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

by Lindsay Buroker

  Ashara almost told him that it had been his charm, but that was a silly thing to say. Yes, she felt a connection to him because he, too, had a child he couldn’t reach, but it had been more the question of ethics that had bothered her all along. “Even though I eventually became a soldier, I grew up as a protector of the forest, under my parents’ guidance. To help along a blight… I couldn’t do that. Especially not after I realized my people were responsible for it. Shukura left out that detail. I’d always assumed spies were better informed.”

  You will leave? Return to Turgonia?

  “I’ll leave in the morning. I hope you understand that even if my nation has turned its back on me, I don’t have a grudge against all of the people in it. As a former soldier, it would be particularly difficult to fight soldiers. Like that letter we found said, they’re just men and women going along with orders from their superiors. It makes me uncomfortable to know that I already shot some of them. In that case, it was self-defense, but I don’t want to fight more of them if I have another choice.”

  I do understand.

  “As for going back to Turgonia, I don’t know if I can,” Ashara said. “Shukura may not be pleased with my failure. I’m not sure yet where I’ll go.” Wherever it was, it would be a lonely road. Even if she enjoyed the solitude of the wilds, she missed having kin and friends to come home to once in a while. It was strange to think that she had spent more time with Basilard and his comrades in the last few days than she had with anyone else in years. Even her children. She had seen them so little since Elstark’s death. “I may have to risk trying to get Jiana and Khanrin again, if only to ensure that Shukura can’t do anything to harm them when he learns…” She shrugged.

  Would you consider staying for a non-combat position? Basilard asked.

  Ashara stared at him. “What?”

  You’ve seen my forces. I need all of the help I can recruit. You have healing skills. We may need them. Basilard peered toward the canyon—the number of torches in the distance had doubled. The outline of the log walls being erected was just visible, along with a new train of wagons parked in front. We’ll definitely need them.

  “You’re positive you’ll battle them, then?”

  Earlier, he had not seemed sure.

  I—my comrades and I—have more experience than the men you brought down with you. They’re determined to fight. I’m afraid they’ll all get themselves killed without some guidance. I’m not sure yet what we’ll do, but we must do something. Basilard found her shoulder in the dim lighting. He grasped it gently, before lowering his hand to sign, I appreciate that you went with Mahliki and offered your assistance. You’ve already helped us when I see now that you truly had no reason to.

  “Trust me: I didn’t do much to help with the blight.” Ashara meant to leave it at that, but then she caught herself adding, “I did poke a few holes into the grimbals trying to eat us on the way to your village.” She didn’t usually brag, but for some reason, she wanted him to know she had been useful.

  Yes, I heard. He nodded. Mahliki must have summarized their trek for him. She said she tested you, and you passed.

  “She what?” Ashara had the impression of a dry tone with his signs, though she couldn’t have said how she knew. Still, she felt offended. What test? Nothing to do with the grimbals—Mahliki wouldn’t have been so foolish as to attempt to arrange that encounter.

  She said she asked you which—Basilard made a couple of gestures she had never seen before and finished with—was responsible for the blight.

  Something about the bacteria? That must be it. The four sample containers Mahliki had brought out. “Yes, I remember.”

  She already knew the answer. She was seeing if you would lead her astray.

  “Oh.”

  Yes, offended was definitely the word, even if she could understand Mahliki and the others being wary of her. Maybe it was more the idea of someone as young as Mahliki testing her. And outsmarting her. Ashara hadn’t suspected that, and she felt a chill, remembering that for the briefest of moments, she had considered lying. If she had, she and Basilard would be having a much different conversation.

  You do not owe us anything, Basilard signed, but if you stay and aid us, and I survive the battle, I would help you when we’re done.

  “Help me?”

  With Shukura. Basilard lifted a shoulder. Or sneaking into your country to retrieve your children.

  “I…” Ashara had no idea what to say. It was such a monumental thing to offer, to help a person commit a crime—and since she was no longer Jiana and Khanrin’s legal guardian, that’s what it would be—in a foreign country. And yet, she did not sense that Basilard was someone who made promises he didn’t keep. By the gods, why would he make such an offer? “I couldn’t let you get yourself in that kind of trouble with my people, but—”

  They’re about to hate me and want me dead for other reasons. Basilard waved toward the canyon. If they don’t already. I blew up a few thousand ranmyas worth of supplies, and people may have been hurt. His expression was grim. Or worse.

  “There’s a difference between acts undertaken during combat and non-war crimes,” Ashara said. “But let me think on your offer. Perhaps if some deal could be made with Shukura, I could return to my studies.” If Basilard knew the Turgonian president, and the president was willing to lean on Shukura, maybe he could be dissuaded from reporting back to Kendor on Ashara’s doings.

  Basilard lifted his hands to respond, but a scream cut across the rocks first, a scream of terror that raised all of the hairs on Ashara’s neck. Basilard cut out the lantern.

  The noise had come from the direction of the outpost being constructed. Ashara could not see what might have caused it, but more shouts followed on the heels of the scream. Lanterns that had been stationary or moving steadily along at the speed of a walk now jerked about. Some of the people holding them were running. Others seemed to be spinning in place, trying to see something.

  A rifle fired. The shouts were too far away for Ashara to make out the words, but she could hear the fear and pain in them. She took a step in that direction, her natural instinct to find out what was wrong and help. But she looked at Basilard, realizing this might be some part of his plans.

  “Sicarius?” she asked.

  No. They would never know Sicarius was there. Basilard peered toward the lights. Maybe it’s a—

  Another scream sounded, but it was drowned out by a bone-rattling roar. Recognition flooded through Ashara’s limbs, and she stepped back. Grimbals. Again. She wouldn’t have guessed there were this many of the big, shaggy predators on the entire continent.

  “What’s happening?” she breathed. “Did some of the animals their shaman wrangled to attack your people turn on them?”

  Basilard pointed off to their left. It wasn’t in the direction of the cliff. Ashara tensed, thinking he might have spotted more grimbals, ones that might be close enough to be a threat to them. Full darkness had fallen, and she couldn’t see much beyond the outline of the distant mountains against the sky. Even that was dim, because the stars were not out tonight. Then she caught movement. Something running. Or someone? The road was in that direction, wasn’t it?

  More gunshots came from the outpost, and Ashara was certain dozens of arrows were being loosed for every musket or shotgun fired. The Kendorians had the numbers that, through sheer attrition, they should be able to kill a few grimbals, but in the darkness, it would be a greater challenge, and they might take losses. Those outpost walls weren’t up all the way around yet, so they wouldn’t have anywhere to hide. She sympathized with them, but if one of the creatures they had been controlling had turned on them, she couldn’t sympathize too much. Maybe the Mangdorian god was protecting his people, after all.

  A blinding light came from the outpost, the sky brightening for miles in every direction. The crackling sensation of immense power being unleashed crawled across her skin. Tladik.

  For a few seconds, Ashara had no trouble seei
ng Basilard or the terrain around her, and she felt exposed. Basilard was looking away from the outpost, toward several men in the distance, one of them hunched over as he ran. Then the light went out, and night returned. Moans of pain continued to float across the rocks, but the howls of the grimbals had stopped. The frantic movement of the lanterns calmed down. Ashara wasn’t sure what had happened, but she suspected the predators were dead.

  “Maybe we should get out of here and scout later. They’re going to be on high alert after…” She stopped talking, because Basilard was jogging away, heading in the direction where she had seen those men.

  Had they been Kendorian? Or maybe Mangdorian? She thought back and remembered short hair. That was more typical of Mangdorians.

  Knowing Basilard would struggle to communicate with his people at night, she ran after him to help.

  “Who’s there?” someone blurted in a harsh Mangdorian whisper—she had no trouble translating that.

  The sound of a scuffle followed, and she hurried. By the time she reached the group, it had grown silent. A soft white light came from the ground, illuminating a young man on his knees. Basilard had captured a second man, locking his arms behind his back. Two others had bows out, but didn’t look like they knew where to point them.

  “It’s Leyelchek,” one whispered as soon as the light revealed Basilard’s scarred face.

  The man Basilard had been restraining went limp. Basilard let him go. He stepped back, spreading his arms, his hands empty.

  The light made Ashara nervous, and she glanced back toward the outpost. It might be over a mile away, but since she had no trouble seeing the lanterns, she worried this light would also be visible, even if it was near the ground and clenched in someone’s fist. Someone on his knees with a pained expression pinching his face.

  What happened? Basilard signed.

  The three standing men all spoke at once, and Ashara could not decipher any of it.

  Basilard must have been having trouble, too, because he waved for them to stop talking. Come back to our camp with us. He pointed and started walking, so they could not misinterpret him.

  The men hesitated, but then they helped their injured comrade to his feet. What Ashara had thought might be a light stone turned out to be nothing more than the man’s hand. A shaman, she realized with a start. Or a priest. Wasn’t that what the Mangdorians called their practitioners? People with power who spoke with God and delivered his messages.

  Whoever this man was, he needed help. She touched the flower petals she had collected. Those could be used in a healing salve. She had more supplies in her bags back at the camp. She could make several tinctures, as well, and she had a few of her potions along that she had made back in Turgonia for improving stamina and mental clarity.

  As Ashara followed the group back toward the mountains, she realized she had already made her decision. She would help Basilard in his fight, as a healer if not a combatant. She wondered if she would survive her choice.

  Chapter 16

  Basilard stood near the fire, listening as his Mangdorian allies told their story. The night before, they had heard Basilard’s explosion from their spot upriver in the canyon. Soon after, the priest Hykur had felt the shaman reaching out and searching, so they had temporarily abandoned the area. Maldynado’s victim had been left to wake on his own and wonder why he was half-buried in rocks. Hykur’s small team had spent the day searching for ways to sabotage the Kendorian mission without risking themselves or outright killing people. When they had stumbled across the grimbals, a pair of creatures they believed had been coerced from their normal territory in order to harass a Mangdorian village, Hykur had been scared at the idea of trying to control them, but his comrades had urged him to use his powers to do so. They had believed it fair to treat the Kendorians the same way the Kendorians were treating the Mangdorians.

  Hykur had been able to convince the grimbals to travel more than ten miles, though the effort had drained him terribly and they had run into trouble near the end when his hold on the animals had faded. At the moment, he was barely moving as he lay by the fire, letting Ashara spread her healing salve on substantial claw marks. With the last of his mental energy, Hykur had turned the grimbals loose on the Kendorians building the outpost overlooking the canyon, but according to the hunter telling the story, the horror of being mind-linked with a savage beast that was relishing killing people had nearly driven him crazy. He had wrenched his mind free, abandoning all hold on the creatures. His comrades had been helping him away when Basilard had seen them.

  “I commend you, Bas,” Maldynado said, ambling over while munching on a dried fruit strip. “Every time you leave camp, you come back with more troops. Maybe you have the makings of a war leader, and we never knew it.”

  Maldynado might have meant it as a compliment—it sounded like something a Turgonian would consider high praise—but the notion filled Basilard with bleakness. He would accept the role of leader in trying to evict the Kendorians, but he did not want to be anything like a Turgonian general.

  We’ll attack before dawn, Basilard signed, the words for the Mangdorians and for Maldynado. Anyone who will join me.

  “We got a plan?” Jomrik asked.

  He sat on a rock with his rifle between his knees, massaging the dried duck feet tied to the barrel. He didn’t look enthused about going into battle with a bunch of untried hunters, but he had not objected openly to anything since Amaranthe and Maldynado had planted the idea that he might earn a promotion if he performed well out here.

  I have part of a plan, Basilard signed. I’m waiting to hear what Sicarius reports back about the possibility of rebuilding that dam.

  When Maldynado translated that for Jomrik, Jomrik’s face screwed up in a pained expression. “Do I have to drag more logs around? In that canyon? That climb…” He shuddered and touched the back of his shoulder. Amaranthe had removed the arrowhead and bandaged his wound that morning.

  You don’t have to go at all, Basilard signed.

  “Oh?” Jomrik looked at Maldynado, probably wondering if he had misunderstood.

  You’re not under my command, and I’m not… Basilard hadn’t shared the news Mahliki and Ashara had given him, that he had been relieved of his position. There hadn’t been time. You’re under no obligation to me.

  Jomrik sighed. “I have to help. If I show up back at the barracks by myself… without my lorry… nothing good is going to come of that. I need to do something worthy, something so my first sergeant knows I’m not a coward that can’t be trusted.”

  Basilard did not know what to say to that. He wanted Jomrik’s help—he needed all of the help he could find—but worried the corporal might get himself killed, all because he was worried about losing rank or earning demerits back home. It might be utterly Turgonian, but it wasn’t a good reason to join in a war, not in Basilard’s eyes.

  “What’s your plan?” Amaranthe asked.

  The outpost. I was looking at it earlier. Basilard waved to Ashara. Even if her words had distracted him, and he hadn’t gotten as close to it as he had intended, he had seen enough of the terrain before and was fairly certain that what he had in mind could work, if someone suicidal wouldn’t mind setting it up. I’m not sure how many explosives we have left—Basilard raised his eyebrows toward Jomrik—but I thought some placed on the cliff below the construction site might bring down the ledge with the outpost and all of the materials they brought for building it. Also, the rubble falling below might do damage to the encampment and bury a mine entrance or two. Perhaps this would be enough to discourage them, especially in the light of the other disasters.

  “I think you may need more explosives than we have to cause the cliff to crumble,” Amaranthe said. “It’s not as if the outpost is perched on a ledge that hangs out over the canyon. Maybe Sicarius can do the math for you when he returns, but I think you’d just end up blowing a hole. Not to mention that someone would have to climb on a vertical cliff in the dark, plant the explos
ives, and climb away again before they went off.”

  We’ve done that already, Basilard signed, but he worried that she was right about the explosives.

  “Can’t you just sneak up and toss some blasting sticks over the wall?” Maldynado asked. “Don’t try to make this more clever than it needs to be, Bas. If you want to blow up the outpost, blow it up directly.”

  That… could work. If they’re still recovering from the grimbal attack. And if the shaman isn’t around. I couldn’t tell if he was up in the outpost or on the canyon floor. If he annihilated two grimbals from hundreds of feet below, I’m uncomfortably impressed.

  “Grimbals?” Maldynado peered into the darkness around the camp. “Did you forget to mention something, Bas? I thought we’d left all of those blokes back on the other side of that river.”

  Before Basilard could explain, a new voice entered the conversation.

  “The dam was not destroyed,” Sicarius said, walking out of the night.

  What? Basilard signed.

  “The Kendorians did not notice it or did not see it as a threat,” Sicarius said. “The water level has risen behind it.”

  “They were probably too busy shooting people—” Jomrik waved at his shoulder, “—to pay attention to the river.”

  “Jomrik designed it to look more like the beaver dam it started as rather than a neatly engineered trap.”

  “I did?”

  Sicarius gazed blandly at him. “The logs were haphazardly placed.”

  “Er, right. That was on purpose.” Jomrik nodded sagely.

  It was dark also, Basilard signed, so they might simply have missed it. Sicarius, has enough water built up that it could flood the camp? Could the dam still be triggered?

  “With explosives, yes. The dam is proving sturdy. I would have expected it to cave earlier today under the pressure of the water behind it.”

  “Sorry,” Jomrik said, “I didn’t mean to be such a subtle yet brilliant engineer. I should have warned you that my math and engineering grades were good in school.” He had grown almost chipper at the revelation that his work was still standing. Or maybe it was the thought that he wouldn’t be asked to start from scratch building a new dam.