Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “It must make you feel good to be such a better man,” Ashara called after him, then added, “Sanctimonious prick,” not caring if he heard or not. He did not look back.

  She eyed the backrest she had made with her pack, but she had no interest in sitting and relaxing now. She paced, wanting to unleash her frustration somehow. Perhaps with violence. Pelajen would love that. She snorted and kicked a rock.

  “Basilard, why are you even trying to defend these people?”

  Nobody was around to answer.

  Chapter 13

  Basilard clasped his hands behind his back and gazed around at the controlled chaos of the Kendorian encampment. Four soldiers surrounded him, Amaranthe, and Maldynado, men who had spotted them before they reached the first of the tunnels dug into the canyon walls. Now they stood guard while some messenger hunted for the major or one of the other higher-ranking officers. The men had taken the team’s weapons, despite Amaranthe’s attempt to misunderstand their intent and highlight the features of new Turgonian firearms. She didn’t look concerned. Basilard tried not to look concerned, either, but inside he was seething. Less at the purloined weapons and more at what was happening all around him, at the damage that had been done to the cliffs.

  It wasn’t just the caves; the Kendorians seemed to be quarrying rock, as well. Huge piles of rubble rose in spots around the canyon floor. Did they plan to build a whole city here? All of the timber and brush had been cleared, leaving the red dirt and rock scarred and bare, with only a few stumps poking up here and there. Fires burned at intervals, the haze hanging like a cloud over the canyon, the heavy scent of smoke obliterating lesser smells. From his spot near the river, he could see a timber wall being erected high overhead, on the lip of one of the cliffs. That hadn’t been there the day before, but he remembered all of those wagons transporting logs and tools out of the mountains.

  “Looks like they’re making a fort up there, eh?” Maldynado said. He kept his voice low, but he need not have worried about being overheard. Even though the day had grown late, a constant banging came from mineshafts dug into the cliffs on both sides of the waterway.

  Someplace for the miners to run for protection if an attack comes, Basilard signed.

  “Long run up to the top though.”

  There is a trail about a mile that way. Basilard pointed downstream, but he kept glaring up at the construction project. He wished it was being erected in the canyon, where the flood might tear it down, if Sicarius did, indeed, succeed in damming up the river and unleashing the water all at once. At first, Basilard had thought that measure extreme, but now that he saw all that the Kendorians were presuming to do in his people’s land, he would welcome a wall of water roaring down from upriver.

  “They’ll have a good view of the surrounding land from up there, won’t they?” Amaranthe was gazing up at the wall too. “And they won’t be hidden. Anyone coming down out of the mountains would see a walled outpost sitting out there. You would think they would have wanted to stay out of sight for this.” She waved at the tunnels.

  My people would have known this was happening, regardless of whether they hid.

  “I suppose, but it’s almost like they’re making a statement. And there are a lot of people here.” Amaranthe gazed toward a cave much larger than the others, one with supply wagons parked outside of it.

  So they can mine what they wish quickly and then get out? Basilard suggested.

  “Or because they’re not planning to get out.”

  What do you mean? he asked, though he feared he knew exactly what she meant.

  “Sorry, Bas, but this looks more like an invasion force than a mining squad. The first prong of an attack, possibly. Do you know of any other Kendorian incursions along your border?”

  No. He swallowed. Not yet. I haven’t been able to talk to our chiefs yet.

  “You mean the Kendorians are planning to take over Mangdoria?” Maldynado asked. “All of it?”

  “The portion that they want at least.”

  Basilard stared bleakly around, even more distressed by the chaos now. He happened to be looking toward the large cave when a silver-haired woman strode out with two armed men and a young assistant at her side. Her face was weathered and lined from a career spent out in the sun, and she had a leathery toughness about her. Her weapons belt sagged around her hips with the weight of all of the holsters and pouches on it; she carried a dagger, a short sword, a pistol, and a coiled whip. A complicated blue-and-green beaded earring dangled from one of her lobes, a sign of military rank. The men around her wore simple silver studs.

  “Is that the boss?” Maldynado whispered. “Not sure I want to arm wrestle her.”

  “Because you think she might win?” Amaranthe murmured back. The woman was drawing near, walking straight toward them.

  “Of course not. I might be a little concerned about that whip, though.”

  I thought you said Yara had a whip, Basilard signed.

  Not a whip. Ropes. There’s a huge difference in matters of, ah, bare and delicate skin. Maldynado had resorted to signing, as well, since the newcomers were within earshot.

  The silver-haired woman had sharp blue eyes that tracked the gestures as she approached. Basilard doubted she could understand the conversation, but he lowered his hands, nonetheless. It wasn’t as if the topic would help them negotiate.

  “Evening, ma’am.” Maldynado removed his hat and bowed.

  “Major,” the woman said in Turgonian. “Major Diratha.”

  Amaranthe grimaced slightly. Maybe she hadn’t expected the Kendorian leader to speak Turgonian. She wouldn’t have an opportunity to coach Maldynado in his role while acting as a translator.

  “So… not a ma’am?” Maldynado smiled playfully.

  Basilard had seen that smile melt the defenses of many women, but the major stared back at him flintily.

  “Who are you, what do you want, and how did you reach the perimeter of my camp without an escort?” Diratha looked to the men standing guard and holding the team’s weapons. They did not respond. Most of them avoided her hard gaze.

  “Maldynado Marblecrest, to warn you about the Turgonian invasion, and we ambled right down that stream there.”

  Basilard hoped the threat of the invasion caught her interest immediately, and she did not ask more details about why a guard hadn’t stopped them. He didn’t want more Kendorians running up there to look for the missing man, not when they could stumble across his people.

  “Invasion,” Diratha said in a flat tone that didn’t give much away. Maybe she and Sicarius had shared a tutor in their youths.

  “Yes, I thought I’d be a polite fellow and warn you about it.”

  Diratha grunted and glanced at Basilard and Amaranthe. “Who are you two?”

  “My assistants,” Maldynado said, before Amaranthe could speak.

  She shut her mouth, apparently willing to let him take the lead. He was the warrior-caste person here, after all. The most likely representative from Turgonia. Basilard hoped Maldynado could pull it off. At least he had the appropriate arrogance. That oozed out even when he was being polite.

  “They can’t speak?” Diratha asked.

  “Actually, that fellow there with the gleaming head can’t speak.” Maldynado waved at Basilard.

  Basilard ignored the jab at his head, which was actually quite stubbly, since he hadn’t had time to pull out his razor lately. Instead, he watched Diratha and the men around her, trying to gauge how quickly they might react if the major saw through the ruse. Would Basilard and his comrades have any chance of getting out of the camp without being caught? Or shot? Elsewhere, people were busy with the mining work, but all of these guards were alert, watching the conversation attentively.

  “Who is he?” Diratha asked.

  “Our guide.”

  “He looks like the Mangdorian ambassador.”

  Basilard had the presence of mind to keep his face neutral, but a surge of panic ran through him. He hadn’t expec
ted to be recognized. It wasn’t as if he had held the office for long, and he had never gone to Kendor as part of the assignment. Had Shukura sent tintypes of all of the prominent people in the Turgonian government back to his homeland? Or maybe hasty sketches? Basilard had never posed for anything; he knew that. Of course, his scars were conspicuous enough that they alone might have been used to describe him.

  “Yes,” Maldynado said smoothly. “Who else would we have on hand who would make a decent guide?”

  “And you?” Diratha gave Amaranthe a challenging look. “Can you also not speak?”

  “I can speak, but I mostly take notes,” Amaranthe said. “I’m Lord Marblecrest’s secretary.”

  “Did you forget your notepad?”

  “No. I was waiting for the preliminaries to finish.” Amaranthe slipped a notebook out of a pouch on the side of her rucksack with a pen clipped to the front. “I was also seeing if we would be allowed to speak or if you would simply shoot us.”

  “Oh, please,” Maldynado drawled. “Nobody shoots a Marblecrest.” His voice grew chillier when he added, “Nobody who wishes to live for long, anyway.”

  The major appeared about as intimidated as a bear confronted by a mouse. “What do you want?”

  “For your troops to withdraw from Mangdoria immediately,” Maldynado said, slipping into the part of the conversation that he and Basilard had rehearsed. “My people will be coming soon, and it would behoove you not to be here when they arrive.”

  “Your people.”

  “Yes, we’ve reached an arrangement with certain Mangdorians.” Maldynado inclined his head toward Basilard. “Certain chiefs who have come to understand that it is better to give in to a few Turgonian demands in exchange for protection. I must thank you for demonstrating so blatantly why they need protection. I wasn’t expecting to find anyone except for the Mangdorians here, but this is working out well. As you might guess, my talks with the clan heads were favorably received.”

  “Were they?” Diratha’s tone remained flat whenever she responded, her comments sounding more like statements of disbelief rather than questions.

  Basilard licked his lips. This wasn’t going to work. Any minute, she would order them all tied up—or shot.

  “When might these Turgonians be arriving?” Diratha asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Maldynado said brightly.

  The major’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  Amaranthe stirred for the first time. She nudged Maldynado with an elbow. “My lord, should you not speak truthfully if you wish her to heed your warning?”

  “I don’t care if she heeds anything. Just because the president feels it’s fair to send a negotiator—” Maldynado prodded his chest with his thumb, “—doesn’t mean I agree with him. We should have taken them by surprise instead of warning them. Our men will enjoy a good fight. You know how the military likes to thump on Kendorians. And they have those new artillery weapons to try out.” He lowered his voice and spoke out of the side of his mouth to Amaranthe. “I don’t think she believes us, but that’s fine. Then they’ll get their surprise, after all.”

  Basilard had no trouble hearing the muttered addendum, and he was sure Major Diratha heard it too. As she was surely meant to.

  “As you say, my lord,” Amaranthe said, doing a surprisingly good job of playing the role of the docile secretary.

  Diratha switched to Kendorian to give an order to the soldiers. Something about putting Basilard and the others… somewhere. Not in a hole in the ground or at the bottom of the river, he hoped.

  Without a word of parting for “Lord Marblecrest,” Diratha spun on her heel and stalked back toward the cave.

  “Is our meeting over?” Maldynado called after her.

  She did not turn around. The soldiers came forward, pointing their bows and muskets at Basilard, Maldynado, and Amaranthe, then nodding toward the big cave. Since Diratha was heading that way, Basilard did not see a reason to object. He was curious as to where she would go and who she would talk to. Might the shaman be waiting in there? Did Diratha believe anything Maldynado had said?

  Twilight had come to the canyon, and several of the mineshafts were dark, but torchlight yellowed the entrances of some of them, and the banging and scraping continued to emanate from within. A fire crackled at the mouth of the large cave, and Basilard could also pick out lanterns burning in its depths. Unlike with the recently excavated tunnels, this appeared to be a natural formation. He watched as Diratha walked past the fire and disappeared inside.

  One of the guards stepped in front of Maldynado and pointed toward the cliff wall beside the cave entrance.

  “There?” Maldynado asked. “Against the wall?”

  The man grunted and pointed again, this time prodding Maldynado with his rifle. It had a bayonet on the end, so that could not have felt good.

  “Easy on the cheeks, old fellow,” Maldynado said. “I pay handsomely for my rejuvenating skin rub. I don’t need you poking holes in the treated areas.”

  Basilard leaned against the cool stone wall, standing close enough that he could see part of the cave inside, but Diratha had disappeared down one of two tunnels at the back. A couple of soldiers standing guard in front of a cache of crates, bags, and barrels glared at Basilard. He leaned back around the corner. Maldynado and Amaranthe had been directed to stand next to him. Their four guards sat down on boulders or crates, but it was clear they intended to remain nearby and that they were watching their guests.

  “Anyone else feel like we’ve been lined up against a wall and we’re waiting for the firing squad to get word to shoot?” Amaranthe asked.

  “No,” Maldynado said, “I was busy feeling the holes that thug left in my backside. Who puts such a sharp bayonet on such a crummy old musket?”

  “Maybe someone who doesn’t trust the musket to fire and knows he’ll need backup.” Amaranthe lowered her voice. “Shall we wait or attempt to snoop around?”

  Basilard had been leaning around the corner again, seeing how much attention the soldiers inside were paying to the entrance. They were still standing, but their gazes were downward, toward a crate that they were using for a dice game. The dice hadn’t been there a moment ago. They must have hidden them when the major stalked through.

  Basilard touched Amaranthe’s arm and signed, I can snoop if you distract those men.

  Unfortunately, not much daylight remained, and he didn’t think his friends could make out his signs. Even if he had grown accustomed to his impediment over the last few years, there were times when he would have given a great deal to have his voice back.

  “Did Bas say something?” Maldynado whispered.

  “I think we have a volunteer for snooping,” Amaranthe murmured back. “I’ll go ask our guards if we can expect to be invited to dinner.”

  She squeezed Basilard’s arm, then walked away from the wall, deliberately blocking the men’s view of him.

  “Unbutton a few buttons on your shirt,” Maldynado suggested. “That will make them more amenable to discussing dinner with you. Other things as well, I’m sure.”

  Already on the move, Basilard did not hear her response—if she had one. Comments like that were best ignored.

  He slipped around the corner, moving slowly and hugging the wall, hoping he would not draw the men’s eyes. They were facing each other, watching the dice, but he could not assume they would not check their surroundings periodically.

  On silent feet, his moccasins not stirring the dust or pebbles, Basilard followed the wall of the cave. The fire at the entrance burned heartily, but night’s grip had taken over the inside, offering many shadows. He listened as he crept along, hoping to catch Diratha’s voice. He could sneak down the closest tunnel easily enough, but if she had gone down the second one, he would have to cross in front of the cache of supplies—and the guards—to reach it. Unless he climbed over the barrels and crates, he would not have any chance of passing unnoticed. They would have to be drunk and blind not to notice someone climbing o
ver the cache too.

  Both tunnels were lit intermittently, with lanterns on makeshift poles leaning against the walls. Basilard waited until the men were arguing over the dice game, both of their faces toward the crate, then started down the first one. But he had gone no more than three steps when Major Diratha’s voice reached his ears. It was not coming from his tunnel but from the other one.

  Sighing, he eased back the way he had come, crouching and longing for deeper shadows. The soldiers were still arguing. Basilard wished he had a few mental science skills, so he could cause their dice to roll off the crate, across the floor, and out of the cave. If they turned their backs for a few seconds, that would be all he needed to climb over the stack of supplies and reach the other tunnel unnoticed. Since that wasn’t an option, he eyed the crates and kegs near the mouth of his tunnel, wondering if he might use something to distract them for a few seconds.

  A crate labeled in Turgonian caught his eye: military-grade blasting sticks, 100 count.

  He snorted inwardly. Those would make a good distraction, but they were at the bottom of the pile, and he wouldn’t be able to open the sealed lid without moving ten other crates—and applying a crowbar. There were a few kegs of black powder he could reach, but they all appeared sealed too. Since he was only a few feet from the guards, he couldn’t poke around without being seen, no matter how engrossing that dice game might be.

  Instead, he backed down the tunnel. If active mining was going on, maybe he could find some opened crates of blasting sticks deeper inside of it. Of course, that would provide more than a distraction. He might bring the cave down around himself. Something subtler would be better, for now. He wanted to hear who Diratha was speaking with and what they were saying, not bury her in rubble.

  Unfortunately, nothing more interesting than pebbles, a few strands of straw, and shards of wood lined the tunnel. The more steps he took in that direction, the more he worried he was missing his chance to spy. No matter how much Amaranthe charmed those guards, they were sure to notice that one of their charges had disappeared any second.