Fifth Quarter Page 3

  Nothing in the next room.

  But in the room after…

  Something large fell; too large for even the plushest carpet to absorb the impact.

  Vree had heard bodies fall on every surface, in every state of dying.

  The taste of iron in her throat, she ran.

  The second room passed in a blur of shelves and scrolls and books and a low table she went over not around.

  In the third room was a carved wooden bed, the embroidered coverlet a tumbled heap of jeweled brilliance in the lamplight. Crumpled at the foot of the bed, was a body.

  Not Bannon.

  Her heart started beating again and training surged past the remnants of her panic.

  The old man collapsed at the foot of the bed fought to hold onto life. His lungs struggled to lift the weight of his ribs high enough to breathe. His hands spasmed against the rich folds of his robe. His fingertips, lips, and eyelids were already tinged with blue.

  On the carpet beside him was a metal goblet and on the carpet beside the goblet, a spreading stain.

  Vree dropped to one knee and bent over the spilled wine, then straightened and spat the scent of poison off her tongue. A certain death but far too slow. Still on one knee, she studied the old man.

  Governor Aralt.

  Why he’d chosen to kill himself when he knew the Empire would save him the bother was a question best left between him and his gods.

  Where was Bannon?

  She’d seen his mark at the wind shrine; he had to have come this way. An irrational fear began to drag icy fingers down her spine and she desperately searched for another answer. The room was crowded with heavy pieces of furniture piled with cushions and draped with silk—an unattractive mix of north and south that could provide a hundred hiding places for her brother. Was he here? Had he come in, found the governor, heard her coming, and hid? It was the sort of stupid joke he might find amusing.

  So would she if it meant the end of being without him.

  She couldn’t have gone past him and he wouldn’t have gone on, so he had to be here.

  “Haul your ass out of cover, Bannon, and let’s get going. This isn’t funny.”

  Her whisper pierced the shadowed corners, pierced the shroud that dying had wrapped around the governor.

  He opened his eyes. Unfamiliar features twisted into a familiar expression. “Vree …”

  She stared, not believing.

  “Vree …” Cold fingers clutched at her wrist and pressed out a pattern only her brother knew.

  The world became a dark and unfamiliar place. “Bannon?”

  Two

  “… saw no guard, knew I should’ve waited, but …” His face twisted and even the shadow resemblance to Bannon disappeared. He was an old man, in agony. And as unbelievable as it seemed, he was her brother. “Hurts, Vree.”

  “I know.” Knew exactly what the poison was doing to the body he now wore. Knew there wasn’t anything she could do about it but watch him die.

  “Have to tell you …”

  His fingers were freezing. She fought a futile urge to try and rub warmth back into them. “I’m here, Bannon.”

  “He was in the room. Don’t know how he saw me. He smiled. Drank. Motioned me forward. Knew you were behind me, so I … went.” He’d been sucking in air between each short burst of words but had to stop and breathe a moment just to live.

  Vree felt as though iron bands had been wrapped tight around her ribs. Obviously, whatever had happened, she hadn’t been close enough behind him. Hadn’t been close enough to save him. She wanted to close her eyes but was afraid he’d die while they were closed—half believed that only her attention kept him alive.

  A soldier who died off the battlefield became one of Jiir’s ravens, doomed to feed off the fallen, off the discarded bodies of those who were granted a place in Her host. But surely assassins were allowed a wider battlefield? Vree thought of the great clouds of winged scavengers that settled down to feast on the bloody flesh scattered over the ground when the fighting ended and nearly shuddered. Goddess, please … But Jiir listened to pleas only when they were accompanied by a sword thrust.

  She remembered Emo grunting into his wineskin, “You live, you die, you rot,” and found less comfort in that.

  “Something about him …” Bannon had gathered enough strength to continue “… drew me.”

  The governor had not been a physically attractive man; not judging from the wreck he’d left behind. “What drew you?”

  “Don’t know.” He frowned, the expression pure Bannon although the features were not. “Calm,” he answered at last. “Strength. Don’t know!”

  “Shhh, it’s …” She couldn’t say that it was all right because it would never be all right again.

  “No. Got to … tell you.” A purpling tongue scraped against his lips. “Looked at me. I was him … and he was … me and then he jumped.”

  “Jumped where?”

  “To me. Then … pushed me into him.” A shudder ran down the length of the old man’s body and his teeth clattered together like dice. “Dying.”

  “He pushed you into his old body and he took yours?” Not all the training in the Empire could have kept the shrill note of disbelief out of her voice. She stiffened, head cocked, but no one appeared to have heard. Apparently, the orders the governor had given to keep everyone away still held. With a fingernail grip on her self-control, she turned back to her brother. “That’s impossible!”

  The expression on the face of the man lying in front of her said everything necessary. She’d seen that expression a hundred, a thousand times. Obviously, it wasn’t impossible. “He can’t have gone far. I’ll go after him. Bring him here. Make him give you your body.”

  Bannon shook his head. “No time. Be dead … when you got back. Vree …”

  He wanted something from her. She recognized a tone she’d heard all her life.

  “Oh, come on, Vree, just this once …”

  But he had only one thing left to want; only thing that she could give him. Nothing should hurt this much and not kill you. Teeth clenched around a howl of pain, she began the movement that would drop a dagger out of a forearm sheath into her hand. When this is over, I’m going to find Aralt and I’m going to make him beg me for death.

  “Vree, let me share … your body.”

  The dagger snapped back into the sheath. “What?”

  “I know what … he did. How he did it. Moment we shared … took it. Let me jump … into your body.”

  Vree opened her mouth and closed it again. Bannon was all she had, all she’d ever had besides the army. But to die for him? To allow herself to be pushed into a dying shell?

  He read her thoughts off her face and shook his head. “No. Two separate actions. I jump. I don’t push. You stay.”

  “We share?”

  “Yes.”

  “My body?”

  “Yes … Till we get … my body … back.”

  To have Bannon in her body. And isn’t that what you’ve been wanting? she asked herself, desperately clamping her will around a hysterical desire to snicker. To have Bannon be a part of her. Know everything she was. Everything. No. But weighed against the only alternative, against going on alone…

  “Vree?”

  No time left to decide. Her heart slammed against her ribs and sweat trickled down her spine. She could smell her terror and his death. “Do it.”

  Invasion! A kaleidoscope of images tried to force an entry into her mind.

  Vree fought to pull the barricades down. This is Bannon! Let him in or he dies! A crack appeared and then another and then he was in, and she nearly lost herself in a maelstrom of shared memories subtly skewed and alien emotions; of being just for an instant, someone else and knowing what they knew, feeling what they felt. She struggled to hold on, to accept, to not fight it although every instinct demanded she defend herself.

  I trust him with my life. He trusts me with his life. I trust him with …

&nbs
p; * * * *

  *Vree? Vree! Wake up! We haven’t got time for this!*

  She could feel the dry, dusty fibers of the carpet pressing into her cheek. Smell the poison mixed with wine spilled out onto the floor. Hear…

  *Slaughter it, Vree! Wake up!*

  “Bannon?” Eyes opened, all she could see was a pale hand curled up like a great, bloated, dead spider. When she tried to lift her head, her body felt as though it no longer quite fit. “Bannon?”

  *I’m here.*

  “It worked?”

  *Don’t be an idiot, of course it worked. Now get up. Aralt, that carrion eater, is getting away.*

  The muscles in her thighs began to spasm. Her legs jerked and kicked and her feet scrabbled for purchase against the floor. “Bannon, stop it!”

  *Vree, no!* Bannon’s voice rose to a near incoherent shriek that slammed against the inside of her skull. *Don’t.*

  Panting, she forced herself to relax, to not expel the invader. Her brother. Gradually, she gathered all the bits of her body back under her control and, slowly, got her hands under her and pushed herself up onto her knees. “Just let me do the moving. Understand?”

  *Yeah.* He sounded subdued, but she knew it wouldn’t last. *I understand.*

  Ignoring the corpse sprawled beside her, Vree stood. Every movement was surer than the one before as, with every movement, she reclaimed more of her scattered self. Although constantly aware of Bannon’s presence, as long as he remained a passive passenger, she felt she could ignore him enough to manage. He had, after all, always been a constant presence in her life. Kind of like ignoring a nagging toothache…

  *I heard that.*

  *Not now, Bannon. We haven’t time for …* Which was when she realized that she wasn’t speaking aloud. *Shit on a stick! Do you know everything I think?*

  *No. You have to put it into words, then I hear it the way you hear me.*

  Because the alternative would be unbearable, she believed him. *But you can hear me when I speak?*

  *I can hear what you can hear. And I see through your eyes. And I feel what you touch.*

  *It’s like the opposite of what we always had while we worked—two sets of senses, one directing will.*

  *I guess.*

  She felt her shoulders rise and fall in a gesture she had no control over. “Bannon!”

  *Look, I’m sorry, but it’s hard.*

  *I know …*

  *No. You don’t.*

  Yes, she did, because she felt his bitterness and his pain and his fear of dying. Like a wave she barely managed to keep her footing under, his emotions rolled over her and retreated. Fists clenched, she ground her teeth in anger. Aralt had a great deal to answer for, and she’d enjoy making him pay. “We’ll get your body back,” she murmured as though Bannon still stood beside her. “And we’ll cut Aralt loose to shriek in the darkness.”

  Tentatively, for the floor was not always exactly where she thought it should be, she walked to the window, careful to remain out of the line of sight from below. Time had not stopped just because the impossible had occurred and she—they—were still in the heart of an enemy stronghold. Her hand held the heavy swag curtains motionless and she looked out at the sky. The stars had danced most of the night away.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  *Agreed.*

  But instead she stood staring at her hand as though she’d never seen it before. It was too slender, a strong hand but a woman’s hand. The nails were too even, they should have been ragged, chewed to the quick. The white line of scar from the second knuckle to the base of the thumb—where had it come from?

  “Bannon.”

  The sound of his name barely carried past her lips but he heard it.

  *Not mine …*

  “No. Mine.” And suddenly, it was her familiar hand again. She felt his presence draw in on itself, wrapped around equal parts of torment and terror. She wanted to reach out and touch him…

  … with her hand…

  … hers…

  … but she couldn’t, so she settled for getting them safely out of the stronghold instead.

  By the time they were over the wall and back into the city, her body was responding with the fluid grace and economy of movement they had always shared. If Bannon occasionally added his control to hers, Vree couldn’t tell, and she supposed that was all that mattered.

  *Head for the South Road.*

  She paused, one foot half raised. *What?*

  *Aralt is going north, toward the Capital.* If the city had another name, no one remembered it. No one had used it in generations.

  *And we’ll go north right after we tell Commander Neegan what’s going on.*

  *No.*

  Vree slid into the shadow cast by the damp, aboveground wall of a cistern. *What do you mean, no?*

  *Commander Neegan won’t believe you.*

  Her protest died, unformed. In the commander’s place would she believe that an old man had stolen her brother’s body and pushed his life out into a dying shell? Would she believe such an impossible story without the presence of Bannon’s thoughts beside her own?

  *He’ll think I died in there and you’ve gone crazy,* Bannon insisted. *The army thinks assassins are half crazy anyway. You’ll be shackled so you don’t hurt anyone. Probably drugged. We’ll die like that, Vree.*

  *The commander has known us all our lives.*

  *So what.* His hostility surprised her.

  *We could convince him.* But in the face of Bannon’s certainty, she was no longer convincing even herself.

  *We’ve got to go north now or we’ll lose all chance of catching Aralt and my body.*

  *If we leave the army like this—if we desert—they’ll hunt us down.* Assassins who* deserted were under an immediate death sentence; an Imperial edict designed to reassure the citizens that the army’s more subtle killers remained under control.

  *Slaughter it, Vree! Why would they think we deserted? They’ll think the odds finally caught up to us and we died in Ghoti. And if you’d stop arguing, we could have him by dawn and be back in camp before they even miss us.*

  *Don’t be an idiot, Bannon …*

  *He’s in my body; I should know how far he can get! He’s only a couple of hours ahead of us.*

  *And it’s less than a couple of hours till dawn.* Very pointedly, Vree turned to face the east. Whether the frustration she felt was his or hers, she had no idea. *If Aralt was ready for you, he was ready to travel. He might even be on horseback.*

  *No, no horse.*

  *How do you know?*

  *I just know, okay? I just know.*

  She ground her teeth and struggled to find order in the emotional maelstrom inside her head; fought to separate her reactions from his. *So we skirt the army for the South Road, and then what?*

  *And then we find Aralt and reclaim my body.*

  *You really think it’s going to be that easy?*

  His anger started her heart racing. *I don’t care a crow’s ass about how easy it is or isn’t going to be! I want my body!*

  *We’ll never be able to go back.* The silence in her head was the loudest sound she’d ever heard. *Bannon?*

  *It’s me or the army, Vree. Your choice.*

  An assassin has no family but the army. But it wasn’t a choice and he knew it.

  They crossed the South Road, east to west, on the Ghoti side of the embankment—the sentries patrolling along the top unaware of the enemy slipping through the darkness behind them—and getting out of town was as easy as getting in. Driven by Bannon’s uncompromising need, Vree stayed as close to the road as she dared, stealing from one bit of shadow to the next, using the night as cover. How, she wondered, had Aralt managed? While he had Bannon’s body, he wouldn’t have the skill to manipulate it. At least we didn’t find him pinned to the road by arrow fire from the top of the embankment.

  *Shut up, Vree.*

  Just for a moment, she’d forgotten what he meant and had, for the same moment, forgotten that
her thoughts were no longer her own. *Sorry.*

  The terrain began to climb and the road with it.

  *There’ll be a squad where the road crests the ridge.*

  *I know.* She kept moving toward the dim glow of the banked watchfire.

  *What are you doing, Vree?*

  *Aralt is going to have to swing wide around; if we cut close, we’ll gain on him.*

  *And if you cut in too close, you’ll be seen.* His tone bordered on the edge of accusation.

  Vree stopped, crouched in the shadow of a thorn tree. Her teeth were clenched so tightly together that a muscle jumped in her jaw. *And just what’s that supposed to mean?*

  *You don’t want to leave …*

  *So I’ll allow myself to be seen?* She spat the thought at him. *So I’ll have to go back to camp or be shot as I cross the perimeter? Do you think for an instant that I want you in my head for the rest of my life?*

  *Do you think I want to be here?* Bannon snapped back.

  Panting slightly, Vree stared at a thorn, four inches long and silver-gray in the starlight. When they were children, armed with thorn daggers, they’d saved the Empire from a thousand rebels, winning honor and glory and the notice of the Emperor himself. Together. Always together. She forced her fingers to uncurl. Who was she going to hit? *We’ll get your body back. I promise.*

  Bannon remained silent as she moved closer to the watchfire, but she could feel him holding back, in no way adding his skill to hers, allowing her to prove her commitment. Black shapes stood around the fire that had been lit in the middle of the road; kilts and sandals and tunics, round helms and shields and pikes imposing uniformity on the silhouettes. Vree could hear the quiet murmur of voices, then a loud laugh, then…

  “Slaughtering bugs!”

  “Not lice again.”

  “Bugger you. Something just bit me.”

  “Good,” muttered someone else. “Now it’ll die and not bite us.”

  She knew those voices. All of them. The Fourth Squad, Second Unit, First Company, First Division, Sixth Army had provided the soldiers who were watching the road. Knowing what to look for, she began to pick out individual shapes. Nub had a way of wearing his helm that made his head look as though it sloped straight from crown to nose. Wora slapped the shaft of her pike constantly from palm to palm. They said she’d be corporal when Emo finally took his wineskin into one battle too many. The slim figure pacing nervously around the perimeter of the light could only be Tic, his youth radiating off him.