01 - The Compass Rose

by Gail Dayton

  His height made her nervous, looming over her. His nearness made it worse, but she couldn’t get away. She stared up at his face. This was Torchay. He wouldn’t hurt her. Aisse nodded, unable to make the motion smooth.

  “Maybe you do want it.” He touched her cheek and she flinched away. “But you’re no’ ready to learn it.

  “You didn’t mind coming close to me,” he went on, “but you don’t want me moving close to you. You don’t want me touching you. If you truly want…what you asked, you’ve a great many other things to learn first.” His thumb stroked across her skin, making her shiver. “Do you want this?”

  “Yes.” This time she could say the word.

  Stone put his head out through the open door. “What are you two doing out here? Aren’t you coming in?”

  “Aye, we’re coming.” Torchay slung his arm over Aisse’s shoulders and she stiffened, but endured it as they walked in together. “We had a discussion to finish.”

  “What about?” Stone shut the door behind them.

  “Torchay is going to teach me about sex. Good sex.” Aisse made herself stay where she was, no matter how badly she wanted to duck away.

  “You are?” Kallista’s eyebrows went up, but Aisse couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or angry.

  “Not anytime soon.” Torchay took away his arm and Aisse almost sagged in relief.

  “You could have asked me.” Stone leered at her, trying to make her laugh. “I wouldn’t make you wait.”

  “That’s why I didn’t.” Aisse scowled. “I don’t trust you.”

  “You shouldn’t,” Fox put in from his chair by the window. “Not when it comes to sex. Stone’s technique has always been limited to in-and-out-and-boom. I’m a much better choice.”

  “Stars, give the man sex and he starts talking as much as a bureaucrat.” Stone flopped down in a chair and kicked at Fox’s knee. “What makes you such an expert?”

  Fox’s smug smile made Aisse feel strange. “I have no caste, remember? I was a toy in women’s quarters. I learned many things about women and sex.”

  Kallista leaned against the wall and folded her arms, a faint smile on her face. “Aren’t you going to offer to teach her, Obed?”

  “No.” He turned away, said nothing more. Aisse wondered if Obed hurt where no one could see, without a blow being struck. Why did she care?

  “I have a teacher,” Aisse said to draw attention from Obed. “I don’t need another.”

  She held herself still when Torchay set his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t hurt her. It was only a touch, only the warm weight of his hand resting there. It made her feel as peculiar as Fox’s smile had.

  “So,” Torchay said. “Where do we go from here?”

  They went north yet again and west, leaving on Peaceday, following the Silixus, a deep, narrow river that changed from brown to green when they moved past the tidal flow. The banks were high, often rocky, lined with tall trees, and climbed higher as they traveled. They rode sometimes atop the rocky bluffs and sometimes down at the river’s edge, depending on where the road took them.

  Long stretches of it were paved with square-cut stones or hard-fired brick. Twice on their upriver journey, they came upon gangs of sweating laborers with their shaved heads and brown trousers laying the pavement in the roadbed carved out of the forest. At each location, a single Ruler in his teens acted as supervisor accompanied only by a pair of Warrior bodyguards, one as youthful as the Ruler, the other gray with experience.

  The workers did not seem to need even this much supervision, laying brick after brick at a seemingly tireless pace. Stone explained that the laborers worked hard because each man knew his caste and role in life, and had the promise of rest after death. Fox added that the promised rest often came early to those who showed too much independence.

  Their party of six traveled alone along the great road. Tibre had slightly less trouble with bandits than did Adara due to the regular Warriors’ patrols over the entire highway network. Traffic on the road was heavy because river travel on the narrow Silixus was limited to downstream. They had no wind naitani to drive the boats back upriver against the current.

  By the next Graceday, they reached the town nestled beneath the cliffs where the Silixus carved its way from the high central plateau in a series of stair-step waterfalls and pools. Here, after goods were portaged by mule train from High Dzawa to Lower Dzawa, they were loaded on the rebuilt rafts to float downriver to Haav and places beyond. The return trip was accomplished by transferring the contents of wagons and carts onto pack mules for the steep climb, then reloading the goods onto other wagons at the upper city. Mule-driving Farmers and their Merchant hirelings tendered fierce scowls at the foreign trader who brought his own transport.

  That evening, Torchay and Kallista took their turn at tending the animals in the stable outside the scruffy inn near the lower-city walls. “We should stop here for an extra day,” he said, hauling a saddle off the last horse.

  “We have to keep going.” Kallista dumped a scoop of grain into the bucket for her horse and moved to the next, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach. It wasn’t nerves, not entirely. It had taken her a few days to realize the strange quiver was the baby moving inside her. They had to finish this and fast. She didn’t know how much longer she could hide her condition.

  Should she be showing this much this soon? When she’d decided to keep the baby a secret, she hadn’t realized how hard it would be, having no one to discuss it with, no one to share the joys and worries.

  “Why? What difference can one day of rest make to this mission?” Torchay touched her arm, and when she ignored him, hauled her around to face him.

  The motion dislodged her hood, sending it tumbling down to her shoulders. Kallista took a moment to enjoy the breeze on her too-warm face before she pulled the hood back into place. “Every delay is one more day our people suffer.”

  “You need the rest.” Torchay turned her so the torchlight fell on her face. He took her head between his hands and searched her with his medic’s eyes. “I don’t like the way you’ve been looking. You’re—”

  “I’m fine.” Kallista pulled out of his grasp, turned to walk away. “We leave in the morning.”

  “Kallista.” He grabbed her shoulder, dragging her robe half off before he caught up with her and blocked her path. His eyes widened as he stared down at her blossoming body exposed by the open robe and whatever he’d intended to say was forgotten. “Kallista, what in heaven—”

  She yanked her robe back together. The stupid knot buttons popped out of their holes just by looking at them. Torchay stepped close, slid his hand through the opening of the robe and set it on her stomach. She didn’t stop him. Too late for that, just as it was too late to turn back.

  “Who knows about this?” He covered her burgeoning belly with both hands, his voice harsh.

  “Me, a healer in Arikon, and now you.” She was glad he knew, glad he was the first to know. His hands warmed her, inside as well as out.

  “Goddess, Kallista, have you lost your mind? I thought you said the contraceptive spell was working.” His hands moved, shaping, measuring. Caressing. “When did this happen? That boy in Turysh? Must have been, big as you are.”

  She pushed him away, anger searing her. “No, it did not happen in Turysh.” She wanted to hit him for making such assumptions, but she had—the baby had grown so fast, she could scarcely blame him for making them. “This child is yours. Or Stone’s. That night, after our first wedding, is the only time in months that I’ve…”

  He reached for her again, hooking a hand behind her neck to draw her into a rough embrace. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or throttle you. What were you thinking, to hare off into Tibre in this state?”

  Kallista let her head rest on his shoulder, allowing herself to take his comfort, to need his strength. She couldn’t lean here long, but for a moment, just for a little rest, what could it hurt? “I was thinking we couldn’t afford to wait. We hav
e to finish this before I lose my magic. Before any more people die in these damned demon-spawned wars.”

  Torchay sighed, a long-suffering sound, and tucked her closer. “Why am I no’ surprised? You’ve the patience of a gnat, and you’ve always been reckless. This new magic of yours has you thinking you’re invincible. You’re not, you know.”

  “I know.” She wriggled her arms from between them and slid them around his waist. “But we couldn’t stay in Arikon. Someone else would only try to kill us.”

  “Likely.” He laid his cheek against her hair. “Still, I wish you’d think now and again about those of us who care for you. You’re our center, Kallista. We’d be lost without you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Aye, we would. We’d survive, maybe even stay ilian together, but we’d be lost.”

  Her chest hurt and her eyes burned. Was she the one making this so difficult, or was the difficulty built into the situation? She drew back so she could look up at him, the flickering torchlight gilding his fair skin. “I do love you, you know. As my ilias and my friend. My oldest, dearest friend. Can’t that be enough?”

  He touched a kiss to her forehead. “Aye. Enough, if you’ll stop making this harder than it is. We’re ilian, Kallista. We’re bound. You don’t have to do it all yourself. Stop keeping secrets. Let us share the burden.”

  “Easier to say than do,” she muttered and Torchay grinned.

  “True. But if you work at it, I have faith eventually you’ll manage.” He kissed her forehead again and handed her the scoop. “Finish graining the horses. I’ll take care of the rest and we’ll go tell the others.”

  “Don’t start babying me.” Kallista shook the scoop at him. “I’m not suddenly helpless.”

  “Now, naitan, you have to give me some space. I’ve only just learned I’m going to be a father. Takes some getting used to.” He chuckled, running the brush along a horse’s back. “How d’you suppose Obed’s going to react? You think he’ll be more—”

  A Tibran stepped into the torchlight from the shadowed inn yard. “If you’re not going to take her, outlander, I will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kallista whirled, raising the scoop to a defensive position. Torchay went still but stayed on the far side of the horse. She remembered that he understood very little Tibran. He wouldn’t want to interfere if it wasn’t necessary. Kallista pulled tiny fibers of magic, hoping her men didn’t notice. She didn’t need them charging out here upsetting things.

  “You don’t want to do that, sir.” She wove the magic into a disguise, deepening her voice, squaring her shape. “I’m no one for you to be interested in.”

  The blocky Farmer, for he was dressed in green, frowned at her, shook his head and looked again. Then he grabbed her arm. “Don’t care if you are ugly. Rulers gave all th’ women hereabouts to th’ Warriors.”

  He yanked her against him, hands rough, breath reeking of beer. Kallista choked back the threatening nausea as she drew her blade. The Farmer tried to grope her and unfasten his trousers both at once. His last mistake. Kallista’s knife drove deep into his heart. Seconds later, Torchay broke his neck. Blood stained the dingy white of her foreigner’s robe as she pulled back her knife and the man collapsed at her feet. Only then did she consider that she might have—should have stopped him some other way.

  “Hey!” Another drunk Tibran had just emerged from the tavern. “What’s going on? What’d you do to him?”

  “That’s trouble,” Torchay put Kallista behind him.

  She stepped to the side, unwilling to let him sacrifice himself. “He’s drunk,” she called in her deepest voice. “Can’t hold his beer.”

  “Then what’s that on your robe?” The Farmer scowled as he walked toward them, more Tibrans—Farmers, Merchants and Laborers—crowding in the door behind him.

  “He threw up on me.” It was the best she could do. She looked around for avenues of escape. They didn’t want to be trapped in the stable, but their choices were small and getting smaller by the minute as more men spilled into the walled yard.

  “Like hell he did,” another man cried. “That’s blood!”

  Torchay’s twin Heldring blades snicked from their scabbard and Kallista drew a second knife for her other hand. Her sword had been packed away as inappropriate for her disguise. She could sense alarm through her links with her marked iliasti—they could hear the uproar as the mob rushed the stable—and sent them a firm Stay there. No use all of them getting killed.

  She drew magic, ducking behind Torchay and his flashing blades for the time to shape it. She’d never used the veil to render people unconscious, but she didn’t want to kill them if she didn’t have to. She shouldn’t have killed the first man.

  “Whatever you’re doing, hurry.” Torchay backed into the stable doorway. “There’s too many of them, even if they’re unarmed and unskilled.”

  Kallista didn’t bother responding, too busy with her task. She let the magic go, pushing it toward the gate, and a dozen men dropped in their tracks. Torchay rushed it, Kallista at his back, pulling more magic as she ran. Cries of “Witch!” followed her. Something struck her in the head and she stumbled, stunned. A rock? Another hit her and the magic flew free as she fell, and knew nothing more.

  Obed bellowed, rushing for the door. Fox tackled him and knocked him to the floor with a crash. “She’s not dead,” he said, hoping desperately that it wasn’t a lie. “She’s not dead, and we can’t rescue her if we’re captured ourselves.”

  The abrupt cutoff of the magic calling had shaken all of them, even Aisse who had no link. “What?” she cried. “What happened?”

  “Something.” Fox sat up on top of Obed, holding him down. “Don’t know—riot in the courtyard. Kallista—she’s not dead.” He had to believe it.

  Stone peered out the window. “Looks like they’re taking her. Torchay too. They’re both out—unconscious.”

  “Not dead,” Fox said again.

  “Some of them are coming inside. Looking for us, I’d wager.”

  The plan dropped full blown into his brain and Fox stood, careful not to step on Obed. He stripped off his stranger’s robe. “Hide these. Obed, keep yours on. Stone, you’re a Ruler. Have we anything purple?”

  “Yes, I think.” Aisse hurried to the packs while Obed gathered the white robes and stuffed them under the bed’s mattress.

  “I can’t be a Ruler,” Stone protested. “I can’t speak three words of Tibran.”

  “Obed will speak for you. You’re a Ruler. You don’t sully yourself by speaking to Farmers.”

  “The landlord knows we came here in stranger’s robes.”

  “But he didn’t see any face but Obed’s. You came to meet him, to discuss trade.”

  Fox sensed Aisse hurrying back across the room toward Stone. “Did you find purple?”

  “Yes, for a sash or drape. I am his woman?”

  “I can’t do this.” Stone was still protesting. “They’ll know. They’ll catch us out. You be the Ruler.”

  “I can hide my blindness if I play Warrior. I can’t as Ruler.”

  Pounding feet and angry voices announced the approach of the mob searching the inn’s upper floor.

  Fox drew Stone’s sword, glad he’d worn warrior’s red beneath his white foreigner’s robe this day. “Just be arrogant. Aisse, give him a few arrogant words. You know how Rulers act. Be one.”

  Fists pounded on the door and Fox opened it. The blade in his hand stilled the mob for a second till someone spotted Obed.

  “There he is! I told you there were more outlanders here.”

  “Silence!” Stone roared the Tibran word. He glared at the few rioters visible through the open door, then waved a hand at Obed, gesturing for him to speak.

  As he did, Obed glided forward, folding back his robe to show the hilt of his sword. Fox faded away so that he guarded one side of the opening, bare blade in his hand, while Obed guarded the other.

  “B-beggin’ pardon
, Ruler Sir,” one of the man began, “but—”

  “This foreigner brought a witch among us!” Another pointed an accusing finger at Obed and the shouting began again.

  Aisse stretched up and whispered a translation in Stone’s ear. He struggled to appear amused by her, distracted from the scene, and hoped like hell that no one could see him shaking. Fox was supposed to come up with sensible plans, not insane ones like this.

  The shouting rose in volume and Stone bellowed for silence again. Then he waved at Obed to go on. Surely he was making up a reasonable explanation. Stone put his arm around Aisse, hoping she wouldn’t fling it off because it was him and not Torchay. She let the red-haired man touch her at will these days, not the rest of them. But now she snuggled against him.

  Aisse whispered to Stone that Obed explained he had no idea his clerk was a witch, or a woman. He’d merely come to Dzawa to discuss trade with this mighty and wise Ruler and hoped to meet with many others. His explanation mollified some, but not most. Friends of the dead man, no doubt. They wanted to bear Obed off to City Center for questioning. Which meant torture and punishment. They didn’t believe his explanations, didn’t care about his protestations of innocence.

  Stone turned his mouth to Aisse’s ear, asked for a few words, and she gave them quickly. Stone released her, advanced on the main protester at the door and delivered a backhanded slap that knocked the man off his feet.

  “You dare?” Stone shouted, hoping he remembered the words in proper order. “I am Valor, Ruler vo’Tsekrish. You dare question?” He pointed at the stairs and put on his best Angry Ruler face. “Go! Go now!”

  The remaining rioters fell over each other in their hurry to obey. Stone slammed the door shut and fell back against it, his knees taking leave from his body.

  “You did it!” Aisse surprised him with an impulsive kiss, then backed away quickly as if afraid he might want more.

  “I knew he could.” Fox handed Stone his sword.