by Kate Elliott
“I had an excellent teacher.”
“What of the farther portion of the island, its connections to what lies beyond?”
“This is all we saw. Navi will corroborate my report.”
“I feel sure he will.” He gestured, and Giyara and Piri pulled back with all the attendants to leave him standing within the hazy pool of light splashed on the ground by the lamp. She was painted a rich golden brown in its light, lustrous and compelling. She wore her hair twisted up atop her head and pinned tightly back, but tendrils brushed her shoulders. Had they shaken loose accidentally, or did she wear them that way on purpose, to distract the men she was dealing with?
Her smile irritated him. “Captain, you’d like to devour me, that’s certain. You’re a good figure of a man, and I have no objection to the act, as long as you acquit yourself well, but you must know I’d not be doing it because I’m enamored of you but because you are of me.”
The words stung, but they made him laugh, too. “That’s honestly spoken. You’ve hit me where I’m vain. I’m not likely to press you now.”
“Another man might.”
“I’m not another man. I won’t come begging. I hope your husband is to your taste, for you’d be a fearful woman to be wed to if he weren’t. Better your scorn than your indifference.”
“He was an unexpected pleasure, I admit,” she said with the same half-absent flicker to her gaze as when she’d talked about the unknown “teacher” who had trained her to be an excellent scout. “Just as charming as his aunt warned me he’d be.”
“And yet you are torn from him.” He shook his head. “A sad tale.”
“There speaks a man who is captain in the army that took hostages in Toskala in order to force Toskala to bide quietly under its hand. And hung other innocent folk up on poles to die from pain and thirst.”
“Only the Guardians can truly know who is innocent and who a criminal.”
She rose angrily. “It’s true,” she said, the words clipped in a way that suggested she was forcing down what she really wanted to say, “that few are truly innocent in any meaningful way.”
“I’d be surprised if any were, beyond children too young and those gods-touched too simpleminded to know what is right from what is wrong. Anyway, isn’t it better for the Toskalans to bide quietly than lose hundreds or thousands more as happened in High Haldia?”
Her frown fell as swift as the night-wing’s call. This close to the bridge he heard the steady waters slushing along in the nearby channel; a splash plopped farther out, but he didn’t understand the sounds here: it might be a thrown rock, a fish, a merling, a man; it might be the Water Mother’s afterthought, a tear from her left eye. Lamps glimmered on the far shore while his own people worked in darkness. Curse that gods-rotted Laukas, and himself for being careless and overconfident.
Her voice spilled low across the undercurrent of night noises, trembling in much the same way water surges when too much is forced through too small a channel. “My husband is well enough—he’s far better than what I might have found myself bound to—but what choice had I in the matter? I’m obedient to those who rule me. I have no power of my own. It chafes me. . . .”
Her words trailed off. She seemed ashamed, if folk could be ashamed of wanting what they had always been told they should not desire. Was a man wrong to like the discipline of battle? The tales of the Hundred did not speak kindly of war, and yet Arras had never tired of hearing over and over again those episodes elaborating the clash of weapons, the daring of stalwart soldiers, the courage of those who sought to resolve disputes with clean force.
“I refused to marry the woman my clan wished to bind me to,” he said at last, “so they cast me out for my rebellious nature. I found comfort in the Thunderer’s cohort as an ordinand, but it was not until I was recruited to this army that I have found true satisfaction. The cruelty they practice, which they call cleansing—the hanging from the pole—is pointless, but it is not my army to command.”
“Do you wish it was?”
He laughed. “I’m content to fight, as long as they respect me. For in the end, Zubaidit, we must all bow our heads before the cloaks.”
“Captain!” Two runners pounded up, one holding a lamp, the other bending double as he heaved out and sucked in air and came up talking.
Giyara ran up in their wake. “Captain Arras. Ten boats are coming in to the shore twenty paces north of the eastern causeway.”
“How came I not to hear any sounds of fighting?”
“Subcaptain Orli had screens set up to conceal spearmen in the shallows and men in the water to tip others overboard. We killed about thirty so fast the rest fled. Runners are tracking their movements along the channel downstream. Of the rest, we’ve taken four living prisoners and six boats.”
“Excellent! If the others come to shore, kill them. Otherwise, waste no arrows in the dark. Their report to their commanders will give the enemy pause. They’ll not attack again so quickly. Is there aught else?”
“No, Captain. Your orders?”
“Just as I’ve told you.”
“Yes, Captain.” The youth nodded at his comrade holding the lamp and after taking a pair of slow breaths, more pushed out than pulled in, he set out at a run.
“Good lad,” said Arras. “But I don’t recognize him.”
“Maybe you couldn’t see it from your angle, Captain,” said Giyara, “but he’s wearing a First Cohort badge. Orli must have detached him from his old unit—”
From the far shore came a burst of shouting, a frantic call for archers.
“The hells!” said Arras, raising a hand to signal. “Do they mean to attack—?”
The sky swept low. A brush of smothering wings and sullen dread doubled him over before he realized he was groveling. Hating himself for his weakness, he straightened. The winged horse trotted to earth on the graveled roadway. The man dismounted stiffly. He walked stiffly, favoring his right leg, and held his left shoulder at an odd angle.
Arras made the obeisance at once, open hands hiding his eyes. “Lord Yordenas.”
“Who is in command?”
“I am, lord. I’m Arras, captain of the Sixth Cohort.”
“Took heavy losses at High Haldia, did you not?” The cloak’s tone was surly. Arras dared not look up to gauge his temper, but anger and resentment swept off the cloak so strongly it was like keeping one’s balance in a winter gale.
“So we did, lord. We regrouped into three companies, half strength, and more recently were ordered to join the main army for the assault on Nessumara. We have taken positions on this island and absorbed the remains of First Cohort.”
“You did not retreat?”
“I saw Seventh Cohort in trouble on the causeway from archers, lord. I deemed it better to push forward to a strong defensive position than to retreat under heavy fire from an enemy whose position we could not penetrate.”
“First Cohort fell apart,” said the cloak with the petty disgust of a child who’d had his favorite toy snatched out of his hands. “Captains dead, cadres routed. We were supposed to march into Council Square in triumph! The cursed Nessumarans betrayed us!”
Arras thought it prudent not to remind the cloak that the only traitors in this case were the folk who had been prevented from allowing the army to enter the city unopposed. “Yes, lord. What of the two cohorts caught out on the causeway?”
“I don’t know! I haven’t reached the main camp in Saltow. I’ve galloped all the way to the northern causeway and back. Heavy woodland, sunken into this cursed marsh. They didn’t take the barriers down at all on the northern causeway, as they said they would! Instead, there came archery fire out of the woods. Traps dug into the mire around the causeway. Snakes and snappers in the water and among the twisting roots of the cursed trees! Our cohorts had to retreat despite Lord Radas’s best efforts at keeping them in line and moving forward. Now what will we do?”
The cursed man was throwing a temper tantrum! And that, gods rot
him, after he had abandoned the troops he was supposed to be leading.
Arras kept his voice mild, his shoulders bowed, and his gaze fixed on the ground. “My cohort is intact, lord. I have the remnants of First Cohort well in hand as reinforcements for my own soldiers. If we can learn the disposition and number of the local troops, we can determine our best course of action. Has the city militia sent its entire strength out to the causeways? Have they milked themselves dry in setting up this ambush? If we strike hard and push past now, will we meet concentrated resistance? Or are these troops all they have? If so, we can still take the city today.”
“What do you recommend, Captain?”
The cursed cloak did not know what in the hells to do. That the gods had endowed him with such power had not made him wise or clever. He had no more understanding and discernment than he’d ever had—and that clearly was not much—yet he was meanwhile able to reach right into your heart and kill you.
Even so, a single cloak could not conquer a city alone.
“To come up with a plan, Lord Yordenas, I need information about the number and disposition of troops and barriers and skirmishers within Nessumara and the surrounding region.”
The cloak’s anger stung like wounds. “So you have already said. Don’t lecture me!”
“My apologies, lord, for speaking out of turn.” Arras kept his head down, knowing an incautious glance would betray his secrets. “I only mention it because you, my lord, are best suited to reconnoiter.”
“I am a holy Guardian! Not a scout!”
“My lord, I’m only pointing out what I am sure has already occurred to you. If you scout ahead now, when no reeves can fly, it would allow us to know whether it’s best to retreat, or to attack.”
“It was flying ahead of the lines that got me stuck with arrows. Cursed archers! We must wait for Lord Commander Radas. He’ll meet us at Saltow.”
“But my lord, the more time they have to regroup and recover and retrench—”
“I command you to retreat to Saltow! Do you defy me, Captain?”
“No, my lord.”
With that, the cloak was content. His passing left Arras shaking so hard it took him many breaths to calm himself. When he rose, only Giyara remained. All the others, even Zubaidit, had fled from the cloak’s brutal presence.
“Captain?” A shout caused Giyara to take a step back, looking for the source of the noise. She kicked the lamp, but with quick reflexes caught it on her boot and tipped it back upright before much oil spilled. Fire flared on the ground, eating the oil as it hissed smoke.
They listened but heard no further alarm.
He shook his head. “We can hide from the eyes of the reeves beneath a forest canopy, or inside buildings, or underground like the delvings. Out in this flat land, it’s impossible. They’ll always know where we are, except at night. What a waste. The only way to make this work is to overrun Nessumara’s defenses quickly, burn down Copper Hall, and drive out the reeves. One setback is not a defeat. An attack might still have worked—”
“We’re going to retreat?”
He whistled, venting anger. “You heard the order. We retreat at dawn.”
16
AS MIRAVIA SLEPT, Mai sat on the porch overlooking the tiny garden at the heart of the compound, her private retreat. A night wren chirped, but the taste of the air was already growing sweeter with the promise of a rising sun.
“There is a man loitering outside our gates,” said Chief Tuvi. “I suspect he is an agent hired by the Ri Amarah. If he knew for certain she was here, then likely he would have fetched Master Isar already. That he has not suggests he suspects she is here but has yet no proof. So, if I give a word to him, he’ll run—”
“No!” The forceful word spoiled the delicate hush.
“Of course she must be returned to her father. I am sorry if that answer displeases you, Mistress. You have a kind heart. But Captain Anji will insist.”
O’eki and Priya said nothing, but the gazes they bent on her were like the pressure of a hand checking impetuous speech. Did they want her to say one thing and expect her to say another? Yet her heart was determined. In the chamber behind, glimpsed through a partially open door, Miravia lay sprawled on the pallet; she had been so exhausted she had collapsed soon after Mai had drawn her inside. The baby’s cot was tucked into the corner. Sheyshi, snoring lightly on a pallet just outside the sleeping chamber, had not even awakened.
“How did Miravia get inside?” Mai asked.
“I let her in.”
“Do you ever sleep, Tuvi?”
“I was restless, Mistress. Thinking of things. Hard to sleep then, eh?”
Certainly, as exhausted as Mai had felt earlier, she was wide awake now. “I can’t do it, Tuvi. I can’t betray her.”
“She belongs to her father, Mistress. You accepted such a marriage. You were wiser than she was.”
“Maybe I was just fortunate!” she snapped. “Hu! I beg your pardon, Chief. I know you are only telling me what everyone else will tell me, but I cannot do it.”
“I’ll do it, Mistress. A word to the suspicious agent outside or a messenger sent directly to the compound, if you wish. The Ri Amarah will thank us, and Captain Anji will return home to a peaceful house, just as he likes it.”
His calm words decided her. Rising, she found her market face. “Of course you are right, Tuvi. Never let it be said I turned my back on a distasteful task and let another perform it in my place. I’ll go myself to the Ri Amarah house. But I must sleep first, for I’m very tired.”
He nodded. “You are an honorable person, Mistress. Now, if you will, I want to settle the dawn rounds.”
She released him, a courtesy he extended to her, for although she ran the household and all of the business arrangements and dealings, he commanded the security measures in Anji’s absence. Just as he would never question any negotiation she entered into or any contract she sealed, she knew where her authority ended and where Anji’s began.
She slipped inside the door, Priya behind her. O’eki remained standing on the porch. From the bushes, the first dawn songs were trilled. The sky was still black, stars blazing.
Priya touched her elbow. “In the Mei household folk often called you stupid, or light-minded, or simpering, or precious. But I know these words describe what they see, not what is there. If you show a calm face to the world, it is not because you are without passion. If you do not challenge those who command you, it is not because you are too placid to protest. If you are obedient, it is not because you obey thoughtlessly, knowing no other course of action. I hear defiance in your voice, even if I am surprised Chief Tuvi did not. What are you planning?”
“I’ll need help from you and O’eki to get out of the compound and the city. No one else must know. Can you do it?”
From the porch, O’eki spoke as if he had already guessed her intentions and run through several plans. “It’s possible to get out the back gate if you are willing to hide cramped in a chest, Mistress. I will need another hireling to help me carry it. Priya will have to stay here to guard the chamber and say you are sleeping. It will be easy enough to hire a covered palanquin down by Crow’s Gate. Even so, our movements can be traced.”
“There lies the risk. I’ll have to take Atani in case he wants nursing.”
“Chief Tuvi is right,” said Priya. “Captain Anji will tell you to return her to her father.”
With trembling hands, she grasped Priya’s fingers. “I know.” She swallowed a sob, like drinking down sorrow. “But I will never forgive myself if I do nothing. Never never never.”
Miravia stirred. Abruptly, she sat bolt upright. “Mai?” she croaked.
Mai released Priya’s warm hands and knelt beside Miravia, whose hands were cold. “Hush, my sister. You must wake now. We’re going to leave right away.”
“Where are we going?”
A pallor had lightened the shroud of night to a gleam neither night nor day which is called twilight for partaking
of both and yet sustaining neither. Priya watched Mai, expression quiet in the gloom. O’eki waited on the porch, big body blocking her view of the garden.
“The only place we can go,” said Mai.
• • •
SOON AFTER DAWN, Arras gave the order and his cohort moved out, shields tortoised and wagons crammed with wounded and provisions. He forced the hostages to walk outside the shields. If the Nessumaran militia broke the truce and attacked, they would kill unarmed civilians first. It’s what he would do, in their position: he’d shoot down the civilians and break through the shield wall, because a cohort stuck out on an unprotected causeway was too easy to pass up. But he doubted the local militia had the stomach for such slaughter.
He hung back with the rearguard until the last soldiers cleared the bridge. Four sorry-looking hostages, the most truculent of the crew, trotted at the end, tied by long ropes to the rearmost wagon so they couldn’t bolt. He moved up alongside the unit, marking their brisk pace and even footfalls, their confident gazes, their energy. The other hostages stared over the mire more than they watched their feet, although no one tried to run. If the enemy did not kill them, his people would shoot them in the back as they splashed into the swamp.
“Captain!” Zubaidit hailed him. “Must I walk out here with the rest? Didn’t I prove my loyalty by walking in among the enemy last night to take your message?”
He kept striding along with his attendants streaming behind. He thought he heard a few among the hostages hiss at her words, but that sound might also have been the flutter and flurry of wings as waterfowl rose in numbers off their tranquil feeding ground, disturbed by the tread of feet. Boats bobbed out of his reach. The rising sun glinted on stretches of water. Reeds swayed in the morning breeze.
They reached the front of the cohort. The causeway speared straight over the mire; he could not yet see the solid earth of the mainland, only the blur of gray-blue water and green reeds.
“Captain?” Sergeant Giyara gestured up.
Eagles soared overhead; those gods-rotted reeves would never let up. Then gold winked, like a spark of sunlight detached from the spreading rays. He squinted, shaded his eyes, tilted his head and tried to find that trick of the light again, but it was lost in the gleam.