When the moon came out between a break in the clouds, Zedd put out a hand to stop Ann, and squatted down to take a quick appraisal of the landscape while there was light enough for a moment. He saw little but the eight- to ten-foot-high walls of the banks and, beyond, the nearly barren hills. There were scattered copses on distant hills.
In the low valley ahead, the stream ran into a thicket of woods. Zedd turned back to tell Ann that their best bet might be to hide in the brush and woods. The Nangtong might be leery of a trap, and stay out of such a place.
The moon was still out. He saw behind them their perfect pair of tracks through the mud. He had forgotten that he couldn’t hide their trail. He pointed, so she would see them, too. She gestured with a thumb, indicating that they should get out of the muddy gully.
Twin, reed-thin screams in the distance cut through the stillness. “The horses,” he whispered.
The screams silenced abruptly. Their throats had been cut.
“Bags! Those were good horses. Do you have anything with which to defend yourself?”
Ann flicked her wrist and brought forth a dacra. “I have this. Its magic won’t work, but I can still stab them. What do you have?”
Zedd smiled fatalistically. “My honeyed tongue.”
“Maybe we should split up, before your weapon gets me killed.”
Zedd shrugged. “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wish to strike out alone. We have important business. Maybe it would be better if we split up to give a better chance of at least one of us making it.”
She smiled. “You just want me to miss out on all the fun. We’ll get away. We’re a goodly distance from the horses. Let’s stay together.”
Zedd squeezed her shoulder. “Maybe they only sacrifice virgins.”
“But I don’t want to die alone.”
Zedd chuckled softly as he moved on, searching for a place ahead where he could take them up and out of the ravine. He finally found a cut through the bank. Roots of gnarled bushes hung down like hair, providing handholds. The moon slid behind a thick cloud. In the inky darkness, they climbed slowly, blindly, feeling their way with their hands.
Zedd could hear a few bugs buzzing about and, in the distance, the mournful call of a coyote. Other than that, the night was still and silent. Hopefully, the Nangtong would be busy picking through Zedd and Ann’s things back with the horses.
Zedd reached the top and turned to help pull Ann up. “Stay on your hands and knees. We’ll crawl or at least crouch as we go.”
Ann whispered her agreement. She made her way atop the bank with him. They struck out, away from the gully. The bright moon came out from behind the cloud. In a semicircle right in front of them, blocking their way, stood the Nangtong. There were perhaps twenty of them. Zedd reasoned that there were more about nearby; Nangtong hunting parties were larger.
They were not tall, and were nearly naked, wearing only a thong and a pouch of sorts that held their manhood. Necklaces made of human finger bones hung around their necks. Heads were shaved bald. They all had sinewy arms and legs and pronounced bellies.
The Nangtong had all smeared white ash over their entire body. The area around their eyes was painted black, giving them the appearance of living skulls.
Zedd and Ann peered up at spears, their barbed, steel points glinting in the moonlight. One of the men chattered an order. Zedd didn’t understand the words, but he had a good idea of what it meant.
“Don’t use the dacra,” he whispered over to Ann. “There’s too many. They’ll kill us on the spot. Our only chance is if we can stay alive and think of something.” He saw her slip the weapon back up her sleeve.
Zedd grinned up at the wall of grim faces. “Would any of you men happen to know where we could find the Jocopo?”
A spear jabbed at him, then signaled them to stand. He and Ann reluctantly complied. The men, not up to Zedd’s shoulders, but about as tall as Ann, crowded in around them, suddenly jabbering all at once. Men pushed and poked at them. Their arms were pulled back and their wrists tightly bound.
“Remind me again,” Ann said to him, “about the wisdom of leaving these heathens to their unenlightened practices.”
“Well, I heard from a Confessor, once, that they are quite good cooks. Perhaps we will sample something new and delightful.”
Ann stumbled but caught herself as she was pushed on ahead. “I’m too old,” she muttered to the sky, “to be mucking about with a crazy man.”
An hour of brisk marching brought them to the Nangtong village. Broad, round tents, perhaps thirty of them, made up the mobile community. The low tents hunkered close to the ground, presenting the least possible purchase to the wind. Enclosures made of tall stick fences held a variety of livestock.
Chattering people, wrapped head to toe in unadorned cloth to hide their identities from the sacrificial offerings about to take their prayers to the spirit world, turned out to watch Zedd and Ann being prodded at spearpoint through the village. Their captors, covered in the white ash and with their eyes painted black, were hunters in the guise of the dead, so there would be no danger of their being recognized as one of the still living.
Zedd was jerked to a halt before a pen while men undid the rope tie at the gate. The gate swung open in the moonlight. It seemed that the whole Nangtong village had followed behind. They hooted and hollered as the two prisoners were hustled through the gate, apparently wanting to give messages to the two spirits about to go speak on the Nangtongs’ behalf to their ancestors.
Zedd and Ann, their wrists still bound behind their backs, both fell when they were forcefully shoved into the pen. It was a muddy landing. Snorting shapes loped away. The pen was occupied by pigs. The way they had churned the ground into a quagmire, the village must have occupied this place for at least the past few months. It smelled like what it was.
The spirit hunting party, nearly fifty, as Zedd had guessed, split up. Some went back to tents, surrounded by gleeful children and stoic women. Others of the hunters encircled the pen to stand guard. Most of the people who stood around watching were calling out to the prisoners, giving their messages for the spirit world.
“Why are you doing this?” Zedd called to their guards. He nodded his head and inclined it toward Ann. “Why?” He shrugged.
One of the guards seemed to understand. He made a cutting gesture across his throat, and then indicated the imaginary blood running from the pretend wound. With his spear, he pointed at the moon.
“Blood moon?” Ann asked under her breath.
“Red moon,” Zedd whispered in realization. “The last I’d heard, the Confessors had secured a pledge from the Nangtong that they would no longer sacrifice people. I was never sure if they held to their promise. Just the same, people stayed away.
“The red moon must have frightened them, made them think the spirit world was angry. That’s probably why we’re to be sacrificed: to placate the angry spirits.”
Ann squirmed uncomfortably in the mud beside him. She gave Zedd a murderous look.
“I only pray that Nathan’s situation is worse than ours.”
“What was it you said,” Zedd asked absently, “about mucking about with a crazy man?”
Chapter 39
“What do you think?” Clarissa asked.
She turned a little one way and then the other, trying to mimic a natural stance while feeling anything but natural. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, so she clasped them behind her back.
Nathan was lounging in a chair as splendid as any she had ever seen, its padded seat and back covered with striped tan and gold fabric. His left leg was draped casually over one of the chair’s ornately carved arms as he slouched with his elbow propped on the chair’s other arm. His chin rested thoughtfully in the heel of his hand. His sword’s finely crafted silver scabbard hung down, so that its point touched the floor in front of the chair.
Nathan smiled that smile he had that said he was sincerely pleased. “My dear, I think you look lovely
.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that? You really like it? I don’t look . . . silly?”
He chuckled. “No, most definitely not silly. Ravishing, perhaps.”
“But I feel . . . I don’t know . . . presumptuous. I’ve never even seen clothes so fine, much less tried them on.”
He shrugged. “Then it’s about time you did.”
The dressmaker, a thin, neat man with only a wisp of long gray hair covering the bald expanse atop his head, returned through the curtained doorway. He gripped each end of the tape measure draped around his neck, seesawing it nervously back and forth.
“Madam finds the dress acceptable?”
Clarissa remembered how Nathan had instructed her to conduct herself. She smoothed the rich blue satin at her hips. “It’s not the best fit—”
The dressmaker’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Well, madam, had I known you were to grace my shop, or if you had sent the measurements on ahead, I would certainly have made the appropriate alterations.” He glanced to Nathan. His tongue darted out again. “Be assured, madam, I can make any necessary minor adjustments.”
The man bowed to Nathan. “My lord, what think you? I mean, if it were altered to suit you.”
Nathan folded his arms as he studied Clarissa the way a sculptor studied a work in progress. He squinted as he considered, rolled his tongue around inside his cheek, and made little sounds in his throat as if unable to decide. The dressmaker twiddled with the end of his tape measure.
“Like madam says, it fits a little sloppily at the waist.”
“Sir, have no fear.” The dressmaker whisked around behind her, tugging sharply at the material. “See here? I have but to take a dart or two. Madam is graced with an exquisite figure. I rarely have ladies so fine of form, but I can have the dress altered in a matter of hours. I would be most honored to do the work this very night and have it delivered to you at—at—where would you be staying, my lord?”
Nathan flicked a hand. “I’ve yet to seek accommodations. Any place you could recommend with confidence?”
The dressmaker bowed again. “The Briar House would be the finest inn in Tanimura, my lord. If you wish. I’d gladly have my assistant run over there and make arrangements for you and . . . madam.”
Nathan straightened himself in the chair and fingered a gold coin from his pocket. He flipped the coin to the man, followed by a second, and then a third.
“Yes, thank you, that would be very kind of you.” Nathan frowned in thought, and then tossed the man another gold coin. “It’s late, but I’m sure you could convince them to keep their dining room open until we arrive. We’ve been on the road all day and could use a decent meal.” He shook a finger at the man. “Their best rooms, mind you. I’ll not have them sticking me in some cramped little sty.”
“I assure you, my lord, the Briar House has no room that could remotely be considered a sty, even by one such as yourself. And how long shall I have my assistant tell them you will be staying at their establishment?”
Nathan stroked the ruffles on the front of his shirt. “Until Emperor Jagang requires me, of course.”
“Of course, sir. And would you like the dress, my lord?”
Nathan hooked a thumb in the little pocket in the front of his green vest, letting his hand hang. “It will have to do for common wear. What do you have that would be more elegant?”
The dressmaker smiled and bowed. “Let me bring some others for your approval, and madam can try on the ones you fancy.”
“Yes,” Nathan said. “Yes, that would be best. I’m a man of wide experience and refined taste. I’m used to better. Bring something to dazzle me.”
“Of course, my lord.” He bowed twice and rushed off.
Clarissa grinned in wonder after the man had gone. “Nathan! This is the finest dress I’ve ever seen, and you wish him to show us something better?”
Nathan lifted an eyebrow. “Nothing is too good for a concubine to the emperor, the woman carrying the emperor’s child.”
Her heart fluttered to hear the prophet say that again. Sometimes, when she looked into his azure eyes, she almost saw something there, almost had the vaguest impression, if only for an instant, that Nathan was quite beyond mad. But when that serene smile of his came to his face, she melted in his confidence.
He was more daring than any man she had ever met. His daring had saved her from the brutes back in Renwold. Since then, his daring had saved them in circumstances that to her seemed worse than hopeless. There had to be a grain of madness in daring that far beyond bold.
“Nathan, I trust in you, and will do whatever you ask of me, but please, would you tell me if this is just a story to pass us here, or do you really see such a horrid thing for my future?”
Nathan brought his leg down and rose to his full, towering height. He lifted one of her hands, bringing it to his heart as if it were the most fragile of blossoms. His long silver hair slipped over the front of his shoulder as he stood ever so close to her and looked into her eyes. “Clarissa, it is just a tale to accomplish my goals. It in no way reflects anything I see about the future. I won’t lie to you and tell you that there are not dangers ahead, but be at ease for now, and enjoy this much of it. We must wait for a while, and I wanted you to have an enjoyable time of it.
“You are pledged to do what you must. I trust in your word. In the meantime, I wanted nothing more than to do you a simple kindness.”
“But shouldn’t we hide where people won’t know of us? Somewhere alone and out of sight?”
“That is the way criminals or unskilled runaways would hide. That’s why they get caught. It makes people suspicious. If anyone is hunting them, they look in all the dark holes, never thinking to look in the light. As long as we must hide, the best place to hide is in the open.
“The story is too preposterous for people not to believe in its truth. No one would ever consider that anybody would have the audacity to invent such a tale, and so no one will question it.
“Besides, we aren’t really hiding; no one is hunting us. We simply don’t want to make people suspicious. Hiding would make them so.”
She shook her head. “Nathan, you are a marvel.”
Clarissa eyed the bodice of the beautiful dress, what she could see of it, anyway, beyond the exposed flesh of her breasts, which were pushed up so high that they nearly tumbled out. She tugged at the bone stays lying against her ribs under her bosom. She had never worn such strange and uncomfortable undergarments. She couldn’t imagine why they were all required. She smoothed the silken skirt of the dress.
“Does it look good on me? I mean, honestly. Tell me the truth, Nathan. I’m just a plain woman. Doesn’t it look silly on a plain woman?”
Nathan’s eyebrow arched. “Plain? Is that what you think?”
“Of course. I’m no fool. I know I’m not—”
Nathan waved her to silence. “Maybe you should have a look for yourself.”
He pulled the sheet off the standing mirror. This was a showing room for gentlemen. When he had instructed her on matters of decorum and propriety, he had told her that the mirrors in such a place were rarely used, and she wasn’t to look in one unless asked. It was the look in the gentleman’s eyes that mattered in such an exclusive shop, not the look in the mirror.
Nathan gently took her elbow and walked her before the mirror. “Forget what you see in your mind, and look at what others see when they look at you.”
Clarissa’s fingers fidgeted over the bunched frills at her waist. She nodded at Nathan, but feared to look in the mirror and be disappointed by what she always saw when she looked at herself. He gestured again. Wincing just a little out of embarrassment, she turned to gaze at her reflection. Her jaw dropped at what she saw.
Clarissa didn’t recognize herself. She was not this young-looking. A woman—not a young, fickle woman, but a woman in the full glory of her maturity, a woman of elegance and bearing-stared back.
“Nathan,” she whispere
d, “my hair . . . my hair wasn’t this long. How did the woman who worked on it this afternoon make it longer?”
“Ah, well, she didn’t. I used some magic to do it. I thought it would look better if it was just a bit longer. You don’t object, I pray?”
“No,” she whispered. “It’s lovely.”
Her soft brown hair was done in ringlets, with delicate violet ribbons tied into them. She moved her head. The ringlets sprang up and down, and swayed side to side. Clarissa had once seen a woman of standing come to Renwold, and she had hair like this. It was the most beautiful hair Clarissa had ever seen. Now, Clarissa’s hair looked just like that.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Her shape was so . . . shapely. All those hard, tight things under her dress had somehow rearranged her figure. Clarissa’s face blushed to see her bosom straining up the way it did, half exposed for all to see.
She had always known, of course, that women like Manda Perlin weren’t really shaped as they appeared. She knew that when they had their clothes off, their shapes were not a great deal different from any other woman’s, but Clarissa had never known just how much of it was due to the dresses those attractive women wore.
In the mirror, in this dress, with her hair done in such a fashion and with the paint on her face, she looked the equal of any of them. Perhaps older, but that age seemed only to add bearing to what she saw; not a spent, unattractive quality, as she had always thought. And then she saw the ring in her lip. It was gold, not silver.
“Nathan,” she whispered. “What happened to the ring?”
“Oh, that. Well, it wouldn’t do to have you supposedly a concubine to the emperor himself and carrying his little emperor heir, and have a silver ring through your lip. Everyone knows that the emperor only brings those with gold rings to his bed.
“Besides, you were wrongly marked with a silver ring. It should have been gold from the beginning. Those men were just plain blind.” He gestured in a grand fashion. “I, of course, am a man of vision.” He held his hand out toward the mirror. “Look for yourself. That woman is too beautiful to wear anything but a gold ring.”
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