by Lori Martin
The burly man began, “We –” and received Thelen’s elbow in his stomach.
“Sir,” Thelen said. “Please pardon us. I know it’s very irregular, Tribune, but the sentries at the Main Gate let them pass, too. It’s a group of leatherworkers, and – oh, sir, it’s terrible!”
“What is it?” Haol demanded.
“We’ve more than something to say,” the leader roared. “We’ve something to show you. The murdering lins have gone too far, and when’s the Assembly going to stop it?”
“That’s right!” A woman behind him shouted. Two or three other artisans called out in agreement. “Put ‘em to the sword!” “Make them pay for it!” “We’re none of us safe!”
“Tribune, if you’ll permit me?”
Haol beamed at Nichos, who had stepped to the center. Perhaps there was an opportunity here for his nominee to show merit. “Certainly, herald.”
Nichos fixed steady eyes on the leader. “Friend, you’d better make less noise and more sense. Do you have something to bring to the Assembly’s attention?”
The man guffawed. “If you like to put it that way. My son over here turned the corner of the shop, and what does he find, right out in plain daylight?”
They waited. The man crossed his arms in a satisfied way. Nichos was forced to ask, “Well? What was it?”
The guards took his question for permission. Thelen pulled back his sword, and suddenly the artisan crowd surged forward down the long processional aisle. Many pairs of hands clutched at a hidden burden.
“Oh, no!” “By the wind’s howl...” The Assembly members seated on the side could see it. They backed away as if the artisans were carriers of a plague. Nichos had a sudden fierce foreboding.
“Wait –”
“Here!” the leatherworker shouted. “Here’s what decent Mendales can find on their doorsteps these days. The bodies of the dead!”
The awkward burden took terrible flight, as they hurled it without ceremony to the center.
The dead skull cracked on the marble floor. Long matted tresses fell in a merciful cover over the woman’s contorted face. Muddy snow oozed from the heavy garments An Assembly chain of office slid sideways off the breast, but a few links caught on the knife’s handle: it had been buried straight into the heart.
In the tumult, Nichos heard only one sound. He turned, to meet his wife’s frightened eyes.
“Defiers,” she whispered.
Chapter 6
Running up and down streets the Defiers must long since have fled seemed useless to Scayna, but no one was asking for her opinion. The discovery of the last body – of Gajin, an Assembly
woman who hadn’t even yet been missed – had trebled the fear and anger of the House members. Some of it was directed at the nearest targets: the House guards who had permitted the grotesque display. Thelen and his companion guard were severely reprimanded; the inner entrance sentries demoted; the hapless Main Gates guards, who had given in to their own outrage and permitted the first break in security, were whipped. The leader of the leatherworkers, meanwhile, would be imprisoned for a week.
The remaining guards, the newly posted archers like herself, and the army Bands currently in MenDas were all sent swarming across the town. For the search Scayna was paired with a small dark soldier called Irse, who sounded on the verge of choking on his own breathing. He snorted continually.
They were already ten streets out from the center, down the back ways behind the shops. The Mendale artisans lived in these crowded houses, packed together around common wells, but now they were reaching a new section: a poor collection of hovels hard beside a cattle-hold.
“Lins,” Irse said knowingly. Upwards of five thousand Lindahnes lived in MenDas. Most had come with a grievance, and had stayed because of poverty. A family would arrive and remain for weeks, pressing a claim in the Hall of Merits. Only the longest-suffering victims of the Oversettle would try for this unlikely remedy; Lindahnes rarely won their suits. After the usual defeat, hopelessness and lack of passage money for the return home often kept them on, while their children grew up in the streets. Occasionally a Lindahne won in the Hall, and all the neighbors would participate in the rejoicing. The guilty Mendale in the case would shrug, and disappear westward without paying reparations. A return to the Hall by the injured Lindahne brought Mendale anger: you’ve won, what now are you complaining of, lin?
“They’re all criminals,” Irse said, which was likely to be true. Even resident Lindahnes were not permitted to join any of the capital’s thriving Guilds. At the most, they could sell goods at market (if they were better made and lower priced than Mendale goods), or they could become house servants, working for those Mendales willing to suffer a lin’s presence in return for cheap labor. Or they could turn to thieving. Some made enough by theft to finally return home, to face anew whatever difficulties had first driven them away. From time to time the Assembly ordered a “clearing up” of the Lindahne quarters in the city, and the inhabitants were turned from their hovels and set on the road. Others would soon be driven to take their places.
“All right, now,” Irse said belligerently to a small child who sat on the doorstep of the nearest shack. Up and down the street, the Lindahnes had come out to watch the search and be searched themselves. Their grim faces accused Scayna of the futility of her actions.
“Where are your parents?” Irse pursued, and snorted. The child, a fair boy with three dirty fingers in his mouth, stared up.
“By the pelting rain,” she said, “why don’t you just arrest him? I hear the Defiers are young.”
“No Defiers here,” a deep-voiced man said. A circle of watchful eyes grew closer around them. They were shabby, ill-washed people, but she could not summon up contempt. There was a hardness, a sword-blade strength, in their tense bodies. The man who had spoken clutched at the ragged edges of his cloak, holding them together. She watched his heavy hand knead the threadbare material, and remembered the dead Assembly woman’s expensive cloak, and her gold rings that had been left untouched.
Irse was still conducting a one-sided argument with the child. Scayna shoved past him and banged on the door, which rattled under her blow. “Come out, or we come in,” she called. “We’re on Assembly orders.”
Someone within answered, but she could not make out the words.
“Come out!” Irse said.
“She’s house-bound,” the deep-voiced man said. None of the others appeared willing to speak. “Crippled. The husband’s dead, now.”
“You might have said so.” She stepped over the child and went in.
The house was lit by one smoking lantern. A shrunken figure, surrounded by a week’s worth of sewing to sell, was hunched on a mattress in the corner.
Irse planted his boots and began. “On pain of hanging until death, you will answer the Assembly’s questions truthfully. Do you know any Defiers? Do you suspect anyone of being a Defier? Do you know of any Defier plots?”
The figure stirred. The low-lidded eyes revealed fear.
“It’s all right,” Scayna told her. “You’re not under any suspicion, we’re asking everyone. Just answer.”
“Have you met anyone who might have been posing as a Mendale but who you knew was from your own country?”
The figure took some time to work this out. Finally she said, with a note of hope, “Executions?”
“What?”
“Yes, they were executed,” Scayna said, overriding him. “Two li – two Lindahnes were hanged as Defiers about a moon ago. But have you seen any since then?”
“Heard about it,” the figure said. She fumbled with the bedclothes and exposed a twisted leg. “Can’t go out.”
“Yes,” Irse snorted with inspiration, “but have any Defiers come in?”
Scayna cursed in exasperation and went outside. The neighbors had decided to be amused at the ineptitude of these Mendales; they were sharing pipes and smiling.
The approach of an expensive horse took their attention.
Of course, Scayna thought. The perfect grace note. Chilhi Bhanay.
The older woman ran her eyes along the street, apparently searching. Scayna held up her bow.
“Ah, I’ve been – oh, it’s you,” the chilhi interrupted herself, with displeasure. The horse bobbed its head. “Are you finished here?”
“Almost, chilhi. Just this street left.”
“I need someone,” the chilhi said absently. She glanced about, ignoring the stares of the crowd, as the powerful among the inconsequential. “I was looking for Reisella,” she added, referring to an archer who was a favorite of hers.
“I believe she was sent in the other direction, chilhi. Has anyone found anything?”
Irse emerged from the house. “I don’t think – oh, good day, chilhi. Nothing to report here.”
Bhanay made up her mind. “I’ll have to take you then, Scayna. There are army horses down at the end of the street. When you’ve finished, saddle up and meet me there. Young man, send word to your ranking that I’d like to borrow you. We’re the Twelfth Archery Band.”
“Yes, chilhi.”
They were soon riding to the southern gate in MenDas’s surrounding wall. None of the gates were strictly guarded; the town business depended on lifelines beyond its walls, and in the daytime the gatekeeper’s function was merely ceremonial. At night he retired to a small house nearby. During emergencies, however, he was responsible for the sealing of the gate, which could be cross-bolted to become a formidable barrier. He passed them through, nodding respectfully. The sun was lowering to the horizon.
“Chilhi, may I ask –?”
Bhanay glanced in irritation at Scayna’s hair and shook her head. “Be silent and let me think. I’ve been entrusted by Second Tribune Rhonna with special orders.”
Well, Scayna thought, so she has made a friend in a high place. But where are we going?
At the second crossroads the chilhi chose the southward running path, a narrow lane with deep ruts on either side. The roadside growth was a twist of brittle dead weeds and decaying lasher bushes, an import, she knew, from Lindahne, which gave out red and golden flowers in the summer and had become a favorite along Mendale travel roads. These, however, had not survived the winter. It was strange that a road this close to MenDas should have fallen into such neglect.
After a time the pathway became so narrow and cluttered with stones and debris that they moved the horses off to the side. Scayna received the chilhi’s stiff back as a view. Irse snorted behind her. The waning light cast long shadows across them: riders fading into dusk. She felt a familiar sadness, and the anxious sense, the apprehension, of the crushing fall of night. A Guild woman had once told her that in the foolish lin religion, sunset was a sacred time. They sang of it, she said. To lift one’s voice on the whispering air of twilight... voices...
“Down there,” the chilhi said, gesturing.
An old well which showed signs of recent use stood to one side. Beyond it a small house crouched beneath a clumsy stone roof. Only one clouded window looked out. The rough-hewn door had a complicated crisscross of bolts.
“Hold,” a voice ordered. Scayna stirred, disturbing her horse. In the failing light she had not seen them, dressed in grey, standing against the grey walls. What were Assembly guards doing here? There were two before the door and a third beside the window; another was approaching around the corner of the building.
Chilhi Bhanay identified herself, adding crisply, “Second Tribune’s orders.” She produced a scroll from her cloak, sealed with the Tribune’s mark, for the guard’s inspection.
“These too?” The guard motioned.
“I –” Irse began, and paused over a phlegm-filled snort.
“You stay here,” the chilhi said with distaste. “You’re only an attendant.” She frowned at Scayna, who met her look steadily. “Well, you might as well come with me, girl. I’ll need a witness to the questioning.”
The door opened on to a short hallway. A sweet fragrance, some kind of burning perfume, filled the air. The chilhi paused, her uncertainty telling Scayna that she had never been here before. Another guard bowed. “She’s in this room back here, chilhi. Shall I tell her she’s got company?”
“Certainly not.” Bhanay swept past him. Scayna followed in her wake. She was surprised, after the grimness of the exterior, at the room’s feeling of comfort. The walls were warmly paneled, and a dozen scattered lamps held back the twilight. An elaborately patterned rug spread before them. The sweet scent was stronger here. High flames crackled in the fireplace.
A rest chair with well-worn coverings was drawn to the fire. She saw the woman’s black-slippered feet first, peeking from the edge of an elegant but faded blue robe. Above, wide sleeves curved down to bony wrists. Long aged fingers, quiet in their owner’s lap, held delicate embroidery.
The woman did not seem startled at their sudden entrance; no doubt she had heard their approach. Her thick white hair was rolled above her ears. Deep lines etched out from her mouth and ran down from the corners of her eyes, but she had a surprising air of girlhood. “Yes?” she asked, gently. Her eyes flickered to Scayna, then back to the chilhi. She was too pale; Scayna noticed a catch in her breathing. “You’re an army officer.”
She did not rise. The chilhi, chewing on her lower lip, made no move to seat herself. “I am Chilhi Bhanay of the Twelfth Archery Band, sent here on special orders of the Second Tribune. I have come to ask you questions in the name of the Mendale Assembly, which you will answer truthfully, on pain of death.”
“I see,” the other returned. She waited.
With an absurd parody of a proper introduction, Bhanay said, “This is one of my archers. She will serve as a witness. And this,” she added to Scayna, “is Ayenna, former queen of Lindahne.”
Just in time, she stopped herself from bowing. Her body jerked awkwardly.
“You may be seated,” the former queen said.
The chilhi flushed angrily. “I’m on official business, mistress, not a social call. Will you or will you not answer my questions?”
“Perhaps. When you ask them.”
Scayna felt herself smiling. She turned her head from the chilhi’s irritation.
A writing-desk, its neatness a testament to lack of use, stood in one corner. Scrolls of learning were everywhere: on the wallshelves, on the tiny side table among the used plates, and on the other three rest chairs. A dark grey cat was bundled in a ball on the farthest shelf. Like its mistress, it sat without movement, watching with clear eyes.
The chilhi said, “Have you received any visitors?”
“Since –?”
“Your last official visitor,” Bhanay glanced down at papers she clutched for reference, “was the wife of Nichos, herald of the Assembly. That was a half-year ago. Have there been any since?”
“Naturally not,” the queen answered. “My visitors, such as they are, must always receive the Assembly’s permission to come.”
“It will be better for you to tell me the truth.”
“If you do not believe me, Mendale, perhaps you would care to question my guards. They are always here, you know. Two of them eat and sleep in the room beyond this, and the rest live in a house not a hundred yards away.”
“Besides the herald’s wife, who else visits you?”
Scayna saw the woman’s long fingers tremble a moment with age. She could guess her thought: why ask a question when you already knew the answer?
“Since my imprisonment, which has now been of nearly twenty years’ duration, I have mainly seen and conversed with guards. They are changed frequently, which is a welcome variety for me and for them. I believe,” her lips almost smiled, “that this is not considered an interesting post. I also have one servant, who at the moment is in MenDas, getting certain supplies that I am permitted to have. She is very kind, but dim-witted. Beyond that, I have sometimes had the honor of receiving, as you say, the wife of the herald, and a few times, the herald himself.”
“Anyone else, mis
tress?”
“The Assembly has permitted the guards to use my title. Perhaps you might do the same.”
The chilhi said furiously, “Anyone else, Queen?”
A different expression which Scayna could not read flitted across her face. Not fear, surely? Not in this proud face.
The queen said stiffly, “The herald’s son has occasionally been present. And that is all.”
“Yes. That is the problem.”
“What is wrong? The herald’s family – are they ill?”
Bhanay narrowed her eyes. “Quite concerned, aren’t you? Tell me, Queen, why have these people come to see you?”
“They of course had the Assembly’s per –”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Ayenna nodded, as if to acknowledge an opponent’s score. “I first met herald Nichos at the beginning of the Oversettle. My – fate, if you will, was still in some question, though the Assembly had voted to spare my life. Herald Nichos questioned me on certain aspects of the War, acting, I believe, with the Assembly’s wishes. I was told he volunteered for the assignment. He had some interest in me. His wife, as you certainly know, is a Lindahne.” A note of anger escaped her. “One of my people.”
The chilhi said brutally, “And why should anyone bother with a one-time queen who has no power?”
If she had hoped to hurt, she was defeated. Ayenna said only, “Kindness, I believe. You have heard of it?”
A small thud attracted Scayna’s attention. The cat had jumped off the shelf. When Scayna looked over, the firelight caught a hint of the lingering shimmer across her cropped hair. When she looked back, she was startled to find herself under the queen’s scrutiny.
“The herald is a lin-loving fool,” the chilhi said, speaking rather unwisely, Scayna felt, about an upcoming Third Tribune. “But the First and Second Tribunes are confident of his loyalty. They even dismiss suspicion of his lin-wife, who in any case has not been here for moons. So I ask you again: who else have you seen? Who do you write to? Who is part of your plots?”
