“Destroy everything, isn’t that it?” His light tone doesn’t quite mask the bitterness behind his words.
“Make them pay,” I say. And then there’s no more time to talk.
I take my place near the main trail leading into the village, swinging my bow over my shoulder as I climb one of the bigger stalks of bamboo. I settle at the spot where it forks; then I nock an arrow and wait. There were some Shidadi who wanted me to sit out the fighting, but Gatha argued that we needed all the fighters we can get. The compromise was to place me far from the center of action, but still close to enough fighters to keep an eye on me.
A flock of birds takes wing in the distance. Bamboo shifts underneath them. Rustles and cracks echo through the air.
Foot soldiers come into view, more than a hundred of them. They take positions alongside the paths and hack at the bamboo with axes. I take aim at the closest one and shoot. He drops. Though I can’t see my fellow archers, I see their arrows strike and hear the screams of those they hit. The remaining Amparan soldiers drop their tools and flee. I shoot a few more in the back, and then I retreat to the village.
Gatha, Vidarna, and a handful of other fighters await us at the southernmost cottage.
“Rest while you can,” Gatha says as another crew goes out. The plan is to give the Amparans no rest. Don’t let them widen the paths without a fight. Make them decide to attack the village on suboptimal terrain.
As we wait, I gulp from my waterskin and swallow mouthfuls of dried fruit. An hour passes, and then another. Someone offers me a piece of deer jerky, which I chew into paste. Nearby, a cluster of Vidarna’s fighters suck on swamp berries as they wait. They claim it quickens their reflexes for battle, but it also tints their mouths a disturbing shade of bluish purple.
Vidarna keeps his messenger pigeons flying back and forth between us and our scouts, commanding by waving different strips of colored cloth. Most warlords delegate communications to others, but Vidarna keeps a careful eye on what’s coming in and out.
A crow caws. Soldiers on their way. We scatter. Once again, I climb a stalk of bamboo.
This time, the soldiers are expecting us. They stream down the trails as the surrounding forests sway with the movements of their comrades. I fire at the first man that comes into range and keep firing, focusing my shots to my left, forcing the soldiers toward traps that we’ve set. One Amparan falls, and then another. There’s a crash, then yells sound in the distance, and I know the traps have been sprung. But the Amparans keep coming.
A Shidadi horn blasts. Retreat. Light blazes in the corner of my vision as a Shidadi sets fire to the first line of cottages. Pops sound as the bamboo starts exploding. I shoot four more arrows, then slide down. A soldier rushes me as soon as my boots hit the ground, swinging his sword at my head. I dive out of the way as his blade catches on a stalk of bamboo behind me, then knee him in the stomach and run.
The battle continues. Hide, shoot, burn, retreat. Hide, shoot, burn, retreat. Make them think the village is fuller than it is. Make them pay dearly for every bit of land they gain. Dara is a long string of houses down the length of the valley, and we work our way back little by little. I stay in the forest, just outside Dara’s network of trails, taking down soldiers who push their way through the plants and leaving it to other fighters to fire the cottages as we go. The Amparan line falls ragged, but so does ours. Fewer arrows fly from our ranks with each successive fall back. My arms ache from shooting. My eyes water from the smoke.
The horn sounds again, this time a long, drawn-out blast. Fall back to final position.
I run into the village, breaking through into a clearing of several cottages. There are scattered clusters of fighting—the only Amparans out here are ones who’d been lured away from their units. Hashama fends off three attackers by a well, swinging the curved sword of his tribe like Neju himself. That man might not have a sense of humor, but his swordsmanship warms my heart.
An Amparan charges me as I approach. As our swords clash, his face flickers and turns into Naudar’s.
No. It’s not Naudar. Naudar’s dead.
I grit my teeth and drive my attack, moving him back one step, then another until my sword slips through his guard and he falls to the ground. When I look at his face this time, he’s once again a nameless soldier.
“Dineas,” Hashama shouts. He’s dispatched the other two.
“Go!” I yell, and we redouble our speed. Ahead of us stretches a trench packed with kindling. Gatha’s on the other side, flanked by archers who fire past our heads. The ditch looms in front of us now, as wide as a man is tall. In one last burst of speed, I leap and land hard on the other side.
Gatha steadies my shoulders and pulls me away from the ditch. “Light the fire,” she says.
The Dara man Nuri thrusts a torch into the kindling. The pitch catches fire immediately, and a wave of heat hits my face. Archers fire through the flames until the fire grows high enough we can’t see past it. And then we run. The sound of the Amparan army grows distant behind us.
We retreat up the mountain until we reach a ridge overlooking the village. There, I finally look back. The valley, Zivah’s home, is alight with flames. Somewhere down there, the Amparans are trying to regroup. Next to me, Nuri surveys the flames and unabashedly wipes a tear from his eye.
“This is it, isn’t it?” he says. “We’re at war.”
I look at the smoke curling into the air, and the full weight of Nuri’s words hits me. “This is it,” I say, and something that’s either dread or hope uncurls within me. “This is the last war we’ll ever fight.”
Sarsine doesn’t say anything until we’re well away from the rosemarked compound. When she does, her voice shakes with quiet fury. “What kind of man would do this? What kind of empire would allow this?” She’s not really asking for an answer.
Verina’s directions are easy enough to follow. There’s a dirt wagon trail that leads northwest through the grassland. Though I take care to hide my rosemarks, we don’t see a single other person on the road, which makes the manor all the more striking when we come upon it. It’s an enormous compound enclosing an area the size of the emperor’s gardens. The perimeter is marked by a brick wall, and on the other side I can a see the manor building’s upper floor. The building itself only takes up a small portion of the compound. The rest, judging from the trees and hedges peeking over the top, is well-cultivated foliage.
I stay a safe distance away while Sarsine does a preliminary scouting round. She comes back with her cheeks flushed from running. “Baruva’s here,” she says.
“You saw him?”
“From a distance. At least, I think it was him. Pompous-looking fellow, dressed in overly nice clothes?”
“That sounds right.”
Sarsine gives an unladylike snort. “It’s a big house. Twenty rooms, I’d say. We might be able to search some of them at night, but not his personal quarters.”
“That’s where he’d most likely hide anything important.”
She nods in silent agreement.
That means we’ll have to search his quarters during the day, then, and that didn’t work out so well at Taof. “We can watch the gates for a day or two,” I say. “Perhaps he’ll leave the manor for a few hours.”
With that settled, there’s nothing to do but wait. Night is falling, and we set out our bedrolls in the grass a good distance from the road. We don’t dare make a fire, but the night is warm, and the stars shine down brightly. Though it’s my watch, Sarsine doesn’t go straight to sleep. Instead, she picks a fistful of grass and holds it to her nose.
“It smells different down here, doesn’t it?” she says. “Iyal Island smelled like mud. Monyar smells green. Here, it smells sweet. Sweet and dusty.”
A gust of wind blows, sending ripples through the grass.
“We used to be nomads, you know,” says Sarsine. There’s a note of longing in her voice.
I turn to look at her. “What?”
“The
Shidadi. My tribe. We used to be nomads in my father and mother’s time, before the Amparans drove us into a corner. We prided ourselves on being tied to no land, strong enough to handle any terrain. ‘Shidadi’ means ‘freedom’ in our language, did you know that? Sometimes we lent our swords to others, or sometimes we simply fought to defend ourselves. But we were free.”
She sighs. “Now we’re cooped in. Iyal Island is small enough to circle in a day. We survive for months on swamp root. And the mosquitoes...”
She trails off, but I sense she’s not finished.
“The elders always told stories of the main continent. Deserts that stretched for leagues, grassland like this, markets with fried sweet buns and music. I always wanted to see them for myself.”
“Is that why you came here with me?”
She gives me a crooked grin. “Well, I mean, there’s the part about loyalty and fighting for my people and doing what’s right, but yes.”
There’s a beat of feathers over my head. Scrawny comes swooping down and settles at the foot of my empty bedroll. He tucks his chin, fluffs his feathers, and watches us.
Sarsine flicks a blade of grass toward the bird. “I mean, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen how long my kinsmen live. If I’m going to die soon, I want to see more of the world before that happens.”
“You might not die, Sarsine.”
“Well, I certainly don’t plan to make it easy for them to kill me.” She reaches out and gives the sword next to her a pat. “And Karu would be very put out if she lost another fighter.”
This is the first time Sarsine’s mentioned Karu on our trip. I think of my parting conversation with the warlord, as well as what Dineas told me about the traitor in the Shidadi camp. “Is Karu a good leader?”
“She’s held us together,” says Sarsine. “That’s not easy to do. I mean, she’s not the most pleasant to be around sometimes, but I wouldn’t be either if I had her responsibilities.”
“I see.” I want to ask more—how far Karu would go to stay alive, whether her willingness to bend rules applies just to the enemy, or if she’d betray her own people as well. But I don’t know how loyal Sarsine is to her warlord. “Do you find her...trustworthy?”
Sarsine looks at me. “Karu is Shidadi to the core,” she says flatly. “I trust her with my life.”
Of course, Sarsine wasn’t there when Karu tried to convince me to infect the Amparan troops. But I sense it’s not the time to push this further.
Sarsine lies back and folds her hands over her stomach. “So, is Dineas a good kisser?”
Apparently it’s possible to choke even when your mouth is empty.
Sarsine gives me an impish grin. “I mean, that’s what you were doing when I gave you time to say your good-byes, wasn’t it? If not, then both of you are idiots.”
I’m thankful we don’t have a fire, because my cheeks are burning. “It’s complicated, between us.”
“Oh, I know. I heard about your mission. Almost too strange to believe, some of it. It still doesn’t change the way he looks at you.”
I think of our parting moment in the Monyar forest, the way he drank me in with his eyes, as if he could somehow keep us from parting by force of will alone. “We’ve been through a lot together. But I’ve also hurt him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I...” I’ve carried my guilt alone for so long now that it’s hard to put it into words. “They must have told you that I gave Dineas potions to change his memory. Problem was, our potions had never been used that way before. It seemed a risk worth taking at the time, but he’s suffered consequences I didn’t foresee.” I think about how the memory of his Amparan comrades haunt him still, and I remember his anguish as he confided in me. “He may suffer these consequences for the rest of his life. I’m a healer, yet I’ve caused him irreparable harm.”
Sarsine weaves her fingers together and drums them on her stomach. “He’s scarred, that’s for sure,” she says. “But we all are to some degree. And I have a feeling you’ve done more good for him than you realize.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “Love is hard to come by. Even when it comes painfully, it’s rare enough to hold on to.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” I stare into the fire, sending up one more prayer for his safety. I wonder if the Goddess protects those who are not her own, or if I should be praying to Neju instead.
“So you did kiss him,” says Sarsine.
I throw a clump of dirt at her, which she deflects with a giggle before rolling over and pulling her cloak tighter around herself. A few moments later, I hear faint smooching sounds drift over from her direction.
“Go to sleep.”
“You’re no fun at all.” But I can hear the grin in her voice. A few moments later, she’s asleep.
We have a stroke of luck the next day when Baruva rides out in the morning with two servants. They carry baskets but no luggage, which means they’ll likely be gone a few hours.
As we make our way closer to Baruva’s home, I can’t help but admire its beauty. It’s constructed with bricks of alternating earthen red and deep purple. Though the building itself is square and solid, the arched windows of the second floor give it a refined air. We approach the outer wall from the side, out of view of the two gate guards in front. Sarsine scales it first. Then I slip on gloves and follow her into a courtyard paved with the same red and purple bricks. The ground-floor windows are open to let the breeze in, and we scramble through.
Inside, it’s dark, cool, and colorful. This place would be a peaceful retreat under different circumstances. We come into a sitting room piled with red and gold cushions. There are no servants in sight, though I do hear footsteps echoing down a mosaic-lined corridor. Sarsine looks around, and then points down another corridor. We race along, passing several more sitting rooms, a dining room, and giant windows overlooking a garden before we stop at the foot of a fan-shaped staircase.
“Upstairs?” Sarsine mouths.
I nod. That’s where Baruva’s quarters will most likely be.
The landing at the top of the stairs goes in two directions. Sarsine frowns at the thick rug covering the floor, then points right. I realize she’s looking at the pattern of wear on the rug. Sarsine leads the way, her eyes fixed on the carpeting. At one point, she stops, pushes me into an empty bedroom, and manages to close the door behind us without making a sound. She puts a finger to her lips, and sure enough, footsteps pass by soon after. We wait for them to fade, then continue on our way.
Finally, Sarsine stops at a door and tries the knob. It’s locked, and she smiles in satisfaction. “No reason to lock a door if there’s nothing to keep hidden.”
I glance around nervously as she pulls out a set of lock picks. They scrape disturbingly loudly against the lock, but soon the door swings open. The suite inside is opulent and neat, with a bedroom to the left and a study to the right.
“I’ll stand watch,” Sarsine whispers, and I get to work.
I decide to start with Baruva’s bedroom. His chest yields nothing out of the ordinary, and there’s nothing between the tapestry and the walls. I check the lining of his clothes, as well as the edges of his pillow and linens. I even knock on the board at the head of his bed, but it yields nothing but a solid thunk. The bed itself sits on four feet carved in the shape of lions, and I check those as well. All solid.
Sarsine sticks her head in. “Find anything?”
I shake my head. I must have been here an hour now with no success. “I’ll try his study.”
Baruva’s desk is piled high with medical texts, but there’s nothing here out of the ordinary, nor is there anything behind the scrolls on his shelves. I get on my hands and knees and knock on the floorboards one by one. When Sarsine comes to check on me, I just shake my head again. Could Verina have been mistaken? Or am I just looking in the wrong place?
“I think we need to leave,” says Sarsine. “I don’t want to push our luck.”
A
s much as I want to stay, I know she’s right. I look out the window, trying to judge how far the sun has moved since we came in. The manor building itself sits atop a hill, and the view of the gardens below is quite striking. There’s at least one pond, an orchard, and an herb garden with plants in neat rows. From here, I can identify some of the plants.
“Can we leave through the garden?” I ask.
“It would mean more chances to get caught,” says Sarsine. “Why?”
“A hunch.”
Someone else might have asked for more of an explanation, but Sarsine simply nods. We duck down a side stairway and into a pathway lined with cypress trees. The lane passes a pond covered with fragrant lilies, and then a small court of yellow and blue wildflowers. After that comes the herb garden I saw from the window. I count twenty rows, each planted with different herbs—bukar plants, whose roots are good for fever; spineleaf bushes, whose sap soothes all kinds of ailments; karada shrubs, whose stems are boiled for dysentery.
Slow dysentery, plague incubation period. Those were certainly strange notes on the side of Baruva’s journal.
I count the number of bushes in the lane. Thirty. The garden here is well maintained, but not as immaculately so as the rest of the compound. Perhaps this patch is tended only by Baruva and a few trusted servants. Perhaps this would be a good place to hide something important.
Sarsine has gone several steps ahead. “Zivah?”
“Wait,” I say, and step into the garden. The plague incubation period is ten days. I count ten bushes. The ground at the base of the tenth bush looks the same as the rest of it.
I whistle for Scrawny. “Scout,” I say, and start digging as soon as he takes wing. The dirt is moist but firm, and doesn’t part easily under my fingers.
“What are you doing?” Sarsine hisses.
“Watch for anyone coming.”
She looks around uneasily but doesn’t say anything else. The smell of earth fills my nostrils. My fingers grow raw from digging, and I look around for a better tool.
“Here!” Sarsine tosses me a flat rock. I nod my thanks and keep digging.
Umbertouched Page 13
