Forging the Sword (The Farsala Trilogy) (36 page)

“But,” said Hama, “if you put the gold in wine barrels, just enough in each cask to make it float a bit under the surface, you could be sending the gold down the sewer tunnel without having to carry any of it out yourselves! We could have fishing boats run out their nets near the sewer tunnel mouth to pick up the barrels as well. They’ll likely miss a few, but the barrels would just come ashore somewhere downstream. And even if all the gold goes to the bottom of the river, at least the Hrum won’t have it.”

Soraya frowned, trying to picture this. “Can you weight a barrel so it will float under the surface?”

“Yes,” said the peddler. “It’ll take some fiddling with the weight to get the first one right, but after that the rest should go pretty fast. And if the guards in the sewer hear something scraping along the bottom, well, they won’t be blowing their whistles for that. Nor wading in to investigate, either—not on the sewer side. Hama, that’s brilliant!”

“It still leaves the problem of getting into the vault,” said Hama, though her eyes were bright.

“I think I could manage that,” said Jiaan. “I’m the one who’ll bring you in, Lady Soraya. With a band of my men, disguised as a deci of Hrum soldiers. If we had the passwords, who would even think to question a patrol taking a prisoner, someone known to be
wanted, to the cells? We could go straight to the cells and then the vault if we had the passwords.”

“And what happens when a guard demands a password you don’t have?” Nadi demanded.

Jiaan shrugged. “We’ll think of something.”

Or not.
Soraya shivered. She hadn’t really minded being a servant in the Hrum camp, once she became accustomed to the work, but she’d detested being their prisoner.

“Where will you get eleven Hrum uniforms?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t have an answer.

Jiaan reached behind him and pulled forward one of the tunics that hung on the line. “This is part of one, isn’t it, Mistress Nadi?”

“It is,” said the laundress reluctantly. “I’m taking quite a bit of laundry from the army—I could probably clothe half a centri on any given day. But Hrum swords and armor are harder come by. Not to mention boots.”

“We’ve got enough between us to outfit eleven,” Hama broke in eagerly. “You know we do.”

There was a moment of silence, while Soraya tried not to think about how the resistance had come by eleven sets of Hrum armor and boots. At least she wouldn’t be wearing them. And perhaps she was wrong—she hadn’t thought the resistance had killed many men.

“That serves for disguises,” said the peddler. “Do you have eleven men who can speak good Hrum?”

“I speak Hrum best,” said Jiaan, in Hrum.

Soraya winced. It wasn’t his accent—many Hrum spoke that language with an accent—it was the stiffness, the lack of fluency, that gave him away.

“That won’t do,” said Kavi. “You sound like a Farsalan trying to pass himself off as a Hrum soldier. You’ve got to get someone else.”

“I speak Hrum better than any of the Farsalan troops,” said Jiaan, in Faran now. “We had a trader with us for a while—he was fluent. He was the one who taught us, but he was killed when the Hrum raided our camp. Besides, all I’ll have to say is, We’re taking this prisoner to the cells.’ I can practice that till it sounds right.”

“But what happens if they give you directions?” Nadi demanded. “Or ask a question, and you can’t even understand what they’re saying?”

Soraya sympathized with the woman’s desire to rein in the whole mad scheme, but …

“I can translate for him. I speak Hrum very well,” she added in that language. She continued, still in Hrum. “It might be a challenge to rephrase what he needs to know, but I could probably manage. And if it’s something he doesn’t need to know immediately, I can tell him what was said later.”

The peddler nodded, but Soraya’s heart sank at the puzzled look on Jiaan’s face.

Nadi saw it too. “This is ridiculous. You didn’t even understand what she said! You’ll make it to the cells, all right—the lot of you! I can’t be party to this!”

“There are seven thousand Kadeshi,” said Jiaan coldly, “waiting at the border for that gold. If Siatt gets it, they’ll march to Mazad in less than a week.”

“Closer to two,” said the peddler. “These men likely aren’t accustomed to marching.”

“Two weeks then,” said Jiaan. “Another week to get them organized, and then they will take the city. If Mazad falls, what will happen to the resistance in the rest of Farsala?”

Nadi shook her head, refusing to accept it, but Hama put it into words. “Most will be quitting, and you know it. It’s because Mazad’s held out so long that they’ve found the heart to fight. And the ones that don’t quit …”

“Once Mazad has fallen, once Garren is established as governor, he’ll be able to summon enough Hrum troops to put down any resistance,” Jiaan finished. “We have to keep the gold from reaching Siatt. If this fails, I’ll bring my army and attack it en route. But with the guard the Hrum will put on it, I’ll probably lose so many that Garren will be able to take Mazad anyway. We have to stop it here—we have to!”

The anguish in his voice made him suddenly sound his age. He was fighting to save his army, Soraya realized, as much as Farsala.
Just as she was fighting for Merdas. And the peddler … She’d never known what was driving him—her shilshadu sensing only gave her emotions, not thoughts—but she knew it was strong.

“You’re young,” Nadi whispered. “Young and so stupid with it. You think you’ve all invulnerable, that nothing can be happening to you.”

But that wasn’t true, Soraya thought. Losing her father had taught her that she wasn’t invulnerable to loss, though it was hard to think that she might die. Jiaan had to have been close enough to death in the last year to know that it could come for him, and as for Kavi …

The peddler laid his maimed hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You’re not trading my safety for Sim’s,” he said softly. “It’s not your choice at all. We’re going to be trying this, with your help or without it, but your help will give us a better chance.”

Nadi’s crumpling face hardened. “Then I’d best be seeing to your uniforms, hadn’t I?” She turned and walked away through the tangled maze of damp fabric. Kavi started after her, but Soraya stopped him with a touch on his arm. “I’ll go. I need …” She shrugged and walked after the laundress, as Jiaan distracted Hama with a question about how the aqueducts branched.

Nadi was standing in front of a line of scarlet Hrum cloaks. Her hands were tangled in the cloth, but she wasn ’t moving. Soraya came up beside her and was startled to find that her face, though taut with misery, was dry.

“I’m sorry,” said Soraya. “But I wonder if you can help me with something. The last time the Hrum captured me, I wore a servant’s skirt—very ragged. It made it hard to stand up to them. This time, I’d like to be better dressed.”

It was the only excuse she could think of—the only thing that would present the woman with a task she could do.

Nadi took a deep breath and turned to face Soraya. “He couldn’t have done more for me, for my family, if he had been my son.” Her voice was as stark as her expression.

“Then help him,” said Soraya. “Because this is something he has to do. I don’t understand why, but—”

“I do,” Nadi interrupted. “And you’re right. I can’t be stopping him, so I’d best give all the aid I can. Better dressed, is it?”

S
HE TOLD SORAYA
that the robes had been brought in for laundering just before the Hrum invaded the city, and they had never been claimed. Soraya wondered if she had known the deghass who’d owned them, and hoped the woman was a living slave somewhere and not dead in the fighting for the city. Her odds of having survived were better than those of the Hrum who’d owned the armor Jiaan and his soldiers would wear.

The robes were a bit big on her, but most women’s clothes were. The underrobe was a soft cream, the overrobe a rich brown embroidered with amber and gold. Autumn colors, strange in a
robe that had been worn in the spring—perhaps it had been chosen because the colors were flattering rather than for the season. It would have suited her cousin Pari. Soraya thought of Pari, also a slave, she hoped—for if not, then her cousin was almost certainly dead. She felt a surge of renewed anger at the Hrum, and at Kavi, too! How many lives had they destroyed?

And yet … She remembered his scarred hand on Nadi’s shoulder. The deghans had destroyed lives as well, and had never struggled to make it right again, as Kavi did. Strange as it seemed, she knew she could rely on the peddler to do his part. It was Jiaan, with his hatred and his inexplicable reactions, who worried her now. And it was Jiaan she was trusting with her life.

Soraya stroked the rich robes that might have belonged to a dead woman, and shivered.

K
AVI APPROACHED THE
gate in the low palace wall, walking as easily and confidently as he’d have approached any village where he hoped to sell his goods. If his pulse pounded in his ears, if his hands and feet were cold, no one knew it but him. Even Duckie sensed nothing amiss, and if Duckie couldn’t detect his fear no one could.

Truly, he told himself, it was foolish to be so nervous. He was coming to the Hrum as a peddler, selling information instead of goods, and he had done this several times before. The Hrum who might know different were all far from here, with the sole exception of Governor Garren, and Kavi wouldn’t be seeing him today.

They’d chosen the day when the governor planned to show the senate committee the city of Setesafon with a grand procession of a
tour, ending with Garren giving a speech to the townsfolk. The governor hoped to create a festival atmosphere, offering a public feast in the great square where the pavilion for the speech was being erected. Several oxen were already roasting there, and bread was being shipped in along with dried fruit and cakes that would be given to the children.

Kavi’s worst worry was that some would take it into their heads to put on an anti-Hrum demonstration—though if Kavi succeeded in delivering his warning, there should be sufficient extra troops around the square to discourage that. The presence of those troops would also show the committee that Setesafon was far from beaten, whatever Garren told them.

In truth Kavi was afraid of what would happen in the countryside if Garren got control of the Kadeshi troops. The spirit of rebellion had taken root in Farsalan hearts—but that didn’t magically transform peasants into soldiers. He wanted to see his people ruling themselves, not piled into early graves.

At least it looked like the weather might help keep people out of the streets tonight. Any townsman could have told Garren that early Raven, right on the edge between winter and spring, was a bad month to rely on doing anything outdoors. So far the rain was holding off, but thick clouds scudded through the sky and the wind was cold. Surely the governor would be too busy putting on his show for the committee, to trouble himself with spies or captured
prisoners. That was why they’d chosen this day though it had given them only a few days to prepare.

But here was the gate guard, looking at Kavi with a question in his eyes. Kavi took a deep breath and pushed up his sleeve, showing the tattoo.

“I need to speak to one of your officers,” he said, sounding remarkably normal considering the tightness in his throat. “It’s not dead urgent, but it needs to be happening before the committee goes out into the streets.”

“Come inside and wait,” said the guard. His eyes had widened a bit at the sight of the tattoo, but he showed no other sign of understanding that would draw attention to it. “Ill send a runner for someone to escort you to the watch commander.”

Very professional. Efficient. Kavi approved, even when the guard scowled at Duckie and added, “Do you have to bring the mule in too? This is the governor’s palace!”

Kavi shrugged. “I could take the time to find a stable and board her, but if I do the committee might be out in the streets by the time I get back. I promise you, that’ll be a lot more embarrassing than having a peddler’s mule in the gahn—in the governor’s garden.”

They really were alike, Hrum and deghans. If Kavi were in charge of these gardens, he’d open them so folk could bring their children to play here, eat lunch on the grass, and watch the fountains, pretending to be rich themselves—that’s what he’d do. There
was somewhat less chance of Kavi owning these gardens than of the sun rising in the west, but the small surge of anger calmed him.

He wasn’t averse to the guard drawing attention to Duckie, either. He’d usually had the mule with him when he reported to Patrius, and he hoped that Duckie would reinforce his identity as a Hrum spy in the minds of any who remembered him.

Patrius would have been another person he had to avoid, but the servants had reported that Patrius had made himself so unpopular with Garren that the governor had finally exiled him to the old camp outside the city, where many of the troops were still quartered. Azura be thanked, for Patrius would recognize Kavi instantly, and that would bring the whole mad scheme down on top of them.