Snare

by Katharine Kerr

  After Soutan left, Warkannan and Arkazo arranged the packs, saddles, and their other gear against one wall. Warkannan took his copy of theMirror out of his saddlebags and sat down in one of the chairs. He wasn’t in the mood to read, but he wanted to have his hands on God’s words, even in translation, for the comfort of them.

  Some hours later Soutan returned in an expansive mood. He was carrying a wooden box and smiling so broadly that Warkannan figured it must hold the crystals.

  ‘They’re in excellent condition.’ Soutan confirmed his guess by patting the top of the box. ‘I’ve identified their primary functions, but I’m sure there are secondary ones I’ve missed.’ He set the box down on a low table near the divan. ‘It will take me a while to train them, but I should have plenty of time, unfortunately, while we’re waiting here.’

  ‘Here’s hoping that Zayn leaves Nannes soon,’ Arkazo said. ‘This place makes my skin crawl.’

  ‘Good.’ Soutan took a chair opposite Warkannan. ‘It shows you’ve got a brain in your head.’

  Arkazo sat up, cross-legged on the divan. ‘I don’t understand the drugs, the murders, any of it,’ he said. ‘Soutan, what do these people think they’re doing?’

  ‘Amusing themselves,’ Soutan said. ‘I can only suppose that they’re very good at lying to themselves. They keep having the growths taken off their faces and go right on eating the vines. Or the nodes, rather. Those swellings on the Necklaces are what contain the drug.’

  ‘How is worshipping some idol amusing?’

  ‘Well, amusing may not be the right word.’ Soutan thought for a moment. ‘Frisson, that’s more like it. A thrill, a shudder, from fear or pleasure or both. Their lives are dull, they long for something more. That’s true of most people in the Cantons, actually, but only the weak souls engage in foolishness like this. Some of the stronger souls worship in the Church of the One God. They say it gives their lives meaning. Others just drink too much and chase each other’s wives. And to be fair, sometimes the wives chase each other’s husbands.’

  ‘What?’ Warkannan put in. ‘This doesn’t sound like much of a place.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Soutan said. ‘It’s a dying culture, Captain. Dying, decaying, falling apart, however you want to put that, and people who live in dying cultures do desperate and silly things.’

  Warkannan could only stare at him. Arkazo started to speak, then shrugged as if trying to shake the words off.

  ‘There are reasons for it, of course.’ Soutan stood up. ‘But I’m not ready to tell them to you.’ Soutan scooped up his box of crystals. ‘I need to go feed the spirits.’ He strode out, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘One of these days,’ Warkannan said, ‘I’m going to lose my temper, and Soutan is going to lose a lot of blood. May God keep me from doing it until after we’ve reached the khan.’

  The comnee that Ammadin spotted on the road turned out to be friendly, a small group led by the youngest chief on the grass. They’d been fording the Great River in the winter rains when a sudden swell of water from upstream had pulled half their people and most of their horses under, including their chief and their spirit rider. The survivors had elected Sammador chief for his bravery in rescuing two children. When Ammadin had seen them at the spring horse fair, they had just found a new spirit rider to guide them, Kassidor, who had finished his apprenticeship only a few months before.

  Sammador led his people into the trading precinct a few hours before sunset. Everyone in Apanador’s comnee helped them unload their wagons and set up their tents. Ammadin and Kassidor stood off to one side, out of the way, and watched the others work. He was just about her height, but built solidly, with a barrel chest and heavy thighs. He had the silver eyes of a spirit rider, of course, and wore his hair, a darkish sort of blond, shaggy and thick.

  ‘Did you have a safe trip across the Rift?’ Ammadin said.

  ‘Yes, actually,’ Kassidor said. ‘Didn’t see a single ChaMeech.’

  ‘Good. We spotted a warparty when we crossed. I’m glad they moved on before you got there.’

  ‘So am I.’ He had an engaging grin. ‘Very.’

  ‘You crossed early.’

  ‘Yes, we were following you, actually. We’ve been trying to catch up to you for weeks.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Something odd happened when we were still back on the grass. Three Kazraks and a Cantonneur rode our way. They were asking for information about you.’

  ‘Oh were they? One Kazrak was older, rode like a cavalry officer?’

  ‘That’s right, yes.’

  ‘The Cantonneur, he was middle-aged, right? Long, grey hair?’

  ‘No, he was young and blond.’ Kassidor thought for a moment. ‘He was wearing a jewelled headband. Something about him irritated me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then later we heard that they were somehow responsible for the murder of a comnee man named Palindor. Apanador’s comnee was supposed to have something to do with it, too. We didn’t believe that for a minute. So Sammo and I thought you’d better hear about the rumours.’

  ‘Thank you, it’s important, all right. I’ve got a story to tell you about these people.’ Ammadin shaded her eyes with her hand and looked over the camp. ‘Zayn! Come here, will you?’

  Zayn, who had been helping unload a wagon, put his burden on the ground and trotted over.

  ‘Kasso, this is my servant, Zayn,’ Ammadin began.

  ‘Actually I remember him from the horse fair,’ Kassidor broke in. ‘You won’t remember me, Zayn. You were in pretty bad shape at the time.’

  ‘I don’t remember much from those first few days, no.’ Zayn smiled, but his eyes were guarded.

  ‘Kasso’s met your Kazraks,’ Ammadin said. ‘And his description of Soutan tallies with yours, Soutan as a young, blond man, that is. Kasso, I’ve seen him in my crystal, but there he looks old and has stringy grey hair. The headband’s the same, though.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s the same man?’ Kassidor said.

  ‘Just how many Cantonneur sorcerers are there riding around the plains? Yes, I’m sure. When I scan, I also see a strange bluish light that dances around him.’

  ‘Ye gods!’ Kassidor’s eyes grew wide. ‘He must be a shape-changer.’

  ‘So it seems.’ Ammadin turned to Zayn. ‘That’s one mystery solved anyway. There aren’t two sorcerers, only one. He uses magic to change his appearance, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Zayn said with a choked sort of laugh. ‘Sorry, I can’t be quite that casual about it.’

  ‘Well, neither am I, really.’ Ammadin turned back to Kassidor. ‘Let’s talk about this.’

  ‘Definitely. I’ve never actually seen a shape-changer before.’ Kassidor began speaking in the spirit language. ‘I’m beginning to remember more about the fellow, too, and his friends. The older Kazrak was asking about Zayn.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Ammadin answered in the same. ‘They’ve been trying to kill him all summer.’ She glanced at Zayn and spoke in Hirl-Onglay. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you just standing there. Don’t worry. Kasso and I will figure out what to do about this.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Zayn said. ‘Your spirit language? It’s related to Hirl-Onglay, isn’t it? I could understand a few words here and there.’

  ‘You what? How?’

  ‘Hears words where other men only hear babble.’ Zayn grinned at her. ‘Remember that talent on the list?’

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s how.’ He looked away, his smile fading. ‘Another forbidden talent! I’m damned in a lot of ways, aren’t I?’

  Before Ammadin could answer, Zayn strode off, heading back to the work party. Kassidor watched him go with puzzled eyes.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Ammadin said. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk with another spirit rider for some time.’

  ‘So have I.’ Kassidor glanced away; when he spoke, his voice shook. ‘Sammo and I are both too damned young. I can’t sleep n
ights sometimes, Ammi. I’m so afraid I’ll do the wrong thing and let everyone down.’

  ‘I remember that feeling.’ Ammadin was about to say more when an idea struck her. ‘Do you think Sammador would agree to ride with Apanador for a while?’

  ‘Merge the comnees, you mean?’

  ‘Just for a little while. Till winter, say.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, I think we’d both be relieved.’

  ‘Good. I’ll come with you while you seat your gods. Then we can talk things over. I’ve also learned a lot about crystals lately. You’ll want to hear that, too.’

  As she followed Kassidor to his tent, Ammadin was thinking about Water Woman. She would need to contact the Chiri Michi soon, while they were still in range of each other’s crystals. If the two chiefs agreed, she might be able to leave the comnee and ride off on her quest a great deal sooner than she’d hoped.

  ‘Uncle?’ Arkazo said. ‘If you wouldn’t look at your watch every five minutes, the time would go faster.’

  ‘You’re right, aren’t you?’ Warkannan snapped the case closed and put the watch into his pocket. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s getting too dark to read,’ Arkazo went on. ‘We have oil for the lamps, don’t we?’

  ‘There’s some in that big clay jar,’ Soutan said. ‘The one under the window. I saw some wicking in that drawer over there, too. Father Sharl likes to supply everything his fancy clients need. At least at first, before they’ve become addicted.’

  Warkannan filled and lit as many lamps as he could find, then set them together on the table to pool their light. Arkazo hooked his thumbs over his belt and stared into the flames.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Warkannan said.

  ‘I just keep thinking about Tareev.’ Arkazo walked back to the divan and sat down. ‘I wish we could get on the road.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Soutan said. ‘All of this business with Chosen Ones tracking us down –’ He shuddered and flapped his hands in the air.

  ‘Another day here,’ Arkazo said, ‘and I could end up demented.’

  ‘Yes, it’s wearing.’ Soutan thought for a moment. ‘I have my work with the crystals, your uncle has his beloved book, but there you are with nothing to do.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Arkazo tried to smile. ‘I didn’t think I’d need a hobby on this ride, or I would have brought one.’

  ‘How would you like to learn some Vranz? From now on, I’ll have to be extremely careful. I don’t dare go into a town to buy supplies. I don’t even want to go into a farming village.’

  ‘There’s a reward on your head?’ Warkannan said.

  ‘Just that, and rather a large one.’ Soutan looked sincerely aggrieved. ‘That lying little slut!’

  ‘Yes, it’s too bad.’ There was little genuine sympathy in Arkazo’s voice. ‘But yes, I’ll learn Vranz. It’ll pass the time.’

  ‘Not me,’ Warkannan said. ‘You people sound like you’re talking out of your noses.’

  ‘Better than gargling every other consonant, like you Kazraks do.’ Soutan gave him a sour smile. ‘But trayb yen, Arkazo. That phrase means “very good”. Let us begin.’

  Listening to one person drill another in the basics of a foreign language was not a pastime that Warkannan found congenial. After some minutes he walked over to an unshuttered window. He put his hands on the sill and leaned out, staring into the night. Beyond the compound he could see the dark mound of the forest, shot here and there with the glow from Death’s Necklace. He could hear animals calling out among the trees and, closer to hand, chanting coming from the temple, a reedy whine of voices drifting on the warm night air. He turned and perched on the sill to look out.

  The chanting stopped. In a few minutes he heard the distant creak of opening doors and then footsteps, crunching on the dry grass, heading more or less in his direction. He leaned out a little further and saw someone walking not directly towards the guest house, but at an angle that would take him past it. At first he thought the fellow was carrying an oil lamp, but the bobbing glimmer of light accompanying him shone pale blue, not yellow. As he came closer, Warkannan saw the truth: the man’s lips and the skin around them were glowing with phosphorescence. Warkannan pulled his head in and closed the shutters.

  For the first time in weeks he remembered Hazro, and what he’d been forced to do to their traitor up in Indan’s sealed room. Now he was condemning a man to a death that might well be worse. Not a man, he thought. One of the Chosen. A man who’d inform on his brother officers, a man who’d turn a friend over to torture if he thought it would please the Great Khan. Not a man at all. He hoped he could make himself believe it.

  Whenever Zayn asked about Ammadin, he was told that she was in Kassidor’s tent, and interrupting spirit riders at their work was of course Bane. Zayn disliked the way he’d seen them talking together, standing so close, sharing a language he couldn’t understand. Still, if Kassidor could figure out how to handle Soutan, he could put up with his jealousy. A shape-changer, a man who could transform himself, who could change his face the way a normal man changed his shirt – the thought turned Zayn cold. Once he left the comnee, he might be looking straight at Soutan and not recognize him. He could imagine passing some stranger in the street only to feel a knife in his ribs the next moment.

  Zayn spent the evening drinking with Dallador and some of the men from Sammador’s comnee, but he found himself a place to sit where he could keep an eye on Kassidor’s tent. Eventually, when the silver Herd hung low in the east, Ammadin and Kassidor came out, laughing together. Zayn watched them cross the camp and go into Apanador’s tent, where the two chiefs had retired to talk about the trading ahead. With her safely in someone else’s company, Zayn could relax. He felt even better at the end of the evening, when he went to her tent and found her there alone, studying one of her crystals by the light of a single lamp.

  ‘Do you want more light?’ Zayn said.

  ‘No, I’m about ready to go to sleep.’ Ammadin began wrapping the crystal, then paused to sniff the air. ‘Are you drunk?’

  ‘Almost. Do you mind?’

  ‘Not particularly, but you might want to stay sober with your enemies so close.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ He sat down on his blankets. ‘About that shape-changer –’

  ‘I’m still not sure what to do. Kasso’s no help. He’s young, you know. He was an apprentice till last winter.’ She frowned down at the wrapped crystal. ‘Huh, I wonder if Water Woman knows more?’

  ‘The ChaMeech?’

  ‘Yes. We talk regularly through our crystals.’ She looked at him, one eyebrow raised as if she was expecting some hostile response.

  Zayn made none. He pulled off his boots, then lay down, a bit too suddenly, on his blankets. He heard Ammadin laughing at him, but he fell asleep before he could answer.

  Zayn had been planning on hunting up information about Soutan, but with the morning the professional horse dealers arrived at the trading precinct. The long hours of haggling left him no time for the hunt. Whenever a customer expressed interest in one of Ammadin’s horses, Zayn would hook a lead rope onto its halter and bring it out of the herd, then run alongside the horse as it displayed its gait. Afterwards he’d walk the horse cool, then lead it to the river to drink. In the intervals he did manage to find out a few useful things; for instance, that the Cantons lay in a long broad valley between the Rift on one side and mountains on the other.

  ‘The damned ChaMeech pretty much own the mountains,’ one of the men told him. ‘And the foothills, too. If you ever ride that way, don’t get lost up there.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Zayn said. ‘I’m not planning on getting anywhere near the hills.’

  When the horse-traders left, they took the best mounts with them. The local people would come to look over the remaining stock on the morrow, Ammadin said.

  ‘You’ve had quite a day of it,’ she went on. ‘You must be tired.’

  ‘A little,’ Zayn said. ‘Dallador was talking about going in
to town. Would it be all right if I went with him?’

  ‘Certainly. Do you still have some of the money I gave you? Spend it if you want. We’re doing pretty well.’

  ‘Thanks. Yes, we are.’

  Only when he was walking away did he realize how easily both of them had said ‘we’. Ammadin may have been keeping herself sexually aloof from him, but she was seeing them as a pair. If I could stay, he thought. If only I could stay! Impossible, of course, but he felt heartsick. He had never been happy before, not even in the cavalry. There he had managed to feel secure, competent even, but happy, no. He felt like a starving man who’d been given a few bites of bread only to have the loaf snatched away.

  Walking into town with Dallador only made his heartsickness worse. They walked side by side, so close that their shoulders nearly brushed, and talked idly of the trading and the road ahead. Dallador’s easy assumption that Zayn would be riding back west with the comnee made him sick with shame. He’d lived his whole life as a series of lies, curling around one another like the furled trunk of a spear tree. Once he’d been proud of carrying it off, but it hurt to lie to Dallador. They went to the market square, where Dallador spotted a jeweller’s shop. Zayn leaned against a rough wooden counter and watched while his friend picked over some heavy silver pins, made to the Tribal taste in the forms of various animals.

  ‘I want something for Benno’s winter jacket,’ Dallador remarked. ‘As much as I love my wife, she can be tight-fisted when it comes to spending for the boy. I hope we get a daughter soon. I’d hate to have her divorce me.’

  ‘Oh come on, she wouldn’t do that!’ But Zayn felt a twinge of worry that made him realize just how much he’d started thinking like a comnee man. ‘You take good care of her.’

  ‘Sure, but how much is that going to count in the long run? It means everything to women, having a daughter.’ Dallador shrugged the problem away. ‘Well, the gods will give us a girl or not, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. When we’re done here, want to go to a tavern? They make this peculiar drink here called kerrv.’