They had been traveling two days, avoiding the heat by riding early in the morning and late at night—and also to avoid being seen. Yet here they were in broad daylight, and not even moving particularly fast.
Dominic nudged his horse toward Bové and it grudgingly accommodated him. “Isn’t this rather open for us to be traveling like this?”
Bové shook his head. “We are close now. It is better that they see us coming, and that we do not pose a threat. Kungam is not a fool and has many enemies. I have heard that the general in question had Kungam’s entire family killed on the pretext his father had been embezzling government tax money.”
“So that is why you are so sure he will help us?”
“He will be strongly predisposed to do so, let us say. If we can convince him the benefits outweigh the risks. He does not have as many men as the general does, nor a strong defensive encampment.”
They continued on for an hour or so, and Dominic noticed some dark shapes appearing on distant hills that just as quickly disappeared. He hoped they were scouts from the bandit camp, and not soldiers.
Cresting the next rise, he saw the camp. It consisted of a few shabby wooden buildings, mud–brick walls, and large felt tents with many long, narrow streamers fluttering in the wind. The encampment was bordered by a shallow river on one side and steeper hills in the back.
“Will they allow us to enter?” Markus asked.
Bové smiled grimly. “If they did not wish us to approach, we would be dead already.”
Following his example, they dismounted outside the ring of tents and led their horses as they entered. The inhabitants wore heavy tunics and boots, very different from the usual attire of Cathai, and had hard, bold expressions—but made no effort to confront the strangers. All were openly carrying weapons, either long daggers tucked in belts, antique–looking flintlock rifles, or spears with red tassels hanging from the ends of wicked, multi–edged blades.
A long rope strung between two sad–looking trees served as a general tie–up for the horses, next to a curious arrangement of several vertical reed walls, standing all by themselves, with carpets in front of them. A stony–faced woman came out of a hut with a huge, battered copper kettle and served them salty tea and grimy rice balls in exchange for a few of the coins they had managed to save from the soldiers. The rice balls were surprisingly good, and Dominic was glad of the food. His outlook brightened considerably now that his stomach was not growling.
Ardhuin shifted on her carpet. “So, when do we go see Kungam?”
“We don’t.” Bové sipped his tea slowly. “He sends for us. He already knows I am here, and if I have come I wish to speak with him. It is how it is done in these quarters. You cannot hurry them and it is worse than useless to try.”
Dominic was simply glad to not be on a horse for a while, although he hoped he would not have to walk very far either. As much as he was enjoying adventure, there were some crucial aspects he had not been prepared for. Perhaps it would become easier—Bové did not appear troubled by any of the physical discomforts they had encountered.
Time dragged on. No one felt like talking. Dominic found a small notepad in one pocket and borrowed a pencil from Pichon and started making notes on the local scenery, idly wondering if he could ever work in their adventures in one of his stories. Too unlikely, he decided. Besides, they needed to survive first.
As the shadows grew longer, he noticed an approaching figure in the distance. The local men, squatting on their haunches in small groups, looked up with interest but did not move. As the figure grew closer, Dominic could see it was a young boy carrying something thin and flat, like a book, high above his head. The boy headed straight for Bové and skidded to a stop, declaiming something with a great air of importance while holding the flat object high and waving it slightly for emphasis.
“We have our audience,” Bové said laconically, and got up.
“Do we go as well?” Ardhuin asked.
“Everyone. Don’t worry about the horses—no one will touch them. Unless he decides to deny us, but even then he will probably allow us to leave unharmed.”
On that cheerful note, the party of explorers left the reed wall area and followed the messenger along a broad path between the tents. Their destination, a wooden building, looked very much like the tents in shape but was larger and had a small second story and a tower with a blue banner flying from the top.
The interior was dark and stuffy. In the center of the main room was a metal brazier, thankfully empty, ringed by low wooden stools. Bové shook his head when Ardhuin moved toward one as if to sit. One stool was broader and heavier than the others, but no more ornate, and it stood at the head of the room. The room itself was also plain, with no sign of the usual ornate Cathan ornamentation, although the main supports were carved. A handful of hard–faced men ringed the walls. No one spoke.
Heavy footsteps came from the back of the hall, and Kungam entered. He was a giant by Cathan standards—slightly taller even than Bové or Markus. A long scar slashed across his jaw, extending into his hairline, and his eyes were dark and hard as he looked them all over searchingly.
Surprisingly, when he spoke his voice was calm and even. A few words only, and then Bové replied.
“He is asking if the Bone Finder has come to hire,” whispered Sonam. “That must be Bové’s name here.”
Kungam listened impassively as Bové explained how their gear had been stolen. Interest flickered at the mention of raiding, but his eyes blazed when Bové named the general.
“He has stated his terms. He wants a great deal of silver. Bové points out he cannot promise money he does not have, but when he takes his bones back he will have silver then. If Kungam wishes to place his own men with them while they get the bones and go to the port of Ghot, Bové will pay him the silver he asks and the hire of the men.”
Kungam apparently had no patience for the usual Cathan method of long, indirect discussion. In a few minutes more an agreement had been reached. It was hard to tell from the bandit’s stony expression, but Dominic imagined he was pleased.
Bové did not speak until they had left the wooden building, letting out an explosive breath. “Phew! He’s a murderous bastard, all right, but refreshingly direct. We need to make a list of all the equipment that is ours. If we don’t mention it, he keeps it. I also had to promise him all but one of our rifles.”
“I hope you did not promise mine,” Gutrune said coldly. “I will have need of it.”
“Since you are not with the expedition, I’ll do my best to see that it is not taken—but I can’t make any promises. Your best bet is to find it yourself before that lot do.” He sighed. “Kungam is sending scouts ahead to confirm what we have told him about the camp. We’ll follow with the rest of the raiding party.”
Dominic winced. More riding. He’d been hoping for a little more rest before they set out again. Failing that—he hoped Bové had included food in his negotiations.
The bandit camp made her nervous. Gutrune checked her pistol again, and the pouch of ammunition. The only other weapon she’d had with her when the police came was her knife. It wasn’t much for a raid, but it should suffice until she could capture something else—or find her triple. She was determined not to let that, at least, fall in the hands of the bandits.
Markus Asgaya emerged from between the felt tents, carrying a bundle of dark cloth over one shoulder.
“Here, these are for you.” He handed over what turned out to be wide cotton pants and a long, tunic–like jacket in the local style, dark blue with what had probably been white facings but were now off–white and stained.
Gutrune grimaced. “What I have will do, I think.”
“Besides the fact none of Kungam’s men wear that kind of outfit, you may have been seen when we took care of the armory. I’ve encouraged him to think his prestige will rise if it’s believed he conducted the raid entirely with his own forces,” Markus said
airily.
She raised an eyebrow. “And the real reason?”
“It’s a perfectly valid reason!” He hesitated, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Oh, very well—there’s no point in further inflaming any anti–Aeropan sentiment, such as Pei–an indulged in. At any rate, we should not make it harder to calm the unrest. We will do what we must, but His Majesty’s government would take a dim view if we are careless about being seen as taking sides.”
The clothes, surprisingly, were large enough to simply wear over her existing disguise, so she did so. Nothing about the bandits gave her confidence that belongings could be left unguarded for long. Then Bové came by with a water gourd, a thin bedroll and blanket, and a small bag with food. “This is for the journey—we’ll eat before we leave.”
Enough for the raid, but not enough for anything more. It would appear Kungam was not a trusting sort of bandit. Gutrune walked to the horse lines and found Ardhuin, Dominic, and Sonam there, also in bandit disguise. They were holding the reins of shaggy, stocky Asean horses with shabby felt–and–leather saddles.
“Where are our horses?”
“Needed by the raiders, apparently.” Dominic patted the neck of his, a mare of ample girth if not height. “The scouts, so they can ride faster. Me, I am quite pleased with the change—and to have an unimpeachable excuse for keeping a sedate pace.”
Bové appeared while he was speaking, and it seemed to Gutrune he was not entirely happy with the exchange of mounts. “If Kungam did not have such a reputation for keeping to his bargains, I would be advising a hasty escape in the night,” he said in a quiet undervoice. “But then, he is also reputed to pay no attention to social courtesies or deference of any kind. What he has agreed to do he will do as he sees fit; our role is to follow his direction.”
“He has only made himself free of our horses, which are useful to the planned raid,” Ardhuin commented. “Or do you fear he will do more?”
“We don’t have much more,” snapped Bové. “No, the only thing to fear is something changing at the general’s camp that would make us look like liars. If Kungam thinks we were sent to trap him…” He shook his head.
A shout was raised in the camp, and the bandits mounted up. Gutrune took this as the signal for them to do the same, as Bové confirmed. It was dark enough that all rode at a walking pace. The night was still, only disturbed by the footfall of the horses and the creak of leather harness, and the moon had not yet risen so the stars blazed in the sky over the plains.
After a time, she heard the distant thrum of horses at speed. Her eyes had adapted to the dark enough to see it was a small group—the scouts, returning? So soon? She shifted her jacket to make sure she could reach her pistol easily and edged her horse a little farther from the main body of bandits. If something had gone wrong, they would need to react quickly.
But then the scouts were close enough for her to see they were grinning, white slashes in dark faces, and that there was a paler, strange face among them. A captive?
As Sonam translated for them, not just a captive, but a deserter from the general’s camp. He appeared resigned to death but readily answered the bandit’s questions.
“He was with a large group of the general’s men who were ordered to take control of Baiyueh. They left yesterday. There were rumors that the general and the anban were working together, but there was a large explosion and the general took advantage of the problem to capture the town for himself. This man does not want to be a dishonorable soldier, but he has kin in the town and he believes it is his duty to protect the people, not attack them in these troubled times. He has heard of Kungam and will not lie to him—or help him. He asks only that his body not be mutilated.”
“Are they going to kill him?” Dominic sounded horrified.
“They can hardly let him go, to alert the camp.” Gutrune knew she sounded cold but inwardly felt slightly ill.
The tall bulk of Kungam spoke briefly and made a sharp gesture. Sonam slumped.
“What?”
“He is to be tied to a stake here. If he has lied, or if we do not return, he will starve to death. If he has spoken the truth, he will be freed.”
Harsh, but better than she had feared. Kungam spoke again, and Bové waved them over.
“He is planning the attack. Most of the general’s forces are now in Baiyueh. The general remains in the camp with perhaps a third of his men, but they are trained soldiers and quite capable. The camp is fortified and well placed. He wishes to know what magics you can provide for the attack.”
Markus and Sonam looked immediately at Ardhuin, and Gutrune smiled wryly at her startled movement. Even now, she was not entirely used to being thought of as the fearsome mage she was.
“Well defended—and still more men than Kungam has. He needs to get his men up close or even inside before the general knows they are there or that he is being attacked. I can muffle sound around a group of attackers and make those who watch think there is nothing unusual to see.”
“Not illusion?”
She shook her head. “No, that would take too much power, and for what? I will need strength for the fight too. For that, I suggest the two of you focus on harrowfog and light stasis, and I will create a fire golem.”
Markus had an expression of awe. “Truly? Not that I would dream of dissuading you—indeed, I hope to watch—but will this not cause precisely the kind of notice we hope to avoid?”
Ardhuin ducked her head. “Dramatic, yes, but not as effective as a fireshell—which would be noticed, and is much more modern and clearly Aeropan. Fire golems are quite old, and I am also hoping it will serve as a distraction while we look for our…personal gear.”
Gutrune certainly had that intention, and they all knew they needed to keep the magical salts from being found by anyone, even quasi–honest bandits.
Bové merely grunted, and apparently Kungam also approved. Ardhuin glanced meaningfully to one side, and they faded back and away. She made a small gesture with her hand, and the ambient noise of the night and the bandits faded.
“I think you should stay with Dominic.” She looked at Gutrune. “He’ll be able to see the…what we’re looking for, and you can protect him.”
Dominic frowned. “And I think we should stay together. This is dangerous enough without additional risk.”
“The whole point of the fire golem is to be a distraction. I have to keep it in sight to direct it. And Kungam will be watching the magicians but not you.” Judging from Dominic’s narrowed eyes and clenched jaw, he was not appeased, but he said nothing more.
They rode farther until the general’s camp was in view. In the cover of a thicket of dense brush, Kungam made his final preparations. Two groups of men were selected for the initial attack, and a third group cut down brush as quietly as possible and arranged it in a roughly human shape to Ardhuin’s directions. The bundles were not attached to a frame, or even each other. Once Ardhuin was satisfied, she waved the bandits back, and they speedily obeyed. They did not appear comfortable knowing magic was being planned, even for their benefit.
Ardhuin stood for a moment, motionless, then raised both hands in a complex gesture. The bundles of brush shuddered and compressed, rising like a beam lifted by one end, until the figure stood upright. It was hard to see in the dark, but it towered over the bandits even when it shuffled forward.
“Tell them…to follow the golem,” Ardhuin said, strain apparent in her voice. “I have cast a shield of concealment in front of it. Now…the sound muffling.”
Gutrune could still hear footsteps and the creaking rustle of the golem, but as they drew closer to the camp, no alarm was raised. Kungam had chosen a sector of the palisade to the south of the main gate for his attack, and when they were only a few hundred yards from the wall, he lifted a hand. Ardhuin and the golem stopped. She made more gestures, and the two groups of bandits moved away with Sonam and Markus, into what looked like impenetrable s
hadow—and Gutrune realized more magic was at work.
And then the golem burst into flame. Ardhuin had done something to shape the flame beyond merely burning the brush: the head had features now—tusks, and horns, and round bulging eyes of red coals. It moved as if attacking the main gate, and shouting soldiers could be heard behind it.
Very clever. They cannot ignore the risk of fire and hide behind their wooden walls. The frightened soldiers did not appear to notice, as Gutrune had, that their comrades on the wall had mysteriously vanished. Nor did they notice, until it was too late, that a small side gate had been opened through which the rest of the bandits and the expedition members entered the camp.
Gutrune ran inside and took a moment to orient herself. The side gate was for foot traffic, not carts, and led to what appeared to be barracks. It was unlikely their gear would be stored there. In unsettled times—when the general might not be able to fully trust his own men—he would keep valuables close by. She took Dominic’s arm and tugged, catching Stoller’s eye and pulling out her pistol with her free hand.
Three soldiers ran from the gap between two buildings, one bringing his long, brass–trimmed rifle in position to fire at them. Get his weapon. She shot him in the chest, sticking her pistol in her sash and drawing her knife in one continuous movement. She was running now, dodging a lance thrust by ducking, grabbing the rifle with one hand and stabbing upward at the lanceman as she rose. Stoller had accounted for the third soldier by then, and she tossed him the rifle. Without needing a word from her, Stoller put it to his shoulder and covered her while she reloaded the pistol. She supposed there were some advantages to having an old soldier for a servant, if she must have one with her.
A small noise escaped Dominic, and she looked up. He was flat against the building, face deathly pale. She resisted the urge to snap at him. For one thing, they dared not attract more attention.
“This way.” She pointed. “It will be away from the fighting.”
Her intended reassurance failed. “Ardhuin…” Dominic turned to go the opposite direction, and she had to grab his arm again to stop him.
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