Feeling responsible for them, Ashara pointed to the leader and said, “These men want to join Basilard.”
“Oh. That’s good. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of people who do.” Mahliki frowned at the woman next to her.
She blanched and looked away.
Maybe this wasn’t the wise woman.
“This is Elwa,” Mahliki said. “Basilard’s former translator, and, uhm.” She shrugged. “Elwa, this is Ashara.”
His former translator? Ashara thought back to the tale Maldynado had shared about Basilard’s past, about the ill-received marriage proposal. Wasn’t this the woman who had been the recipient?
“I’m sorry for my disarray,” Elwa said, her voice tight. She didn’t look that disarrayed to Ashara, especially when Ashara had spent the night in the grass and probably had twigs sticking out of her hair. Elwa rubbed her eyes as she went on. “I only arrived yesterday and learned about my father’s passing. But I need to tell Leyelchek… I need to let him know about my father. And if he’s here, does he need a translator?”
“He needs to know you’re well. He’s been worried about you.” Mahliki’s voice was sterner than Ashara had heard it. She was always so busy with her research that Ashara wouldn’t have guessed she had been that aware of the emotions of anyone in the group. “Especially when we came out here and encountered the grimbals and saw some of your people dead.”
“I understand.” Elwa bowed her head, accepting the criticism. Even with her eyes swollen and red, she was beautiful, and Ashara could see why Basilard would have been attracted to her.
“We can tell him,” Ashara found herself saying, even though she had been contemplating leaving a moment earlier. Maybe this was someone Basilard would still consider a friend and would want to see, but if she had rejected him, maybe seeing her would only sting further. Especially with the news that would accompany her arrival. “We can tell him that you’re well and that he’s no longer welcome here.”
Elwa flinched. “I don’t agree with the chiefs. He’s the perfect choice for ambassador. I’ll try to talk to them, but…” She gazed back over her shoulder. “It may take time.”
“Basilard has something bigger to worry about right now.” Ashara nodded at the hunters.
Elwa frowned at them, her expression confused. Maybe none of them had spoken with their people about what they intended to do.
“But if he needs a translator…” Elwa said while glancing back again. With her father recently dead, she probably didn’t want to leave the rest of her family.
“He has Amaranthe and Maldynado,” Mahliki said. “We can all understand him.” She waved to herself and included Ashara with the gesture.
“Oh?” Elwa looked at Ashara, almost as if noticing her for the first time.
Even if Ashara’s understanding of the sign language was elementary, she nodded firmly. She had no reason to dislike Elwa, but she didn’t look like someone capable of fighting predators or anything else, so the canyon would not be the place for her. If Ashara had other reasons for not wanting the woman along, she wasn’t ready to acknowledge them.
“There might be fighting where we’re going,” Ashara said. “Stay here. If you have any messages, we can deliver them.” She nodded to Mahliki, figuring Elwa would be more likely to confide in her than in a stranger.
“Very well,” Elwa said. “Mahliki, please give him my messages. And tell him… Tell him I’m sorry.”
Mahliki hesitated before responding. Then she nodded and offered a curt, “I will.”
When Elwa walked back toward the yurts, Ashara asked, “Are you ready to go? Were you able to help them?”
“I think so.” Mahliki yawned so hard that her eyes squinted shut. “I was up most of the night. They’ll field test the spray for me, and I can check back on them after the other issue has been resolved.” She tapped her vest, causing vials inside to clink. “I’ll test some trees, too, when I get a chance. It’s hard when you’re running all over the mountains. It will take time for the new trees to gain immunity.” She pointed to the silent hunters. “Is this our escort away from their gathering place?”
“Something like that. I’ll explain on the way.”
Chapter 15
The small spring might have been a peaceful setting if Basilard had not been worrying that a shaman was tracking his group. It wasn’t well hidden, being only a quarter of a mile from the road that came down out of the mountains, but Jomrik had collapsed there the night before, pleading for a few minutes to bandage his wounds. Not knowing how Amaranthe and Maldynado fared, Basilard had agreed. They might be injured too. Either way, he wanted to get his group back together before running far from the canyon. He trusted that Sicarius, who had left earlier to look for Amaranthe and Maldynado, could find Basilard again. He just hoped nobody else could. He also hoped Jomrik’s snores would not travel out to the road.
Late morning came before anyone approached. Basilard was alternating between yawning and keeping an eye out from a stack of boulders that looked out onto the canyon lands when Amaranthe and Maldynado came into view. Assuming Sicarius was with them, Basilard dropped from his perch. He’d snared a couple of rabbits and foraged a few greens while he had been watching for pursuit, and he intended to make breakfast for the team. He did not yet know what Amaranthe and Maldynado had endured to escape, but Maldynado’s missing antler hat, a hole in the knee of Amaranthe’s trousers, and fresh scrapes on both promised they had not simply walked out of the camp. Basilard felt guilty that everyone had been through so much on his people’s behalf.
Neither appeared to be holding a grudge. Maldynado ambled up and slapped Basilard on the back.
“That was a nice explosion in that cave last night,” he said. “Much bigger than Amaranthe’s.”
“It’s not a competition,” Amaranthe said. “All I had was that handful of noisemakers I’d sneaked in. They’re barely more than firecrackers. I’d only intended them as a distraction.”
“Basilard brought down the entire cave,” Maldynado said.
Basilard shook his head and focused on preparing the food in his skillet. He did not want credit for that mess when all it had done was irritate the Kendorians. If he had been able to sneak away, like Amaranthe and Maldynado, the major might not have sent such a determined search party up the canyon.
Thinking of the harrowing escape made Basilard lift his head, searching for Sicarius. He was leaning against a tree, facing the direction of the canyon.
Basilard waved the skillet for his attention. Where did you throw that explosive last night? Is it possible we might not have to face that shaman again?
“I threw it at the shaman,” Sicarius said. “It’s possible it killed him, but I expect he saw it coming and was able to protect himself. He did not seem inept.” Sicarius rubbed the palm of one hand—he too had a number of scrapes, thanks to that fall he had taken. Only his reflexes had saved him from plummeting all the way to the ground. “There is no need to face him again if we leave,” Sicarius pointed out.
Basilard grimaced, not because he wanted to argue. Because he wasn’t sure he did. He hated the idea of giving up, but he was lucky that his plan hadn’t gotten anyone killed last night. He couldn’t count on that happening again. He looked to Amaranthe, someone who had survived dozens of crazy plans. Would she give up or keep trying? Did she also think it would be wiser to avoid another confrontation? This wasn’t her nation; could he ask her—any of them—to risk themselves further?
“Starcrest just told us to make sure you made it home,” Amaranthe said.
Something Basilard had yet to do. He hoped Mahliki and Ashara had found his people.
“I’m guessing he’d heard that there was some trouble in the pass, but obviously he didn’t know about all of this—” Amaranthe waved toward the canyon, “—or he would have mentioned it. And given us instructions that referenced it.”
“Like don’t pick fights with shamans, because it’s not our war?” Maldynado suggested.<
br />
Amaranthe shrugged. “Nations get involved in other nations’ conflicts all the time. With reasons, of course. Turgonia would have to decide if it would prefer peace-loving Mangdorians on its eastern border rather than land- and resource-hungry Kendorians. What we should probably do is go home and talk to him before presuming to make decisions on our own. But…” She smiled and extended a hand toward Basilard. “We do owe our ambassador a few favors. He fought often and risked his life for our nation.”
Basilard shook his head, not wanting them to make choices because they felt they owed him a favor. He might have fought alongside Amaranthe and Sicarius, but he had always been motivated by wanting to find a way to talk to Turgonian leaders to ensure those enslaving his people were stopped.
“Someone is coming,” Sicarius said.
Basilard reached for his dagger and looked in the direction of the canyons. But Sicarius had turned the other way. He lifted a hand, then jogged toward the west, choosing a route that would parallel the road heading up into the mountains.
Amaranthe and the others seemed content to stay, but Basilard thought it might be his people, the other Mangdorians they had chanced across in the canyon, and he wanted to make sure Sicarius did not mistake them for enemies.
Familiar voices floated down the road ahead of the party. Women’s voices.
Sicarius and Basilard stepped out onto the road several meters ahead of Mahliki and Ashara. Mahliki blinked a few times in surprise, but Ashara simply nodded at them. She must have been foraging along the way—several twigs and bits of leaves stuck out of her hair. Basilard found himself smiling at what was becoming a familiar sight.
To his surprise, Mahliki and Ashara were not alone. Fifteen young Mangdorian men followed at a distance, strung out along the road and peering into the trees on either side. They all carried bows, and wore buckskins and moccasins with colorful stitching and beadwork. Their short hair was tidy, their beards trimmed. They looked like people’s husbands and sons, not scouts or rebels who had been out living in the wild for weeks, not like that other group that Basilard had not seen since the day before.
“Leyelchek,” one at the front said. “I am Bartohk. I bring fourteen hunters with me, men who are ready to fight with you to drive the Kendorians out of our land.” He glanced at Ashara. “Most of the Kendorians.”
Ashara acknowledged the comment with a flutter of her fingers, but she did not say anything.
You intend to do battle? Basilard signed slowly, hoping the man would get the gist of his signs.
“We do not wish to do violence, but we will do so to protect our land.” Bartohk touched his bow, making his meaning clear. “We’ve come to join you.”
Join him? He wasn’t even sure what his next step would be—or if there should be a next step at all.
Good, Basilard made himself sign. Please see yourselves to our camp. I’ll join you shortly, and we can discuss plans. Basilard pointed in the direction of the camp.
When the men had left the road, Sicarius, who had remained silent through this introduction, nodded to Mahliki. “It is good you have returned safely.”
Mahliki’s eyebrows rose. “Thank you.”
“Is it good that I returned?” Ashara asked. She had fewer arrows in her quiver than the last time Basilard had seen her, but neither woman appeared to have been injured.
Sicarius gazed at Ashara for a few seconds, his face an impassive mask, then announced, “I will return to watch for the Kendorians.” He trotted into the woods, veering in the direction of the canyon.
Yes, it is good that you returned, Basilard signed to Ashara.
He had meant to simply be polite because Sicarius had not been, but he found that he meant the words. For some reason, the memory of Ashara applying salve to his wounds flashed into his mind, and his cheeks warmed a touch. He hurried to give Mahliki a nod, so she would know he meant the greeting for her too. But she did not notice. She was scratching her head and staring in the direction Sicarius had gone. He probably did not address her specifically very often.
Maldynado believes your status has increased in Sicarius’s eyes and that he feels like an overprotective father-in-law, Basilard explained, though he wasn’t sure his interpretation was entirely accurate.
Mahliki only scratched her head harder. “Father-in-law? I hadn’t really… I mean, I suppose Sespian and I have talked about potential futures, but having his father looking out for me is…”
Comforting? Basilard suggested.
“I was going to say alarming,” Mahliki said. “Nice, I suppose. But he’s so… I don’t know. Turgonians are odd.”
Sicarius isn’t a typical representative of the nation.
Eager to find out more about the newcomers and what had happened with the rest of his people, Basilard waved for Mahliki and Ashara to return to the camp with him.
You obviously found my people, Basilard signed. Were they able to help with your quest to cure the blight?
While Mahliki explained that they had found the gathering place and that she had worked with a wise woman on a solution, Ashara kept quiet. She kept frowning at Basilard, and he sensed she had something to say. A couple of times, she opened her mouth, but each time, she glanced at Mahliki and closed it.
“Uhm.” Mahliki stopped near the spring, where Maldynado, Amaranthe, and Jomrik were greeting the Mangdorians. She waved across the water at them, but held up a hand to stop Basilard before they reached the group. “Before you start talking plans, you should know we saw Elwa.”
Oh? Basilard brightened. Good. She’s well? She made it to rejoin our people?
“Yes, but some things have happened.”
Basilard’s exuberance faded. He did not like the sound of the words, nor did the bleak expression on Mahliki’s face fill him with cheer.
“We weren’t there long,” Mahliki said, “so we don’t know exactly what was going on, but…” She bit her lip and looked at Ashara. Searching for help in relaying bad news?
“Some of us weren’t even invited into the village,” Ashara said.
Mahliki frowned. Apparently, that had not been the support she had sought.
Please tell me, Basilard signed. Whatever it is won’t be easier to hear if more time passes, I am certain.
“Your lady friend,” Ashara said, “Elwa. Her father died.”
Oh. Basilard dropped his chin onto his fist and closed his eyes. Halemek had been one of the few willing to talk to him when he had returned to the village, one of the few with the vision to think of a position for Basilard. It further distressed him that Elwa had lost her father, because he knew how much that would hurt her.
“We were told—” Ashara cleared her throat. “Her father was the chief who made you the ambassador to Turgonia, right?”
Basilard lifted his gaze. There was more news?
Yes.
“The ones who remain said they don’t want you to be their representative anymore,” Ashara said. Now she looked to Mahliki, but Mahliki’s eyes had filled with moisture, and she only shook her head. “I’m sorry, but they don’t want you there at all. They—the man who’s been taking care of your daughter—made a point to let us know that.”
“I’m sorry, Basilard.” Mahliki stepped forward and hugged him.
Basilard accepted the embrace in silence. He had to accept everything in silence, but he did not know what he would have said if he’d had his voice. He had always known the position might be temporary. It upset him to know that he hadn’t been in the role for long enough to prove to the other chiefs that he was a boon to their people. But it didn’t surprise him. None of it did. Ever since he had first walked back into his homeland last winter, he’d felt like an outsider. Too many people had let him know it. The mountains were the same, but the people were not. Or maybe they had stayed the same, and he had changed. Yes, he knew he had changed.
Mahliki stepped back, looking down at him with concern in her eyes. “Are you all right, Basilard?”
I reg
ret Chief Halemek’s death, but the rest is not entirely unexpected. Basilard gazed toward the spring. He had always hoped he might prove himself and be allowed to spend some time with his daughter, but perhaps that had been hoping for too much. He had turned his back on God’s teachings, and now God—and his people—would turn their back on him.
“Basilard?” Amaranthe asked, walking around the water toward him. “Is everything all right?”
No, he thought. Yes, he signed. Most of my people are fine. That is important to know. He sighed, trying to turn his mind away from thoughts of his daughter and of the knowledge that he could never go home. There were the Kendorians to worry about. That was more important.
Or was it? He massaged his temple. Was this his problem to solve? If his people didn’t want him here, who was he to try and protect their interests? He looked over to the young hunters who were standing around the camp, looking lost. They must have come to fight, but to his eye, they did not look like warriors, only youths who would die upon the swords of more experienced men. He should talk to them, but what should he say?
What would you do, Amaranthe? Basilard signed, meeting her eyes.
“About what? The rabbits you left Maldynado to tend? Probably toss their charred husks in the spring.” She smiled, clearly trying to lighten his mood.
He could only imagine what his expression looked like. He was trying to stay calm, to accept what he had always known was a possibility, but his face must appear grim. His heart certainly was. He could not manage a return smile or a rebuttal to the joke.
About the Kendorians, Basilard signed. In case you didn’t hear, I’ve lost my job.
Mahliki had walked into the camp to join the others, but Ashara remained, watching the conversation. Basilard’s question was primarily for Amaranthe. She had fought impossible odds countless times, choosing to risk herself and others because she had been trying to save then-Emperor Sespian’s life, and because she had been trying to earn her exoneration. This was different, but he trusted she would understand. She would probably also understand his unasked question, whether it might be possible to, by driving out the Kendorians, win his people’s regard. Logically, he knew they would have to reject him, because he could not do this without using violence, but he couldn’t help but hope that maybe… the situation would be extenuating enough that they might understand. His people couldn’t like having the Kendorians here, especially when their magically affected predators had been killing people. Wasn’t it possible they would regard the person who drove them out as heroic? Or at least worthy of visiting his daughter?
Diplomats and Fugitives Page 29
