Warmaidens

by Kelly Coon

  “Because I need it,” I squeaked. I held my hand out again. “Please.”

  He pursed his lips and thought about it, but gently pulled it from his waist and looked at it in his hands. It was encrusted with emeralds. Sharp. Gleaming with danger. “Why do you want it?”

  “Because the Boatman warned me that one day you would kill me with it, Dagan.” I forced my chin up, though my hands shook. “And I haven’t been listening to my gut, and maybe this is what I should’ve been doing all along. Listening to the Boatman. I don’t know why he sent me a message or what is going on, but he did! Again! He tried to reach me in the tent with Rish. Broke through, but I pushed him away. He held a bottle in his hands, and I think we must use it somehow. Mudi told me he’s trying to earn his way out of his post by helping me save lives and that I should listen to him! And just now, he showed me that dagger embedded in my throat. Maybe he’s trying to save my life, too, so I can help others.” I laid my hand flat, fighting the nausea rising in my belly at asking it of him. At not believing in Dagan. “So please, hand it over.”

  “You’d leave me defenseless.”

  “You have another dagger in your belt.”

  He blinked, his other hand straying to his backup blade, and tossed the emerald dagger to my side. Raw hurt and a flicker of grief crossed his face, and his shoulders slumped. “You must think little of me if you believe I could ever hurt you.” He swallowed roughly. “You must not trust me. I know you have been through a lot in your life, Kammani, but I never thought you could ever think me so callous as to harm you.”

  At that, my heart tugged inside me. Picking the dagger up, I ran my fingers over the hilt, still warm from its proximity to Dagan’s body. It was heavier than it looked. He’d have only one dagger to protect him, but nothing at which he was so skilled a marksman with. I’d never seen him without this one in any kind of situation. He threw this one at targets on the outbuildings. Had killed wild lions and wolves who’d tried to get his sheep in Alu. If Nasu should retaliate for his threats, or if Higal should call the Manzazu warriors still loyal to her to attack, he’d be left without his primary way of keeping himself alive.

  My gut told me to keep the dagger far, far away.

  But my heart said to give it back.

  “Dagan?” Trembling, I offered the dagger to him.

  He glanced at the weapon in my hand as if it were a snake.

  “I trust you. I swear.”

  After a moment, he squatted in front of me and took it.

  “Arammu.” His voice was husky, his amber eyes anguished. “What have I possibly done to make you feel so threatened?”

  “It wasn’t you. It was the dream about the Boatman and—it scared me.”

  I didn’t know what to believe. The strange visions from the Boatman that were difficult to interpret, or the tug of my heart. Could both be right? Could Dagan actually harm me without intending to? I couldn’t be sure, but I did know, and could feel, the earnestness radiating from Dagan as strongly as I could feel my attention being pulled toward the little red bottle of nerium that had rolled out of my grasp.

  It lay in the corner of the tent, winking in the candlelight, calling to me. Maybe there really was someone out there in the darkness, saying my name, trying to help me save lives so he could escape his fate. Maybe my heart and my gut were right.

  Crawling forward, I picked up the bottle, and felt inside my bones, that it was important, especially to me.

  “What is that?” Dagan tucked his dagger back into his belt.

  “I think it’s a tincture that is supposed to save us.”

  “How?”

  “I honestly do not know.” I sat with it in my hand, weighing the contents.

  At once, the tent flaps were thrown back and my dearest friend in all the world stepped inside the tent, her face a little less glib than it usually was, a little less carefree. But her eyes were as fiery as ever. Maybe more so.

  “Your war killed many guardsmen, my friend, but not the one who mattered most. My dearest husband, Gala, still lives.” Iltani tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You should be spanked by a long, splintered broomstick for that mistake.”

  “Iltani!” I stood and hugged her until she squirmed. “Has he touched you?” I murmured into her hair.

  “No. He tried. But in his sickened state”—she pulled away, grinning wickedly—“he was unable.”

  Dagan spoke. “But Gala could make you stand trial if you flee from him.”

  She waved her hand at Dagan, some of her carefree attitude hanging on to the surface of her, but I knew better. Her eyes were haunted as they’d never been before.

  “Do you think me so foolish as to endure the threat of his bed, and the violent sounds of his retching now that he’s been incapacitated, and escape with no good plan? Come now, Dagan. You should know me better than that. I’m here because I’ve been given leave of my dear husband for the evening while he helps with the wounded guardsmen and tries to keep his own bowels inside his body. He knows I’m your friend and says we should have you all over to dine one day.”

  She snorted. “He’s the only guardsman as far as I can tell who knows that Arwia escaped the tomb, however. Most of them believe that a band of female warriors are trying to overtake the throne so Assata can rule. They still think Arwia is dead. That’s the rumor that Uruku has spread.”

  “Good. Better they’re confused.” I hugged her again, relieved that she’d been spared his proximity this night at least. “While you’re here, do you have any thoughts as to how we could use this?” I held the red bottle of nerium out to her.

  “What is it?” She pulled the bottle from my hand and studied it.

  “The nerium you stole from that merchant woman. It slows the heart, making people unconscious so as to appear dead. But it has to be ingested or be put directly into the blood.”

  She thought for a moment, shaking the nerium powder. Then her eyes lit up. “I have an idea.”

  Dagan’s amber eyes, still swollen from grief, looked at her from under his heavy brow. “By all means let us hear it, Iltani, for life isn’t making much sense anymore.”

  “I can’t promise it’ll make any sense, but it involves a little nakedness and maybe some idiocy provided by the man who lives in my house.”

  “That sounds…ridiculous. But I trust your instincts.” I squeezed her hand.

  Iltani looked down at me quizzically. “You trust my instincts? I’m sorry, is your name Kammani? Where is my friend who only trusts in cold, hard, unrelenting facts, which, by the way, are inaccurate half of the time? Can you find her for me? There’s a usurper here, trying to bed this delicious man of hers.”

  I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t trying to be mean. She was blunter than she needed to be, but honest nevertheless.

  “Not anymore, my friend. My heart will guide me for the rest of my days.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Should we put a wager on that?”

  I smiled benignly. “Wait and see.”

  THE SIKARU IN the jug sloshed as I, along with Dagan, Iltani, Humusi, and another Koru warrior named Taram, stopped next to a low, crumbling wall in the bushes. Commander Ummi had told me she would come to protect us, but I’d asked her if she’d try to unite Higal’s troops with hers instead, so Arwia could be escorted in victoriously. She said she’d do everything in her power, but that she could make no promises.

  We were well fed, well watered, and disguised in dark cloaks to blend in with the dense olive grove flanking the path that led from the Palace to the royal bathhouse. A tributary wending throughout the grove and underneath the squat sandstone structure gurgled as we stooped below the brush line.

  My robe was bulky as I knelt in the dirt, my healing satchel twisted underneath. Nanaea had thrown long cloaks over Higal and Taram to disguise their weaponry, but the clanking under their getup
was loud enough to wake Alani and pull her from the depths of the Netherworld.

  The aftermath of Higal’s failed coup had left the Libbu and portions of the city near the Palace in shambles. Carts overturned. Market tents ripped apart. Flies buzzing over the bodies of the dead that had been stockpiled like sunbaked bricks near the east Libbu wall. Someone had half-heartedly draped a swath of linen over a few of them, but many of their bloodied faces were exposed to the night air.

  The crows that pecked at their eyes.

  The Manzazu warriors who had fallen had been piled into the back of a funereal cart, which would be taken outside the city and burned. Humusi and Taram had both vowed retribution for the slight.

  The people whom we’d passed to get to our current destination in the wee hours of the night—some stumbling home in various states of drunkenness, others walking with weapons drawn and wary eyes—hadn’t seemed to mind our presence, as it was likely they were up to no good as well. A poor, starved family had scuttled behind us, their meager belongings stuffed into packs on their backs, big-eyed children in tow. They were headed toward Gala’s gate, apparently hoping to escape Uruku’s rule and brave the unknown to make a new home elsewhere.

  “It’s heavy, Iltani. Are you sure?” Dagan set the jug down, his voice lowered to a whisper.

  “How heavy can it be?” She hefted the jug up with a grunt and positioned it on her hip. “It’ll be fine. I’ve carried far heavier burdens than this.”

  She’s carrying a heavier burden than this right now.

  I’d told her of Shep’s death after our conversation in the tent, and she’d walked away from me and Dagan to sit underneath a tree. Her weeping could be heard over the soft sounds of the merchants settling in for the night, but when I’d tried to approach her, she’d ordered me away. When she’d pulled herself together, she’d been more determined than ever to enact our scheme.

  I glanced past her to Gala standing with other guardsmen off in the distance, the torches on the outside of the bathhouse illuminating his green face. A grimace twisted his features. Apparently, his “ailment” hadn’t improved.

  Iltani tugged her tunic down, exposing more of her cleavage, pasted on a smile, and looked over her shoulder at me with a wink. “I’ll have them eating the nerium directly out of my hand if the brew doesn’t work.”

  The jug of sikaru on her hip, she tossed her head and sashayed slowly toward the group of guardsmen who were standing at attention near the entrance.

  “Husband!” she cried when she was well away from us.

  Gala weakly answered, then gasped and clutched his belly. The men around him laughed.

  “I feel bad giving him the nerium. He would have helped us if he’d known what we were up to.” Dagan’s lips were pinched as if in pain.

  Taram, Humusi, and I all stared at him with baleful eyes.

  “Funny. I don’t feel bad about it at all.”

  Not about Gala. But I did about Dagan. His shoulders, always so strong and straight, sagged forward, Shep’s death weighing heavy on them. Even my doubt in him had wounded him deeply. When he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. I ached for the ease that he usually carried around. Would he ever get it back? Or would what we’d been through and were still going through haunt him for the rest of his life?

  Iltani sauntered up to the guardsmen, hips swaying, shoulders thrown back, a move that had to be costing her. But it was probably a bittersweet moment, since revenge was to be hers if they took the bait. I’d added enough nerium to the jug of sikaru to knock out six men, and since there were only four on guard outside the hidden bathhouse, I figured we’d be safe. Gala attempted to take the jug from her, but he couldn’t lift it, so another guardsman stepped in. She hugged him in thanks, the sign that she was fine and we were to move.

  “Let’s go. She’s there,” I whispered, and we crept agonizingly slowly closer to the bathhouse, hidden among the trees. From somewhere above, an owl hooted plaintively as we slunk like dogs, our steps watchful of stepping on a branch. Every soft clank of the Koru’s armor caused us to freeze, panting, nervously awaiting our discovery.

  When we arrived a mere hundred or so handsbreadths from the back of the building, we sat on our haunches and waited. I longed to see what Iltani was doing, but she was out of my line of sight. The chirps and chirrs of insects calling to their mates and Iltani’s far-off high-pitched laughter were the only sounds eviscerating the full belly of the night. Stars were scattered over the bits of the jasper sky we could see between the jagged branches of the sycamores.

  Iltani’s conversation grew in frivolity, the men hooting and laughing, and we stared at one another in silence, all of us contemplating our own worries.

  “He’d better be in there,” Dagan whispered.

  Gala had told Iltani that Uruku bathed in the bathhouse we now crouched behind to attempt to heal his piercing headaches with the steam, and that Gala himself escorted him there almost nightly.

  “There is a reason there are four guardsmen outside this bathhouse.” I willed calmness into my bones, resisting the urge to chew the rest of my thumbnail off my hand. It was worn down to a nub at this point. “I’m remaining hopeful.” I ran my fingers over Dagan’s arm. “Do you think the ensis will come through?”

  He shifted back on his heels. Stared at his hands. “Ensi Puzu told me he’d convince them, but I suppose we’ll see. I’m having trouble believing in anyone right now.”

  Moonlight fell over Dagan’s noble features, illuminating the grief in his eyes. I rubbed his knee. “It will be all right.”

  He offered me a half smile. “I’m just wondering about Gudanna.”

  “We’ll have to find her later. She has no power once Uruku is off the throne anyway, since she wasn’t born to reign.”

  Humusi spoke softly, her round eyes watchful. She was even jumpier than usual, fidgeting with her bracers. Touching her battle-axes over and over again. “So the guardsmen fall asleep, and we go inside the bathhouse and secure Uruku. We question him about Shiptu’s whereabouts, and then kill him. Then we ride to Laraak to gather the rest of our army. When the day breaks, Ummi leads the warriors in with Arwia at the forefront to claim the throne.”

  My knee bobbed. “Yes, that is the plan.”

  When she put it that way, it seemed too easy. Much too easy. But there were so many people involved. So many things that could go wrong. We didn’t have time to wait any longer, though. If Ummi failed to unite the Manzazu army, Higal’s troops would try again, bloodshed on their minds. Either that, or Sarratum Tabni would hear of their failed coup and would send reinforcements. We had to act, now.

  After what seemed to be a full hour, the laughter of the men died away and Iltani peeked through the brush like a wraith, a wicked gleam in her eye. “They’re all asleep like fat babies after they’ve drunk their mother’s milk. Let’s go!”

  “They all drank the brew?” We stood and slunk toward the bathhouse. “Each one of them? Even Gala?”

  “I made it a game and they were all too enamored with Gala’s ‘fiery little wife’ to turn me down. The idiots. Come on. They’ll be awake soon enough.”

  We crept around the wall, darting as quickly as we could to the entryway of the bathhouse where the guardsmen once stood. All four were in a deep slumber at the doorway, a look of death heavy on their features, two of them with their eyes wide open, staring into the Netherworld.

  Maybe I mixed too much?

  I stooped, feeling along their throats for that unmistakable surge of blood in their veins. They were alive, though Gala’s pulse pounded wildly. We dragged two of them behind some potted tamarisk trees, but propped Gala up at the doorway as if he’d simply fallen asleep at his job, in case anyone came by. Iltani kicked him over, hard, and Dagan pulled him back up, a look of consternation on his face. As we crept into the shadowy interior of the sandstone building,
the air was noticeably more humid inside. The feel of the Boatman’s riverboat beneath my feet came back into mind as a draft of salty, wet air washed over me.

  We ducked into a side room stacked high with bolts of cloths for drying, baskets of Aleppo soaps, eucalyptus fronds, and rose-scented oils. Moonlight glowed through the square window to the right. Taram and Humusi carefully took off their tunics to reveal their breastplates and scaled capes. Their eyes were watchful. Wary. Taram drew a dagger and a battle-ax from her arsenal, and rotated the ax with quick, calculated flicks of her wrist. She looked skilled. Dangerous. Like death personified. Humusi drew a short dagger and a mace from her belt, and the effect of her muscles pulling taut beneath her shoulders as she tightened her grip on each and grinned, her bright smile shining through the gloom, was enough to make all the hair stand to attention on my head.

  Tucking the herb knife from my satchel into my waistband, I warily eyeballed Dagan as he unsheathed both daggers from his waist and moved into the corridor, and down a dark, curved hallway that seemed to lead to the main bathhouse chamber. Iltani pulled her blade from the band around her thigh as Dagan held a dagger to his full lips, shushing us, and we crept slowly toward what we could only hope was Uruku. Iltani and I stayed close behind him with Taram and Humusi following, weapons chinking softly.

  As we rounded the corridor into the main breezeway, two guardsmen stood, flanking a thick, heavy door upon which the lion and blooms crest of Lugal Marus was carved. Torches crested the wall.

  One pockmarked, the other as wide as Dagan, the guardsmen flinched in surprise as we filed into the breezeway. But Taram and Humusi were on them before they could even draw their weapons.

  With stealth and efficiency, they slit the men’s throats with their daggers and had their bodies dragged away to the side of the room before I could even open my mouth to protest.

  “Dear Selu!” I hissed.

  I walked to the men and knelt, as they spasmed, gasping through their severed windpipes.

  “Did you have to kill them? They were just doing their jobs! We could have tied them up until we got Uruku!”