The Phoenix Thief

TWENTY ONE

KILTER TOLD PIERSTOV, and the settlers, as much as he dared: his early memories of fire and falling, how Dmal cared for him for years, all about the notebook, and Dmal finding the feather, and how the Chancellor had used Kilter to get the Phoenix. He didn't tell them about Shev and Catrío, though. That he had to deal with by himself.

After Pierstov's threat, everybody listened to what Kilter said so quietly he nearly forgot they were there, and it was easier for him to speak. He closed his eyes for most of it, all of what remained of his strength dedicated to what he had to say. When he finished at last, he looked up to see tears glistening in Pierstov's eyes, and became aware of the quiet whispering that eased through the crowd like breezes through tree branches.

"Poor Aletsavar and Vilsha – where are they now?"

"Istravol sounds so much worse than when we were last there."

"Has Alishek gone mad?"

The voices began to grow louder, but before they could rise to the din they'd been at before Kilter's story, Pierstov sniffed loudly and thumped his hands together.

"We've got to get moving, everyone," he said, getting to his feet. "It's nearly the third watch of the night, and Ryosha needs rest. Divide yourselves into equal groups – the first half will start preparing to leave now while the second half sleeps. In the morning, the first half will bunk while the second picks up where they left off.

"This stalemate is done. Alishek is moving against us in force, and we got to move swiftly if we're to make it out alive. If what Ryosha says about Nátala delaying the Chancellor is true, we got two days, at best, to get to Istravol and stop Alishek before the Phoenix fire burns the land. Pack light, weapons and supplies only. But this ain't a raid. We got to bring the children with us. If we can't stop Alishek, we got to infiltrate Istravol, get everybody inside before he fires those Tanks. All right? Good. Get going."

The crowd began easing back through the wide door of the lodge, everyone starting to talk, even shout, as soon as they were outside. As soon as the big room was almost empty and nobody was staring at him any more, Kilter let his head drop in his hands. Even breathing hurt.

Then the soft, unmistakable whir of small interlocking pieces made him lift his head again.

Pierstov was standing by a large man whose thick eyebrows and long moustache seemed to be trying to make up for his bald head. He wasn't as tall as Pierstov, but he made up the difference in the sheer bulk of his shoulders and middle, and he wore a belt that was hung with many long leather straps. His hood was lined with feathers instead of fur, and perched just beside it, almost melting into the lining, was a large dark grey and white bird. It stared at Kilter with round yellow eyes as the wide man and Pierstov talked in low voices, heads close together.

Pierstov's rough fingers were twisting the facets of the cypher from Kilter's pocket.

"Send this message to the outposts, and use your fleetest birds. They must know of the danger at once, and set off for Istravol as soon as possible. This particular cypher, though, send to our western outpost. We'll need two scouts to go on ahead and keep an eye on any developments in Istravol."

The man with the bird nodded, taking the cypher and slipping it into one of the tiny leather sacks at the end of the straps in his belt, then he tied the sack and straps onto the foot of the bird on his shoulder.

"Send two more gyrfalcons with that westward-bound one, too, for fetching reports." Pierstov sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. "And, now that we know why Dmal ain't answering any of our enquiries, that'll be all for now. Go on and send out that lot. I'll send for you if any more are needed."