Bellica Read online

  "Is there anything I can get you?" Jules asked, ever the medic, and Yarrow noticed he was looking her in the face now.

  Hm. Wonder what brought on the change.

  She shook her head. "I'm fine. Thanks," she added, forcing herself to be friendly with the man again.

  Caelum then got up with some excuse she knew he knew wouldn't hold water, and left the two of them alone. Yarrow could have killed him.

  He obviously thought they needed to talk it out. She'd never bring it up and neither would Jules; so it was pointless.

  "Can I buy you a drink?" The question was so abrupt, Yarrow nearly jumped.

  "I'll bankrupt you," she said, a small smile on her face.

  "A drink," he corrected, smiling back. "You'll run out of ale fairly soon, at the rate you're going."

  Looking in her tankard she saw he was right. In the time she'd sat down she'd downed two steins already, and the tankard was nearly half empty.

  She growled. "This stuff is not strong enough."

  "That, or you're too used to it," he said with a small shrug. "You should try the noge. It may work better."

  She looked at him finishing his third?--fourth?--stein of the stuff and nearly laughed. "No way you're already feeling something off that," she said. It looked so weak.

  "Hey now," he said, leaning forward on the table. "Don't dismiss the noge. It packs quite a kick."

  Now she did laugh. "Sure. That, or you have nearly no tolerance."

  He raised his eyebrows at her, leaning back in his chair and looking as superior as Jules could. "I'll have you know I could outdrink you with any beverage, Bellica," he said, all seriousness.

  "Oh," she said, snickering. "Really. Let's test that, shall we?"

  They shook on it, and then Ghia, with her always impeccable timing, appeared with the food, asking if they needed any more drinks. Yarrow started a tab and told her to keep the noge coming, for she was going to prove to Jules which of them was more of a woman, once and for all.

  Ghia's face held some affectionate exasperation as she went to fill this next order, and then the Midwinter Yarrow-versus-Jules games truly began.

  Magea Rosa

  The awakening from her dream state had been brutal.

  In 3721 of the Third Age, Atherian Calendar, when she had secluded herself in her tower and banished herself to a half-life--an unconscious state her kind could reach, in which there was no time, or space, but only darkness and dreams--she had set alarms that would penetrate the half-life to wake her. Alarms on a rockshield in the ground in the abandoned gardens under her abandoned tower in the north wing of the castle. Those alarms would tell her if anyone was disturbing the Naratus or his sister, the Magisphere, ancient weapons of Rosa's people, dreaming in their own sleep states deep below the ground, hidden away until the next time they would be called.

  Nearly ten days ago those alarms had been triggered by a furtive-looking blond man in military dress burying a stained kettle. Rosa had reached out with her mental tendrils, through the blare in her mind from the alarms, and discovered something that had knocked her back on her rootfeet.

  terrabane. It was unmistakable. She'd recognise the poison's signature anywhere. She should, for she had been the one who'd developed it, millennia ago, during the Magi-Terran Wars. She doubted any Terran knew that part of history very well; they were so incredibly good at self-deception.

  How did they get hold of the poison? It had not been growing anywhere near their settlements when she'd gone to sleep. I suppose they're more than settlements now, but I'll forever think of them as young and new to this world. It must have migrated down from the far north, where the abandoned cities of her people lay, empty, the Schools collecting dust, winds blowing through the organic, timeless structures. The question was, had it done it by itself or had it been moved by Terran hands?

  The former she could understand, for plants had a level of consciousness--lower than hers, of course, for she was Magi, but related, for she was kash-corasin Magi, a being who was part tree. The flower with the bright orange leaves and the blue petals could have decided one day, in the limited way of non-Magi plants, to simply start migrating its seeds south, down to where the Terrans resided.

  The second option...well, that meant that the Pact had been broken, and a Terran, or many Terrans, had violated the oath they'd made so long ago, and desecrated her people's sacred cities.

  Not that they're unused to breaking oaths, she thought somewhat bitterly. It had been half a lifetime ago, it was true, but still hurt to think on. The Terrans had eliminated what few of her kind had remained. She--and Corinus, she thought, for she'd not felt his death--were all who still lived.

  Either way, there was nothing she could do about it, save turn off those blasted alarms. It had taken almost ten days of standing by her dirty window, soaking up what little of the weak winter sun there was, to replenish her energy enough to shift down to the gardens and reset the alarms, check on the Great Powers resting beneath the rockshield, and retrieve the kettle.

  She still had no idea how long she'd been asleep; with the mental noise from the alarms blaring in her head she'd not been able to do much more than garner the strength needed to get down to the gardens and shut it off. Now it was blissfully quiet in her head, and once she got the kettle back to her tower she got to work reading the minds of the Terrans around her, gathering the information she needed.

  Midwinter Eve, she noticed soon enough, stretching her mental vines beyond the confines of the abandoned wing she inhabited. Quite an occasion, she knew. They put such stock in solstices and equinoxes. Her people's holidays had been something somewhat different, though she barely remembered them now.

  Stretching down into the castle, she noted the soldiers back from another Terran military "victory", the busyness of the cooks in the kitchen, preparing for the next day's feast, the sleepy contentment of those servants already in bed, dreams full of the excitement of the next day, wondering if Goddess of the sun, Kore, would bring them gifts during the night as She brought the sun out of its resting time to make the days longer. Stretching up again, she noticed nobles and courtiers sharing time with their families, letting the children stay up later than usual; she saw the Queen--no, Empress now is it? Interesting--pacing in her room, unhappiness the only mood she seemed to know. Going further up, she noticed a wall around the study in the Spire that she could not penetrate.

  Frowning, she knocked away at it, but it would not budge. It was large and black and smooth, and soon she was knocked back, away from it, with a rush of anger from another being.

  Rosa landed solidly back into her body, shaken. She'd encountered a force like that once before, and she shuddered to think what it meant, that it was back in this time and place.

  Gripped with sudden urgency, she would have marched from her tower walls right that moment and gone to do something, could she have thought of what to do. She brought her patience to the forefront again, the capacity her type was famous for, and made herself stand, and wait, and rest. She was still tired, not at full strength. She should sleep now. The next day, maybe, she would roam the castle and find out more.

  She hoped.

  Caelum

  Jourd'Umbra, 22nd Novena

  Midwinter Day

  It had been an interesting night, now over, thank heavens.

  Yarrow and Jules were both half-conscious, having each imbibed enough noge to kill a family of large boars. Caelum wasn't really sure who had 'won' the drinking contest, but he was sure they would both feel like losers in the morning.

  The taproom of the tavern was mostly empty now, patrons having gone upstairs to their rooms or outside, to their homes. Quite a mess. Jules and Yarrow, in their drunken wisdom, had done things that were, no doubt, very entertaining to anyone else who had forgotten the meaning of the word 'sobriety'. Things such as dancing on tables, having belching contests, and falling over every time one of them got another brilliant idea, taking down another table or chair or patro
n with the execution of said idea.

  He was glad each had been able to forget her troubles that night, but wished it hadn't caused such a mess in the Cauldron. He went to apologise to Kasandra for the broken steins and chairs, and offered to pay for them, but she waved her hand.

  "No, Major. Ghia's the one who let them get so rowdy, so it'll just come out of her pay," the woman said, and smiled at the major.

  Ghia's long-suffering sigh as she worked on getting Jules upright so she could lead him to his horse had not gone unnoticed by Caelum. "All the same," he said, taking enough coin out of his purse to pay for the damage and drinks, "I feel responsible."

  Kasandra shrugged. "If you insist."

  Caelum gave a short nod, and the tavern-keeper took the money with no further protest. Caelum went to pick up Yarrow, who lay drooling on the floor, and saw Ghia struggling mightily with Jules.

  "Always heavier than they look, eh?" he said, picking up Yarrow with a grunt. The bellica may have been skinnier than a birch tree, but she'd been in the military for almost twenty years. She was made of nothing but solid muscle and bone. Still, Caelum was stronger, and he placed her on his shoulder, her arms dangling down his back.

  Ghia sighed again and just let Jules slide to the floor this time. "Wish I were strong as you," she said, taking in the apparent ease with which Caelum held Yarrow. "Want to give me a hand with this one?"

  Caelum laughed. "I've got my hands full already. Just leave him on the floor of the tavern if you can't lift him onto his horse."

  "Bad for business." She shook her head. "I'll just find him a room to sleep in; drag him upstairs. I think I can manage that." She had her hands on her hips in a healeresque manner, and glanced up at Caelum with a small smile. "Thanks for taking care of the damages, Major."

  He nodded in her direction and turned towards the door. "Anytime, Healer. Happy Midwinter," he added as he went to grab his and Yarrow's cloaks. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.

  "You too," he heard her call, and then he was ducking out the door, built for people much shorter than he. He hefted Yarrow onto her stallion, Pyrrhus, and placed her cloak around her shoulders before putting his own cloak on and mounting his mild-mannered mare. The wind had, thank heavens, died down, leaving the tops of the buildings dusted with a fairy sprinkling of snow, and the clouds were gone, leaving the stars to twinkle in the night sky.

  Truly, it was beautiful. Too bad Yarrow was still unconscious. He grabbed Pyrrhus' reins, clucked to his own horse, and began to lead both horses in a slow walk down Perimeter Road, into the poor section of town, taking the long way to give Yarrow a bit of time to recover.

  He still wondered what had strained her friendship with Jules, and if it had anything to do with Caelum's own betrayal of her trust. Jules had followed her when she'd gone up the stairs to kill Seigneur Timor, he knew, and he'd made damned sure no one else had followed him to bear witness.

  Most days he himself couldn't believe what he'd done, but then he thought of what he would have risked losing by not doing it. He didn't fairly see he'd had a choice.

  Maybe I could have chosen a different poison.

  He'd not made the decision until they were far on their way to Nucalif, past Two-Sides, where there was no shady apothecary to visit, no real selection. He'd only been able to harvest what was in the wild, and the only thing in the wild had been a small, innocuous-looking plant with blue flowers and orange leaves.

  A mistake. Yarrow would never forgive him. But it had saved her life--this he knew as well as he knew the layout of his hometown.

  If Jules had seen...Caelum should take care of that. I should get the man alone--more alone than in a crowded tavern--and talk to him.

  And tell him what? Hope you're not thinking of reporting Yarrow, because she's innocent. No doubt Jules knew that, or he would already have gone to the Empress.

  No, it was Yarrow he needed to talk to, to make his apology. But how did one broach the subject? Yarrow, I betrayed your trust and have risked your entire life in order to save it, because I've never been good at thinking things through.

  Sure. That would go over well.

  He suppressed a groan and kept his horse on a steady path. All he could do was hope she would bring it up first.

  Ghia

  After saying farewell to Caelum and watching him go out the door, Ghia turned back to her task of dragging the unconscious Jules up the stairs. It wasn't easy. He was a lot heavier than she had imagined. She remembered belatedly that he was auxiliary corps as well as chief medical officer, which meant he had had the same military training as any captain. Not for the first time, she wished her powers included being able to move things with her mind.

  She got him across the floor with relative ease, then up the first two steps, where she had to stop to rest. With a grunt, she hauled him up the next two steps; then the next two. At the first landing, she dropped his arms and collapsed, exhausted, reflecting that she should have done more upper-body exercise in her youth instead of focusing on running.

  Wiping her brow, she moved to grab Jules again when something caught her eye. She looked up just in time to see a girl she hadn't noticed before open the door to the tavern and head off, down Perimeter Road towards The Tracks. The girl was young and, from what Ghia glimpsed of her, looked not a little like Miranda.

  Ghia concentrated and reached her mental breeze out, trying to get a whiff of the girl's psychic scent. It confirmed her suspicions. The girl was indeed the acolyte healer her mother had taken on in the hospitalis, despite Ghia's protestations that something had not felt right about the child.

  And now I find her in a tavern where she shouldn't be, for she's far under the drinking age, walking out obviously after Major Caelum and Bellica Yarrow--who are doubtless being watched carefully by the Empress.

  A spy, then. The girl could be no else. Ghia would have to tell her mother when she got back to the hospitalis the next day. Helene might show the necessary outward signs of loyalty to the Sceptre, but her only real loyalty was to her Guild and her hospitalis. She would tolerate no one who reported elsewhere on the activities within her sanctum. The hospitalis was a sanctuary of Althea--it must remain a place of healing, not intrigue.

  Ghia frowned then, as something occurred to her. How long had Miranda been in the tavern that night? Someone should have noticed her--a ten-year-old girl. Especially in Circe's Cauldron! Kasandra was known for running a tight ship: while other taverns might allow youth to drink before they hit the legal age, Kasandra never would. Tyvian! The only reason Ghia was allowed in the tavern at all was because she was Kasandra's niece!

  Some one should have seen her, she thought, still frowning as she looked at the door. I especially--why could I not sense her? Why was my sight clouded?

  "Ghia!" The healer jumped at the sound of her aunt's voice, and saw Kasandra stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips, glaring at her niece. "Are you going to stand there all night with your head in the clouds, or are you going to get him up the stairs so you can finish cleaning the tavern?"

  Ghia ducked her head in apology, a small blush rising on her checks. "Sorry, Aunt," she said, and bent to drag Jules a bit farther. With effort she got him to the next set of stairs and dragged him up a few before having to stop again.

  Kasandra's mouth twitched, repressing a giggle at the sight of Ghia trying to drag a thirty-something-year-old military officer up a flight of stairs. "Would you like some help?"

  Ghia shot her aunt a sardonic look. "That would be nice." Could have offered before reprimanding me....

  "Ah, ah," Kasandra said, waggling a finger at her niece. "No snotty thoughts, damisela, or I'll not help you."

  Ghia stuck her tongue out. Kasandra stuck hers out in return. The two women laughed, and then Kasandra bent to pick up Jules' legs, and together they half-carried, half-dragged him up the stairs to find an empty room.

  It wasn't until they reached the first floor that Kasandra informed Ghia the only available
room was the healer's.

  Ghia stopped herself from groaning. "That's on the fourth floor," she said, whispering so as not to wake any patrons. "Why didn't we just roll him behind the counter in the taproom and be done with it?" It was a rhetorical question, spoken in jest, but Kasandra answered anyway.

  "Because then he'd be underfoot as I cooked the morning meal. Come on. We won't get him any farther standing here and talking," she added, gesturing with her chin down the hall to the next set of stairs.

  It took nearly an hour to get Jules up to the fourth floor and into the small bed in Ghia's room. She made sure he was comfortable, taking off his boots and putting them beside the bed, and stripping off most of his clothing to throw into the wash, before she went to help her aunt finish cleaning up in the taproom. Once the floor was swept and the dishes cleaned and the laundry done and hanging up in the boiler room to dry, Ghia and Kasandra bunked down in the tavern-keeper's bedroom, also on the fourth floor, which had two beds in it instead of one. Absolutely exhausted, Ghia was asleep before she touched the mattress.

  Miranda

  Miranda checked behind her once again. She was sure no one had followed her, but her father had always taught her to be cautious. Her last mistake had cost her his esteem, and warranted his severe punishment. She shuddered at the memory. She'd been more careful since then.

  She was just out of listening range of the bellica and major, but they weren't saying anything. The bellica had waked up a quarter of an hour ago and had promptly fallen off her horse and vomited by the side of the road in a narrow alleyway. Miranda was disgusted. This was the Empress' best bellica? A drunken slob who, after destroying property in a tavern with her drunken friend, went and soiled the streets of Atherton with her filth? Pathetic.

  With a jolt, Miranda realised she had let her mind wander and had missed whatever the bellica had said. Cursing her incompetence, she hurried to get within earshot of the officers.