Traitors' Gate (46 page)

A meeting was arranged, and the women hurried away to spread the word in town. Miravia had stood all this time not saying one word, but as soon as they were alone she limped into one of the sleeping chambers, eased down to her knees, and tugged open one of the pallets. She collapsed forward across it.

Mai took a basin of water brought by a curious pair of girls and carried it into the sleeping chamber while Priya and Sheyshi shook out their rain cloaks, hung them from rods set along the porch, and rinsed the mud off the outdoor shoes.

“Let me wash your hands and face,” said Mai. “Is the ache better?”

“It's less worse.” Miravia's groan was half a laugh. “Will I ever stop hurting?”

“Yes.” Mai bathed her hands and face as Miravia relaxed, the grimace of pain smoothing away.

Priya brought in a tray of juice and some rice cakes flavored with red berry, very tart, but restorative enough that Miravia sat up.

“Eiya! I never imagined it would hurt to ride. Where is Atani?”

“Anji took him to the encampment.”

“How he loves to display that baby! Not that Atani is not a fat and handsome boy, well worth showing off to everyone.”

“Best you walk around before you stiffen up.”

“Of course.”

She insisted on walking with Sheyshi to the well to help haul water. Tuvi had seen to the horses and to setting up guards around the compound. He paused on the porch beside Mai to watch Miravia and Sheyshi set off out the open gate toward the town well.

“She doesn't complain,” he said.

“No, she does not,” agreed Mai, carefully examining his face. But he was not looking after Miravia with the smiling sigh of a hopeful lover; he was just stating what he observed, as the Qin did.

The door to another room along the long porch slid open, and a woman and child peeked out. The child shrieked as the woman quickly shut the door.

“Refugees from the north,” said the chief. “There's a steady stream of them coming through who've heard there's safety to be found in Olo'osson. Some are folk ferried down here by reeves, people who were stuck up on a rock in Toskala.”

“Toskala was attacked almost three months ago. That's a long time to be stuck on a rock.”

“Maybe they ran out of food. Best you remain inside the compound, Mistress. No running out into the market until the captain returns. Just as a precaution.”

Already locals were trickling in through the gate in twos and fours to take a seat on the council benches under an open-sided shelter. Mai knew better than to argue with Tuvi on such grounds. She went back into the outer room, washed her own face and hands and tidied her dress and hair; drank and nibbled, to refresh herself; sat cross-legged on the matted floor and shut her eyes for as long as it took to recite the Ten Blessings under her breath. Miravia and Sheyshi returned, lugging water for the barrel in a corner of the room.

“I'll just lie down,” said Miravia, and promptly fell asleep on a pallet.

Mai went outside and approached the council benches. “Greetings of the day.”

“Sit,” they said, offering her a place.

Names, markets, goods, gossip, grievances. Mai had grown up in the marketplace; she knew this talk to her bones. The merchants and businessfolk of Candra Crossing had nothing but praise for the militia, but they were angry about the middlemen charging exorbitant rates to cart goods along the West Track from Olossi. Two clans who used to cart goods in this region had taken heavy losses in the attacks of last year; no one was willing to set up in their place out of respect for tradition, because those two clans had always been the local carters. Meanwhile, with their equipment stolen by the invaders and never recovered, the clans hadn't the wherewithal to regroup.

“Young women from those clans might consider marrying Qin soldiers stationed out here. We'll settle a fair price on such alliances, for we've a wish to see the men peacefully housed and connected with local families.”

“Are you trying to buy brides, verea?”

“Aren't most alliances settled with goods and coin, and a mutually beneficial agreement? Do you act otherwise when it comes time to marry your own children out of the clan?”

They did not, of course. No one did. And when she mentioned the trade in oil of naya, and the possibilities for business and herding and irrigation farming in the Barrens, folk listened more closely and asked more questions.

The council had absorbed the costs of housing refugees
from Toskala, as well, people who must be fed and sent on their way with nai bread for the journey downriver to Olossi.

“They brought no coin with them from Toskala?” Mai asked.

Though traveling merchants and guildsmen certainly paid to stay at inns, a destitute or holy traveler was never charged, in honor of Hasibal the Pilgrim. At Mai's innocent question, a debate caught fire over the proper designation of refugees. Were they a kind of pilgrim, able therefore to ask for the gods' tithe to be fed and sheltered for a night or two before they moved on? Or were they properly to be treated as paying customers because they were going to set up a new life elsewhere?

“What do you think, verea?”

“Surely not every instance is the same. A young woman who comes to my gate asking for refuge and a chance to consider marrying one of the Qin soldiers because her village has been burned down and her family is dead and she has nothing but the clothes on her back must be treated differently than I was myself treated on reaching Olossi. I had coin, a husband, a clan if you will call a troop of soldiers and grooms and servants a clan. For me, it would have seemed shameful to receive the gods' tithes not because I would consider it shameful to take food and shelter from the gods but because it might be better used to help those who truly have nothing. So if a refugee comes from Toskala with his sleeves full of strings of leya and a heavy chest of gold cheyt, then I would treat him differently from a poor woman and child who are hungry and lost. I don't think we have to be rigid in holding to the law. We must consider justice and mercy, and mix it with common sense.”

Instead of inspiring a stately philosophical discussion of justice, her fine words merely sparked accusations that some people along the West Track had aided the invading army in exchange for coin or certain expensive trade goods, or that other people had made such accusations not because they were true but to impugn the reputation of market rivals who were innocent of wrongdoing.

The old woman who had first greeted them said angrily, “In the old days we'd have held such charges for an assizes and
the Guardians would have come and seen the truth of the matter. But now the cloaks have been stolen by lilu, so these disputes fester because there's none we can trust to judge.”

A company of riders approached, hooves heavy on the road. Soon Anji walked under the arch into the courtyard, attended by local militia officers. Mai spotted the infant comfortably in the arms of Chief Esigu, who was in command of the eastern militia. The locals made a place for Anji on the benches, and he listened to their complaints about the disarray of the local assizes and their inability to resolve disputes with people from outside Candra Crossing's environs. What was to be done about the refugees from the north who were placing such a burden on the town? Why couldn't the reeves fly people all the way to Olossi?

He politely refused to discuss security and militia matters and deferred the other questions to Mai.

“It seems to me,” Mai said at last, “that you're most frustrated that your voices and concerns aren't being heard. Perhaps a greater council can be chosen from among the local districts of Olo'osson and meet in company with Olossi's council. The question of assizes is a serious one. To rely on the old ways when they no longer function is like rebuilding a house without first making sure your foundation is solid.”

Anji cut through the murmur of commentary following this speech by rising. “I beg your indulgence.” He nodded around the benches. “I've a wish to stroll up to the beacon tower with my wife before the sun sets.”

They fell over themselves to graciously retreat so the captain and his wife could enjoy what all described as a particularly fine view of the river and town, especially now that the rain had moved off and the sun was shining. After, Mai nursed Atani, and she and Anji, in company with Chief Tuvi and a cadre of soldiers, made their way through the late-afternoon bustle of town to the stone path that led up Candra Hill. Chief Tuvi carried Atani; Anji walked ahead with Mai up the steep stairs.

“You understand,” he said when they were halfway up, out of earshot of the guards in front and behind, “that if you wish to see your uncle Hari again, I cannot discuss militia matters
in your hearing. If he is a spy for Lord Radas, he can learn what you know.”

“I do not believe he is Lord Radas's ally. Anyway, I doubt it is so easy even for a Guardian to know all that lies in a person's mind and heart. It must be more like searching for a child's doll lost in a field of ripe wheat.”

“Perhaps, but I cannot take the chance.”

“Then I accept the condition. I would rather visit Uncle Hari. Must I avoid all councils altogether? I would be sorry if that were so.”

“Not at all. You do well with these local councils. They do not feel intimidated by you, and yet they respect you because of your wealth, your trade connections, and your ability to listen. It makes sense for you to push to create a wider regional council, one that can later act in concert with the militia. Since you are accompanying me on this circuit, it would be useful for you to broach the idea in every place we stop, even in the humblest village.”

“Olossi's council will not like the idea of a regional council. They consider themselves to be the only regional council that matters, surely.”

“Is that not an excellent reason to encourage a regional council? To put brakes, as a caravan master might say, on those inclined to throw down their weight?”

They had reached the top of the hill. She paused to catch her breath. Stones from the fallen walls had been used to repair the beacon tower. The men on duty had already lined up for inspection; they were all local men, disciplined in the Qin manner but very open with their smiles and greetings toward Mai.

Anji gestured for her to follow him. Together, they climbed the stairs of the tower and stood beside covered stacks of kindling and logs. The view of the flowing river and the town spread along West Track was splendid; the light cast a mellow fire over courtyards, paths, orchards, and rooftops. Wind danced through the flags marking the river crossing. Below, the local guardsmen admired the baby, who was in a chortling expansive mood, quite the charmer as the young men competed to make him smile and laugh.

“Why did you bring me along?” she asked, leaning on the railing as he crouched to examine the stacked wood.

He did not look up. “It's good for the people of Olo'osson to see my son, and to negotiate with the merchant who is my wife. Otherwise, they see me only as an outlander.”

“. . . One who intimidates them?” She studied him, easy to do when he was not looking at her. His topknot was neatly tied up; he had shed his armor and wore only a padded silk coat with the black silk tabard belted over it. He was not a handsome man, precisely; for simple beauty he could not compete with Reeve Joss or the many handsome young Hundred men with their ready smiles and easy way of displaying muscled physiques. He had a different quality; he was the wind that bends trees, the river that cuts the earth with its fluid strength, the inexorable sand that buries stone.

He caught her staring and did not smile, as if he was unsure of what she might be thinking,
how
she might be looking at him. Then she smiled, and he softened, rising to take her hand and stand beside her at the wall, a gesture of intimacy in which he rarely indulged in a public space.

“Are you content?” he asked.

She laughed. “An odd question, coming from you, Anji!”

“Yet you haven't answered it.”

Was his tone dark, or was he teasing her? When she remembered the look on his face at the docks in Dast Olo, she wondered if she really understood him or only thought she did. The eastern reaches of West Track faded into shadows as the sun touched the western horizon. He waited, the pressure of his fingers light on her hand, as the shadows drew long and the men below laughed and joked. Several began to sing a prayer to the dusk, and others joined in.

“Look to the horizon! A voice calls.
Shadow Gate rises. Night is come.”

When the prayer was finished, she replied. “My father would never have asked his wives that question, nor would their answers have concerned him. Why do you care if I am content?”

He released her hand to lean on his elbows on the wall, watching the child, safe in Tuvi's arms. “Are you?”

“As a merchant, I must now point out that you have negotiated me into a corner. If I say ‘yes,' it may seem my belated agreement stems not from genuine feeling but from expediency. To say ‘no' is unthinkable, whether or not it might be true. What am I to say to the man who has freed me from an unhappy household and a life of tedious drudgery as a wife married into the Gandi-li sheepherders' clan, ridden with me for months through desert and foreign lands defying storm and assassins, worked in concert with me to create a new home in a very fine land where we can hope to prosper, and given me in addition a handsome, good-natured infant son? If I were to say that it's as if I am living one of the storytelling songs I used to listen to and sing, you would laugh at me. You did before!”

“I never did.”

She placed a hand over his, claiming him. “You did.” She leaned in and quickly kissed him, although anyone who happened to be looking up would see.

“Mai!” He drew back hastily.

“I couldn't help myself.”