by Kate Elliott
It was a brilliantly clear day, no haze off the water at all and no clouds in the sky. The vast bay lay tranquil, more green than blue except where streaks of muddy-colored water flowed out from the delta’s hidden channels. Ships and boats plied the waters, but he couldn’t be sure if they were fisher folk about their usual toil or refugees fleeing Nessumara. He was pretty sure the army did not have a fleet of ships to patrol the Bay of Istria, but he supposed they would soon commandeer boats and crews.
“That leaves us with two areas to defend once the city is in our hands: the network of canals across the inner delta, and the two causeways that bridge the mires.”
Shifting into a patch of shade, Arras found himself looking downslope through a gap between houses to a lower courtyard, evidently the square training yard of one of Kotaru’s temples. About ten people, stripped naked, kneeled with heads bowed and arms lashed behind their backs as guardsmen stood at attention. There was something utterly humiliating in the way the prisoners were being forced to wait with bodies fully exposed; no matter how little clothing folk wore in the hottest weather, a kilt or cotton taloos gave a man or woman dignity. It was too brutal to watch folk so deliberately demeaned. He raised his gaze.
Captain Dessheyi was oblivious of the scene unfolding out of his sight. “There are few places in the Hundred as well defended by natural obstacles alone. There’s certainly no city as important to hold if we mean to rule the Hundred.”
It was difficult to tell if the shoreline Arras was looking at was islands or mainland, swamp or dry ground made impenetrable by dense growth. “Where is Nessumara? Isn’t the city’s port here on the bay, like this town?”
They laughed; he’d as good as stumbled, revealing his ignorance, and he noted their expressions. Not everyone was hostile. Some merely looked relieved that another had voiced a question they needed an answer to.
Captain Dessheyi scratched his chin. “Nessumara lies on islands deep within that delta. Weren’t you listening, Captain?”
Arras knew better than to answer the question. He shaded his eyes from the sun as he examined the distant shoreline. It was impossible to identify any distinct rivers emerging from the tangle, whose vivid color reminded him of the skirts of the Wild, the ancient forest in whose depths any trespassers would meet their death at the hands of the mute wildings. Born and raised in the north, he wasn’t used to vegetation growing so thick it was like a breathing beast waiting to strangle the unsuspecting. He had a cursed good idea that the folk who lived in the delta knew the wetlands landscape as well as he had known the escarpments and ravines of the uplands where he’d grown up. He spotted three eagles soaring overhead.
“Even if the city is betrayed from within, what’s to stop a local resistance from taking refuge within the swamp?” he asked. “Striking at will? Aided and abetted by the reeves?”
Captain Dessheyi smiled as a wolf bares its teeth. “A good question, Captain Arras. I’m assigning your companies to explore the land around the eastern causeway and probe the barriers raised there while we await the signal to advance. I’ll expect a thorough report.”
The other men chuckled, relieved to have another man bear the brunt of Dessheyi’s ill humor. As the captain went on to discuss assignments for foraging expeditions, Arras again glanced down into the Thunderer’s courtyard.
A woman stood in front of the row of cowering prisoners. A cloak of night enveloped her, and she was lecturing as a teacher might, brandishing a writing brush. Each time its tip touched paper, one of the sobbing prisoners collapsed like a puppet whose strings have been cut; like a body whose spirit has been severed from the flesh.
Arras recoiled a step, shuddering as terror stabbed deep: So she could have done to me, that evening by the fire.
Where Guardians walked, people must obey. There was no other choice.
12
AT ARGENT HALL they told Joss that Captain Anji had last been seen at Storos-on-the-Water, where a training camp had been set up. At Storos-on-the-Water they told him Anji had ridden back to Olossi, to his main encampment, and here Joss and Scar flew. It was difficult for Joss to make sense of all the new building around Olossi, especially since the lower town had been so badly damaged in last year’s battle. More walls were going up beyond the inner city, like the rings of an onion, and beyond the reconstructed Crow’s Gate there was yet a new walled neighborhood, men and women raising walls and gates. Farther afield, West Track was spanned by staggered checkpoints out to the limit of Joss’s vision.
Two mey from the city, fields formerly used as pasture had been walled off and divided into quarters like one of Kotaru’s enclosures, two lined with neat rows of tents for barracks and storehouses and two wide-open fields for training. Joss circled as men paced through drills below. Dust puffed under their feet. Their enthusiastic shouts filled the air. They were two cohorts at least, and he spotted a third cohort riding a mey away to the south along the skirts of the Lend, on some kind of training race. How had Anji gotten so many horses? A watchtower sentry flagged him, and he pulled an answering flag and sent Scar down.
A sergeant—the Qin called them “chiefs”—came out to greet him respectfully, a sober man whose name he could not recall. “Captain Anji went to fetch the mistress out in the Barrens. A full turn of the moon has passed since the birth. He can safely greet the baby, make sure it’s healthy, not tainted by demons.”
Joss blinked. “Newborn babies can be tainted by demons?”
“Hu! Surely you Hundred folk know that, Marshal! Demons leave a particular kind of blemish, sickliness, deformities. Don’t you rid yourselves of demons?”
“Rid ourselves?”
“Kill them. They’re a danger to the tribe.”
The word did not at first register; then Joss lifted a hand in a warding gesture, surprised to find himself trembling. Kill? “I should have been present, for I stand as uncle to the child. Best I go quickly.”
If not too late.
He flew to the Barrens, but in the settlement now being called Astafero, he learned that the captain’s party had taken ship. It was not until his questioning elicited a great deal of commentary about the darling baby and how the captain had carried the child his very own self onto the boat that the edge of anxiety softened. Weariness hammered him; he staggered to Naya Hall and commandeered a cot in the darkest corner of a tent barracks. Of course Anji would have done no such horrible thing. Nor would Mai ever have allowed it!
How long he slept he did not know, but he was roused by Siras sticking his head past the curtain slung up to give privacy.
“Greetings of the day, Marshal. I mean, I should say, Commander. A bold and bright Wakened Wolf it is, even if you look more like a resting-day festival cake the worse for being nibbled raw by hungry mice.”
Joss rubbed sandy eyes. “What in the hells are you doing here, Siras? You don’t even have an eagle.” The young man grinned so wide that Joss blinked, thinking there was too much light in this dim corner. “She came back, did she?”
“While you were flown north to Clan Hall, Commander. They sent me here to Naya Hall to get a bit of retraining, me not having been in harness for over a year.”
Joss sat up, blankets twisting around his torso. He’d had the sense to strip before falling onto the cot, although he had no clear memory of having done so. His clothes were, as usual, scattered every which way on the ground. “Aui! My mouth is like a swamp. How early is it?”
“Midday. You slept an entire night and half the day. There’s a dram of cordial waiting for you in the mess tent along with porridge, if you want it.”
“Aren’t you on duty?”
“Arda assigned me to you.”
“Seeing as you know how to handle me.”
Siras’s grin popped again. “Something like that. Let me shake out your clothes, Commander. There are scorpions around here. No one leaves their gear on the ground.” He tossed him a clean kilt. “There’s a trough out back, if you want to wash.”
Jo
ss wrapped the kilt and found his way to a roofless enclosure where a trough was filled with clean water. The enclosure was rigged with canvas for a modicum of privacy. He dipped in a bucket and dumped its contents over his head. The cold braced him for a second round. This time, as the water gushed down his bare chest, from behind came a burst of giggling. He spun to discover four women of varying ages peering in where there was a gap in the canvas walls. Two wore reeve leathers, and the other two—the hells!—there were four others, each carrying a basket or buckets.
Cursed if the oldest didn’t start singing a famous line from the tale of the Reckless Farmer—she could not help but admire his plough so straight and strong—and one of the reeves, because unencumbered, sketched the accompanying gestures with her hands, nothing fancy in her execution but everyone knew them and, truly, the entire song was so obscene . . .
“Heya! No loitering!” The reeves and hirelings scurried away, chortling and singing snatches of song. He was scorched he was blushing so hard as that gods-rotted trainer Arda sauntered up to the gap and looked in.
She rolled her eyes. “I should have known it would be you.”
“The hells, Arda!”
She laughed as he checked to make sure that the kilt, now damp and clinging to his hips, thighs, and groin, had not slipped. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it. So. You’ve become acting commander of Clan Hall. If you can bear to get dressed, Kesta’s here. She brought a Qin soldier found at Copper Hall. You know anything about a Qin scout gotten all the way to Nessumara?”
“That’ll be Tohon.” His embarrassment sloughed off as quickly as the desert air sucked away the moisture on his skin. “That’s unexpectedly good news.”
Siras appeared with his clothes, and he dressed and met Kesta and Tohon in the mess hall. The reeve and the scout were talking like old comrades as they measured cups of cordial.
“Careful, Tohon,” he said as he came up. “Kesta can outdrink every reeve I know.”
The scout rose to greet him in the Qin manner, forearm clapped to forearm, like two rams bashing.
“Ouch,” said Kesta.
Joss winced and sat, rubbing his arm, as Tohon grinned. Siras set down a tray laden with cordial and porridge and slid in beside Joss, staring wide-eyed at the Qin scout.
“So they found you, eh?” Joss asked.
“So they did,” said Tohon with a friendly nod at Kesta. “Picked me up at Copper Hall. Hu! That was a thing to see, I’ll tell you, the way that river got so wide and then split into so many tiny channels. I’ve never seen—what is it you call it?”
“Ocean,” said Kesta.
“Plains of water. What a sight! Then we flew a few circuits around the delta, to observe the army’s positions. I’d say they mean to attack along the two causeways. Not sure that’s wise, myself. Good archers—or reeves from the air—could pick them off as they march.”
“What of the others who were with you, Tohon?”
Kesta replied. “We were able to strike a deal with that gods-rotted festering old Silver to place the other people from Tohon’s party and the children they’d rescued on one of his vessels, sailing for Zosteria.” Her glare resembled that of an eagle. “It’s a cursed dangerous thing for reeves to be owing favors like that. Not just to a Silver. To anyone.”
“Does he want something besides coin?”
“He wants a lass from Olossi,” Kesta said sourly. “I’m supposed to haul her to Nessumara.”
“I wasn’t consulted about this!”
“Copper Hall agreed. Then told me to do it, since I was flying down here anyway. Can we refuse?”
“Eiya! I suppose we’re committed now. What the Ri Amarah do is no business of ours, and he did help us get Tohon’s party out of the reach of the army.”
“Where does the Star of Life army come from?” asked Tohon.
“Walshow,” said Kesta.
Joss shook his head. “I think it started in Iliyat with Lord Radas, who expanded his influence north into Herelia first and then expanded into Teriayne and the highlands and set up a major base in Walshow. You don’t know this, Tohon, but the region of Herelia has been closed to us reeves for twenty years. We no longer know what goes on there. It’s all of a piece, isn’t it?” He shook his head as that troublesome pain began its familiar throb in his temples. “Bit by bit Radas has been placing his traps, eating the land, and surrounding us. And us never noticing because it came on so slow. What fools we’ve been!”
His voice had raised, but only a pair of hirelings loitering at the big tent’s entrance turned to look as he grabbed his cup and downed the cordial in a gulp.
“It’s strong,” warned Kesta.
As the taste stung in his throat, he started to hack. “Too . . . late!”
“Best you eat some porridge, Commander,” said Siras. Cursed if the lad didn’t sound like an old auntie cajoling a stubborn child.
Tohon regarded Joss steadily. The Qin scout was perhaps ten years older than Joss, and his years had weathered him more. “I’d like to reach Captain Anji, Commander, and so would you, I wager. He’s gone by ship for Olossi.”
“I need to meet with Arda and the senior reeves, and then I’ll fly you over the water. We’ll wait for the captain in Olossi.”
“That would suit me.”
“It would suit me as well, for Scar will need a hunt and a rest.”
“Joss,” said Kesta, “I want to see that Arkest gets released for a hunt. Do you need me?”
“No. I’ll fill you in on the rest when we are back at Clan Hall.”
She left.
Joss set into the porridge, so hungry he thought he would faint if he did not eat, and his head was swimming from the effects of the cordial. “Siras, find Arda and the senior reeves.”
“Yes, Commander!” The young man chased away the hirelings who had lingered by the entrance to stare.
This time of day, it was warm under the canvas even though the changing season brought a cooler tinge to the air. Tohon calmly ate his nai porridge as Joss dug into a second bowl. Hitting bottom, he sat back.
“Tohon, is it true the Qin kill any newborn babies among them who are tainted by demons?”
“Hu! A strange question to ask.”
“I beg your pardon. Perhaps I’m being rude.”
“It is something we don’t commonly speak of, that’s true, although it’s known to all. Demons are dangerous creatures. Still, my youngest son never rode as a soldier for having a twisted foot that he was born with. The elders of our clan said at his birth that he was demon-tainted. We ought to have killed him, but he was such a beautiful child, quite the most beautiful of any born to my wife and me. She loved him for that twisted foot, because she knew it meant he would have to stay close by her. Not that he can’t ride as well as anyone, it’s just walking that he’ll always do with a limp. In the end we lost one boy to the wars and another rides in the east with the army still, so it’s hard to say if he’ll live or die, if he’ll ever marry and sire children. And our daughter, of course, her we lost to the water spirits and my poor wife of grief soon after. So I’m not sorry for having taken the risk of sparing the other one.” Abruptly he looked up at Joss, his gaze steady. “You saw Zubaidit, Kesta says, but what about Shai?”
Joss shrugged. “She said he walked with her into the army’s encampment. That’s all I know.”
Like most of the Qin, Tohon was not a demonstrative man. He merely nodded, but Joss suspected deeper currents ran beneath.
Arda walked briskly into the mess tent, followed by Miyara, the reeve who, with Joss, had witnessed the birth of Mai’s child.
He greeted both women, then turned to Miyara. “The baby got off safely?”
“Atani?” Her smile lit her face. “A sweet child, very small, mind you, but healthy. He was feted with a feast and songs, very proper, although done in the Qin manner. I don’t mind saying that they eat terribly strange food.” She glanced at Tohon. “Begging your pardon, ver. Just not what we are accust
omed to.”
Tohon had a genial smile. “Hard to offend me, verea. Food is food, different in different lands. As long as I’m not hungry, I’m content.”
Both the women studied him with that look women got, Joss had observed, when a man surprised them in a way that pleased them. It was different from an admiring stare for good looks or an attractive body.
An older male reeve hurried in, puffing as though he’d been running. “Heya, Arda! I got the flag. Marshal Joss!”
“Etad. Greetings of the day to you. Please sit down.”
“I will. You’re back from the north. What news?”
Siras entered with more cups and a pitcher of cordial. After he’d poured around, Joss leaned forward on his elbows. “I’ve agreed to stand as commander over Clan Hall until the emergency has passed—”
“Or we’re all dead,” said Arda with a snort.
“Or we’re all dead,” agreed Joss, “or some other calamity befalls us. In any case, I’m asking you three as representatives of Naya Hall if you’ll accept Verena as acting marshal of Argent Hall for now, and with you, Arda, and Miyara and Etad to stand for Naya Hall as a daughter hall to Argent Hall.”
“That goes against tradition,” said Miyara, “although in the tales—”
“Yes,” said Joss, “we already discussed appointing an ordinand or a hieros.”
Miyara chuckled. “There’s some appeal in the latter. Yet in days like this, with that which ought to face upward facing downward, maybe a fawkner as marshal is not such a bad thing.”
Etad nodded. “Rena stuck it out through the months we suffered under Yordenas. She never truckled to him or his lackeys. Yet neither did she beat herself bloody trying to go against them when it would have done no good.”
Joss knew Arda cursed well because of all the years they’d served together at Clan Hall. He could see a grin forming on her face.
“And also—” she began, “—since your mention of a hieros naturally brought devouring to mind—”
“Don’t say it!”
She laughed and did not say one word about who had tumbled whom and what had transpired after. He plunged into a discussion of how soon the Naya Hall reeves should start being sent out on patrol with more experienced reeves, and how else they might be used to free up experienced reeves for more difficult tasks, and how Clan Hall was going to attempt to create larger units for coordinated ventures.
