Spirit Gate

53

HANDS CUPPED AROUND a shallow drinking bowl, Joss brooded. He sipped until the bowl was drained dry, then set it down. After pouring a fourth helping of rice wine from the carafe, he placed it back in its basin of hot water and with a sleeve wiped from the table's top the droplets of water left behind by the pouring. But none of it helped, not the ritual of pouring, not the punch of the wine rising to his eyes, not the peace or the quiet. He sat by lamplight in the master's cote of Argent Hall, alone except for the whisper of rains on the roof. The doors to the porch were all slid back so he could see outside, but the garden lay in darkness. At the beginning of the wet season, it was always difficult to adjust to a night sky covered in cloud, with no stars or moon to be seen, or to see by.

So it seemed to him. He was waiting in the dark. He was blind, with nothing to guide him. They had won a victory, but only by going against the code of the halls.

Reeves were meant to enforce the law, not to wage war. He could win the argument within his head, claiming they had been given no choice, and know it was true. He could rejoice in his heart that Olossi had been saved, and feel it as worthwhile, a bold triumph. But in his gut, he knew any more steps taken down this road would lead to a terrible place where he did not want to go. No matter the reason, they had betrayed the reeves of Argent Hall. They had passed through that gate, and they could never go back and pretend it had not happened.

The rains lulled him. The cool air washed over him, dragging him into sleep.

The dream always unveils itself in an unwinding of mist, but this time there is no journey in the wilderness, no distant figure that vanishes as soon as he glimpses it. She walks right out of the darkness and up onto the porch, and she examines him with an expression of regret mingled with amusement. It hurts to look at her, because in his dream she seems so very ordinary and alive.

"You're drunk," she says.

He raises a hand to acknowledge her with an ironic salute. "Of course I am. Whenever I think of you, I drink."

She shakes her head. "Joss. Do not carry this burden. Do not mourn me. Let it go."

"I can't. It won't let me go. Oh, Marit. Do you know what we've done?"

"I know. That's why I came to warn you: Beware the outlander."

He chuckled, because the dream was agony: to hear her, to see her. Why must he torment himself? Why throw these words at himself, as if to blame someone else for a decision he had helped plan and carry out? Or perhaps the gods had chosen his dreams as an entrance into his heart, to scold him, since in sleep he could only listen and speak but not, truly, act.

"What are you?" he asked her. "Are you real? Or only a dream, as I fear?"

She displayed both hands, palms facing him. Strong and subtle hands, whose touch he recalled too well. "I am a Guardian now," she said sadly.

He sighed, feeling the pull of the dream as it slid into impossibility, the place where he was forced to acknowledge that none of it could be real. "The Guardians are gone… or else this is their way of punishing me for walking onto forbidden ground…"

Twenty years ago, back when he was young.

And he woke, startling out of sleep at the clop of feet on the porch steps. He rose too quickly, and knocked the bowl onto the floor.

"Marit!" he called.

"Oh, the gods," said the Snake, who was standing on the porch in the soft morning light together with a half-dozen reeves. "He's drunk. Again."

"You bastard," said Joss, picking up the empty carafe and hefting it. "This will make a nice sound, shattering on your head."

"Enough of that!"

Blinking, he saw who had come with Volias and the others. Leaning on her stick, the commander limped into the room. She had already taken off her boots; all of them had, which meant they had stood on the porch for a while watching him sleep, and babble in his sleep, no doubt. He flushed.

"Set that down, Joss," she added. "It's a fine piece of porcelain. It would be a waste to throw it away so lightly."

Still gripping the carafe, he moved aside, and bumped his foot on the bowl as he got out of her way. The wine had soaked the pillow, but she levered herself down regardless and winced as she got her leg turned the best way. Picking up the bowl, she set it back on the table, then extended a hand. After a moment, Joss gave her the carafe. She placed it beside the bowl.

"Tea, if you will, Volias," she said. "Send someone, if you would be so kind. All of you, then. Out."

The Snake smirked. "That'll be a good dressing-down, if it must be delivered in private." But he made the words lascivious, and mocking.

"To the hells with you," snarled Joss.

"Go," said the commander.

They went. Kesta, at the rear, cast him a look that might have been sympathetic, or gloating, or disgusted; he was just too exhausted to tell the difference.

"This must go quickly," said the commander. "Don't sit."

"My head aches."

"All the better, for it will ache more after you've heard me out."

He rubbed his eyes, but the ache-and the commander-did not disappear. They were no dream.

"You may be surprised to see me. After the report I received three days ago of the events here at Argent Hall, and in Olossi, I had to come see for myself."

"What do you mean to do?" he asked wearily. "I'll take full responsibility. The other reeves were only following my orders."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," she said without smiling, without mercy. Pain had cleansed her of humor. It had been years since he had seen her laugh, and she did not look like she'd be laughing now. "I fear the worst. You made a terrible choice, one that will haunt us in the days to come."

"I know."

On she went, unsparing in her litany. "In the meantime, Horn Hall's reeves are still missing. The north is still closed to us. Our control over our own hinterlands shrinks every day. High Haldia has fallen in blood and flames. Toskala and the lands along the river lie under immediate threat. Here, Olossi's lower town lies half in ruins. Yet Olossi's council members praise your willingness to act to save them, despite some misunderstanding that, it seems, led you to be imprisoned in a cell beneath their Assizes Tower for several days. This captain they hired, who will be settling in lands to the north and west of here within Argent Hall's territory, speaks most highly of your leadership and levelheadedness. It seems you have led them to believe you are capable and trustworthy."

"Eiya!" he said, for the words came at him like a dagger's point. "Did you mean that to prick quite so much?"

"Just to make sure you are awake to hear the rest of it: I'm assigning you to become marshal here at Argent Hall."

The shock of the statement made him stammer. "But…"

"I am aware that each hall chooses its own marshal from among their own people, although there are exceptions to this custom, which I invoke now. I am aware that Scar will have to uproot for a second time from his accustomed territory, but he is stable enough, and tough enough, to withstand the challenges and make the accommodation to a new territory. Whether you are remains to be seen, but I have spoken to the council in Olossi, and I have spoken to the reeves here, and it is obvious to me that, for the present time, you are the only available and acceptable choice."

"Argent Hall has lost so many of its eagles, and reeves. We believe that Marshal Yordenas was killed, but his body hasn't been located. Many who aren't dead or missing have fled. Less than a quarter of the normal complement remain, although I admit they thanked us for our intervention."

"It's said the great eagles cannot be corrupted. That they will, in the end, rid themselves of any reeve who turns wholly against the code of the halls."

"It's true that Yordenas had no eagle anyone ever saw. So we were told by those of Argent Hall's reeves who surrendered into our custody after the battle. He claimed it had gone to the nesting grounds, but maybe it had already abandoned him."

She nodded. "Come. Let me show you what flew beside me, at the sun's rising, when I arrived here at dawn."

For her to sit, knowing she would rise again so soon, made the gesture more pointed. He stepped back deliberately, because he did not want to make the mistake of offering an arm, any aid at all. The struggle was swift, but defeated as surely as it always was. She got her balance, and she hobbled to the porch and, with dexterity born of long practice, got into her boots, which were in any case specially made to ease her condition.

He followed meekly. His head still hurt, but at least the glare of a hostile sun wasn't spiking him between the eyes. The gravel path was darkened by the wet, but the rains had ceased with the rising of the sun. Their progress through the marshal's garden went slowly. A flight of eagles spiraled high above, reveling in the morning's cooling breeze. She said nothing, so he said nothing.

Until they came to the courtyard, long since cleared of the debris of the battle fought five nights back.

All ten perches were taken, bearing unharnessed eagles. When he looked closely at those circling above, he realized that most of them-thirty more, at least-carried no reeve.

"What are all these?" he asked. "Where have they all come from?"

"Argent's eagles have come home, seeking new reeves," she said. "There is much to do, Marshal Joss. And your first task will be to rebuild."