“I think you had better take care, Protector.”
Thirbe threw up his hands. “Right. Let’s throw army regs off the mountaintop and bend ourselves double to honor local customs. Meanwhile, you’ve left a loophole big enough for Shadrael to gallop a horse through, while the warlord folds his hands and looks innocent. Bah!”
“You can look at it that way if you choose.”
“I do!”
“Well, we are all disappointed, but—”
“Disappointed!” Resisting the urge to swear, Thirbe instead circled the office again. “Sir, you can’t natter about diplomacy and positive progress, not when Lady Lea’s still a prisoner, still in need of rescue. Until she’s found and safe, I’m not going to stand about and talk disappointment. Or worry about hurting a provincial warlord’s feelings. Gods!”
“Move past this setback and consider how close we’ve come. We know Lord Shadrael is in the area.”
“He was,” Thirbe muttered darkly. “Wager you a year’s pay he’s in the next province by now.”
“I’ve sent a courier to alert the Thyraze border. They can assist our search with dragon scouts.”
“Useful,” Thirbe admitted grudgingly. “But they won’t fly into the Broken Spine. And that’s where—”
“You seem obsessed by that location, Protector,” Pendek said, pouring himself another cup of mead. “The evidence indicates that the commander—er—former commander has headed elsewhere. He’ll be found. In fact, if you wish to coordinate our efforts with the Thyrazenes I’ll authorize it.”
Thirbe had no intention of being deflected off on that kind of wild qualli hunt. He said nothing.
“I’m also authorizing a reward to be issued for any information regarding Lord Shadrael’s whereabouts,” Pendek said smugly. “That should bring results.”
You’ll be so swarmed by fools and greedy swindlers, Thirbe thought sourly, that you won’t have time to sign your name to paper, much less search for her. He swallowed the remark, however, and stood there fuming, frustrated by the combination of incompetence and ranking authority before him. He’d spent the past week combing through a small portion of the badlands with trackers that could not get him where he wanted to go. The opal still glowed when he held it over that location on the map, but dimly. Every day its light grew feebler, and he was worried to his bones that he would not reach Lea in time.
My lady, my good, sweet lady, please hold on, he prayed.
Now he’d come dragging back to the legion camp, weary to the bone, and nearly frozen from camping every night in the open. He and the decim of men assigned to him had run out of food and supplies and needed fresh horses. And this was the news that greeted his return. He’d met plenty of fools in his long career, but Pendek Drelliz was a thick-necked, boneheaded, lumbering idiot with the judgment of a gnat and the gullibility of a raw recruit in his first crap game.
Aware that he could shout all day and never budge the commander’s decision, Thirbe sighed. “The messenger that brought you Vordachai’s news—”
“Ah yes.” Pendek rooted among the papers on his desk. “A fellow named Hulthul. No . . . Hultul. Rather difficult, these local names.”
“I want to see him.”
“Really?” Pendek frowned, his green eyes suspicious. “For what purpose? I can’t have you casting blame with your usual lack of tact.”
Thirbe swallowed the temptation to tell him where he could stick his tact and said in a strangled voice, “Just a few questions.”
“No . . . no, I think it would be best if you refrained. I have spoken to the man. He was competent, and acted quite exasperated about losing his prisoner. Of course, it would be difficult to contain someone of former Commander Shadrael’s abilities. His reputation is remarkable. For him to turn renegade . . . a pity.” Pendek sighed and shook his head. “No, best to leave it as an unfortunate event. I’ve tightened controls in the city. There are extra men posted at every gate. Extra patrols on the streets. We’re watching, Protector. We’re very close now. Despite all you say, we’re making definite progress.”
Impatient with the time he’d wasted on this leather-headed noddy, Thirbe saluted, spun on his heel, and tramped outside into the cold wind. He snagged the first centruin to cross his path.
“Sir?”
“Heard a Ulinian messenger came in this morning, reporting an escaped prisoner.”
The centruin coughed and looked sharply about the bustling camp before giving Thirbe a brief nod. “Sorry, sir, but I can’t stand here. I’m due for a guardhouse inspection.”
Thirbe took the hint and fell into step with the taller man. They crossed the camp, dust fogging everywhere, and skirted the parade ground where men were being drilled by a pair of centruins with lungs that could outshout a gladiator trainer. At the end of a row of perfectly aligned tents stood a ramshackle commons, a building for the men to gather in for meals or games of chance in their off-duty time. The centruin’s brisk stride paused there.
He coughed again, glancing around, and casually pulled Thirbe’s dagger from its sheath. “Got a loose rivet in the hilt. See?” he said, handing the weapon back.
Thirbe slipped him a coin as he took the weapon and peered at it. “So I do. Better check it with the armorer.”
“You do that, sir.” Saluting, the centruin strode on.
Thirbe pushed open the door to the commons and ducked under the low lintel. Inside, the room was dim and shadowy, lit by a roaring fire and some smoking lamps. The air stank of sweat, leather oil, damp wool, and the dried dung patties fueling the fire. At one table several foot soldiers were swapping jokes and howling at their own wit. A trio was drinking together in a corner, perhaps nursing festival hangovers. And a Ulinian wearing the warlord’s coat of arms sat alone on a bench with his back to the wall, dourly gnawing on a piece of stale flat bread.
“You!” Thirbe said to him. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Come with me.”
Hultul was short, slight, and wiry, the kind of man that could ride all day in the desert without food or drink. Wrapped tightly in his cloak, the ends of his head wrap flapping in the wind, he peered up at Thirbe with small dark eyes as helpful as stones. To every question, he shook his head.
Frustrated, Thirbe switched from Lingua to Ulinian, using the official, most common dialect. Hultul said nothing.
“Damn you, I know you understand me. You spoke to Commander Pendek.”
“He is commander of Ninth,” the man replied. “You are . . .” He shrugged.
Thirbe twitched aside his cloak to show his insignia. “I am protector to her Imperial Highness, Lady Lea.”
Hultul shrugged again, his gaze a dark flick of indifference.
“Have you sisters?” Thirbe asked, struggling to keep exasperation from his voice. “Have you daughters?”
Hultul did not answer.
“If you do, consider what you would feel if one of them was carried off by a bandit. Frightened, mistreated, perhaps hurt. Would you not want her back?”
“Would take her back, like this!” As he spoke, Hultul grabbed the air in a quick gesture. “Would not stand around, asking stupid questions.”
Thirbe’s fist shot out and connected with the man’s jaw, knocking him flat. Hultul was rolling onto his feet as soon as he hit the ground, but Thirbe caught him by the front of his cloak and twisted it around his throat before pinning the man with a thud against the flimsy wall of the commons. Hultul stretched his lips in a dangerous little smile and kicked, but Thirbe blocked that move.
Twisting the cloak harder around the man’s throat, he force-marched him around to the back of the building, out of sight of the rest of the camp. There, he drew his dagger.
“Listen to me, you little wart,” he snarled. “I’ve taken all the lies and tricks I’m going to.”
Hultul just smiled and said nothing. His dark eyes held flat defiance.
Thirbe, however, had not been trained as a predlicate for nothing. Deftly, he slid the point of
his dagger beneath the neck of the man’s mail shirt and pulled out his harnush, his birth amulet. Hultul’s eyes widened fractionally, and all other expression vanished from his face.
“Got your attention, don’t I?” Thirbe said. He twisted the cloth noose he’d made a little harder, so that the man grunted.
Thirbe cut the cord holding the amulet and at the same time kicked Hultul’s feet out from under him. The Ulinian squirmed frantically, lunging for the amulet, but Thirbe was quicker. He stamped on Hultul’s wrist and kicked the amulet out of reach before dropping on Hultul’s midsection with his knees. He heard the whoosh of air knocked from Hultul’s lungs, and noted the man’s desperate gasps with satisfaction. His left hand clamped hard on Hultul’s throat as he brought the dagger point up right between the Ulinian’s eyes.
“Now,” he said in a mild, conversational tone, “I’m all for following regs, doing things by the book. I’m all for congenial relations between provinces and local governments. But my allegiance is to the emperor, see, not your fat warlord with the strange name. And I’m a little tired of getting the runaround since I came to this worthless dust hole.”
Hultul squirmed in an effort to throw him off, reaching for a weapon that Thirbe took away from him. While Hultul glared at him, Thirbe began tapping his dagger point between the man’s eyes.
“Now,” he went on as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “Commander Pendek likes to honor the local customs. Thinks it keeps things peaceful. I know a few local customs myself. One is that you devils think your soul perishes if you lose that birth amulet.”
Hultul’s mouth twisted in contempt. “An old legend, nothing more!”
“Then you won’t mind so much when I take yours down to the Plaza and sell it for drinking money.”
Hultul twisted and heaved desperately to throw him off, spitting angrily. Thirbe held him, ducking to avoid the spittle.
“You been lying to me,” Thirbe said, “and I don’t like it.”
“I have said nothing to you, foreign dog! Nothing!”
“You been lying to Commander Pendek.”
“That fat swine. He is—” Hultul barked out a rude epithet in Ulinian.
Thirbe grinned. “I agree. But he’s legion, see? That puts him above you, dung beetle. You shouldn’t lie to him.”
“No lies! I brought a true message, as my lord bade me!”
“So Lord Shadrael’s running free, is he?”
“He escaped. He killed three of my best men.”
Thirbe nodded as though he believed this. “Doesn’t say much for you or your best men if an outnumbered prisoner could get away from you.”
“He is donare! He is fierce and kills without mercy.”
“Snapped threads of life, did he?”
Hultul tried to shake his head, but Thirbe’s hand was still clamping his throat.
“You’re lying, dung beetle,” Thirbe said. “Your master’s lying. Lord Shadrael’s his heir, ain’t he?”
Hultul stopped struggling for a moment and stared up at Thirbe. “If my lord has not been blessed with children, how is that your concern, cumith’el daed?”
“You can leave my ancestry out of this discussion,” Thirbe said. “So your oath of allegiance is just as strong to Shadrael as it is to your warlord.”
“Not the same!”
“I think it is.”
“You know nothing. You understand nothing. Lord Shadrael is—is not—he is not as other men. If you saw him, you would know he is muibe oedui. Without a soul.”
Thirbe tucked that information away with the grim intention of worrying about it later. “So where can I find him?”
“He is like the shadows of night, nowhere to be found unless he wishes it.”
“Now, I happen to know another local custom,” Thirbe said, still tapping his dagger point between Hultul’s eyes. “It’s said that a blind man cannot enter Paradise—”
“No! There is nothing about that. Nothing!”
“—because it is sacrilege to enter the Sacred Gates and not be able to see the blessings beyond them. Ain’t that right?”
Hultul stared at him with teeth bared, his dark eyes snapping with fear and anger.
Thirbe bent close and snarled in his face, “You know exactly where Shadrael is!”
“No!”
“You know exactly where they are keeping Lady Lea!”
“No!”
“When I pop out your eyeballs I’m going to keep them moist and juicy, take them straight over to Kettle Street, and have them cooked into a tasty dish. A man who eats the eyes of his enemy forever rules him. Isn’t that your Ulinian proverb?” Thirbe smiled. “And if my knife slips and plunges too deep into your worthless, flea-ridden skull . . . well, not having a birth amulet to bless your passing isn’t important. That’s what you said.”
Hultul’s face went ashen. Although Thirbe was no longer squeezing his throat, his breath came in short gasps. His eyes flashed with hate. “May the plague rot you from within, you—”
Cutting off his air expertly, Thirbe pressed the point of his dagger right at the bottom of the man’s left eye and flipped upward.
Hultul’s scream was silent, for he had no air. Thirbe released his throat, and the man dragged in a shuddering breath. His eyes were clamped shut. Blood was trickling down his cheek where Thirbe had cut him. Swiftly Thirbe clamped his hand over Hultul’s left eye, holding him when Hultul would have thrashed.
“That’s one,” he said. “I now own half of you. Do you start talking, or do I take your second eye?”
“She is not . . . My esteemed lord does not keep her prisoner. He knows nothing of this evil that Lord Shadrael does,” Hultul babbled.
“Where is she? Where in the Broken Spine are they keeping her?”
“The refuge of the Vindicants.”
“Vindicants,” Thirbe whispered grimly.
“My beloved master has nothing to do with them. Nothing! He despises the evil ones.”
“I reckon he despises them so much he’s given them refuge on his land. Maybe he even sends them supper every night.”
“Would you risk a Vindicant curse if the evil ones came to you for hiding? Would you deny them and suffer thereafter plague and rotted crops and tainted water and no kids born to your flocks? Would you?”
Thirbe was too busy thinking about Lea in the clutches of those shadow worshippers to answer.
“My beloved master is angry with Lord Shadrael for selling the girl to the evil ones. So angry he sent Lord Shadrael here for arrest. He said the emperor would order Lord Shadrael to be given a traitor’s execution, and it would be much deserved. I swear to Gault the Most Holy that this is true!”
Thirbe abruptly released Hultul. He wiped clean his dagger point on his knee and sheathed it. No good being horrified, he told himself, pushing down his emotions. If he started thinking about what might be happening to Lea, he’d be unmanned and of no use to her at all. And it was no good taking this information to Commander Pendek, who would find some boneheaded reason for taking no action.
“What is this?” Hultul said, lowering his hands. He blinked about him, his brow knotting in perplexity before he gingerly felt his left eye. Although the cut beneath it was still trickling blood, Thirbe had not blinded him at all. “You have not taken it. You—” He stared at Thirbe in dawning anger. “You tricked me—”
Thirbe held up his amulet, letting it swing from his fingers. “So?”
Hultul rushed at him, but Thirbe gave him a rough shove backward. “Got a job for you,” he said. “I need a guide who can get me to where the Vindicants are hiding out.”
Already Hultul was shaking his head, making a sign of warding with his fingers, and trying to back away. Thirbe grabbed him and shook him as a dog would a rat. “A guide,” he said gruffly. “No tricks or leading me through dusty canyons to nowhere special. Straight to their camp.”
“No, this I cannot do.”
“You want this amulet back?”
&n
bsp; Hultul glared at him. “You prepare for me another trick.”
Thirbe stuffed the amulet into his pocket. “Now, you listen to me, you gutless wabbie,” he said fiercely. “I’ve got your confession that Lord Vordachai’s involved in the girl’s abduction up to his fat jowls—”
“No! I said nothing like that. Nothing!”
“You think the emperor will let Ulinia stand if anything happens to his sister in this rat heap of a province?”
“Always he is against us. Always! He hates us!”
“You think the emperor won’t haul your master before a board of inquiry faster than old Vordachai can spell his name? You think you’ll escape a traitor’s execution yourself? Maybe they’ll make you swallow the slow fire that burns through your entrails, or maybe they’ll just quarter you, but I swear that I’ll eat both your eyes long before they stick your head on the palace gates to rot.”
Hultul gave him a strange look. “I count your threats as nothing. Give back my harnush, and I will guide you as you desire.”
“You’ll get it when the girl is found,” Thirbe replied grimly. “Move!”
“Are you mad? It will be dark soon.”
“Then we ride as far as we can,” Thirbe said, ignoring the temptation of a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. He could not shake the feeling that Lea needed him desperately. “There’s no time to waste.”
Chapter 17
Shadrael walked across the dusty ground where mercenaries were straggling through a drill. The men were poorly equipped, carrying personally owned weapons, including spears, mauls, and swords. Their armor was scanty at best. Using a flat-topped boulder as his vantage point, he watched them blunder about in what should have been an infantry maneuver. His dark gaze instantly picked out the handful of men who executed it correctly.
“Halt!” he shouted.
His voice echoed off the stony ridge behind them, and the men turned around to stare at him.
In the sudden quiet, they stared at each other—recruits and new commander. He sensed someone climbing onto the rock behind him, but did not turn his gaze away from the men.
The Crown Page 17