Traitors' Gate (79 page)

“That's a cursed odd question,” mused Peddonon. “I can't say—it's hard to even imagine—it would be like burning a temple, wouldn't it? What makes you even think of it?”

As Anji had said, they could not tell anyone unless they were absolutely sure that person would act immediately and succeed on his first attempt. So Joss let it go. “Lord Radas wears a cloak and commands the Star of Life army. He's no holy Guardian, not judged by his actions. So how do we defeat him?”

“In alliance, just like Captain Anji says.” He gestured toward Justice Square. Lanterns swayed where Anji, in company with the priests, walked back from the balcony overlooking the occupied city. “Do those soldiers who attend Anji ever sleep?”

“I wouldn't know. I was cursed surprised when he left Sengel at Nessumara. I would have been less surprised had he cut off a hand and given it orders to coordinate the delta militia. That's Toughid to his right. Tohon, the other fellow, is one of the solidest men I have ever met.”

“A bit old for me, but good-looking in that outlander way.”

“Don't you ever stop?”

“Not until I cross the Spirit Gate,” said Peddonon with a grin. “And, I pray, not even then.”

They began to walk back, sticking to a path that cut between strips of raised garden. The earth filling the troughs had looked pale in daylight, more grit than soil, but they were cutting it with night soil and leavings from the kitchens to strengthen it in the weeks before the rains.

“I never thought I'd see gardens up here,” said Joss.

“There's a lot of things I never thought I would see. Toskala under curfew. Folk being worked to death. Gates closed and people starving. Hauling folk in secret up by the basket to pass
messages to and from the city.” With a harsh laugh, maybe covering anger, Peddonon punched him on the shoulder, and cursed if the blow didn't rock him. “That was cursed funny when we hauled up the basket just after dusk and out hopped a scrawny old ostiary instead of a comforting armful of hierodule. I thought you were like to weep from disappointment.”

“Old! I don't think that ostiary is much older than I am!”

“Your vanity will kill you one day, Joss.” They converged on the stone ramp that led up into the council hall just as Anji's party arrived. Peddonon offered a final murmured comment. “It's Ostiary Nekkar's approval we need.”

So it was, Joss reflected as they greeted the folk who had spilled out along the ramp to take a few breaths of clean air as the night filtered away into the twilight before dawn. Anji was chatting with the ostiary. The holy man was not particularly old, but he walked with a stiff limp like an elder. Moreover, he was astoundingly thin, with wrists so frail one might think to snap them in two. Yet he had a presence like the promontory itself, a massive rock that wind and water and years had not defeated, only weathered.

The other priests who had been hauled up by basket in the ostiary's wake bent their attention to Nekkar. He was the one they touched, as if to assure themselves he had substance and was not a ghost. He listened more than he talked, and he listened well, not staring directly at people but cocking his head to one side as if to let the words pour more easily into his ear. He lifted a hand now and again to punctuate a point the other speaker had made.

Anji waved Joss over. “Ostiary Nekkar met Zubaidit. She pulled him out of a heap of rubbish, did you know that?”

Joss was pretty sure Anji was teasing him, having seen Joss and Zubaidit together. “Zubaidit came up in that same basket. That was months ago.”

“Where is Zubaidit now?” asked the ostiary with a gentle smile.

Anji shook his head. “We cannot say.”

“Ah!” The ostiary nodded. In company with the other holy ones, he made his way up the ramp.

As everyone flowed up into the hall, Joss held back. The night was so very quiet. In the days before, you could hear the night market in Bell Quarter churning until dawn, singing, voices and laughter soaring in the currents of air that swirled around the promontory. But now Toskala lay utterly silent, its people afraid to sing, to speak, even to stir.

“An interesting net these priests have cast over the city, eh, Commander?” Tohon fell in beside Joss as they ascended, their feet clapping softly on stone. “I asked the holy one how they smuggled him from his quarter to the basket in another quarter if all the gates between quarters are closed and guarded. Over the months, they have woven a net on which information and even people can be passed. An interesting way to get around the occupation. But after hearing his description, I can see ways it could be improved.”

“Is there anything the Qin cannot improve?” said Joss with a laugh.

Tohon chuckled, but he did not reply. They entered the council hall, where a wealth of lamps burned. As Joss looked around the faces of those gathered—reeves, militiamen, and the handful of priests brought up to meet with the outlander—he knew the decision had already been made. Ostiary Nekkar sat beside Captain Anji and offered him with his own hands a cup of rice wine. The ostiary smiled with careful grace as the captain took a sip and returned the rest, a gesture like a physical echo of the bowl of rice offered by a woman to the man she agrees to marry. Nekkar took also a single sip, and passed the cup to the other priests. There was not much in it; enough for them to swallow, and then it was gone.

Nekkar looked around the council hall to catch every gaze. His was a pleasant voice, easy to listen to, but like silk rope strained taut by an immense weight, it held simply because it was so strong. “I agreed to the perilous journey here because so many suffer under the yoke of an enemy who has weapons while we have nothing. You four, representative of the other quarters, have taken this dangerous path as well. I came to give this record to the reeves.”

He drew out of his sleeve a scroll. “On this scroll, clerks have recorded the name and clan of every hostage known to have been taken south to Nessumara with the army. They have added the names of folk who are missing, and those enslaved or perhaps killed by the army during the occupation. We ask the reeves to look for these people. Perhaps all we can hope for is to hear confirmation of their deaths, so the families do not have to live never knowing.”

He held out the scroll as if unsure who should take it.

Joss stepped forward. “As commander standing over the reeve halls, I accept this responsibility. We'll have copies made and distributed to every reeve hall and reeve station and to those in Sapanasu's temples who can safely take charge of this information.”

Nekkar's expression bore a measure of calm that soothed without mock hope. “For so many months, we in Toskala did nothing, out of fear for the hostages. But we have come to understand that it was false choice offered to us. Our lack of action will not save them, nor will it save those taken into servitude yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Now we are offered a chance to fight. Let us ally with Olo'osson's army and the reeve halls. Let us accept their leadership in this matter. That is what I recommend.”

Anji's nod, to Joss, was a simple gesture and a plain statement:
We have what we need
.

 

•  •  •

 

T
ODAY WAS A
day like any other day for a spy skulking behind enemy lines. Shai hid in a tangle of evergreen hedge as soldiers marched down a path skirting fields. A village lay in the distance, but not a thread of smoke or a single barking dog or laughing child gave evidence that someone might be living there.

The company flew a banner marked with four white flowers on blue cloth: they were not the soldiers he was looking for. Two wagons were heaped with stores, ten ragged slaves trudging between. Three young women and a lad sat atop the wagons,
chattering, looking far better fed than the captives. The soldiers looked complacent, their talk drifting on the breeze.

“Eh, I'm hoping there'll be a sight better pickings once we've taken Nessumara, eh?”

“Shoulda gone in all the way the first time. Don't know why those cowards pulled out like that, couldn't even keep it up! Now all the valuables are likely hidden away or shipped out. Less for us, eh?”

When they passed out of sight, Shai dragged himself out of the prickly branches and made a halfhearted effort at dusting himself off. He was so scratched up he thought his skin might forever after be hatched with white scars. It was slow work, moving through the countryside looking for one cohort in particular while not getting caught in the meantime and knowing you might never find them regardless.

Yet perseverance was no hardship. The wildings had loaded him down with strips of dried meat mashed together with dried berries; these provisions, while not tasty, had sustained him for many days as he had crept west and south toward the sea. Yesterday he had run out. Today he was hungry and still had seen no sign of a banner with six crossed red staves on black cloth.

He slogged through grass, sedge, and bush parallel to the road, wondering if he could scavenge supper in the nearest village. Movement flashed among the houses. He froze behind the partial concealment of a fence of saplings. Soldiers hustled through the village, breaking down doors, tipping carts. Shai counted maybe half a cadre, perhaps outliers of the company.

A dog barked frantically, then bolted out of a cottage. Soldiers gave chase, pelting rocks at its hindquarters. It yipped and scrambled on, limping. But an archer lined up on the poor animal and shot it once, and then twice, as the creature howled in pain, trying to drag itself off, but they would not let it go. They were enjoying their cruelty too much.

Merciful One!

He scanned the fields as the dog's agony stretched on—until his gaze was caught by a shadow shuddering over the untilled earth. An object hurtled out of the sky. It cracked open before it struck, spilling a cloud of black dust over the men
who had converged on the wounded dog. The soldiers began to sneeze. A man thudded to his knees with an arrow in his back. Stones thundered onto the ground all around, and two men went down. The archer raised his bow, sighting, but cried out and bolted.

An eagle hooked him in its massive talons and rose as the man screamed and thrashed. The reeve hooked into the harness stuck him repeatedly with a javelin—panicked, Shai thought—before the eagle released him and his body smacked on earth beside the still-struggling dog.

The chase was on. The cadre ran, some taking to the road, some seeking cover; all too stupid to stand and fight. A company of Qin would have coolly stood their ground and darkened the sky with their arrows; the attack of the reeves was crude, effective only because it was unexpected.

As unexpected as a huff of air behind him. He jumped, stumbled as he turned, and found himself flat on his butt staring up at a fierce-looking eagle and a young reeve dangling an arm's length off the ground, feet braced on a bar.

“You're a cursed outlander!” cried the reeve. “What're you doing out here?”

“Not giving away my position,” snapped Shai. “Or could you perhaps have dropped your flags on me to make sure the enemy knows I'm here?”

“You're that gods-rotted outlander we're meant to be looking for, aren't you? Chayi? Shayi?”

The eagle was huge. Its talons or hooked beak could tear him to pieces in a heartbeat. A stark scream from away down the road suggested that one of the soldiers had just met such a fate.

“Who wants to know?” he asked, flexing his muscles, brandishing the knife and staff the wildings had gifted him.

The young man laughed appreciatively. “Eh, that was badly started. I'm called Rayish. We've orders to bring you to Copper Hall in Nessumara.”

“Not my orders. Leave me here, or tell me where to find an enemy cohort flying a banner with six crossed red staves on black cloth.”

To Shai's surprise, the reeve spat. “That lot! That's the gods-rotted cohort that burned Copper Hall on the Haya shore.”

“The very ones I seek.” Heat swelled in his heart, although he could not tell if fear or excitement made his pulse swim in his ears. “I have a mission at the service of the militia and council and temples of Olossi.”

The reeve scratched his head. Hu! He had a straggle of black hair pulled back in a clumsy approximation of a Qin topknot.

“When did you reeves start skirmishing?” Shai added, which brought a bright grin from the young man.

“New tactics from the commander. About cursed time, if you ask me.”

“The commander?”

“Commander Joss of Clan Hall, and that outlander captain from the south. Those two are our commanders. Didn't you know that?”

Shai hid his surprise behind his usual baffle of impassivity. “I've been in hiding a long time.”

An eagle swooped past, the reeve flagging them, and Rayish swore. “Hook in. We'll find this cohort, and I'll drop you behind their lines. Will that help?”

“The hells, it will!” Shai laughed. His new best comrade laughed. They were after all two young men fighting on the same side and eager to get their blows in.

The eagle launched right at him. Shai threw himself flat, but the eagle wasn't after
him
. With a high-pitched call, it struck so hard Shai felt the impact in his bones. A male voice screamed, the noise as horrible as the dog's agonized yips. Rayish cursed, dangling over a soldier punctured by the eagle's talons. Two more enemy soldiers were racing up behind.

Shai leaped up and plunged past the eagle's outstretched wings, heedless of the fierce beak. He caught both men unawares because they were fixed on the reeve and the eagle and their dying comrade. The raptor shook the man loose and struck at a second as Shai cut inside, thrust with his spear, and punched it into the third man's shoulder. He ducked out of the
way of a flailing blow from the soldier's sword and kicked the man's knees out from behind him. As the soldier dropped, Shai grabbed his shoulder and slashed his throat. Hu! Not deep enough; he had to saw a second time. Blood gushed everywhere; piss stank where the dying men had voided; a cry raked the air so awful the sound made him wince, but his man was already dead and the raptor put its prey out of his misery.