looked at me funny, then shrugged. "Well, I mean,
there has to be a better way. I would send flowers, but I wouldn't want to
receive flowers, so-"
"Stop it."
"Uh ..." he sputtered.
"Stop talking like we're friends, or compatriots, or
whatever the hell is going through your head. I waited for you because there's
a lot of trash to pick up in this place, and I didn't want to do it myself."
He went red, looked to see which of his men were listening,
and then took two quick steps closer to me. He nearly punched me with his
finger, but held back. That wouldn't have been good for either of us.
"Listen. I don't know what the hell's wrong with you
Morgies, but this is serious. Bad things are happening. And every time we try
to help, we get this attitude like you don't need us. But you do. You need
Alexander more than you need Morgan right now. You're never going to find your
Fratriarch without our help. Best you remember that."
"Remember?" I did a casual thing where I pushed
his finger out of my face, pulled him a little off balance, and then brushed my
fingers against his chest just hard enough that he had to take a step back.
"Alexander isn't ever going to let us forget. How he hunted down Amon,
tried him. Put him to the torch. We won't forget."
"Then why-"
"Another thing we won't forget, Owen, is how he
declared amnesty for the Betrayer's scions. Locked them in the Library
Desolate, kept them alive. Used them. They built the weapons that made us
obsolete, Justicar. Those damn chain guns, the valkyn. Whole armies of peasants
with rifles that make the Warrior's Path irrelevant, all courtesy of the
Librarians Desolate. Long as they didn't study the Path of the Betrayer, they
could keep worshipping their dark old god. We remember."
He grimaced. "These are old arguments. I won't have
them with you. And if you're too stubborn to help me find your Fratriarch, then
it's on you. His blood is on you, Eva Forge."
He walked away to supervise or something, but I stayed
where I was. His blood was already on me. It didn't matter what anyone else
did.
Men were going through the junk that had been crammed into
the various nooks and crannies of this place. I went over to watch. It looked
like a dozen households all jammed together. So much mismatched stuff. New
clothes for young children, patched clothes for older children, women's hair
combs, men's razors, cheap pottery, broken tools. Nothing too nice. Some pictures,
laid out in a neat grid by the investigators. None of them looked to be of the
same people. Children and wives and gatherings of friends, some birthdays, some
formal portraits. All of them worn at the edges, wrinkled from being carried in
pockets. Well loved. None of them were of the girl.
There was a yelp behind me, then a heavy thud. The hatch
had broken free, still hanging from one hinge but mostly open. Two Alexians
rushed forward with a third man between them. An Amonite. I found Owen nearby.
"You'd let one of them in here?" I asked. He
shrugged. "What's he going to tell his prison mates? He must know what
this place is."
"Probably. It's not like they don't know they have
brothers in the wild."
"Not what I was told. The priest who met us at the
Desolate claimed there had been no escapes since Alexander took charge of the
prison."
Owen laughed. "Sure, no escapes. Whatever he
says."
I wanted to ask more, but the Amonite was going into
action. He invoked slowly, his long chant rolling through the room. Eventually
he raised heavy arms to the hatch and lifted it, ever so slowly, off the floor.
With the hinge realigned, he was able to pull the thing open and rest the heavy
metal door against the wall. His attendants secured the metal, then took the
man by the arms and pulled him away. The Amonite didn't look around at the
wreckage as he walked, but for all the world he had the posture of a father at
his daughter's funeral.
With the hatch open, the room suddenly stank of lakewater.
Owen's men were already through the
there has to be a better way. I would send flowers, but I wouldn't want to
receive flowers, so-"
"Stop it."
"Uh ..." he sputtered.
"Stop talking like we're friends, or compatriots, or
whatever the hell is going through your head. I waited for you because there's
a lot of trash to pick up in this place, and I didn't want to do it myself."
He went red, looked to see which of his men were listening,
and then took two quick steps closer to me. He nearly punched me with his
finger, but held back. That wouldn't have been good for either of us.
"Listen. I don't know what the hell's wrong with you
Morgies, but this is serious. Bad things are happening. And every time we try
to help, we get this attitude like you don't need us. But you do. You need
Alexander more than you need Morgan right now. You're never going to find your
Fratriarch without our help. Best you remember that."
"Remember?" I did a casual thing where I pushed
his finger out of my face, pulled him a little off balance, and then brushed my
fingers against his chest just hard enough that he had to take a step back.
"Alexander isn't ever going to let us forget. How he hunted down Amon,
tried him. Put him to the torch. We won't forget."
"Then why-"
"Another thing we won't forget, Owen, is how he
declared amnesty for the Betrayer's scions. Locked them in the Library
Desolate, kept them alive. Used them. They built the weapons that made us
obsolete, Justicar. Those damn chain guns, the valkyn. Whole armies of peasants
with rifles that make the Warrior's Path irrelevant, all courtesy of the
Librarians Desolate. Long as they didn't study the Path of the Betrayer, they
could keep worshipping their dark old god. We remember."
He grimaced. "These are old arguments. I won't have
them with you. And if you're too stubborn to help me find your Fratriarch, then
it's on you. His blood is on you, Eva Forge."
He walked away to supervise or something, but I stayed
where I was. His blood was already on me. It didn't matter what anyone else
did.
Men were going through the junk that had been crammed into
the various nooks and crannies of this place. I went over to watch. It looked
like a dozen households all jammed together. So much mismatched stuff. New
clothes for young children, patched clothes for older children, women's hair
combs, men's razors, cheap pottery, broken tools. Nothing too nice. Some pictures,
laid out in a neat grid by the investigators. None of them looked to be of the
same people. Children and wives and gatherings of friends, some birthdays, some
formal portraits. All of them worn at the edges, wrinkled from being carried in
pockets. Well loved. None of them were of the girl.
There was a yelp behind me, then a heavy thud. The hatch
had broken free, still hanging from one hinge but mostly open. Two Alexians
rushed forward with a third man between them. An Amonite. I found Owen nearby.
"You'd let one of them in here?" I asked. He
shrugged. "What's he going to tell his prison mates? He must know what
this place is."
"Probably. It's not like they don't know they have
brothers in the wild."
"Not what I was told. The priest who met us at the
Desolate claimed there had been no escapes since Alexander took charge of the
prison."
Owen laughed. "Sure, no escapes. Whatever he
says."
I wanted to ask more, but the Amonite was going into
action. He invoked slowly, his long chant rolling through the room. Eventually
he raised heavy arms to the hatch and lifted it, ever so slowly, off the floor.
With the hinge realigned, he was able to pull the thing open and rest the heavy
metal door against the wall. His attendants secured the metal, then took the
man by the arms and pulled him away. The Amonite didn't look around at the
wreckage as he walked, but for all the world he had the posture of a father at
his daughter's funeral.
With the hatch open, the room suddenly stank of lakewater.
Owen's men were already through the
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