The Tower Broken(47)
She lifted her chin. ‘He is my countryman, and chief of my people.’
Sarmin glanced again at Govnan. ‘You cannot think I will set him free, whatever you discover, especially now.’ In fact the chief would die, and Sarmin did not know how to tell her.
‘Not free, my husband,’ she said, ‘only out of the dungeon. There is no limit to how many of your men you may send with him when you answer the duke’s call. You can send the whole White Hat Army if you wish.’
‘I cannot,’ he said, ‘and you know it, for I have put them to search for my brother, and soon enough Yrkmir will be at our walls. This Didryk might be in league with our ancient enemy and hoping to ambush our men. He could be behind these marketplace attacks, and more.’ And yet Sarmin longed to meet this duke as a man in the desert thirsts for water.
‘The duke wishes to help us.’
‘Do you know anything beyond the words of the traitor?’ It was hard enough to quench his own longing; he could not quench hers as well. He dropped her hands.
She looked aside. ‘Arigu took Felting slaves, Sarmin.’
‘There were no Felting slaves. There have been no slaves at all.’ He glanced at his Code, abandoned on the table.
‘They are here somewhere, my husband, and I will find them. I—’ Her voice rose, and Sarmin glanced at Azeem, wondering how much he had heard of that last part.
‘Yrkmir comes, Mesema,’ Sarmin warned, ‘and these slaves will not matter after that. We must look to protecting our family.’
She stood, her blue eyes hard with condemnation, and he met them without apology.
Govnan stepped forwards, smoothing his beard with a veined hand. ‘If I may interrupt, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘perhaps young Farid can be sent to this duke, with a small contingent? We may manage to retrieve Arigu. If they fail, and we lose them …’
Govnan meant to say the loss of Farid would not be great; but Sarmin was not sure that was true. While he might not have the talent to enter another realm and command its spirits, the Tower had no other mage who could work patterns.
A decision of empire, made on the great invisible scales, watched by heaven but weighted by men. Such decisions might leave one boy locked in a room and his brothers murdered, or kill thousands in the outer colony of another empire. A decision to weigh one life against many, and many against one: Beyon had gone mad with it and tipped the scales to excess, as if he would never feel a loss. But the death of his sword-son Ta-Sann had shown Sarmin the difficulties of Beyon’s way. It was not easy to send men into death.
But if the duke had some knowledge of Adam’s plans, if he knew where Daveed might be kept … his grief twisted him again. For his brother he would spend lives; for his brother he would take the chance. ‘Very well,’ he told Govnan. ‘But we must act quickly. I cannot have half the army searching the desert for days. I will question Banreh myself.’
‘I will prepare young Farid for his trip.’ Govnan moved towards the side door.
Sarmin stood and spoke to Mesema, leaning in, voice low. ‘Your chief will tell me what I need to know. If he will not tell me, then he will tell Dinar. You cannot return to him – do you understand?’
She backed away. ‘I wanted only to do the right thing.’
‘The right thing is for Cerana to survive.’
‘But what is it that will be surviving, Your Majesty?’ He noted her formal tone, her physical distance. ‘I should get to Nessaket. She will need blankets and toys for – for the child.’
She had not said your brother – because he was not. Sarmin knew it, because he felt no love for the child. ‘There are slaves—’ He recalled Chief Banreh’s accusation, and stopped.
‘I must go.’ She turned and walked from him, her silks fluttering, her guards clustering around her.
‘Azeem,’ Sarmin said, watching her go, ‘tell General Lurish we have need of a mediocre captain and six dozen average men.’ If this duke lured Sarmin’s soldiers into a trap, they would not be his best ones.
Azeem hesitated only a moment. ‘I was just on my way to speak to him, Magnificence.’ He bowed and retreated.
Sarmin sat on the steps of the dais, surrounded by his nameless guards. What plan Austere Adam hoped to set in motion by sending the wrong child he could not fathom, nor why the Mogyrks had attacked with a pattern more foul than Sarmin could ever have imagined when Helmar lived. Each day the Great Storm crept closer to the Blessing; after that it would stand at the northern walls. The pale sickness would be upon Nooria soon enough, draining his citizens of colour and life until they were empty enough for the djinn to ride – if an earthquake or Yrkmir did not destroy them first. All of this while Govnan’s Tower stood cracked, its mages few, and Mogyrk’s Scar stood in the east. There had to be a solution; there was always a path through to preserving his empire, though it might be hidden. But this time there would be no messages from the past, no priestess or old woman to offer wisdom, no demons and angels to guide him.