Traitors' Gate (10 page)

Pil and Sweet cut hard around as the black-clad man, below, raised a hand in acknowledgment. The enemy dropped away, no longer a threat. Tumna set her head north, following the river and, perhaps, Kesta's Arkest, by now out of Nallo's sight.

“Cursed bird,” muttered Nallo, but it wasn't Tumna she was angry at. She knew what it was like to flee on the roads as a refugee. Months ago she'd walked homeless and hungry and scared, and sold herself into debt slavery besides in order to get a meal. She had rejected the reeves once, but in the end, as that cursed handsome Marshal Joss had warned her, the eagle had gotten what it wanted: it had wanted Nallo. She had come to Clan Hall to be trained as a reeve, but there'd been no time or thought for arms training in the confused days after Toskala's fall. Without training, she was useless.

“You're going to have to help me out, you ill-tempered beast.” Her knuckles were white as she gripped her baton, surveying the earth for any sign of enemy whether on the march or sent out as strike forces to harry the countryside south of Toskala. Maybe they saw her from their hiding places; she did not spot them.

This region of lower Haldia was rolling plain, and soon the distinctive rock marking the prow of Toskala like an upthrust fist came into view and grew until it loomed huge as Tumna glided in, extended her wings, and pulled up short for the landing. The sack whumped down so hard Nallo feared it might burst, but it had been bound with heavy leather belts in a doubled sacking.

Fawkners came running together with stewards to carry the sack to the store house, but as soon as her harness was shucked, Tumna warbled her wings and walked in her clumsy way over to a rope-wrapped perch to preen, ignoring the fawkners.

“I like the bloom on her feathers,” said one of the fawkners. “She's beginning to grow out those fret marks. Have you coped her beak? Or talons?”

“I have not. I don't know how to do anything!”

“Aui! No need to snap at me! It was just a question.”

“My apologies. I'm hungry.”

“If you're sharp set, then go eat.”

Still no sign of Pil. The promontory of Law Rock was an astounding physical formation, with its sheer cliffs and flat crown wide enough for an assizes court, a militia and firefighters barracks and administration compound, and four grain store houses and the city rations office. Clan Hall was built along the northern rim. Beyond the reeve hall lay a tumble of boulders surrounding a string of ponds running the curve of the northeastern rim, where raptors liked to bowse and feak.

Law Rock, the actual stele, stood near the prow under a humble thatched-roof shelter. The rest of the space was dusty, open ground suitable for drilling, assemblies, festival games, or eagles landing in waves. Four new perches had been erected in the last eight days, the logs hauled up from distant forest by the most experienced reeves and strongest eagles. The fresh-cut smell, the litter of wood chips from shaping and sawing, lingered as Nallo raced past the newest one and headed for the promontory's prow, where she could scan for Pil.

“Heya!”

Nallo turned as Kesta ran up.

“Where's Pil?” the other reeve asked, wiping sweat from her neck and brow.

“He must have turned back. I saw soldiers—an enemy strike force—attacking a barge. It was so far behind the main flow of refugees that I'm thinking they were folk who escaped Toskala after the siege was set. There was a Qin soldier on that barge.”

“What would a Qin soldier be doing all the way here? They're all with their captain in Olossi, aren't they?”

“Except for Pil.”

“Pil's a reeve. He's no longer one of them.”

A reeve who knew what he was doing. Who could sweep and turn and yank on the right jess to go the right direction; who could shoot arrows and kill men from harness. Who could actually
do
something.

“What's wrong?” asked Kesta, grasping Nallo's wrist and leaning toward her with lips parted in alarm.

This close, Nallo saw clearly the scar on her chin and another on her neck, as if she'd caught an arrow or blade in the flesh. Trembling, she thought,
I should kiss her.

Eyes flaring, Kesta said, “Nallo?” But her gaze skipped up from Nallo's face to the sky, and whatever else she meant to say was obliterated by a grin of relief. “Cursed outlander. Look at him come down at such an angle!”

Pil and Sweet plummeted down over them. Shrieks of alarm were followed by whoops of laughter as the old raptor came down with a flourish right out in the open rather than in the more isolated parade ground.

“For such a quiet lad, he's turning into a bit of a show-off, eh?” Kesta hadn't released Nallo's arm. “What's troubling you?”

Nallo had never before had trouble speaking her mind. Indeed, it had been the thing people had liked least about her. But a horrible swell of uncertainty—about being a reeve, about Kesta, about their hopes for succeeding stranded up here—strangled her tongue. “I'm just hungry.”

She shook free of Kesta and hurried to meet Pil, while Kesta dogged her steps in a most annoying way. Yet the other reeve said nothing as they greeted Pil; as they checked in with the fawkners; as they sat down over an afternoon bowl of rice flavored with the last of the dill weed as Pil described in his endearingly awkward accent the brief battle on the river shore.

“It was Tohon,” he said. “The Qin scout.”

“The hells,” muttered Kesta. “So that's what Volias was on about. Why would folk from Olossi risk sending scouts up here, when they know if they're captured they'll just be interrogated and executed?”

“They prepare an attack by scouting ahead into the territory,” said Pil with a shrug, as if the answer was obvious to him.

Kesta's laugh was edged with a despairing anger. “We think the enemy may have as many as ten cohorts spread along the River Istri. That would be six thousand men. As good as the Qin may be, they have—what?—two hundred men? There is no army to save us!”

“Not yet,” said Pil, scooping up more rice.

“We don't
have
to be useless!” snapped Nallo.

“What's eating you?” Kesta waved her spoon.

Nallo leaped up and strode away as other reeves stared. She found a shaded corner deep in the compound, slammed her back against a wall, and stood there breathing and trembling for a while. It was the cursed sense of helpless uselessness that ate at her.

After a while Pil walked around the corner and leaned back beside her, settling in as though he meant to wait all night if need be. In truth, it was getting dark.

“Ah, the hells!” she said with a bitter laugh. “Let's go look at the cursed city, eh?”

Silence was assent. He walked companionably, saying nothing as usual, until they reached the big balcony that jutted over the cliff face. Off to the right sat the huge winches for the provisions baskets, safely roped up. A wooden barrier fenced off the stairs so no idiot child could go climbing down and get trapped in the rubble that blocked the steps.

The sun had already set as they leaned on the railing and stared over the city turning to shadow below. Before, twilight had been a bright and busy time in Toskala, lamps bobbing along the avenues as carters and porters made their final deliveries, the night markets coming to life as the day died. Now the city lay dark except for the army camp beyond the outer walls where campfires flickered, and lanterns that lighted the sentry and curfew stations in the main squares and central thoroughfares.

With Pil she could say what she wanted without being judged.

“How can I be a proper reeve when I hardly know how to fly, can barely handle my raptor, and haven't the least idea what to do in a fight? I lost sight of Kesta and you. I would have been lost except for the river. I came to Clan Hall to get training. Now there isn't time. At least you know how to fight.”

“The commander makes this decision, how to train new reeves.”

His calm words smoothed the turbulence in her heart. Someone would have to take charge, and then things would change. “Flying provisions up from Nessumara might not seem like much, but it's something. As long as we hold Law Rock, the people of Toskala have a hope that we can overcome the enemy. That matters, doesn't it?”

Since she expected no answer, she was content to lean on the railing as stars came out between the patchwork clouds. The voice of the river blended with the steady wind in her ears. After a while, a lantern bobbed toward them, and Kesta walked up.

“I wondered where you had gotten to.” She hooked the lantern over a post and leaned on the railing next to Nallo. “Did you ever figure out what's troubling you?”

“I just feel cursed useless, that's all, but maybe once the halls choose a new commander we can get some kind of order and routine restored.”

“So we can hope.” Her hand was curled invitingly close to Nallo's on the railing.

Nallo sucked in a sharp breath.

Pil took a step back. “Fire!”

One moment it was like a lantern's light flaring in a distant quarter; the next, flames rippled skyward.

“That's in Stone Quarter!” Kesta ran to the fire bell, grabbed the rope, and swung the clacker back and forth.

The noise rose skyward like the blaze, and a cadre of firefighters came running from the barracks to crowd on the balcony and watch, but of course there wasn't a cursed thing they could do except to wonder what in the hells was going on in the occupied city.

•  •  •

T
HE TOUCH OF
a hand roused Nekkar, and he flinched.

“I'm here to help you, Holy One,” said a female voice softly. She spoke with an odd way of rounding her
e
's, and she stank so badly he gagged. “Can you move?”

A horrible taste coated his mouth. But when he twitched his feet, his legs, his hands, his shoulders, nothing seemed broken, although shifting the twisted ankle made his eyes tear.

“I think I can walk. Was I beaten?”

“Alas, you were, Holy One. I saw it all from the rooftop. But then they were called off to some other task before they could finish the job, fortunately for you.”

“Who are you, verea?”

“Let's get you out of this rubbish.”

The ground slid beneath them as she hauled him out of a pile of stinking garbage. He could barely put weight on his left ankle; pain ripped through his shoulders with each movement. She led him to a ladder propped in the gap between gutter and eaves and, after looping a rope around his midsection, supported him up to the roof of a low storehouse. There he sprawled, spread-eagled and fearful he'd slide and plunge over, back into the rubbish heap. She pulled up the ladder.

“We've got to move you away from this alley, Holy One, before the soldiers come back looking for you. Can you move?”

The pain made tears flow. “Yes.”

She patted his forearm. “You've got courage, Holy One. Follow me.”

They wedged the ladder into a higher set of eaves to get from the store house up onto the warehouse roof proper. He tried not to let his weight drag on the rope, but as they bellied up to the peak of the roof, he slipped twice and she dug in her toes and halted his fall. Once at the peak it was easier to move sideways to the far end of the warehouse.

Like the other quarters, Stone Quarter was laid out in blocks, each block made up of compounds, one vast architecture of roofs crammed in against each other except for the occasional courtyards associated with artisans' and guild workshops and the six temple grounds. Tonight, not even one paper lantern was hung out under eaves to illuminate the walkways below. No street vendors sold noodles or soup; no apprentices staggered drunkenly down the avenues roaring popular melodies.

They reached the warehouse's edge just above an archway whose span bridged the avenue below to reach the roofs on the other side of the street. “Hold on, ver. This part is tricky.”

“We're going across?”

“We are. I'm taking you to your temple. But you'll have to help me find it once we get down on the streets.”

“The soldiers will arrest us for being out after curfew. You're not local, I can hear it. They'll cleanse you.”

“They won't catch us.”

She let herself down the pitch, then helped him negotiate a pair of drops that brought them to the span. It was a festival arch, sturdy enough. In daylight it would be seen to be painted a brilliant yellow, but the shadows were kind and it was not difficult to scoot across with a leg on either side of the peak. They were about halfway across when the woman slumped against the tiles. Feet shuffled and slapped on the street below. He flattened himself as lantern light bobbed into view. Soldiers drove a mob of folk down the avenue. Many of the prisoners were sobbing; others trudged silently, heads bowed. A few called out.

“At least allow us to gather our belongings before you expel us! We never did anything wrong!”

“Please let me return and get my children! They'll starve. You can't be so heartless.”

“Sheh!” The swaggering man at the front barked a laugh. “They break curfew, and yet they complain about
us
!”

“They could have stayed in their villages instead of running to the city, eh?” agreed another soldier. “Makes 'em look like they have something to hide, I reckon.”

A man broke, making a dash toward the alley snaking away behind the warehouse compound. While the forward contingent of soldiers pressed the rest of the group onward, three others went running after the fleeing man. So no one looked up as the crowd passed under the arch and down the avenue into a night illuminated only by the lanterns carried by the soldiers.

From the alley, a man's screams rose, then failed abruptly.

After a moment, the three soldiers trotted out of the alley and hurried under the arch after the others, chortling and boasting as if they hadn't just killed a man.