“Your work here is satisfactory,” he said to the mature woman standing to one side, brush in hand. He was careful not to put too much approval into his words. “Tell your master I approve.”
“I have no master, lord; I am not a slave.”
Yukannak stood and reached for his robe. The woman had painted her own face in a uniform brown, the least expensive color to use, which showed cracks near the temples. Despite her skill at masking, she obviously wallowed in poverty like most of the city. Cracked paint indicated a base that could flake off, leaving the skin below exposed to the killing sunlight. Yukannak approved of not allowing the woman to use better quality paint for her own face; it showed that the F’ahdn knew how to keep his people under control. It also gave Yukannak a possible wedge to drive home.
“Perhaps not yet,” he said, finally responding to her statement. “But such matters are prone to fast changes for those who forget their place.”
“My apologies, lord.”
She bowed her head and backed away, staring at the floor, but he could tell she wasn’t really chastened.
“Be careful then,” he said in a more compassionate tone. Servants always knew secrets they shouldn’t, and he needed as many informants as he could develop. He now doubted there were listening devices in his quarters, but he dropped his voice anyway. “I have heard the F’ahdn has the Bleeding Black and blames you. That seems unfair to me; if he did not approve of your work, he would not have hired your services. To blame you after the fact seems like something the satrap should know about, and, as you know, I am the silci in this region.”
The woman hesitated. Yukannak knew she was smart enough not to believe him at face value.
“Thank you,” she said eventually. “I put all of my skill into my work, lord. But I am beneath the notice of one such as you, or the satrap.”
“Nonsense. What is your name?”
“Nomi.”
“Well, Nomi, the satrap cares for all his people, as do I. I am here as the eyes and ears of my people and the satrap, and I only seek the truth. If the F’ahdn is blaming others for things that are not their fault…” He stopped, letting Nomi’s imagination fill in the rest. “Consider me a sympathetic ear, Nomi. Come to me with anything that troubles you; can you do that?”
“I can, lord.”
“Good. And if I have questions for you, will you do the same for me?”
“Questions?”
The smile he gave her was well practiced: reassuring yet with a hint of menace. “Yes, questions.”
“I—of course, lord.”
“Good. You may go now, Nomi.”
The chambers he occupied had been cut into the plateau against which Imsurmik had been built and were well elevated from the level of the Outer City, thereby keeping the stench of open sewers away from the wealthy and powerful. As a further division, a glacis wall separated the filthy inhabitants of the Outer City—which was mostly a ramshackle slum interspersed with fields—from the tidy and well-kept streets of the Inner City. Yukannak stepped through the heavy wooden door of his quarters into a wide tunnel lit by lanterns and open shafts cleverly cut into the rock ceiling. Those led to the surface some ninety feet above and reflected sunlight into the tunnel using a series of mirrors. The mouth of the tunnel exited onto a narrow viewing platform. Looking right, he could see over the Outer City. To his front lay the Inner City, the wall, and irrigated farmland, with the river beyond them. Marshland protected the city on his far left. Stairs carved into the rock led down the right side of the platform to a back alley of the Inner City.
He emerged onto the platform and was pleased to discover that the brute he had expected—a person of some significance named Waornaak—was at least punctual. More cunning than smart, the hulking militia leader had earlier arranged a meeting to ingratiate himself with the silci. Judging that Waornaak’s loyalty was something purchased, not earned, Yukannak had immediately given him a task. He suspected a trap, of course, and so set one in return. Now, after glancing about as if making sure that nobody could eavesdrop, Yukannak asked in a low voice, “How goes the collecting?”
“Some of the medicinals are in bigger quantities than we expected.”
“Which ones?”
“It’s not my job to keep all those names straight. I only care that the Harvesters get what they need when they need it.”
“And I can assure you they appreciate it.”
Squinting with his left eye, Waornaak sucked his teeth, something Yukannak found disgusting. “By ‘they’ don’t you mean ‘we?’”
He’s not as stupid as I thought. Ignoring the comment, Yukannak pushed back against the man’s impertinence. “The silci doesn’t answer questions, he asks them. Now, what do you have for me? I spoke fine words about you to the satrap. Do not make me retract them; I would not like it.”
Waornaak made a low sound like a growl but swallowed whatever he might have said. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve heard hints and rumors of a secret cache somewhere. No mention of what it is, or where it is, until late last night. An apprentice of one of the F’ahdn’s Masters of Healing got into the medicinals and took too much—a lot too much. He started babbling, but within all that nonsense, there was mention of this secret stash, and it didn’t sound like it was plants or medicines. More like…I don’t know; just not plants. He used a word I hadn’t heard before: hyshvass. Does that make sense to you?”
“Hyshvass? It is an archaic word that means ‘archive.’” A word from the older languages. Yukannak cocked his head slightly toward the larger man. No twitch of the eye or flaring nostril betrayed his suddenly racing heart. “Are you certain that was the word?”
“I had to ask him to repeat it, so, yeah, I’m sure.”
“An archive…” He snapped out of his thinking with a more intense tone. “Where is this secret cache? Did he say?”
“No.”
“Find him and find out.”
“That risks the F’ahdn discovering what I’m up to.”
“Then I suggest you be careful. Is there anything else?”
“We might have spies in the city, too.”
“Spies? What do you mean?”
“I caught a woman looking around where she shouldn’t be. She had her face wrapped, so I couldn’t tell what tribe she was from, but there was something about her I didn’t like.”
“Have you seen her since?”
“She’s around.”
“Be wary of her then; she might be working for the Offworlders. They are clever.”
“Clever wouldn’t stop an axe from splitting her head.”
“No,” Yukannak said, allowing himself a slight smile. “It wouldn’t. But I wish to question her, so do her no harm. If she does work for the Offworlders, she can tell us much.”
This time Waornaak did growl. “I won’t kill her. I can’t guarantee she won’t be a little…used.”
“No harm! I am the voice of the satrap when he is not present, and you will not hurt her in any way. Are my words understood?”
“She might—”
Raising his voice had drawn the attention of a woman walking through the alley carrying a bundle of reeds over one shoulder.
“Are my words understood?” Yukannak asked again in a harsh whisper.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“One more thing. Speak nothing of this to Subitorni.”
Waornaak squinted again, this time in obvious suspicion. “Why not?”
“You can never be certain where true loyalties lie.”
“Oh…” Waornaak said. He scratched his chin, thinking. “No offense meant, Silci, but he lives here, and you don’t. Also, Subitorni is not the forgiving sort. What’s in it for me to keep quiet about this archive thing? If anybody knows about it, it’s Subitorni.”
“I have my reasons.” Yukannak’s smile grew wider, and he clapped a hand on Waornaak’s hardened shoulder. “And, because you are my friend, I’m looking out for you. What if you have not heard of this
archive because to hear of it means death?”
“What do you—? Oh, I see what you mean.”
“It must be secret for a reason. And who would the F’ahdn rely on to execute anyone who learned of its existence?”
“Subitorni!”
“Yes, my friend. The satrap protects his friends and punishes his enemies, and so I am helping you. Are you bonded to a female?”
“I’m hetman of my village; of course I am bonded.”
“And does your bond-mate share all of your secrets? Do you tell her everything?”
“Uh…huh. I never saw it that way before.”
“I serve the satrap as silci, because only he can rule his people fairly, and it is in my people’s interest that he does so. Anyone who aids him in protecting the people of R’Bak is a friend worthy of his protection, while those who oppose him deserve only destruction.”
Less a growl than a double-grunt, Waornaak’s response conveyed more than a paragraph’s worth of response. It was a common vocalization of agreement among some of the Ashband tribes. After Waornaak clomped down the stairs into the streets of the Inner City, Yukannak signaled to a figure lingering inside the tunnel. He wore a dull robe and unadorned purple paint. He seemed far less intimidating than the hulking Waornaak, but Yukannak knew the opposite to be true.
From the instant they’d met, Yukannak had marked Zeesar as the man to befriend, the man who made things happen—things the F’ahdn did, and didn’t, know about. He likely knew more about what was happening in Imsurmik than even the man he served.
“You heard?”
“I heard.”
“What do you know of this archive, Zeesar?” he asked.
“Nothing at all.”
Among the many liars he’d met during his career, Zeesar was one of the best. Not only were his expressions and body language perfect, the inflection of his voice matched his physical stance. If his life hadn’t depended on knowing a lie when he heard it, Yukannak would have believed him. But gentle correction would not send the right message. “Would you like to reconsider that answer before I take offense?”
Zeesar lifted an appraising eyebrow, an obvious admission he’d misjudged the silci. “I had thought it a myth,” he finally said. “Not worth troubling over.”
“Not like the entrance I came through.”
Zeesar didn’t try to hide that the memory made him angry. “No.”
“But you had heard of it?”
“Rumors only, nothing to bother the silci about. Had I more information, I would have come to you with it.”
“Would you? Perhaps so, although I doubt it. But I saw your reaction to that tunnel we used to enter the city. That was something new to you, a secret, and as the F’ahdn’s yuzbazzi you didn’t expect there to be any secrets. Yet Subitorni did know of the concealed entrance, and there were fresh tracks.” He decided to throw out a guess to gauge Zeesar’s reaction. “There was a recent operation, and you knew nothing of that, either.”
Zeesar squinted and didn’t try to hide his surprise. “You’re well informed. Imsurmik has more spies than I thought.”
“I can be your ally, Zeesar, but only if I can trust you. Remember, my trust brings with it the trust of the satrap.”
“And the Harvesters?”
“That goes without saying.” The lie came easy. Yukannak paused then, content to watch as Zeesar calculated where his best interests lay. After nearly a minute, the yuzbazzi nodded.
“You may rely on me, Silci.”
“And you on me. From now on you are to inform me of all rumors, whether you give them credence or not. Are we agreed?”
“We are, and in return you will tell me if my name comes up?”
“Of course.”
Being the satrap’s eyes and ears had long since trained Yukannak to still his tongue and hide his emotions, especially relief. So instead of smiling at the militia leader he let his face go slack and moderated his tone.
“You have my support in the days to come,” he said. “We shall both be glad.”
“Yes,” Zeesar said, “we can certainly hope so.”
* * * * *
Chapter 7
Cutter knelt atop a bluff west of Imsurmik, his platoon fanned out in a defensive semi-circle as he studied the target. The day’s light was beginning to fail, and the traffic crowding the road into the city from the south hurried to get inside by nightfall. Dozens of armed men accompanied the various vehicles, some powered, some pulled by animals and humans, with the fruits of their harvests piled beside personal effects. It reminded him of French refugees clogging the backroads of Normandy as they fled the fighting. Squatting beside him was Lieutenant Tanavuna, with the three squad leaders—Sergeants Riidono, Brakkel, and Scussian—just a few feet away.
“We are wasting time,” Tanavuna said, low enough so the sergeants couldn’t hear it. “We are here, sir; we should move into the city. Kesteluni is down there.”
Cutter kept the binoculars to his eyes. “Show me where, Tanavuna, and we’ll move out. Otherwise, we proceed as ordered by Major Moorefield.” The younger man clenched his jaw, started to say something, then stopped. Cutter didn’t so much see Tanavuna’s frustration as feel and hear it. “Here,” he said, passing the binoculars to the lieutenant. “Look at the road and tell me what you see.”
“There are many people moving into Imsurmik. I don’t need the binoculars to see that, Captain.”
“No, but maybe you need them to see all the armed militia. Counting you and me, Tanavuna, we have forty-six men. They have thousands. Not even Major Moorefield has enough men or firepower for a general assault, but he does have enough to open a way for us into the city. Once inside, we hunt for the persons of interest, or ‘high value targets,’ we’ve been told to look for, not only because that’s our assigned mission, but also because those are the types of people who just might know where Kesteluni is being held. The faster we find them, the faster we find her.”
“It is hard, Captain. It is not our way.”
It was moments like this when Cutter missed cigarettes the most. In 1944, they would have shared a Lucky Strike. There was something about a smoke that encouraged empathy and strengthened bonds. Having learned about the dangers of tobacco, he was glad he was no longer addicted…most of the time.
Cutter pushed away the memory of tobacco’s smell. “You were approved for leadership because of your self-discipline and maturity, Tanavuna. I appreciate that our way of war isn’t what you’re used to, but we face long, long odds down there, and not all our people are going to come back. Our only hope of saving Kesteluni is if we operate as one unit, so it’s more important now that you remember your training than if they hadn’t taken her. The men will be looking to see how you react; they will do as you do. If you become angry or blind in the moment, so will they.”
Cutter acted as if he expected Tanavuna to behave like a US Army officer should and took back the binoculars, focusing them in the fading light. In truth, though, he knew the success of his mission stood on a razor’s edge.
After half a minute, during which Tanavuna visibly considered his response, he finally answered, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. “What are your orders, Captain?”
In the gathering darkness, Cutter gathered his squad leaders and the men of the platoon who weren’t needed on lookout and pointed out Major Moorefield’s plan of attack. Shadows hid Imsurmik’s eastern side, but all of his men knew the city’s layout well enough to follow along as he spoke.
“To repeat, Major Moorefield doesn’t have the assault forces to capture the city outright. His primary job is to breach selected points in the defenses and make enough trouble that the F’ahdn decides to flee to a safer place. Because the city’s leadership is rigidly hierarchical, it’s also brittle. So with any luck, the defense will fall apart, and Imsurmik will fall into our hands. The major’s first objective is to control the main entrance and exit points from the city. Our job is to identify, find, and capture any
one who might have information on the future plans of the J’Stull or the Kulsians. Whatever they are, you can be certain they’re for their benefit—and at the expense of you and all other Ashbanders that aren’t their willing lackeys.
“We’ll operate in three squads, the way we’ve trained. We can cover more ground that way, but doing so means less firepower, so avoid pitched fights if possible. First Squad will clear a path through the Outer City, entering along the main road. I’ll be with them in tactical command. Lieutenant Tanavuna, using night to cover his movements, will circle to join Major Moorefield’s forces on the east and enter the city according to their recommendations. Second and Third Squads will accompany him. Some of you have mentioned rumors concerning a hidden entrance somewhere north of the city. If you discover that, at the lieutenant’s discretion, forces may be committed to investigate and/or block it.”
Cutter paused for effect and then turned, slowly, to look at each and every man. Details faded in the night, but that didn’t matter. “I know you all want to get Kesteluni back. She’s your Hetman’s wife, your healer, and the soul of Nuthhurfipiko. But the best way to do that is to stick to the plan. Keep your focus on the mission. And don’t take foolish chances; I want to see each of your ugly faces when this is over.”
* * *
Four of the F’ahdn’s guards shielded Yukannak as he strolled through the crowds coming and going through the gate. Just a step behind was the servant that the F’ahdn had also provided. Even at that late hour, the streets of the Inner City teemed with crowds, and the streets and markets were lit by braziers, torches, and lanterns. Unlike the Outer City, many of the people inside the wall wore elaborate masks made from finer paints that didn’t run or crack in the heat. Heavier robes and painted skin were no guarantee against the Bleeding Black, but the healers said they helped. Whether they did or they didn’t, the wealthy endured the extra discomfort with contemptuous pride since that too was considered a mark of status. The better people did it because it showed everyone else who they were, thus, even in the dark of night, they paraded through the streets displaying the full measure of their rank.
Shadows Page 5
