Chapter 52
EIRLYS TRIED TO not start pacing again. It chafed at her beyond belief to stay here, in the safety of the ruin. With the exception of a small detachment Drake had left to guard this stronghold—and her and the twins, no doubt—they were alone. But the more she paced, the more restless the twins got, and that was never a good sign. Drake had extracted a blood oath from them that, for just this fight, they would stay put. She supposed it was in part because they realized how close they had all come to losing him that they had complied readily.
Well, readily for them, she thought ruefully. It had only taken ten minutes of bargaining, and the promise of a ride in an air rover when it was done, to get it.
At the moment, they were trying to lure Slake into a game of chaser to pass the time while Mahko prepared a meal.
“Us—”
“Against you because—”
“We’re only children—”
“After all. And—”
“Not for money—”
“But for fun. And maybe—”
“That shiny pouch.”
The man responded with a doubtful glance at her as he fingered the silver pouch he wore on a strand around his neck.
Eirlys laughed in spite of her nerves. “If you’re as bothered by being stuck here as I am, it might help,” she said. “But I warn you, they were taught by Brander.”
The man’s eyes widened. He looked at the two, who had put on their most innocent faces, warily. As well he should. He wouldn’t be the first the twins had surprised. They had even surprised Brander once or twice. The last time, he’d laughed aloud at how they’d fleeced him, and said proudly there was no more he could teach them.
That moment played through her mind, as it so often did, bringing back the odd, swelling feeling that tightened her chest as he took his unexpected defeat at the hands of two then ten-year-olds so delightedly. Which in turn brought back all the emotions she’d been swamped with when she’d realized Brander had been fighting side by side with the Raider—her brother—all along. Not the least of which was self-recrimination for not realizing it before now.
And now they were out there, risking their lives. She should have insisted on going, underage or not. But it had been impossible to refuse Drake, not when such a very short time ago she had sat shivering in his quarters, waiting to hear the dreaded silence when his harsh, pained breathing finally stopped.
“I have to know you and the twins are safe, or I will not be able to do what I must.”
And so now, the people who mattered most to her in this world were out there, fighting a desperate battle to save something of the world her father had warned they were losing.
That thought sent her mind scurrying to the astonishing reappearance of their mother. The revelation that she was alive was incredible enough, but that she was the mythical, powerful Spirit who lived above the Edge almost put the tale into the realm of impossible. And yet it was true. Eirlys could not doubt that. Had she not pulled Drake back from the very doorway of death? Had she not healed him so completely that barely two weeks later he was back to himself and strong enough to lead this battle?
And even she is out there, fighting with him. While I am trapped here, uselessly.
Only then did she realize she was pacing again. She glanced to the big hearth, where the twins were absorbed in their game. They were in the early stages, gauging their opponent’s strengths and searching out his weaknesses. Brander had indeed taught them well.
And as she thought of him again, up on that mountain, alone, she could no longer stay in this room. Spacious though it was, the cellar walls seemed to be closing in on her. She headed for the ladder. She thought of warning the twins to stay put, but decided it was best not to plant the idea that they might not, and made her way up.
Once above, she walked toward the lookout. It was Tuari at the moment, who, despite the calm at the moment, was alert and ready, and heard her coming long before she got to her.
“All quiet,” she said.
She nodded. “Mahko is fixing a meal. Slake will relieve you when he’s eaten.”
“Brollet stew again?”
“Yes. But he scrounged a bit of flour, so there’s a loaf as well.”
The woman’s expression brightened.
She looked toward the distinctive shape of Halfhead, then to the heights of the Brother beside it. Somewhere, up there, in the sunlight above the mist, Brander was awaiting the signal that the Coalition ship had lifted off. And up above the high valley, on Highridge, the Raider awaited that signal, plus the signal that Brander had succeeded, and the lookout signals as it passed.
Waiting.
It seemed as if all of Ziem was waiting.
There were those who said they had deserved what had happened, for failing to be aware and ready. They had trusted their isolation too much, had shrugged off the rumors that the infamous Coalition was expanding into this sector, thinking themselves safe enough. And so they had been caught unprepared when reality had descended upon them.
And there were those who had said fighting back was impossible; their population was small, mostly unarmed, and untrained for anything like the might of the Coalition. They were the first to surrender, to voluntarily put on the yoke of Coalition servitude, and they had sickened her.
And she had thought Drake one of them. The things she’d said, the names she’d called him, and the worse ones she’d thought, still ate at her. Especially now. When she had wished he would do something, fight back, she hadn’t taken into account what it would mean if he did. Hadn’t realized how it would feel, to face the very real possibility of his death.
But she had faced it now, it had been all too real in those last moments before the arrival of the Spirit . . . her mother.
And that brought her back to Brander, who had pulled off this miracle by fetching her. She wished she could have talked to him more about that, and why he, the most practical, logical man she knew, ever given to reality, had taken such a chance. The one time she’d asked, he’d simply laughed and reminded her he was a gambler, was he not?
Yes, he was that. And so much more, no matter that he tried to hide it. He—
A fluttering sound of wings drew her attention. The darkest of her birds, by coincidence—or perhaps not—one of the few adept at night flying, flew past her and landed on the feeding platform Brander had built. She hurried over, and gave the bird a handful of feed as she hastily pulled the tiny curled message out of the capsule.
Airlifter here, it said, and the time had arrived. She blinked, and double-checked her timer. The bird had made the trip in just over ten minutes, shaving nearly two minutes off the expected time.
“Well done, little one,” she said, laying out another handful for the swift creature.
She turned back to Tuari. “It’s begun,” she said. “The ship is here.”
The woman looked at her own wrist, and Eirlys knew she was marking the time before the expected lift-off of the airlift, to make the short flight up to Highridge and the cannon emplacement. Drake had been timing this for months, until he had a decent average for the weekly operation. They knew that, after the ship’s arrival, the crew was allowed a short break for food and drink and to prepare the rigging for deployment. This ran anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour; she knew that since the commander was off world, Drake was guessing this would run closer to the longer limit.
“Hope the kid doesn’t mess up,” the woman finally muttered.
“He won’t. Did you see his face when Drake gave him the assignment?”
Tuari smiled. “Yes. You’re right.” She gave her a rather long look. “Your brother is . . . well, it’s unbelievable, what he’s done.”
“Yes.”
“He took such abuse, for so long.”
She winced. “Yes.”
She took the spotters again, trained them on the mist above the low valley. If Brander’s special flare worked as expected—and she had full faith it would, for she knew his skill well—they wouldn’t even need the glasses to see it. But it was something to do, and she was desperate for that just now.