Snare

by Katharine Kerr

  ‘I appreciate your concern for Arkazo,’ Warkannan said. ‘Don’t get me wrong about that. But your theology is pretty damn weak.’

  Jezro laughed. ‘Go pack up your gear,’ he said. ‘Hassan, Zhil piled your gear up in my office. I’ll take you there, and then I have to tell Robear how to handle things here while we’re gone. I’m leaving him in charge.’

  Something came clear to Zayn. ‘You pretty much run this estate,’ he said, ‘don’t you, sir?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately, because of the way Marya’s installed herself in her own collection.’ Jezro glanced at Warkannan. ‘You see, I’ve got something to lose here.’

  ‘I noticed,’ Warkannan said. ‘But it’s not a khanate.’

  ‘No, and that’s one reason I hate to leave it. I’m not an ambitious man. I never was. It was so damn stupid of Gemet to try to have me killed! But we’ll worry about all that later. What counts now is hunting Soutan down before he gets into wild country.’

  While he packed, Warkannan was trying to imagine what had induced Arkazo to run off. Yes, he hated Zayn Hassan, and the new-found glamour of all those machines had certainly snared him. But to betray his family for such things? Warkannan saw Arkazo’s actions not merely as a betrayal of him personally, but as a failure of the loyalty Arkazo owed to all his kin, the two great families of Warkannan and Benjamil that joined in him.

  ‘You’re brooding,’ Jezro said.

  Warkannan nearly yelped in surprise. He looked up to find Jezro standing in the doorway, dressed in boots and riding clothes, holding a riding hat in one hand and his walking stick in the other.

  ‘Of course I am,’ Warkannan said. ‘Do you blame me?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re going to brood all day, aren’t you?’

  ‘Probably.’ Warkannan felt the anger rising, burning just the edges of his soul. He took a deep breath and put it out.

  He knew that Jezro was waiting for some outburst on his part – a fit of rage, a spasm of sorrow or fear for Arkazo’s safety. He felt all those things, but he’d not spent his life sculpting his personality into the perfect officer for nothing. Rage could be useful, provided you didn’t let it take you over; fear and sorrow had their place as well, prompting the kind of caution that wins campaigns. But to give in to them generally meant defeat, and he had no intention of losing this fight with Yarl Soutan over his nephew’s soul.

  ‘Is Hassan ready to ride?’ Warkannan said.

  ‘Oh yes. I helped him pack, thanks to that cut hand of his, and he showed me some of the equipment he brought with him. I’m damned glad he’s come over to our side, let me tell you.’ Jezro shuddered, but it was a mock-gesture, and he grinned. ‘I’ve never seen some of those weapons before.’

  ‘Oh? Like what?’

  ‘Well, for one, this tricky little set of brass balls on cords. You apparently throw it at something’s legs to tangle them and bring it down. And then a wire garotte, which he admitted he’d been thinking of using on me.’ Jezro’s grin disappeared. ‘He wanted to bring it all with us – in case we suddenly needed someone assassinated, I suppose – but I got him to leave his comnee bow and arrows behind at least.’

  Warkannan made a sour face.

  ‘Not nice people, the Chosen,’ Jezro went on. ‘If I do decide to ride home, it’ll be for the pleasure of wiping their officers up like so much spilled piss. Some of the men we can probably save.’

  ‘That’s the only reason you’d go back?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Jezro paused to tuck the hat under one arm, then fish for a handkerchief in his shirt pocket. ‘Look, Idres, I haven’t made up my mind not to go back, either. Do you realize that? I want to stay here, but I know I have a duty to the people back home. That’s why I’m torn. I’m not like you. No matter how badly you wanted to stay, you’d go.’

  ‘That’s true. I would.’

  Jezro looked away. ‘I might be a pretty weak reed for the khanate to lean on,’ he said. ‘It’s too bad God didn’t make you the heir.’

  ‘He knows His own business best, and He didn’t. I don’t have enough imagination for the job.’

  Jezro wiped his nose and shoved the handkerchief away before he answered. ‘I suppose that’s true. But what if I have too much?’

  Warkannan had no answer to that. He finished cramming clothing into his duffel bag while he tried to forget that Arkazo had packed it the last time. On the way out they passed Zhil, hovering in the hallway.

  ‘Sir?’ Zhil said to Warkannan. ‘A word with you?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Warkannan paused and let Jezro hurry on ahead. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Do you remember when you asked me about the dookis’s madness?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything then because of Soutan. He always seemed to know everything that anyone said about him, and he could be really nasty if he didn’t like it. But he’s gone now. Sir, I’m sure as I can be that he had something to do with the dookis’s illness. I don’t know what, but she changed when he came to live here.’

  ‘I thought that might be the case.’

  ‘She decorated her rooms that way years ago, long before he came, crammed all those cases with things, I mean, but she did it because she enjoyed looking at them, and if a friend of hers admired something, she’d insist on giving it to them. Not now. All this business of being afraid to leave her rooms, afraid of thieves, and all the time she spends moving things around – that’s all new.’

  ‘Did she get any better while he was gone, off in Kazrajistan?’

  ‘No sir.’ Zhil sounded miserable. ‘Maybe what he did was permanent. I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you told me. Let me see what I can find out when we catch up to him. There may be something we can do.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I can’t tell you how much we’d all appreciate it.’

  What with packing their gear, giving Zhil orders, leaving Robear in charge with more orders, and other such business of the day, it was the middle of the afternoon before they were finished at the estate. By then Warkannan’s rage had soured into simple frustration. He had to stop himself from yelling at the grooms to hurry and barking orders at Robear, who wasn’t his man to command.

  Getting on the road did soothe Warkannan’s nerves, but that first day they travelled only some ten miles. First they stopped in Kors. Watching the mayor defer to Jezro, watching the town council, too, scurry to do everything he asked, made it more than clear why the khan hated to leave. Once they left the city, they travelled only as far as the next great estate, where Jezro was treated as an equal, a landowner in his own right rather than a mere secretary.

  The owner of the estate, one Mor Gairmahn, insisted that Jezro and his men stay the night rather than camping out. At dinner the eldest Gairmahn daughter flirted shamelessly with the khan while her mother smiled at the daughter’s efforts and Jezro seemed to find them welcome enough. Warkannan began to feel defeated. With the tay and dessert the servants brought news – a messenger had ridden in from Kors with a letter from the mayor. Jezro read over the rushi fast, then slowly, then looked up with a sigh.

  ‘No sign of Soutan,’ he said, first in Kazraki, then in Vranz. ‘No one’s seen him. Anywhere. It’s like he’s vanished.’

  When Gairmahn spoke and Jezro answered, Zayn translated for Warkannan without being asked.

  ‘He’ll have to turn up sooner or later,’ Gairmahn said. ‘Horses can’t fly.’

  ‘He’s good at hiding,’ Warkannan put in. ‘I know that from personal experience.’

  The others nodded, shrugged. Jezro stuffed the letter into his pocket and returned to making conversation with their host and his family.

  After the meal, Warkannan stood in the corner of the towering great room and watched Jezro talking with Gairmahn, heads together over a long narrow map, as they sat side by side on a red velvet divan. The glow from one of those ysterious lamps that burned nothing ca
ught them in a pool of gold and sent light like a fountain up to the beamed ceiling. Warkannan had no idea, of course, what they were discussing. Eventually Zayn joined him and told him.

  ‘Water rights,’ Zayn said. ‘Jezro’s trying to get support for some kind of long-term irrigation project.’

  ‘Long term, huh?’ Warkannan said. ‘Tell me something, Zayn. Do you think he’ll ever leave here?’

  ‘I don’t know. You must be worried sick.’

  ‘I am, yes. Well, if he won’t go back, there’s only one thing to do about Gemet, and that’s assassinate him. I probably won’t live through the attempt, but as God is my witness, I’ll have to try.’

  Zayn started to speak, then merely shook his head.

  ‘You can give me some pointers,’ Warkannan went on. ‘I have a feeling that you know a lot more about palace security than I do.’

  ‘I do, yes, and that’s why I’d rather talk you out of trying. You’d never even get close to him.’

  ‘Well, maybe it won’t come to that.’ Warkannan fell back on the one person who had never disappointed him. ‘Inshallah.’

  ‘Inshallah,’ Zayn agreed. ‘I’m more worried now about Soutan. I never should have talked about Ammadin’s plans. He’s probably going to try to follow her. If something happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘I’ve never known a comnee woman who couldn’t take care of herself, especially a spirit rider.’

  ‘Yes, but –’ Zayn hesitated for a long moment. ‘It’s Bane, what I did. Talking about her quest with an outsider, I mean. I broke Bane.’

  ‘That’s serious, all right, or it would be if you were a comnee man.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m not?’

  Warkannan laughed. ‘Still,’ he went on, ‘I’m just as glad that we’re going after the slimy bastard.’

  In the morning they left the Gairmahn estate early, but not before a second letter came from Kors. Soutan and Arkazo had been spotted once, at sunset the day before, heading east on a back road, about forty miles from Kors.

  ‘They’ve covered a lot of ground,’ Jezro remarked. ‘They must have stayed in the saddle all day yesterday.’

  ‘They’d better be careful,’ Warkannan said. ‘If they founder or lame those horses, they won’t be going anywhere, fast or slow.’

  ‘Let’s hope we’re that lucky.’

  In the event, luck was the one thing they lacked. Over the next several days they rode east steadily but slowly. The entire canton knew Jezro, it seemed, and everywhere they stopped they found the zhundars, the landowners, and the local priests of the One God willing to offer information and advice, but always at the cost of delay. None of them, however, had seen Soutan and Arkazo. Occasionally, very occasionally, a zhundar did have a second-hand sighting to offer, usually from an isolated farmer who had sold two mysterious strangers food and grain.

  After three days of this futile searching, Warkannan was ready to give up, but Jezro refused. That night, by the light of an oil lamp, they sat in their room in a shabby country hohte and studied the map Zayn had brought from Sarla.

  ‘We’re only about ten miles from Shairb,’ Jezro said. ‘That’s right here on the border between Burgunee and what used to be N’Dosha. The last time anyone saw Soutan, they seemed to be heading that way.’

  ‘We might as well go there,’ Warkannan said. ‘But let’s face it, they’re long gone by now, out in wild country.’ He felt as if someone had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart, just for the briefest of moments. The strength of the grief surprised him. Jezro laid a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Idres, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. We’ve got to get back home. Arkazo’s only one man, and the khanate –’

  ‘Can wait for another couple of days, damn it. I told you, I’ve got things to say to Soutan. No, don’t bother to argue.’

  Zayn had been studying the map. He laid a finger on a straight line that ran from Sarla east to the hills at the map’s edge.

  ‘The old N’Dosha road,’ Zayn said. ‘There’s a feeder road that starts near Shairb and leads straight there.’

  ‘I see it.’ Jezro nodded agreement. ‘Shairb it is, gentlemen. It’s a trade town, by the way.’

  ‘Trade?’ Warkannan said. ‘Trade with whom?’

  ‘The ChaMeech.’ Jezro glanced back and forth between Zayn and Warkannan.

  For a moment Warkannan was too angry to speak. Zayn’s face had lost all expression.

  ‘People out here have a different view of the ChaMeech,’ Jezro said at last. ‘Despite what happened in N’Dosha. Huh. I wonder if Soutan’s planning on meeting those allies you told me about. Shairb would be a logical place to do it.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Warkannan said. ‘Let’s hope there’s only six of them.’

  Zayn looked up with his mask firmly in place.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Warkannan said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘When you get that look there’s always something wrong.’

  ‘Damn you!’ Zayn’s voice lacked real anger. ‘I’m worried about Ammadin. If that bastard hurts her, I’ll skin him alive.’

  ‘We’ll help,’ Jezro said. ‘It’ll give us all something pleasant to look forward to.’

  Like most citizens of the Cantons, Loy had taken riding lessons as a child, but neither her family background nor her personal taste ran to keeping large expensive beasts in her garden. While the Loremasters Guild did eventually give her a horse, along with the necessary equipment and provisions for her trip, getting these things took time. She ran from office to office in the guild precinct, talked Wan Mendis into assuming her one crucial autumn class, cancelled the others, argued with Zhoc over funding, and eventually hauled a sheaf of rushis around for signatures. Ammadin watched all of this frantic activity with amusement at first but ultimately, exasperation. They finally left Sarla a full five days after Zayn.

  On the road a new problem presented itself. Loy hadn’t been on a horse in years, as she’d ruefully admitted to Ammadin.

  ‘Oh, you’ll remember fast enough,’ Ammadin had said.

  What would never occur to a comnee woman was that remembering mightbe painful in the extreme. After one day in the saddle, Loy could barely walk, and after a night of sleeping on the ground, she could barely get back on the horse again. Day followed painful day until, on the morning that Jezro Khan and his men set out for Shairb, Loy was ready to break down and weep at the very thought of riding.

  She and Ammadin had camped the night before near the Dordan border on the grassy bank of a river, or to be precise, Ammadin had made the camp while Loy sat miserably on the ground and watched. Seeing Ammadin so calm and competent humiliated Loy further. She’d gone to bed that night determined to tell Ammadin in the morning that she would simply have to turn around and walk home. When dawn woke her, at first she couldn’t move. By rocking back and forth like a baby in a crib, she managed to sit up and look around.

  Nearby, the horses – Ammadin’s grey, the chestnut pack horse, and the black gelding Loy had borrowed from the college stables – were tethered and grazing. Ammadin had already rolled up her bedroll and left the camp. Loy rocked some more, got to her knees, stretched every way she could think of, and then, slowly, with some trepidation, got to her feet. In the warm morning sun her muscles began to relax; the pain, she realized, wasn’t as bad as it had been the day before. When she turned and looked upstream she saw Ammadin kneeling near a brushy red and gold Midas tree, her crystals spread out in front of her. Barefoot, Loy limped over to join her.

  ‘Good, you’re awake,’ Ammadin said. ‘I’ve just spoken with Water Woman, and she had some strange news for us. Soutan’s riding east.’

  ‘East? What’s bringing them all east?’

  ‘It’s not all of them. It’s just Soutan and Warkannan’s nephew – oh, what’s his name – Arkazo, that’s it.’ ‘Not Zayn?’

  ‘No, just the two of them and a couple of pack horses.’ Ammadin sat b
ack on her heels. ‘I tried to spot them, but Soutan must have used his crystals to hide them.’

  ‘Then how did Water Woman see them?’

  ‘She didn’t. Here’s the odd thing – Water Woman told me that Sibyl heard they were coming. Not that she saw them, but that she heard them. Sibyl has incredibly powerful magic at her disposal, powers that are way beyond anything you or I can do. Water Woman calls this one the spell of a thousand ears.’

  Sibyl may be able to tap directly into the observation grid, Loy thought, then sighed in sudden misery. Hearing about Sibyl’s technical prowess had just made it impossible to give up and go home. Ammadin began to wrap up her crystals.

  ‘Are the Riders down?’ Loy said.

  ‘Yes.’ Ammadin sat back on her heels. ‘We need to get on the road. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Abysmal, actually, but it doesn’t matter. If I can get my boots on, I can ride. Ammi, have you thought of asking Sibyl to scan for Zayn? She saw him before we left Sarla, so we know she can pick him up again.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’ Ammadin’s eyes became expressionless. ‘If something’s gone wrong, there’s nothing I can do about it way out here.’

  ‘But don’t you want to know?’

  Ammadin shrugged and concentrated on wrapping the crystals.

  When it came time to ride, Loy’s muscles screamed, but they weren’t quite as loud as they’d been the day before. The old N’Dosha road headed due east through land gone wild with second growth. The pink hill-bamboid grew up through patches of wheatian; old oaks branched above golden stands of Midas trees. At times crumbling fences paralleled the road, and now and again they saw the remains of farmhouses and barns, roofless and tilting. Purple grass grew as high as the horses’ bellies in a tangled thatchy mass, bleaching out blue in the arid summer weather. Darker stripes of purple followed the courses of ancient irrigation ditches down to the streams, where trees and waist-high ferns crowded close to the water. Insects swarmed and droned over the fields.