. “I can use this to find him. It will take until an hour past dawn to ready the charm.”
“I’d call that quick work,” Drake replied.
“We’re going to find Jason?” Rachel asked, hardly daring to believe it.
Drake tousled her hair. “At least we’ll soon know where to look.”
The first rays of sunrise shimmered on countless dewdrops as eight riders emerged from a camouflaged portal, well beyond the damaged walls of the crumbling castle. A gentle breeze stole fluffy particles from tall dandelions, scattering airborne seeds across the hillside. Warbling bird calls twittered back and forth in the treetops. One unseen bird hooted like a slide whistle.
Ferrin and Nedwin galloped away from the others to scout the country ahead. Nedwin had already spent the hours before dawn confirming the absence of enemies and collecting the necessary mounts.
Looking undersized, Aram rode the big stallion that had carried him since fleeing Ithilum. Jason rode the same horse that had brought him to Fortaim. Galloran rode beside Dorsio, the silent servant holding a lead, leaving plenty of slack. Tark brought up the rear, riding alongside Chandra, the cook—a rawboned woman with sun-damaged skin who Jason had never seen smile.
Some of Galloran’s associates had not joined them. Vernon had been left with the assignment to book passage to the Isle of Weir and warn a guardian named Trivett that the Word was a fraud. Jason wondered how Trivett would feel to know that the syllable he had guarded had been inscribed on the wall of the lorevault at Trensicourt. Brin the Gamester was ordered to find his brother, Nicholas, in Trensicourt and tell him about the burgeoning rebellion. A few others whom Jason had not known well were told to scatter and lie low.
Jouncing along on his horse, Jason patted one of his saddlebags. Crystal globes containing chunks of orantium had been dispersed among the riders, with Nedwin and Dorsio carrying the most. Jason had three in his saddlebag, each bundled in cloth. If the crystal casing cracked, exposing the mineral inside to air or water, the orantium would explode violently. Ever since receiving the spheres, Jason had treated them gingerly, unable to erase visions of Jasher being blasted to pieces in the field near Harthenham. Aram had refused to accept any of the spheres, for fear of an accidental detonation.
Jason kept a hand near his saddlebag. Despite the dangers of carrying orantium, he knew how effective the combustible globes could be in a fight. Riding away from Fortaim, he felt most on edge for the first mile or two. Out in the wilderness, he trusted the expertise of Ferrin and Nedwin to steer them away from trouble. Of course, if the lurker crashed the party, that would change everything. But Galloran hadn’t sensed one and seemed confident about his ability to do so.
They kept to obscure trails through woodlands and wild fields, and hours glided past without incident. Ferrin and Nedwin checked in at intervals, describing the topography ahead and suggesting the safest routes. The party stopped twice to eat. By evening they reached a hillside where they could survey the bridge spanning the Telkron River from a wooded vantage.
Three huge arches supported the wide stone bridge. At either end stood a guardhouse, each manned by several soldiers and a trio of manglers. Jason had partly forgotten how intimidating the manglers looked—perfectly designed to shred enemies into confetti, the bulky, insectile creatures had shell-like armor and a wicked variety of blades at the end of their six arms.
“That was the name,” Drake confirmed.
“When did you learn all of this?” Elaine asked.
“This afternoon.” Drake studied Rachel. “I take it this alters your plans.”
Rachel looked apologetically at Elaine. At minimum, this would mean a postponement of her training. “We have to find him.”
“We’re in the right part of the world,” Elaine observed. “Any idea where he might be headed?”
“They came south from Ithilum and crossed the Telkron at Potsug,” Drake related. “Most of the forces in the region are being mobilized to track him down. Based on the resources involved, the effort feels more like a war than a manhunt.”
“Which will make finding him hazardous for fellow fugitives,” Elaine said. Her face scrunched in thought. After a moment her expression brightened. “Have you any items Jason owned?”
Drake cocked his head. “He left me with some items before he entered Felrook. I have his signet rings—one pertaining to Caberton, the other to the chancellorship. Let me fetch my horse.”
Elaine held up a hand to stop him. “Rachel. Call Mandibar.”
“Can I do that?” she asked. “How far away is he?”
“Visualize the horse. Speak the summons.”
As they had ridden to the ridge, Elaine had drilled Rachel on issuing suggestions to animals. It was a tricky art. When dealing with matter or energy, you demanded obedience. When dealing with animals, you asked for compliance. If you tried to compel the animal to obey, natural defenses would engage and the suggestion would fail, stunning the speaker, riling the animal, or worse. If you suggested too gently, the animal might simply ignore the recommendation. The suggestion worked best when supported by enough will to make it convincing, while leaving the actual decision to the animal.
Rachel had practiced mostly with her own horse. After erring often by suggesting too softly, she had eventually found the right amount of insistence to employ. She could now confidently convince her mount to stop, go, slow down, speed up, come, neigh, stomp, rear, buck, calm down, and eat. She had also issued several similar suggestions to Elaine’s donkey with routine success. But she had never called out to Mandibar with Edomic, and she had never tried speaking to an animal out of view.
“Okay,” Rachel said. Closing her eyes, she imagined Mandibar: his size, his musculature, the sheen of his fur, his name printed on the saddle in neat black letters. She called his name and asked him to come.
Hoofbeats answered her effort of will, and the stallion soon loped into view, slowed to a trot, and plodded over to Rachel, nudging her with his nose. She felt an excited flutter at the prompt success of her summons.
Drake whistled softly. “What can’t she do?” He paced over to Mandibar, opened a saddlebag, and pawed through it. He came away with a pair of rings and handed them to Elaine.
She cupped one in each palm, hands bobbing gently, as if weighing them, then gave one back. She held up the other between her thumb and forefinger. “This ring has the stronger connection to him.”
“That makes sense,” Drake replied. “He had the Caberton ring longer, and has an undisputed claim to ownership.”
Elaine held the ring to her ear and closed her eyes, as if listening to secret music. “I can use this to find him. It will take until an hour past dawn to ready the charm.”
“I’d call that quick work,” Drake replied.
“We’re going to find Jason?” Rachel asked, hardly daring to believe it.
Drake tousled her hair. “At least we’ll soon know where to look.”
The first rays of sunrise shimmered on countless dewdrops as eight riders emerged from a camouflaged portal, well beyond the damaged walls of the crumbling castle. A gentle breeze stole fluffy particles from tall dandelions, scattering airborne seeds across the hillside. Warbling bird calls twittered back and forth in the treetops. One unseen bird hooted like a slide whistle.
Ferrin and Nedwin galloped away from the others to scout the country ahead. Nedwin had already spent the hours before dawn confirming the absence of enemies and collecting the necessary mounts.
Looking undersized, Aram rode the big stallion that had carried him since fleeing Ithilum. Jason rode the same horse that had brought him to Fortaim. Galloran rode beside Dorsio, the silent servant holding a lead, leaving plenty of slack. Tark brought up the rear, riding alongside Chandra, the cook—a rawboned woman with sun-damaged skin who Jason had never seen smile.
Some of Galloran’s associates had not joined them. Vernon had been left with the assignment to book passage to the Isle of Weir and warn a guardian named Trivett that the Word was a fraud. Jason wondered how Trivett would feel to know that the syllable he had guarded had been inscribed on the wall of the lorevault at Trensicourt. Brin the Gamester was ordered to find his brother, Nicholas, in Trensicourt and tell him about the burgeoning rebellion. A few others whom Jason had not known well were told to scatter and lie low.
Jouncing along on his horse, Jason patted one of his saddlebags. Crystal globes containing chunks of orantium had been dispersed among the riders, with Nedwin and Dorsio carrying the most. Jason had three in his saddlebag, each bundled in cloth. If the crystal casing cracked, exposing the mineral inside to air or water, the orantium would explode violently. Ever since receiving the spheres, Jason had treated them gingerly, unable to erase visions of Jasher being blasted to pieces in the field near Harthenham. Aram had refused to accept any of the spheres, for fear of an accidental detonation.
Jason kept a hand near his saddlebag. Despite the dangers of carrying orantium, he knew how effective the combustible globes could be in a fight. Riding away from Fortaim, he felt most on edge for the first mile or two. Out in the wilderness, he trusted the expertise of Ferrin and Nedwin to steer them away from trouble. Of course, if the lurker crashed the party, that would change everything. But Galloran hadn’t sensed one and seemed confident about his ability to do so.
They kept to obscure trails through woodlands and wild fields, and hours glided past without incident. Ferrin and Nedwin checked in at intervals, describing the topography ahead and suggesting the safest routes. The party stopped twice to eat. By evening they reached a hillside where they could survey the bridge spanning the Telkron River from a wooded vantage.
Three huge arches supported the wide stone bridge. At either end stood a guardhouse, each manned by several soldiers and a trio of manglers. Jason had partly forgotten how intimidating the manglers looked—perfectly designed to shred enemies into confetti, the bulky, insectile creatures had shell-like armor and a wicked variety of blades at the end of their six arms.
