She gave them all a cold stare. “Two Kiren, Tsolyani. Then my companions join me.” She departed, the Gaichurt's bewildered emissaries trailing along behind.
“And now, Hereksa?” Saina asked.
A very good question indeed.
“The Yan Koryani woman is right, you know,” Chunatl Dikkuna said. “The High General cannot refuse the Gaichun's direct command. If she is wanted badly enough, he may breach all etiquette by ordering her and her people brought to him. After that. ...”
“We would not see them again,” Horusel finished.
Trinesh fumbled with the buckles of the unfamiliar armor Lord Tekkuren had given him. “We must have her. That is firm.” He held out a hand, palm up, to silence any debate. “The High General and the Gaichun want her because of their feud and their fear that she may have something to do with the pirates’ invasion. We Tsolyani need her for different reasons. She may be able to work us harm here if she is free and in league with some Yan Koryani mission. Moreover, she might wheedle the Gaichun into letting her reach the tubeway car; she then returns to Fortress Ninu’ur—or to Yan Kor—to lead her legions against ours. If that happens, we fail as soldiers: we are shamed and ignoble. If we bring her back, we are heroes, and the Fetal Throne rewards us.”
“Little likelihood of her getting home from here!” Horusel snorted. “Let all three Yan Koryani hide under the Gaichun's kilt. When this Captain Harchar comes, we’ll persuade him to aid us. They're as much danger to him as to us. If he has the wits of a Shqa-beetle, he’ll help.”
“How do you know?” Chekkuru cried. “The man may be a tyrant whose followers will slaughter all parties indiscriminately. Or he may already be in the pay of the Baron Aid. Or she may so gull him with her pretty face that he chooses her over us!”
“Or she may be able to do something with the boy—and this ‘Aluja’—to defeat the pirate!” Saina added.
“Any one of those Skeins bodes ill for us,” Trinesh said. “I say we act now, on the side of this Lord Tekkuren Chaishyani, who has at least befriended us. We are soldiers; Captain Harchar, whoever he is, will recognize that and desire our assistance in this assassins’ paradise. Let us aid him in advance: seize the Yan Koryani so that the Gaichun cannot employ them against him!”
Chunatl Dikkuna clutched at his shaven pate. “I cannot allow any action unless the High General commands.”
“The Yan Koryani are our prisoners—rebels against Ganga. Tell him that.”
Horusel was unconvinced. “Let them go, I say. We can’t hold them against the Gaichun. We’re outnumbered, and High General Tekkuren has neither troops nor power. Free, they can do us little injury here in Mihallu, nor is there any way for them to return to Yan Kor. We can always retake them if this Harchar proves congenial, but hanging onto them now is like grasping a fistful of fire-ants.” He looked to Dineva and Chekkuru for support. “If you want the truth, our best course would be to slay the girl and the nonhuman beast and be done! Then give the so-noble Lady—and her princeling—the same treatment when next we see them!”
This was no time for a breakdown of command. Trinesh thrust out a fist and counted on his fingers. “ ‘Every soldier’s cart has four wheels: gold, promotion, glory, and more gold.’ We gain all four by taking this Yan Koryani virago back with us. If we must remain in Mihallu, then Lord Tekkuren is best suited to roll our cart for us. He wants the Yan Koryani held—not dead! Save your massacres for the battlefield!”
“The Hereksa is right,” Saina declared. She stood up. “Why not move the girl and the NininyaP. Imprison them elsewhere as hostages against the Lady’s return?” She whirled upon Chunatl. “Some hidden dungeon, man—in your Ochu-na—with the High General’s consent as soon as you can get it, naturally.”
“Quick.” She looked to Trinesh for agreement.
Chekkuru hiVriddi stepped forward to speak. He had to be stopped. It was likely that he would side with the Lady Deq Dimani: he had already made his sympathies for his distant kinsmen on the Isle of Vridu all too plain. For Chekkuru, ties of blood and religion took precedence over national loyalty, money, glory, and probably everything else. Trinesh made a sharp gesture to cut him off. “Saina’s idea is best,” he said. “Well, Chunatl Dikkuna?”
The Salarvyani wavered.
“The Gaichun's people will soon be at the gate,” Trinesh continued. “We save the High General’s guests from his enemy the Gaichun, a man who will swiftly either be unemployed or a rebel against Ganga. Come, priest, you must know of some hidey-hole where we can keep the girl and the Nininyall It is in your master’s interest!” He grinned and parroted the Salarvyani’s own words. “ ‘Lord Tekkuren will be magnanimous. If you fail, he will be otherwise.’ ”
“There is a place. ...”
“We go. Arjasu, Mejjai, get the Lady Jai. Horusel, Chosun, see to the Nininyal. Saina, stay close to Chunatl. Tse’e— Lord—and you, Chekkuru, come with me. Collect your gear.”
Horusel and Chekkuru exchanged glances, but the others scattered to obey. Then they, too, went to retrieve their belongings. This was not the time for rebellion.
Tse’e laid a hand upon his arm. “No injury to the girl—or to Thu’n!”
“Not unless need be.” He snatched up the silvered helmet Lord Tekkuren had gifted him and slashed off its long plumes.
Less ornament and it would make a serviceable battle-helm. “Both are valuable to us—and my clan-elders never taught me that it was noble to slay helpless women and scholars.” He did not mention the satisfaction it gave him to frustrate Horusel and Chekkuru hiVriddi—nor, his little inner voice pointed out, his odd reluctance to see the Lady Jai Chasa Vedlan come to harm.
“Now!” Chosun cried. Wood cracked, hinges squealed, and Trinesh heard the Nininyal yelp a protest. No sound came from the Lady Jai’s room. Trinesh was relieved to see her presently emerge between Aijasu and Mejjai, as composed as ever. She said nothing.
“Here,” Chunatl panted from the corridor. The panel leading into the Ochurn hung ajar, and he waved them into the darkness.
Judging from their stumbling, clattering, cursing progress, their second trip through the Ochuna would soon be table gossip throughout Ninue and probably the rest of Mihallu as well. There was no help for the racket.
Two hundred and twenty-three,” Chunatl counted off the green-glowing discs. “We turn here. A line of ft three, then twelve, then a lever.” Trinesh heard the rustle of the ebon fungus, an exclamation as the beetles inhabiting it avenged the intrusion, and then a sighing noise. A whisper of a breeze brushed icy fingertips across his cheek.
“A hall, five discs, a door to the right—” Something clanked and chattered: a chain? ‘ ‘This chamber is not known to many. Inside, Tsolyani.”
He stood aside to let them pass. Three paces, and Trinesh ran headlong into a bristly wall that crackled and scratched. The Short Tinur fungus! It was less than a finger-breadth deep, and he bumped his nose upon rough stone. He gagged, backed into Saina, and spat. A thing like a hot needle jabbed his arm, doubtless one of the invisible beetles. He jerked away and struck Arjasu’s crossbow. The man swore; he had carried it loaded, and the quarrel must have been jarred from its groove. Others banged into them both.
Hubbub. Then stillness.
“Chunatl? Priest?” That was Tse’e.
“I am here.” The reply came, muffled and indistinct, from behind them.
“Where in Lord Vimuhla’s incandescent Paradise—?”
“Outside, You are within. The door is locked.” Metal clanged again.
“Traitor!” Chekkuru hiVriddi screeched. “Perverted slave of the hairy-bellied whore-goddess of Salarvya! Heretic! Is this how you repay our aid? Our affection?” Trinesh heard Dineva attempting to quiet him.
Someone kicked and thumped the door; it sounded distressingly solid,
“Forgive me,” Chunatl pleaded. “You are all safe here, Tsolyani and Yan Koryani alike. I told you that I must consult the High General—he must say what to do. You
r discomfiture will not last long. As soon as the danger is past, the Yan Koryani woman returned, and the Gaichun's agents frustrated, you will be released—taken to some better refuge, given freedom, kindnesses, and dignities once again.” They heard his ragged wheezing. “Be patient, Tsolyani, and think not too harshly of me. What I do is for the best.”
“Ohe, for you, of course!” Dineva spat.
He made no reply. The pit-pat of his slippers echoed away down the corridor.
“A light.” Trinesh fumed. “Dineva?” She always had flint and tinder in her belt-pouch.
A spark flared, and flame sprang up.
Tse’e’s shadow blocked off the flickering glow. “Here: a strip from the scroll I had brought to study.”
Their prison measured about five paces square. One of the side walls contained a second door, smaller than that by which they had entered. Chosun pushed at this, and it opened to reveal a cubicle no more than two paces wide and perhaps three long. The walls and floor sparkled, shimmered, and surged with a myriad tiny movements. The big man let out a bleat and backed away. The motion subsided as water drains down into sand, and they looked only at Shon Tinur fungus.
“Beetles!” Saina shuddered. “The place is alive with beetles!”
The faint breeze blew from within the second cell, where a jagged hole in the far wall led off into blackness. Mejjai stooped to see, then exclaimed, “Hoi, Hereksal Bones. Someone tried to escape—” He called for the light, knelt, and jumped up again swearing in the rustic accents of western Tsolyanu. “Beettles! Kneel down, and they’re over your boots and into your legs like needles!” He cursed again; then: “Poor wretch. Got a stone out of the wall. Crawled through. Beetles ate him.”
So much for the fate of the unknown prisoner.
“Back out,” Trinesh ordered. “Here, by me. Scrape the fungus off this wall,, off the floor around us. Use your swords—armor—anything hard. Don’t put your hands in the stuff!”
At last they stood in a cleared space by the outer door, out of breath but only slightly bitten. Trinesh put the Lady Jai, Tse’e, and Thu’n into the midst of the party; their footgear was of little use against the insects.
They waited.
The light went out, but Trinesh ordered the rest of the scroll saved for later. Rustlings filled the darkness. Someone squeaked and batted furiously at an unseen tormentor. Trinesh set Chosun, Arjasu, and Horusel to digging and hacking at the door. They reported slow progress.
They waited again. Occasionally they stamped their feet, and the clicking, buzzing noises subsided. When they stood still the insects swarmed back to the attack.
Sitting or lying down was impossible. The best course was a close huddle, with those on the perimeter tramping and kicking just often enough to discourage the little monsters. This could not last; fatigue, thirst, and plain, unadorned fear would eventually take their toll.
Chunatl Dikkuna had much to answer for, whatever his motives.
More waiting, immeasurable as the wind, cold as the abysses of the Flame Lord’s deepest hells. Phantoms and colors appeared before Trinesh’ eyes against the sable backdrop; when he blinked they became coruscations of fire, dancing ghosts, all of the terrors of a child haunted by the dark. He tried to think of Tumissa’s warm sunlight, the faces of his clan-sisters, home. . . ,
He was startled out of his reverie. Something touched his shoulder, crept across the plates of the High General’s fancy dress-cuirass, and fumbled at his cheek. He reached up instinctively and caught a hand; the fingers were slender and soft: a woman’s. Dineva? Saina? No, their hands were callused.
Whether by accident or design, it must be the Lady Jai. Was it too much to hope that she desired this contact?
The door-chain rattled, and the hand was snatched away.
Light poured in upon them.
It was not Chunatl Dikkuna. Torchlight made a cascade of gold of the swinging chain trappings of the masked interpreter Trinesh had seen in the Gaichun's audience hall. Behind the curve of his beast-mask they glimpsed the barbuta-helmets and inlaid armor of the Governor’s household guard.
“Ohe.” The translator tilted his head back to see. “Point your crank-sticks somewhere else!” The man spoke like a slave, a southerner, probably from the stews of Jakalla. “Crank-stick” was Tsolyani army slang for any crossbow, whether cocked with a lever, a stirrup, or a winch.
Arjasu sidled over to one wall, Mejjai to the other. They needed no orders.
The Lady Deq Dimani had won, then. Trinesh’ heart sank. She had persuaded the Gaichun to send a real escort this time, and they were likely her prisoners. Horusel made as though to seize Thu’n but found Tse’e in his path. The Lady Jai stood next to Trinesh, an easy hostage. No need to threaten harm to her—yet.
“Here, now, friends!” the interpreter said in his deep, rough voice. “ ‘Hasty spoils the spell,’ as the magickers sayr No swords. No crossbows. No stick-me-quick daggers!” Brawny arms emerged through the curtain of delicate chains hanging from the collar around his neck. His hands were open, the fingers stubby and knobbed. There were old, white scars upon his wrists: the man had indeed been a felon or a slave.
“Better,” he said. “Here you see Qkkuru the translator, servant and personal buggerer to the dung-plastered Gaichun of Mihallu. A commoner once but now as mighty as a king in this outhouse of a country!”
Trinesh said, “I am Trinesh hiKetkolel, Hereksa of the Legion of the Storm of Fire. My clan is Red Mountain.” “Fine folk. Near the top of the middle and just below the lowest of the top.” The assessment was exactly correct, but the man’s genial tone was subtly insulting. In Tsolyanu one did not speak ill of another’s clan, not unless one was prepared to fight a duel or pay Shamtla-compensation.
“Get on with your task,” Trinesh growled stiffly. “Do we fight these pretty little soldiers you bring? Let us be at it!” “Fight?” Okkuru jingled his chain harness. The gems of his dragon-mask twinkled scarlet and amber. “If you like. But first talk to my most noble, impotent, worm-prick master here.” He sniggered. “I call the dungball every obscenity I can imagine and tell him they’re Engsvanyali honorifics. At this moment he’s cowering behind me around the comer, dribbling brown into his shoes and scared out of his perverted wits. Speak sweetly to him, and mayhap there’ll be no call for blades and bolts.”
“Let him come forth. We offer no harm.”
Arjasu and Mejjai lowered their weapons, and the others stood back. Trinesh noted that Saina had taken a stance just behind the Lady Jai; Horusel and Dineva guarded Thu’n. He had no idea how valuable the pair would be as hostages if their captors had not been sent by the Lady Deq Dimani. They might be no more than feeble white counters upon the Den-den board. Yet any play was worth a try.
The translator shuffled aside with an elaborate genuflection, and they gazed upon Prince Tenggutla Dayyar.
“Greet him with all honor,” Trinesh muttered. “I think we are about to meet a new player.” He bowed and then, as an afterthought, gave the youth a military salute. That ought to please him!
The Prince squinted at them, rubbed his hooked beak with a long fingernail, and lisped something in singing Tka Mihalli. The blue labret between his lower lip and his chin probably interfered with his speech. Such uncomfortable jewelry had not been the fashion for thousands of years.
“His mother was a raddled whore, his father a Salarvyani catamite who cuckolded the Gaichun while he was busy with little boys,” the translator proclaimed in richly ceremonial tones. “He says welcome.”
“What does he want?” It was cold, and his insect bites stung. Trinesh would suffer no more formalities—and this Okkuru’s jibes at the expense of his betters were growing irksome. At home such a cheeky slave would have been marched off to the market to be sold as field labor by now! He sensed that Chekkuru and probably Tse’e felt the same.
“La, he’ll get to it. It takes this get of a mold-siime's mother a full four Kiren to perfume his pretty curls each morning.”
The Prince spoke, and Okkuru said, “He wants an agreement with you.”
“Us? What can we do for him?”
“Why, get your honorable selves out of his country. He has enough troubles as it is: kill off his father, his mother, and his aunt; maneuver the High General into open treason;
and fiddle the priesthoods until they end either as his puppets or slaughtered. He wants no interference from Ganga, or from the Yan Yoryani boy, who’s become a sort of pet in the Gaichun's household, or from the Yan Koryani princess—” “Or from Captain Harchar, I presume,” Tse’e said.
“None likely from that quarter,” Okkuru chortled. “The last we heard from Arbala, the brave pirates had hopped back aboard their boat and left.”
“What?” Chekkuru cried. Everyone echoed him, even Mejjai.
“Oh, ai. The noble Prince here had his agents tell the ruffian just how far it was to Ninue. All the dangers along the way. The mighty armies that would squash his hundred sailor lads as you’d crash a nest of S/z^a-beetles. The poisons, the plots, the wicked folk of Mihallu—in league, naturally, with the ancient Mihalli, the nonhuman monsters who dwelt here before the Priestkings came. Ohe, the great Captain Harchar took a day or two to loot Arbala—stinking, hairy hole—and then fled with his little twig quivering betwixt his legs. Likely he’s off plundering easier ports by now.”
“So the great invasion is over. Does the Gaichun know?” “Not likely. The Prince pays the messengers better than his dear father ever did.”
Trinesh hissed between his teeth. “And we are inconveniently in the Prince’s way. Why not kill us where we stand?”
“Now, now, Lord.” Okkuru strove to sound reassuring. “He wants you gone without a fuss. The Prince thinks you’re from Ganga, and he would have no trouble with the Priestkings—no legions pouring up out of the tubeway car to haul him off to explain why their emissaries vanished. ’ ’
M A R Barker - [Tekumel- The Empire of the Petal Throne 01] Page 21