by Kate Elliott
They rose with shoulders set in shame, carrying the canvas that served as the lord’s shelter.
At the edge of the clearing, the cloak paused and looked back. “Share meat with the prisoners. I’ll know if you don’t. Be generous. Sergeant, I’ll speak with you now.”
He went, and after a bit Yudit slunk out of the shelter and came over to Shai. He left her with the younger children and strode boldly up to the fire.
“Eh! I’m hungry!”
“What?” they laughed. “Going to eat your girlfriends?” But they dared not disobey the lord’s direct order. Each child got cut a strip, not so much to sicken them except for Jolas, who threw up afterward, but even Eska looked better for the day’s bounty of food.
At dusk, the sergeant returned and walked among the soldiers, speaking in such a low voice that Shai could not hear anything. Their voices buzzed afterward, like bees disturbed by smoke. They’ve had news, Shai thought.
Last of all, the sergeant beckoned to Shai. “You’re to come with me,” he said, and called over a pair of soldiers to accompany them. The stream they’d crossed earlier passed through one end of the clearing. With head bowed, Shai followed the sergeant upstream along the bank. On the far shore, water rippled through rocks below a dense growth of pipe-brush. The lord’s shelter had been set up near the water, canvas strung between two trees and staked down on either side. Dena sat on a log outside the shelter with hands folded in her lap and tears flowing down cheeks still rounded with baby fat. The sergeant flung out a hand, and they all stopped. The soldiers grimaced, turning away. The sergeant wiped his brow nervously. None could see what was going on under the shelter, but they could all hear it.
The sounds of a man in rut forced Shai’s mind back to that day in the desert when he had sold Cornflower’s services to the Qin soldiers. Ripe peaches, one man had said: That had been Chaji, and now that Shai thought of it, he realized he’d never liked Chaji, who was mean-spirited and vain. What men had gone for the first chance at Cornflower? The ones he had liked least, truly. The others had had more self-control, or perhaps they’d feared her too much to touch her. Perhaps a few had found the transaction distasteful.
Knowing it was Vali who suffered, Shai found the sounds unbearable. Yet even when he shut his eyes he could not hide from the puffing and panting, a groan of release, the wheezing sigh in the aftermath of pleasure. But truly, a pleasure taken, not shared.
Maybe Mai had been right. Maybe selling Cornflower’s sex to the Qin soldiers had not been an act of prudent economy but one of thoughtless cruelty. He wept silently.
“Open your eyes and look at me.”
Startled, Shai opened his eyes to find himself looking directly at the lord. The man bit his lips, as if he were nervous, or recalling the taste of something sweet.
“You puzzle me, with your dull mind and witless foreign face. Vali says you are the one who told him to request more food for the prisoners.” Perhaps he meant to be intimidating, with a belligerent stare and restless hands so like Shai’s detestable brother Girish, but Shai had faced far more formidable opponents. He had his story and words down cold.
“I’m so hungry, ver. Never get enough to eat. Makes me tired. Mutton was good, though.” He smacked his lips.
“I don’t understand you. I fear there is something I am missing. Best we get you to her. She’ll know what to make of you.” He shuddered, as though by invoking the nameless her, he remembered what fear was, he who obviously need fear nothing. “Sergeant, see our friend the woodcutter does not escape. Meanwhile, I must now return to Olo’osson to scout the plain and the Rice Walk for other remnants of Lord Twilight’s broken army. I knew the plan would come to nothing under that outlander’s incompetent command. Heh. Our lackwit looks something like him, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, lord,” said the sergeant in the tone of a man who is grateful when he is overlooked.
“You and your company must press onward without my guidance.”
“We could wait here for you,” said the sergeant, careful not to look up.
“In some ways this seems a safe enough place, very isolated. But I taste an odd flavor on the air, just out of my reach.” He shook his head, rubbed his fingers together. “I can’t name it. Keep moving. Do not lose the two I favor. You will bring them intact to the army, with the lackwit. If you fail me, I will be sure to make you personally pay for the loss.”
The sergeant kept his gaze lowered as his voice quavered. “Yes, lord. All will be as you command. What of the other prisoners? What is your will with them?”
The lord whistled before replying. “The army needs recruits. Those who are ashamed of what they have done will not wish to escape home. No mercy for those who fall behind.”
His winged horse paced into view, and the guards drew back fearfully. The lord wiped his hands on his trousers as though wiping off sweat. He did not look back as he rode into the dusk.
“Now what, Sergeant?” asked a guard.
“Bring me that girl I like,” said the sergeant curtly, looking irritated.
“Right where the lord sheltered, Sergeant?”
“I’m captain of this troop now, aren’t I?” He sauntered over to the shelter as Vali crawled out. Grabbing the boy by the shoulder, he yanked him out so roughly that the lad sprawled face-first on leaves and muck. “Bring Yudit. She’s my favorite, and I’ll thank you boys not to touch her any longer.”
“Cursed getting above himself, he is,” muttered the first guard. “Just like that.”
The second said, to Shai, “Come on then, you and them.”
Dena held Shai’s hand, still crying, but Vali walked with arms clenched tight against his chest. After a bit, Shai said quietly, “How are you faring, Vali?”
The lad looked in the direction the cloak had ridden away. They saw a light rising above the trees: The horse had flown. “He doesn’t touch us. He just wanks off in his hand.”
The words were a lie, and Shai knew it, and Dena knew it, and the lad knew it. Their silence was their pact. If they must say so to endure it, then let them say so.
“You’ll survive this,” Shai said softly.
The lad caught Shai’s other arm and both children leaned on him as they headed back to camp, guards walking before and behind. They blundered along the stream’s edge in the darkness. Foot slipping, Shai careered into the water, and yelped as cold bit his skin. In the moment of surprised pain, his gaze lifted to the thicket of pipe-brush on the far shore.
Merciful God!
Memory is a ghost that haunts you. He saw within the pipe-brush Cornflower’s face, her pale skin and light hair. She was staring at him.
“Get moving, you clumsy ewe-tupping oaf!” The man slammed him across the back with the haft of his spear.
Shai went down to his knees on the hard stones. Vali gulped down a sob and Dena yelped out a protest, then stifled the cry as the guards cursed at her.
“Here, now,” said Shai quietly. He rose, joints popping. His knees smarted and his back ached. “We’re just moving on, like you said.” To the children, he spoke in a lower voice. “We’ll survive this. Don’t despair.”
When he looked back into the pipe-brush, now behind them, it was too dark to see anything. Anyway, it had only been a trick of his mind.
41
It rained half the night, and twice Avisha woke, sure she heard Mai crying in the adjacent chamber and, in response, Priya’s soothing whisper. Every slightest noise carried within the captain’s house: the raised plank floor, the stout wood pillars, and the strong roof were of highest quality, but until more of the settlement in the Barrens was serviceable, Mai had insisted they make do with canvas walls.
The children slept soundly, crowded close. After the rains died, the air grew close and stifling, so Avisha tied up the entrance to let in air. Standing in a light cotton shift, she sighed in a blissfully cooling breeze. A pair of figures paced the lower porch that wrapped the structure. A face looked up at her.
�
�Early yet, Avisha,” said Chief Tuvi in a voice hoarsened, perhaps, by the early hour.
She hurriedly shrank back into the shadows of the sleeping chamber as the two men—she hadn’t recognized the other one—chuckled, their footfalls soft on the porch as they continued their circuit. Did the man never sleep? He was the captain’s most trusted officer, which explained why he had been sent to the Barrens with the captain’s beloved wife.
Who had woken again.
“I just can’t sleep,” Mai was saying in a low voice. “My back hurts. Every time I close my eyes I think of Shai.”
Avisha dressed as quietly as possible so as not to wake the other women and children. The house had been built on three levels, to accommodate both their living situation and the vagaries of the ground. A walkway wrapped the greater structure, with the main house one step up, and the inner house another two steps farther up, its raised floor constructed around a courtyard with a cistern, an area for a small garden, and foundations dug out where a tower would be built. The kitchen and work area lay on the western edge of the house, and she slipped on sandals and crossed the walkway down into the kitchen yard. A fire burned on the outdoor hearth: Sheyshi was already up, brewing tea.
Avisha fetched a tray and a pair of cups from the pantry. “I’ll take that in.”
“I will do it,” said Sheyshi. “You will go marry and leave. I will stay here.”
Stupid girl!
Aui! She could take in a basin of washing water. She filled a pot from the cistern and heated it on the hearth. By the time she had a pitcher, basin, and cloths ready, Sheyshi was gone and the kitchen women were bustling. Lads were sent to haul water from the spring; rice was washed and readied for cooking. Fish again! But there were fresh spices, shipped in three days ago, to flavor the stew. In town, hammering started up, men getting to work while it was still cool. Although the heavy tray made her arms ache, she paused on the walkway where the view opened over the east. The sun was rising, a blush spread along the watery horizon.
“Need help with that?”
She turned to face Jagi.
“I can carry that in for you.”
“My thanks.” She handed him the tray, which he handled smoothly, the weight nothing to him.
“We’re riding formation today,” he said as she held aside the entry curtain to allow him into the formal room where Mai, looking pale, sat on pillows while Sheyshi offered her tea. “I told Jerad he could help me saddle up and get my armor on. If you’ll allow it.”
“That’s very kind of you. Of course he can go. You’re like a brother to him, truly.”
He flicked a considering glance at her as he set the tray on the table, barely stirring the water. Then he retreated. Face flushed, Avisha waited by the table, wondering if anyone in the room would remark on the comment, on Jagi’s kindness, on anything, indeed, but Mai sipped listlessly. She hadn’t even noticed Avisha come in. Priya swept out from the sleeping chamber.
“Avisha has brought wash water, Mistress,” Priya said, a bit tartly.
Mai glanced up. “Thank you, Vish.”
“Are you well, Mai?” Avisha asked.
“Bring a wet cloth!” snapped Sheyshi. “Why be so slow?”
“No use me sitting here feeling sorry for myself.” Mai got up awkwardly. The fine silk robes she had brought with her from the south no longer fit her, and she had taken to wearing a taloos, which could be wrapped to accommodate any stage of pregnancy. Dark circles hollowed her fine eyes, and after she had finished wiping her face and hands, she stood with the wet cloth dangling unregarded from a hand and stared out the opened curtain toward the sea.
A faint jangle sounded. Puzzled, Mai straightened. Footsteps sounded on the walkway, and a moment later—quite amazingly—an elderly man dressed in the blue traveling cloak and gaudy colors of an envoy of Ilu trotted up into the chamber.
“Here you are, verea,” he said in an amiable voice, as if he were accustomed to entering her chambers every morning, like a favorite uncle. “I heard you were feeling poorly. Not that I have much in the way of healing knowledge or any cunning herbcraft—you’d need a mendicant for that—but I wanted to come tell you that I’ve consulted with various temples and your architect and we’ve come up with a proper siting for seven altars. Simple structures could be erected within the week. Once the altars are in place, there’s no further impediment if you wish to see marriages go forward.”
Chief Tuvi stamped in, sword drawn. “Where did you come from?”
The envoy’s smile was sweet and harmless. “I walked in, ver. Didn’t you give me permission yourself?”
This statement caused the chief to look confused.
Mai stepped forward. “It’s all right, Chief, let him stay. I asked him to come see me when he had news about establishing local temples.”
The chief glanced at Avisha, and she flushed. He was a good-looking man in his own way, if very old, probably as old as her father. But he was formidable and important, and everyone listened to him.
“Will you share tea, Your Holiness?” Mai asked.
“With thanks at your gracious offer.” The man settled easily on a pillow. He indicated the disordered coverlet. “Not sleeping well? A common complaint later in pregnancy, so I am told. Hard to get comfortable, I should think.”
She sighed as she looked at him, as if ready to speak.
“Missing your husband?”
She blushed and looked away. “He is very busy.”
“Yes, indeed.” The envoy frowned. “Very busy.”
“Is something wrong, Your Holiness?”
“Neh, nothing. It’s true enough, with the troubles in Haldia, that Olo’osson must consider how to protect itself.”
“I don’t like the Barrens,” said Mai. “But I must not complain.”
“Why not?” The envoy glanced at Avisha, and she looked away, wondering why his benign gaze seemed so discomfiting.
“Anji would be disappointed in me.”
“Would he?”
Really! thought Avisha. That holy man ought to know better than to grind his finger into an open sore!
“There is plenty for me to do,” said Mai. “Anyway, if I mope, then the baby will have a sullen personality.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s what Grandmother always said to her sons’ wives. Although how it would explain Uncle Girish’s cruel ways, or Uncle Shai’s silence—I don’t suppose Grandmother thought of that when she was criticizing the others, did she?” Cheered by this thought, Mai accepted the teapot from Priya and with dainty gestures poured four cups.
“Uncle Girish, eh?”
“Let’s not talk about him. He’s dead now, anyway.” She offered him the first cup, which he took. She then offered Chief Tuvi a cup, and she and Priya picked up the third and fourth. With a nod from Mai, they all drank. Avisha smelled the sharp tang, and her mouth watered.
“More?” Mai asked.
“With thanks.” The envoy returned the cup to her hand. She smiled at him as she received it. “You mentioned another uncle, Uncle Shai, eh?”
He spoke pleasantly, but Chief Tuvi touched the hilt of his sword, and Avisha took a step toward Mai as if a change in the air impelled her motion.
“Aiyi!” Mai passed a hand over her eyes and seemed on the verge of tears. “Probably dead, too. It’s my fault.”
Priya tucked a hand under Mai’s elbow and firmly settled her on a pillow.
“How so?” asked the envoy as gently as a feather brushes.
Tears began to fall, some captured in the cup held in her hands. “There came a demon. A ghost.” She shook her head. “A ghost turned into a demon, maybe. She rode into our compound in Olossi and killed two of the soldiers. Then I didn’t mean to tell her but I did, so now she’s gone after Shai.”
“North,” muttered the envoy.
“North,” she echoed, or maybe he had echoed her.
Avisha shivered.
“And then I heard some days ago—that
very day I met you at the gate, Your Holiness—that Shai had been attacked by bandits.”
“Where did that happen?”
“Near the town of Horn. That’s where the ring belonging to my Uncle Hari was found.” Her shoulders slumped. The cup rolled out of limp hands, and Sheyshi deftly caught it as Mai covered her eyes. “What if Shai is dead?”
The envoy had the kind of cheerful modest demeanor that makes the day more pleasant when he walks into your shop and asks to purchase braid and rope. Yet beneath all lay a disquieting expression, hard to fathom.
He looked at Avisha, eyebrow cocked as if in a question.
Unbidden, words rose. “I miss my father,” she whispered, but no one was listening. No one but him. His gentle smile lingered as he looked toward the door.
“Chief!”
Tuvi hurried outside. Mai looked up. Feet clattered on the walkway as male voices rose in greeting. The captain strode in, followed by guards and the handsome reeve, who halted to stare at the envoy of Ilu.
“Anji!”
The captain crossed to Mai, took both her wrists in his hands, and frowned as he examined her wan face. “Tuvi sent word you were not feeling well.”
For a moment he matched gaze to gaze with the envoy, and his brow furrowed as if the captain was trying to place the man. Then he nodded at Tuvi.
“Everyone out,” said the chief.
The chamber cleared with a bit of confusion, people getting in the way, Sheyshi running out and then running back in for the tea things and impeding the exit of others as she fussed. Avisha retreated to the walkway, wondered if she should collect the basin and pitcher, and then saw the reeve—marshal of Argent Hall, a very important man!—beckon to her.
Biting her lower lip, she went to him.
“I can’t recall your name. I’m Marshal Joss. We met in the Soha Hills.”