Wild Magic

Chapter 17. The General’s Conversion

The Royal Barge moved ponderously along the shrunken River, the pilot peering anxiously at leadsmen in boats far ahead; they signaled with flags the water depths, he translated these and passed orders to the helmsmen at the sweeps.

Wenyarum Taleza paced back and forth on the quarterdeck, cursing the River, the stupidity of the bargemen, the heat, the dust, the stinking water, anything he could dredge up. Most of all he cursed Abeyhamal and all her works. He couldn’t afford to be angry at the Amrapake or at Faharmoy his idiot son-it was dangerous even to think of blaming them for his discomfort and the precariousness of his position. He cursed his wife, but under his breath. One moment he wanted her to sicken and die, the next he was nauseated by the fear that she would-leaving him the sole credible witness to what was essentially her murder. That beating had dug a pit in his future that he saw no way of escaping.

The sky was white with dust, the sun hammered the Land; the River glittered at him, the glare knives in his eyes.

As the barge crawled down the River, he paced the deck, angrier every day, no place to dump his anger but Abeyhamal and the pernicious upstarts who were using her to seize power. Back and forth, back and forth. His armor rubbed rashes wherever it touched. Back and forth, back and forth…

Three days after it moved away from the pier at Gom

Corasso, the barge tied up at the Camuctarr Gatt at Bairroa Pili and the General marched off, followed by the eleven-man hosta from the Corassana Royal Guard, knowing the Amrapake sent them to make sure he did what he was told and brought the boy home.