Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) (38 page)

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 regret 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?

He swallowed, wondering if he should go off by himself for a while instead of talking.

“That’s unfortunate,” Amaranthe said. “You’re a good ambassador, a good representative for your people. There’s nobody else here, as they’ll find out when they send someone else, that Starcrest will treat favorably. I mean, he’s always fair, as far as I can tell, but I’m sure he feels somewhat indebted to you for helping change the government and making it possible for him to become president.”

Basilard was less certain about that. Starcrest wasn’t the easiest man to read, at least not to Basilard, but he knew the ex-admiral hadn’t been that enthused about running for the position of president. He had done it because he had seen the need and accepted that he was a good person for the job, not because he had craved the position.

I am more concerned about the Kendorians
, Basilard signed.
I don’t know if it’s possible to get rid of them
—
what else could we do?—but what I’m wondering is
should
I try? Should I try to help people who would not help me? And if I was able to succeed…

“Would they take you back?” Amaranthe finished when he did not.

I cannot help but wonder if it might be a road to… not redemption, but a modicum of acceptance. No, not even that, because they could never accept my methods.
Basilard touched the dagger on his belt
. But perhaps they would allow that there is a place for someone like me, and that I’m not a bad influence on… anyone.

“It’s hard for me to imagine you
not
being considered a hero if you succeeded in driving invaders out of your homeland, but that’s my Turgonian perspective. I think the way for you to make your decision is to ask this question: would you want to do it even if nobody here ever found out about it?”

I would
want
to, yes, because even if all the Kendorians want is our ore, I have to suspect this is a first step for them. If their mission is successful, they’ll return with more troops, more people. Next, they’ll be settling in our valleys, cutting down our trees, mining more of our mountains. Eventually, there won’t be a place for our people to live as we have always lived, letting nature provide. I feel like they must be stopped now, while their numbers are relatively small, and I would want to do that no matter what. But I’m afraid it would be a suicide mission. How could we stop them with less than twenty people?
Basilard wasn’t sure he should commit the young hunters to this battle, no matter what they said. For that matter, should he commit his friends? Why should they risk their lives for this? Ashara had already said she wouldn’t fight her own people. Even if Amaranthe, Sicarius, and Maldynado wanted to help, their forces were so small, so insignificant.
Do you have any crazy ideas? We tried my only one, and it didn’t work.
Basilard curled his lip.
Lousy communication orbs.

“We’ll have to tell the president to order a few of those from his Kyattese contacts. He actually has one in his office and another in his submarine. I think he may be able to communicate with his family in Kyatt too. The problem is that it’s going to take years and generations for Turgonians to get used to the idea of working with magic, not a few months, and my understanding is that there are a limited number of people in the world who can Make devices like that, so they’re expensive and rare.”

I know.

“As for crazy ideas,” Amaranthe continued, “my only thought so far has been to try to build up the dam again. They don’t seem to be monitoring that particular section of river closely.”

Probably no ore up there
, Basilard signed, then grasped his chin to consider her plan.

With so many people down in that canyon now, would even a flood be enough to make a difference? The shaman might simply raise his arms and stop it. Basilard also feared they had been fortunate the night before and that another encounter with Kendorian magic would result in somebody’s death. Or
all
of their deaths. Sicarius had always struck him as near immortal with his uncanny skills, but seeing him dangling there by his fingers, just short of falling to his death, reminded Basilard that everybody was mortal. Even those with great talent could be unlucky once, and once was all it took.

“You should scout the camp again and see what they’re doing now,” Ashara said.

Basilard had forgotten she was there. She had a knack for blending into her surroundings, even when she wasn’t trying to. Maybe it was the leaves that usually stuck out of her hair. He smiled faintly, resisting the urge to walk over and brush the ones free that lingered there now.

“Not a bad idea,” Amaranthe said, “but wait for night.”

Basilard nodded, but he couldn’t help that the stars were unlikely to improve the situation.

• • • • •

As twilight descended on the flat red rocks that led into the canyon lands, Ashara trotted along at Basilard’s side. Sicarius had started the journey with them, too, but he had veered north to check on the river and see if the dam might be reconstructed. The rest of Basilard’s team, including the Mangdorian hunters, had remained at what had become a camp next to the spring. Corporal Jomrik had proved a surprisingly reliable source of information on Kendorian military tactics and typical formations for a unit such as they were facing. Amaranthe was helping him share the information with the Mangdorians with a lot of signing and drawing in the dirt with sticks. Depending on what Basilard and Sicarius found with their scouting, the group might be heading into battle tomorrow.

Ashara had invited herself along on the scouting mission, because she had wanted to speak in private with Basilard, something that had been hard during the day with so many new people around.

She had sensed his curiosity when she had asked to come along and hoped it hadn’t been suspicion. During the trek from his people’s meeting place, she had decided she would tell him all of the truths she had withheld, because she felt she owed him that before leaving. Why she felt that, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she hadn’t wanted to disappear without explaining herself. And now that she had delivered the message—and his new warriors—she believed it would make sense for her to do that.

“Basilard,” she said, wanting to have the conversation while they were still miles from the canyons and the risk of chancing on enemy scouts was low, “I volunteered to come out here with you, so I could speak with you privately before leaving.”

Leaving?

Ashara realized she had another reason to have this conversation sooner, rather than later. In another twenty minutes, it would be too dark for her to see his hand signs.

“As I already told you, I can’t fight my own people. Even if I’m an outcast back home, I don’t want to become… a traitor. A
real
traitor, not simply someone accused of doing something I did not do.” Remembering that she had intended to tell him the whole story, she supposed she should start with what had happened with her husband.

He nodded at her words, not asking more or demanding explanations. That made her feel more open about sharing her past with him. Besides, they were hundreds of miles from her homeland. Who would he tell?

“You’ve probably already guessed that I was sent because Shukura wanted me to spy on you,” Ashara said.

Basilard nodded again. Even Mahliki, who paid attention to her trees and samples more than the conversations around her, had known that.

“More than that, he wanted me to sabotage your team’s work with the blight.” She stared straight ahead, not wanting to see his reaction to that admission. “I’m not sure why it matters—I thought of leaving without telling you anything—but I wanted you to know that I’m not a spy by trade. I’d never met Shukura before he showed up during one of my classes at the university. I was there, studying to turn my potion-making knowledge into a legitimate Turgonian business. The plan was to employ some of their people and earn citizenship there. You see, I’m a wanted woman back home. I can’t return to Kendor, not openly, anyway.”

Ashara risked looking at Basilard. What was he thinking of her revelations? She had shared some of this with him before, so it couldn’t be too much of a surprise.

His face was hard to read in the waning daylight, but it did not seem judgmental. He returned her gaze calmly as they strode along, alternately looking at her and scanning their surroundings for threats.

“Perhaps I should explain the situation, how I came to be an outcast. Or—” She glanced at him again, doubt swimming in her veins. “I don’t know. This isn’t relevant to our scouting or your fight. Perhaps I should just tell you—”

Basilard stopped walking and laid a hand on her forearm. Surprised, she stopped as well, staring at him. Earlier, she had rolled her sleeves up because the summer sun had been pleasant, so she was aware of the warmth of his hand resting on her bare skin. His palms were calloused, despite his ambassadorial position—former position. The palms of a blade wielder. A fighter. Whatever he wished he might be, that was what he was. She didn’t mind. She understood fighters, whereas she struggled to accept the tenets of the Mangdorian religion. Perhaps one day, the world would be ready for peace, but right now, it seemed like Basilard’s people were choosing to be victims. People who needed saving. By retired ambassadors.

Basilard removed his hand and signed,
I would like to know.

Oddly, she missed the warmth of his hand. Maybe because the temperature had dropped since the sun had set.