by Glenda Larke
Ryka and Kaneth are right. Mica is dead. Abuse killed him and left a different man in his place. Her own certainty soaked through her, as potent as the fear it engendered; a certainty reinforced by a talk she’d had with Ryka before she’d left. Ryka slept with him, night after night. She knows him in a way Jasper never can, and she didn’t think he’d ever give up his plans for the Red Quarter. She turned around.
“Don’t go,” she said. “Don’t go.” She was shaking with her knowledge of impending disaster. Listen to me, please.
But he was already striding out from under the canvas shelter, unaware of her increased agitation. “I’ll be fine,” he said over his shoulder.
He accepted a plate of food from Dibble and made a joke about the armsman’s cooking. Elmar was stowing his bedroll. They all wore Reduner clothes salvaged from the ruins of Qanatend, but Elmar was the only one of them who really looked the part. His red stain was natural, the result of his time as a slave on the dunes; Terelle had made a stain from her paints for everyone else and it tended to streak.
“Are you clear on what to do?” Jasper asked Dibble.
“Ride like hell for Dune Scarmaker with Lady Terelle. It’ll take us about three days. Wait at the waterhole there for you and Elmar. We’ll know the place because you’ll plant a cloud over the top of it on the third day. There’ll be no one there because it’s been deserted ever since Davim killed the men of the tribe.” Vara Redmane’s tribe.
Sure that Russet’s waterpaintings of her future meant nothing too terrible was going to happen to her until she’d reached Khromatis, Terelle wasn’t nervous, but poor Dibble was already worrying himself sick about her safety. She was tempted to paint the three of them safe, greeting another dawn, but waterpainting was double-bladed magic; it could cut the wrong way. Remember the earthquake that killed the innocent…
Quickly she turned away to pack her things. When she was ready, Jasper took her aside to speak to her. “If there’s no cloud and no sky message, then you’ll know something has gone wrong and it’ll be up to you to find your own way back.”
She stared at him, unsettled and miserable. “Shale—will you do something for me while you’re talking to Mica?”
“What?” he asked, his tone neutral.
“Remember that he was young and confused and vulnerable when he was taken. Who knows how Davim played on that? Talking to Ravard may not be enough to bring the old Mica back. Can you remember that—for me? I want you alive tomorrow. You have to live, and not just for me.”
She tried not to hear the misery in his reply. “I know. In a set of scales, Mica’s life and mine are not equal. That’s not fair to him, but it’s true and I will remember it, I promise. You’re right: no matter what, I have to leave his camp alive and free. You have my promise I won’t make any assumptions. And I know for sure that Elmar won’t either.”
He walked with her to Dibble’s pede, where he squeezed her hand, brushed her forehead with his lips, whispered words of love in her ear, and helped her up. He said to the armsman, “I am relying on you to take care of her.”
She mounted, cursing her purloined pantaloons. They were several sizes too large.
Jasper drew rein in a dip between two folds of the dune. Mounted behind him, Elmar leaned forward to hear his whisper. “We’re about a mile out from the encampment. There’s a sentry directly in front of us, about half a mile away, but he is walking to the right. I think this is a good place to leave the pede. I don’t want the camp animals to smell it and get restless.”
Elmar slid down and started to hobble the antennae. “Shall we leave it loaded?”
“Definitely. I suspect we’ll be leaving in a hurry. We’ll leave our cloaks, too.”
“Can you sense your brother?”
“Not yet.”
Elmar swapped his scimitar for his sword, slipped a dagger into his cloth belt, secreted a smaller blade in his tunic pocket and took up his pede prod. One end of it was iron-tipped and sharp; the other end was weighted. Jasper lit a lantern and then closed the shutters. Designed to filter in enough air to keep the wick alight yet block the light, it was standard city guard issue. It meant they could walk in the dark, but if they needed light in a hurry they could get it by flipping the shutters open.
Elmar stared at him, squinting to see better in the starlight. “You aren’t wearing your sword,” he said.
“No.”
“My lord—”
“I can’t go to talk peace with my brother while openly wearing a blade. I do have a dagger hidden but I have a far more effective weapon. There is always water at hand.” He turned and started to walk up the side of the dune that skirted the dip.
“From now on, over the top of each crest, we’ll crawl, not walk,” Elmar warned. “Against the slope no one will see us, but against the skyline, we block the stars. Enough to alert a good guard.”
“Right. And Elmar, I don’t want a trail of bodies. We sneak in and out, unseen.”
“You going to talk to Ravard unseen as well, m’lord?”
Jasper gritted his teeth. When Elmar larded his conversation with “m’lord,” it meant he was about to raise objections. Usually a lot of them. “Mica and I will either come to some sort of agreement, in which case we walk out of there openly, or we’ll leave him tied up. Or take him with us and dump him away from the camp so he has to walk back before he can rouse an alarm.”
“That easy, you reckon, m’lord?”
“I have my methods. And my weapon to achieve it.”
Elmar nodded dubiously. “I heard the tales, back in Qanatend. They say you did a bleeding good job with water during the battle. But forgive me for a bit of blunt speaking, Lord Jasper, if I say you’d be better off leaving his corpse behind. That might be a more certain route to peace, if you get my meaning.”
“I can’t kill my brother.”
“No, but I can. Do it happily, in fact. I owe the blighted bastard that much.”
Jasper went cold. Had he made yet another mistake? “Armsman, you are in the employ of Breccia and your stormlord. Last I heard, that meant unquestioning obedience and loyalty. You will not kill the sandmaster without explicit instructions from me.”
“Begging your pardon, m’lord, but given the choice between him running you through with a sword and him with my dagger in his guts, I reckon I’ll choose the latter. No bleeding question. And I won’t ask you first.”
“I suppose that’s fair enough. But I don’t want you killing him out of revenge.”
Elmar gave an exaggerated sigh. “Can’t see why not. Frankly, you don’t know the salted bastard. Not like me and Kaneth and Lord Ryka.”
“You have your orders.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“You understand them?”
“Yes, m’lord. He’s safe enough unless he threatens you.”
“Right. Now let’s get going.” Jasper rubbed his arms to warm himself up as they climbed the slope. He felt tight with anger all over. Trouble was, he was no longer sure who had angered him so: Elmar, Mica—or himself.
When they topped the rise, Elmar added, “This does look familiar. But then, the sandblasted dunes all look alike in the dark. In the sunlight too, if it comes to that. Shall we find a tent and knock on the door?” His teeth gleamed in the starlight.
“Sarcastic bastard, aren’t you?” Jasper paused, tasting the air with his water-sense. “He’s here. I have a hint of his water.”
“That’s simple then, isn’t it? All we have to do is get through the guards without them being aware of it, hope there’s no one getting up to water the plants or sneak into his girlfriend’s bedroom, then tip-toe up to Ravard’s tent and get inside without waking him. Then, of course, we wake him up.”
“Is his tent likely to be guarded?”
“They never did that before. Now, who knows? Maybe things have changed now they realise slaves can be a danger. But then, Ravard never did like slaves. The slaves in his camp were Davim’s, not his.”
“Except for Lord Ryka.”
Sandblast you, Elmar. He tried not to think about that, and looked up at the stars instead to judge the time. “How long after sundown do they usually turn in?”
“When the fires die down. Maybe a run or two of a sandglass. They’ll mostly be asleep by now, I reckon.”
They moved on, without talking. Dodging the guards was easy enough when he could feel their water; it just took patience. About half the run of a sandglass later they were lying just under the lip of a sand hill, peering over the top to look down on the encampment. The sweet herbal smell of burning pede dung lingered on in the air, but the communal campfire had been dampened down. A shape nearby indicated someone had fallen asleep, well wrapped. When Jasper reached out with his senses, he discerned an entwined couple.
When some moving water attracted his attention, he shifted his awareness in that direction. Two men, walking together. He located them, but it was impossible in the dark to see who they were or what they were doing. His water-senses did better: men, not women. And their walking was no idle stroll. They were purposeful. Guards, then?
For a long time, he didn’t move. One part of his mind continued to track the two men, but he shifted focus again, this time to the tents, studying each until he knew how many people they contained; who was restless, who was not; where the water jars were, and which jars were most accessible. A scorpion crawled within inches of his hand; he sensed that too, but paid no attention. Elmar grunted and flicked it away.
He widened the circle of his senses again, touching the pedes hitched on five separate tether lines scattered around the encampment.
Another widening out and he was back at the outer sentry posts. The guards were good, alternating their pacing with quiet listening and watching, not following the same routes or any regular path or direction. Unpredictable, and giving every appearance of being alert. If it hadn’t been for his water-senses, there would have been little chance of penetrating their lines without them knowing. And those two men inside the camp? More sentries, he was sure of it now. They were making a circuit, looking at every tent, checking the perimeter and the shadowed areas.
He switched his attention once more, this time seeking out the waterhole down on the plains. Sentries around there too. Gently, he pulled a skein of clean water out of the pool at the bottom of the rocky gully. He teased it to the lip of the gully, skimming it up the rock walls as it came. Pausing it there, he waited to see if the guards reacted. All was quiet.
Not water sensitives, then. He was in luck. He eased the skein a hand span or so above the ground, well away from the guards, towards the encampment. Beside him, oblivious to what he was doing, Elmar studied the layout of the tents.
Jasper whispered, “Mica is in the largest. He’s alone.”
Elmar nodded. He was impatient, but he was also an experienced armsman, used to long runs of the sandglass spent waiting, and his silent, mild fidgeting probably would not have been noticeable to the water-blind.
Refusing to be hurried, Jasper separated the water into two portions. Most he shaped into a thin sheet which he thrust high into the sky. Someone might see and be mystified by the distortion of the stars if they looked up, but he doubted anyone would guess the cause. The rest, about the size of a sleeping pallet, he secreted behind the largest tent. The two guards had just checked the area and moved on.
He whispered, “Let’s go. And remember—we are not here to kill anyone.”
“Right. We’re just here for a friendly chat, like.”
Jasper forbore to reply.
CHAPTER FOUR
Red Quarter
Dune Watergatherer
They reached the back of Ravard’s tent without being seen, or sensed. Jasper paused to take several deep calming breaths. Behind the tent was an outhouse, then the valley slope with his water hovering nearby, but mostly his senses were overwhelmed with the feel of Mica’s water. Worse, his longing for contact was a physical ache in his chest. What he wouldn’t give to touch his brother again, in friendship. To hug him. Sunblast, it was hard to believe in the validity of Terelle’s warning when he remembered a Mica who had been neither brave nor callous…
Beside him Elmar was taut and watchful, his dagger already drawn. He gave a nod, and Elmar inserted the point of his blade into the tent wall and began a vertical cut. The jute canvas was thick and tough; the noise was deafening. Wincing, Jasper gripped Elmar’s arm to stop him.
Elmar stepped back and Jasper applied a small ball of water to the cut and then forced it, drop by drop, into the weave, gradually extending the dampness into a line until it reached the point where the wall disappeared into the windblown sand at his feet. When he’d finished, he stepped back and gestured to Elmar to continue. This time, the cut was completed in silence.
Nothing else had changed. His water-senses told him his brother was prone and unmoving, probably asleep, somewhere towards the front. Silence all around, not a sound to indicate anyone had seen or heard their foray into the encampment.
Gently, he pulled the slit canvas apart and slipped inside. Elmar followed, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, the wrist loop of his pede prod stuck through his belt so that the prod swung at his side, easily accessible. Jasper held the cut open a little longer to bring inside all the water hovering near the outhouse. Elmar grinned at him.
Salted damn, he loves this, Jasper thought. The fear, the anticipation, the fight—he feeds on it. And then, wryly, I wish I could.
The room they entered was small. The carpeting was firm under their weight. Jute, he guessed. Scarpen goat-wool rugs were softer. Carefully he unshuttered one side of the lantern to allow a sliver of light to escape, and followed its beam with his gaze. A bedroom with bedroll, quilts, an empty dayjar, a washstand and a wooden chest; nothing remarkable, nothing to fear—yet sweat rolled down the sides of his face, to peter away into the dryness of the air.
Silently he pushed through the door flap on his right, and found himself in the main hall of the tent, where visitors were received. The tent flap to the outside was laced shut. Woven wall hangings and carpets brightened the interior with vibrant colour and intricate pattern. More wooden chests, the kind the Scarpen imported across the Giving Sea from the Other Side, too many of them for the size of the room, and so very… Breccian.
His heart skipped a beat. Stolen, he thought. Oh, sandhells, Mica. Why?
A large water jar squatted in one corner, tall enough for the lid to be level with his waist and too fat for a man’s arms to encircle. Three-quarters full. Good, a weapon for him, if he needed it. He crossed the room and eased the lid back to expose the water, just in case.
He glanced at the other door in the room, closed by a canvas rolled down from the top. Behind that, his brother slept. Hesitating for no good reason, he stood irresolute and heard Terelle’s warning in his head once more. He put the lantern down on a chest and wiped clammy hands down his trouser legs. Then he gave a nod, picked up the lantern and, with exaggerated care, Elmar moved to lift the canvas door for him to enter the bedroom beyond.
As he stepped in, more sweat beaded on his face and trickled down. Irritated, he tried to vaporise it, but it was too salty and in the end he had to wipe it away so it didn’t sting his eyes. His old failing hadn’t left him—he could only move clean water.
He let the narrow beam of lantern light traverse the room, to fall on the sleeping form. His brother, naked, lay on his side half-covered by a quilt, his breathing deep and even. Mica. In spite of the beaded hair spilling over the cushions, Jasper couldn’t think of this man as Ravard. His water was Mica’s, still tinged with the lad he had been when the two of them had run through the bab groves together.
The bed was some kind of stuffed quilt-like pallet, laid directly on the carpeting. He forced himself to look away, to scan the room for weapons. There they were, lying on top of a large knee-high woode
n chest next to the bed: a scimitar, a sword, a dagger—and a cage of ziggers.
Mica and ziggers. His stomach heaved.
On the other side of the room another similar oblong wooden chest, a washstand with basin and ewer and towel, and some clothes and sandals carelessly discarded on the floor at its foot.
Behind him Elmar—looking meaningfully at the zigger cage—was still holding the door flap open for him to drag in the hovering block of water. Carefully he did so, placing it just under the roof of the tent, a slab hanging right over the sleeping man and his weapons.
Elmar sidled across the room to push aside yet another closed door. He looked through, then signalled that the two rooms beyond were empty. Jasper, who already knew that, reached across his sleeping brother to pick up the blades one by one. He gave them to Elmar, who disposed of them by stealthily shoving them into the connecting room and pushing them out of sight.
Elmar returned to stand by Mica’s head, the point of his drawn sword almost touching the sleeping man. Jasper put the lantern down on the box, careful to ensure the light did not shine on Mica’s face.
Elmar pointed to the ziggers. They were stirring in the cage, waking up in the light, then buzzing, excited. Their wing cases clicked and vibrated.
Loathsome things, Jasper thought, quelling a shudder. We are prey to them. Neither he nor Elmar was wearing the perfume that told the beetles otherwise. Mica would be, but even someone slathered in the right aroma was not mad enough to release them in a closed-in area where they could easily become confused and attack the wrong person. Still, he portioned off part of the water, preparing to drown the little bastards. Then he hesitated. They were no danger in their cage, and killing Mica’s ziggers might not be the best way to start an amicable conversation.
Elmar glared at him. In that split second when his concentration slipped, the Reduner warrior in Mica—doubtless directed by his water-sense—plunged into action. In one violent movement, he twisted and yanked Elmar by the ankles with both hands. Elmar crashed backwards. Mica let go and rolled out from under the quilt to grab for his weapons. His hand groped along the top of the chest in vain.