Queen of Slaves (The Powers of Amur Book 4)

by J. S. Bangs

  “Not much here,” Nakhur said, glancing around.

  “No,” Jauda agreed. “And I’ve never been here before. We’ll ask around a bit, and if no one finds anything we’ll go back to camp. Our next hope is Mabeg itself.”

  Where the harbor-master forbade us to enter, Mandhi thought. She scowled.

  They trudged up the street, past the villagers who stared at them in open, hostile surprise. Mandhi slipped once and Nakhur caught her—she was in bare feet since her sandals were useless in the mud along the roads and there were no boots to fit her.

  Somewhere toward the middle of the village was a wide spot in the road where a Kaleksha market stood. Several ugly wooden tables were covered with unwashed vegetables. Sour-faced, cantankerous women crouched behind them.

  Mandhi found the Kaleksha women especially curious. She had never seen a Kaleksha woman before sailing to Kalignas, and her first impression was that they were spectacularly ugly. They were tall and broad, just like the Kaleksha men, with bulbous noses and pink sunburned cheeks and teeth that had turned black and rotten. The young women had thick arms and heavy breasts and looked nearly as muscular as the men. They wore thick skirts of black wool, stitched with brown and yellow patterns on their hems, and loose-fitting blouses with low necks that showed their pink breasts.

  But talking to the women in the market would do no good, since none of them spoke Amuran. Jauda pointed to the far end of the market, where an old man sat on a stool next to a heap of onions. They scurried through the sparse rows, feeling the glares of the Kaleksha on their brown faces, until they approached the onion-monger.

  “Amuran?” asked Jauda cautiously.

  The man stuck out his lower lip. “What?” he asked with a heavy accent.

  “We are looking for the os Dramab family.”

  The man’s face soured like he had bitten rotten cheese. “Go away.”

  “We only want to find them—”

  He swatted at them as if shooing flies away from his onions. “Not here.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “Not here.” The man put a fist against his eye and turned away from them.

  “Useless,” muttered Mandhi. She and Nakhur walked away. All the Kaleksha had been like that.

  Nakhur shrugged despondently.

  Jauda caught up with them a few steps later, his boots splashing through the murky puddles in the road. His growl matched Mandhi and Nakhur’s mood. “Just like every other village. This is a fool’s way of finding a single family in a whole island.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Mandhi asked dryly.

  Jauda spat. “Well, there’s another place in town we might try. I saw a building with the sailor’s triangle on it.”

  “And?”

  “Means there’s a representative of the sailors’ guild there,” Nakhur said.

  “How would that help?”

  “If any of the os Dramab ever passed through here, he might know. We know at least four of them have been sailors, and they returned recently from Amur.” Jauda nodded toward the north, along one of the crooked mud runnels between the huts. “That way. Not too far.”

  Near the edge of the village they stopped, and Jauda pointed with his elbow toward one of the circular stone huts.

  “See the mark?”

  Above the door was a wooden plank held in place by copper pegs, painted with a yellow triangle barred by a black stripe. Aside from the crude symbol, the conical hut look exactly like every other hut in the village, down to the crumbling mud plaster of the walls and the tuft of reeds sticking out of the peak.

  “This is the office of the sailors’ guild?” Mandhi asked.

  “Not an office,” Jauda said. “Probably just the home of a representative. Someone for sailors from this village to talk to if they need it.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do they need a representative? Mabeg is a few days from here, they could walk when they want to sail—”

  Jauda snapped, “Do I look like I understand how the Kaleksha run their guild? You can ask the man your questions if you really have to know.” He ducked his head and hollered into the darkened hole of the entrance, “Hello? Anyone speak Amuran in there?”

  A woman shuffled out of the hut. She was one of the fat, elderly Kaleksha women, cheeks permanently pink from years of sunburn, sagging breasts under a dirty white blouse, and a pillowy belly hanging over a long black skirt. She wiped her hands on her skirt and put her fists on her waist, scanning the three of them from head to toe with narrow eyes.

  “What are three Amurans doing in my village?” she cackled.

  Jauda staggered back as if he had been punched, and Nakhur laughed nervously. For a moment his voice caught in his throat, then Jauda said, “Lady, where is your husband?”

  “No husband,” the woman said. She pointed at the sign over the door. “This who you’re looking for?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s me. What do you want?”

  “Your Amuran, my lady,” Nakhur said. “Cleaner than most here. Where did you learn it?”

  “The docks, like every other whore. Now tell me what you want before I get tired of answering your questions.”

  Jauda swallowed and regained a little composure. “We’re looking for a family named the os Dramab.”

  “Not from Hlaskeg.”

  “But do you know where they came from? Or how I could find out?”

  The woman spat. “First off, the sailors’ guild doesn’t sell contracts with individual families. You call on us, and you take what we give you.”

  “We aren’t trying to hire sailors,” Nakhur broke in. “They would have returned from the seas some weeks ago.”

  “With two Amuran women,” Mandhi added. “Nursing.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “That’s curious.”

  “So if they passed through,” Mandhi said expectantly, “we hoped you would remember them.”

  “I would,” the woman said, “but they didn’t pass through here. Listen, you should go to Mabeg if you’re looking for them. They would have landed there.”

  Jauda sighed. “Yes, we know. We’ve been trying to avoid that.”

  “Why?” The woman looked at them curiously.

  “Last time we were there the harbor-master warned us to stay away.”

  There was a long pause as the woman studied them, looking at Mandhi’s bare, muddy feet, Nakhur’s white garment splattered with mud, and Jauda’s towering glare. She folded her arms under her breasts, chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, then nodded smartly.

  “Come inside,” she said. “I may be able to help you.”

  Nakhur withdrew half a pace, but Jauda prodded him forward. “No use being squeamish now,” he said. He ducked under the low stone lintel and into the dim interior. Mandhi followed.

  At first she only saw the darkness, but she heard the woman speaking from somewhere on the ground. “My name is Shadle, and you have a problem,” she said bluntly. “You need an agent. A group of three Amurans wandering around and asking for a Kaleksha clan isn’t going to get anything except a knife in the belly. But I could do it for you.”

  Mandhi’s eyes adjusted to make out a few shapes in the gloom. The woman Shadle sat on a heavy mat on the far side of the little hut, running a carved wooden trinket through her fingers. She glanced over at Jauda, who stood beneath the peak of the conical hut. He lay a hand carefully on the handle of his sword.

  Shadle laughed. “You think I don’t see what you’re carrying, black friend? That’s part of why no one wants to talk to you. You look like you’re running off to a hleg.”

  “The harbor-master said the same thing, and we still don’t know what it means,” Jauda said.

  “No, you don’t. Listen, I don’t help anyone out of pity, but you pay me and I can bring you to your os Dramab and let you finish your hleg.”

  “First you tell me what a hleg is.”

  The woman pointed at Jauda’s sword. “You carry that to kill
someone. An enemy.”

  “I carry it to protect myself and my charges,” Jauda said.

  Shadle shook her head. “Is that the only weapon you sailed here with?”

  Jauda folded his arms without answering.

  She laughed again. “You call it in Amuran… a war? But not a war with kings. A war between families.”

  “We are not at war with anyone,” Mandhi said.

  “Perhaps that’s what you think. But these os Dramab you’re looking for, are they your friends? Or is the sword for them?”

  “We are not at war with the os Dramab,” Mandhi replied. “We simply need to recover something.”

  “Then you have hleg with the os Dramab, whatever you wish to call it in Amur. There is no other reason for an Amuran to sail to Kalignas and go trying to find a single family with a sword in his hand. And so no one will help you.”

  “But you are offering to help,” Jauda said, his voice cold with distrust.

  “This isn’t for kindness,” Shadle said with a cackle. She slapped her hands together and set them on her hips. “I’ve got no business from the guild for the next few weeks, so I’m free to be bought. You pay me, and I’ll set you off on your hleg.”

  “Do it,” Mandhi said quietly to Nakhur.

  Jauda shook his head. “We give her money, and we’ll never see her again.”

  “Wise man,” the woman said, tapping her cheek. “Tell you what. Tell me where I can find you. I’ll go to Mabeg for you, find the homestead of these os Dramab, and bring you the word. You pay me, and then I’ll tell you the place.”

  “Do it,” Mandhi said more insistently. “It’s the most help we’ve gotten since we landed in this miserable country.”

  Jauda rumbled. “Seems suspicious.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Shadle said flippantly. “If you knew anything about Kalignas, you’d know that. You ask any of these villagers, they have their own clans and don’t want to get caught up in someone else’s hleg. But an old clanless whore like me has to work for anyone who pays her.”

  “Please,” Mandhi hissed.

  “Yes,” Nakhur concurred. “We have precious few choices.”

  “Fine,” Jauda said quietly. “We’re encamped in the forest above Danadl. Do you know where that is?”

  “I do,” Shadle said. “Won’t be hard to find you.”

  “And if you cheat us—”

  The woman raised her hands and smiled at them innocently. “How could I cheat you? When I come to you, either I tell you or I don’t. And you pay me, or you don’t.”

  “You could lie.”

  “As you said, there’s many more of you than there are of me.” The woman grinned. “I come alone with what you need, you keep me until you’re sure I’m not lying. So long as I get paid in the end.”

  “Yes,” Mandhi said. She bowed to Shadle. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” the woman said. “Just pay me. When I come, I’ll come alone.”

  * * *

  Aryaji’s squirming woke Mandhi in the night. Mandhi came to the surface of sleep and became aware of the darkness and the soft sound of drizzle dripping off the needles of the pines. They were in camp with the mercenaries, and it was still dark. Aryaji twisted beneath the blankets next to Mandhi in their camp. Mandhi closed her eyes and attempted to return to sleep.

  Aryaji’s scream split the night.

  Mandhi sat bolt upright. Aryaji stood straight as a pine in the middle of their tent, her arms rigid at her sides, her toes curled together. She screamed again, a shrill, piercing sound that battered Mandhi’s ears and made the hair on Mandhi’s arms stand up.

  “Aryaji, be still,” she hushed. “You’re having a nightmare.”

  She put a hand on Aryaji’s arm, but as soon as she touched her the girl jerked violently and ran out of the tent. Mandhi pulled a cloak over her and ran after. Aryaji stood in the very center of the camp, arms held away from her in a strange, uneasy posture, lit in silver by the near-full moon, and she opened her mouth to scream again.

  “Aryaji!” Mandhi shouted. “Stop it.”

  She grabbed her maid’s wrist and twisted her toward her. Only then did she notice the girl’s eyes, rolled up high inside her head, her face twisted into an awful rictus.

  A brief moment of panic swelled in Mandhi’s chest, but she pushed it down. She had to get Aryaji inside. It was too late to avoid drawing attention—she could hear glimmers of movement throughout the camp, men stirring to see what the problem was. But Aryaji needed to lie down, restrained if necessary. She couldn’t allow her to wander around in the woods tormented by a prophetic ghost. Where was Nakhur?

  Jauda appeared in a shaft of moonlight to her left. He took a glance at Mandhi and Aryaji, then coughed a question. “Is she all right?”

  “I think so, but we should get her inside.”

  Jauda peered into the moonlit woods on every side with a worried expression. “The spirit took her? Must be a reason.”

  “Does it matter right now? Help me, or go find Nakhur.”

  “Perhaps—”

  An arrow thudded into the pine tree between them.

  “—a warning. Get down!”

  Aryaji collapsed into a boneless heap. Mandhi threw herself on top of the girl. The air hissed with arrows. Jauda’s voice thundered: “Awake! We are attacked! Every man awake and to arms!”

  Men carrying bronze swords and wooden shields burst out of their tents, the edges of their weapons shining in the moonlight. Arrows fell around them.

  Jauda crouched behind a tree. “That way!” he shouted, pointing up the gentle slope on which the camp was set. “Find them!”

  Another arrow sent fragments of bark flying off the pine above them. She had to get Aryaji out of danger. The girl was unconscious now, foam and spittle dribbling from the corner of her mouth, as limp as a dead fish in Mandhi’s hands. Mandhi grabbed her wrists and started to drag.

  Shouts and the clatter of arms. Beside her men ran to battle. Screams. Here, behind a twist of a pine root, there was a little hollow in the ground where a stray arrow was less likely to find them. She shoved Aryaji forward, and the girl rolled into the dip and stopped, cradled between two knotty roots. Mandhi covered her with her body, hoping she gave no profile to the attackers. The ground was cold and wet. Mist dripped off the pine needles onto Mandhi’s back. Mandhi shivered and drew her cloak tight over herself and Aryaji.

  Aryaji’s breath tickled Mandhi’s ear. It was shallow and regular, as if the girl slept peacefully. Just like the previous times. Mandhi counted—this was the fifth time Aryaji had been gripped by the spirit, though the message was a little more strident this occasion. Normally Aryaji just babbled. Burn the field, scatter the seed, and other things along those lines.

  The shouts seemed to be getting farther away. She heard no more arrows. Far off to the north she heard something that sounded like a great company of men screaming. No, not screaming. Cheering.

  The crunch of footsteps through wet pine needles. Voices shouting vaguely, excited rather than terrified. They were returning.

  “Where is my niece?” shouted someone very clearly. Nakhur.

  Mandhi rose to her knees. “Right here.” She brushed away the needles and bits of moss which stuck to her face and clothes.

  Nakhur appeared as a silhouette in the moonlight. He knelt and whispered urgently, “Is she all right?”

  “As all right as she always is when the spirit takes her,” Mandhi said. “Sleeping, now.”

  “Is that what happened?” Nakhur asked. His moonlit face seemed to hesitate between relief and horror. “I thought she had been injured in the attack.”

  “No, this was before the attack. Help me carry her back to the tent.”

  Nakhur grabbed Aryaji’s wrists and Mandhi took her ankles, and they lifted Aryaji out of the little nook and carried her back to the women’s tent. Mandhi quickly brushed the detritus of the forest floor off before they laid her down and arranged the blankets over her. H
er clothes were damp and stained with dirt, but Mandhi couldn’t change them now. At least Aryaji would keep warm until morning.

  Nakhur stood at the entrance to the tent watching with his brow crushed in worry. “No harm to her?” he asked as soon as Mandhi had tucked Aryaji nicely beneath her blanket.

  “None, as far as I can tell. You can ask her when she awakes.”

  Nakhur rubbed his temples and heaved a great sigh. “At least you were both safe during the attack.”

  “Safe because she warned us. First time I can say that I’m glad for her gift.”

  “Her affliction,” Nakhur said. He twisted the end of his beard in his fingers. “She was certainly louder than usual.”

  “Good thing. Or else we might be dead.”

  A great knot of men entered the camp from the north, shouting bawdily amongst themselves and carrying something large and heavy between them. Jauda was among them, and when he saw Mandhi and Nakhur standing he waved for them to approach.

  “Found something,” he shouted. “Not what we expected.”

  The men dropped their prize on the ground in the middle of the camp and backed away to make room for Mandhi and Nakhur. Jauda kept his sword drawn and stood over a tall, heavy form.

  “Give her some air,” Jauda said. The circle loosened. Light fell on the figure’s face, and Mandhi felt a lurch of fear and anger. It was Shadle.

  She was awake and alive, but her face was covered in bruises, and one eye had swollen nearly shut. She coughed, then said with an ironic grin. “Hello, black friends. I found the os Dramab for you.”

  Jauda tapped her cheek with the flat of his sword. “I’m not in the mood for jokes, woman. I’ll give you half a moment to explain yourself before I kill you.”

  “Please don’t kill me,” she said. “I didn’t bring them here to attack you.”

  “You didn’t? That’s not what I would have guessed.”

  She groaned then winced from the pain. “They followed me. I was trying to get away. But they overtook me in the night. Then they found you.”

  Jauda kicked her in the ribs. An anguished cry from the woman, and she clutched her side with broken sobs. Mandhi guessed that her ribs had already been bruised by the Kaleksha. Good.