Chapter 23
CAZE PALEDAN looked once more over the report Brakely had compiled. It was accompanied by a few odd-shaped bits and pieces of paper that he had managed to acquire. One was a handwritten report of a raid conducted three years ago, and was the earliest mention his aide had been able to find of the rebel who would later become known simply as the Raider. The paper it was on was ripped raggedly at the top, but Brakely’s note indicated it had been fastened to a post in the town square, where it had been read by several people before being discovered and torn down by a trooper.
Those several people had been enough to insure that by nightfall, all of Zelos had known of the exploit. And that was only the first.
He scanned the collected data on the viewscreen, the rough sketch that had become the first wanted poster, the list of possible suspects, and how each of them had been eliminated one way or another. He read again the list of raids, one long column of those they knew were the Raider’s work, and a second of those that could have been, before he started leaving the now infamous calling card. There was one of those cards in the batch of papers as well; Brakely was nothing if not thorough.
Then came a collection of the rumors and speculation about the brigand and his identity. He saw the rumors about what had caused the scars, and what lay beneath the concealing helmet. Saw the speculation about who the man actually was, from the ghost of Ziem hero Torstan Davorin to some mysterious stranger come down from above the Edge. The collection included the attribution of incidents that, as far as Brakely could find, had never even happened.
And that, Paledan thought, was when a legend was truly born.
He read Brakely’s conclusion again.
All I am reasonably certain of about the Raider is that he is a man of the mountain, born and bred Ziem. The people appear to care about nothing more than that he is one of them, and he will lead them. It seems that is all they need to know.
He leaned back in his chair. Thought again of his own tour through Zelos. Of the voices, whispering yet ringing with pride in this son of Ziem who had risen to fight when all others had long ago surrendered. Of the rumors he himself had heard, rumors of supernatural powers and invulnerability. He believed in neither, but to him that only made the Raider even more remarkable.
He called up the images of the other report. Dozens of images, captured with Coalition thoroughness, of a dark, slashing figure that was merely a silhouette, and yet quite obviously the Raider. Images stenciled in their own stolen paint, on every surface that didn’t move and a few that did—including the side of a Coalition cargo truck.
He smiled slightly, although it was broader on the inside, at the memory of Governor Sorkost’s outrage. He’d watched the large blood vessel on the man’s forehead bulge and pulse, wondering if it would burst right there and then. He’d had to hide his own amusement even as he wondered aloud if there was any aspect of waging asymmetric warfare the Raider did not have command of. This only served to anger Sorkost further, and while he did not dare to take it out on the post commander, Paledan did not envy the man’s aides when he left. If one or more of them was found dead after having delivered one more piece of bad news, he would not be surprised.
“Were you not sent here to rid us of this nuisance?” Sorkost had yelled.
Paledan thought the Raider had moved far beyond the category of mere nuisance, but he kept that observation to himself. “I was sent here,” he said evenly, “to resolve the problems you have not. But I will do it in my own time.”
Sorkost ignored the insinuation. “But I want rid of him now.”
And you sound like a petulant child. “I’m afraid Legion Command cares only about my record of success in this, not your desires. Unless, of course, you’d rather go after the Raider yourself, personally. I’ll be happy to make that request to General Fidez for you. Of course, once he has the full history, he might wonder why you have not succeeded in eliminating him before now.”
Sorkost had blanched, and that had been the end of the discussion. As Paledan had known it would be. He had always lived by the axiom that to know your enemy was to know how best to defeat him. And in his mind, that applied to enemies within as well as outside.
And for a while, he sat there pondering the irony that of the two, it was not this bloated Governor of the Coalition he admired, but the Raider.
“YOU HAVE NOT asked.”
Kye looked up from the table that held her paints, pens, the bowl of sand she used to dry them quickly, and the large piece of canvas she had liberated from a pile of them near the cargo shipment entrance to the Coalition compound. She had to treat it with a base to keep the paint from being absorbed and vanishing, but what was left of the spray they’d used for the silhouettes had worked well.
The Raider stood across from her, staring down at the work in progress, his arms folded across his chest. Light glinted off the metal of the helmet. She had known he would not be looking at her when he spoke. She would have felt it. Any time she felt that tiny shiver at the back of her neck, that tickle of awareness that made her shiver, she would turn and catch his gaze darting away.
He was so bold, so unflinching with everything else, this avoidance was striking. She wanted to believe it was for the same reason she was so often caught watching him a little too intently, even though if it was, it still made no difference. He’d made it clear there was no place for this—for them—in this war.
She steadied herself and her voice before answering.
“You will tell me when it is time for me to know,” she said, although curiosity about the need and plan for this map was twisting her into knots.
He raised his head. She couldn’t be sure because of the helmet—did he truly never take the blessed thing off?—but she thought he raised a brow at her. “You are unusually patient.”
“And you are an unusual commander,” she countered.
“Odd, I will grant you.”
“No. Unusual.” Since these were the only compliments he would allow her to give him, she would do so. “You see your force as individuals. Let them think for themselves. You learn each of their skills, and use them. Allow them to use them.”
“If you’re referring to the long gun, there was never a question you would have one.”
“My point proven.”
“I only regret that your true skill is used in this way,” he said, gesturing to the map.
She had only begun. And it was going to take a very long time. The detail he wanted was extraordinary, and some of it she could not derive from the images projected on the wall by the small flyover craft that had obtained them.
“I will need aid with some of these locations,” she said as she pushed her small sketchbook, always with her, out of the way of the next section she was going to work on. “I know you do not wish the girl Eirlys to come here, but have I your leave to speak with her?”
“You are close.”
She wasn’t certain if it was a question or an observation. “Yes. As sisters.”
He looked away then, toward the image projected on the wall.
“As such,” she went on when he didn’t speak, “it would not look amiss if we spend time together. And she knows this region like no other.”
After a moment, he nodded. “You must take care. It would not do for anyone to overhear. For her sake, yours, and ours.”
“Of course.” Did he think she was a fool? She reined in the surge of temper, knowing it was born of her feelings for him, and her wish that he never see her as less than capable. “I will phrase it so that she has no idea why I am asking. Or even that I am asking. She loves our home, and it is no trick to get her to speak of her favorite places.”
She thought she saw him smile then, an unusually soft smile for him. It put her in mind of something, but before she could finalize the thought, there was a rap on the door. Brander’s signal, she thought. The Raider called out for his second to enter.
“I still think we should move one of the rovers beyond Highridge. Just in case,” he said without preamble.
Kye frowned. On the other side of Highridge were the badlands, their escape route of last resort.
“You would have me run?” the Raider asked.
“I would have you live.”
“And leave the rest to their fates?”
Kye watched as the two men stared at each other. In his own way, her cousin was as stubborn as the Raider. He just preferred to do as he wished and worry about the details—such as permission—later.
“Sometimes, my friend,” Brander said quietly, “you underestimate your meaning to this band of reprobates. Without you, the rebellion is over.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it,” Kye said softly. “You are the heart and soul and conscience of Ziem. You must live.” For me as well as them. She daren’t say it, but she knew it was true. If he was killed, there would be nothing left for her. “Whether you like it or no.”
It was clear from the narrowing of his gaze as he looked at her that he did not like it. “Some would say a martyr would serve as well.”
“We have had enough of those,” Brander snapped.
Kye was a little taken aback. Even for Brander, with the freedom his friendship with the Raider gave him, that tone had been sharp. As if there were more to the words than the simple truth of them.
She watched the two men as silence spun out in the room. She wished she didn’t feel compelled to speak, but the tension was too high and they would gain nothing by fighting among themselves.
“He is right. The Davorins are martyrs enough for this war.”
“That they are,” Brander said, looking at the Raider steadily. And Kye still could not put a name to the edge in his voice.
“All right,” the Raider said at last, but added, “for now.”
That he gave in was, she supposed, a sign of the respect and liking he had for her cousin. Which she understood. Infuriating as he sometimes was to her, Brander was a good man and true, and a fighter worthy of both.
Brander knew when to quit, for he merely nodded. And, as if he were glad to see the end of the subject, even temporarily, he turned to look at the table. The heavy canvas she was using draped over the edges of the table.
“So large?” Brander asked.
“I have need of every detail.” He glanced at Kye. For an instant, she thought she saw one corner of his mouth quirk. But as always, in that blasted helmet it was hard to tell. “She will be weary of me before it is done.”
Never. “I shall endeavor not to show it,” she said instead, and this time the quirk upward was unmistakable.
“I presume you have a plan for it?” Brander asked.
“It is a beginning,” he answered. “There are many pieces to gather yet.”
Brander left it at that as he leaned over to inspect what she’d done so far. His hand brushed her sketch book, nearly sending it to the floor. In an instantaneous reaction, he caught it; her cousin’s reflexes were very, very quick.
“You are good, Kye,” he said as he looked at the small corner she had finished.
“Your flyover,” she said, looking at her cousin.
“Do not short yourself,” the Raider said. “You have great talent.”
His words warmed her greatly. She had come to prefer compliments on her skill with the long gun or her stealth, but this still meant a great deal to her. Once a compliment on her artistic skill would have meant everything, but there was no room for that in their world any longer.
But a compliment on anything from this man warmed her more than anything else could. Except that which she could not have.
Brander’s hands moved, one tapping her sketchbook against the other. She looked at him. Their gazes locked. The usual glint of mischief was gone from his eyes, and all she saw there was understanding. Then he made a quick motion with one hand, and Kye thought she saw a sheet of the paper from her sketchbook slide out and disappear into his pocket. Then he set it down on the table, and turned to the Raider.
“Unless you have something else for me, I’ll be off. I have a game of chaser with Major Paledan waiting.”
Kye grimaced. “That man makes me nervous.”
“Things have changed since he arrived,” Brander admitted.
“Then perhaps you should rethink this game,” she suggested.
He shrugged. “Do we quit because the Coalition happens to send a competent man?”
She sighed. “No.”
“Just be wary,” the Raider said. “He is not a man you want as an enemy. And I’m told he’s very good.”
“Which is why I am convincing him I’m nothing but a harmless wastrel. Besides, it’s better than playing with that slimehog Jakel.”
“He is still coming around?” the Raider asked, rather sharply.
“Only when Eirlys is there. Another reason for me to be there, too.”
Brander threw his commander a salute and was gone.
“How is it,” she asked as she picked up her sketchbook, “that you hear of everything, even from up here?”
He didn’t look at her, but after a moment he said, “I have many sources.”
She didn’t doubt that, but Paledan had only been here a few days. Or perhaps the new post commander’s reputation was such that it spread quickly. That did not bode well for—
She stopped suddenly as she came to a torn edge of paper in her book. She looked at the drawing before it—a quick sketch of Nyx and Lux, which was all they would sit still for—and the one after it, a detailed study of the mountain which might, she realized now, come in handy for the map.
But more important just now was the page that was missing.
“Eirlys,” she said, almost to herself.
“What?”
She looked up at the Raider. He was definitely looking at her now. “Sorry. It was a page he took.”
“Brander took a page from your book?”
She nodded. “A portrait of Eirlys Davorin.”
He went very still. “Why?”
“In truth?”
“Preferably.” There was an odd note in his voice she couldn’t pin down.
“He cares for her.”
“He has known her all her life.”
So he knew that, too, she thought. She wasn’t surprised. She guessed there were few secrets between the two men.
“It is more than that. He cares for her as a man cares for a woman.”
She couldn’t hear what he said under his breath, but she guessed it was a particularly tasty oath. She understood; the Raider knew such things were beyond foolish in times like these.
“Do not worry,” she said hastily. “He believes her too young for him.”
“As she is,” he muttered.
Kye was not so certain of that. Eirlys might be not yet of adult age, but she was very smart and had, as they all had, grown older faster in the years since the Coalition had stomped Ziem under their heavy bootheels.
But his reaction told her more than she had wanted to know. He thought Brander a fool for such feelings.
And he would no doubt think her even more of one. And that she could not bear. She must accept the fact that he would never let any softer feelings emerge. Not for her, not for anyone. She understood it. She acknowledged it.
She hated it.