His head cleared. He straightened, slowly. He turned his blade down and drove it into the sand. The Mayaso lowered his spear but stood watchful. Torien picked up Alluin’s jerkin and sat down by the signo and flung the jerkin into the signo’s lap. The signo picked up the jerkin very stiffly. He turned it in his hands and shrugged his arms into it. When he had gotten it around his shoulders, Torien laced it up the front. He did it quickly, fingers flying. He did not want to give himself time to think. He hefted Alluin’s cuirass and settled it over the signo’s shoulders and buckled it. He pinned Alluin’s braid at the signo’s left shoulder and clasped Alluin’s cloak at the signo’s throat. The signo sat motionless and silent while he did it. The woman and the spearman watched. Torien finished with the signo and started on his own kit.
His hands were shaking now, and he could not work the shoulder buckle of the cuirass. He fumbled with it blindly. There was a knot in his throat that he could not swallow. The signo sat up on his knees and fastened the buckle for him and pinned the braid. The signo’s callused fingers were slow, steady, careful. His hands were farmer’s hands, hunter’s hands, equally attuned to weapons as to the plow: it would be so for a man from Puoli. He did not say anything, and he did not look in Torien’s face. When he finished pinning the cloak, he sat back down. Out of the corner of his eye, Torien could see the signo just well enough in his harness to imagine that he was Alluin. He blinked and turned his head away.
“The criminal is wrong,” the woman said. “I am not going to ransom you, Vareno—to the fort or to the mines. I am not a fool. I know Espere meant for you to die on the Road. I do not know the reason for it, but I know that is why he sent you out with marked men. He is careless with lives but not that careless.”
She was watching him for a reaction. He supposed she thought he did not know. She had counted, perhaps, on his not knowing. When he said nothing, she said, “Listen to me, Vareno. I will make you a better deal than Espere did. The mines are too well-guarded for my company to enter in secrecy, and we are too few to enter by force. But the Asani will not question an officer of the fort. You will take me into the mines, and when I have finished my business there you will be free to go. I will send you safe across the desert to the port at Kabira, if you wish. Espere has no authority at Kabira.”
Torien listened and said nothing. The woman said, “I ask only this, and I offer you freedom. Tell me I do not make you a better deal.”
“My lieutenant was staked in the sand and left to die alone, in agony.” Torien lifted his head and looked in her face. “You asked only that.”
She was silent, looking at him. Abruptly, she reached and took his right hand and turned it over in her hands, opening his clenched fingers. She put his seal ring on his palm. “When your people answer for what they have done to mine in the guise of peace,” she said, “then mine will answer for what we have done in war.” She held his hand, for a moment. Her touch was surprisingly gentle. She said, very quietly, “If I had been there, Vareno, I would have taken him alive. It would have been better to take him alive. But I was not there.”
Torien slid the ring onto his forefinger. He had seen things very clearly with the sword in his hand. Now he felt dazed and dumb. The ache had come back behind his eyes, and he was thirsty and tired and he did not want to think. He pulled the sword from the sand and buckled the belt on his hip and ducked his head to put the helmet on.
It was twilight outside the tent but still very hot. He stood with the signo while the Mayasi bundled the tent and saddled the horses. The signo seemed ashamed of Alluin’s harness. He stood very stiffly and looked at his feet in the sand. Perhaps he was simply in pain. At the fort, the surgeon had said there were two broken ribs and possibly a separated shoulder. He had not recommended that the signo ride. If the signo were to heal, he should not ride. Torien had disregarded the recommendation. It was only three days to the mines, and they would be riding carefully. Anyway, it was better than leaving him in Tarrega’s hands.
They rode south and west. He rode in front at the woman’s side. The signo rode behind, flanked by two Mayasi. In the darkness, his mind took the signo for Alluin each time he glanced over his shoulder.
Through the night, they rode down an ancient floodplain, long since dried and shot through by mud cracks hardened to stone. By dawn, there were low yellow hills rising across the plain, southward. Early heat hung shimmering over the plain, and in places the heat puddled like water and burned away as they came close. They crossed the plain and rode due west at the feet of the hills. There was a breeze blowing along the hills westward from the sea, and there was the scattered shade of juniper and gorse.
At length, the sun still at their backs, they turned up the hillside from the plain. Above them, the salt mines were a raw wound splitting the hillside to the bone. The slope of the hill was cut out in tiers behind sheer stone walls. At the lowest tier, two watchtowers flanked a low gate arch. A gravel path traced back and forth from the gate up through the tiers to a walled compound at the hilltop.
Torien rode alone in front as they approached the gate, and he heard the call come down from the watchtowers. The gate doors stood open to the path. Two spearmen sat cross-legged against the wall in the shadow of the gate arch, a dice cup between them. One of them got up and went into the gatehouse. The other, standing, took his spear in his hands but made no further challenge. The first emerged from the gatehouse with a third man whom Torien took to be their officer. The two spearmen hung back against the wall and watched while the officer came out to Torien from beneath the arch. The officer’s head was uncovered, his face bare. The jagged line of a scar ran across his mouth from chin to left cheek, not quite hidden by his close-trimmed dark beard. He raised a hand in greeting. His eyes, sweeping along the line of Mayasi to the signo bringing up the rear, were cool. “Forgive me, Commander. I was not advised to expect prisoners from the fort today.”
“I wasn’t advised my mission was contingent on your expectations. So we both seem victim to faulty intelligence.”
The Asano did not blink. “If I may ask my lord’s name.”
“Risto. And my adjutant, Lieutenant Senna. I trust you’ll remember for the future.”
The Asano looked down the line. He studied the signo silently. The cheek-piece of Alluin’s helmet hid the welt across the signo’s face; Alluin’s gloves hid the tell-tale inked number on the back of the signo’s sword hand. The folds of the cloak mostly covered the scabbing sores on his arms and legs. “If my lord will wait,” the Asano said, finally, “I will send—”
From beneath the gate arch, someone said, “Aidar.”
He was in Imperial harness, the newcomer, a lieutenant’s braid on his left shoulder, and very obviously Vareno by his olive skin and straight-boned face. He was young—very young to be an officer—and haughty. He came down the slope from the gate. “The fort’s business, Aidar, not yours. I’ve explained this before.”
The Asano’s face was blank. “Of course. My lord will excuse my foolish mistake.”
“You can go,” the lieutenant said.
The Asano bowed with dignity, once to the lieutenant and once to Torien. He went back up the slope to the gatehouse. The lieutenant said to Torien, “They forget sometimes how it’s just that we let them play at sovereignty.”
“As you forget sometimes to salute?”
The lieutenant had the grace to flush. He put up his right hand very quickly. “Sir. Lieutenant Espere. I’m afraid I don’t know your name, sir.”
Torien looked into the lieutenant’s face, startled. He looked for the elder Espere in the lines of the face, in the honey-brown eyes. “The Commander is your father?”
The lieutenant lifted his chin, defensively. “My commission came from Vione, if you are calling into question—”
“Never mind it.” He had known there was a garrison here, but he had not anticipated Espere would have it so close in hand. From the way the woman had stiffened in her saddle b
ehind him, he guessed she hadn’t, either. “My name is Risto. I’ve charge of these prisoners, and I’ve been instructed to deliver them personally to the man Idran.” He had asked her who this Idran was. She had looked at him curiously. It was no matter, she said, because the gate guards would know the man he meant. He had not had a chance to ask the signo. He wondered if the signo had known about Lieutenant Espere.
“Lord Idran is taking his meal,” the lieutenant said. “If you wish to join him, I will see to your prisoners, sir.”
“I’ve been instructed to deliver them immediately.”
The lieutenant hesitated now. His eyes went over Torien’s face. “I’m not sure—”
“If I wasn’t clear enough, then I’ll put it to you this way: you’ll take me and my prisoners to Idran, or you’ll return with me to the fort and explain yourself to your father.”
The lieutenant flinched. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
They went up the path through the tiers, the lieutenant walking ahead less haughtily now. He had been earnest in his apology. He was very young to have a lieutenant’s commission. He was sixteen or perhaps seventeen: not technically too young—one could have a lieutenant’s commission after a year—but still very young. If his commission had come from Vione, then it had come most likely from a friend of his father’s or by virtue of his father’s coin. That meant most likely there were men at Vione who knew of this business with the mines. Possibly all the way to the capital, Espere had said. Torien had assumed that was exaggeration for effect. Now he wondered.
At the hilltop, they passed through another gate into a broad gravel yard. On either side of the yard there were low, flat-roofed adobe buildings—barracks and a stable and a long building with shuttered windows, which Torien guessed was an infirmary. Directly opposite the gate, a columned portico ran the width of the yard. They dismounted at the portico, and the lieutenant gave orders to the stable-boys concerning their horses.
It was very nearly noon, the sun beating down on their heads and glancing off the flat white rooftops. The yard and hillside were empty and quiet in the heat. The lieutenant led them across the portico and through an arched doorway gaping into the hillside. Two Asano spearmen flanked the doorway. They saluted in tandem. The lieutenant ignored them. The room within was windowless and quite cool, lit dimly by lamps on tall bronze stands. At the far end of the room, four men reclined for lunch around a low table. One of them, on the left-hand side of the table, was Asano—and of some importance, because there were spearmen standing watchfully behind him in the shadows along the wall. He was lean and hard-looking, with a jutting jaw and heavy black brows; like the watch captain, he wore a close-trimmed beard.
The others were foreigners—Imperial, by dress and appearance. The two at the center of the table, along the wall, were unshaven, sun-tanned, their clothes plain and travel-worn. One had long, sun-bleached hair tied back with a thin leather strip. Both had the look of soldiers, and Torien wondered if they might be mercenaries. The man on the right-hand side of the table was in harness, a commander’s braid at his shoulder. He looked up as the lieutenant approached. He saw Torien and the Mayasi. He wiped his hands and stood, pushing back his couch. “Lieutenant, what’s the meaning of—?”
He convulsed, staggering back into the wall. He slid limply to the floor. The woman had stepped forward from behind Torien, bent slightly at the waist and knees with one hand outstretched, and Torien realized only as she straightened that she had thrown a knife. She ran to the table. The other Mayasi spread out across the room after her. The Asano was on his feet and shouting. One of his spearmen hurled his spear at the woman, over the table. The spear went wide, clattering on the floor at Torien’s feet. He stooped to pick it up, instinctively. The lieutenant put a booted foot on the shaft. He was fumbling for his sword, hands shaking. “Don’t,” he said. “Stand up—s-slowly.”
Torien straightened. The lieutenant held the sword toward him and reached warily for Torien’s sword hilt. The sword wavered in his hand. Torien knocked the blade away with his vambrace and lunged, lowering his head. They hit the floor together. The lieutenant was beneath him—stunned still, arms flung wide, mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a fish’s. Torien dug his knee under the lieutenant’s ribs and reached for the sword, trying to pry the hilt from the lieutenant’s clenched fingers. The lieutenant twisted against the floor, thrashing his legs, scrabbling for Torien’s throat with his free hand.
He subsided all at once.
Torien looked up into the tip of an arrowhead. He followed the arrow along its shaft to the bowman’s hands. He looked up into the bowman’s face. He recognized the scarred watch captain whom the lieutenant had called Aidar.
The Asano gestured with the arrowhead. Torien let go the lieutenant’s hand and sat back on his heels. The lieutenant sat up away from him, wheezing, holding an arm across his ribs. The Asano lifted the arrow away from Torien’s face. He turned on one heel. He said something sharply in his own tongue, holding the arrow still nocked. Spearmen poured in through the doorway from the portico and spread out around him, taking up position on either side of the room.
Silence fell.
At the far end of the room, the woman had turned her chin over her shoulder, looking at the doorway. She had a spear in her hands. The Asano who had been at table was doubled against the wall, holding a sword across his knees, spitting blood. His spearmen were dead on the floor around him. Two of the Mayasi were dead. The third was holding a spear trained on the two maybe-mercenaries, who were standing together aside from the table and who seemed to have made no effort to fight. Out of the corner of his eye, Torien could see the signo standing motionless at the near wall.
The woman spoke rapidly to the scarred watch captain. The Asano struggled up to his feet against the wall. The woman swung her spear and put the edge of the spearhead against his throat.
The signo knelt beside Torien, bending his head to speak quietly in Torien’s ear. “She says if they do not meet her demands, she will kill him.”
“Who is he?”
“Lord Idran? The chieftain—the head of all the Asano clans.”
“What are her demands?”
“The slaves freed, the garrison expelled. If they will agree, she offers peace. She has no interest in the mines.”
The chieftain, Idran, said something low and sharp to the scarred watch captain.
“He says to kill her,” the signo said.
The captain pulled up the bow in his hands and drew back and loosed in one smooth motion. The woman did not move, at first. Then she took the spear from the chieftain’s throat and cradled it in the crook of her arm. The chieftain buckled, folding over his knees. His sword slipped from his hand and fell ringing on the floor tiles.
There was silence while he died. The captain stood and watched, expressionless, the bow loose in his hands. The spearmen around the walls made no move, except one of them put his spear down and went to check the pulse when the chieftain had been still for a little while. He said something to the captain, who nodded, once, shortly. The spearman turned the chieftain onto his back and pulled out the arrow and wiped the arrowhead. He draped a fold of the chieftain’s headscarf over his face. He brought the arrow over to the captain and held the captain’s bow while the captain broke the arrow in his hands. It had the solemnity of a sacrament. The captain gave the broken arrow to the spearman and took the bow and put it over his shoulder. In Vareno, he said, “Peace is not enough. When the Vareni take their vengeance and you and I are dead, Mayaso, will it be enough to look back and say at least there was peace between us, at least now our people suffer together? And the Vareni will come for vengeance—will they not, Pallo, when your father learns what we have done here?”
The young Espere said nothing. He was frozen where he sat, his sword across his lap.
“You have him as a hostage now,” the woman said.
“How many times have you known Commander Espere to b
arter for hostages?”
“He has never been asked to barter for his own blood.”
“The Empire has no claim on the mines,” Torien said.
They looked at him across the room, the watch captain and the woman, as though they had just now remembered he was there. Beside him, the signo drew a long, low breath. The signo’s head was bent under Alluin’s helmet, and Torien could not see his face. “By law, the Empire recognizes the mines as Asano property,” Torien said. His voice seemed very loud in the silence. “We’ve no justification for reprisals if you come to a separate peace.”
“For convenience’s sake, the Empire recognizes the mines as Asano property.” The captain’s voice was dry. “If they were Imperial property, they would be subject to stricter regulation out of Choiro. Commander Espere profits too well from the mines to let them go by mere reason of law. And he has never needed justification.”
“Espere isn’t the Empire.”
“He is the only part of the Empire that matters here.”
“Then if he’s removed from command, you’ve nothing to fear.”
They looked at him. Their faces were blank. “Are you proposing to kill him?” the captain said.
“No. Unless he’s proven guilty before a court martial, the Empire will consider his death an act of treason or an act of war. I’ll take him with witnesses to Choiro.”
“With which witnesses? Until he’s proven guilty, none of his slaves can bear witness in an Imperial court, and neither the Mayaso nor I are citizens.”
“His adjutant will be able to testify—and the Lieutenant.”
The young Espere was studying the sword across his lap. He picked it up by the hilt, suddenly, turning the blade in and sliding the point into the crease at the front of his cuirass where the buckles crossed. The captain knelt swiftly in front of him. He eased the sword from the lieutenant’s hands and slung it away across the floor, speaking quietly in his own tongue. The lieutenant responded in the same tongue, not raising his head. The captain stood. He pulled the lieutenant up with him. With his hands on the lieutenant’s shoulders, he said to Torien, “Tell me what happens if I meet the Mayaso’s demands and you fail.”
Blood Road Page 10
