Witch: The Moondark Saga, Books 7-9 (The Moondark Saga Boxed Sets Book 3)

by Don McQuinn

  On the other hand, any relationship with the Skan involved bloodshed. Everyone traded with them for their jade and the pink-and-black sostone. Unlike other people who traveled the sea because it was a way to go from point to point, the Skan treated it as home. Their settlements existed only to reequip returning sharkers. It wasn’t unusual for one of their vessels to be gone for two years, trading, raiding, simply chasing the next day.

  In his deepest heart, Gan admitted he envied that.

  Now, however, he must deal with one of their women. Quite possibly a Nion captive.

  A Jalail Wolf, the twin tails of his red-and-yellow armband dangling bright against the black and white of his homespun blouse, waited in the passageway outside the meeting room.

  Gan returned his salute, then, “Does this Nion have language, or will I need an interpreter?”

  The young Wolf made a face. “An accent, but very good language. Full of himself.”

  “Really? What’s he told us?”

  “Not much. It’s more his attitude than his words. Says, ‘Tell the mightiest warrior on this side of the Great Sea that a representative of the mightiest nation in all the world requests to speak to him.’ Got honey in his mouth and a shortknife in his hand, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t, but I should have,” Gan said. “What about the woman?”

  “Not a sound. No one’s even seen her, all wrapped up in that Skan robe. She must be an eye-burner, to keep so bundled up when it’s this warm.”

  When Gan entered the meeting room from the side, Hada and Jaleeta were in front of the massive table centered before the dividing curtain. The curtain was painted with stylized wolves, each in the color of a pack. Ranged in a semicircle, they glared out at whoever faced the table, white fangs bared.

  Gan, flanked by his dogs, called to the Nion, “Know me. I am Gan Moondark.”

  The Nion faced him, drew himself erect, then bowed from the waist, both hands outstretched. Gan interpreted the latter gesture to indicate no attempt to touch a weapon. The Nion straightened, this time clasping his left fist in his right hand under his chin. He said, “I know you, Gan Moondark. Know me. Hada of the Nion. We are the Island Sword People, obedient to Emperor Mas, the Conqueror.” That said, Hada lowered his hands.

  Gan said, “I know you, Hada. I compliment you on knowing how we speak. I apologize that I’m not so accomplished.”

  Hada said, “It’s expected, Murdat.” Gan heard past the words, caught the implication that Hada would as likely expect a wildcow to sing. Remembering the young Wolf in the passageway, Gan resolved to see that perceptive man promoted. Politely, to Hada, he said, “Your thoughts are understood and appreciated. You’re the first Nion I’ve ever met, the first to ever ask to meet me. How can I help you?”

  “I come to help you.” Again, the taint of covert condescension grated. Gan wished Sylah were present to analyze the man. Hada continued. “My Emperor knows of your war with the Skan. Secretly, he wishes to help you, but it’s very difficult. Complicated? Is that a good word? Good. However, I had good luck at sea, coming here. Just dawn, three days ago, my men saw a small boat. North, between the Skan island and mainland.” He jerked a thumb at Jaleeta. “She was in the boat.”

  “I want no Skan prisoner. You know there are no slaves in the Three Territories. Take her back where she belongs.”

  Hada smiled. “I do. She belongs to you.” He half turned. “Tell him, female. Speak.”

  Jaleeta shook her head. Her voice, softened by the tunneled hollow of the hood, was timid. “I know you, Gan Moondark. Know me. My name is Jaleeta, a woman of the For.” She threw back the hood of her robe, and Gan was sure he heard a stir from the other side of the curtain. It was to be expected. Jaleeta was startlingly beautiful. Green eyes looked at him in hope and fear, while a tentative smile pulled at full red lips. White teeth and white skin complimented tumbling hair the color of best obsidian. “I was prisoner to a spirit woman, an evil thing called Tears of Jade. She serves a false god called Sosolassa. I stole a boat to escape, and Hada found me.”

  Gan tried to sound fatherly. “I’ll get someone for you to talk to, someone who’ll make you more comfortable. It can’t be pleasant to stand here and tell your story to two men.”

  He strode around the edge of the curtain, where the entire group from the castle wall, plus Leclerc, waited for him. Gan gestured them to silence, indicating they should get back from the curtain. When he’d restored some order, he said, “Neela, you come out with me. Take her to the side, see what she says.”

  “Don’t tell me you suspect that poor girl?”

  “I suspect nothing, I accept nothing. I simply want to know more.”

  Neela swept past him. Gan turned to the others for some sign of understanding and hurried away to escape their chill disapproval.

  Hada waited patiently. Neela and Jaleeta were already in close conversation, seated on chairs as far from the men as possible. Gan indicated a seat at the table for Hada, joining him. Hada eyed the curtain suspiciously before untying the strap holding his sword scabbard to his belt. Ceremoniously placing the sword and its leather covered carrier on the table, Hada grabbed it at the middle in a clenched fist. Gan watched with open curiosity.

  Hada said, “This is how a Nion warrior swears he speaks the truth—with hand on the most important object in his life. I lied to you. The female stole no boat, never escaped. She was given to me to bring to you. For trade things.”

  “The Skan paid you to bring her here? Is she sick?”

  Blanching, Hada squeezed the scabbard tighter yet. “I don’t think so. I didn’t think…” The monstrousness of the thought choked him off.

  “Why tell me now?” Gan asked.

  “Skan think Nions only traders, have no honor, do anything for trade goods. I think female is a spy. Gan Moondark is a good man, strong warrior. I help you. One time. After this, you are Murdat, I be Nion. There is honor between us, but not friendship. But you say nothing yet. Tears of Jade holds my son until you take female.”

  “Your son? Hostage?”

  Hada shrugged nonchalantly, but his pride shone through. “Nion. Brave.”

  Gan said, “Jaleeta’s a For. They’re traditional enemies of the Skan. Anyhow, how would she get information back to this Tears of Jade? It’s impossible. Jaleeta couldn’t be a spy.” He absently tugged an ear lobe. “Unless there’s someone here already in the pay of the Skan. Even so, what could she learn?”

  Hada said, “I know nothing more. I must leave.” He rose, putting on his sword. “Now I speak to the female. She has token for me. I give it to Tears of Jade, she gives me my son.”

  Gan accompanied the Nion to Neela and Jaleeta. Neela acknowledged the men coldly. Jaleeta smiled her gratitude. From a pocket of her robe, she took out something, handed it to Hada. She said, “It’s all I have to offer. Not payment. A keepsake, from someone you rescued. Please, if you ever trade with the Skan, tell them this: ‘Jaleeta of the For People puts her curse on the Skan forever.’” Gan was surprised at the sudden hardness of the features, the glaring intensity of the green eyes. Hada’s stem composure wavered. Jaleeta finished with, “Please remember exactly what I said.”

  Hada took the token. After a short semibow for Neela, he left. Gan accompanied him to the door. Out of sight of the women, Hada held up the token for Gan to see. It was a small, golden octopus. He grimaced and pocketed it.

  When Gan returned to the pair, Neela was holding Jaleeta’s hands in her own. Without preamble, Neela said, “Jaleeta’s staying in the castle. She’s deathly afraid of that woman, Tears of Jade.” Neela shivered. “What a terrible name. So cold.”

  Wide-eyed, innocent, Jaleeta said, “I confessed to Neela. I didn’t escape. Tears of Jade paid the Nion to bring me here. She holds his son as hostage for my safe arrival. I’m to spy on you. She said if I don’t find a way to live here, in the castle, she’ll punish my mother.”

  “How will she know where you live? Can she see so far?” Gan heard th
e distrust in his voice, saw Neela’s disgust.

  Jaleeta accepted it as due. “Someone will contact me. Maybe tomorrow, maybe moons from now. I must be prepared. But what I want to do is destroy Tears of Jade. All the Skan. They slaughtered my family. Everyone. Tears of Jade says I’m her weapon, that her horrible god gave me to her to come here and weaken you, so the Skan and the River People and someone called Windband can enslave all the people of the Three Territories.” Suddenly, emotion overwhelmed the young woman. She refused to break completely. She sobbed, just once. Stubbornly, she set her jaw, chin up.

  Neela was bitter. “Can she go now, Murdat? No more tests of courage or honesty?”

  Gan shook his head, waved a hand in silent, unconsciously rude, dismissal. Then, belatedly aware of what he’d done, he wondered if the rudeness was instinctive.

  Chapter 20

  Leclerc stared at Jaleeta’s retreating form as she swayed down the hall beside Neela. Gan took the opportunity to study the man, glad to occupy his mind with something other than the foreboding set off by the strange newcomer.

  There was something indirect about Leclerc, a suggestion that he observed the world obliquely, instead of head-on. Gan wondered if that elusiveness was what convinced him there was more to Leclerc than his amazing ability to make things.

  Permitting himself a grin he knew would go unnoticed, Gan made a silent wager that, at this precise moment Leclerc was thinking of how to cleverly arrange an introduction to Jaleeta. Any other man who was that staggeringly smitten would walk through a wall to introduce himself. And let others worry about picking up the pieces.

  Sylah remarked once that she always felt an air of loneliness around Leclerc. Neela agreed immediately, adding, “I think he’s lonely, but I don’t think he knows it.” Gan laughed at that. The women had given him that withering cut of the eyes that says men comprehend nothing more complex than dog slobber and horse sweat.

  Perhaps complexity was what made Leclerc different. It was interesting how he favored white in his clothing. It reminded Gan of King Altanar’s former police, the men ironically called protectors. Gan was sure Leclerc never imagined any connection between himself and those devils. If anything, the clean look indicated Leclerc’s awareness of the better things in life. Only the finest smoke-cured deer hide had the creamy color and texture of Leclerc’s favored shirts. Today he wore one of them, and tan homespun trousers. Both were embroidered with small, bright designs. Boots, always black, were the best buffalo hide. In keeping with custom, he carried them in a bag indoors, wearing soft elkskin slippers.

  Suddenly impatient with his own mental wandering, Gan called him. “Leclerc? You said earlier you wanted to talk to me.”

  Leclerc jerked as if burned. “Oh. Yes.” He colored, frowned. “I’m sure you remember what everyone said about the thing they call the wallkiller in Kos; the thing that throws a heavy weight long distances. I’ve been thinking about something to allow us to throw the black powder. I want to build a different version.”

  “Different?”

  Flying hands cutting pictures in the air, Leclerc explained. His preoccupied manner was completely gone. “We don’t need anything as big and clumsy as the wallkiller. I don’t want to make a simple large bow, either. The weapon has to be mobile, something the Wolves can take apart and move from place to place.” He stopped, grinned. “How’d you like to shoot arrows as big around as two thumbs and long as a man’s arm? Shoot them at least three hundred paces? Hit hard enough to rip that door like a dead leaf?”

  Cloaking rising excitement in deadly seriousness, Gan said, “I’d like that very much. You say this thing will throw the black powder, as well?”

  A frown almost like a wince etched Leclerc’s forehead. “That’s a little more difficult. I think I can do it. I don’t remember very much… I meant to say, I don’t promise very much. I’ve never built one.”

  “If anyone can do it, you can. We’re going to need every advantage we can find. A harsh winter may keep raids to a minimum. But when spring comes, so will our enemies. The Three Territories are weary. The Wolves need you and your friends. You’re our hope.”

  Leclerc shuffled a bit, embarrassed, then, “If I have the authority, I’ll start the project. I need to requisition materials.”

  “Use anything you want.”

  Leclerc threw a glance down the hall where Jaleeta disappeared, then left through the opposite door.

  Gan thought about the new weapon. Three hundred paces. An arrow heavier than a Dog warrior’s lance. His stomach rolled uncomfortably as he remembered his loathing and disgust on seeing the carnage caused by the black powder. Magic was no way for a man to strike down another.

  The Gan Moondark who ruled the Three Territories embraced the magic. Hated it, and hoarded it to him as a miser hoards wealth.

  He was in a foul mood as he left the room. Ever sensitive, Shara and Cho fell in far behind. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried to the soak on the same floor as his quarters. He was unprepared to find Neela there. She, on the contrary, smiled a ready welcome. Despite everything else on his mind, his blood quickened at the sight of her naked in the large stone-walled tub. Rising steam further distorted the muted image of her submerged body; he needed no clearer view. Indeed, the hazy vision of her seemed to ignite greater excitement. She said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Waiting? I didn’t know I was coming here until a few moments ago.”

  She laughed easily. “This is where you usually come to work out problems. The girl, Jaleeta, is a problem. Coming here was a logical step for both of us.”

  Closing the door behind him, he said, “That means I’m going to get advice, doesn’t it?” He began disrobing.

  “They killed her whole family, Gan. Her mother’s that old woman’s hostage.”

  “What old woman?” He sank in the tub, leaning back so his ears were submerged.

  Neela lifted his head by the forelock. “Keep your ears up here where I can talk to them.” She explained about Sosolassa and the Skan religion, as well as Tears of Jade’s place in it. Then she told of Jaleeta’s capture and life with the Skan. She finished with, “If someone that cruel had your mother captive, wouldn’t you pretend to do everything you were told?”

  Eyes closed, Gan said, “I never knew my mother. How can I answer…?”

  Neela dunked him. He rose, snorting and coughing. When he cleared his throat, he surrendered. “Your superior persuasiveness has overwhelmed me. I have an irresistible urge to tell you why Jaleeta makes me suspicious. It’s because she hasn’t told us the full truth about herself or why she’s here. She lived with the spirit woman—Tears of Jade, you said? Strange name—for almost four years. Did she tell you what work this old woman made her do? I thought not. And doesn’t it strike you as strange that a woman so beautiful wasn’t claimed by a man? One more thing.” Gan held up a hand to forestall what promised to be a furious outburst, then continued. “Oh, she says Tears of Jade sent her to spy on us and relay the information through some unknown contact, but what information? Our conversation? Our eating habits? Our favorite colors? Consider this unknown conspirator; if I believe Jaleeta, I must suspect everyone who comes in contact with her. That suspicion alone aids our enemies.”

  “She’s already promised me she’ll identify whoever comes to her.” Neela’s superior smile had the gleam of a knife.

  “From what you tell me of this Tears of Jade, and from what I know of the Skan, it wouldn’t surprise me if they planned to sacrifice a false contact in order to protect the real one.” The silence in the misty, apple-scented room stretched out uncomfortably. When Gan reached to take Neela’s chin in his hands, she was unresponsive. She averted her eyes. He said, “What is it? What did I say?”

  She shook her head as much as his grip allowed. “Not what was said, but who said it.” She raised a troubled gaze to his. “The Gan I fell in love with, my Nightwatch, my loyal dreamer, would never conceive of such duplicity. Now you must thin
k of such things. You grow accustomed. What have we done to you?”

  “No one did anything. I did what I was supposed to do. A man of the Dog People rules three kingdoms.” He released her, sat back, eyes closed.

  “The prophecy—”

  Gan cut her off harshly. “The prophecy. I remember you telling me you didn’t care about my mother’s prophecy.”

  “I said if this isn’t what you want, walk away. I’ll be beside you.”

  Contrite, Gan leaned his shoulder against hers. “I’m caught. The Harbundai Barons—Fir, Galmontis, Jalail, Malten, all of them—have been battling each other in one alliance or another for generations. One of the few things they have in common is a traditional distrust of the Olans, and for good reason. I’m the only one they all trust. If I leave, they’ll go back to squabbling among themselves, and be slaughtered as soon as spring weather brings the Skan, Windband and the River People.”

  “Their fate’s not your responsibility.”

  Gan pivoted, looked down at her. “Look me in the eye and say that.”

  Neela looked away, made as if to leave. Gently, firmly, he held her by the shoulders. Steam from the soak mocked their tension, its amorphous, aromatic tendrils drifting in careless coils. At last, Neela said, “It’s not fair.”

  Gan’s sigh eased through a half smile. He bent to her, kissed her cheek. “I’ll tell you what’s unfair. I’m alone behind a barred door, naked in a soak, with my beautiful wife, and we’re talking.”

  Her eyes flashed at him, then away again. Her jaw tightened. “That’s… That’s so exactly like a man. We have to talk about those things. It’s serious.”

  “I was never more serious in my whole life.”

  “No, Gan, I mean it. Stop that.” She reached to grab his wrists where his hands were sliding off her shoulders. She started to rise, preparatory to getting out of the water, then realized by virtue of Gan’s gaze exactly what part of her was breaking the surface. She sank back quickly.

  For a moment she was genuinely angry, telling herself there was a time and place for everything, and being alone and unclothed had nothing to do with truly important matters. Or it certainly shouldn’t, anyway, and someone had to be aware of such things. Or certainly should be.