Steelflower

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Quiet, I replied. I am negotiating.

  “So.” Rikyat settled himself. He scooped up his eating picks and took a bite from a dish of fried stretchlegs, and I did too. The others waited until I nodded, and began eating as well. Janaire scanned the interior of the tent, her dark lovely eyes wide as she took in the gold hangings and silk swathes. I saw Rik’s gaze settle on her and I reached out with my boot to tap at his knee.

  “Forget it. She is wedded to the long-faced one.” I watched Rik’s face fall.

  “Pity. So you guess what I am about.”

  “You are in rebellion.” I picked up a stretchleg, bit into it delicately, chewed. He had a good cook, at least. “What brought this to pass?”

  ‘“Azkillian.” Rik’s lip curled. “Raising taxes on staples. Riots in the interior, and the temples are closing their doors. He is hiring mercenaries. Planning an offensive on Pesh. Can you believe it?”

  “I guessed when I heard the news of the taxes on rice, flour and salt. And the lowering of tariffs—metal, leather, liquor. Just what one needs for a fresh offensive.”

  “Should have known you would guess, Kaahai. Always that sharp mind of yours.” He picked up a bowl of rice, and we began in earnest.

  “So why were you offering a reward for someone to carry a message to me? Yes, I heard. I can only guess it has something to do with rebellion.” I did not speak of the Blue Hand. If twas common knowledge that he was asking for me, and he was in rebellion, no wonder a Hand would be sent to dispatch me. Would Azkillian spend any time on signing that order himself? Had the Hands found out Rikyat was in rebellion? Who knew?

  Still, something did not ring quite true. How could a Hand have slipped past Rikyat’s army? Was his guard-ring sloppy in every direction? Twas not like the man who had managed to bring a raid party through the Danhai territory more times than I could comfortably recall.

  “Guessed right.” Rikyat took another gulp of haka. “We were lucky, Kaahai. Too lucky. You dragged me through mud and blood to the healers and stood guard over me when the army retreated. You took me from the Plain under the nose of the Danhai. Remember?”

  I shrugged. Of course I remembered. Why else was I here? “You took the bolt meant for me. I remember.”

  “Fight beside me.” Rikyat’s eyes all but glowed. “We can topple Azkillian, withdraw from the Danhai. The people are weary of the war against the barbarians, they long for peace. I can stop the killing and make Shainakh great again. You said it so often—more to be gained with diplomacy than with the sword.”

  He looked down into his cup, his brown face lit from inside. I watched this, a little unsettled. “I felt a great stillness come over the Plain when that bolt hit me.” His voice was too quiet. The adjii brought more plates of food in—roast hanta, sweet tarka in red sauce, fish and roasts. There was the spongy flatbread the Shainakh like, and plenty more haka and wine and tea. Janaire and Darik did not drink of the liquor, just tea. Atyarik took one drink of the haka and coughed. Rik paid no attention. “Some may laugh,” he said, in Shainakh. “I saw Hashai, god of fire and retribution. He came from the heavens like a thunderbolt and spoke to me. Told me I was His chosen one, sent to purge the empire from the sickness of Azkillian.”

  “And your mother’s mother was an Imperial concubine’s daughter.” I settled myself in the cushions. “Therefore you have a claim to succession.”

  His eyes came back from that distant place. “Yesss…” A long hissing breath. “You saved me, Kaahai. You were Hashai’s instrument, and you are lucky, gifted. I wish you to fight with me.”

  I leaned back, took another gulp of haka. It burned all the way down. “Well, I have all these mouths to feed.”

  “A twentieth of all loot.” Immediately, the bargaining began. “Regular pay. I wish for you to adjii me. And your tactics-trained friend there. I can always find a use for such. Not only that, but I have a special mission for you.”

  “Ah.” Politeness demanded I bargain, make a show. “I do not know, Rikrik. A rebellion. Tis chancy. And I am a foreigner. If anyone does follow my orders, twill be a miracle. If you lose, I will hang.”

  “These are desperate men, already committed to treason in the eyes of Azkillian. They have little to lose. Most have lost family in the Danhai war, and they are levied to the neck with taxes to support the crazyman’s dreams. They will follow—and if you are caught and hung, I will be quartered alive. We have popular support. And the support of the priestesses of Silesh. That counts for much, here. Shainakhum is the great god, blessed be His Name, but Silesh makes the rice grow, and She is not happy with Azkillian.”

  “How do you know?” I picked up a sweet rice ball. “Did She tell you?”

  He stared at me for a long moment, as if gauging me for mockery, and shrugged. “Harvest has been bad. Drought in the interior. When is the last time such occurred?”

  I leaned back against a round red bolster. The rugs were orange and red and yellow, Sun-worshipping colors. “Huh. And you think a backwoods provincial is more to their taste, your gods?”

  He jabbed his eating picks at me. There was a glitter in his dark Shainakh eyes that made me wary. “Watch your pretty mouth, woman. I will have none of your mocking.”

  I let the corner of my mouth curl up. “You really think you can rebel against Azkillian?”

  “We already have. This is but a quarter of the army. The remainder is in hiding near Shaithammuz, in the mountains.”

  “Why did you come here?” Though I already knew. I picked up a long strip of roast hanta, ate it delicately.

  “To take Shaituh. Was waiting for you. Hashai told me you would appear before the New Moon. Two days to New Moon and you are here, with a raggle-tag group of sellswords and a lutebanger.” He slapped his knee, laughing. “Hashai has a sense of humor.”

  I finished chewing, washed the hanta down with tea. “And once you have Shaituh, the supply routes are doubly secure. Have you already taken Shaivakh? Or are you waiting?”

  “No need to take Shaivakh,” he said. “The Shaikuhn there is one of ours.”

  Then this actually has a chance of working. A chill touched my nape. “Who? I have been away, and have missed the event.”

  His black eyes met mine for a long moment. “Ah, prettybit, I am half believing you are considering joining me.”

  “I never could resist trouble. Twenty Rams for a moonturn.” Twas a fantastical sum, and I expected him to haggle.

  Uneasiness twisted inside me. Why did the Blue Hand know my name? And you, Rikyat, what game do you play? It did not seem he was telling me everything. Of course, I could hardly expect him to—I was an outsider, even if I had saved his life.

  Yet something was wrong here. Between Rikyat’s feverish eyes and the persistent crawling of the skin between my shoulderblades, I was nervous as a sellsword before her first battle.

  I could not tell quite what was wrong, but the gold would aid my inquiries. And if I had to, I could feed everyone in my troupe and outfit them through the winter with that coin.

  “Done!” He clapped his hands, and an adjii staggered in with a small ironwood coffer. He laid it down next to me and bowed, hands together in the Shainakh way. I nodded. The casket flipped open, revealing Shainakh Rams. At least a hundred of them, more if I did not miss my guess. “Here, take it. Good faith.”

  I examined him over my cup. “What of the caravans? The burned ones.”

  “Loyal to Azkillian.” He waved a dismissive hand, his dark skin webbed with thin white scars from drill and battle-wounds. “The women and children were spared. I am no monster.”

  “Comforting.” My eyes narrowed. What of wyverns, Rikyat? “And the men?”

  “Loyal to us, they are given pay and a position in the army. Loyal to Azkillian, beheaded. We have only twelve beheadings so far. Good, eh?”

  “If you can trust those who convert at swordpoint.” I reached out, hands loose, palms open. “I am with you, Rik. I owe you a life, at least. I reserve the right to c
ommand my cadre.”

  “Granted.” He touched my fingers. “What else, Kaia? You never bargain this easily.”

  You are giving me too much gold. Why, Rikyat? What has changed you so much? “Safe passage back to the freetowns for my companions, at any time.”

  Rik leaned back, smiling sagely. “Now there is a flash of the old Steelflower. I will have safeconducts on the morrow. Anything else?”

  “Who do you have in Shaivakh?” I set my haka cup down.

  He threw back the last of his haka and slammed the cup down on the rug. “Yattokik Aveydrat. Made Shaikuhn by the grace of bureaucracy two moonturns ago. It was the last thing we waited on.”

  “Yatto’s a Shaikuhn?” I was hard-put to keep stunned disbelief out of my voice. “Whose arse did he oil?”

  “Evidently the right one. He is loyal—been stopping messengers headed east to the Holy City. Even the Blue Hands have been set at naught. What say you, Kaia?”

  “I say you are mad.” I poured him more haka. I killed a Hand less than a day ago that perhaps knew of your plan, Rikyat. What say you to that? “But then, you have always been mad, so tis no change. Very well, then. I fight in your rebellion. There is a debt between us.”

  “You carried me to the healer’s tents.” Rik’s dark, slanted Shainakh eyes lost a little bit of their feverish glimmer. “I owe you a life.”

  “Then we are in debt to each other,” I said. He tossed down more haka. “I expect to see your maps and supply lines tomorrow. And your sentries are sloppy. They should be watching the way we came.”

  “Ah, ya, Kaia.” His eyes glowed like coals. “I knew you would come.”

  Chapter 37

  Honor Sold

  I leaned on Rik, hiccupping, and painted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Darik watched this with no evident amusement or dissatisfaction, and I waved him inside the tent. “You can’ hold your haka,” I informed Rik, who was weaving a little himself. “G’on, sleep t’off.”

  “Kaahai—” Rik’s fingers bit into my shoulder. “Th’ dark one. He your bakaii?”

  Why do you ask? “S’mine.” I hiccupped again. “G’to sleep, Rikrik. T’morrow.”

  He nodded and wove away, singing an old Shainakh drinking song. Night curved over the army camp, and his bodyservant—a young Shainakh boy with a terrible scar down the side of his face—gave Rik his shoulder.

  Rik had spoken no more of special missions, and nothing more about the Hands. I, for my part, told him nothing of the Blue Hand dead by my knife, the one with three wyverns in his grip. Why were those caravans fired, on the beach? Did the Hand need them for aught?

  Or had the trouble on the Shainakh road been army detachments, come to requisition supplies from the caravans? Had the caravans themselves been supplies intended for the rebellion?

  I stumbled into the tent, making sure the flap was folded before I straightened, discarding my act and meeting several pairs of staring eyes.

  “What?” I tied the tent flap closed with quick fingers. “Employment through the winter at a good rate, and if their rebellion goes sour we fight our way toward the hills and escape over into Pesh or the freetowns. Tis good work.”

  “You just sold your honor for coin,” Atyarik said, softly. Janaire, standing in the middle of the tent, simply watched, her dark lovely eyes huge and liquid in the dim light from the lamps.

  Braziers scattered through the tent, and twas warm enough that I shoved my braids back, wishing I could shrug out of my leather vest and open my shirtlaces. “I need coin to feed you. Tis harvest season, but I cannot feed you off chedgrass. If you are so insulted, there are safeconducts waiting in the morning. This could be far worse. The real fighting will not begin until spring, and if you are lucky you may leap ship to Antai and wait out this civil war. If, that is, the rebellion is not crushed before winter. Azkillian has not ruled Shainakh this long by being a fool. If one of his spymasters sent a Blue Hand after me, the God-Emperor is hardly uninformed of Rikyat’s intentions.”

  I stalked to the central area of the tent and dropped down on a rug, groaning. Haka is hard on the body. Rik would have a sore head tomorrow. “Rik is half-crazy, but he is of the nobility and has a legitimate grievance. Azkillian has bled the peasantry dry to pay for this Danhai war, and has not had so much as a league of territorial gain for five summers. It has degenerated into a lahai’arak.” That was the G’mai word for a complex mess of a battle where none won. I looked up at the giant, who had eaten more than all the rest of us put together and was now in the process of picking his teeth with a blunt fingernail. “What say you, Redfist?”

  Green eyes twinkled under his eyebrows. I wondered why the gods had made his kind so hairy, if their country was truly too cold for lesser folk. “Aye, lass. Sellswording is nae honorable, yet tis an honor to fight beside ye. If ye say this man is just, then I’ll wet me axe for him.”

  I gave him a weary smile, pleased and warmed at the same time. “My thanks. You may go back to G’mai, s’tarei’sa. Minstrel?”

  The minstrel dropped down on his own rug and stretched, working his worn-down boots off. His nimble fingers seemed barely equal to the task, even if his hands were the size of small troutfish. “It seems to me there is more to this rebellion than Ammerdahl Rikyat will tell you.”

  I stretched my arms over my head. “Precisely, Gavrin Silvertongue. Which is why I shall go night-hunting. If he hides aught, who better to find it than a thief? And they all know my face, I will hardly be challenged if they see me.”

  “You will allow this?” Atyarik turned to Darik, who stood by the tent flap, his arms folded. The heir to the Dragon Throne simply looked thoughtful. His hair was mussed over his forehead, and his eyes were black enough to lose a soul in. He had said nothing at all through dinner, and watched his adai touch another man with no sign of anger or displeasure.

  He had slept beside me for weeks now, and I had allowed it. I now needed to allow it, for the taih’adai sent me into a sleep so deep it was like death. And who did I trust to guard my back or my slumber?

  Only him. How soon the world of my trust had expanded to include him.

  “I can hardly halt her,” Darik said. “She is my adai. You may leave for G’mai in the morn, do you disagree.”

  “We are not leaving,” Janaire said firmly. Diyan dropped down next to me and put his head on the rug, curling up like a beetle.

  “Cha, neither am I,” the boy piped up. “Swore to come with Kaia.”

  “You cannot—” Atyarik turned to Janaire.

  “I can, and I have,” she said, firmly, in G’mai. “This is my student, A’rik. A Yada’Adais does not abandon her student.” The girl’s chin came up. She was dusty from traveling and pink-cheeked from one drink of haka, and she was lovely as only a G’mai could be. It would cause some problems if she could not handle herself.

  “J’ni. Please. You will be in danger.” Atyarik’s inflection was unbearably intimate. My eyes found Darik’s. He was still very quiet. Too quiet. What was he thinking?

  I did not want to know. And yet, I could not avoid knowing. He had set himself to guard me with the all the fierce dedication of a s’tarei.

  “And so will you.” Janaire's tone did not ease, soft and inflexible. “I did not take this quest to sit quietly by the fireside, s'tarei'mi. You wished to find your Prince, I wished a chance to prove myself as a Yada’Adais. This is the road the Moon has given us, this is the road we shall walk.” She nodded once, smartly, cast her eyes around. “I suppose we sleep on the rugs?”

  “They brought our gear in.” I waved a languid hand at the back of the tent. “You can find your tavar’adai there.”

  “Good. You have another taih’adai tonight.”

  I would do much to avoid it. “Oh, lovely. Before I sally forth to thieve from a cadre of bloodthirsty Shainakh? Or after?”

  “Before.” Twas a sparkle in her beautiful black eyes. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from swearing at her.

  Diyan was already half
-asleep, his breath whistling through his nose. I patted the boy’s hair, and my eyes met Darik’s.

  “Does it strike you,” he said, “that this Rikyat has another purpose for you, Kaia’li?”

  I nodded. “It does indeed, D’ri. And he has not mentioned the presence of a Blue Hand sorcerer or wyverns either. Which is why I shall take Diyan with me tonight, his ears may catch whispers mine will not.”

  “I would accompany you,” Darik answered mildly. We still have not addressed the question of why you allow that man to touch you with your s’tarei standing by.

  At least he was being private about it. “I do not think you can be quiet enough, D’ri.” Sparring with Rik is the only thing he understands, tis the only thing that impresses the army. I brought all of us into their good graces with that display, including you. There are few female sellswords in Shainakh, most of them in the irregulars, and they are a hard lot. Word of this display will reach the few that count, and we shall have entry into their clique. I sighed, rubbing at my forehead. My head hurt, the haka had risen from my stomach and was filling my eyes with vapor. I have my reasons for what I do, D’ri, and none of them are to harm you.

  Darik paced over to sink down next to me, touching my forehead. His fingers were warm, and they helped with the pain. “Hmm. I would prefer to accompany you. The boy is tired.”

  “You cannot thieve.” I closed my eyes.

  “I thieved my life from the queen of G’mai.” He brushed a braid back from my face. The touch comforted me more than anything else ever had. He stroked my cheek, softly, slid his knuckles over my cheekbone. “Surely that counts.”

  I sighed. “Very well. Wake me in a candlemark.”

  “I will,” he promised. Or Janaire will use her sharp tongue on me, and that I do not relish.

  I considered laughing, but I had already dozed off.