The Boon of Alon

CHAPTER FIFTY

We arrive in the field where we found Odal and Arnet before, and fortunately Odal is still there, asleep. Iamon wakes her to talk, which is how we discover that Tack isn't here.

"They are staying overnight in the capitol," Iamon relays to me as I dismount. "There are other riders about, but they are also busy. Tack has established a small sanctuary near the palace, and they do not recommend entering the city right now."

"Or ever, probably," I say, and Iamon snorts. "What else am I gonna do, though? Unless you'd like to relay everything I have to say back to them," I add aloud to Odal, who also snorts and lowers her head back onto the ground.

"That was a no," says Iamon.

"I figured." The palace—that gives me a landmark to aim for, at least. The city, maybe a quarter-mile away, is putting off so much light I think parts of it might actually be on fire. It's late, but I doubt many people are sleeping. It'll be too long before I can sleep, too. At least I've still got some rations—I missed dinner. "Odal, please tell them I'm coming in anyway."

Odal lets out a little puff of smoke. I'll take that as an affirmative.

"Be careful," Iamon tells me.

"Of course." I pull my collar up as high as it'll go and keep my goggles on—I hope that'll disguise me enough, as long as I keep my head down. "Got any little prophecies to get me there intact?"

I'm close enough to his head—and there's enough light coming off the city—that I can see his eyes flash. "No," he says, "aside from that I advise you not to be a fool."

"I'm not very good at that," I point out. He sighs.

"Then try."

"I will." I'm well aware of the stakes. I set off for the city anyway, gnawing on some damned salt pork as I walk.

It takes a bit to pick my way out of the field and find the road, but once I do it's an easy walk, and not quite as cold as it was north of the lake. The closer I get, the more I can hear—shouting, screaming, bangs and clanks. I smell smoke, though I can't see it against the clouds and darkness. Am I walking into an active battlefield?

At the edge of the city, where the fields shrink to gardens and the houses cram in closer together, crowds of people stand listlessly on and around the road, turned towards the center. People who fled the chaos, I guess, but they have nowhere else to go.

Part of me feels I should stop and ask how these people are, but I also know there's not much I could do to help them except to go in and find Tack. I continue up the road fully intending to pass through.

But I'm spotted immediately. "Are you a rider?" a woman asks me, one hand atop the head of a small child clinging to her leg.

I stop, and for a moment I don't know how to respond. Lie? That doesn't feel right, after the talk I had with Corren, even if it'd be expedient. Say yes and immediately excuse myself?

"It's the goggles," the woman adds, tapping her temple.

"Oh!" She must have mistook my hesitance for confusion as to how she figured it out. "I—yes, I'm a rider." And hell, these people don't know I can't help them. And, actually, I don't know that I can't, either.

And if word gets out that we lied to the rebels, if that does hurt us, it'll only hurt more if I ignore these people, won't it? Where are the other riders in the city? Helping people, too, I hope.

"I just got here, to help sort out...that." I gesture at all the burning and shouting. "But first—are you okay out here? Do you have someplace to go?" I suspect not, since she and her family are standing in the road, but the least I can do is ask.