Rhuan snapped his head around to stare at the farmsteader, who belatedly recalled he was not to speak of such things to the others, yet, as it could well lead to questions Rhuan didn’t wish asked.
“What road?” Bethid asked, even as Ilona put her own unspoken question into her eyes as she turned toward Rhuan.
He merely shrugged. “I think he meant a road, not the road. And I agree that it would be most helpful were there a safe road through Alisanos,” he cast a hard glance the farmsteader’s way, “but there isn’t one. Much too dangerous to risk ourselves forcing a way through the deepwood.”
Ilona caught a subtle undertone to Rhuan’s statement. She was about to lean sideways and ask him a quiet question, but his glance at her told her no.
Jorda said, “We know that Alisanos surrounds us except for one opening, relatively narrow, like the neck of a bottle. It forces a large party to ride strung out, not bunched. And that gives us an advantage where the Hecari are concerned.” He looked to Brodhi. “How long is the opening? How long would the warriors—or anyone, actually—remain hemmed in?”
Brodhi shook his head. “Who can say? It depends on how quickly the mount, or the person’s feet, is able to move.”
“One hundred paces?” Jorda asked, annoyed. “Two hundred? More? Surely you can estimate.”
Brodhi did not speak at once but lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Until it’s walked, we can’t know, only guess. Perhaps the responsibility of counting should be Rhuan’s task in addition to setting out markers.”
“Unwise,” Rhuan countered at once. “Cairn markers throughout the neck of a bottle would identify what’s safe, and what’s not. We should not give the Hecari any information, visible or otherwise, that divulges such things.”
“Then how do we get through?” Naiya asked.
It was Bethid who answered. Ilona reflected that a courier should have sound knowledge of such things. “There is no recognizable track yet, but I should think staying in the middle—keeping the deepwood’s edges equidistant from one another—would serve. Brodhi and those warriors came through without harm.”
A flicker of lightning and resultant thunder momentarily stopped the discussion until Davyn raised his voice over pouring rain. “It’s all well and good to discuss the merits of bottling up the Hecari,” Davyn interjected, “but I suspect you have forgotten the reverse of that; a narrow pathway such as you describe could just as well keep us in.”
Jorda smoothed his beard. “A road through Alisanos from here would be most helpful; unfortunately, it’s also impossible. Who could survive to build it in Alisanos? But as before, we will post watchers, with runners bringing warning if Hecari approach.” He paused, nodding at the Sister. “I understand your fear. It’s not misplaced. It will take time to sort out what must be done and when. We know the Hecari will come. We merely have no knowledge of when.”
“Brodhi might be able to find out,” Rhuan suggested. “He reports directly to the warlord, rather than the Guildhall, because he of all the couriers is not Sancorran. The only knowledge the Hecari have of this particular settlement is what Brodhi tells the warlord.”
Naiya’s challenge was delicate, with careful inflection. “They found us before.”
Rhuan leaned forward against the table, resting forearms upon the surface. “But Alisanos has moved. The terrain in this area is now completely different. It’s true a culling party might find their way here, but they’ve never grappled with Alisanos.” He glanced at Brodhi. “You can shape the truth with falsehood.”
Brodhi was most annoyed, Ilona saw. He wore his habitual mask, but his eyes gave him away. Such enmity, she reflected, between close kin. They were alone in the world save for one another, Rhuan and Brodhi, but their hearts were completely different. When she had briefly read Rhuan’s palm on the night they met, she had seen maelstrom. She wondered what Brodhi’s hand would tell her and knew she would never see it.
“I would tell lies to the warlord,” Bethid said pointedly, and then added in dramatic tones, “but a woman would never be admitted to his presence.”
Ilona smiled to herself. Clever Bethid. And it was wholly effective in prompting Brodhi’s response.
The courier shrugged. “Yes, he will listen to me. I told him about Alisanos. He sent four warriors to be certain what I said was true. I will now have to explain that the deepwood took them, not a mismatched assemblage of karavaners and tent-folk.”
“Organized assemblage,” Bethid countered.
The idea, the knowledge, the vision unfolded in Ilona’s mind so clearly, so abruptly, at first all she could do was blink as her lips parted. Then a twinge of understanding, of anticipation, sent a faint shiver through her body. “Could we use Alisanos,” she began, “to rid us of Hecari?” She glanced at the faces turned her way. “Could they be led to the deepwood and enter it on their own?”
Davyn straightened sharply on his stool and set the tankard down with a thunk. He said, with a note of discovery, “If so, we might stay in Sancorra. Return to our homes, if any remain.” His blue eyes shone and color seeped into his face, easing tension and weariness. “We could all go home. Or build new homes, with no fear of Hecari.” He looked at Rhuan. “What if we built a road? A false road that would draw the attention of the Hecari. They could follow it, thinking folk are hiding, only to be swallowed by Alisanos.”
“And who could build it?” Brodhi asked in an acerbic tone. “Who risks being taken by Alisanos while in the midst of building a road, even if it’s false? There is no safe way through Alisanos; it’s a waste of time to even discuss it. Besides, the Hecari are too many.” He shot a glance at Rhuan. “How do you think they were able to take three provinces so swiftly, so completely? They sweep the plains like an ocean. Many of us drown.”
Ilona arched her brows in surprise. Brodhi had said us. She looked at Rhuan, who had caught the word as well. He smiled crookedly and leaned close to whisper, “There may be hope for him yet.”
Ilona whispered back, “Do you truly believe that?”
“Well,” he said, “no. But it’s still an improvement.”
Davyn’s voice was confident, now that hope had been retrieved. “But we could be rid of some of the Hecari. Is it not worthwhile to let Alisanos kill them, no matter the number? One less, two less, twenty less . . . well worth it, I say.”
Brodhi shook his head. “You are a fool. What do you think will happen when warriors begin to regularly disappear? I am to report to the warlord—”
Abruptly the candlelight was dwarfed by a sustained series of blinding flashes outside the tent, followed by an enormous crack of thunder. Everyone in the ale-tent jumped. Ilona slapped a hand over her heart. “Sweet Mother . . . !”
The two bars of Jorda’s Summoner rolled together, producing a chime muted by wood planks. Mikal glanced upward, assessing the central tent pole with one squinted eye. Canvas trembled beneath the onslaught of rain. Naiya, closest to the door flaps, moved forward hastily to avoid rain spray that made its way through the gaps. Ilona noticed that the first tendrils of water crept their way inside beneath the hem of the door flaps.
As the thunder died out, Bethid resumed. “As we’ve already said, Brodhi will report to the warlord and tell him whatever serves us best.”
Had Ilona not been looking directly at Brodhi, she would have missed the faint flicker of red in his eyes. He was most displeased with Bethid. But before he could respond, Darmuth spoke up.
“It’s worth doing,” he said lightly. “After all, you’re Shoia, Brodhi. You can afford to lose a few lives.”
Ilona nearly laughed at the cheerfully sly expression on Darmuth’s face. Baiting Brodhi, she discovered, had its own measure of amusement.
“Could you do that?” Naiya asked of Brodhi. “Could you control the warlord’s actions by giving him lies?”
“
No. He’s not a fool. He is clever, arrogant, ruthless, and he knows how to manipulate men.”
“Sounds rather like you,” Rhuan observed dryly. He grinned as Brodhi shot him a dark glance. “Aren’t you cleverer than he? He’s human, after all; surely you—a Shoia—could manipulate him.”
Always the emphasis on Shoia, Ilona noted, as if it had become a private jest among those who knew of the pretense. Which struck her as odd, because apparently she was Shoia. And realization reasserted itself: Blessed Mother, I have seven lives! No. Six. Rhuan’s father, Alario, had already stolen one.
Ilona forcibly pulled her attention back to the matters at hand, which happened to be talking Brodhi into feeding lies to the warlord. She nodded, affecting innocence, “Of course you are cleverer than he, Brodhi. I’m sure of it. And not necessarily because you’re Shoia . . .” She let it trail off suggestively. “but because you’re, well . . . you.”
Brodhi knew very well what she meant. The alteration of a single word: Shoia, in front of the others, in place of dioscuri. She saw it in his eyes, in the tensing of his face. “None of you has met the warlord,” he said sharply. “You have no idea of what he is capable.”
“Oh, I think we do.” Davyn threw crumbled bread back onto the platter for emphasis. “He is capable of destroying a province. Three provinces. Many of us decided to leave, to run away, in effect—and I include myself among them—rather than face his warriors. But now he squats in Cardatha. He can’t, by himself, keep track of one province, let alone three. He depends and acts on information brought to him by his warriors and, apparently, by Brodhi. Purposeful false information might give us an advantage, give us time to prepare.”
“That’s exactly what I have proposed,” Bethid said, slicing more cheese. “Couriers come and go freely; we might as well be invisible, because we are expected to come and go. Couriers worth our trust, committed men, can also carry word of the warlord’s plans so people may be prepared. Information is vital; there would be no Guild without it.” She gestured toward Timmon and Alorn at the same table. Just as she began to place the cheese into her mouth, she said, “We’ve already discussed it, in fact, the four of us here.”
Lightning again flashed outside the tent, followed almost immediately by thunder that obliterated speech. Ilona winced. Until the thunder faded, no one spoke; then Brodhi said frigidly, “I am not privy to the warlord’s plans. Nor are any of you.”
“There are ways to make ourselves so,” Rhuan said lightly, and as Brodhi glared at him, Darmuth’s grin stretched wide, displaying the gemstone drilled into one of his teeth.
Ilona was as mystified as anyone else, save for Rhuan, Brodhi, and Darmuth himself, all of whom appeared to be talking of something specific. She opened her mouth to ask why Darmuth could do what others could not, but a pointed glance from Rhuan and a slight shake of his head suggested she keep silent. And so she did but resolved that Rhuan had better provide details when they were away from others.
“Can it be done?” Bethid had to raise her voice over the noise of heavy rain. “Whatever it is that you’re talking about, I’m assuming it concerns a means of learning the warlord’s plans.”
Darmuth’s grin renewed itself. “Oh, it can be done.”
“How?” Jorda asked sharply. “And, if so, why has it not been done before?”
“Because no one thought of it before,” Rhuan said wryly, then sobered. “And that I will lay at the foot of fear, because the Hecari have trained us to fear. But circumstances have changed now because of Alisanos; this is no longer the transient, temporary settlement that drew the culling party. And there is change, too, because of the four warriors Brodhi brought here. The warlord knows that Alisanos exists.” He looked steadily at Brodhi, shredding bread. “There was no choice, of course; you had to tell him. But now that he does know, we are likely in more danger than before. I think it wouldn’t be just a decimation, next time the Hecari come, but a massacre.”
Ilona did not need to read hands to sense the tension between Rhuan and his cousin. Their gazes were locked, precursor to what, she could not know, but she did know neither would give ground.
Unless she made them.
She raised her voice over the pounding of rain on sagging canvas overhead. “We all of us know how dangerous is Alisanos. But the warlord doesn’t. He sent only four warriors.” She caught Brodhi’s eye, breaking the unspoken challenge between him and Rhuan. “If he truly believed what you told him of the deepwood, would he not have sent more?”
“Four Hecari warriors is not a token number,” Brodhi answered. “Four Hecari can account for far more than four of us.”
“But they didn’t,” Ilona said. “We killed them when they came. We killed them.”
The Sister, Naiya, resettled her wrap. “If we are not to travel because of the monsoon, what about the Hecari? Will they all stay in Cardatha like good little chicks seeking shelter beneath the hen?”
Rhuan smiled. “And that brings us back to the beginning. We need to know the warlord’s mind. That can be aided by Darmuth.”
Darmuth shrugged. “First we will have to prepare. And it would perhaps be best if none of you know anything about how we will do it, should Hecari come here and ask. Though their habit is to kill, rather than to ask.”
It did not satisfy Jorda, Ilona knew, looking at his stern, bearded face. Mikal, too, was troubled. Jorda might ask no more questions in front of others, but elsewhere, oh yes. And Rhuan would be his target.
“Well,” Naiya said quietly, “I can offer aid . . . my two Sisters and I are skilled at needlework. If you bring back clothing-weight canvas as well as what else you need, we can fashion weather garb.”
Without glancing at faces, Ilona knew exactly what the men were thinking. She wanted to say something, to remind them of manners, but the Sister did it for her.
Naiya’s mouth twisted briefly in acknowledgment. “Well. We must fill the time not spent in bed with something, mustn’t we?”
The farmsteader had the grace to looked ashamed, staring at the tabletop rather than at Naiya, and Ilona wondered what image his mind had painted as the Sister spoke.
Chapter 10
EVEN TO HERSELF, her voice sounded strange. “Gillan . . . Gillan, see to Meggie.”
Oh, Mother. Meggie.
Audrun wiped the back of her hand against her mouth, spat out the residual taste of vomit, and from her sprawled position upon the paving stones, from behind a lock of tangled, crusty hair, she looked up into the face of the primary. And it was enough, more than enough, to goad her into motion.
She gathered herself, gathered her aching, battered body, and thrust herself to her feet. She braced them apart so she would not fall. With a great effort she stilled her trembling and stared up into his face, meeting arrogance with a powerful pride. She knew very well what she risked; she also knew she had to do it. For the sake of her children. For Meggie.
Though several sentences filled her mouth, she spoke none of them. Not in anger, nor in fear. She bit them back, swallowed them down, and straightened the body that wished to hunch in pain. She was no primary, with power at her beckoning. She was merely a woman, a human woman, a mother. And in this moment, such was enough, entirely enough.
Beneath the double suns Audrun faced Karadath. She put everything she wished to say into her eyes. She gave him defiance. She confronted. She made him truly see her, to know that she was strong enough, no matter the condition of her body, to take any assault, by word or by violence, any assault at all, that he wished to bestow upon her.
The words in her mind said most clearly: I defy you. I deny you. And he heard them perfectly well, despite the fact she did not speak them.
Karadath smiled. He turned and reached out swiftly, so swiftly, to grab a fistful of Ellica’s tangled hair. By it, he yanked her close. She cried out in shock and fear, clutching the sap
ling even as her head was forcibly tilted. Tears ran down her sun-flushed face.
“This one is of an age,” he said, “to be bred.”
Audrun knew she dared not hesitate lest she give him a victory, or show him weakness. “Which is the better wager,” she asked evenly, “to provide a child? A woman who’s carried five to term and beyond, or a girl whose courses have not yet begun?” Startlement passed through Ellica’s eyes, but she faced her mother, not Karadath, and he didn’t see it. “So, it comes to me,” Audrun said, “after all.”
BECAUSE OF THE storm, almost no one wished to depart Mikal’s tent. Brodhi left, not unexpectedly, and the Sister, pulling her wrap up onto her head before ducking out the door flap. But everyone else stayed put. Mikal served more ale, waving away payment. Rhuan rose, tankard in hand, and strolled idly over to Darmuth’s table. He bent down just beside Darmuth’s shoulder, taking care to keep his voice low. “I assume Ferize will accompany you?”
Darmuth smiled. “She will enjoy the challenge.”
“Then you can do this? And survive to talk about it?”
Darmuth shrugged. “Too many variables to predict. Emulation will be effective for a short time, but we can’t truly be Hecari, so we dare not stay long. Remember, Ferize and I, unlike you, can be killed in this world. Permanently.”
Rhuan hooked a stool over with his foot and sat down facing Darmuth. “We need information. We need knowledge of the warlord’s plans.”
“Are you trying to talk me into it, or yourself?”
Rhuan planted an elbow on the table and scratched at his hairline. “It was easy to say when in the midst of the discussion. Perhaps it isn’t such a good idea after all.”
“Of course it’s not a good idea. But it’s the only one we have, is it not?” Darmuth ran the palm of his hand over his shaven skull, ridding it of the last sheen of moisture. “It’s worth trying. If it fails, we haven’t lost anything . . . and be quite certain Ferize and I will contrive whatever it takes to remain alive.”
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