Spy, Spy Again

by Mercedes Lackey

  All of these were true. They had been part of her survival training. She’d been ten at the time.

  Just then she heard considerable activity outside the cell door; it opened again, and another priest with a trailing set of two guards came in, one, as before, with a stool.

  This priest, also garbed in black, but sporting a huge gold necklace with a sun-disk around his neck, was very old; to someone not used to reading faces and posture as well as Sira was, he would have looked kindly. But the wrinkles in his face told her of far more frowns in his life than smiles, even if he was smiling now. And she already knew what was coming.

  I cannot believe they are actually resorting to “good interrogator/bad interrogator.”

  If the situation had been less annoying, this would have been amusing. It was, at the moment, only annoying, because they had not yet threatened her with physical harm.

  But unless she could persuade them to free her now, that was just a matter of time. By this point she was losing her confidence in her ability to get out of here on her own.

  In fact, I’m beginning to think I might be in trouble. . . .

  “Now, now, my brother,” said the second priest to the first. “I believe we need to reassure this girl, not frighten her.”

  “She’s not frightened,” the first growled. “She’s impudent.”

  The second pretended to ignore him, and leaned toward her, still smiling. “So, girl, what is your name and why were you traveling from the land of the Sleepgivers?”

  “My name is Sira, I am a hunter, and I was on my way to the Amber Moon magicians to consult with them about my mother’s Talisman,” she repeated, deadpan.

  “A hunter? That is a strange thing for a girl to claim,” said the second, with a false smile.

  “Not among the people of the desert of Ruvan,” she countered. “It does not require great strength to be a hunter, especially of small game. It takes endurance, patience, and skill, the former two of which females have in abundance.”

  “Indeed?” His chuckle was as false as his smile. “And how is it you come from Sleepgiver lands if you are not a Sleepgiver yourself?”

  “Because the Sleepgivers allow any able to sustain themselves and produce goods for trade to dwell within the mountains the King of Ruvan has granted them, provided that they keep a respectful distance from the Sleepgiver strongholds and pay them a tenth of what they make in tribute.” She shrugged. “No one sane flauts this rule. They are dangerous.”

  “So you say. And yet they have not harmed you.” The first interjected himself into the conversation.

  “They have no need, for I do not break the Sleepgiver rules.” She had no difficulty keeping her expression as bland and wooden as a carved figure’s. And before she answered, she always made sure she was phrasing things so that she would not trigger a Truth Spell. “It is safer for women in the Sleepgiver mountains anyway, and there are several such as I who take advantage of that. They have laws against interfering with a woman. Or anyone, actually,” she added.

  “Indeed?” The single word invited elaboration. She didn’t give it. She did think about adding “Why don’t you try it and find out?” but that would be giving them insolence and she didn’t intend to give them anything.

  “You know, girl. . . .”

  You’re still not using my name.

  “We could just let you go on your way. If you would just cooperate with us.” He beamed at her, as if he had just offered something extraordinary.

  She gave him the blankest look she could manage. “I am a desert hunter. My name is Sira. I was on my way to consult with the Amber Moon Mages about my mother’s Talisman,” she repeated. “No one who lives on sufferance in Sleepgiver lands is allowed near enough to them to learn anything. Now, if you want a long talk about the habits of desert hares, sand deer, hopper rats, topknot quail, and silky goats, I will be happy to cooperate and tell you all about them.”

  The first priest pounced. “That Talisman! The Sleepgivers wear them!”

  “The Sleepgivers may very well wear Talismans. Not like this one,” she corrected. “Many people wear Talismans. You yourself wear one about your neck.”

  “But why were you going to the Mages of Amber Moon about yours?” purred the second priest.

  “Because sometimes I think I can hear my mother giving me instructions when I need guidance,” she said, with absolute truth. It took some tricky thinking and deliberate pauses to make sure she was concentrating on the right Talisman when answering a question about them, but this was, in fact, the absolute truth. That the Talisman also gave her muscle-memory of how to perform some very impressive feats of fighting and agility—

  Well, they hadn’t asked about that, and she wasn’t going to volunteer it.

  This time both priests frowned, as if this answer puzzled both of them. It certainly wasn’t the one they expected.

  “Perhaps we could—” the old priest began.

  “It doesn’t happen all the time, and for anyone else it’s just a dead piece of stone,” she said flatly, and started to take her own Talisman off. “But if you want to risk it. I don’t know what will happen if you start mucking about with it. Mother-magic is very powerful, if it is indeed magic and not my own good sense talking to me.”

  The first priest started to reach for it. The second stopped him. “Better not,” he cautioned. “I’ve never heard of something like this before.”

  The first pulled his hand back, grumbling under his breath.

  They both studied her for a long, silent time, while she just sat there, expressionless, not doing anything to encourage them, but obviously not cooperating in the way they wanted either.

  The silence got so oppressive that she finally decided to break it herself. “The desert hare,” she said, in bored tones, “Makes its warren in the roots of the thita bush. It only emerges at sunset and remains out until a few glass-turns after sunrise. It gets most of its water by licking the dew from the leaves of the thita, where dew collects. It gets the rest by eating the dead-man’s-hand cactus. You’d be poisoned if you tried that, but the hare somehow isn’t; those cacti are its main source of food. You can catch them by setting a snare in the runs it makes through patches of these—”

  “Enough!” snapped the first priest.

  “Would you rather hear about the top-knot quail?” she asked, innocently.

  “No!” His face was getting very red.

  “What about the sand deer? Did you know it’s actually possible to train a brown-wing desert hawk to help you kill them?” She resisted the urge to bat her eyes at him.

  “I said enough!” he spat, and he rose from his stool. “It’s obvious you have no intention of cooperating. We’ll have to resort to other ways of making you talk.”

  The older priest got up without a single word, his face settling into the disagreeable expression that was probably his normal one. All four guards and both priests left the cell, leaving her alone once more.

  Obviously, they were not going to let her go.

  And obviously, that last sentence had been the threat of physical measures.

  Well, damn, she thought. There was no hope for it. It wouldn’t be long now before she was forced to give them evidence that she was, in fact, a Sleepgiver.

  And she still had no plans for getting out of here.

  I am definitely in some difficulty now.

  8

  Tory was very impressed. The three of them had, indeed, made astonishing time to the Border.

  It certainly helped that they began each day’s journey in the dim light of predawn and ended it at twilight. And the fact that they paused during the day only for brief intervals and made use of what they carried and what was in the Waystations for food rather than relying on inns and taverns sped things up considerably.

  But there was absolutely no doubt, whatsoever, tha
t Ahkhan’s sturdy little horse had every bit of the speed and stamina of a Companion, and Tory would not have believed that if he had not personally witnessed it.

  “This is nothing,” Ahkhan said dismissively, when Tory said as much on the third night of their journey. “You have good roads, we have not encountered bad weather, and there is still plenty of rich forage as well as hay and grain. My Natya can do this in the desert, and be ready for a battle at the end of it, so long as she has grain once a day.” He chuckled. “Though, if she were to live in your pastures, she would soon become as round as a pampered pony.”

  And long before Tory expected to, they had reached the Border with Menmellith, just after noon on a glorious autumn day. There was a Guard station there, but it was more of a courtesy than a hindrance to anyone crossing into Valdemar.

  It was a station with a full garrison of twelve, a proper stone building with a stone stable attached, capable not only of holding the garrison, but providing rooms for Valdemaran officials or Heralds, should any come this way. There were two Guards on duty at the roadside as they rode up, and they looked with surprise at two non Heralds riding what were obviously Companions but going in the wrong direction to have been newly Chosen. They recognized Ahkhan though, and registered shock that he had traveled from this very station to Haven and back in so short a time. “Does that nag of yours sprout gryphon-wings when no one is looking?” asked one of the half-dozen Guards who emerged to eye this extraordinary beast.

  “She is of her kind, as the Shin’a’in war steeds are of their kind,” Ahkhan replied with a faint showing of pride. “And a member of one’s family, as theirs are of the Clans.”

  One of the Guards looked very disappointed at that. Tory wondered if he had been on the verge of making an offer for the horse. Tory wouldn’t blame him for disappointment if that was what had been on his mind.

  There was a little palaver that needed to happen—they needed to state their business (“Crown orders,” with papers to match) and their names (though Kee made no mention of the fact that he was a Prince). And that was all, presumably because they were leaving Valdemar, rather than entering. Ahkhan’s name got crossed off a list as someone who had entered and exited properly without making any trouble while he was there, and they were wished good luck with their business.

  Oddly enough, there were no corresponding guards on the Menmellith side of the Border. Tory wondered about that—did they just not care who came and went? Or was this more a reflection that the Border here was more . . . fluid than the Valdemar border was?

  Didn’t Abi say something about that when she was down here? Maybe that was it; if the inhabitants of this part of Menmellith had been perfectly free to decide whether or not to join Valdemar, that could mean that there wasn’t nearly as much control over the outlying regions of Menmellith as there was in Valdemar.

  Which was rather worrying, because that left these people open to be annexed by Karse, which would not be good for Valdemar.

  Then again, they really loathe Karse here . . . and perhaps they have their own militias to deal with any problems.

  He decided that he’d talk about this with his father and mother when he got back home. All he could really do was report on the situation; it wasn’t as if he could actually do anything about it.

  They crossed without any more fuss than that, and then it was Ahkhan’s turn to take the lead. He had pledged last night that the promised “transportation” would be no farther than three candlemarks from the Border, and he seemed completely confident that this “transportation” was going to get them wherever it was he intended to take them. Where that was, Tory had no idea. Probably not the Sleepgiver stronghold, though. Despite the fact that Bey had sent his father several missives over the years, the leader of the Sleepgivers had yet to divulge just where the Sleepgivers lived, and all Ahkhan had said was that it was “in Ruvan.”

  So Tory had no expectation of what they were going to see when Ahkhan led them off the main road down a side path that ran through the hills that were so typical of this part of the world. That path took them deep into a forested area to a walled enclave much too large to be a farm. The walls themselves were brown stone, and very old and tall, with imposing wooden gates that must have taken three men to open and close. It looked like some manner of religious holding rather than that of a noble; but the gates were guarded, and the guards returned Ahkhan’s salute as if they knew him before they moved to open those gates.

  Ahkhan dismounted. “Here, you may leave your Companions,” he told them. “You will not need them again, this side of the Border.”

  They both dismounted and removed their packs; Tariday and Elissa could easily find their way back to Haven from here. Tory was rather sorry to see Elissa go. Although they couldn’t Mindspeak, he’d found her to be rather eloquent with voice and gestures, to the point where they could have something of a conversation. She seemed just as sorry to part from him; she gave him an affectionate nuzzle and a low whicker before turning her back on him and following Tariday back down the path they had come at a brisk canter. They’d be safe enough on the way back.

  As for him and Kee, well . . . this was where the adventure and the journey into the unknown began.

  Tory shouldered his pack and followed Kee in through the gates.

  He was not extraordinarily Empathic, but he did sense things about those guards that “felt” very like Ahkhan—and quite unlike the Valdemaran Guards he had known all his life. A sense that beneath their calm exteriors, these were exceptionally dangerous men, and a sort of affinity with Ahkhan himself. Curious. As the gates closed behind them, he saw that Ahkhan was already talking with a group of three, two men and a woman, wearing short robes over wide-legged trews, all in mismatched browns and grays. One man was tall, balding, and bearded, one middling, ginger-haired and bearded, the woman was square-jawed and blond, and they all looked nearer to sixty than thirty. He felt a bit of a thrill as he noticed that although the colors of their clothing did not match enough that the outfits could have been called a “uniform,” they each had what looked like some manner of arcane symbol embroidered on the right breast of each robe. So this was some kind of organization, but probably not religious in nature. Could this possibly be some sort of magicians’ stronghold? His heart beat faster at the thought.

  One of the two men turned toward them, and beckoned them to join the little group, smiling. “Welcome to the Northern School of the Amber Moon Mages,” he said cheerfully. “You are just in time.”

  In time for what?

  “I am Bertolome. I am the Chief Mage, here,” the man said, accelerating Tory’s heart-rate. “I’d give you a warmer welcome and show you the School, but time is of the essence. We’re to supply your transportation to the Southern School, in Rethwellan, near the Karsite Border, and we’ll need to hurry in order to accomplish that.”

  He was speaking Valdemaran, with a decided accent. At this, Ahkhan pursed his lips. “My thanks for your reminder, Bertolome. I had nearly forgotten something very important,” he said, in tones that suggested reproach had been earned for his own forgetfulness. He turned to the female magician. “Would you have those amulets I bespoke from you?” he asked politely.

  “Of course,” she chuckled. “I was just waiting for you to ask.” She reached into a belt-pouch and took out two clear crystals strung on leather cords, handing one each to Tory and Kee. They both took them, dubiously.

  “What’s this for?” Kee asked. Perhaps he was just now recalling Mags’ descriptions of those Sleepgiver Talismans that were intended to take over the wills and personalities of their wearers.

  “Languages,” said Ahkhan, succinctly, as the three Mages watched them closely to see their reactions. “These will give you the ability to speak and understand the languages of Menmellith, Rethwellan, Ruvan, Karse, and the Nation.”

  “But—how?” asked Kee, as Tory now looked at the crysta
l in his hand with growing excitement. Magic! This was real magic! In his hand! He couldn’t wait to try it! He pulled the leather cord over his head even as Kee blinked at his own crystal incredulously.

  “You will need these tongues,” Ahkhan told him, smiling slightly, as he heard the words in what sounded like perfect Valdemaran—and yet, he heard something else, faintly, that was nothing at all like Valdemaran, which he understood to be the Sleepgiver language. “If you wear them long enough, all five of those languages will seep into your mind and take hold as if you had learned them naturally.”

  “This is amazing!” Tory responded in the same language, as Kee looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Probably because to Kee it sounded like both of them were babbling.

  Then Kee shrugged, and pulled the cord of his crystal over his own head, as Ahkhan motioned to him to do so impatiently. “All is in readiness,” said the second man, who had been silently watching until now. This was in the language of Menmellith, and Kee gaped at him. “You were only just in time, for we were about to close the way soon. Come.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and headed into the large brown stone building behind them all, a plain building as big as the Heralds’ and Healers’ Collegia combined, that filled the walled enclosure. Tory hastened to catch up to him, as Ahkhan strode after him, Kee and the other two Mages bringing up the rear. Inexplicably, Ahkhan was leading his horse. Surely they were not going to allow a horse into the building—

  But it appeared that they were!

  “All what is in readiness?” Tory asked, as they entered through a side door and began crossing a series of interconnected rooms—it appeared these people did not have hallways. He didn’t get a chance for more than a glimpse of what was in any of them, but one was full of books and reading stands, one was what looked like a stillroom full of faint scents that made him want to sneeze, in the next, several people appeared to be engraving something on stones and metal pendants, and in the last, people were diligently copying down a complicated diagram that an old man had drawn in chalk on a slate surface set into the wall. In all of them, every wall and floor was constructed of stone, and the ceilings appeared to be stone laid over close-set beams. Tory wished desperately that they weren’t hurrying through these rooms so quickly, and equally he wished that Abi was here to explain what he was seeing to him. They certainly didn’t build like this in Valdemar, or at least, not in any part of it that he’d been in.