Snare

by Katharine Kerr

  ‘Could I use one of your crystals, then?’ Arkazo said it so eagerly that Warkannan was troubled. He was even more troubled by the sly way Soutan smiled at the boy before he answered.

  ‘The crystals present problems,’ Soutan said. ‘You could certainly get them to work, but you probably won’t be able to use them properly. Here’s another thing about the Settlers. They bred H’mai like horses, you see, to do specialized things. Anyone who wants to use the crystals has to have some of those hereditary –’

  ‘Stop!’ Warkannan snarled. ‘Let’s back up here. What do you mean, bred H’mai like horses?’

  ‘Just that. Consider: the Tribes wanted to sell horses to the cavalry, so they bred their strongest mares to the largest studs. Right? And now we have horses like yours, big, heavy, almost fearless. The Ancestors wanted H’mai to have certain characteristics, too, but they didn’t have to do it with ordinary breeding programmes. They could somehow change the foetus in the womb.’ Soutan frowned down at the lightwand in his hands. ‘No one remembers how, exactly, they produced these talents, but they did. They called these altered H’mai the Inborn. Once the Inborn had the talents, they then passed them on to their children in the usual way, just like ordinary characteristics – curly hair or blue eyes, say.’

  ‘Talents?’ Warkannan had to steady his voice. ‘What –’

  ‘Yes, the ability to do things that aren’t natural to our species, as I was trying to tell you when you interrupted me, talents such as an incredible memory, or special kinds of eyesight. I have the eyes. I can see in near-dark conditions. And when I look into this small crystal, I can make my mind magnify the images I see there. That’s what you probably lack, Arkazo.’

  Soutan went on talking, and Arkazo went on asking questions, but Warkannan heard neither of them. He stared into the fire and felt as if he’d seen his world split in half to reveal another world within. Demon talents, horrible impious things that would justify executing children – none of it was true. The mullahs and holy men had been lying all along, unless of course they never knew that they repeated falsehoods. His sense of fairness made Warkannan qualify his outrage. He could see how Mullah Agvar had decided that this sort of tinkering with human beings was despicable, a usurping of powers that should only belong to God. He felt the same way himself.

  On the other hand, to torment children over talents they’d been born with – the First Prophet would have had a few pointed things to say about that, Warkannan figured. No wonder God had chosen to spare Zahir out of not merely His mercy and compassion, but His justice. Warkannan raised his eyes to the glowing spiral above him in the sky and marvelled at a beauty he’d never quite noticed before. God had made many things beyond H’mai comprehension, including this spiral of glowing suns. Suddenly he realized why the Second Prophet had taught men to turn towards the spiral when they prayed. That’s where Mekka was, a city that belonged to another world, another star. Not over the sea at all!

  ‘Captain?’ Soutan said. ‘You look grim as death. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, just thinking.’ Warkannan smiled briefly. ‘About doctrine. Some of it has to be changed.’

  ‘What?’ Soutan snapped. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Warkannan got up and stretched. ‘You won’t understand. Arkazo, come along. It’s time for prayers.’

  ‘You do that,’ Soutan said. ‘I’m going to risk discharging the accu in my crystal. I’ve got to find her.’

  But when they returned from prayers, Warkannan could see by the foul look on Soutan’s face that the spirit rider had managed to escape him again.

  Ammadin was indeed using her crystals to hide herself and Zayn. Every time Sentry chimed to announce the presence of the Riders, Ammadin would renew the ‘hide me’ command she’d learned from her unwilling teacher, Soutan himself. That evening, she and Zayn were sitting at their fire by the side of the road. They’d set up camp for the night on a stretch of wild land on the banks of a river called the Loh, or so a local shepherd had told Zayn. Over the sound of the river, purling between its narrow banks, she could hear the nightdancers hunting. Above, the Herd was rising in the sky, familiar and comforting.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll tell me,’ Zayn said, ‘how far Idres and his crew are ahead of us?’

  ‘That’s right, I won’t,’ Ammadin said. ‘I meant it when I said I wouldn’t join your hunt.’

  ‘What about if they lay some kind of ambush?’

  ‘If they do that, I’ll warn you. Or at least, I’ll suggest we take another road.’

  ‘That’s fair.’

  ‘How far ahead is Leen? I’m assuming that shepherd knew.’

  ‘Not far at all. About fifteen miles, he said.’

  Their next day’s ride ran through farmlands that looked little different from those Ammadin had seen before, but it ended in Leen. Double rows of red-thorn and brass-mesh walls, glittering in the slanted light, towered some twenty feet high and surrounded the town. They rode through a gate made of massive planks of true-oak, studded with brass nails. As they passed through Ammadin looked up and saw above her long iron spikes, ready to crash down and impale an enemy. The town began immediately with a crush of narrow buildings made of bundled reeds and the pale, spongy wood of the fountain trees. The cobbled streets, flecked with garbage, twisted so sharply that she could never get a clear view of where they might be going. Now and then she caught a glimpse of a river and grassy banks, but the street would snake again and she’d lose sight of it.

  The citizens had built their houses close together. Out in front of each, on narrow strips of true-grass, half-naked children played with shens or chased true-hens back and forth. When Ammadin and Zayn rode by, the shens rushed to the fences and barked in a drooling frenzy till the horses had gone past. No matter where she looked, she saw people, standing in front of their shops, hurrying through the streets, sitting together on benches near public fountains. No two of them looked alike, either, or so it seemed, with their differences of hair colour and skin. Over everything hung the smells of night soil and horse manure. As the streets wound their way into town, they narrowed, forcing Ammadin and Zayn to dismount and lead their horses.

  ‘This,’ Ammadin muttered, ‘is horrible. Why do people stay here, when they could move out and claim farmland?’

  ‘What?’ Zayn looked honestly surprised. ‘Who would want to farm if they didn’t have to? It’s a lot of hard work, and besides, there’s always something to see in towns.’

  ‘Something to smell, too.’

  ‘It doesn’t smell bad. See those holes in the street? Those are drains, and they must lead to a sewer system.’

  ‘You don’t have my nose.’

  ‘I forgot about that. Sorry.’

  Whenever they came across townspeople who looked approachable, Zayn would stop and speak briefly with them in Vranz. Ammadin could understand enough to find Zayn’s fluency startling. Most of the people he spoke with assumed he came from somewhere else in the Cantons.

  ‘They have two inns here,’ Zayn told her after one of these brief conversations. ‘The word for inn is hohte, by the way. Do you want to stay in town?’

  ‘No, but I don’t want to overtire the horses, either,’ Ammadin said. ‘So let’s stop here.’

  In the centre of town they found a market square similar to the one in Nannes. Announced by bright banners, various craftsmen’s shops lined three of its sides. On the fourth stood a two-storey white building. In the late sun it gleamed so brilliantly white, and its surface seemed so slick, that they knew the Settlers must have built it. When Zayn asked, he was told that the white building housed the local provo – the magistrate who kept order with his men, the zhundaree – and the mayor, who presided over a town council.

  Finding an inn turned out to be difficult; a clot of streets unwound from the town centre only to end against walls. Finally, several blocks west of the town square, they turned down a narrow alley and saw a long, low building with an elegant tr
ue-wood facade punctuated by panels of coloured glass. This street-front hohte looked both large and comfortable, but the maiderdee, its owner, insisted that it was already full.

  ‘It’s the Recallers,’ he said, ‘and you know what they’re like.’

  ‘No, actually,’ Ammadin said. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Noisy. Very noisy. Children running all over. Drinking at all hours. And by God himself, these people argue all the time! They’re giving me a headache.’ With a long lugubrious sigh, he shut the door in their faces.

  With some help from a passer-by, they found the other hohte, down by the river near a long pier where a pair of narrowboats lay docked. Around a dusty central court stood bamboid cottages, lashed together with vines, each divided into a stable for horses and a room for human travellers. A wiry little man with slicked-back brown hair, the maiderdee led them to the best of these near-shacks – a big room, reasonably clean, with stable space for four horses. By a window stood a table and chairs, furniture that Ammadin had often seen in Nannes. Up against the opposite wall stood a wide, flat piece of furniture with yellow blankets laid over it. It must be a bed, she decided. She’d heard that name for a place to sleep.

  ‘I’m most honoured,’ the maiderdee said. ‘It’s not often we see a spirit rider in our part of the world, and I truly hope my humble hohte will be worthy of your presence.’

  ‘I’m surprised you even know who I am,’ Ammadin said. ‘Or what, I suppose I mean.’

  ‘Oh, we’re close enough to the Rift to know a little about the Tribes. And the horse-traders stay here regularly and talk about them.’

  For an extra vran the maiderdee provided them with dinner, as well: fresh bread, a soup, some sort of tuber baked till soft, slices of mutton scented with herbs.

  ‘This place doesn’t look like much,’ Zayn said, ‘but the maiderdee’s wife can cook.’

  ‘Looks like it, yes.’ Ammadin laid her saddlebags down on a wicker armchair. ‘How was the stable?’

  ‘Clean enough. I swept out the stalls again anyway. By the way, you take the bed tonight. I can sleep on the floor.’

  ‘I’d rather have the floor.’ Ammadin looked doubtfully at the bed. ‘It’s too high. I’d be afraid of rolling off.’

  ‘Well, whatever you want.’

  A long day on the road had left them both hungry. As they ate, barely speaking, Ammadin was remembering the other times in her life – all two of them – when she had left her people and gone out on her own: her vision quest among the sea caves of the south coast, her hunt for the slasher saur whose hide had ended up as her cloak. The quest had troubled her so little that she’d stayed out for two nights. Hunting the saur had been terrifying, every minute of it, until at last he’d lain dead and quivering, her last spear in his throat, her own blood running down her side. Travelling to meet Sibyl would fall somewhere in between these extremes, she assumed, and of course, she’d have Water Woman and her servants for company.

  From outside they heard voices, the maiderdee’s chirpy tenor and then the slow, hesitant voice of someone old. A familiar voice, Ammadin thought. Zayn cocked his head to listen, then shoved his chair back and stood up.

  ‘It’s old Onree,’ he said, ‘from Nannes.’

  Zayn flung open the door. Onree stood just outside, his usual scruffy self with his dirty patchwork smock and collection of old sacks.

  ‘Now, you can’t go disturbing my guests,’ the maiderdee was saying.

  ‘He’s my friend.’ Ammadin stepped forward. ‘I’ll vouch for him.’

  Instantly the maiderdee became all bows and smiles. Ammadin brought Onree inside, settled him in a chair, and shut the door to spare the maiderdee the temptation of eavesdropping. Onree sat down with a satisfied sigh and dropped his sacks on the floor. Zayn perched on the end of the bed.

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’ Ammadin said to Onree. ‘We’ve got plenty.’

  ‘No, no, I just had dinner at my niece’s house. I’m glad I caught up with you. It’s about our friend here.’ He paused to jerk his thumb in Zayn’s direction. ‘The provo’s looking for Kazraks. He’s going to make a sweep through town, they tell me.’

  Zayn swore under his breath. ‘They must have found Alayn.’

  ‘Now don’t go jumping to conclusions,’ Onree went on. ‘They may have found him, I wouldn’t know, but that’s not what this is all about. The provo’s looking for Yarl Soutan, same as you, and they’ve heard he’s riding with a Kazrak or Kazraks unknown.’

  ‘They have?’ Zayn said. ‘How do you know all this?’

  Onree smiled. ‘I’m the one who laid the information against Soutan. Now, luckily, my niece’s little boy told me he saw some comnee people ride in today, you see, and so I looked into it, and well! turned out to be you. So I took myself back to the provo’s and told them, not the Kazrak riding with the spirit rider. Other Kazraks.’

  ‘So Zayn should be safe enough?’ Ammadin said.

  ‘He should, yes. But I wanted you to know, just in case. You never know with the zhundars. If they give you trouble, a few coins of the right size should take care of it.’

  ‘What?’ Ammadin said. ‘A bribe, you mean. I can’t say I care much for Leen.’

  ‘That’s why I’m on my way back to Nannes.’ Onree grinned at her. ‘Tomorrow, that is. Can’t let my daughter worry about me, eh?’

  ‘Something I don’t understand,’ Zayn said. ‘Is Soutan in trouble with the law?’

  ‘You could say so. He’s wanted for rape. Aggravated criminal assault, up Dordan way.’

  Zayn whistled under his breath.

  ‘Not a nice fellow, Soutan.’ Onree stood up. ‘Spirit Rider, if you’d just hand me those sacks there?’

  Ammadin helped him pick up the sacks and arrange them to his satisfaction, as he passed them from hand to hand and occasionally tried shoving one into a pocket. After a few confusions he decided that the arrangement would do.

  ‘My thanks,’ Ammadin said. ‘I appreciate your letting us know.’

  ‘So do I,’ Zayn said. ‘But one last question: how did you get here so fast?’

  ‘Fast? What do you mean, fast?’

  ‘We’ve got horses, and you don’t, but you reached Leen before us.’

  Onree merely laughed and began shuffling towards the door. ‘Now Zayn, if you want to know more about Soutan, go see Loy Millou in Sarla. Got that? It’s a woman’s name, Loy.’

  ‘Loy Millou in Sarla,’ Zayn repeated. ‘All right. But who is she?’

  Onree merely smiled, then turned and walked out. With a deft kick he shut the door behind him.

  ‘I think you’ve heard everything he’s going to tell,’ Ammadin said. ‘Criminal assault and rape. Your friend Warkannan’s riding with some grand company.’

  ‘If he finds out, Soutan’s not going to like his reaction. I know Idres, and I can guarantee it.’

  They sat back down to finish their meal, but Zayn ate very little. As the light outside began to fade, Zayn rummaged through the room, found a pair of lamps and some oil, and set them up on the table. Ammadin began thinking of the comnee, travelling fast back to the Rift. One way or the other, they could take care of themselves – she had complete faith in them. If Alayn’s men wanted trouble, they would get the worst of it.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Zayn said.

  ‘No. I was just wondering what Maddi was doing right now. It’s so strange, to be off alone like this.’

  ‘You’re not exactly alone.’

  ‘Well, no, sorry.’ She smiled at him. ‘To a comnee girl like me, two people count as alone.’

  ‘I can see that. I miss them all myself.’

  ‘You’re serious about coming back, aren’t you?’

  ‘If I can, yes. Until the Chosen find me, and it’s all over.’

  ‘What makes you think we’d let them kill you?’

  Zayn shrugged and looked away. She could feel his despair, almost smell it – a cold thing, more the absence of a smell. Outside someone came tr
amping past, three or four men, heavy footed, laughing with one another and talking so fast she could barely understand a word.

  ‘Barge men,’ Zayn said. ‘There’s a tavern around here, from what they’re saying.’

  They walked on by, the noise died, Zayn returned to staring at nothing. Ammadin rummaged through her saddlebags and took out her comb, carved from red grassar horn. She unbraided her hair and began combing it out. All at once she could smell his arousal. She looked up to find him watching her, the smile gone, with such an intensity of longing that she felt her treacherous body respond. Soon you’ll be parting ways, she reminded herself. It’s not like he’ll stay around to be a daily nuisance.

  ‘You know something, Ammi?’ Zayn said. ‘I don’t have any secrets from you any more. Do you remember what you told me once? That if I stopped lying you’d reconsider?’

  ‘Yes, I do remember that.’

  She put the comb back into the saddlebag and set it on the floor. He sat unmoving, merely watched her, but he smelled so intensely male that she wanted to rub her face on his sweaty shirt. Instead she stayed where she was and waited. The silence lengthened between them, and he began to look – not exactly frightened, she decided, more frustrated, as if he were trying to think of something clever to say and failing. She stood up and ran her hands through her hair to push it back.

  ‘You know,’ she said, ‘if you were sleeping on the outside, I wouldn’t have to worry about rolling off the bed.’

  The smile he gave her was so open, so heart-felt that the last of her doubts vanished. He got up and walked round the table to stand in front of her. For a long moment he just smiled at her, then he laid his hands on either side of her face.

  ‘I like your hands,’ she said. ‘They’re warm and strong.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He leaned forward and kissed her. She’d never taken as much pleasure from a single kiss as she did from his. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat; she turned her head away with a little gasp.