The larger of the two men returned and walked straight for Jaaniyah. She pressed back against the wall, biting her lip, trying not to cry out. He reached for her and pulled her over his shoulder. Without discernible effort he lifted her up and carried her out the door.
Outside, the air was noticeably cooler. The man dumped her into a wagon. Becknah was lying on his side, his hands tied again and the scholar had been gagged. Without warning, the first man stepped from behind and threaded a gag through her mouth again.
“Lay down and don’t move.” His words were short and clipped, spoken in rough Jarisan.
Jaaniyah did as he said, praying he wouldn’t hurt her.
The man threw a large canvas over the wagon, pulling it taut above their heads. The gate of the wagon slammed shut, jarring the entire carriage.
“Unless you want to be dead, you better act dead,” he snarled. His boots crunched over twigs as he walked around to the front of the wagon. One side of the cart pulled down as he stepped into the driver’s seat.
“Move out,” he called. The wagon jerked forward and they were underway.
EVERY BONE IN Jaaniyah’s body ached from being rattled around in the wagon. She slipped in and out of consciousness, fighting to breathe through her nose. After several hours, the cart jerked to a stop and the low rumble of voices sifted through the air. Jaaniyah heard an occasional Jarisan word but she couldn’t make out what was being said. It wasn’t long before they started moving again, but at a much slower pace.
After what seemed like hours the cart came to another jerky stop and the tarp was pulled off. Trees towered above them, their branches creating an emerald canopy. Dawn was just breaking.
“Yer ride with me’s over,” the grizzled man said. His black eyebrows and beard were flecked with grey. He eyed Jaaniyah as if mentally measuring her value.
Another figure approached. This man was tall and dark, with a weathered face and cruel black eyes. Though well groomed, he looked like he had fought in many battles and enjoyed them. When his cold gaze fell on Jaaniyah a jittery feeling of dread filled her.
He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. He spoke so fast in Sartish she couldn’t understand him but his guttural voice made Jaaniyah’s skin crawl. Panicked, she looked at Becknah to see if he had understood what was said, but he was staring at the man with a strange look of fascination.
Another man jumped as though given an order and reached inside the wagon to grab Jaaniyah’s bound arms. He jerked her sleeves up and turned her arms over so the bare skin between her wrist and her elbow was exposed.
The dark-haired man gazed at her arms for a long moment before his eyes flicked to hers, alight with a strange glow. Jaaniyah shuddered as chill bumps covered her skin. He spoke again but the only word she could understand was ‘Ortawn’.
tower slowed watches and waits
An unwitting accomplice for the hand of fate
Now into a box what was once a row
The simple answer of where to go.”
Nica finished reading and looked over at Shanks stretched out on his bedroll next to the fire. The reflection of the flames flickered off his hair making it appear to glow. She’d checked his side and was pleased to find no new bleeding had seeped through the wrap.
They’d ridden through the night for hours. Sebande had left them almost immediately to scout in other directions. It had taken Nica time to get used to the night sounds of the forest. Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of glowing eyes in the brush and wondered what beast watched their passage.
“’Now into a box what was once a row’,” she mused. They were camped in the forest awaiting Sebande’s return. “What could that possibly mean?”
“Maybe it’s a row of vegetables you put into a box,” Shanks offered.
“Yes, and then….?” Nica waited. “How would that be a clue?”
Shanks yawned. “I don’t know.”
Nica was about to give a sarcastic reply when his eyes started closing. Of course, he needed to sleep, she chided herself. He was wounded and the Gods only knew what he’d been doing the last week besides battling multiple swordsmen at once. She stared at his unguarded face. His cheekbones protruded and his jaw was covered with stubble, darker than his blonde hair. He looked so young when he was relaxed. The sudden urge to protect him rose in her chest. She thought again of Sebande’s sharp words: ‘You told her?’ She was sure his comment had something to do with when she had slurred Jonn’s name.
Nica returned her gaze to the book of quatrains, tracing the year etched at the bottom. So far she had read the quatrains for G, E and T. She flipped to the beginning and counted forward eight pages to correspond to the letter ‘H’. She tilted the book toward the light of the fire and read the words neatly printed:
Above you’ll find a glorified knight
Near year’s end he returns to fight
His sword held high will be your guide
Follow to where power divides
She pictured the statue that stood outside Mosaba’s castle. It was the figure of a knight, his sword arched behind his head as he swung in attack. The monument had been raised in memory of a significant battle fought in Sartis many centuries ago. Nica tried to remember if the sword pointed at anything that might be perceived as a clue, but nothing came to mind. She thumbed back to the fifth page for the letter E, where two poems were printed, and read the bottom quatrain.
Where tallest mountains and valleys collide
The ghosts of scattered bones reside
The tears of Gods this space created
It is here the answer has so long waited
The ghosts of scattered bones…a graveyard of some sort? Intrigued, she turned to the opening page and read the first quatrain on the
page for ‘A’:
What once had been exists no more
What is solid now was once a door
A veil of prisyms casts a brilliant light
But remains unseen in the dark of night
A sinking feeling filled her. How could they find something that didn’t exist anymore? And what was a veil of prisyms? Nica fought a surge of panic as she considered the idea that they may not be able to figure out the clues. Could Mosaba be stopped without the help of the Getheas Stone?
The wood in the fire gave off a loud pop! as several logs gave way to ashes and Nica jumped at the sound. Unsettled, she eyed the shadowy forest, but it was difficult to see past the glow cast by the flames. With one last wary glance, she turned back to the book and counted to the page that corresponded to the letter ‘S’—the final clue.
Nica’s stomach tightened as she gazed at the curlicues and loops that stretched across the page. The final quatrain was written in a language she couldn’t read.
Behind her, a branch snapped.
Nica jerked around, searching the darkness. Someone was out there. Beside her, Shanks still slept, his sword released from his belt and lying near his hand. She set the book down and slid her dagger free from her boot. Shifting her weight to position herself between Shanks and whoever hid in the trees, Nica gripped the dagger tight in her right hand while she groped for a rock with her left. Was someone out there watching? Or was it simply an animal on its nightly trek? She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.
Another branch cracked. Closer this time.
Nica stood, the dagger clutched in her right hand, the rock clenched in her left. She swiveled toward a rustling in the bushes. There was definitely something out there.
A shadow grew out of the underbrush.
Nica raised her knife and gritted her teeth. Bravery was not her strong suit. “Halt!” she called in what she hoped was a fierce voice.
For a moment there was silence.
“Sebande, ocho sin quande,” Shanks muttered in disgust from behind her.
Nica whirled to find Shanks standing with his sword in his hand. She hadn’t even heard him move.
Chuckling, Sebande stepped into the circle of light
. “Lo miant despue sinata, omacha,” he replied with a shrug. His dark eyes rested on Nica for a long moment. “Ela cinquinta ay makata.” He raised his eyebrows at Shanks and grinned.
Nica had no idea what they were talking about but had a bad feeling it had to do with her.
“Ci ma, ci ma.” Shanks lips turned up in a familiar smirk as he lifted his chin at her. “Preparing to gut someone, Nic?”
Nica still clutched the dagger poised as though ready to attack. “Only those who deserve it,” she snapped as she let her arm drop to her side. She glared at Sebande. “What language were you two speaking?”
Shanks lowered himself to the ground with clenched teeth, the muscles in his jaw flexing. He let out a long sigh as he relaxed onto his bedroll again. “It’s a secret.”
Sebande joined them on the far side of the fire, chewing dried meat from his pack.
“Is that so?” Nica stared at him across the flames. “What does makata mean?” She was certain they had been talking about her when Sebande had used that word.
Sebande took another bite of meat. “It means brave.” He chewed for a moment before he carefully said, “Nica.”
A choking sound made her turn. Shanks was struggling to keep his laughter under control. “And now,” he chortled, “we’ll have to call Sebande makata because he used your real name instead of M’lady.” He held his sides as he laughed, his face twisted with mirth and pain.
In response, Sebande threw the hunk of meat he was eating at Shanks’ head. With a flick of his wrist, Shanks reached up and caught the missile, a twinkle in his eyes. “Thank you, I was getting hungry again.”
Nica ignored their horseplay and gazed at Shanks with a dare in her eyes. “And are you the omacha?”
Now it was Sebande’s turn to chuckle. His laughter was audible as he disappeared into the shadows and returned with another piece of meat.
“You’re very good with languages, aren’t you?” Shanks gave her an appraising look. “Some people might call me omacha.” His lips stretched in a sly grin as he took her hand in his. “But there are others who I hope never want to call me omacha.”
Sebande snickered again. Nica cheeks warmed, confused at Shanks’ sudden show of affection. She regretted her impulsive question. Maybe omacha was a lewd word only men and soldiers used.
“What does it mean?” she asked again, debating whether to pull her hand free from Shanks’ grasp.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Omacha means brother.”
As his meaning became clear, Nica’s chest suddenly felt too full to take a deep breath and she looked away. Shanks released her hand and turned to Sebande.
“What did you learn?”
“They caught someone in Mar’ligaan, but it was a decoy. Someone made to look like the princess.” Sebande took a swig from a wineskin then continued. “Which means they know we’re looking for her.” He offered the bag to Shanks and took a bite of meat. “Still no sightings at the slivers and nobody has heard from Rushfont or Tanniers yet.”
“So, Jaani could still be in Jarisa.” Shanks held the leather wineskin as he stared at the fire, his brows furrowed in thought. “Maybe they’re not going to try and take her into Sartis. Maybe they’re going to keep her here to look for the Getheas Stone.” He looked from Nica to Sebande. “I wonder if that means Mosaba is coming to her?”
NICA WAS THANKFUL her hood covered her features as they waited at the Jarisan side of the southern land sliver to cross the Great Divide into Sartis. Shanks had asked her to stay back from the group of men guarding the sliver while he talked to them, so she waited within the depths of the forest, hidden from view. Next to her, Sebande sat silent on his horse, ensuring no one came too close. Tired, dirty, anxious—she was feeling the strain of the last week. How could Shanks have traveled such distances wounded?
After more discussion about where to go, they’d agreed the Sartisian clock tower in Berjerac would not only let them look for the next clue, but would also allow them to find news of Mosaba’s movements. Nica had convinced them she could dress as a peasant girl and blend in with the villagers. She’d so rarely been allowed to leave the palace, there was no one in town who would recognize her. Shanks, on the other hand, was at greater risk in returning to Sartis, but he’d been insistent.
After what seemed an interminable wait, Shanks rode back to them, pulling up close. “We can go over. They don’t think there are guards on the Sartis side of the sliver. Mosaba must have his men engaged elsewhere.” He nodded at Nica. “Can you follow me on your horse or do you want to ride with me?”
“I can ride myself, thank you,” Nica replied, trying not to sound indignant. “Have the soldiers heard or seen anything?”
“No. Several men have just returned from the northern sliver. The only reported travelers there were some old Jarisans who were taking the body of a chambermaid with the pox over to dump her on the Sartis side of the Divide. No one else has crossed up there. Hopefully, we can get some idea when we’re in Berjerac where Mosaba has headed and that will lead us to Jaaniyah.”
Shanks spoke to Sebande for a moment about the route they were going to take.
“I’ll go first, Nica in the middle, Sebande you follow, all right?” Shanks wheeled his horse around and headed back toward the crooked outcropping of land while the others followed. The orange and red rocks of the canyon glowed in the afternoon light. Nica was grateful the wind wasn’t howling down the canyon as it had been on their last visit. Even so, it took all her nerve to force herself to look over the edge of the thin land bridge to the dizzying depths below.
She drew a shaky breath and tightened her grip on the reins. She had mixed feelings about returning to Sartis. The abject fear of her father—no, that wasn’t right—of Mosaba—she corrected herself, was as intense as ever. Memories of her friendship with Toppen grew stronger and she worried anew what had become of him. Had he continued on to Pont d’Suree?
Her horse stumbled over a rock and she sucked her breath in with a hiss. Trying to steady her breathing, she focused on Shanks’ broad back in front of her, his hair blowing back as he rode, relaxed in the saddle. She wondered at the life he’d led. There were so many layers to the young man—he seemed to have so many secrets. She hated to admit she was fascinated by him. His looks didn’t help either. There was something about his face, his smile, even the scars that covered his body that were compelling in a rugged, dangerous way.
Nica gave herself a mental kick. Though Shanks was being kind to her now, she reminded herself that in the past he’d also lied to her and tricked her. She couldn’t ignore his willingness to risk his life infiltrating Sartis for the benefit of Jarisa. Indeed, he was no friend of Sartis. She needed to keep her guard up around him.
Plus, there was his alliance with Jaaniyah to be considered. Their friendship had an uncommon ease and Jaaniyah’s attraction to Shanks was plain for all to see. A twinge twisted Nica’s stomach. Perhaps Shanks’ only use for her was in her understanding of Mosaba.
“Stop it,” she whispered under her breath. “Stop thinking.” ‘Into a box what was once a row’. That was what she needed to think about—the key to the quatrain. She needed to figure out what it could possibly mean so they could find the Getheas Stone and stop Mosaba, once and for all.
THE SUN WAS setting as they arrived in Berjerac. Shanks led them to a busy inn not far from the town square. It was close to the main road and many travelers came and went through its doors, making it easy for them to blend in.
Nica kept her hood up as Shanks led her through the crowd. He seemed oddly aloof and Nica wondered if he was angry about something. Sebande followed close on her heels as they made their way through the noisy room. She’d never been in an inn before, and was amazed at the clamor. Voices blended together in a cacophony of sound with a few boisterous shouts and gales of laughter occasionally rising above the din. The sharp smell of ale hung ripe in the air and mingled with the wafting scent of cooking meat.
She
found the large number of people crammed together unsettling, but aside from a few curious glances, no one paid any attention to them as they passed through.
Nica followed Shanks into their room and heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them. Leaving the palace, riding for hours through the forest, crossing the sliver, and now navigating a town that was both familiar and strangely unfamiliar at the same time was exhausting. She sank down onto one of the two beds and looked around the small space in curiosity.
“How does your side feel?” she asked. Surrounded by voices all speaking the same familiar language she’d unconsciously slipped back into speaking Sartish. Sebande turned away with a grunt but Shanks sank down on the bed next to her and forced a smile.
“Fine. We must be careful not to attract attention.” He slipped easily into Sartish too, making Nica wonder about his own ability with languages. “We have to focus on blending in with the crowd. Nica, your beauty will draw men’s eyes, so you’ll need to keep your hood up as much as possible or stay in the room. We’ll only be here long enough to get a sense of what Mosaba has been doing and to figure out where we need to go next to find Jaaniyah.”
Nica dropped her eyes, confused and pleased by his words. She cast a sideways glance at him but he was already in a discussion with Sebande about horses and soldiers. Did Shanks find her attractive? Or had he made his comment because she looked like Jaaniyah? She unplaited the long braid that had held her hair for the last two days and massaged her scalp, letting the long wavy tresses hang loose over her shoulders as she replayed his words in her mind, evaluating his meaning.
Shanks spoke to Sebande. “Son mark’ra eso saben.”
His foreign words caught Nica’s attention and on impulse, she put her hand on his knee and leaned forward, her long hair sliding off her back. “What language do you and Sebande speak?” She smiled hesitantly at him. “Is Shonn your name in that language?”
The Midnight Spy Page 16
