Point of Hopes

“You took your time,” he said, and Rathe stepped past him, closing the door behind them both.

“Problems?” Denizard asked, and the pointsman shook his head.

“No. The message is sent and I’ve got us a way out of the hall. But I had a chance to do a little snooping on my way back, and I think I know some of what’s going on.” Quickly, he explained what had happened, describing the papers he’d found. When he’d finished, Eslingen lifted an eyebrow.

“One could almost feel sorry for Maseigne de Belvis. Whether or not she knows what’s going on, she’ll lose any chance at the throne when this comes out.”

b’Estorr shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. You don’t go to all this trouble, manufacture aurichalcum illegally–Dis, steal eighty‑five children in order to manufacture aurichalcum–for political gain. It would be like taking a caliver to a gnat.”

“I saw the papers,” Rathe said. “And I know those names, the printers, and I saw one of the sheets. That’s part of it, Istre.”

“De Mailhac’s part, anyway,” Denizard said, and the others looked at her. “De Mailhac is an Orsandi, they’re related to Belvis by marriage, it would make sense for her to support that candidacy. It’s a nasty thought, but suppose Timenard’s duped her, too?”

“How do you mean?” Rathe said after a moment, not liking the sound of it.

“Suppose he has told her that whatever he’s doing is for Belvis, to help Belvis, but that’s just a cover?” Denizard shook her head. “I can’t think of anything else that would make sense. Istre’s right, aurichalcum’s too potent to waste on mere politics, but I trust Nico’s knowledge of Astreianter printers.” A fleeting grin crossed her face. “I know to my cost it’s encyclopedic.”

“But if aurichalcum is queen’s gold,” Eslingen said slowly, “if it’s linked to the monarch, why wouldn’t you use it if you wanted to influence the succession?”

“It’s too powerful,” b’Estorr said again, and Denizard nodded.

“There are better, less dangerous ways to affect even a royal decision,” she said. “With fewer chances of it blowing up in your face.”

Eslingen nodded. “Which brings me to another thought, then, Aice. Is there any chance of us convincing maseigne she’s been duped, and getting her–and more to the point, her household and presumably her guards–on our side?”

“I doubt she’d listen,” Denizard said with regret. “She doesn’t much like me–too common for her taste–and I don’t have any real evidence. We don’t even know what Timenard is really doing.”

“Besides,” Rathe said, “the guards are his.”

“Lovely,” Eslingen said. “So we’re back to the original plan?”

Rathe nodded. “So now we wait for second sundown.”

The brilliant diamond of the winter‑sun was already below the edge of the trees, glinting through the gaps in the leaves. They watched in silence as it sank further, vanishing at last behind the shoulder of the hill. When it was well down, the four slipped down the stairs. As the grooms had said, the back door was easy enough to find, a small door at the end of a hall that led past the kitchen. It looked as though it would lead to a storeroom, and Rathe braced himself for disappointment as he tugged on the latch. It opened smoothly, without creaking, and a breath of damp air came in with it, bringing the smell of a midden. Rathe made a face, and stepped out into a narrow paved courtyard that was obviously used to store the kitchen’s leavings. The iron gate at its end was open, and there were no guards in sight. He allowed himself a sigh of relief–for the first time, it seemed the stars might be favorable–and they went on out into the deepening night.

The wind was still strong, tearing the clouds of the day apart to let through bits of starlight. Rathe stopped, confused by the dark and the sighing trees, and Denizard pushed past him, a dark lantern ready in her hand.

“This way,” she said, and the others followed.

She led them cautiously around the manor house, following some path that Rathe couldn’t see, and brought them out at last beside a small stream. Now, at the height of the summer, it was more sound than water, the stream itself perhaps a foot wide, clattering over the rocks at the center of its bed, but Denizard’s lantern showed higher banks where the spring floods had carved a deeper cha

“It’s all uphill from here,” she said, and the soldier swore again.

“How far?” Rathe asked, adjusting the sword he’d borrowed from b’Estorr, and the woman shrugged.

“According to the deed to the estate, a couple of miles, but it’s always felt further to me. The road gets better about half a mile up–this is the path they use to bring the gold down, they don’t want it to seem easy to strangers.”

Rathe sighed at that and glanced up, wishing that the trees didn’t cut off so much of the starlight. The waning moon was no help at all, had already set, and Denizard’s dark lantern did little more than add to the darkness. Rathe looked away from it deliberately, stretching his eyes as though that would help him find his night sight more quickly somehow, and followed the others up the stony path. As Denizard had promised, it got easier as they climbed higher, widening until two horses could walk abreast, but even so it took most of their concentration to keep from slipping on the rocky track. It was well over an hour later when Eslingen, walking a little ahead of the others, stopped and held out a hand.

Denizard shuttered her lantern instantly. “What is it?” she murmured, her voice barely a breath above a whisper, and Eslingen waved her toward the woods.

“Guardpost,” he murmured. “Only a couple of men, so it’s not the real thing yet.”

“Probably here to catch any of the children who try to make a run for it,” Rathe whispered, and ducked behind b’Estorr into the shadow of a bush. He could see movement now, darker shadows among the trees, and then, as one turned, he saw the spark of a lit slow match bobbing at chest height. He held his breath, seeing that, fought the urge to duck, and the spark moved away again, vanished as the guard turned back to his post.

“Probably,” Eslingen agreed, “but we can’t afford a fight at this stage. We’ll have to go around.”

Denizard made a sound that might have been a sigh. “This way.”

She led them up the slope to her left, climbing cautiously through the trees and rock until they could pass the guards unseen and unheard. The guards’ interest seemed to be focussed on the mine; they stood facing uphill, turning only occasionally to glance back down the road toward Mailhac. They had a brazier with them, and a lantern, Rathe saw, and hoped it had ruined their night vision.

Even after they had passed the guardpost, Denizard did not return to the road but led them along the slope parallel to it, her boots silent in the thick carpet of dead leaves and debris. It was quiet enough, Rathe thought, following more cautiously, but the same soft cover hid all but the largest rocks and was dangerously slick in places, making the footing treacherous. He slipped once, and swore silently, pain shooting up from a wrenched toe, but that eased almost at once and he allowed himself a soft sigh of relief. All they would need now was for someone to get hurt.

Ahead, a light showed between the trees, a cool, diffuse light, and Eslingen stopped, tilting his head to one side. “Mage‑fire?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, and b’Estorr nodded.

“I would say so. They’ll have to work all hours to take advantage of the proper stars, and there’s no better way to light this large a space.”