Queen of Slaves (The Powers of Amur Book 4)

by J. S. Bangs

  A strange look of confusion and apprehension crossed the man’s face. “Captain!” he cried out.

  Commotion from behind them along the road. A man in a scarlet kurta and shining white dhoti appeared among the two sentries.

  “This woman,” the sentry explained with a contemptuous wave at Vapathi, “says that she’s from the Mouth of the Devourer.”

  The man took in Vapathi and her brood with a look of contempt. “You? Rumor said the Mouth of the Devourer was someone fearsome.”

  “I am not the Mouth of the Devourer,” Vapathi said, careful to keep her tone level and calm. Her heart was beating like stormy waves on the shore. “The Mouth of the Devourer comes after me. I am merely his herald.”

  “And what am I supposed to do for you?”

  “We are looking for two thikratta who escaped from the burning of Ternas. Give them to us, and we might have pity on the city.”

  The captain studied her for a few breaths, then he laughed. “You! You and your herd of mountain children are going to have pity on the city. I guess it’s true what they say about rumor exaggerating everything.” He gestured to the Red Men around him. “Disperse the men, take the women and children into the garrison.”

  Chaludi whimpered. “Should we run?” she asked.

  “No,” Vapathi said. If they scattered, the children might get away—but then they’d be fending for themselves in the villages outside Tulakhanda. In the garrison the Red Men would feed them. She hoped.

  “You’ll regret this,” she said to the captain. “The Mouth of the Devourer takes kindly to those who treat his people kindly.”

  “I’m sure he does,” the captain said with an avuncular smile. “You’ll just stay in our garrison until the majakhadir has decided what to do with you.”

  “I was the majakhadir’s concubine,” Vapathi said. She could not keep a hint of desperation from creeping into her voice. “He’ll be upset if I’m harmed.”

  “First the Mouth of the Devourer, now the majakhadir. Make up your mind about who your allies are. Kill them if they resist,” he added to the soldiers walking past him.

  Vapathi tensed. The imperial guards marched past her, encircling Chaludi and the children. She turned around. Behind her the men in their rear crouched. A few of them bolted as the Red Men approached. The Red Men chased them for a few paces, then let them flee with boos and jeers. A moment later they were dispersed.

  “So,” the captain said calmly, “does the Mouth of the Devourer have something to say? Or the majakhadir?”

  “Bring us the thikratta,” Vapathi said, but her voice shook with fear. “Or you’ll regret it when the Mouth of the Devourer comes.”

  “We’ll see about that. Bring them into the garrison.”

  Chaludi leaned into Vapathi’s shoulder and whispered, “What are we going to do?”

  “Wait for my brother to arrive. He will make all well.”

  She tried to sound brave, but she failed.

  * * *

  The Red Men kept them in an unused sheep pen which butted up against the wall of the small fortress in Tulakhanda. The walls of the pen were high enough the children couldn’t easily climb over, and there was one gate, always watched. The ground was muddy, and soon it stank of the children’s urine. The fine clothes that Vapathi had acquired from the khadir’s wife were torn and ruined with mud.

  She waited for four days to hear any sign of her brother. There was a mile of dry grass between the walls of the city and the forest beyond, empty except for wandering shepherds and the occasional peasant walking to an outlying village. She watched the shadows in the forest constantly, waiting for the hour when her brother would come.

  Kirshta wasn’t the one who came to her.

  “Come to the gate,” the guard demanded. “Someone wants to see you.”

  She came alone, leaving Chaludi and the children in the muddy pen. At the gate one of the Red Men grabbed her by the elbow and marched her forward with fast steps.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  The man didn’t answer.

  The old shepherd’s hut lay within view of the gate. The door was open, and the interior had been swept out. A well-dressed servant stood by the door. The imperial guard pushed Vapathi inside then took up watch.

  A murmur from the dim inside the hut. A woman stepped forward.

  “About as I expected,” she said quietly.

  The woman was finely dressed in a turquoise sari with silver rings on her fingers. She was perhaps ten years older than Vapathi, her hair tied up in a tight bun, with a long thin nose and narrow lips. She looked at Vapathi with an expression of cold contempt.

  “They’re going to send you to the Emperor in Majasravi, I heard,” the woman said. “I thought I would come see what you look like first. Especially since you claim to have known my husband.”

  “Udagra-kha,” Vapathi murmured. “You are Udagra-kha’s wife.”

  “Ruyadi-kha,” the woman acknowledged. She stepped forward and put a finger under Vapathi’s chin, lifting her head to examine her eyes and face. “You have a pretty shape, for a mountain woman. I’m not surprised that Udagra-kha took you. How long were you there?”

  “About a month,” Vapathi said. “Why do you care?”

  “Udagra-kha has always kept a concubine in Majasravi,” Ruyadi said. “He changes them every few years. I dare say you should have gotten at least a year out of him before he got bored. What happened?”

  “Praudhu-daridarya drove my brother out of the Ushpanditya. He came to the estate in Majasravi to seek help, and Udagra-kha sent us away to keep us safe from the Emperor. He was very kind to me.”

  “Sent his new concubine away in order to save her brother.” Ruyadi tisked. “Udagra-kha was always such a romantic. I’m sure he congratulates himself for his nobility every day.” She let go of Vapathi’s face and pointed out the window. “And your brother? Is this the same brother the Red Men have gone out to destroy?”

  “The Red Men and my brother?” A flutter of hope in her breast.

  “You haven’t heard,” the woman said flatly. “Yes, the man calling himself the Mouth of the Devourer has approached Tulakhanda. They say he has an actual peasant army, raised from the villages between here and Pukasra. The main garrison marched out this morning. I expect them to return shortly. It won’t take the Red Men long to put him down.”

  Vapathi stood up straight. Kirshta was here, and their deliverance was close. “The Red Men will not put him down. But you may have a chance. I’ll spare you to repay Udagra-kha’s kindness to me. The Mouth of the Devourer may free you.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow, then pressed her fingers against her lip. “A chance? What freedom is the imprisoned slave going to offer me?”

  “An imprisoned slave? What do you call yourself?”

  Ruyadi laughed. “I call myself the wife of the majakhadir of Tulakhanda.”

  “And how old were you when you were married to Udagra-kha?”

  “I don’t see your point.”

  “You had no choice in the matter, and you were barely more than a girl. I know how it is with noble daughters: traded off like ewes for breeding. You may have slept in a silk bed and eaten off of a silver platter, but one slave recognizes another.”

  Ruyadi’s eyes narrowed. “Is this your attempt to corrupt me?”

  “You are already corrupt.” Vapathi stood as tall as she could and arranged her hands in the Moon posture. “But I’ll give you the chance to be free.”

  The noblewoman laughed. “Everyone trades, everyone plays. Men give their sons to battle and their daughters for gold. You aren’t free, slave girl. You have never been free. If you were in Udagra-kha’s bed, then it’s because you knew how to play as well as any of us.”

  “But the Mouth of the Devourer will change the game.”

  “Will he? Or is he just playing a more outrageous strategy? In any case I expect him to lose.”

  The sound of distant shouting. Vapathi and Ruyadi
looked to the north, toward the main road. A man with a red sash burst from the line of trees a mile distant from the city and ran toward the open gate. He shouted unintelligibly. His tone of panic was unmistakeable.

  “You expect him to lose?” Vapathi said. “I don’t.”

  “The Red Men cannot fail,” Ruyadi said, but there was fear in her voice. “No army of peasants….”

  “The Mouth of the Devourer is not a simple peasant. There is a Power with him that the Red Men do not know.”

  Ruyadi clutched at her skirts. They watched the line of trees into which the Red Men had marched. Men with red sashes at their waists ran from the shadows toward the open gates. The trees bent with an unheard wind.

  “My lady?” said a voice at the door of the hut. The servant’s face appeared. “Perhaps we should return to the estate.”

  “Yes, perhaps we should,” Ruyadi said. She brushed roughly past Vapathi, knocking her with her shoulder and stepped into the scorching yellow sunlight. She gave Vapathi a glare, then addressed the guard at the door. “Keep her and the children under guard. I expect I’ll be back after you’ve taken care of the peasants.”

  She disappeared. The guard came and took Vapathi by the arm and pulled her toward the pen.

  “Listen,” Vapathi said as the man dragged her to the gate. “My brother and his friend are coming. Your captain is already defeated.”

  The man paused at the gate to the pen. The children pressed their faces against the wood and watched her and the soldier.

  “Open the gate. Let us wait for him here. He’ll be kinder to you that way.”

  The guard hesitated. He looked to the north. More men fled in ones and twos from the forest. Above the trees one of the banners of the Red Men gleamed in the sunlight, its red color like fire among the browning leaves. It retreated toward Tulakhanda. A trumpet blast sounded, long and mournful.

  “That sound,” the man said. His voice quivered with fear. “A warning to the gatekeepers. They prepare to close the gates.”

  “Your company admits defeat. They think they can hold the doors of the city against the Mouth of the Devourer. They cannot.”

  He put a hand on the short sword at his waist. “I could kill all of you.”

  “Why? So you can perish with the rest of the city?”

  His hand shook on the hilt of the sword.

  “Bring me and the children to the gate-houses,” Vapathi whispered. “We’ll hold the gates open until the Mouth of the Devourer arrives. And I’ll tell my brother to spare you.”

  She stepped close to him and pierced him with her coldest, most certain stare. Her fingers touched his chest.

  “You’re lying,” he croaked.

  “Would my brother have sent me, a woman alone with a crowd of children, if he wasn’t sure that he would be able to rescue me eventually? This was a test of the city of Tulakhanda, to see who was worthy. Will you be found worthy?”

  The man looked at her, eyes wide with fear. To their north, the first ranks of the main company retreated from the trees, their line ragged, discipline barely holding them together. Another dolorous trumpet blast sounded.

  “Do you know what happened to the parents of these children?” Vapathi asked.

  The man swallowed. He shook his head.

  “They gave their children up to the slavers, who kept them in a pen like this. Neither the slavers nor those unworthy parents will ever descend from the mountains.”

  The man blinked. He saw his comrades retreating, watching over their shoulders with fearful glances, their march nearly a run. A man in unwashed brown clothes emerged from the forest holding a sickle and shouted abuse at them.

  “Let us go,” Vapathi said.

  The man turned suddenly and cut the leather thongs holding the gate shut. Then he dropped his sword and ran toward the open gate.

  The kids who had been watching spilled out into the field. A little girl pulled at Vapathi’s hand. Vapathi picked her up and balanced her against her hip. Chaludi emerged a moment later leading a pair of the shyer children by the hand. She gave Vapathi an amazed look.

  “We’re going to meet up with Kirshta and Apurta,” Vapathi said. “Give them a nice surprise.”

  The Red Men marched toward the city at a pace just shy of a run. Vapathi and the children walked along the path with lazy slowness, reaching the eaves of the forest at the same time as a crowd of peasants holding sickles and staves began to pour from the trees. For a moment they recoiled at the sight of a woman and a crowd of children on the road, staring at them in puzzled incomprehension.

  Vapathi recognized none of them. They must have been Kirshta’s recruits from the villages between Pukasra and Tulakhanda. But she recognized the coldness in their expressions and the fearless way they gripped their farm weapons. Their names had been devoured.

  A shout sounded from the trees, and a moment later Apurta ran from the crowd. He crossed the dry grass between them, and a moment later he wrapped her in an embrace, lifted her off the ground, and kissed her on the lips.

  “You’re free!” he shouted. “What happened?”

  “You came,” Vapathi said. She laughed. “That was all I needed.”

  He kissed her again, crushing her ribs in his arms. She put a finger over his mouth.

  “Stop,” she said. “You have to finish taking the city first.”

  The rag-tag army had stopped to watch Apurta and Vapathi’s reunion. “Right,” Apurta said, setting Vapathi down and picking up the sword he had dropped. He looked at the tail of the retreating Red Men with sudden fierceness.

  “Chase them!” he shouted. He lifted his sword into the air and let out a roar. Sickles and staves rose into the air. The army bellowed with fury and ran down the road toward the Red Men.

  The rearmost line buckled before Apurta’s men even reached them. The red banners dropped to the ground. Spears fell. The retreat became a rout, every semblance of discipline lost in the rush toward the gates. Apurta’s men were mingled with the Red Men by the time they reached the doors.

  There was a brief struggle by the doors of the gatehouse, obscured by the dust. Vapathi couldn’t see who won. She waited. The gates didn’t close.

  She smiled.

  “Come, Chaludi.” She waved to the woman and the children following her. “Kirshta can’t be far behind us. Let’s go ahead of him and find the house of Ruyadi-kha. I’m sure it’s very nice, and she’ll be delighted to serve her new guests.”

  Daladham

  The young thikratta didn’t eat much, which meant that Daladham was left to finish most of the honeyed rice balls himself. He was severely disappointed. The last of the sticky lumps disappeared into his mouth, and he licked his thumb and forefinger. He turned to Amabhu while still chewing and asked, “But what about Audjam’s version of the theft of the Amajati?”

  Amabhu looked puzzled, probably because of the rice in Daladham’s mouth. “The great image of Am?”

  Daladham nodded and swallowed. “Different from Panuna’s, you know.”

  Amabhu nodded. “But Panuna was paid by the king of Sravi—”

  “As Audjam was in the court of Rajunda, yes. We both understand their loyalties. But who has the better of it, Panuna or Audjam? Which of them is lying?”

  Amabhu looked amused. “I can’t say I spent much time worrying about it.”

  Daladham crumpled his brows. “Why else would you read the histories? You have read them both, haven’t you?”

  “I wasn’t trying to compare them.”

  “Oh, you’re useless,” Daladham said. “Why read the historians at all if you’re not going to argue with them?” He pounded his fist on the table and set the clay dishes rattling. The thikratta were too concerned with their esoteric disciplines to even appreciate the treasures they held. The library was wasted on them. He would pay a scribe to copy everything they had, if they’d let him—and they would have to let him. He’d make it a condition of his hospitality.

  “We should prepare,” Caupa
na said quietly. He rose to his feet and brushed a few crumbs of rice off of his dhoti.

  Amabhu jumped his feet as well. Daladham scowled. “Why? You’re not—”

  Jairatu burst through the door of the dining room, jerking aside the curtain. He stood for a few breaths, panting against the lintel, then said, “Uncle you must come to the temple.”

  Caupana nodded and pointed to Jairatu. “We’ll come as well. With the books.”

  Cursed thikratta and their cursed farsight. Daladham had learned not to ask Caupana what he knew—the bald giant would just shrug and say something cryptic, then quietly mosey along doing whatever it was he thought they should do. He turned instead to his nephew.

  “What is it, Jairatu? Weren’t you—”

  “Yes, the temple mother told me,” Jairatu said impatiently. “She wants all of the Amya dhorsha to come and guard. The peasant rebels have entered the city.”

  Daladham’s heart skipped a beat. “But the Red Men—”

  “They’ve broken past the Red Men and overrun the west gate.”

  Daladham rose halfway to standing, then he hesitated. Perhaps it would be better to stay back. “Is it dangerous?”

  Jairatu waved at Daladham with impatience. “It’s not dangerous yet. Come to the temple, we must defend it against looters. The temple mother has called for everyone.”

  “It might be safer here,” Daladham said cautiously.

  “Here? With two maids to defend you? Safer at the temple with all the people, so long as we’re all there.”

  “But surely they’ll respect the holy places—”

  Jairatu gave his uncle a glare of withering anger. “Uncle, please.”

  “Yes, yes,” Daladham said. His knees felt like soft cheese. Surely the peasant looters would respect the holy places. There would be no cause for alarm. No danger, no fighting. None of that.

  The two thikratta joined them in the front courtyard of Daladham’s house, where Jairatu waited at the gate. Daladham hesitated once and looked back across the courtyard: eight palms over a little lotus pool, white plaster over brick on the front of the house. The looters would leave it alone, he hoped. There were many larger homes in the area; he was an old dhorsha of very modest wealth. Surely no one would bother him. He bit his lip and locked the gate as he left.