About the Kendorians, Basilard signed. In case you didn’t hear, I’ve lost my job.
Mahliki had walked into the camp to join the others, but Ashara remained, watching the conversation. Basilard’s question was primarily for Amaranthe. She had fought impossible odds countless times, choosing to risk herself and others because she had been trying to save then-Emperor Sespian’s life, and because she had been trying to earn her exoneration. This was different, but he trusted she would understand. She would probably also understand his unasked question, whether it might be possible to, by driving out the Kendorians, win his people’s regard. Logically, he knew they would have to reject him, because he could not do this without using violence, but he couldn’t help but hope that maybe… the situation would be extenuating enough that they might understand. His people couldn’t like having the Kendorians here, especially when their magically affected predators had been killing people. Wasn’t it possible they would regard the person who drove them out as heroic? Or at least worthy of visiting his daughter?
He swallowed, wondering if he should go off by himself for a while instead of talking.
“That’s unfortunate,” Amaranthe said. “You’re a good ambassador, a good representative for your people. There’s nobody else here, as they’ll find out when they send someone else, that Starcrest will treat favorably. I mean, he’s always fair, as far as I can tell, but I’m sure he feels somewhat indebted to you for helping change the government and making it possible for him to become president.”
Basilard was less certain about that. Starcrest wasn’t the easiest man to read, at least not to Basilard, but he knew the ex-admiral hadn’t been that enthused about running for the position of president. He had done it because he had seen the need and accepted that he was a good person for the job, not because he had craved the position.
I am more concerned about the Kendorians, Basilard signed. I don’t know if it’s possible to get rid of them—what else could we do?—but what I’m wondering is should I try? Should I try to help people who would not help me? And if I was able to succeed…
“Would they take you back?” Amaranthe finished when he did not.
I cannot help but wonder if it might be a road to… not redemption, but a modicum of acceptance. No, not even that, because they could never accept my methods. Basilard touched the dagger on his belt. But perhaps they would allow that there is a place for someone like me, and that I’m not a bad influence on… anyone.
“It’s hard for me to imagine you not being considered a hero if you succeeded in driving invaders out of your homeland, but that’s my Turgonian perspective. I think the way for you to make your decision is to ask this question: would you want to do it even if nobody here ever found out about it?”
I would want to, yes, because even if all the Kendorians want is our ore, I have to suspect this is a first step for them. If their mission is successful, they’ll return with more troops, more people. Next, they’ll be settling in our valleys, cutting down our trees, mining more of our mountains. Eventually, there won’t be a place for our people to live as we have always lived, letting nature provide. I feel like they must be stopped now, while their numbers are relatively small, and I would want to do that no matter what. But I’m afraid it would be a suicide mission. How could we stop them with less than twenty people? Basilard wasn’t sure he should commit the young hunters to this battle, no matter what they said. For that matter, should he commit his friends? Why should they risk their lives for this? Ashara had already said she wouldn’t fight her own people. Even if Amaranthe, Sicarius, and Maldynado wanted to help, their forces were so small, so insignificant. Do you have any crazy ideas? We tried my only one, and it didn’t work. Basilard curled his lip. Lousy communication orbs.
“We’ll have to tell the president to order a few of those from his Kyattese contacts. He actually has one in his office and another in his submarine. I think he may be able to communicate with his family in Kyatt too. The problem is that it’s going to take years and generations for Turgonians to get used to the idea of working with magic, not a few months, and my understanding is that there are a limited number of people in the world who can Make devices like that, so they’re expensive and rare.”
I know.
“As for crazy ideas,” Amaranthe continued, “my only thought so far has been to try to build up the dam again. They don’t seem to be monitoring that particular section of river closely.”
Probably no ore up there, Basilard signed, then grasped his chin to consider her plan.
With so many people down in that canyon now, would even a flood be enough to make a difference? The shaman might simply raise his arms and stop it. Basilard also feared they had been fortunate the night before and that another encounter with Kendorian magic would result in somebody’s death. Or all of their deaths. Sicarius had always struck him as near immortal with his uncanny skills, but seeing him dangling there by his fingers, just short of falling to his death, reminded Basilard that everybody was mortal. Even those with great talent could be unlucky once, and once was all it took.
“You should scout the camp again and see what they’re doing now,” Ashara said.
Basilard had forgotten she was there. She had a knack for blending into her surroundings, even when she wasn’t trying to. Maybe it was the leaves that usually stuck out of her hair. He smiled faintly, resisting the urge to walk over and brush the ones free that lingered there now.
“Not a bad idea,” Amaranthe said, “but wait for night.”
Basilard nodded, but he couldn’t help that the stars were unlikely to improve the situation.
• • • • •
As twilight descended on the flat red rocks that led into the canyon lands, Ashara trotted along at Basilard’s side. Sicarius had started the journey with them, too, but he had veered north to check on the river and see if the dam might be reconstructed. The rest of Basilard’s team, including the Mangdorian hunters, had remained at what had become a camp next to the spring. Corporal Jomrik had proved a surprisingly reliable source of information on Kendorian military tactics and typical formations for a unit such as they were facing. Amaranthe was helping him share the information with the Mangdorians with a lot of signing and drawing in the dirt with sticks. Depending on what Basilard and Sicarius found with their scouting, the group might be heading into battle tomorrow.
Ashara had invited herself along on the scouting mission, because she had wanted to speak in private with Basilard, something that had been hard during the day with so many new people around.
She had sensed his curiosity when she had asked to come along and hoped it hadn’t been suspicion. During the trek from his people’s meeting place, she had decided she would tell him all of the truths she had withheld, because she felt she owed him that before leaving. Why she felt that, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she hadn’t wanted to disappear without explaining herself. And now that she had delivered the message—and his new warriors—she believed it would make sense for her to do that.
“Basilard,” she said, wanting to have the conversation while they were still miles from the canyons and the risk of chancing on enemy scouts was low, “I volunteered to come out here with you, so I could speak with you privately before leaving.”
Leaving?
Ashara realized she had another reason to have this conversation sooner, rather than later. In another twenty minutes, it would be too dark for her to see his hand signs.
“As I already told you, I can’t fight my own people. Even if I’m an outcast back home, I don’t want to become… a traitor. A real traitor, not simply someone accused of doing something I did not do.” Remembering that she had intended to tell him the whole story, she supposed she should start with what had happened with her husband.
He nodded at her words, not asking more or demanding explanations. That made her feel more open about sharing her past with him. Besides, they were hundreds of miles from her homeland. Who would he tell?
“You’ve probably already guessed that I was sent because Shukura wanted me to spy on you,” Ashara said.
Basilard nodded again. Even Mahliki, who paid attention to her trees and samples more than the conversations around her, had known that.
“More than that, he wanted me to sabotage your team’s work with the blight.” She stared straight ahead, not wanting to see his reaction to that admission. “I’m not sure why it matters—I thought of leaving without telling you anything—but I wanted you to know that I’m not a spy by trade. I’d never met Shukura before he showed up during one of my classes at the university. I was there, studying to turn my potion-making knowledge into a legitimate Turgonian business. The plan was to employ some of their people and earn citizenship there. You see, I’m a wanted woman back home. I can’t return to Kendor, not openly, anyway.”
Ashara risked looking at Basilard. What was he thinking of her revelations? She had shared some of this with him before, so it couldn’t be too much of a surprise.
His face was hard to read in the waning daylight, but it did not seem judgmental. He returned her gaze calmly as they strode along, alternately looking at her and scanning their surroundings for threats.
“Perhaps I should explain the situation, how I came to be an outcast. Or—” She glanced at him again, doubt swimming in her veins. “I don’t know. This isn’t relevant to our scouting or your fight. Perhaps I should just tell you—”
Basilard stopped walking and laid a hand on her forearm. Surprised, she stopped as well, staring at him. Earlier, she had rolled her sleeves up because the summer sun had been pleasant, so she was aware of the warmth of his hand resting on her bare skin. His palms were calloused, despite his ambassadorial position—former position. The palms of a blade wielder. A fighter. Whatever he wished he might be, that was what he was. She didn’t mind. She understood fighters, whereas she struggled to accept the tenets of the Mangdorian religion. Perhaps one day, the world would be ready for peace, but right now, it seemed like Basilard’s people were choosing to be victims. People who needed saving. By retired ambassadors.
Basilard removed his hand and signed, I would like to know.
Oddly, she missed the warmth of his hand. Maybe because the temperature had dropped since the sun had set.
“All right.” She sat on a boulder, putting her back toward a stunted tree. She spotted a patch of tassilon flowers growing up from under the rock. The petals were useful in one of her potions, so she plucked a few, leaving enough flowers unmolested so they could survive and reproduce. “I’m sure you would never guess, but I grew up in the forest.”
Basilard smiled and leaned forward, lifting a hand tentatively. She wasn’t sure what he meant to do, but she didn’t move. She had already figured out that whatever violence he did was out of necessity, not because he had any predilection toward it. He plucked something out of her hair, then leaned back, holding up a dried leaf.
Ashara snorted. “Yes, I can thank my mother for this hair.” She waved at the tangles she knew were barely restrained by her tie. “As wild as the forest I grew up in. As a child, I was never interested in playing with the girls in the village, pretending at keeping house and raising babies. I was always out with my father and cousins, hunting, tracking, swimming, and learning archery and swordsmanship. My mother was a shaman and taught me much about potion making. Our little village was a good place to grow up, but I had an adventurer’s spirit. After my father passed away, I joined the army, hoping to see the country.” She almost told him about the night stalker program that had come after that, the testing for mental science aptitude and the special combat training, but she didn’t think it was that important to the conversation. Besides, she worried that a Mangdorian would find her past unappealing. Even the Turgonians sneered at the idea of assassins, though their government had secretly used them. It still surprised her that Elstark had never been bothered by her work.
“I worked in a mobile army unit for several years, traveling the plains and protecting the borders.” That was true enough, if vague. “I never expected that I would one day become a city girl. But I had an assignment to guard Lord Elstark on a trek around Kendor; his father—the former prime minister—had sent him to do a census and check in with all of the villages and towns, even the remote ones. He was a bard and a politician and a good man. The people loved him. He wasn’t the kind of person who you would expect to have any interest in a woman wandering around with the forest in her hair.” She glanced at the leaf Basilard had dropped and shook her head ruefully. “But for some reason, he did. He, ah, courted me, basically.” She felt awkward discussing this part of the story with Basilard. “And I fell for him—any woman would have. When his mission traipsing across the country was over, we got married, and I returned to his home in the capital. Have you been to Reedsport?”
Basilard shook his head. It was getting harder to see him. Not that it mattered, since she was doing all of the babbling.
“There are over a hundred thousand people there. It’s not quite as insanely crowded as the Turgonian capital, but there’s less infrastructure and technology being used down there, so it feels… Let’s just say that it wasn’t a natural fit for a girl who preferred the forests and solitude. But I loved Elstark, and I stayed for him. We had two children. He had plenty of money, so there was no need for me to work, but I still went foraging from time to time. I needed an excuse to escape the city, and I needed something to do. I also wanted to teach my children about nature, edible and medicinal herbs. I made potions to keep the skill alive. Usually, potion makers are respected, at least out in the woods where I grew up, because they tend to be healers. But in the city… I didn’t realize it at first, but the hobby was regarded with suspicion by some people.”
Maldynado wondered if you were a witch, Basilard signed, surprising her. He seemed to have surprised himself, too, because he held up an apologetic hand. She might not have caught the quick gestures if they hadn’t already been talking about this subject and if she hadn’t already heard Maldynado muttering his witch suspicions.
“Yes, that’s basically the term the Kendorian city people used, as well. The word alchemist is closer to what the woods folk called us. You always think of rural people as being less educated, but in this case, it was the city people. Many of them had forgotten our nomadic pasts and given up some of the old branches of the mental sciences for newer ones.” She shrugged. “Sorry, I’m rambling. The point is that some people were suspicious of me and that I didn’t fit in. Others didn’t like me, simply because Elstark had picked me and not them or their daughters or nieces. It was my first time dealing with gaggles of women and petty jealousy. Elstark knew I wasn’t that happy there, and we were talking about moving to a smaller town when…” She took a deep breath. Even though years had passed, this part of her history was still difficult to talk about. “I returned with the children from a foraging trip at the park, and Elstark was dead on the floor of the kitchen. Jiana—my daughter—screamed, and my motherin-law ran in from the house next door. I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to do. I stood there, trying to think who might have done it and trying to figure out how I would hunt down the person and kill him—or her, as it turned out to be. The authorities came eventually and did an investigation. They found Elstark had been killed by poison. The last thing I expected was to become a suspect, but that was exactly what happened.”
Why would someone think you would kill your mate? Basilard signed.
Engrossed in her story, she almost missed the question. “Nobody who knew us well thought it,” Ashara said, “but there were others who believed I wanted his inheritance. We had lived simply, but everyone knew his family had money. Looking back, I’m not sure how many people truly believed I wanted money—it’s not as if people who crave wealth become soldiers. Maybe they just wanted to get rid of me, or they wanted to believe the worst of me. In addition to being an oddity there, I was never charismatic. You might have noticed.”
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br /> Not me. He smiled.
She almost laughed. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from him, but hardly anyone else had believed her innocent, so she supposed she had assumed he might feel the same way. The fact that he was trying to lift her spirits… She appreciated it.
“While they were debating what to do with me, I ran off, intent on finding Elstark’s killer. Looking back, that wasn’t the wisest move, because people thought I was running to escape the law, even though I’d told my in-laws what I was doing and arranged for them to watch the children while I was gone. I assumed it wouldn’t take that long and that in finding the person responsible, I could clear my name. I didn’t expect it would take me two years to find the woman—she was a practitioner and had powers greater than mine. She’d been a former lover of Elstark’s, one who was bitter that he’d chosen another. Apparently, she had meant the poison for me. It was in a baked good that I bought regularly and ate, but Elstark had come home early, and he ate it instead.”
She rubbed her face. Basilard signed something, but she couldn’t make it out. Full night was approaching, and a few torches or lanterns moved in the distance, reminding her that he had a mission to accomplish, one more important than listening to her ramble about the difficulties in her life.
“When Shukura came to see me,” she said, hurrying to wrap up the story, “he implied that if I didn’t help, my children would be in danger. I don’t know how far his reach is, but…” She stared glumly at the dark ground. “I’ve tried before to retrieve them, but because they’re Elstark’s children, they’re well protected. Our law patrollers have orders to shoot me if I return again.”
Basilard touched her arm and drew her around the boulder to a protected niche. He pulled out a lantern and lit it, keeping the flame low. Ashara grimaced, knowing he risked being spotted so he could talk to her. She should have finished her story more quickly.
Why did you work with us then? Basilard signed by the small light. I doubt it was Maldynado’s charm.
Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) Page 30
