Chapter 247: News from the North

"The Order of the Silver Crane reached the Maren Ridge," the Reaper said. "They tried to take your people away in chains."

Encrid had been half asleep. He was awake now.

The Reaper sat in the chair beside the bed, as he did every morning, with a small bundle of thin, creased papers on his knee. Message-tube paper.

"When?" Encrid asked.

"Fifteen days ago. The reports came last night." The Reaper touched the bundle. "Not through the five. Through a house in the north that answers only to me. I have kept a few like that for many years. I did not know until this winter how much I would need them."

He handed over the first sheet.

Encrid read it slowly. The words were plain, as Blue Moon reports always were. Only what had been seen.

Eight thousand survivors on the Maren Ridge, under a writ of the Duke of the North. Seven thousand, nine hundred and forty-one counted living. Villages being repaired. A boundary stone on the high ground, with names being carved into it. Three thousand, four hundred and eighty-two.

He stopped at the number and read it twice.

Then he went on.

A royal company, the Silver Crane, two hundred and ninety knights. Their commander had demanded the convicts sent to the Wall, the Fifth Legion’s "deserters", and the Acting Lord Commander himself. The people had come down from the villages and stood in the road. The commander had ordered his lances lowered. The Third Legion had come down the hill. The Fifth had come from the other side. And then the Grand Magus had been pushed down the slope in a cart, wrapped in blankets, and had told the commander he had put on weight.

The Silver Crane had withdrawn to the ford.

Encrid lowered the paper.

"Most people there were sentenced to the Wall."

"Yes."

"And the Fifth Legion left the east because Zuri took it north. For me."

"Yes."

He looked at the second sheet. The handwriting was different, neater, and the paper smelled faintly of lamp oil.

"From the capital," the Reaper said. "A proclamation was read in Caelmar four days ago. The Crown says the Wall fell to treachery by the Revolutionary Army, and it offers a reward for names." He paused. "It also says that the conduct of the northern command will be examined. Including the conduct of the late Strategist."

"The late Strategist," Encrid repeated.

"You are dead, benefactor. In the capital, you have been dead for some time."

Encrid looked at the words on the page. For a long moment, he did not say anything.

"Do you know what the easiest thing in the world is to blame?" he asked finally.

The Reaper waited.

"A dead man. He can’t argue. He can’t explain. He can’t show anyone the numbers." Encrid put the papers down on the blanket. "Every order I gave at the Wall can be turned into a crime now. The machines we built were too large for the charter. The evacuation was desertion. The convicts were moved off the stone without permission. My sister’s march was a rebellion. And the one man who could stand up and say why it was done is lying in a garden hundreds of miles away, pretending to be missing."

"You chose to stay hidden," the Reaper said. "For good reasons. Those reasons have not gone away. If it becomes known that you are alive, those who built the altar at the Wall will know it too."

"I know."

"Then what has changed?"

Encrid thought about it carefully, because the Reaper deserved a careful answer.

"When I decided to hide, I thought I was protecting this house and the people on the southern bank. I thought that if no one knew where I was, no one would come looking." He touched the papers.

"But they’re sitting on a ridge with a royal company camped at the bottom of it. The Crown is writing their story right now, and I’m not in the room. Hiding doesn’t protect them anymore. It only protects me."

The Reaper said nothing.

"And there’s something else," Encrid went on. "If the Crown blames the rebels, the story ends there. It’s neat. Everyone can stop asking questions. And the people who really did it, the ones who waited twenty-three years to open one gate, will walk away from the altar they built. Nobody will ever look for them again."

He met the Reaper’s eyes.

"Those are the same people who paid your Star Guide."

The room went very still.

The Reaper lowered his gaze to the remaining papers, but he did not pick them up.

"You intend to return to the north," he said.

"I’m going to Maren."

"You understand what that means. The moment you appear before those people, you will no longer be a dead strategist whose name can be used without consequence. You will become a living man with answers the Crown does not want to hear."

"That’s the idea."

"And the people who built the altar may hear of your return."

"They may already know I’m alive. I don’t intend to make their work easier by letting them decide what happens next."

The Reaper studied him for a moment. There was no surprise in his expression, only the quiet consideration he gave to matters he could not solve with a blade or a command.

"Then I must speak with the Sage," he said at last, and stood. "He will not be pleased."

"He’s never pleased."

"No," the Reaper agreed. "But today he will be less pleased than usual."

He went out.

Encrid sat alone with the reports on the blanket.

For a while, he read the first sheet again. Seven thousand, nine hundred and forty-one living. The number had been written as a fact, without comment or explanation. But he knew what stood behind it. People who had been condemned to die had found somewhere to live. Villages were being repaired. Names were being carved into stone so that the dead would not be forgotten.

And now someone had arrived to take the survivors away in chains.

He had no intention of letting that happen.

A familiar voice stirred at the edge of his thoughts.

{ Will you begin searching for the old man with the rings? }

Encrid considered the question.

"He probably isn’t at Maren Ridge."

{ Then why should you go there? }

"Because the people who will help me find him are there."

The dragon fell silent.

Then, after a long moment:

{ That is an acceptable reason. }

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