It said a great deal for her that she wasn’t hiding in her room with her head under a pillow. And though she kept her gaze fixed relentlessly on her trencher, her attention was riveted on the rest of the conversation. Reisil smiled, reaching for a crock of sweet butter. Metyein’s voice interrupted her musings, and she turned her attention back to him.
“Since we won’t have Reisiltark with us, obtaining metal for weapons becomes even more critical. One important item we have neglected to discuss is what gift we might send to Thevul Bro-heyek. Whatever it is should show that we are a force to be reckoned with, and not merely rabble with nothing to our names. It should also be of great enough value that it is not perceived as an insult.”
“A gift?” demanded Soka. He set his knife on the table, his hands flattening on the rough planks. His lips were white, his voice high and tight. He reached up and touched his fingertips to his eye patch. “The goat-loving ganyik already has my eye. What more does he have a right to ask? He owes me. Far more than a few paltry wagonloads of iron and steel.”
Metyein sucked in an audible breath, casting a sideways glance at Emelovi, who’d paled at Soka’s coarse outburst. He twisted his head, his nostrils flaring as he faced Soka. His voice was relentless and cutting. “Yes, your father does owe you. But he does not owe us—he does not owe Honor. And despite his attacks against his neighbors, as far as we know, he is loyal to the crown. We are traitors. After all, we’re the ones building an army to drive Aare off the throne.
“We have to convince your father to support us. He will expect us to follow political protocols. If we don’t, he’ll lose any respect he might have had for us. We’ll be cut off at the knees before we get started. Think, Soka. We’re asking him to commit treason. We’d better demonstrate our worth.”
“I’d sooner castrate him,” Soka said, picking up his knife to dig deep gouges in the table.
“You said you could do this,” Metyein reminded him, his temper fraying.
“I said I would go ask for the metal. I did not say I would fawn at his feet. I’m not going to bend over and stick my ass in the air. I’m no molly.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything of the sort. I am asking you to act as befits your rank and your mission. We can’t afford for you to fail.” Metyein’s voice had turned cold and implacable. “Say so, and I’ll send someone else.”
Soka’s teeth bit white dents into his lower lip. He pushed up, swinging his leg over the bench. His sword got caught and he jerked it free, going to stand at the end of the table by Kebonsat. He stood there, arms straight at his sides, his feet braced wide. He stared at Metyein, his eyes stark with fury and hurt.
Reisil gave a silent sigh. Did the betrayal never end? And yet Metyein was not wrong, any more than Soka was wrong. It was the situation. And at least there was truth between them.
“He will go. And he will do as he must to secure the metal for weapons.” Reisil had not seen Emelovi stand. Her body was rigid, her face pale. She stood straight, imperious even, and resolute. No one spoke; everyone stared.
“It must be done. And there is no one else to do it. You will take a gift. You will do what is necessary. You will return with the metals we need to build weapons. Is that clear?”
Soka hesitated a long moment, the tendons in his neck tenting. Then he gave a short, jerky nod. “As you command.”
There was a long moment of tense silence when no one moved. Then Emelovi sank back down to the bench, folding her shaking hands in her lap.
The silence continued. Emelovi remained as she was, head bowed down. Soka retreated to a place near the fire, where he leaned with pretended casualness. At last Metyein spoke, his voice raspy.
“That still leaves the matter of a gift. Does anyone have suggestions?”
“We can’t afford anything that a man the likes of Bro-heyek would value. Horses, livestock, weapons—we need everything we have,” Kebonsat said.
“Agreed,” Metyein said. “What do we have?”
No one answered. Finally Nurema spoke.
“Best be something as can be carried easy. Speed is going to matter.”
“I have jewels,” Emelovi said abruptly.
“I don’t think jewels will interest the Thevul much,” Metyein said. “But thank you.”
Emelovi gave a slight nod.
“A bargain, then,” Kebonsat said. “Against the future. Against us winning and . . . the Dazien . . . taking the throne.”
Metyein nodded, considering. “A charter of land? Trade rights?” He rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. “He’s hungry for land and power. There’s no doubt that if Aare wins, sooner or later he’ll march up north and put Bro-heyek in its place. The Thevul has a lot more to gain from supporting us than not.”
“Offer him the position of the North Warder,” Emelovi said softly.
“North Warder? Is there any such thing?”
“There will be, if he says yes. It will entitle him to rule his neighbors in the name of the crown. He will be entitled to a portion of all taxes collected north of the Sawtooth Range. If he is as hungry as you say, he will not refuse.”
“I will craft a letter, Dazien,” Metyein said respectfully.
Emelovi smiled slightly. “Very good, Lord Marshal.”
Vertina to subject, Reisil thought. Emelovi had been raised to rule. Or at least to be the wife of someone in power, whether a Kijal or a prince from another land. Perhaps she could learn to rule in her own right. At least she’d decided to put aside her hurt and anger to try. It was a good choice.
Chapter 16
They departed before dawn the next morning. A steady rain had begun in the early morning, and Reisil’s boots caught in the mud, pulling free with sticky squelches as she and Yohuac crossed the central compound to the stables. She carried a mug of kohv in her hand. A bedraggled Saljane perched miserably on her shoulder, making unhappy grunting sounds. Yohuac walked beside her, his expression somber. He’d braided his new locks of hair, but the beads were nowhere in evidence. Reisil wondered how he felt to be going home.
She gave a small sigh. She was going to have more time with him. She was going to be able to consult with his nahuallis. For the first time, she had reason to hope she might solve the problem of Mysane Kosk. Still her throat ached with the lump that she could not swallow. He wouldn’t be coming back.
~I don’t remember losing Kaval or Kebonsat hurting this much, she complained to Saljane.
~You were not heartbound, then.
Reisil gave a silent nod. No, though she’d cared deeply for them, she’d never felt for Kaval or Kebonsat what she now felt for Yohuac. She didn’t know why he claimed her heart so completely. Except that in the short time they’d spent together, he seemed to understand and accept her in ways that the other two never had. Just like she accepted him. Accepted that he was going to return to Cemanahuatl. She’d gained a short reprieve with Nurema’s insistence that she go too, but when she learned what she needed from the nahuallis, that would be the end. She’d return to Kodu Riik and he’d become Ilhuicatl’s son-in-the-flesh, or die trying.
~Baku will be devastated.
~He already knows.
Reisil glanced up, startled.
~He does? And then—Of course he does. It’s just that he’s always been so determined that he could change Yohuac’s mind.
~He no longer hopes for such. Baku will accompany Yohuac as far as possible, and then . . .
And then? Would he even survive the parting? She thought of how the wizards had torn Saljane from her. The sudden, endless emptiness. A silence so profound that she couldn’t hear her own heartbeat. Reisil had been driven past reason with the pain of it. And yet later, once Saljane was restored to her, the pair had calmly decided that should either die, the other must continue on, must protect Kodu Riik. An easy decision to make with your heart’s ease sitting on your shoulder. Whereas Baku faced exactly that hopeless choice and carried on. Reisil’s chest hurt. Never again would she chastise Baku for h
is ill humor.
She lifted her hand to stroke Saljane’s wet feathers, searching for Baku in the wet darkness. There—He crouched by the gate. She doubted anyone else saw him. To anyone else without spellsight, he would be invisible.
~He will not grieve alone, Reisil said.
Soka was checking his saddle and packs when Reisil and Yohuac arrived outside the stables. His face was set. He jerked on the cinch to check it, then picked his horse’s hooves. What would it be like, Reisil wondered, to come face-to-face with a father who’d made him a hostage to the court, who’d been responsible for Soka losing his eye? What would it be like to swallow his pride and ask for help from that man?
Beyond Soka, the four soldiers who would be escorting him to Bro-heyek were also readying their mounts. Juhrnus and Kebonsat waited alongside. They would accompany the travelers to the edge of the valley. They were already mounted, their hoods pulled low against the pattering rain.
Reisil shook off her melancholy with an effort. She yawned, her jaw cracking. She turned. “Where’s Nurema?”
“You two’re the late ones, not me,” Nurema said. She stood out of the rain in the wide doorway of the stable. “I’ll not hold you up longer than needs be. Come on, then.”
She led the way inside to an empty stall, a lantern dangling from a hook on the wall. She rolled up her sleeve, exposing her tanned arm. Reisil watched, repulsed, as a lump formed just beneath Nurema’s skin above her wrist. It bulged sharply, and then the skin split bloodlessly. What emerged was a tiny snake, perhaps four inches long. Its skin was a brilliant green, the color of new grass on the first day of summer. Its belly was bloodred, its eyes topaz yellow. It was a copicatl, a messenger of Ilhuicatl, the father-god of Cemanahuatl. It wriggled down to coil in Nurema’s palm, its yellow tongue flickering.
She held out her hand toward Reisil. “The copicatl will open the gate between Kodu Riik and Cemanahuatl. The same location where he and I came through,” she said with a nod to Yohuac.
Reisil hesitated. The idea of the reptile burrowing into her flesh was repellent to the point of turning her stomach. But she need carry the snake for only a little while. Just until they traveled across the Karnane Valley to the point where first Nurema, and later Yohuac, had entered Kodu Riik. There was no time for squeamishness. Every passing moment brought Kodu Riik—brought the entire world—closer to destruction.
Taking a breath, Reisil slowly exhaled, extending her left hand palm up.
Before Nurema could move, Saljane shrieked and lunged off Reisil’s shoulder. She knocked heavily against Nurema, dumping the copicatl to the ground and leaving a long gash in the older woman’s forearm. Then the goshawk landed and snapped viciously at the hissing emerald snake as it dodged back and forth.
Nurema stumbled backwards, swearing like a river rat. She bent to snatch up the copicatl, narrowly avoiding losing a finger. Saljane leaped back up to Reisil’s shoulder, shrieking loudly, the ivy pattern on her beak flashing gold in the lantern light.
Reisil tried to soothe Saljane, but the bird was inarticulate in her fury. That worm had no right to invade her ahalad-kaaslane’s body. She would shred it with her talons, crush it in her beak.
Rage. Resentment. Possession.
“She won’t allow it,” Reisil said, spreading her hands helplessly, inexpressively relieved. “I can’t carry it.”
Exasperated, Nurema turned to Yohuac, but found herself facing Baku. The coal-drake’s head wove back and forth, his tail lashing from side to side. The message was clear: Neither Reisil nor Yohuac would be allowed to carry the copicatl.
“What are we going to do?” Reisil asked.
“Get yer animals under control,” Nurema said.
“They are ahalad-kaaslane,” Reisil corrected sharply. “They act as they see fit. Neither of us can carry the snake.” Despite her relief at not having to let the snake burrow inside her, she wished she understood Saljane’s response. It isn’t as if the goshawk hadn’t known the plan.
Saljane startled her, breaking free of her wordless fury.
~I thought you would carry it in a sack, or a box.
Reisil suggested this to Nurema, who nodded. “I s’pose we could do it that way.”
Saljane mantled, tension radiating from her stiff body.
~I do not trust it. It wants inside you. I will kill it first.
Reisil shook her head. “Saljane seems to think it’s gone past that point. She doesn’t trust it.”
“Baku says he will carry it,” Yohuac volunteered, sounding surprised. “He says it cannot inhabit him.” At the questioning looks cast by the two women, he shrugged. “I do not know. But Baku is certain.”
“Fine,” Nurema said. Before the coal-drake could change his mind, she raised her hand. Baku bent forward. The snake lifted up tall on its tail on Nurema’s palm. It stretched up straight as an arrow, touching its nose to Baku’s. The coal-drake’s nostrils fluttered gently.
They remained thus for a moment, and then the copicatl slid up the bridge of Baku’s snout. It wriggled up between Baku’s eye ridges and over the bony knob at the top of his skull. It nestled down in the hollow behind, coiling into a knot the size of an apricot.
“Done,” Nurema said briskly, dusting her hands together. “Best get off then. Time’s wastin’.”
“Take care of them,” Reisil said, grasping the other woman’s hand. Nurema’s grip was strong and firm. “Keep them safe until I get back.”
“Do as I can. But I left Cemanahuatl ’fore I had much training.”
“Just hold. That’s all I ask.”
“Don’t take overlong,” Nurema said, her fingers tightening on Reisil’s. “The wards’ll hold awhile, but if the Regent comes callin’ with his pet sorcerers, I can’t speak for what’ll happen. Can be sure them wizards won’t sit silent for the Scallacians to steal their prize. Nokulas will have their say too.”
What would happen in that tug-of-war, Reisil didn’t want to imagine. But it would be bloody. And Honor would be the battleground. She shivered. She had to find an answer and get back before the Regent arrived. Before spring opened the passes.
“I’ll be back in plenty of time,” Reisil promised. She hoped it was true.
“Be sure to put up wards when ye camp. Just like I showed ye. Don’t get lazy. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t. Lady’s luck to you.”
With that, Reisil pulled her hand away to follow Yohuac.
“One more thing,” Nurema said abruptly, sounding angry.
Reisil stopped and turned, warily. What now?
“Bein’ as how we might not see each other agin, I figure I ought to speak of this. I told ye how I came to Kodu Riik, followin’ after Kinatl. She was young and I goaded her into somethin’ stupid. Which is how she ended up here, and I ended up chasin’ her. Never did find her. Stopped lookin’ after I met the Lady.
“Anyhow, she met a man. An ahalad-kaaslane who’d lost his animal. One of those magilanes. He was sore hurtin’ and not far from dyin’ hisself. But Kinatl was desperate, like a trapped animal. She was about starvin’ and had no clothes and her magic had stopped workin’. He took pity on her and helped her. And she helped him right back. Made him want to live. Fell in love, they did. Bound together closer than soul to body. They stayed up high in the mountains until she got herself pregnant. That’s when they decided to come down an’ find a tark. Feared somethin’ goin’ wrong and losin’ the baby.
“Like I said, I didn’t find her. She found me. In Kallas. Course I knew she’d be comin’. Had a vision. She was glad to see a face from home. Until I told her she’d have to leave her baby. And the necklace her man had given her.” Nurema’s eyes flicked to where Reisil’s tunic hid the Lady’s talisman—the same one Nurema had given her before leaving Kallas.
Reisil’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. Nurema had gone pale, but she continued on doggedly.
“They didn’t want to leave the little thing. Broke their hearts. B
ut Kinatl knew I see true. Celidan had been ahalad-kaaslane. With the mark of the Lady on my hand, he couldn’t refuse either. They gave it a name and went away.” Nurema looked down at her palm, rubbing a finger across the gold gryphon seal inscribed there. Then she looked back up at Reisil.
“What—?” Reisil could hardly push the word out. Her knees were shaking. She stiffened, trying to keep the fractured pieces of herself from flying apart. “What happened to them? My parents?”
Nurema shook her head. “Don’t know. They never came back. The visions never spoke of ’em again.”
Bleak silence fell between them. Reisil had more questions than she could begin to ask. And she had a journey to make. She glared at Nurema for a long moment, then spun around and strode out into the rain.
The coppery chestnut was drenched. But he remained steady and unflustered. Reisil patted his neck, hardly aware of what she was doing. She checked her cinch and packs with rote method, then swung up into the saddle.
“You all right?” Juhrnus asked cautiously. His eyes were fixed on the golden ivy unfurling on her cheek.
“Let’s go,” Reisil said harshly. She chirruped to her gelding and trotted out to the gate.
Nurema still stood in the doorway of the stables. Reisil did not look at her.
There was no conversation as the little group made its way to the edge of the valley. Reisil paused to say good-bye to Kebonsat and Juhrnus as the rest of their expedition began winding up the path into the mountains. As Reisil watched, Baku crawled up the path after Yohuac to disappear behind a tor, his legs and belly clotted with thick, red mud. Reisil wondered absently why he did not fly. She shrugged. She turned to her two companions.
“Are you all right?” Juhrnus asked again. “Has something happened?”
Reisil wiped the rain from her eyes with icy fingers. Her mother’s name was Kinatl. Her father was an ahalad-kaaslane. A magilane. He too had been paired with a predator bird. She swallowed jerkily, feeling a maelstrom of emotions pulling at her. She couldn’t deal with this now. There were more important things to do. She pushed the revelation about her parents far down in her mind. She’d think about it later.
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