Heir of Iron (The Powers of Amur Book 1) (13 page)

“Taleg,” he said.

“And I’m Rikshi. Sekhan, my husband, hasn’t left yet, but he’ll meet you at the door. You’ll want to go with him.” She bowed to Taleg and left. From deeper in the house her muffled voice sounded.

Taleg glanced at Mandhi with a raised eyebrow. Mandhi shrugged. She didn’t know any better than Taleg what had disturbed the woman so.

A moment later Rikshi returned with a large clay pot, filled with water, and set it in the middle of the chamber. She drew a pentacle over it, spitting out a prayer too quickly to be understood then said, “Sekhan will be leaving in a few minutes. Habda, the other saghada for this neighborhood, should already be there.”

She shuddered and turned away from Mandhi and Taleg for a moment, and when she turned back her eyes were red. “They’re performing the burial rites for Phauram, the stars upon his memory. I would have liked it if you could have brought Cauratha’s greetings to the burial. But I suppose we’ll see you in Virnas soon enough.”

Mandhi’s thoughts spun with the barrage of unexpected news. She knew nothing of Phauram, the dead man, but perhaps she had forgotten him. But she asked the question that was foremost on her mind. “You’re coming to Virnas?”

“Ulaur remember to bring
all
of us to make it to Virnas,” making the pentacle over her breast with a pained expression. “But we should wash and eat first.”

Taleg stepped outside while Rikshi undressed Mandhi and performed the ritual cleansing from head to toe. After they finished Taleg entered to cleanse himself, and the women moved into the house.

Sekhan was waiting for them inside the door of the antechamber. His expression was grave and etched with distress—far more, Mandhi thought, than would be typical if he were merely preparing to bury a neighbor. “Is Taleg ready?” he asked in a hushed, hurried voice.

“In a moment,” Rikshi answered. “You can enter and help him.” She pulled Mandhi onward into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a small, smoky alcove, with light filtering through the slats of the roof. The room smelled of boiled rice and mustard. Mandhi sat at a low table and accepted a melon from Rikshi’s hand.

The woman began boiling rice and said, “You should not have come.”

“If we are a hardship on your house, we can leave, Rikshi. But we also have money. If you’re in distress—”

“Money isn’t our distress, Mandhi. You shouldn’t have come to Majasravi at all.”

“Why?”

Rikshi shook her head. “The imperial guard has been harassing us in public places. Driving us out of markets, defacing our shops. Sekhan and I have been spared until now. And two days ago… how long were you in Davrakhanda?”

Mandhi drummed her fingers nervously on top of the table. “A month. And we were with Sadja of Davrakhanda. I have no idea what rumors ran among the Uluriya during that time. Unfortunately, it seems like bad news follows us.”

“No, it preceded you.” Rikshi drew a pentacle over her breast again and hung her head. She spoke in a barely audible whisper. “Ruyam is in Majasravi.”

Mandhi spit the chunk of melon out of her mouth. “What?”

“The rumor began a few weeks ago, and the guards have ceased denying it. The Emperor is dead. The imperial guard answers to Ruyam. The whole city is in his hands.”

“But isn’t Ruyam dead?” But as she asked the question, she remembered: Ruyam fled Virnas after the battle and went into exile. Which was not quite the same thing as being dead, alas.

Behind her, she heard the outer door open and close as Taleg and Sekhan left for the burial, like a grim echo of what Rikshi had said. The reality of it escaped her grasp. Ruyam’s purge had happened years before she was born, and she had listened as a child to stories of the violence and fear of that time. But that’s all they were: stories of an evil man who had lived before her time. She no more expected to face Ruyam in her life than she thought to see the ancient serpent rise out of the rocks.

“He lives,” Rikshi said. “Yesterday they killed the first of us. A young man named Phauram, arrested for no reason, then forced to make an offering to Am. When he refused, Ruyam accused him of sedition and sentenced him to death. He died this morning.” She shuddered and put her hands over her eyes. Mandhi reached across the table and touched her elbow.

“So we’re leaving,” Rikshi said. “I was a girl in the first purge, and I remember when they came to burn our house. I won’t stay for that to happen again. My sons have left already, taking their wives and families to Jaitha. Sekhan and I have stayed to help the rest of the Uluriya in the city get out. So far, the guard has not obstructed anyone from leaving.” She took a heavy breath. “So far.”

“Ruyam,” Mandhi whispered. And then it struck her: “Navran is with Ruyam.”

“Navran is your brother?” Rikshi asked.

“Yes. He was supposed to come with us, but he was kidnapped in Jaitha.” And he knew the Heir, and he was in Ruyam’s power.

An expression of weary resignation crumpled Rikshi’s face. “Someone else to save. Ruyam has kept him for some reason, then?”

“I assume so. We thought the Emperor had him, but if Ruyam has returned….”

“I don’t know what we can do,” Rikshi said. “Sekhan and the remaining saghada of Majasravi are deciding how best to help everyone who can flee the city. When the men return, maybe they’ll have an idea. Rice is ready.”

She spooned several large scoops of rice into clay bowls and garnished them with peppers and flakes of dried fish. “Sorry. This is all I have,” she said, collapsing onto the bench at the table and leaning back against the wall. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Mandhi ate in silence for a few moments. “We have plenty of money,” Mandhi said when her bowl was half-empty. “Enough to ensure that everyone who wants to flee can.”

Rikshi nodded.

“But we will probably need help recovering Navran first.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Rikshi said resignedly.

“You won’t have to do it all,” Mandhi said softly, laying her hand on Rikshi’s knee. “I have help from outside. I just have to find them.”

It wasn’t hard to find the names on Sadja’s letter. The first was the wife of a majakhadir named Parthani, who held an estate within Majasravi. Mandhi mentioned Sadja’s name to the servant at the door, and a moment later she received an invitation to see Parthani in her private chamber.

Parthani’s chamber was a cool room with a curtained porch looking over the city and blue faience tiles underfoot. Mandhi sat on an overstuffed cushion across a table from Parthani and waited for a servant to arrange for them a platter of mangoes and mint tea. As soon as the servant left, she presented Parthani with Sadja’s letter.

The woman read the letter from Sadja with pursed lips and an expressionless face, then gently rolled the page and handed it back to Mandhi. “An interesting request,” she said.

“All I ask for is information, Parthani-kha,” Mandhi said.

“Which might be more than I can afford to give.” Parthani took a slice of mango from the tray and raised it to her lips without removing her eyes from Mandhi. “Since the death of Jandurma-daridarya, who we remember with fear and trembling, it’s become more and more difficult to know what I can afford to do here in this city. For example, should I continue to invoke the late Emperor’s memory? Or does this offend Ruyam?” She gave Mandhi a sly smile.

“With the death of the Emperor, surely your own alliance with Sadja-dar has become more valuable, my lady.”

“Perhaps it has. Perhaps this also offends Ruyam.”

“Ruyam knows nothing about our meeting,” Mandhi said. She hoped this were actually true. “My interest in Ruyam’s prisoner is private and will have no impact on you once I’ve left the city.”

“But Ruyam has an interest in his prisoner, presumably, or he wouldn’t have taken him. And Sadja-dar has an interest as well. Or an interest in you.”

The woman was angling for something, but Mandhi had nothing to offer. There was no wealth she could use to tempt a lady of Majasravi many times wealthier than Veshta, and no favor she could provide so far from Virnas. “Sadja-dar has an interest,” she began, “but not something I can discuss without his leave.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can imagine the sort of interest Sadja-dar would have in a young, unmarried merchant’s daughter. And I’m not sure that I’m willing to risk the fire for that.”

Mandhi sipped her tea and gave Parthani a chilly glare. “Our engagement is not of that sort, I assure you.”

“And how am I to believe you? I could call an old midwife to assay your purity—”

Mandhi’s cheeks grew hot and her pulse galloped. “I resent the insult, Parthani-kha,” she said. Never mind the fact that if the woman were to make such an assessment, somehow, Mandhi would have to come up with some explanation.

Parthani smiled wickedly at Mandhi’s discomfort. “Very well, maintain your modesty or your secret. Instead, maybe I should see Sadja-dar myself to determine his motives.”

“That would be the same as refusing to help. By the time you went to Davrakhanda and returned, it may be too late for the man I’m interested in.”

“Who says I would return? Majasravi has become too dangerous lately for my tastes.” Parthani looked wistfully out the window, as if imagining that Ruyam were a spot of bad weather that might blow away.

Mandhi thought furiously for something, anything with which to negotiate. “Sadja-dar would be very reluctant to take in a guest who had been inhospitable to me,” she said after a pause that was a hair too long.

Parthani folded her hands and leaned back. “You’re very sure of that.”

No
, Mandhi thought silently, but outwardly she merely grinned. “Let me suggest something else to you. You could stay for a few days longer and determine the location of this prisoner for me. I’ll write a letter to Sadja-dar mentioning your help and asking for him to receive you with favor in Davrakhanda. Especially since your stay there could be a long one.”

“So you are going to help
me
stay in Sadja-dar’s good graces?” Parthani seemed amused. Her fingernails drummed idly on the top of the table.

“I merely offer a trade,” Mandhi said. “You have the letter that indicates Sadja-dar’s wishes.”

“Yes, and you ensure that I fall out of favor with Ruyam here in Majasravi.”

“I suspect that your friendship with Sadja-dar may already have put you out of favor.” She prayed that the woman could not hear the thundering of Mandhi’s heart. This statement was an inference based on what she had heard of Ruyam and the politics of the khadir in Majasravi, but it was the only thing she could possibly offer. They were both aware of how thin an offer it was.

“It may have.” The woman looked at Sadja-dar’s letter again, then at Mandhi, her eyes lingering on Mandhi’s hair knot and the rings on her fingers. “Is this prisoner also Uluriya?”

“He is.”

“Ruyam has a special hatred for the Uluriya, I’ve heard. I can’t fathom why he’s so obsessed with your little cult, but I wouldn’t normally bother to oppose him on this issue. But for Sadja-dar….” She picked up the letter and examined it again with her lips pursed. “I’ll ask about, see if I can find the whereabouts of this Uluriya prisoner, and relay this information to you.”

Mandhi bowed. “I’ll compose a letter to Sadja-dar indicating the depths of my gratitude.”

Parthani bowed in return. “Call it a fair exchange. Where can I find you?”

Mandhi gave directions to an Uluriya guest-house near Sekhan and Rikshi’s, whose owner could pass a message on to Mandhi without revealing their location.

“I’ll send a messenger there when I find something,” Parthani said. “Give the messenger your letter. Don’t come here in person again.”

“I won’t.”

“And I’ll be leaving the city shortly after this. Don’t expect to see me again.”

“Send my regards to Sadja-dar when you reach Davrakhanda.”

Parthani rang a bronze bell at her side, and a servant appeared to escort Mandhi from the estate. When she stepped outdoors, the harsh light blinded her for a moment, and she stood rubbing her eyes in the street.

“You’re smiling,” Taleg said. “I don’t think you’re allowed to do that in Majasravi.”

Her vision cleared, and she made him out leaning against the wall of the estate, his arms folded across his chest. He, too, was smiling.

“Let’s go,” she said. “I’ll explain as we walk.”

They set off through the crowded streets towards the Uluriya neighborhood where Rikshi and Sekhan waited. Once they were a hundred yards from the estate, Mandhi said quietly, “She’ll help us. Or at least she said she would.”

Taleg raised an eyebrow. “What did you have to give her?”

“A letter recommending her to Sadja-dar.” Mandhi shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’ll test Sadja-dar’s determination to help us, at least. We’ll see if the messenger she promised actually comes.”

“I’ll be optimistic about that. Just to contrast with you.”

Mandhi snorted. “You can’t say that conditions in Majasravi are giving us great hope for anything going right.”

“But say that this messenger does come. What do we do then?”

“Oh, then comes the easy part. Once we know where Navran is, we simply break in, get him away from the imperial guard, and then flee the city before Ruyam kills us.”

Taleg glanced up at the black silhouette of the Dhigvaditya at the far end of the estate district. The crenellations of its top looked like teeth pointing at the sky. “Of course. What could possibly go wrong?”

Parthani’s letter came, a single terse line:
Navran will be moved from the Dhigvaditya to the south garrison two nights hence.
Mandhi refused to risk anyone other than herself, Taleg, and Sekhan, and so the plan was made that required them and no one else.

On the night of the rescue the sky over Majasravi was a door of iron, locking the stars behind a wall of clouds. Mandhi and Taleg hid from the lamplight on the road in a recessed doorway. Taleg put his head out and glanced both directions down the road.

“Anything?” Mandhi asked.

“I don’t see the guard yet. Sekhan is in position and ready.” He rubbed his hands together. “Why did I let you come, again?”

“Because I refused to stay back.” She patted the knife tucked into the waist of her sari. “I’m not defenseless.”

“I don’t want to test your little knife against the Red Men’s spears.”

“I don’t plan on using it. You break Navran away from the guard, and I’ll lead him back to Sekhan’s. The knife is just to make them think twice.”

A small detachment of the imperial guard would soon escort Navran down the road, unless Parthani had deceived them with her letter. Mandhi swatted that thought away as soon as it presented itself. There was nothing they could do if that were the case.

“Quiet, now,” Taleg said. “They approach.” He retreated all the way into the shadow and watched the street.

Four Red Men marched past, one captain with a sword and three bearing spears. A bound Navran shuffled between them. Mandhi cursed. “They’ve tied him hand and foot. He won’t be able to run.”

“I can carry him,” Taleg said. “I did it all the time back in Virnas.”

“You didn’t have Red Men chasing you then.”

“Oh well. I’ll meet you with him in the alley.” Taleg motioned for her to be quiet. She huddled deeper into the darkness.

The marching Red Men stopped just after they passed the alley. There was an angry shout from farther up the road, and a furious conversation ensued. Snatches of Sekhan’s voice reached them in their hiding spot.

“… straps broke and the whole thing tumbled over. Now I’ve got to shovel up a whole cart of manure.”

A lash of obscenities erupted from the leader of the Red Men.

“Can’t do anything about it!” Sekhan replied. “So will you help me right the cart?”

“No,” the man growled.

“I’m not asking you to shovel it! Just get it upright. Or go back and find a different road and leave me here to clean the mess until daylight.”

The captain grunted and growled orders at the other men. The wood of the old cart creaked and groaned.

“Now,” Taleg whispered, and he bolted into the street.

A shout sounded as Taleg rounded the corner. From the darkness Mandhi couldn’t see what happened, but she heard an explosion of sound and movement. A heartbeat later Taleg appeared, Navran thrown over his shoulders like a lamb.

“Go!” he shouted. And they ran into the darkness.

The route had been planned beforehand, a winding path through the crooked alleys away from the main street, into a region of mud hovels untainted by lamplight. The turns were memorized. Fly left here, leap over the pile of refuse, twist right into deeper darkness. Mandhi loosened her knife from its hiding spot as she ran. Shouts and curses followed them.

“Stop,” Taleg said. “Stop!”

Mandhi slowed, and Taleg set Navran on the ground then bent over panting and heaving. Navran squirmed and kicked. “Hold still,” Mandhi hissed. Her knife found his hands and split the leather bindings, then freed his feet.

He twisted away and rose to his feet. He stared at her with wide, terrorized eyes, mouth agape. “Why?”

“Because you’re my brother,” Mandhi said.

Taleg straightened, his chest still swelling and falling like an ocean wave. He put his hand on his side where he had been stabbed. “We…” he started, but his breath petered out into a wheeze. “We have to go.”

Navran glanced from Taleg to Mandhi. Then he bolted past Taleg into the darkness.

“Wrong way,” Mandhi shouted. “Wrong way!” But he was gone, and an instant later Taleg disappeared into the darkness after him.

She chased them. She couldn’t see, but she could follow the sounds of their running. An unseen bit of rubbish tripped her, and her hands landed in muck. She straightened herself and ran. Navran was running
towards
the street. She cursed him for his foolishness, then remembered he knew nowhere else to go. Taleg would catch him and bring him back. She heard steps and shouting ahead.

“I have him,” a voice shouted. “I have him!” It was Taleg.
Praise to Ulaur in the heavens and the earth.
Her run thrust her out of the alleys and into the thoroughfare, where a dazed Navran lay sprawled on all fours with Taleg crouched next to him.

“Follow us!” she shouted. “Don’t go running off—”

“You don’t understand,” Navran said. He glanced up the street, then cried out and hid his face in the ground.

The guards were approaching. One of them was holding Sekhan at knife-point, but at the sight of Navran the leader shouted and pointed, and all four of them charged forward.

“Your knife!” Taleg shouted. Mandhi threw it to his feet, and Taleg scooped it up. He changed towards the soldiers, swinging his arms like tree trunks.

The captain swung his sword, but Taleg stepped aside and reached over the man’s thrust, his arm as long and thick as the captain’s leg. The tip of Taleg’s knife tore through the captain’s bicep. He fell screaming to the ground. Taleg grabbed the man’s sword off the ground and ran forward roaring. One of his hands gripped the bloody knife and the other waved the sword.

“Who else wants to get close?” he bellowed. The other soldiers fell back and raised their spears.

Sekhan emerged from a side alley and skidded to the ground next to Mandhi. He was wet with sweat but appeared unharmed. “They let me go,” he said. “Is this him?”

“Take him,” Mandhi said. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

Navran still lay on the ground, covering his head with his hands. Sekhan seized his hands and pulled him to his feet.

“No,” Navran said, tears running down his face. He tried to shake loose of Sekhan’s grip.

“Shut up,” Mandhi said. “Follow Sekhan and don’t ask questions.” Navran stumbled as Sekhan pulled his hands, and they disappeared into the darkness of the alleys beyond.

Taleg stood in the middle of the street, his arms spread wide, slowly retreating one pace at a time. The spear-armed soldiers stood in a tight formation, their timid attempts to slip by him beaten back by swats of Taleg’s blades.

“Navran’s gone,” Mandhi shouted. “Let’s go.”

Taleg glanced over his shoulder for a moment. His face was locked in a grimace. “Well,” he said to the soldiers. “You gentlemen want to let me and my wife go, or are we gonna stand here playing poke and parry all night?”