by Kate Elliott
The forty-eight reeves remaining, not counting the four who were on patrol and the thirty-three who were in some stage of flying individual refugees down to Nessumara and returning with sacks of rice and nai, gathered in the commander’s courtyard. Seventy-two fawkners, stewards, hirelings, and slaves were also stuck up on the rock. Odash sat on a three-legged stool, looking as exhausted as ever.
He raised a hand and everyone quieted. “We’ve held this rock ten days. We’re helpless to stop the murders going on below. However, we’ve now established communications with the city, via the auxiliary basket on the north cliff. Yesterday a message was left in the basket. Here’s the news: There’s been extensive looting. The army is forcing all refugees to leave the city. Anyone who speaks out against the army, and people who have ties with militia or specific clans are executed immediately. A governing headquarters has been set up in Flag Quarter. Taxes are being levied compound by compound. Wherever weapons are found, they are confiscated. A curfew’s been established. The markets are closed, and people are hungry.”
Pil made a gesture that caught Odash’s notice.
“What is it, Pil?”
It wasn’t easy for Pil to speak up, but he managed to force out words. “The army wants to rule the city. If people have hunger and have fright, they then will obey the ones who rule, if they fear them.”
“That something your people used to do, out in foreign lands?” demanded one of the older reeves, a man named Vekess. He eyed Pil with suspicion.
“It is an effective method.”
Some of the reeves hissed, but Kesta moved closer to slap Pil on the shoulder. “Cursed glad you’re here with us, Pil. Gives us some insight into what these gods-rotted criminals might be doing.” She bent her fierce gaze on Odash.
The old reeve made a business of clearing his throat to focus attention back on himself. “My contacts want to send a person up here to meet with us.”
“Could be a trap,” said Vekess.
“Cursed well could be, but there’s little danger for us if we haul the contact up in the auxiliary basket. The one in the basket and those who must set him there are the ones who might be caught.”
“That’s fair to let them take the risk,” said Vekess. “They’re more expendable than eagles.”
“Reeve Vekess is right,” said Pil unexpectedly. “There are few eagles, and many people.”
At Vekess’s flush, some chuckled. Pil’s mouth quirked, as it did when he was practicing archery and scored a solid stream of bull’s-eyes.
“It’s a fair argument,” agreed Odash. “I’ll give the signal. Expect someone to come up in the basket tonight.”
The meeting dissolved into the usual chorus of indignant comments and exchanges of angry recriminations, not for any of the assembled reeves, of course, but for the army, the traitors in Toskala who had opened the city gates to let in the enemy without a fight, the other reeve halls that had not responded to their pleas for help. The general disorganization of it all. A wind wafted the smell of rotting waste off the city; as the breeze turned, Nallo caught the sweet scent of the late-blooming vine roses growing in the troughs that rimmed the commander’s cote. The sliding doors were closed tight. Odash slept on a pallet on the covered porch, like a dog waiting for its master to return. She couldn’t decide whether she found it touching, or idiotic. Sheh! What was she thinking? He was doing his best, accustomed to carrying out the orders of a leader who had been horribly murdered just ten days ago.
“Heya!” Simultaneous shouts rose from the watchtowers. “Eagles coming in.”
Reeves ran for the parade ground.
Kesta said, “That’s Peddo and Jabi. Aui! There’s Scar!”
The eagles came in with wings outstretched and talons lifted, thumping onto the big perches in the middle of the parade ground. Unhooking, the reeves dropped from their harness and stepped out from under the shadow of the eagles.
Peddonon, grinning as usual, called out. “Heya, Kesta! How’d you fare at Copper Hall?”
Her shrug was a negative. “They arranged for us to get supplies off the local merchants. But they wanted us to retreat from here and reinforce them. So, we’re on our own.”
“Iron Hall? Gold? Bronze? Are the reeves who flew there back yet?”
“Bronze Hall wouldn’t even let our messenger meet with the marshal, just said they’d consider sending a legate, typical brush-off. Iron and Gold said they were too overstretched to spare even a single reeve to meet with us—but we’re welcome to keep them up to date on our situation.”
Peddonon’s grin widened. “So I win! I told you he would come himself. What do you owe me?”
“A kick in the ass, just like always.”
The reeve sauntering forward beside Peddonon Nallo knew well enough, for he’d been the one who had first tried to coerce her into becoming a reeve, back when she’d been a refugee out on the roads. She had not understood then that no person chosen by an eagle had a choice about becoming a reeve. Nevertheless, he had handled it poorly, for all his charm.
He made a big show of greeting everyone, and truly everyone did know him; he’d left a posting at this hall to become marshal of Argent Hall in the southern Hundred less than a year ago.
“How are you faring?” He strolled up to her with an irritating smile on his handsome face. How she hated people who assumed you would be happy to see them just because they were so good-looking, even a man as old as he was, fully forty years if he was a day. “It’s Avisha, isn’t it?”
“It’s Nallo. Avisha is my stepdaughter. The pretty one.”
He blinked. “That’s right.” He laughed at his awkward words. “I meant, that’s right that you’re Nallo and she’s Avisha. She got married.”
Nallo flushed, thinking of poor Avisha, orphaned and kinless with two small siblings to protect and thereby having no better option than to marry one of the Qin soldiers because they were rich and without wives. “I hope he’ll treat her well.”
Pil said, “Who chose her?”
“It doesn’t work quite that way,” said the reeve, scratching his clean-shaven, noble chin. “I’ve forgotten your name.”
“It’s Pil, Marshal.”
“Pil. That’s right. Men can offer, but it’s the woman who must accept or refuse.”
“How likely is it that a woman will refuse if her entire clan insists,” asked Nallo curtly. “How much of a choice does a poor woman have if she has only one offer?”
Marshal Joss’s glance at her was keen. “That’s right. In this case, your pretty stepdaughter had more than one suitor. One was Chief Tuvi.”
Pil whistled under his breath, but said nothing.
“However, she chose a tailman. A decent fellow, everyone says.”
“Jagi,” said Pil, and an unexpected grin flashed.
Joss shrugged. “I don’t recall the name.” He smiled winningly again and walked over to greet Odash. The two men moved down the alley between barracks and store house toward the commander’s cote, and most of the reeves followed in a shuffling, uncertain crowd, not sure what to expect or what to do now that help had come from the south in the form of a single reeve known to be a drunk and a womanizer. Nallo walked to the gate, Pil pacing alongside her.
“Will he treat her and the children well?”
“He will.” The certainty in his tone brought tears to her eyes.
“Good, then. Good.”
She settled against one of the gateposts and, crossing her arms, stared out at Justice Square. The rations line had gotten shorter; about forty people, including the fuming merchant, waited to receive their portion. Others had retreated to the porches to sit in the shade. From the direction of the militia barracks came the call and clap of drill.
“Heya, Pil.” Kesta smiled, and settled in beside Nallo. “They want you to report on the incident you observed on the river.”
“Now?”
“Now.” Her smile collapsed into a brooding frown as Pil strode off toward the comman
der’s garden. She looked at Nallo. “So here we stand, surrounded by countless enemies, plagued by self-important merchants, and hoping we can fly in enough food to keep us going while we stick it out here more for the show of the thing than for any purpose. Does Clan Hall even serve a purpose? Do the reeve halls want to work together to battle this army, or are they only going to look after themselves?”
“If they do that,” said Nallo, “we’ll fall one by one.”
“You don’t need to tell me that. When the commander and senior reeves were murdered on Traitors’ Night, I felt like the reeve halls were murdered, too. She did her best for all these years to be a fair and effective commander. Yet who now listens to Clan Hall? Why should they? We’re as barren as a woman without a basket, as impotent as a man with no plow.”
“There has to be something we can do!” But in swiping strands of hair off her sweaty forehead, Nallo measured the fragility of her words, how they might penetrate the air with seeming force only to dissipate as if they had never been uttered. “Maybe Marshal Joss can do something.”
Kesta mopped her own brow as in imitation of Nallo. “So here we all wait to see what Joss will say and what Joss will do! Eiya! I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.”
• • •
“WE’VE BEEN FORTUNATE so far with the provisions from Nessumara,” Odash was saying as Joss picked up his cup of rice wine and, with a grimace, set it down without drinking. “But it can’t go on forever. We’ll need another source of rice and nai. We’ve flown off forty-eight refugees, mostly children, but that still leaves us with one hundred and fifty-seven in the reeve hall, ninety-eight firefighters, militiamen, and ordinands, thirty-eight clerks of Sapanasu, and four hundred and sixty-three refugees from Toskala of whom two hundred and three have stated they are able and willing to join the defense of the rock.”
Joss turned the cup around. “I’m not sure reprovisioning is our biggest problem. We can continue to delegate less experienced reeves to fly supply and take off the remaining refugees. As long as we are careful to ration the food strictly and control what numbers we allow to remain up here, we can hold the rock. The cisterns and the deep well will supply water indefinitely.”
“What do you think is our biggest problem?” Peddonon’s earnest expression reflected all their worries.
“The top leadership and all their years of experience were wiped out ten days ago. Not to mention Volias dying like that. He may have been a prick, but he knew what he was doing.” He downed the rice wine in one gulp, feeling the burn, then wiped his mouth. “That’s one thing. The other is that the army took Toskala through treachery. We don’t know who we can trust. Finally, setting aside the matter of what the enemy intends to do next, these demons who call themselves Guardians can fly onto this rock and kill any of us.”
“Do you think they’re demons?” Odash asked.
“Captain Anji does. He’s the outlander captain who saved Olossi. But I’m not sure he means the same thing by the word as we do. For myself, I don’t know what to think.”
“It was swords killed all the men and women in the council hall on Traitors’ Night,” said Odash.
“You’re sure? In the tales it’s said Guardians can kill with a word and a look alone.”
“The only survivor of the massacre was one of the traitors. She said the cloaks promised order and wealth to anyone who aided them. Afterward, the cloaks turned on the traitors who had done the dirty work of actually murdering the council, and killed them—with a look and a word, like in the tales.”
“Used and discarded! So the question is, why didn’t the cloaks kill the council themselves? Can I interview this survivor?”
As Odash hesitated, all the others drained their cups. “She threw herself off the promontory.”
“Eihi! Just like in the tale. What did she tell you?”
“Nothing but how if she’d known otherwise she wouldn’t have done it, useless apologies, if you take my meaning. All I know is that she’s from the Green Sun clan, and they all cleared out before the attack. If we can get more information from the city about what other clans cleared out, we might know who betrayed us.”
“We’ll send that message as a warning to Nessumara,” said Joss as folk nodded.
“Why, just so!” cried Odash as the others looked at Joss and then at their empty cups. “That’s why we need a new commander.”
“Commander of Clan Hall? Over all the reeve halls? Are you asking me?”
Odash bent a baleful glare on Peddonon. “Surely Peddo mentioned—”
“I thought he was joking!”
“We didn’t know who else to turn to,” added Odash.
“I’m the only one who answered the call?” He rested his forehead on fists, his head so heavy he thought he might never again raise it. “Let me sleep on it. I’m cursed tired from the journey and everything we’ve had to deal with down south.”
“Allies from Toskala are sending up a messenger tonight.”
“All the more reason to sleep now.”
Peddonon hung back after the others had gone. “I wasn’t joking. We need you, Joss.”
“Let me sleep first!”
Peddonon grinned. “Can’t keep your looks without enough rest, my friend. Wise of you.”
“I wouldn’t want to end up looking like you, true enough. Say, how are the two recruits doing? The young Qin reeve gave an excellent account of the encounter on the river.”
Yet he wondered: Had Zubaidit been on that barge Pil had seen on the river? Was she still alive?
“He’s exceptional, it’s true.” Peddonon scratched his chin. “What’s his story? Can we trust him?”
“Eh?” Joss slapped a hand down on the table so hard Peddonon startled. “Has he caused trouble?”
“Not at all!”
“Neh, I meant nothing bad by it. I just wondered because Captain Anji specifically asked me to move him north to get him away from the other Qin soldiers. I’m not sure if it’s considered ill luck that he was chosen by an eagle . . . or a disgrace . . . or if Anji means him to serve as a spy in our midst—”
“Think you so?”
“Does he behave suspiciously?”
Peddonon grinned in the way Joss had come to associate with his admiration of certain firefighters. “No. He’s cursed good with his weapons and his eagle, and he’s very shy. That Nallo is like his older sister, always ready to tear your head off if you even look sidewise in the wrong way at him.”
“Is that how it is? What way have you been looking at him?”
Peddonon sat down again. “He’s fashioned like me, not like you, I’m sure of it.”
“You’re usually right.”
“In this matter, I’m always right. But—”
“I knew there was a but.” Joss stifled a yawn. “No luck there, I take it.”
“Maybe I’m feeling cheated out of a bit of flirting, but I think it’s more than that. A young person is shy about these things. That’s to be expected. That’s what Ushara’s temples are for. But he’s of age, plenty old enough.”
“The Qin aren’t like us, that’s true. Captain Anji has forbidden any Devouring temple to be built out at his settlement in the Barrens west of the Olo’o Sea. Maybe it’s just inexperience, as you say.”
“Sheh! Maybe. Yet I wonder if there’s more to it. It’s almost as if he’s ashamed of looking at a man, and he sure as the hells never looks at women in that way.”
This time when the yawn rose, Joss could not hold it in. He raised both hands in apology. “I don’t know. Keep an eye on him. Report anything suspicious. Otherwise, we have to assume he’s just what he is, a young outlander suddenly harnessed to an eagle and torn from the company of his familiar comrades. Fortunate for him he has Nallo, eh?”
Peddonon laughed. “She scares me!”
“That Tumna chose true, neh? Listen, post a steward to wake me when we get the signal.”
Peddonon slid the door closed behind him. With some trepid
ation, Joss ventured into the sleeping chamber behind a screen of doors. He’d known the commander of Clan Hall for many years; they’d been lovers for a short time, not that she’d gone any easier on him for it afterward. Exploring the sparsely furnished room now, he wasn’t sure if Odash and the hall steward had already cleaned out her belongings or if she simply had never accumulated anything. The pallet was rolled up along one wall. The shelf held two neatly folded jackets of the kind that could be wrapped around any size body and a pair of loose trousers. An alcove in which an ornament appropriate to the season might be displayed sat empty. A pitcher had been recently filled with water and placed beside a bronze basin. He poured water, then washed his face and hands. Afterward, he unrolled the pallet and lay down on top of the coverlet in his clothes.
Yet he could not relax. Zubaidit’s scorching gaze and shapely form kept intruding. Pil had seen Tohon. Tohon had ridden out with Zubaidit. The last time he’d seen her, she had slapped him. Aui! Why should that memory arouse him so?
He fell from uneasy waking into unsteady sleep, sinking into an old dream whose contours had become an achingly familiar landscape: A woman wearing a bone-white cloak walks away into a veil of mist, and he cannot help but run after her although he knows he will never catch her.
Twenty years Marit had been dead, and yet she still walked and spoke in his dreams. She called herself a Guardian now, although he could not understand why his dreaming mind, or the gods, made her do so. Yet strangely, her warnings to him in dreamtime always bore fruit.
“Marit!” he called after her fading form. “What should I do?”
“Joss.”
He startled awake to find Peddonon jostling his shoulder, a lamp shining behind his broad body. “Heya, Joss. You’re mumbling in your sleep. Signal’s come.”
