Why had they been attacked? Was someone commanding the grimbals to attack all travelers through the pass? Or had his party been picked out specifically? He thought of the dead man the predators had been eating. No, others had been targeted, as well. And something was clearly happening here in Mangdoria—he had yet to see a single one of his people. More than once, his gaze drifted to the brown leaves on the deciduous trees, primarily the nut varieties, though he had spotted a couple of wild apple trees that showed the same signs of distress.
Maldynado sidled up to Basilard’s side as he adjusted his latest hat—apparently, the turkey one had not survived the crash, so he had switched to a top hat made from a blue and green fabric that displayed a grass and sky pattern. A flamboyant bow on the brim pinned down a fox tail that dangled over the side. Basilard wondered if this represented some city dweller’s idea of woodland camouflage.
“Been thinking,” Maldynado said quietly.
Dangerous.
“Not usually the way I do it, because nothing ever comes of it.” Maldynado smiled quickly, but his eyes remained serious. “Our Kendorian friend. We don’t know much about her.”
Basilard glanced around to locate Ashara. She was to the rear of the group, watching their backs, as she had been doing all morning, as Basilard led the way and chose trails that would lead them to the valleys where numerous clans made their homes. Jomrik and Mahliki had kept to the middle, though Mahliki darted off to look at trees now and then. She was quick about it, not causing the group to wait, but it made Basilard tense each time she ran off alone.
No, we don’t, Basilard agreed. Somehow it had been his history that had come out in detail around the campfire.
“Like how come your Kendorian ambassador buddy chose to send her along? She’s not a diplomat herself, right? Not the way she fights. And she’s amazing with that bow. I can’t even imagine how one can shoot from the top of a bouncing lorry in the dark and hit those beady little grimbal eyes over and over again, but she did it.”
Diplomats can’t have combat skills? Basilard quirked his eyebrows upward.
“Well, it’s not normal. You’re special.”
Basilard snorted. It seems like anyone visiting Turgonia for any reason should have combat training. Where other nations discuss politics over tea and biscuits, your politicians beat each other up while negotiating for trade concessions.
“The tea and biscuits are appreciated more after a good brawl. But come on. I’m not wrong, am I? You’d never seen her before, right? Going to meetings with the Kendorian ambassador or talking to people at the manor? Besides, nobody that gruff could be a diplomat.”
Basilard almost objected. True, Ashara had been aloof during the first couple of days in the lorry, but she hadn’t been any more disagreeable than the rest of his companions the night before. Still, he himself had been thinking similar thoughts, that whatever Ashara was, she wasn’t some diplomat.
Go on, he signed, curious if Maldynado would come up with other new insights.
“I’m just wondering what she is. Why was she loitering around the city, available to be sent on missions? Maybe she’s a spy, and she’s been one all along, keeping an eye on the goings on for her government.”
It’s possible.
So far, she hadn’t shown much interest in investigating the trees, at least not compared to Mahliki’s enthusiasm, and that was ostensibly why she was here.
What do you propose to do about it? Send her back?
“Into the paws of the grimbal waiting on the other side of the river?” Maldynado asked. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I—”
Basilard held up a hand, catching movement in his peripheral vision. Ashara. She wasn’t on the trail with them, but she had moved up, almost drawing even with them. She was slipping between trees, jogging to get ahead, then pausing to peer up at the branches. It might mean nothing—perhaps she was finally taking the opportunity to study the blight—but it might be an act, giving her an excuse to walk close enough to hear Maldynado’s words.
Basilard wiggled his fingers and pointed to Maldynado’s hand.
Maldynado grimaced. I’m out of practice, he signed slowly. We haven’t had to skulk through the shadows of alleys and rooftops with Amaranthe and Sicarius for a while.
I know. What is your proposal, in regard to our Kendorian?
You should question her. Not like an interrogation, but subtly. See if you catch her in any lies. If she’s a spy, so what? But if she has nefarious intent, then maybe we can leave her behind in one of your villages while we go on to see your chief.
My people would not hold her forcibly, Basilard signed. And if we tried to sneak away without her, I believe she could find us.
We can’t let her follow along and report back to someone about our every move.
Are our moves important? I find myself wondering what I’ve done that would cause someone to go to lengths to kill me or my party. I don’t think I’ve made any enemies recently. And I’ve outlived most of the ones we made working with Amaranthe.
Maldynado snorted. That may be true, but listen, Bas. You don’t have to have pissed anyone off recently. You’re the Mangdorian ambassador now. That could be reason enough for someone to target you. Someone who doesn’t like Mangdorians.
Most of us are inoffensive. We don’t bother other countries. We keep to ourselves.
“Well, not everybody likes that,” Maldynado said aloud. “You there, Ashara. Finding anything interesting?” Maldynado smiled and waved cheerfully, but he shot Basilard a warning look.
Yes, she had been staying close, glancing toward their flashing fingers more than once. Basilard did not think she could know his sign language, but he wouldn’t be surprised if a well-traveled Kendorian had encountered the base hand code that he had built it around. Maybe she could pick out some of the words.
“It’s not just nut trees,” Ashara called back without hesitating—no flustered twitches at having been caught staring. “Did you see the cherry and the apple? I’m surprised there are so many nut and fruit trees in these woods. At this elevation in mountains farther south in this range, it’s usually more evergreens.”
My people may be hunters and foragers, rather than agriculturists, but that doesn’t mean we don’t encourage the growth of species that are beneficial to our people.
“Bas says they plant ’em,” Maldynado said.
Must you make me sound so monosyllabic? Basilard asked.
“Yeah, it’s good. She’ll underestimate you. Won’t know you’ve got a brain under all that scar tissue.”
I suppose you are the master of being… underestimated. Basilard glanced at the flamboyant beret.
“Exactly.” Maldynado elbowed him again, then lowered his voice. “I’m serious about the questioning though. Chat with her. If you don’t, I will. And you know how reluctant I am to use my brand of interrogation methods on the ladies now that I’m devoutly devoted to Yara.”
Lucky her.
“Yes.”
“There was a cherry tree?” Mahliki called, jogging up to join Ashara. Something about the way Ashara’s cheek twitched made Basilard think she hadn’t particularly wanted Mahliki to join her.
After that, Maldynado wandered back to discuss methods for drying duck feet and the reasons one might want to with Jomrik.
Basilard mulled over Maldynado’s advice while continuing to watch for signs of his people. He paused to examine a print in dried mud, judging it to be three or four days old. Whatever had happened, the Mangdorians hadn’t been out of the area for long.
“You’re very passionate about this,” Ashara’s voice drifted through the trees.
Mahliki had skimmed up another tree. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”
Basilard slowed his pace, curious if information might be gleamed simply by listening. How was he going to question someone who didn’t understand his hand signs?
“Oh, trust me, I do,” Ashara said. “But I’ve always been concerne
d about nature, considered myself a part of it. You seem more… Where are you from, exactly? I’m not familiar with your accent.”
Basilard hadn’t realized their guest didn’t know who Mahliki was. Hadn’t Shukura briefed her? Maybe she truly had been recruited because of forestry knowledge, rather than for political reasons. If she didn’t know who President Starcrest’s children were, especially the one living in the capital, then she definitely wasn’t a part of Shukura’s office.
Mahliki hopped down from her branch, tucking another sample away. “I mostly grew up on Kyatt, but we traveled around a lot, so I’ve had the opportunity to study plants and animals and insects in numerous climates.”
“Insects?”
“Yes.” Mahliki slipped a hand into one of her many pockets and pulled out a folded net with a telescoping handle. “Even though the blight has fungal elements, the quickness with which it’s spread is interesting to me, and I wonder if it’s possible there’s an insect deliberately or inadvertently carrying spores around to assist with dissemination. I’m hoping we’ll camp near a nice marshy bog tonight.” She beamed a smile toward Basilard, then trotted to get ahead of the group again.
“I was hoping for a lodge with beds and a fireplace,” Maldynado said.
Instead of chasing after Mahliki, Ashara returned to the trail. She surprised Basilard by falling into step at his side. How much of that conversation had she decoded? Did she feel the need to ameliorate the damage? Basilard had not formed a strong opinion of her yet, so he did not think such an action was necessary, but maybe she would give away a few secrets, as Maldynado had suggested, if they simply spoke. The problem was, as always, how to have a conversation when he could not speak in the traditional sense. He hesitated to call Maldynado up, not agreeing with that tactic of convincing Ashara he was dull.
You fight well, he signed, thinking she would understand that much. Shooting too. He waved at her bow. She was carrying the rifle, but the bow seemed more natural for her. As it was for Basilard.
“Oh.” Ashara’s brow crinkled. Not the comment she had expected him to make? “Good. Thank you.”
A dozen follow-up comments and questions came to mind, but he didn’t know how to make them. None of them relied on the original Mangdorian hand code, which had been invented primarily for silent signaling during hunting expeditions. He found himself noticing her hair. Today, she had a petal from a flower sticking out of it. He didn’t think she had intentionally placed it there. She foraged often as they traveled, scrounging under bushes and plucking berries from briar patches, and bits of leaves and twigs liked to stick in her frizzy curls. Her hair probably defied combs and brushes, not that she looked like she bothered attempting to tame it very often. She herself did not look like someone who would be easily tamed. Strange that she worked for Shukura. Basilard wondered if she would mind if he plucked the petal from her hair. He doubted she knew it was there.
“I was getting Maldynado to show me some of your signs earlier, but he isn’t a natural teacher.” Ashara’s forehead crinkled, and he worried she had caught him staring at her.
Basilard turned his eyes toward the route ahead. Then, realizing she might expect a response to her comment, nodded. Maldynado was a horrible teacher.
“Perhaps you could show me some. And you could teach your corporal, too, if he’s interested in more than lamenting the loss of his vehicle. When there’s trouble jumping out at us, it would be good if we could all communicate with each other.”
Huh. She actually cared to communicate with him? Did she think this mission would be long enough that she needed to learn his language?
Basilard pointed ahead of them. In an hour, we’ll come to a turnoff to a village. Before nightfall, we’ll reach it. We may not need to continue any farther. I’ll find out about the possibility of trade from the chief who leads that clan, and perhaps Mahliki will find someone to help with the blight information. We may be able to head back to Turgonia soon. He wasn’t sure why he was explaining in depth when she wouldn’t understand. Part of it, he supposed, was simply him trying to figure out their next step. Could anything be gained by the group staying here in Mangdoria longer than necessary for Mahliki to research the blight? Or would it be best to report this trouble to Starcrest? While Turgonia had no real reason to be concerned about Mangdoria’s problems, the highway across the mountains was maintained by the republic, so they might do something about the grimbals.
“Was that a rejection?” Ashara asked.
Basilard shook his head. He would try to teach her a few signs while they were on the road, but the process would be easier with a translator—or a piece of paper and a pen. Since he could not write and walk, he reluctantly called Maldynado up. Ashara’s lips twisted downward. Maybe she didn’t want Maldynado to be a part of the lessons. Because he had offended her somehow? Or because she wanted to be alone with Basilard?
He snorted inwardly at that thought. As his recent debacle with Elwa demonstrated, women rarely wished to corner him in quiet nooks for private time. The last time he’d had private time with a woman had been on an ill-advised brothel visit with Maldynado and Akstyr, back when Akstyr had still been in the republic—which had been the empire, back then. He snorted again, depressed at the realization that it had been that long since he’d had companionship, at least in the physical sense. Elwa had often made him laugh, and he had enjoyed her company. Too bad he hadn’t made her realize he thought of her as more than a colleague. And too bad she hadn’t, at the same time, been thinking of him as more than a colleague.
Conscious of Ashara walking alongside him, frowning over at him—and probably wondering what he was thinking about—Basilard rubbed his face, trying to push all thoughts of companionship, physical and otherwise, out of his mind. Whatever Ashara had on her mind, he was certain that wasn’t it. She was an attractive woman, and even if she was living in the republic and had to choose from Turgonians for companionship—if that was something she sought—then with her athleticism and fighting prowess, she would have no trouble attracting one of them.
“What are we talking about?” Maldynado asked, ambling up.
Nothing, thank God. The last thing he needed was for Ashara or Maldynado to know where his thoughts had wandered. Surely real ambassadors didn’t waste their mental energy worrying about such things.
“I believe Basilard is looking for excuses not to teach me his language,” Ashara said. “Perhaps so you can more effectively talk about me when I’m standing right next to you.”
She grinned, but the blatant comment made Basilard’s cheeks heat. He was not generally one to speak about people behind their backs, and even if this was all politics—or whatever the hell he had become involved in—having her point out his dubious moral fortitude made him uncomfortable.
No, he signed. I will teach.
“Good,” Ashara said before Maldynado finished the translation.
Basilard didn’t need Maldynado’s frown to realize he had been outmaneuvered. Maybe outwitted. Wonderful.
• • • • •
The village was empty. Ashara dropped her chin on her fist, watching as Basilard walked along the packed earth next to a stream, eyeing hide-tanning racks and stone-and-dirt foundations, all that remained of the three or four dozen yurts that must have been set up there once. Towering oaks and pines rose all around the clearing, offering shelter and shade. The village, or what remained of it, would have been impossible to find, if not for Basilard’s direction. The path they had been following had petered out of existence miles earlier, with a more prominent one inviting them in another direction. Why had these people fled? They shouldn’t have had reason to, given how well this place was hidden.
This was more of a mystery than Ashara had expected from this trip, and she had no one to report it to. Back on the highway, she had never seen the courier Shukura had mentioned—indeed, she wondered if that person the grimbals had been eating might have been the courier. She supposed she had to stick with t
he Turgonians until they returned to the republic, or at least until she had a chance to permanently thwart Mahliki’s research. It had occurred to her that she might steal the woman’s pack or arrange for it to accidentally fall into a river. Would she be able to make any research progress without her tools? She carried everything from magnifying and analyzing equipment to plant specimens to alchemical solutions in that pack. Unfortunately, she used the bulky bag for a pillow when she slept, so stealing it would be challenging.
While Basilard poked around the abandoned village, Maldynado and Jomrik dropped the team’s gear in the middle of the clearing and collapsed next to it. The day had grown long, with the sun dipping below the rim of the surrounding mountains. It didn’t look like Maldynado would get his bed. Certainly not a lodge.
Ashara walked the perimeter, looking for clues as to the direction the people had gone and how long ago that had been. The disappearing Mangdorians did not mean much to her personally, but if they had left their homes because of grimbals or trouble with other big predators, that would be good to know. Some of her old stalker colleagues in the army had possessed the ability to see the past through the eyes of plant and animal life, but she had never been that talented. She had to rely on physical signs to unravel stories of the past.
Ashara found a well-used trail leading farther upstream. Countless feet had trod it that year, so she couldn’t say for certain if the villagers had fled that way, but she did find a child’s doll to one side, something that might have been dropped as the people left in a hurry. A few gouges in the dirt suggested a well-laden travois might have been dragged in that direction recently.
Basilard joined her, nodding. They went that way. He picked up the doll, pointed to the sky, and signed something that probably meant it had not been rained on. Or that it did not like sleeping alone under the stars. Though Ashara had wheedled language lessons from Basilard and Maldynado, she was not yet an expert.
Diplomats and Fugitives Page 12
