The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [22]
Grace rubbed her aching temples. There was something peculiar about Aldeth's story, and not just the fact that someone in a medieval castle had managed to acquire large quantities of gunpowder and fashion it into bombs.
“This man you saw,” she said to Aldeth. “Do you remember what he looked like?”
The Spider stroked his beard. “Vaguely. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was dressed like a peasant.”
“Was he tall? And with good skin?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. Why?”
Grace moved to Durge and gripped his arm. “The bundle you found on the road—the one that peasant who ran into you dropped. Do you still have it?”
“I had forgotten about it, my lady. But I believe so.” He rummaged inside his tunic and drew out the small leather purse the man had dropped in his haste.
“Open it,” she said.
Durge fumbled with the strings and upended the purse. Something sleek and black clattered on the table.
“What is it?” Lirith said, drawing closer.
Grace picked it up. It was smooth and hard, shaped like a river pebble, but made of plastic, and fit easily into her hand. There were two buttons on one edge, and a circle of small holes on one side. Her finger brushed the topmost button.
There was a hiss of static, then a man's voice—tinny but clear—said, “Base here. Is that you, Hudson? Over.”
Grace flung the device down as if it had stung her. It lay on the table, silent now. She looked up and met Travis's startled eyes.
“It's some kind of radio, Grace.”
The torches had burned low, making a shadowed cave of the great hall, by the time Grace and Travis finished explaining what a radio was, what it could do, and how such things were common on Earth. As they spoke, Grace cast frequent glances at Boreas and his son. All of the others knew about Earth, but she had never told the king she had spent most of her life on a world other than Eldh, or that Travis was not from Eldh at all. However, Boreas listened with interest rather than surprise. Prince Teravian, in contrast, was obviously shocked—but only for a minute, and after that he watched in narrow-eyed fascination.
“This makes little sense to me,” Durge said in his somber voice. “Surely the intruder could have caused more damage if he had placed the incendiaries in the castle's main keep.”
Beltan shook his head. “There are more guards in the main keep. Someone would have seen him.”
“No, that's not the reason,” Aryn said. The young woman's blue eyes were strangely hard. “His goal wasn't to destroy the castle.”
Beltan gave her a puzzled look. “Then what is his goal, cousin?”
“Fear.”
A cold needle pierced Grace's heart. Yes, she understood, but Travis voiced it before she could.
“If we're frightened, we won't fight,” he said, his words soft, so that they all had to lean in to catch them. “That's what they want. They're trying to distract us, to make us afraid so we won't fight.”
The king gave him a sharp look. “Whom do you speak of, Goodman Wilder? Who is trying to do these things?”
Travis stared at the communication device on the table, then picked it up. He clenched his fingers around it and whispered a word. “Reth.”
Travis opened his hand; like the shell of a walnut, the black plastic had been shattered. He picked through the black shards and pulled out a green circuit board covered with transistors. A sharp laugh escaped him. Printed on the circuit board, white on green, was the shape of a crescent moon merging with a capital D.
“Duratek,” Beltan said as if he were chewing stones. He seemed not to notice as he pressed a hand to the inside of his left elbow.
That's where they would have attached the IVs, Grace, the ones that infused him with the blood of the fairy.
Boreas gave Beltan a keen look. “You have encountered this enemy before, Nephew? Then you know how we can fight them.”
“No,” Travis said, letting the shards of plastic slip through his fingers. “You don't understand, you can't fight them. They have everything—weapons, technology—things you can't even imagine, things that would seem