by Kate Elliott
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged, looking angry. “It seems to me that when an army can recruit so many discontented men and convince so many of them to act in ways they would once have considered criminal, then it is only building with bricks already formed and baked by others. Why do so many men march with the army? Spit on the gods? Steal what they could earn by their own labor? Rape when they can walk into Ushara’s temples and worship? Why didn’t they just stay home in their villages and towns, marry, tithe, and sire children? The Hundred has let itself rot from within. Now the contagion of discontent and anger is spread by those greedy enough to encourage the worst in those too weak to resist.”
“Harsh words,” he said.
“True words. We must all take responsibility for the troubles that engulf us.”
He did not know what to say because every word seemed meaningless compared with her presence as she stood there with wet cloth stuck to her skin and her body balanced with deadly grace. Her glare forced him a step back, and he bumped against unyielding stone. He was trembling with the effort of staying where he was, as his pulse throbbed and his breath caught in his throat.
She shook her head, no smile, no frown. “A woman can look a long time before she finds a man who can really take his time.”
“A woman can look a long time if she never pauses long enough to try this man.”
She laughed.
“Aui!” He pushed away from the wall.
She met him, and for a glorious moment he held her as they kissed, and kissed.
And kissed.
Just when he thought they might have to do something very reckless despite knowing how close all those other reeves were in the covering darkness, a discreet cough interrupted them.
She broke away. Riven of contact, he swayed, and as Peddonon caught his arm to steady him, she vanished down the corridor toward the ledge.
“You’ve got it bad, my friend,” murmured Peddonon.
Joss brought a palm to his face. “Am I crazy?”
Peddonon snorted.
“She’s leaving!” He pulled out of Peddonon’s grasp and stumbled after her.
“Don’t go over the edge, Joss.”
Too late. She was sworn to the goddess, a trained assassin, fixed on her mission. She’d already been lowered over the cliff, the reeves letting out the rope hand over hand. He stayed out there in the night and the wind until they received the three tugs that indicated she’d gotten down safely. Until they hauled up the empty basket and stowed it under the overhang where it couldn’t be spotted in daylight by an enemy patrolling the far shore. Until they’d all gone away, leaving Peddonon and Kesta waiting for him in a patient silence that hurt more than the hollow feeling in his gut.
The cooling breeze off the water reminded him that the dry season lay ahead. He rubbed his arms, but the ache did not go away.
“Heya,” said Kesta softly. “Come on, Joss. Let’s go have a drink, eh? We’ve missed you these past months. It’s not the same without you here at Clan Hall.”
“I might never see her again.”
Peddonon whistled under his breath. Kesta sighed. The river rushed toward the distant sea, just as the army would, marching south through fertile and heavily populated Istria toward Nessumara, said in the tales to be the second-oldest inhabited place in the Hundred and certainly its largest city now. He must do what was required of him, just as she would.
“The first thing we must do,” he said, “is warn Nessumara’s council and Copper Hall to seek traitors in their midst. And get Tohon and his group out of there.”
Only then, as he turned to go with his companions, did he realize she had never said what had happened to the outlander, Shai.
7
“YOU’RE NOT THE boy I remember, Shai.”
Hari lounged on a silk-covered couch, the kind of furniture found in the houses of the rich in Kartu Town. The florid couch looked out of place inside a campaign tent otherwise furnished with only two rugs, a folding table holding a pair of cups and a ceramic bottle with an unbroken seal, and a single lit lamp. Two objects rested on the table: the Mei clan wolf ring and wolf belt buckle Hari had been wearing the day he’d been marched out of Kartu Town as a prisoner of their Qin overlords.
Shai pointed to them. “I went through terrible things to get that ring and buckle back. Will you put on your ring?”
“No. I’m no longer a son of the Mei clan.”
Shai displayed the wolf ring he wore as a child of the Mei clan, although his ring wasn’t anything like as fine a quality as the one that had been given to Hari by Grandmother when Hari had reached manhood. After all, Hari was the favored third son, while Shai was merely the excess seventh. “Who are you, if not a son of the Mei clan? Father Mei sent me to bring your bones back to the clan for proper burial.”
As a boy, Hari had perfected the ability to raise a single eyebrow; he could mock you while looking so exceedingly clever that you found yourself smiling in sympathy, wanting him to approve of you. “Here I am.”
Today, Shai wasn’t smiling. “You’re dead.”
“Harsh words, little brother. Yet you would know, you who can see ghosts.”
Shai flushed. “Have you forgotten that in Kartu Town, they burn people who see ghosts?”
“I never told anyone you could see ghosts. I would never have betrayed you.”
“Yet here I am, your prisoner.” He walked to the tent flap and twitched the entrance curtain aside to stare over the camp, where soldiers worked into the dusk breaking down tents and loading gear into wagons in preparation for a dawn departure. Guards surrounded the tent.
Behind him, Hari sighed. “You’re not my prisoner. I’m sheltering you. Don’t you trust me? You used to.”
Shai let the cloth fall as he turned. “You were the best of my brothers, it’s true.”
“As if that’s saying much!”
“It’s why I came all this way to find a dead man. Yet you’re no ghost. You live and breathe.”
“Maybe it just seems to you that I live and I breathe. Maybe I am a ghost. The soldiers call us cloaks. A few whisper that we’re lilu. Some name us as Guardians, the ones who bring justice.” His crooked smile made his expression bitter.
“This army brings no justice.”
“I never said it did.”
“Yet you ride with murderers and rapists and thieves. You command them.”
“I am a prisoner of those who command me.”
Furious, Shai walked over to the couch. “You don’t look like a prisoner! You look like a lord, who with a gesture of his hand marks who will live and who will die. You sent a man to be hanged from the pole. How can you do it, knowing what he will suffer?”
Hari shrugged, his expression masked. “I’m not the brother you think you remember.”
“You can’t have changed that much! You were the bold one, the bright one, the one who always spoke his mind!”
“Maybe you didn’t know me that well. You were young. You saw what you wanted to see. Maybe I was the drunk one, the stupid one, the dissatisfied one. Maybe I pushed our Qin overlords too hard not out of a sense of righteous anger, but as a prank. Or on a dare. Or because I was bored. Or wanted to impress my reckless idiot friends.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“You want to believe I am something I never was. Now listen, little brother. We’ve got to get you out of here before Night or Lord Radas discover you—”
Shai grabbed one of his brother’s wrists and squeezed it; it was shocking to feel he might overpower the older brother who had once been able to sling him over a shoulder, run down to the pond, and toss him into the water howling and laughing. He tightened his grip until Hari winced. “How did you get to the Hundred?”
Hari lifted his chin defiantly but in the end looked away. He addressed words to the sloped end of the couch, the fabric a saturated dark purple similar to the hue of the cloak he wore carelessly flung over his shoulders. “Will you let go
?”
Shai let go.
Hari rubbed the wrist. His forehead was beaded with sweat. “I’m done speaking of it. What use is there in me speaking? All my words are tainted, because I’m a demon.”
The tone of self-loathing hit Shai hardest. The Hari he knew had never hated himself. “You aren’t a demon.”
Hari grasped Shai’s shoulders. Years ago, Hari had grabbed him so, stared into his eyes, and scolded him: Stand up for yourself, Shai. Speak up, Shai!
Best of brothers!
But now he looked leached at the edges, as if sickness had drained his vitality.
“Aren’t I? I can’t see into your heart to know what you really think of me. What if you scorn me, and I would never know?”
“I would tell you what I think.”
“People say so, but they never do.” Hari laughed mockingly. “People say what they think you want to hear. But now, their hearts and thoughts are laid bare to me, and I can see what’s true. All their pain and greed and rage and selfish lust cuts me, just as it cuts them. I can’t rest for thinking of all the horrible things I’ve seen in people’s hearts. And yet I can’t look away. I want their secrets and their shame. Then I don’t have to think about my own.”
“Stop it!”
“Why are you hidden from me, Shai? No one else is, except the other cloaks. And you’re not a cloak.”
Shai clasped his hands. “I’m just your brother, Hari. We’ll go home together. It’s what we’re meant to do.”
Hari broke free and leaped to his feet, pacing to the entrance and back again. “I can’t go home! Night will hunt me down, or Lord Radas will. If I don’t obey them, they hurt me. And since I can’t die, then I just suffer and it hurts so badly. We’ve got to get you out of here. If they know I have you, they’ll force me to betray you. And I’ll do it, because I’m a useless selfish coward. I’ve always been one. What do you think I’ve been running from all my life?”
Voices from outside startled them both. Shai began to stand, but Hari grabbed his arm and shoved him down on one of the rugs, gesturing for him to lie flat. He rolled Shai up inside the rug. From within the stifling confines, Shai heard Hari plop down on the couch as several people entered.
“Aren’t you ready to go yet?” demanded a coarse voice bleeding with raw rage. “You’re such a cursed lazy ass, Hari.”
“Yordenas, control yourself.” The other voice was also male, as sharp as poison. “Harishil, I expected you to be ready to depart. There are slaves who can collect these furnishings.”
“I thought I was going back to Walshow with the camp followers to make sure they disperse,” said Hari, his voice more like a sullen lad’s than a grown man’s. “And then afterward set up as commander over the northern region based in High Haldia with Captain Arras as my administrator. That’s what you promised me.”
“That’s what Night promised you,” sneered the one called Yordenas. “Because she favors your sorry, rotten hide despite you running the second army into disaster at Olossi.”
“Yordenas!”
“My apologies, my lord.” The cringing tone sounded real enough, as slimy as scummed water. “I would have done better, had I been given the chance. I was a reeve. Marshal of a reeve hall. I know how to command.”
“You are to be given your chance now, Yordenas. As for you, Harishil, may I remind you that promises are not coin, they are contingencies. Our plans have changed. We’ve pulled most of the forces out of the far north and Haldia in order to quickly subdue Nessumara and the delta region. Surely you understand that under the circumstances, given your complete failure to direct the southern expedition against Olossi, you will have to prove yourself to us before we can possibly allow you a new command.”
The other man sniggered.
“Furthermore, there is the matter of the woman wearing Death’s cloak, the one called Marit. You may not have betrayed us, precisely, but we can’t be sure you are reliable. You may have mixed loyalties. I would be rid of you if it were up to me. Yet Night has insisted you be given a second chance. Therefore, I have a special assignment for you.”
“I should have had it,” groused the one called Yordenas. “I wanted to go.”
“I thought you wanted to command an army,” said Hari. “But if you can’t make up your mind, you’re welcome to take my new assignment, whatever it is.”
“Don’t be hasty, Harishil,” said the poisonous voice.
“What is it you want, Lord Radas?”
“Neh, what is it you want? Do you want your staff?”
Felt even through the muffling layers of thick carpet, a shift of tension tightened the air like the taste of a coming storm. Weight pressed on Shai’s left hip as one of the men rested his foot heavily there.
“Maybe I do,” mumbled Hari. “Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I don’t want to judge people, as you do.”
The poisonous voice grew silkier, killing with a sweeter flavor. “You know Night wishes to interview all the gods-touched, but we’re seeking in particular an outlander Bevard captured not far west of here, a young man who was veiled to his sight. He should have reached the army by now.”
“He’ll talk when I get my hands on him!” Yordenas had a mean edge to his voice that Shai imagined was accompanied by a grin, rather as Shai’s awful brother Girish had giggled when he contemplated the nasty things he could do to helpless children.
“Sure he’ll talk,” drawled Hari, “after one whiff of your foul breath, Yordenas. What’s to say the cursed outlander isn’t dead already? Or fled? Or that Bevard wasn’t so drunk that he mistook his vomit for a man?”
The pressure of the foot eased abruptly. The sounds of a scuffle ended with Yordenas’s yelp.
“Harishil, you do not amuse me,” said Lord Radas. “That such an outlander exists I do not doubt, nor should you. Now and again a rare individual is gods-touched, able to see ghosts. Such individuals are veiled to the sight of Guardians. Therefore dangerous. Able to commit crimes and lie about it.”
The dust in the carpet made Shai’s eyes itch, or perhaps it was the memory of ghosts that stung.
“Dangerous to justice,” Hari asked, “or merely dangerous because we can’t bully them by ripping out their hearts and fears and shames?”
“Your gods-rotted outlander ass is just waiting to get itself whipped, isn’t it?” said Yordenas.
“You’re one who loves to bully, aren’t you, Yordenas?”
“Enough!” The voice of Lord Radas cut deep. The weight of the foot returned, pinching Shai’s skin, but he sucked in the pain and did not move. “As it happens, Bevard encountered another such outlander, at Westcott. A man veiled to his sight. Do you suppose all outlanders can see ghosts and are therefore veiled, Harishil?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not ‘all outlanders.’ ”
“Be respectful, you ass.”
“Quiet, Yordenas. Harishil, I want you to track down this outlander captain Bevard encountered at Westcott. We have reason to believe he may be related to, or the same man as, the one who captained Olossi’s militia to victory.”
“What about Yordenas and Bevard? What will they be doing?”
“Their duties are not yours to inquire after, but as it happens, I am willing to tell you so you can see what rewards you can expect if you succeed. Bevard will accompany the camp followers to Walshow and afterward take temporary command of the northern region and assizes. He’ll be scouting Haldia for signs of the two cloaks who ran from us—obviously we can’t trust you with that task given your relationship with the woman called Marit. Yordenas will take part in the attack on Nessumara, to improve his command skills.”
“I’d rather go to Walshow,” said Hari.
Yordenas snorted. “I’m surprised they’re letting you go off on your own at all. They don’t trust you, Hari. Nor should they, you being a cursed outlander and all.”
“Then why don’t they release me?” retorted Hari in a voice Shai would once have heard as bold and forthright and n
ow recognized as angry with reckless despair.
The pressure of the foot lifted. Shai let out breath, sucked in, and almost choked on a lungful of dust and a stray wisp of straw that caught in his throat.
“I can call a soldier in,” said Lord Radas as calmly as if he were suggesting a tray of tea, “and have him stick his sword in your guts. Once. Twice. A third time.”
“No. No. No. I’ll go, as you command.”
“Coward,” said Yordenas.
Hari said nothing.
Shai gritted his teeth and swallowed a sneeze.
“Be ready to leave at dawn on your new mission.” Lord Radas’s footfalls moved toward the entrance. “Bring me the head of this outlander captain who Bevard says is veiled.”
“How am I to bring you his head if I have no weapon? Give me my staff, and I might manage it.”
“Your weapon is your ability to command others to kill him. You’ve yet to prove yourself to us. Do so, and I will give you your staff and a chance at a new command. One other thing. I was given a report that you interviewed an outlander today.”
“I interviewed more than one,” said Hari so easily that Shai’s gut relaxed. Maybe Hari wouldn’t betray him. “Slaves, craven and weeping. Their hearts revealed nothing more than the misery of being torn from their homeland and forced to endure the lash of cruel masters. I let them go. Their masters were waiting. Just as mine do.”
“I wonder if you are telling the truth,” said Lord Radas.
It seemed to Shai he could actually feel like the brush of fingers the man probing the tent, seeking what was hidden.
Hari said, “You think it might have been more merciful to have them cleansed and thus released from servitude? I suppose so.”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Lord Radas. The touch of poison eased; vanished. The man had left.
“You’ll never manage to kill that outlander captain,” said Yordenas. “You’re a gods-rotted coward and a stinking outlander. I hate you.”
“Do you, truly? I don’t care enough about you to hate you. Mosquitoes gripe me more. Run after the one whose boots you lick, eh?”
“You’ll regret speaking this way to me.”