Traitors' Gate

by Kate Elliott

  Hari laughed.

  Yordenas’s hot presence stamped out of the tent, and then it was cool and quiet and Hari whispered, “Don’t move, don’t speak. We can hear better than you know.”

  He apparently went outside, because it was silent for some time. Shai thought maybe he was getting a rash on his forehead where the coarse fibers were pressed against the skin. An outlander captain veiled to the sight of the demons. A man who could, like Shai, see ghosts. Obviously, they meant Hari to hunt down and kill Captain Anji.

  With a shove, Shai was tumbled around and over and rolled gasping out of the carpet. Hari tugged him up to his feet, and Shai turned away to sneeze, three times. He wiped streaming eyes with the back of a hand. He had been so close to Lord Radas, and he had not acted. Yet how had he intended to strike?

  “When they find out you’re veiled, they’ll kill you.” Hari grasped Shai’s arm and pulled him around to face him. Hari’s gaze bored deep, but Shai matched him until Hari shook his head in frustration. “We have to get you out of camp before they find you. And they will find you. Someone will betray you. I’ll betray you. Hu! How did you even get to the Hundred?”

  “Father Mei sent me to bring back your bones.”

  “You can’t have walked all this way yourself!” His bitter laugh cracked. “Those Qin soldiers I saw on the road with you months ago. They pinned me with arrows. The bastards! Did the Qin make you a soldier and slave, as they did me?”

  Thinking of Mai, Shai shook his head. “I am not soldier or slave. How can I kill Lord Radas?”

  Hari flung himself away, walking again to the entrance and peering out as if he was sure Shai’s words had carried outside the tent wall. Then he strode back. “You can’t.”

  “Lord Radas threatened to have you killed.”

  “No, only punished. He has a soldier stab me until I’m dead, but since I can’t die, I live through the agony of dying and then I heal through pain worse than that of dying. Don’t you remember how your Qin soldiers shot me full of arrows? How do you think I survived that?”

  “Yet here you stand. A ghost, who yet lives.” He touched Hari’s arm, but his brother jerked away. “Didn’t you ask him to release you?”

  “Only a cloak can destroy a cloak. Five Guardians can judge one. You who are not prisoners of the cloak cannot kill us.” Tears shone in his eyes. “Do not pity me.”

  “I don’t pity you! You pity yourself!”

  Hari raised a hand to strike, then flung himself away, pressing that hand to the clasp that hooked his cloak around his throat.

  “You don’t have to be their prisoner! Just take it off!” Shai dogged Hari’s steps, reaching for the cloak’s elaborate clasp, but Hari shoved him so hard he fell onto the plush upholstery of the couch.

  “It will burn you, kill you, if you touch it. You think I haven’t seen Yordenas torture people? He forces them to touch his clasp until their flesh burns away to the bone!”

  “Then release yourself!”

  Hari’s smile lit him with a flash of his old charm, but the reckless glint was twisted and bitter. “Once started down this path, no one is ever content, little brother. Do you know why I’m their prisoner? I hate what I am, and yet I embrace it, because I fear the shadows that lie beyond the gate. Now that I am dead, I fear death more than anything. Just as she does.”

  “She?”

  “The cloak of Night. The one who woke me and taught me to know what I am. She fears death, too. We all fear death, who have suffered it. That’s why we are what we are and why we do what we do.”

  This could not be Harishil, best of brothers. This was his shell, inhabited by a demon.

  The cloak ran a hand over his head, face creased, eyes tight, other hand in a fist. “You must have come to the Hundred with the Qin. What do you know about an outlander captain? One who might be veiled?”

  Shai looked the demon in the eye. His heart sang with grief, even as his mouth opened and his voice emerged with astonishing evenness, the lie as easy as breathing. “Nothing. If you’ll give me safe passage out of camp, I’ll accept it with thanks.”

  • • •

  “CAPTAIN ARRAS.”

  Lord Twilight stood with his back to the captain. A single lamp burned, the flame’s wavering light rippling across the fabric of his cloak.

  “What brings you to Toskala, Captain? I’ll admit, I enjoyed our time together in High Haldia. I had been looking forward to a quiet retirement up there in the north with you as my congenial colleague.”

  “My lord.” If it were possible to feel comfortable around a cloak, then Arras felt comfortable with this man, but he knew better than to believe they could ever be comrades. “Two weeks ago I received orders that a new administrator would be taking over the occupation of High Haldia. I’ve been reassigned with my three companies to serve at the whim of the governor of Toskala.”

  “Are you glad to come to Toskala?” The cloak kept his back to Arras.

  “Presiding over an occupation does not suit my temperament. I’m trained to fight, not hang people up from poles just for the pleasure of watching them die.”

  “Some in this army gain too much pleasure out of the suffering of the vanquished.”

  “It’s better to kill rebels, criminals, and traitors cleanly and at once, and move on with the real work.”

  “What if I were to use my influence to make sure you got reassigned in support of the army marching south on Nessumara? Do you trust me, Captain?”

  They were alone, no one in earshot as long as they spoke quietly. The tent’s furnishings had been hauled away; all that was left were a pair of rolled-up rugs.

  “Yes, my lord. I trust you.”

  “As much as you trust any of us, eh?” said the cloak with a laugh that made Arras grin.

  “I return what is given. You trust me enough not to demand my compliance through eating out my heart. It’s a courtesy I appreciate.”

  A smile creased the cloak’s profile. “Then we understand each other. I am required to depart immediately, leaving unfinished business here in camp.”

  “The outlander?”

  “You can see the problem this presents me. I’m asking you to disobey orders. You could betray me to Lord Radas and I wouldn’t fault you for it. Or you can help me. If we both survive this war, I’ll have reason to be grateful to you. Although I can’t promise my gratitude is worth much.”

  “Are you asking me to betray Lord Commander Radas, my lord?”

  “No. I just need to get a single individual to safety in Nessumara without him getting caught and turned over to Night. Without anyone except you and me knowing or suspecting what’s being done. A tactical challenge, if you will.” Still, the cloak did not turn to use his third eye and second heart to expose Arras’s intentions. “Will you help me, Captain?”

  Trust can never be offered lightly, nor lightly refused. In the army, Arras was just one ambitious captain from the uplands of Teriayne, with no means for advancement except distinguishing himself and his companies in battle. He’d been left behind in High Haldia despite fighting well and taking the brunt of the initial attack, while better-connected men who’d done less had received promotions and moved on.

  “Get me assigned to the attack against Nessumara, my lord. If you do, I can help you.”

  • • •

  JOSS LEFT CLAN Hall at dawn, alone, guiding Scar downstream toward Nessumara. Eagles he had ordered out on patrol sweeps soared in the distance. It was easy from this height to perceive the land as if it were at peace, until you recognized how many villages bore the scars of battle: burned houses, freshly built scaffolding on which to lay the dead, empty paths and roads. A crude encampment lay hidden within woodland, but he dared not land to see who they were. It seemed almost cruel to grab bites of rice cake and swigs of cordial from the pouch of provisions lashed to his harness while wondering if those refugees were starving.

  He caught up with the enemy midmorning. Three eagles floated above, observing. He
knew the reeves by their eagles: Peddonon, Vekess, and Disi. The soldiers marched in orderly ranks, cohorts spaced at intervals. Clearly they did not expect to be attacked. The vanguard had taken control of the town at Skerru, where the River Istri split. The deep channel cut west along an ancient ridgeline. Copper Hall reeves flew patrol over Istria, and by Scar’s attention, others soared too far away for him to see but not so for the raptor with its exceptional vision. Downstream, many small channels braided into a vast delta.

  Two causeways spanned the wetlands, linking the city to the mainland. The northern causeway, a raised roadway from Skerru that pushed into the delta through a swamp forest, was already blocked by barriers. An eagle preened in the sun on a massive log off to one side. The eastern causeway linking the trading town of Saltow to the docks and markets of Nessumara was packed with refugees fleeing into the delta. A pair of reeves had set down in the midst of the traffic where a knot of confusion had brought movement to a halt. Boats bobbed within the marshy hinterlands; others were being rowed or poled along the narrow channels of the inner delta where the flow of water was regulated by a complicated scheme of locks, dikes, canals, and holding pools.

  With the sun at zenith, he and Scar dropped over Nessumara, a city sprawled across a hundred greater and smaller islands. Copper Hall’s four watchtowers beckoned. He flagged—and received no answer.

  The hells! No one was manning the watchtowers. Where was everyone?

  Scar skimmed low south to the swirling confluence of land and sea while Joss scanned the landscape. The hive of activity might be better described as chaos. The entire place was coming apart.

  There were a hells lot of boats and ships out in the bay; the harbor of Ankeno was crowded with vessels. Any one who could afford passage was running before the tide. Where in the hells did they all mean to go? And how keep themselves once they were there? The countryside crawled with folk in motion. More reeves down there betrayed even more trouble and confusion. Was it possible for reeves to police this kind of upheaval, much less maintain order at their own hall?

  Scar found an updraft and they spiraled up, then began a long descent toward what was now the main compound of Copper Hall, where the marshal had his cote. The eagle seemed eager, recalling his home perch, the place he had jessed Joss. The shores of the Haya coast unfolded below. Surf rolled against sand beaches, or sprayed where rockier ground met the water. The wide North Shore Road had a cursed lot of traffic on it, folk trudging east toward the Haya Gap and Zosteria. Reeves were out in force.

  Late in the afternoon he spotted the familiar watchtowers. It was here Joss had trained; here he had met Marit; here he had flung his reckless defiance into the face of Marshal Masar one too many times until the marshal had forced him to transfer to Clan Hall just to be rid of him. Looking back, Joss supposed he would have done the same in Masar’s place. What a gods-rotted rebel he’d been! There’d been no purpose to his troublemaking beyond the frustration of a young man who had had something he craved torn from him. He was older now. It was easy to see the pattern.

  He flagged the tower and received permission to come in.

  Scar landed with feathers fanned out and talons forward, almost vertical. He grasped a perch, and Joss, swinging gently, unhooked and dropped. The raptor chirped eagerly as he inspected his surroundings. He knew where he was, of course. He’d called Copper Hall home for longer than Joss had been alive.

  A murmur of activity came from the main compound, yet in the empty quiet of the visitors’ ground, you might think the place deserted. Joss inspected Scar, waiting for fawkners, but spotted only a lad skulking in the entrance to a loft.

  “Where are the fawkners?” Joss called.

  The lad shrugged.

  “Can you fetch someone for me?”

  The lad scratched his short hair, then ran for the gate. Joss swore under his breath as he attended to Scar’s needs. The visitors’ lofts were empty, so Scar lumbered into the closest loft and found an open perch, settling in to preen. The afternoon light falling through the open doors shone gold onto Scar’s glorious feathers.

  Joss jessed him and went out. In the main compound, smoke was rising from the kitchens, two women squabbled, wagons piled with bags of rice rumbled up to one of the storehouses. The forge boiled with heat and noise, hammers ringing.

  No one took notice of Joss. He walked down the alleyway between storehouses and fawkners’ barracks that led to the marshal’s garden. Long ago, during Joss’s days as a novice, Marshal Alard had lovingly tended beds of bright flowers just for their beauty, but now every plant here had its use: culinary herbs, lavender, woundwort, wiry desert tea, peony, ginseng with its tapered leaves.

  The door into the marshal’s cote stood open. Joss climbed the steps into the shade of the porch. In the marshal’s audience room, an elderly man sat behind a low writing desk, forehead propped on a hand, back bent. An old map, frayed and ripped at the edges, lay unrolled, its corners held down by cups. Smears of ink blotted the sheet; one spot, near the center, had been rubbed so many times it was worn through.

  “It doesn’t matter what emergency you bring word of,” said the marshal to the desk. “I’ve got no more reeves to send out.”

  “I’m not here—”

  The man looked up. “Joss? The hells!”

  “Masar? I thought you retired—there was a new marshal—”

  The old reeve’s cheeks were hollow with age and exhaustion. “There was. Why are you here? Aren’t you marshal of Argent Hall?”

  No niceties. No wine. Masar gestured with the quick-hurry-up known to all.

  “Clan Hall’s council has asked me to step in as commander. As a temporary—”

  “No need to ask my permission, if that’s why you came. I don’t see how Clan Hall’s administrative juggling affects us here.”

  Joss coughed into a hand. “Well, as commander of the reeve halls—”

  Masar’s curt laugh silenced him. “All right, then, Commander. We’re overwhelmed. Have you brought supplies? Come with brilliant ideas on how to beat back this cursed army?”

  “I have to order things at Argent Hall, get a sense of what is going on at the different halls, find out what happened to Horn Hall—”

  “Yes, and after you’ve managed all that, then you can come back and offer me and mine aid. Is that what you’re saying? Fine. I heard you. Good-bye.” He looked past Joss. A rare smile graced his stern face. “Jenna! There you are.”

  A pretty young woman wrapped in a bright orange taloos climbed the steps carrying a covered dish. Behind her trotted a lad not much younger but clearly her sibling. As she paused to kick off her sandals, she looked at Joss with a pretty smile.

  “None of that!” scolded Masar. “He’s too old for you.”

  “I never said a word!” protested Joss, burned by Masar’s scorn. She was a pretty enough lass, but so cursed young.

  Masar’s frown lowered like a threat. “These are my grandchildren, Jenna and Kedri.”

  “Reeve Joss!” The lad’s cheeks flushed as he stared. “I’ve heard so many stories—”

  “Enough!” snapped Masar. The lad ducked his head as his sister flicked fingers on his arm to silence him. “Clan Hall can call you their commander if they will—and I suppose you’ll do no worse than anyone else given the chaos—but it’s cursed meaningless to us. My own daughter is missing and her husband dead, these two of their five children fled to me. And they aren’t the only refugees sheltering here.”

  “I’m cursed sorry, Masar,” Joss said, raising his hands to show he’d no weapon and no excuse. “That’s a terrible thing for a parent to suffer. I really did come seeking what information you have to tell me. To let you know the situation at Clan Hall. And to pass on vital information about the army and certain clans in Nessumara who may be plotting to betray the city.”

  Masar nodded at his grandchildren, and Jenna hurried off, dragging her hero-struck brother behind with a parting smile for Joss. “My apologies. I’m no worse
off than many, and more fortunate than some. Sit down. Let’s talk as reeves do. What are we up against?”

  AND HEAR JOSS did, so much so that at dawn he felt he might never sleep if he tried to right all the wrongs afflicting the Hundred. The list was endless, and it only began with the recent death of the marshal who had replaced Masar when he had retired from active duty. Joss flew north toward the southernmost spur of the Liya Hills, where twenty years ago he’d often rendezvoused with Marit. How distant those halcyon times seemed now! The Haya Gap could be seen to the north; south lay the vast tangled forest known as the Wild, a refuge of the mysterious wildings. The eagle followed the north-leading ridge of the hills. At last, Joss caught sight of the ragged notch in the hills that marked the Liya Pass.

  He tugged on the jesses without conscious thought, and soon enough Scar pulled in to land on the stony height of Candle Rock. The towering rock was deserted; without wings, no man or woman could reach this spot. He scouted the environs, the fire pit, the hollow where eagles roosted, an overhang where the remnants of a wood stack moldered beside an even older axe held together by hope and twine. The decaying wood had been tossed into a jumble while the wood still solid enough for a good burn had been stacked in one place. Some reeve had been up here in the last few months. And why not? It was an unassailable position, overlooking the road below.

  He found a log, not yet split and half shot through with rot, and dragged it over to Scar. The eagle was delighted, pouncing on the log and squeezing it with his talons. Joss set to work on the fire pit, restacking the rocks where they had shifted and come loose. He layered a few to create a tiny crevice, where stones painted to mark the phrases of the moon could be left for the next reeve: Meet here when the moon is full. By the time he was done Scar had reduced the log to splinters and settled in, extending his wings to sunbathe.

  Joss settled as well. The wind streamed over the crags and the afternoon sun beat down on his back. Twenty years ago, reeves had patrolled these lands regularly. Over the years, mey by mey, village by village, they had retreated. Given up ground as a new commander had claimed their territory.