Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) (15 page)

The grimbal pushed deeper until only its shaggy head was above water. Its eyes were round with alarm or outright fear, but it continued on. Again, Ashara had that sense of the mental sciences being used, the unearthly tingle plucking at her nerves. She couldn’t see anyone, but she was tempted to run through the copse in search of the interloper. But if he or she was on the far side of the river, what could she do? Even if the practitioner was behind the nearest tree, a shaman might overpower her before she could reach him. In this situation, she doubted she would catch him by surprise.

Jomrik, Ashara, and Basilard fired at the grimbal, aiming for those fear-filled eyes, hoping a vulnerability might be found. Some of the bullets sank in instead of bouncing off the thick skull, but it wasn’t enough to stop the grimbal. It stepped farther into the river, until finally its feet left the bottom. Its forelegs came up, massive paws attempting to paddle, to propel itself forward. Frenzied splashes flew up, the water churning all about it. It wasn’t until the head disappeared under the surface that Ashara realized it was flailing ineffectively rather than swimming. Splashes continued, but when next the head appeared, it had been swept several meters downstream. It hadn’t made any progress toward their bank.

Ashara lowered her rifle. The wet, white-furred head appeared a few more times before going around a bend, but it was out of range by then.

Basilard signed something about grimbals being bad swimmers. Ashara resolved to get those language lessons from Maldynado.

“Hope it doesn’t come out on our side.” Jomrik batted at something dangling from the end of his rifle before slinging it over his shoulder. Ah, the duck feet. He must have deemed them a worthy enough prize to remove them from the cab before abandoning the lorry. “Hope that other one doesn’t find a way over, either.” Jomrik jerked his chin at the opposite shore.

That grimbal hadn’t decided to swim—or hadn’t been coerced into swimming against its better judgment. But it hadn’t given up the battle. After a long glare at them, it took off, running upriver.

“Is there another way across?” Ashara asked.

Basilard nodded.
Eventually.

“Basilard,” Ashara said slowly as they hefted their gear and turned to follow the others. This seemed like an opportunity to follow Shukura’s orders while keeping in line with common sense. “I was sent along to help figure out the blight—” something she hadn’t done yet, she realized, and vowed to make sure to appear helpful later, “—but I think it would be wiser to find your village and your people first. To leave these big predators far behind so they can’t continue to track us. And I’m sure your people can help when we get there, since they’re renowned for being great hunters.” Sure, throw in a little flattery. That wouldn’t make him suspicious, not at all. “Also, they may have more information on the blight that we could use as a starting point.”

“I’ll go along with that,” Jomrik said.

Basilard nodded, but he also gave Ashara a sidelong appraising look that made her wonder if he saw through her attempt at manipulation. Yes, she would need to do more to prove she was helpful. She hadn’t been sent along to shoot at things.

Basilard lifted his hands, as if he might sign something else, but he glanced at Jomrik and Ashara, and shook his head. Probably realizing neither of them could translate. Perhaps that was a good thing. Ashara wasn’t ready for an interrogation. She hoped he would forget about whatever questions he had by the time they caught up with the others.

Chapter 7

The chirping birds and the buzz of insects allowed some of the tension to ebb from Basilard’s body. The activity should mean that nothing dangerous lurked nearby. Still, he couldn’t help but glance back often as his group hiked across the mountainside. Even though he knew he needed to stay alert, to be aware of further threats that might await ahead of them—or that might race up from behind them—he couldn’t keep his mind from whirring, thoughts spinning through his head like the flywheel on a steam engine.

Why had they been attacked? Was someone commanding the grimbals to attack all travelers through the pass? Or had his party been picked out specifically? He thought of the dead man the predators had been eating. No, others had been targeted, as well. And something was clearly happening here in Mangdoria—he had yet to see a single one of his people. More than once, his gaze drifted to the brown leaves on the deciduous trees, primarily the nut varieties, though he had spotted a couple of wild apple trees that showed the same signs of distress.

Maldynado sidled up to Basilard’s side as he adjusted his latest hat—apparently, the turkey one had not survived the crash, so he had switched to a top hat made from a blue and green fabric that displayed a grass and sky pattern. A flamboyant bow on the brim pinned down a fox tail that dangled over the side. Basilard wondered if this represented some city dweller’s idea of woodland camouflage.

“Been thinking,” Maldynado said quietly.

Dangerous.

“Not usually the way I do it, because nothing ever comes of it.” Maldynado smiled quickly, but his eyes remained serious. “Our Kendorian friend. We don’t know much about her.”

Basilard glanced around to locate Ashara. She was to the rear of the group, watching their backs, as she had been doing all morning, as Basilard led the way and chose trails that would lead them to the valleys where numerous clans made their homes. Jomrik and Mahliki had kept to the middle, though Mahliki darted off to look at trees now and then. She was quick about it, not causing the group to wait, but it made Basilard tense each time she ran off alone.

No
,
we don’t,
Basilard agreed. Somehow it had been
his
history that had come out in detail around the campfire.

“Like how come your Kendorian ambassador buddy chose to send her along? She’s not a diplomat herself, right? Not the way she fights. And she’s amazing with that bow. I can’t even imagine how one can shoot from the top of a bouncing lorry in the dark and hit those beady little grimbal eyes over and over again, but she did it.”

Diplomats can’t have combat skills?
Basilard quirked his eyebrows upward.

“Well, it’s not normal. You’re special.”

Basilard snorted.
It seems like anyone visiting Turgonia for any reason should have combat training. Where other nations discuss politics over tea and biscuits, your politicians beat each other up while negotiating for trade concessions.

“The tea and biscuits are appreciated more after a good brawl. But come on. I’m not wrong, am I? You’d never seen her before, right? Going to meetings with the Kendorian ambassador or talking to people at the manor? Besides, nobody that gruff could be a diplomat.”

Basilard almost objected. True, Ashara had been aloof during the first couple of days in the lorry, but she hadn’t been any more disagreeable than the rest of his companions the night before. Still, he himself had been thinking similar thoughts, that whatever Ashara was, she wasn’t some diplomat.

Go on
, he signed, curious if Maldynado would come up with other new insights.

“I’m just wondering what she is. Why was she loitering around the city, available to be sent on missions? Maybe she’s a spy, and she’s been one all along, keeping an eye on the goings on for her government.”

It’s possible.

So far, she hadn’t shown much interest in investigating the trees, at least not compared to Mahliki’s enthusiasm, and that was ostensibly why she was here.

What do you propose to do about it? Send her back?

“Into the paws of the grimbal waiting on the other side of the river?” Maldynado asked. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I—”

Basilard held up a hand, catching movement in his peripheral vision. Ashara. She wasn’t on the trail with them, but she had moved up, almost drawing even with them. She was slipping between trees, jogging to get ahead, then pausing to peer up at the branches. It might mean nothing—perhaps she was finally taking the opportunity to study the blight—but it might be an act, giving her an excuse to walk close enough to hear Maldynado’s words.

Basilard wiggled his fingers and pointed to Maldynado’s hand.

Maldynado grimaced.
I’m out of practice,
he signed slowly.
We haven’t had to skulk through the shadows of alleys and rooftops with Amaranthe and Sicarius for a while.

I know. What is your proposal, in regard to our Kendorian?

You should question her. Not like an interrogation, but subtly. See if you catch her in any lies. If she’s a spy, so what? But if she has nefarious intent, then maybe we can leave her behind in one of your villages while we go on to see your chief.

My people would not hold her forcibly,
Basilard signed.
And if we tried to sneak away without her, I believe she could find us.

We can’t let her follow along and report back to someone about our every move.

Are our moves important? I find myself wondering what I’ve done that would cause someone to go to lengths to kill me or my party. I don’t think I’ve made any enemies recently. And I’ve outlived most of the ones we made working with Amaranthe.

Maldynado snorted.
That may be true, but listen, Bas. You don’t have to have pissed anyone off recently. You’re the Mangdorian ambassador now. That could be reason enough for someone to target you. Someone who doesn’t like Mangdorians.

Most of us are inoffensive. We don’t bother other countries. We keep to ourselves.

“Well, not everybody likes that,” Maldynado said aloud. “You there, Ashara. Finding anything interesting?” Maldynado smiled and waved cheerfully, but he shot Basilard a warning look.

Yes, she had been staying close, glancing toward their flashing fingers more than once. Basilard did not think she could know his sign language, but he wouldn’t be surprised if a well-traveled Kendorian had encountered the base hand code that he had built it around. Maybe she could pick out some of the words.

“It’s not just nut trees,” Ashara called back without hesitating—no flustered twitches at having been caught staring. “Did you see the cherry and the apple? I’m surprised there are so many nut and fruit trees in these woods. At this elevation in mountains farther south in this range, it’s usually more evergreens.”

My people may be hunters and foragers, rather than agriculturists, but that doesn’t mean we don’t encourage the growth of species that are beneficial to our people.

“Bas says they plant ’em,” Maldynado said.

Must you make me sound so monosyllabic?
Basilard asked.

“Yeah, it’s good. She’ll underestimate you. Won’t know you’ve got a brain under all that scar tissue.”

I suppose you are the master of being… underestimated.
Basilard glanced at the flamboyant beret.

“
Exactly
.” Maldynado elbowed him again, then lowered his voice. “I’m serious about the questioning though. Chat with her. If you don’t, I will. And you know how reluctant I am to use my brand of interrogation methods on the ladies now that I’m devoutly devoted to Yara.”

Lucky her.

“Yes.”

“There was a cherry tree?” Mahliki called, jogging up to join Ashara. Something about the way Ashara’s cheek twitched made Basilard think she hadn’t particularly wanted Mahliki to join her.

After that, Maldynado wandered back to discuss methods for drying duck feet and the reasons one might want to with Jomrik.

Basilard mulled over Maldynado’s advice while continuing to watch for signs of his people. He paused to examine a print in dried mud, judging it to be three or four days old. Whatever had happened, the Mangdorians hadn’t been out of the area for long.

“You’re very passionate about this,” Ashara’s voice drifted through the trees.

Mahliki had skimmed up another tree. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

Basilard slowed his pace, curious if information might be gleamed simply by listening. How was he going to question someone who didn’t understand his hand signs?

“Oh, trust me, I do,” Ashara said. “But I’ve always been concerned about nature, considered myself a part of it. You seem more… Where are you from, exactly? I’m not familiar with your accent.”

Basilard hadn’t realized their guest didn’t know who Mahliki was. Hadn’t Shukura briefed her? Maybe she truly had been recruited because of forestry knowledge, rather than for political reasons. If she didn’t know who President Starcrest’s children were, especially the one living in the capital, then she definitely wasn’t a part of Shukura’s office.

Mahliki hopped down from her branch, tucking another sample away. “I mostly grew up on Kyatt, but we traveled around a lot, so I’ve had the opportunity to study plants and animals and insects in numerous climates.”

“Insects?”

“Yes.” Mahliki slipped a hand into one of her many pockets and pulled out a folded net with a telescoping handle. “Even though the blight has fungal elements, the quickness with which it’s spread is interesting to me, and I wonder if it’s possible there’s an insect deliberately or inadvertently carrying spores around to assist with dissemination. I’m hoping we’ll camp near a nice marshy bog tonight.” She beamed a smile toward Basilard, then trotted to get ahead of the group again.

“I was hoping for a lodge with beds and a fireplace,” Maldynado said.

Instead of chasing after Mahliki, Ashara returned to the trail. She surprised Basilard by falling into step at his side. How much of that conversation had she decoded? Did she feel the need to ameliorate the damage? Basilard had not formed a strong opinion of her yet, so he did not think such an action was necessary, but maybe she would give away a few secrets, as Maldynado had suggested, if they simply spoke. The problem was, as always, how to have a conversation when he could not speak in the traditional sense. He hesitated to call Maldynado up, not agreeing with that tactic of convincing Ashara he was dull.

You fight well
, he signed, thinking she would understand that much.
Shooting too.
He waved at her bow. She was carrying the rifle, but the bow seemed more natural for her. As it was for Basilard.