*
Amatesu had spoken flatly, without emotion, but when she finished there were tears standing in her eyes. Zeb had whispered a translation for Nesha-tari, and several times his own voice had cracked. Nesha-tari’s eyes were dry, and wide.
Heggenauer stood in the middle of the room with his mace hanging loose in his hand, forgotten. He looked from the small woman in front of him to Uriako Shikashe. The samurai stood with his arms crossed and his swords sheathed, his face as cold and impenetrable as the mountains where he had been sent to die. John Deskata had come back to the doorway at some point and stood there, staring. Tilda was sitting against a wall with her face in her hands.
“Why have you told me this?” Heggenauer asked.
Amatesu looked up, and the tears rolled down her face. Her voice remained unchanged.
“I tell you because you should know that not everyone may choose their own masters. Yet it remains in our power to choose what we will or will not do for them, if we are willing to bear the consequences. I tell you this because Uriako Shikashe and myself have now traveled with the Madame Nesha-tari for nearly a third of a year, and no matter who she serves, we have seen her do nothing you would call evil. Though we know that at times this has pained her.”
Shikashe slowly drew the shorter of his two swords, and held the diamond-patterned pommel out toward Heggenauer. The priest stared at it before looking questioningly to Amatesu.
“If it is truly not within you to tolerate any who may have done evil, Brother Heggenauer, then you should begin with Uriako-sama and myself. I suggest you start with me, as I will not resist you.”
Heggenauer stared at the shukenja and the white steel blade of the sword, then took a step back, shaking his head. He looked at the Far Westerners and swallowed before speaking in a raspy voice.
“I am deeply sorry for you both.”
Shikashe nodded, and sheathed his sword with a snap.
“Can we go rescue Claudja now?” Tilda asked in a small voice.
Amatesu looked over at Zeb and Nesha-tari, who were standing together by a wall. Zeb was leaning against it, as he had actually forgotten to be afraid of the Dragon Cultist, and whatever else she was, for the last several minutes.
“Does Madame Nesha-tari agree that we may take the Duchess from this place?” Amatesu asked. Zeb asked the question in Zantish, and Nesha-tari frowned.
“What do I care?”
“She says yes,” Zeb said in Codian.
“And the wizard, Phinneas?” Amatesu asked.
Zeb asked that as well, and Nesha-tari thought for a moment before answering.
“The Shugak fear only what harm he could do with the book in Vod‘Adia. I merely wish to see that he does not use it to fulfill Horayachus’s purpose for the Duchess. So long as that is prevented, I do not give a fig for what happens to either of them.”
“Another yes,” Zeb said.
Amatesu nodded, and turned back to Heggenauer.
“Are you satisfied, Brother?”
The acolyte of Jobe looked at Nesha-tari, then around the room at the others who met his gaze.
“I am only trying to do what is right,” he said.
“That is as much as any of us can do,” Amatesu agreed.
There was silence, until John Deskata knocked on the doorjamb and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Second watch, people,” he said. “Who wants it?”
Nesha-tari made no comment, and though she had not stood watch on the previous evening she moved through the door and out into the night.
Zeb made his way toward his pack and bedroll, passing by Tilda who was still squatting on her haunches with her back to the wall. He stopped and held a hand down to her. She took it and wiped her eyes with the back of a sleeve as she stood.
“Are you all right?” Zeb asked. Tilda nodded and did not quite meet his eyes.
“I’m fine. I just…I miss my family.”
Zeb squeezed her hand before he let it go, and Tilda looked at him.
“You?” she asked.
Zeb Warchild gave a short nod, for it was easier than saying he had never had any family for him to miss now.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Sable City Page 75