Ventus | Page 6

relief he saw that Allegri was outside, seated on the porch with
his feet up, a news sheet in his hands. It must be something important
he was reading. The priests received regular news about the Winds
from all over the country.
Allegri looked up at Jordan's shout and quickly walked to meet him.
Now that he was here, Jordan ran the last part, and appeared on the
porch huffing and puffing.
"Jordan!" Allegri laughed in surprise. "What brings you here?"
Jordan grimaced; he didn't know where to start.
"Is something wrong? Shouldn't you be at work?"
"N-no, nothing's wrong," said Jordan. "We're taking a break."

Allegri frowned. Jordan shrugged, suddenly unsure of himself. He
pointed to the paper Allegri held. "What's that?"
"Copy of a semaphore report. Just arrived." Allegri sent Jordan another
piercing look, then sat, gesturing for Jordan to do the same. Jordan
dropped on a bench nearby, feeling uncomfortable.
"It's fascinating stuff," said Allegri. He waved the paper. "It's about a
battle that took place yesterday, between two very large forces,
Ravenon and Seneschal."
Jordan looked up in interest. "Who won?"
"Well, there hangs the tale," said the minister. "It seems each side lined
up, on the edges of a great field south of here, on the Ravenon border.
They camped, and waited all night, and then in the morning they
donned their armor, and took up their weapons, and marched against
each other. Very deliberate. Very confident, both sides."
Jordan could picture it clearly; this sounded so similar to the nightmare
he'd had last night. In his dream, the mounted horsemen had clashed in
clouds of dust on the ends of the lines. Bracketed by the horror of dying
men and screaming horses, stolid infantry marched up the center. In his
dream, Jordan could tell from the angle of the sun that it was nine
o'clock in the morning. He had stood on a hill above the battle,
surrounded by flying pennants and impatient horses.
"What colors?" he asked.
Allegri raised an eyebrow. "Colors?"
"What were the colors of the pennants they were flying?"
"Well, if I recall correctly, Ravenon flies yellow pennants. Those are
the royal colors, anyway. The enemy were the Senschals, so they'd be
red," said Allegri. "Why?"
Jordan hesitated before speaking. To say this to Allegri would be to

make it real. "Your semaphore... does it say that the Seneschals had
these steam cannon hidden behind their infantry? Like fountains in a
way, grey streams of gravel flying up and into the back ranks of the
Ravenon footsoldiers."
"Yes." Allegri frowned. "How did you know? I just got this. We're
relaying it on to Castor's place right now." He gestured to the far side of
the clearing, where one of the brothers was yanking the pulleys on a tall
semaphore tower.
"I dreamed this battle." There, he'd said it. Jordan looked down at his
feet.
"Is this why you came to see me?" Allegri asked. "To tell me you'd
dreamed today's news?"
Jordan nodded.
The priest opened his mouth, closed it, and said, "Where were you in
this... dream?"
"On a hillside. Surrounded by important people. I think I was an
important person too. People kept looking at me, and I said things."
"What things?" Allegri prompted.
It wasn't like remembering a dream. The more Jordan thought about it,
the more like memory it became. "Orders," he said. "I was giving
orders."
He closed his eyes, and recalled the scene. His own lines were
wavering, and the infantry fell back even as his cavalry outflanked the
Seneschals on the right. A group of his cavalry rode hard at the steam
cannon, and cut down their operators, but some were lost in the last
moments as the cannon were laboriously turned against them. Ravenon
now had the Seneschal forces bent back like a bow, but their own lines
were stretched thin. Jordan described this to Allegri.

Allegri shook his head, either in surprise or disbelief. "What happened
then?" he asked. "The news just reached us--but it's unclear.
Unbelievable. What do you know about it?"
Jordan squinted. He didn't want to remember this part; he could see
bodies strewn across the grass below, some writhing, and in places
where the line of battle had passed, women walked to and fro, cutting
throats or administering first aid depending on the color of a helpless
man's uniform. Jordan saw one man play dead and then leap up and run
down a woman who had approached him with her knife drawn. Three
others converged on him and cut him down in turn.
In the dream Jordan had looked away then, and spoke. "We deployed a
new weapon," said Jordan now.
"Describe it." Allegri's hands twisted in the cloth of his robe. He sat
hunched forward, eyes fixed on Jordan.