Jala was about to nod when she spotted the shape of Zari, her other maid, lurking in the darkness just behind the strange, white figure.
‘Only if you do not saddle me with that creature once again.’
Zari flinched as if she had been struck, and Halfdan gave her a strangely sympathetic smile. ‘I’m afraid that is not an option. I must keep her as well concealed as you at this time. Make the most of things. Reminisce about your homeland.’
The ghost pulled back, and Zari began to clamber into the carriage. Her expression shifted with the ascent from wary apprehension to smug self-importance.
‘My lady.’
‘Zari,’ Jala acknowledged coldly.
Behind them, Halfdan once more leaned into the doorway. ‘And when we have more time, tonight, I wish to discuss recent activity with you, Zari.’
Before the maid could reply, the ghostly figure closed and latched the door.
‘Am I correct,’ Jala addressed her maid haughtily, ‘that there are fewer men out there this morning?’
‘There was an… incident… last night. A few casualties. Halfdan assures me it is not a matter for concern. Soon we will be out in the countryside and safe once more.’
Safe. From whom? Who was the ghost so concerned about that they had tarried in Calacon for three nights? The empress added it to the list of things she needed to pry out of Zari in due course. She eyed her darker-skinned maid once more with distaste.
How was it possible for a girl to be so devious and yet so utterly vapid at the same time? Yes, most of the planning of this must be laid upon the shoulders of Halfdan, but how long had Zari been living this double life?
The empress had long since stopped kicking and cursing herself for the impetuous actions that had led to her flight from Velutio, the disastrous voyage, the capture and now their captivity. It had been the work of Zari, she now understood. For weeks – months possibly? – the maid had been manipulating her moods and her intent with a skill unexpected in one so credulous. And Jala could recognize with irritation how utterly foolish this whole thing had been. The Jala who had left Pelasia and married Kiva was bright and clever, and would never have been so rash. It was a sign of how totally her heart had been in turmoil that Zari had managed to persuade her into flight back to her brother. Idiocy. The maid must have discovered her private letters months ago and learned of her troubles. All this time she had been working to push Jala into a position where she could be taken. All this time, she had been working for Halfdan the ghost.
The empress caught the disgusted sneer on Nisha’s half-hidden face as the other maid observed Zari. The pair had once been such close friends, they had been inseparable. Indeed, all three of them had been. Jala had been more of a friend or even sister to the two girls than an employer. Nisha and Zari had done everything with the empress, from hawking to attending great occasions, to enjoying theatrical performances and so on. But now, if the opportunity ever presented itself, the empress knew full well that Nisha would tear out Zari’s throat with her teeth.
That first time Zari had come back to them it had almost happened, too. Nisha and her mistress had been kept in confinement on Halfdan’s ship, and there had been no sign of Zari. Then there had been the set-to with the pirates that had almost sunk them. All these complex plots the pale northerner had hatched, and he had almost been undone by simple chance piracy. Fortunately – really? Fortunately? – the pirates had been fought off, though the damage to the ship had been catastrophic and the ghost had abandoned his plans to sail to Burdium Portus and put in at some unfriendly coastal village instead.
There, in the early morning, Zari had been bundled into the commandeered carriage with them and the other maid’s betrayal had become apparent. She had not died in the sea action as they had thought, but had been with the enemy the whole time.
For Zari was Halfdan’s whore. She was hopelessly smitten with the white ghost, that was plainly obvious to anyone with eyes. And anyone with both eyes and brain could see that the affection was entirely one-sided, though Zari was naïve enough to hang on to the delusion that Halfdan was her lover.
That morning, as the carriage set off from the village, rattling north towards Calacon, the true depth of Zari’s betrayal had been revealed, and Jala had tried to kill her. Nisha had urged her to stop as the empress tried to beat Zari’s face concave on the carriage’s timbers. Sadly, Halfdan and his men had stopped the coach and pulled the empress off the maid before she could do any serious damage, though there was still bruising apparent on Zari’s cheek and forehead from the attack. Jala shuddered, remembering the result of the scuffle.
The carriage had stopped on the clifftop, just above the village and the cove that huddled it, and Halfdan had had the three women brought back out of the carriage. He had told Jala that Zari was not to be harmed and that he would give her just one lesson to that effect. And on that clifftop, in response to the empress’s attack on her maid, the ghost had produced a sharp eating knife and had removed Nisha’s left eye, leaving a network of scars on her cheek into the bargain. It had been questionable who had shrieked more: Nisha or the empress. Even Zari – deluded, betraying Zari – had watched in cold, numb shock. As he wiped the eye matter and blood from his blade on Nisha’s dress, Halfdan had calmly informed the empress that the next attack on Zari would leave Nisha without her left ear.
So Zari had since travelled with them in the carriage in an uncomfortable silence, but untouched. And Nisha had taken to sitting in a certain seat to hide her ruined face from the others. But by the time they had reached Calacon, Jala had decided that this situation could be of use after all.
She had been calmly accepting of her captivity so far – barring the incident with Zari. She was clever, and knew it. And she knew that uncharacteristic precipitous action was what had landed her in this position in the first place. Besides, on board Halfdan’s ship what chance of escape was there? A chance to drown in the briny deep instead? And since then, they had been very carefully conveyed, with threats to Nisha’s remaining appendages generally enough to keep the empress compliant. But the time would come when she would make her move and escape. She just knew enough to recognize that such action would have to wait until the time was right.
Of course, she also knew her own value and was not naïve enough to believe that this kidnapping was a small matter. She was an empress and a princess, and her worth as a political playing piece was immense. So there was always in the back of her mind the stark knowledge that if it came right down to it, it would be more important that she take her own life than be used as leverage. She owed that to her wonderful husband and to her dear brother. But that option would have to be saved as a last resort.
Zari’s presence could turn out to be a boon, despite everything, for she was as suggestible to Jala as she was to Halfdan. She would do anything the ghost asked of her through her fawning delusion. But she was so glowing in her belief that she would be Halfdan’s love forever, and that she would come out of this whole mess smelling of roses, that information was easily prized from her. She had already revealed the name of their captor – this Halfdan – though it seemed the ghost worked for someone else and that name as yet remained a mystery. She knew that they were travelling north from Calacon, which limited the number of destinations, since there were few cities of any size out there. Vengen was the only great metropolis, and being the province of the imperial military it was highly unlikely that the great fortress city of the Fourth Army was their destination. So that left smaller provincial settlements. And Zari had revealed how many men there were – a total of 27, including Halfdan himself. Mind you, there seemed considerably fewer this morning. What calamity had befallen them, and who was responsible? Whoever it was, there was little doubt in Jala’s mind that the attackers had been her allies, for her captors had delayed in Calacon in order to deal with some sort of pursuit. Had they succeeded, or had they failed? Were all Jala’s allies now rotting in the vertiginous alleyways of the city
, or had Halfdan bitten more off the steak than he could chew and been forced to retreat? Certainly, he couldn’t now have more than half his former unit.
And what was this ‘recent activity’ that the ghost wished to discuss with Zari? Not the attack that had cost him his men, surely. The ghost was not the sort of man to discuss such matters with the maid.
The carriage began to rattle across the cobblestones.
She would hold her tongue, as ordered, for calling out to potential saviours might get them all killed, but at the very least it would cost Nisha her ear, and the empress had already lost the maid an eye. But the imposed silence meant there was danger to her captors. Which suggested that either their pursuers were still alive, or perhaps that the authorities in Calacon were likely to come crashing down on them in an instant. How, then, were they to get out of the city?
Now to manipulate Zari the way the maid had managed to manipulate her those weeks ago. Direct questions would not work, but subtlety was beyond the girl. Visibly ignoring the presence of the traitor, she addressed Nisha in the knowledge that the other maid would not be able to resist interfering.
‘Calacon will be sealed. It matters not what time we set out – darkness will not save Halfdan or his men. The gates will be shut and the army in control of the city. There will almost certainly be some sort of trouble. When the noise kicks off, I will peek through the door and work out how to make a break for it. You throttle the life out of Zari.’
The reaction was instant and totally predictable. Nisha was bright enough to know what she was doing, though she was still unable to keep from her face the leer of desire at the thought of strangling her former friend. Zari, on the other hand, flashed red with anger and self-importance, and wagged a finger at the empress.
‘You will do no such thing, or Halfdan will tear Nisha in two. He will not let you hurt me. And anyway, there will be no such scuffle. He has men in the military – has had them there for more than a year, just ready for such occasions. You have no idea how deep this goes, Jala, or how prepared he is!’
No, Jala thought to herself with a sly smile, I don’t. But every outburst from Zari was enlightening her a little. Now she knew that Halfdan or his shadowy master had men infiltrating the Fourth Army, and had done for some time. He was a northwesterner, as were all his men. And they were travelling north in the western provinces. The Fourth Army was the force based in this region. Everything pointed towards his master being someone from the northwest, which meant that such infiltration among the other three armies of the imperial military was unlikely. They were further away and manned by folk of much different backgrounds.
Sure enough, listening out in the relative silence, Jala heard the horses of her captors slow to a halt, and the carriage rumbled to a stop a moment later. There was a muffled exchange between Halfdan and a man with a northern accent and a rather official tone. A gate guard, almost certainly. There was the slow, deep creak of timber doors being swung open, and the procession began to move again. A few moments later, the procedure was repeated at the gate in the outer walls, and then the kidnappers and their prize were out of Calacon and in the countryside.
Damn it. If she did have allies in the city, they were being left behind, and probably wouldn’t even be aware that their prey had left the place. She would have to believe. She would have to assume that whoever was pursuing them was not only still alive, but competent enough to quickly realize what had happened and find their trail. After all, whoever it was had managed to track her across the sea, through a small coastal village and all the way to Calacon. If they could follow her trail that far, they would not be stopped by this small hiccup.
She smiled to herself.
‘Your lover will soon regret leaving Calacon, Zari.’ The maid frowned in consternation and incomprehension, and Jala smiled indulgently. ‘This is a narrow gorge, following the Triobis River. Whoever thinned his ranks last night has a ready-made trail to follow. As soon as they realize we are not in the city any more they will simply have to ride north along the valley until they catch up with us. Then the rest of Halfdan’s men will meet their end and you will be mine to deal with at last.’
She almost laughed when the smug expression appeared on Zari’s face again. This really was easy.
‘They will never catch us,’ the maid replied haughtily, ‘for they will be riding north following the river, whereas we will cross it at the next bridge and climb the far slopes in a narrow gorge. Your precious friends will follow the valley, while we cut across the hills above.’
Jala tried to look defeated. It was difficult, when what she wanted to do was laugh and slap the stupid wench for her idiocy. Instead, she gave one of the prearranged signals to Nisha. They had developed four such tells during their time alone without the other maid, and Nisha nodded slightly, knowing exactly what was required of her. There was a long pause – long enough that Zari’s small mind would not connect the two exchanges – and then Nisha turned to her former friend.
‘When this is all over, Zari, and I have you to myself, I am going to do to you what your boyfriend did to me.’
Zari, predictably, reacted with a mixture of recoiling anxiety and smug disbelief that such a thing could come about. Then she started to launch into a quiet tirade about how Nisha would have to be careful over her tongue if she wished to keep it attached. Nisha responded with accusations of treachery and so on, and their argument, albeit a stifled quiet one due to Halfdan’s threats, railed with spite and bile.
Jala left it a moment to make sure Zari was busy, but the poor dumb girl had only enough mental capacity to devote to one thing at a time, and right now she was aiming it at Nisha. Trying again not to smile, Jala reached down and started fiddling with the hem of her over-dress, a beautiful, expensive piece that lay atop her under-tunic. It was a purple and white garment – the imperial colours – although it was now dirty, stained and torn almost beyond recognition. Finding a piece of the material that had been snagged during the journey, as slowly and quietly as she could she tore a small strip of purple from the garment by the low-pre-dawn light, and then let the hem drop again.
In case Zari was being unusually observant, she sat back for a count of 20, but the girl had not even looked her way. Biting her lip, Jala nibbled one of her fingernails until it became jagged and sharp, and then, keeping it hidden from the exchange, though Zari was totally oblivious anyway, she used the sharp nail to draw blood from the soft flesh of her wrist. Once a couple of tiny crimson beads were bubbling up from the small wound, she used that same sharp fingernail to draw a fairly good representation of a bridge and a slope on the material. She had always had a talent with images, perhaps born from her skill at calligraphy – an art taught to, and required of, all Pelasian nobility.
Satisfied that her image was the best she could do, she paused again to be sure of Zari’s lack of attention. Still the argument went on. The empress’s eyes scanned the carriage floor until she spotted the crack that she’d seen days earlier.
This was the gamble. Not that Zari would find out. The empress could probably paint herself and jump up and down on the carriage roof shouting ‘Here I am!’ and the maid would be oblivious. But almost half of their captors – six or seven men at the least – would be riding behind. If they noticed the article fall, it would be of no use. It would be gathered up, and any future attempt at leaving clues would be forestalled.
‘Will you two stop arguing?’ she snapped with fake anger, and left her seat, kneeling by her cases. She opened one and rummaged in it until she found the book of Pelasian poetry she knew to be in there, thrusting it at Nisha. ‘Here. Keep yourself occupied.’
As the two girls glared at each other, Zari wincing at the empty socket in Nisha’s face, and the latter grasping the book, Jala took the opportunity to push the scrap of purple cloth through the hole, prodding it until it disappeared, fluttering down to the muddy ground below. She returned to her seat in the unpleasant, uncomfortable silence, and listened care
fully. Every set of hoof beats maintained their pace. There was no comment. The scrap had gone unnoticed by those behind.
A lot of this rode on chance. Any one of those hooves could have churned the purple material into the mud and out of sight. It could be blown away, though there was barely a breath of a breeze on this temperate spring morning. And then, even if it stayed there as a marker, some local could find it and pick it up. Or her pursuers could ride straight past it and on, uselessly, up the valley.
She just had to hope that it stayed there and that the men who had such skill and luck as to be able to track her even across the waves would see the marker and know to cross the bridge and climb the hill in pursuit. It was a gamble, but one that she needed to take.
Half an hour later, as the sun finally put in a full appearance, they rattled across a high-arched, narrow stone bridge and began a steep ascent. The rest of the day was spent in sullen silence, and Jala knew that evening was coming as the cracks of light around the carriage door faded to orange and then to a deep indigo. Finally, many, many hours, and many, many miles from Calacon, they stopped for the night.
As they were released from the carriage, Jala wished she had spent more of her time as empress touring the western provinces. She could tell her north and south, but her familiarity with the region was so scant that beyond the knowledge that she was somewhere north and a little west of Calacon, she had no idea where she was in relation to anything else.
They were on an area of plateau and far from civilization, and their captors had reined in by a copse of trees close to a stream, which, between them, would provide shelter, protection and water.
The men went about putting up four tents, gathering wood and lighting a fire, while the three women stood shivering in the growing gloom under the watchful eye of one northerner with a wickedly-pointed spear. Within half an hour the camp was up and the women were made secure once more. Nisha and the empress were each cuffed on the left wrist to a long, sturdy chain that was secured to the carriage’s heavy timber wheel. The chain was plentiful and allowed them to move about their tent that had been erected next to the vehicle, but there was no chance of them removing either cuffs or wheel, as they had quickly determined during those nights between the coast and Calacon. The only way they would free themselves would be to remove a hand, and the ghost had clearly considered that, refusing them anything sharp even to eat with.
Insurgency (Tales of the Empire Book 4) Page 21
