The Song the Ogre Sang Page 10

  Tarlen nodded. “Yes, Garen.”

  Kyla looked Garen in the eye. “You don’t have anything to say about my thoughts, Uncle?”

  “In a moment.” Garen nodded.

  “So.” Tarlen cleared his throat and glanced at Ponj. “For tomorrow morning. Where will we watch parley?”

  Susan glanced from Tarlen to Garen. “We get to watch? Where?”

  Ponj was paying close attention. Bruno snuffled, rolled onto his side, and burped, his stumpy grey tale thumping the floor. Susan laughed. Garen blinked, made to reach for his spectacles, stopped himself, and nodded. “You can observe from the western tower. I think that might be best. Filip Toller and his scouts should be back through the sea catacombs this morning. I’m sure Doldon could be convinced to have them stationed in one of the high towers, yes. The Pinnacle, perhaps. If you like, I can have Toller’s squad assigned to you as escorts.”

  At Filip’s name, in spite of herself, Kyla felt her cheeks go warm. She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter.

  “Superb.” Tarlen glanced at Ponj. Ponj nodded back at his lord and friend.

  And then Kyla noticed Susan looking at her, a sly little grin on her little sister’s face.

  “Filip Toller,” Susan mouthed silently and made a silent kissing gesture with her lips. Susan glanced at Garen, then back at Kyla and winked, her grin becoming positively devilish. The little girl was too smart for her own good.

  “Don’t you dare,” Kyla mouthed to her.

  Susan giggled, swung her feet, and said aloud, “I wonder if handsome, wonderful, brave Filip has any special news. What do you think, Ky? Maybe we want to hear the top-secret reports from the field, straight from his lips? Ha-ha!”

  The little snot! Kyla scowled, but her frown was half-hearted. In fact, to her chagrin, Kyla realized that a huge smile had crept onto her face and that her cheeks had gone warmer still. Garen didn’t seem to notice, neither did Tarlen. But Susan’s eyes gleamed playfully as she laughed, swinging her little feet like mad.

  Garen nodded, looked to Ponj. “You’ll see to the arrangements and security?”

  From the corner, the young ogre bowed. “My Lord.”

  Garen nodded and said softly, almost like he was talking to himself. “The Pinnacle is well within the field perimeter. We can put another tree up there, to be sure.” He glanced at the little star tree on his desk, the one with its roots in the bright blue burlap sack; the field around it shimmered like coppery mist.

  “‘Oh, Filip?’” Susan crooned, swinging her feet, her voice taking on a sing-song lilt. “‘Filip, dear? Can you show me how you handle your carbine? Teach me how to shoot, Filip.’ Ha-ha!”

  Kyla, still smiling in spite of herself, kicked Susan’s chair under the table, but Susan just laughed and chewed on the core of her apple, munching like a little cow. You just couldn’t get mad at such a smart, happy kid.

  “Tarlen, Susan,” Garen said. “You’re dismissed for breakfast. Report to your tutors at the ninth bell, please. And be sure to bring your assignments first thing tomorrow. He took off his spectacles, polished them, and squinted through their lenses. We’ll be preparing for parley. But I’ll expect to see your work here, before we arm.”

  Tarlen and Susan nodded, scooted their chairs back, and hopped down. Tarlen went over to Ponj and started talking to him in a low voice, planning. Susan walked to Bruno, stepped one leg over him, and gently lowered herself onto the cloud mastiff’s furry side, her arms and legs dangling over the big dog’s ribcage. She pressed her face into his muscular shoulder, shutting her eyes, as if listening to his heartbeat. Bruno’s fur sparkled like morning mist; he sighed contently with Susan’s weight. Colj rose from his seat by the door and stepped to Garen’s desk.

  “Captain?” Garen looked up at him.

  Colj inclined his huge head toward Kyla, in deference to her. “I believe Lady Kyla had a query, my Lord,” the ogre said in his huge, slow voice.

  Garen glanced at her. She looked straight back at him, letting her gaze do the talking. Garen nodded. “I understand your frustration, Ky. All too well. This is why we meet for parley tomorrow. The High King’s command. We must find some end to this.”

  “And what if you’re killed,” Kyla said directly, not bothering to lower her voice.

  Tarlen, Ponj, and Susan all looked up. Colj gazed at her, an attentive expression on his enormous face, as if carefully considering every word.

  Kyla continued. “Parley is a risk. Maybe it’s a trap.”

  “Yes.” Garen cocked his head. “It may be a trap. And it’s most certainly a risk. But it’s a risk worth taking. More to the point, it is the King’s command.” He paused, looked at her over the edge of his spectacles. “There are many on all sides, including our own, Ky, who would like to see diplomacy fail, for total war to be unleashed.”

  “We’re not at war now?” Kyla’s eyebrows went up.

  “Of course not. Even with everything that’s happened, the King restrains us. He thinks we can find a way. And I agree with him. I thought you would, too, Ky.”

  “What does the Queen say?”

  Just barely, Garen’s mouth twitched. To the untaught eye, the gesture would’ve been imperceptible. But to Kyla, trained from childhood in the arts of perception, it was a silent shriek.

  “She agrees with the King.” Garen cleared his throat. “We must try. The possibility of peace . . . . A ceasefire, at least. It’s worth it.”

  “Perhaps.” Kyla frowned. “And if you’re murdered on the Long Bridge?”

  The others were listening intently now.

  Garen inclined his head. “It is a possibility every soldier of the Remain understands, as you well know.” He looked at her closely, then he glanced at Colj. “We have our orders. And we have an opportunity.”

  Garen turned his gaze to the High Cup resting on the blue velvet cushion in front of him. When Kate had returned, she had brought the Cup back with her, Kyla had learned. Kyla still hadn’t seen Kate, she still didn’t know what vision the High Cup contained, nor how Kate had acquired it—but she was anxious to hear the tale. But now that Kyla thought on it, why hadn’t Kate come to see her yet? To see all of them? And what in the world was Garen hiding, for the Sisters’ sake? Because suddenly, once again, Kyla sensed an unstated anxiety floating around her, as if the world had ended and nobody had told her.

  “An opportunity that we must take,” Garen continued. Then he frowned and looked at her. “Again, I thought you would support this move, Ky. I’m surprised to hear you raise concern.”

  Kyla looked at the High Cup. It was more like a bowl: It had neither stem nor lip, more like the hollowing of a sphere, a perfect fit for two hands.

  “I do support it, of course,” Kyla said. “Any chance for reconciliation must be taken. And I understand your duty—our duty. I’m just—. I don’t want anything to happen to you. That’s my concern.”

  “In that, we’re in agreement.” Garen nodded and glanced up at Colj. “Colj will be there with me. Michael will be there, too.”

  Kyla shook her head. “But not with you.” And upon hearing her own words, Kyla suddenly felt as if she was the youngest of her siblings rather than the oldest. She breathed it out, kept her hands in her lap, and focused.

  “You’re right,” Garen carried on, oblivious to her momentary distress. “Michael won’t be with me. But he’ll be close. Those are the rules. Formal parley is about trust, ostensibly. And don’t forget: Anna and Moondagger and the rest of the Davanórians will be but moments away. I will have other protection, as well.” Garen glanced at the little star tree on the worktable, its coppery field shimmering with otherworldly light. Then he looked at her directly. “We must try, Ky. This can’t go on forever. I know you agree.”

  In her mind’s eye, unbidden yet again, she saw him dying on the Long Bridge, blood pumping from that mortal wound. And then she saw her parents, lying on their twin pyre, clasped hands lifeless and cold, waiting for fire’s fury to tak
e them into memory. Kyla had held the pyre’s torch in one hand, Susan’s little hand in the other. Nana had been behind her, hands on her shoulders, singing the ancient dirge; tears blurred her vision, tears that never seemed to end.

  “Yes.” Kyla cleared her throat. “I see.”

  Because she did believe in the effort, of course, even if she didn’t know how or why the opportunity had afforded itself. She looked again at the silver Cup on its blue cushion and suddenly realized that she needed to talk to Nana. Or to Kate. She hadn’t seen Nana in days. She hadn’t seen Kate in years. Neither of them had any reason to hide anything from her—and they would know what was really going on.

  “What does that contain?” She gestured to the High Cup.

  Garen shook his head. “It’s too much to discuss right now.” He looked over at the others meaningfully. “But I can promise you, for good or ill, all your questions will be answered by tomorrow’s end.”

  She knew him well enough not to keep pushing. And his word was always true.

  “Good.” Garen nodded, sensing her acceptance. The others had turned back to their own conversations, Ponj and Tarlen whispering and planning the observation of tomorrow’s action from the Pinnacle, Susan humming, her cheek buried in Bruno’s grey fur.

  Garen turned to Colj. “Captain?”

  The great ogre looked at Kyla, waiting to be sure she’d finished speaking. Kyla nodded politely at his deference.

  Colj said slowly in his deep ogre voice, “There is a boy from below, my Lord. I believe he should be examined. He is gifted. His ja is strong. A small boy. A simple boy. One of the cleaners. I noticed him again last night.”

  “A cleaning boy?” Garen looked puzzled, as if he didn’t understand the ogre’s words. “What do you mean by ‘simple?’”

  Colj nodded, then said deliberately, “He is simple, as they say.” He touched his own temple. “‘Daniel Eadle’ is the name given in the muster. He has no living parents; no kin. An orphan from Tarntown. He came in with the others as a refugee when the Pretender King took the city; so it is written.”

  Garen frowned. “Isn’t this a matter for Master Falmon, Captain? Perhaps one of his subordinates? Why bring this to me?”

  Colj considered for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft and unbelievably deep, as if the words themselves were sacred. “The boy’s ja is strong, my Lord. He is something unique. Truly unique. He is gifted.” He paused. “He requires your personal attention, my Lord. He requires your examination.”

  Garen looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.” He paused. “But after parley, if it can wait.”

  The ogre looked at Garen for a long moment, as if carefully considering Garen’s words, then he inclined his huge head. “It cannot wait, my Lord.”

  “Indeed?” Garen glanced up at Colj, his eyes suddenly penetrating. Colj returned Garen’s gaze.

  “Very well.” Garen nodded. “Speak to Master Falmon, then bring him up today, this afternoon, after council. Check with Ness for the schedule, if you would; he’ll need to be present, also.”

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  There was a soft knock on the door.

  “Come,” Garen said.

  The door swung open—and it was Kate. Kate was there. Slender, beautiful, her dark hair freshly washed, dressed in clean blue trousers, a white silk blouse, a broad belt of blue Abúcian leather. Garen’s secretary, the Tarn’s old librarian, Nordo Ness, stood behind her, leaning on his walking stick, a happy gleam in his ancient eyes. A high silver revolver hung from Kate’s hip. Kyla knew that her young aunt always wore a high silver blade sheathed at the small of her back.

  But Kate also looked different, Kyla realized. A bit older, to be sure. But also . . . what? Two years ago, the gossip surrounding Kate’s departure had been savage. Lies, deception, and rumors of the ultimate crime: betrayal. Kyla had never believed any of it, of course—even if some of the others had.

  “Auntie!” Susan cried, rolling off Bruno. “You’re back!” She ran to Kate, throwing her arms around Kate’s legs. Tarlen and Ponj and Bruno followed, the war dog’s fur hazing and blurring in that smoky way it did when the big mastiff got excited. Colj nodded at Kate; Kate returned the gesture. Garen grinned from behind his desk, trying not to smile too much, inclining his head at the High Cup on the blue cushion in front of him, a kind of silent acknowledgement.

  “Welcome, sister,” Garen said. And then his grin broke into a huge, unrestrained smile.

  Kate beamed as the kids and dog crowded around her, a close huddle of laughter and love, everyone hugging and squeezing and talking at once, Ponj squeezing them together, a giant ball of family. Kyla got up to join them, trying to preserve some dignity, but before she knew what was happening, she was running, her arms thrown around Kate’s neck, mashing Susan into Ponj’s thick legs.

  “Hey!” Susan squeaked, then laughed. Bruno barked happily, pacing in circles around them, the cloud mastiff’s smoky grey fur shimmering with even more energy, barking, pacing, barking again. Tarlen was babbling something to Kate about some project he and Ponj were working on, Ponj nodding his big head with about as much enthusiasm as Kyla thought she’d ever seen from an ogre.

  “Kate! Kate! You want the rest of my apple?” Susan’s hand sprouted out of the hugging mass in front of Kate’s face, waving a wet, mostly devoured, apple core. “It’s from Dayáden. So good!”

  Kate laughed, grabbed Susan’s wrist, bit off a piece. Then she turned to Kyla, kissed her cheeks, and squeezed her tight.

  And then Kyla felt the tears come, unchecked, unashamed, the relief flooding out and through her like a wave, the anxiety pouring out of her and away.

  From nowhere, a thought entered her mind: This is why it must end, whatever the risk.

  For love. For peace.

  For family.

  “Auntie!” Susan hollered at Kate from the middle of all the hugging. “Where the heck have you been?”

  The total rightness—the total artlessness—of Susan’s question struck Kyla as insanely funny, and before she knew what was happening, she was laughing until her sides ached, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  11

  THE MOMENT LITTLE Dan Eadle blew out his lamp, the darkness swallowed him. Greenish-white shapes danced in front of his eyes.

  Dan waved his hand in front of his face, but he couldn’t see it.

  Not even when he touched his finger to his nose.

  So he shut his eyes.

  It was a trick he’d learned a while back, when they used to lock him in the barracks with Crazy Bill. You had to shut your eyes, get them used to the dark, then open them up so you could find your way out. The trick was to use your ears and to look for that little crack of light at the bottom of the door.

  Little Dan kept his eyes shut and listened as hard as he could.

  Nothing.

  Not a sound.

  Eyes closed, he took a step. Then another, soft like a mouse, one hand on the wall, ears open.

  Somewhere in the dark ahead of him, he heard another soft click.

  Dan opened his eyes.

  “There you is, you sweet little thing,” Dan whispered to himself in Crazy Bill’s crazy voice. “Gotcha.”

  About forty paces away, Dan could see a crack of light at the bottom of a door. Above that, there was another tiny spot of light, like the light of a flame through a keyhole.

  Dan crept forward. When he reached the door, he stood on his tiptoes, put his eye to the keyhole, and peeked inside.

  It was Master Falmon.

  Little Dan sighed with relief, almost startling himself with the noise.

  The Master was standing in front of a cabinet made of silvery wood, lighting some clay lamps. He’d light a lamp, then he’d place it in a kind of silver cradle hanging on a silver chain from the ceiling. But the chains didn’t look like any chains that Dan had ever seen. They didn’t have any links. Instead, they looked like silvery vines. They didn’t clink or rattle when
they moved, either. Instead, they sort of whispered. Master Falmon would light a lamp, say a word, and the silvery vine would whisper back up, lifting the lamp toward the ceiling while other vines dropped down. The lamps shone on the Master’s scarred face; you could see every cut and lump and slash.

  “Eadle,” Master Falmon growled. “If you’re gonna stand out there makin’ all that racket, might as well come in and gimme a hand.” He lit another lamp and didn’t look up. “Need to talk to you, anyways. Opened the little side door up there for you, didn’t I?”

  Dan blinked at the keyhole, then took a step back.

  “Come on.” Master Falmon grunted and adjusted his eye patch. He placed another lamp in its cradle and spoke a soft word. The silver vine whispered and lifted the lamp toward the room’s ceiling. The entire room glowed with warm, orange light. “Let’s go, boy. Don’t make me ask again.”

  Dan reached up and pulled the latch, his sore elbow twinging with the motion. The door swung inward. But Dan didn’t enter. Instead, he stood at the doorway and looked up at the lamps hanging at the end of their silvery vines.

  “Up already, eh?” Master Falmon asked, not looking at him. “Up and at ‘em?”

  Dan nodded.

  Master Falmon glanced at him. “Good thing they always give you the pit, otherwise I’d have had to come get you. Safer this way.”

  Dan nodded again. But he didn’t really understand.

  Safer?

  Master Falmon grunted. “Good boy. High Lords be down again soon. Big day tomorrow. Big day. Parley. Could mean peace. Could mean more war. Either way, gotta be ready for the worst. Put your lamp down there beside the door, so you don’t forget it.”

  Dan swallowed, crossed his fist against his chest in a silent salute, and put his lamp down where Master Falmon said.

  “Well?” Master Falmon grunted.