Law of the Broken Earth (13 page)

The spymaster didn’t even blink. The thug stepped
forward, walked around behind Tan, and hit him: a hard, twisting blow to the kidney. Gasping, Tan stumbled and sagged—then found the slip-chain cutting off his air. He tried to straighten and the thug kicked his feet out from under him. Then all of them just stood and waited while Tan struggled, strangling, to get back to his feet. He made it at last, tossing his head hard to loosen the chain and sucking in great lungfuls of precious air.

“Where is it?” Istierinan repeated in a level voice. “Do you still hold it yourself? If you do, then return it, and this can be over swiftly. Or otherwise, if you will not. Or have you given it away? To whom? The Lord of the Delta, likely not.” He made a small movement, dismissing this possibility as though he and Tan both knew it was foolish. “But perhaps one of his people might have been able to take it? Well?”

Tan shook his head. “Lord Istierinan, I’m afraid this is going to be a long night. Because I truly do not know what you are talking about! I took nothing returnable. Everything I stole was set down in plain ink and has long since been carried away out of the past into the future—” He stopped as the Linularinan spymaster stepped across to the table and began to take things out of the satchel.

To Tan’s astonishment, what he was laying out was bottles of ink and little bundles of quills. Tan almost laughed in sheer surprise. Quills and ink! Whatever Istierinan had in mind, Tan was definitely glad to see legist’s tools rather than the other sort. But what did the Linularinan spymaster have in mind?

“Well?” Istierinan said to Tan. Not ominously. He’d taken a quill out of the packet, and ran it now through his fingers. His tone was more one of… weary exasperation,
if Tan was any judge. The spymaster made a small gesture down toward Tan’s feet. “You would have more trouble keeping your feet, I imagine, with broken toes. Or
missing
toes. Or whatever. There are so many possibilities.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Tan agreed smoothly. “There’s surely no need to test the question, if you would only be plain. Lord Istierinan, what is it you
want
?”

“Want?” Istierinan took a small step forward, his calm cracking to show—what? Anger, yes, but not merely anger: There was something else underneath the rage. Fear, even terror, tightly leashed, and something else—desperation? Despair? Istierinan might well lose his position because of what Tan had done to him—probably would, probably should, maybe already had—but Tan had not thought the old Fox of Linularinum would go so far as to torture and destroy a spymaster who failed him. But he could not at the moment imagine what other fear could render Istierinan so desperate now.

Or had the King of Linularinum
not
sent Istierinan after Tan after all? Maybe Istierinan was here on his own, in one last effort to regain the king’s favor and his old place in the Fox’s court? No, that didn’t seem likely—Tan’s thoughts were interrupted in their circular flight by Istierinan himself taking a cudgel from one of his thugs and slamming it down toward one of his feet. Tan jerked his foot out of the way and Istierinan changed the strike to a sweeping sideways blow against his knee.

The
crack
of wood against bone was horrifying even before the pain hit, and then the cudgel swept around to threaten the other knee, and Tan tried to get out of the way of the blow, lost his footing completely, and found himself once again strangling helplessly, only this time
the agony from his broken knee overwhelmed the terror of suffocation, briefly. Then the lack of air forced even the pain into the background, and at last he made it back to his feet—his foot—but then immediately fell again as some of his weight came onto his bad knee in a red explosion. He made it up once more, somehow, and fought to keep his balance—he dreaded a blow against the other knee, though he told himself, with what rationality remained to him, that surely Istierinan did not mean to kill him, not yet. Though a second blow against the first leg would not be much of an improvement.

But Istierinan did not strike him again, waiting instead for Tan to regain his balance and his breath. When Tan swayed, flinched from the red rolling pain, and nearly fell again, the spymaster put the tip of the cudgel against Tan’s chest to steady him. “So,” he said softly. “Will you continue to insist that this night be long?”

Tan tried to focus on the question, on Istierinan’s face. The haze of sweat and tears and nauseating pain got in the way. He blinked, blinked again, and managed at last to put the pain aside enough to spare some attention to the spymaster. Istierinan was now leaning on the cudgel like a walking stick. If he’d been playing the court dandy, he would have probably looked urbane and sophisticated. Here in this disused barn, no one could have mistaken his ruthlessness.

“Are you listening to me? Are you capable of thought?”

Tan shook his head, not in denial, but trying to clear his mind. Even that motion somehow jarred his leg. Tears of pain came into his eyes; a wave of faintness threatened his balance. At Istierinan’s impatient wave, one of the thugs stepped forward to support him.

“Would you care to sit down? Agree to return… what you stole, and you may. One way or the other, you will return it, or at least release it, before dawn. Give it to me now and I will even let you go, no more harmed than you are now. I will sign any binding contract you care to dictate,” he added, as Tan’s eyebrows rose in wordless incredulity. He took a small but rather fine leather-bound book out of his satchel, gave Tan a significant look, and set the book down on the table, precisely centered. Then he removed the top from one of his bottles of ink, picked up a quill, and gave Tan another look, even more significant. Tan stared at him, hopelessly bewildered.

“Or if you no longer have it, tell me to whom you gave it,” Istierinan snapped. “I will at least make this night a short one.”

Tan wanted to ask again what
it
was, but was afraid of what Istierinan might do if he seemed to be defiant. The thug, responding to another of Istierinan’s gestured commands, released Tan and stepped back, punctuating the spymaster’s demand with a clear illustration of what the rest of the night would be like if Tan continued to be obdurate. Tan tensed the muscles of his neck, trying to let the slip-chain carry some of his weight. This was not a successful endeavor. He tried to think. This was also not a very successful endeavor. Istierinan was still waiting. Tan opened his mouth to agree, at least to get Istierinan to release the slip-chain, let him sit down, if only for a moment until the spymaster understood that Tan really could not do as he demanded—even a brief respite would be a very good thing—

There was a shout, and the sound of running steps coming rapidly closer, a lot of men by the sound, and
then almost at once the deadly whip of arrows through the cobweb-strewn space under the vaulted roof of the barn and more shouts.

Istierinan whirled, shocked, and then hesitated, taking a step toward Tan. Another shout echoed in the close space, and more arrows flew—better aimed this time, so much better that Tan belatedly realized that the first volley had been meant merely to frighten the spymaster and his men and drive them away from their prisoner. Istierinan realized that, too, and that, chained as Tan was, it was going to be impossible to take him with them in their flight. He snatched up the torches instead and flung them down, shadows whirling and surging as the flames whipped through the air.

Tan expected Istierinan to kill him, since he couldn’t keep him. To his surprise, the spymaster spun and reached for the book instead. But an arrow sliced the air not an inch from his hand and then another cut across his forearm, loosing a red spray of blood—Istierinan made a sound between a gasp and a scream, jerking involuntarily away, but even then he did not run. But another arrow struck him in the back. One of his men caught him up as he collapsed, and carried him away at a run, not at all discommoded by the burden.

Then Tan’s rescuers were arriving—men in plain clothing without badges or identifying marks, but with very businesslike weapons. Most of them went straight past Tan, hurrying cautiously into the echoing reaches of the barn, but a small group of men stopped to collect the abandoned torches and, very much to Tan’s relief, two came to get him free. Tan was not altogether astonished to find Geroen among those who stayed near at hand, but
he was speechless to glimpse the slender figure of Mienthe stretching up on her toes to peer over the captain’s shoulder.

“Can’t you stand?” growled Geroen, coming to look Tan up and down. “Your knee, is it? Sepes, get that chain off from around his neck. Why’s that other one still on his hands? What do you mean, you’ve no key? Earth and iron! What do you need a key for? Didn’t anybody ever teach you to pick locks?”

Tan blinked, wondering whether he could have heard this right, but then the captain quite matter-of-factly produced a set of lockpicks and bent to examine the shackles. “Not any locksmith’s best work,” he added after a moment, straightening as the wristbands snapped open—then caught Tan’s arm in a hard grip as Tan swayed and added, “None of that, now! Here, Keier, keep him upright, will you, while I get these other shackles—” He grunted down to one knee to work on the ankle chains.

Tan clung to Keier, but he stared at Mienthe, still baffled by her presence. Like the men, she was wearing plain, sturdy clothing—boy’s clothing, in fact, very practical—but no one could have mistaken her for a boy. Her hair hung down her back in a heavy plait, and her delicate bones were much too fine for a boy’s. Though admirably composed, she was clearly frightened. She was breathing quickly, her face was pale, and her hands were balled into fists, probably to hide their shaking. On the other hand, she neither babbled nor spooked nervously at every distant sound, the two most common failings of young men on their first assignments in enemy territory. Instead, she walked forward to peer curiously at the things laid out on the table. One of the men guarding her immediately
collected a torch and obligingly held it for her. Picking up a quill, she ran the long feather through her fingers. Then she flipped open the book to gaze at its pages. Her brows drew together in puzzlement.

“He can’t walk on that,” Geroen said to one of his men, oblivious of or indifferent to Mienthe’s interest in the things the Linularinan spymaster had abandoned. “You and Sepes, carry him. Jump to it, now, do you think we’ve got all year for this?”

“Wait—” Tan began, nodding toward the table.

“Shut up!” Geroen ordered curtly. “Do you
know
how much trouble you’ve caused? I’ll give you a hint for free! Not near as much as there’ll be if we’re caught this side of the river. Keier—”

“Tan, can you…” Mienthe looked at him in concern, her voice trailing off. She closed the book again and tucked it back in the abandoned satchel, so that was all right. And she began to collect the inks and quills as well. The instincts of a spy, Tan thought, to take away anything odd for later perusal at leisure. He was almost amused despite the brutal circumstances, but he was glad to see someone had the right impulse, since Geroen clearly did not.

“I’m well, I’m well,” Tan assured Mienthe, through his teeth because he had to choke back a groan of pain as he tried to take a step. The attempt proved ill-advised. “You have that book safe, all those things?”

“Yes—”

“You, and you.” Captain Geroen pointed a thick finger at two of his men. “Get him up and out. Lady, if you will, this is not the time to dither about looking at—Did you find anyone?” he interrupted himself to demand as some
of his men reemerged from the far gloomy reaches of the barn. And, to the reluctant shakes of their heads, “Too much to expect, I suppose. Lady—”

Mienthe said meekly to Geroen, “Yes, Captain, of course. Is everyone here? Wasn’t there any sign of the, um, the men who…”

“Nothing but shadows and starlight as far as we could see,” said one of the men who’d gone after Istierinan. He added a little defensively, “Once they were out of this building, there were a thousand places to hide, and there’s not much moon tonight.”

“It’s not likely a lot of Delta guardsmen off the streets will find Istierinan Hamoddian or his men,” Tan put in. “Those weren’t some petty street-thugs, Geroen. That was the Linularinan spymaster. He might have been struck by an arrow, but those men he had won’t be fools. Although you might have taken them by surprise, you aren’t likely to take them up now.”

Geroen grunted, scowling at any possible excuses. But he didn’t order his people after Istierinan, either. He said instead, “Nor I wouldn’t want to. Last thing we need here, another spy! You men, get
our
spy out of that chair. Our way’s still clear, is it, Jerren?”

Tan wondered, briefly, what kind of animal Jerren bespoke. Something that could see in the dark, presumably. Rats? Owls? But then the two young men the captain had assigned to him lifted him up and he lost all interest in any questions other than
How far to the river?
and
How long till I can lie down?
and, impolite but honest doubt:
So do you have a half-skilled healing mage anywhere in Tiefenauer?

The barn proved to be set to one side of an abandoned
farmyard, not far from a decrepit house. A stretch of briars and poison ivy and other coarse brush indicated an abandoned pasture, and a timber fence in ill-repair outlined a rutted gravel road. It was not quite raining, but heavily overcast, with a fine mist blowing on the wind.

A lot of horses came up out of the brush. In the dark, the sound of their hooves crunching through the undergrowth took at least a year or two off Tan’s life, until he managed at last to make out their riderless state. Strangely, the animals moved all together, not one straying away from the herd—ah. Of course some of Geroen’s men would be able to speak to horses; living in Linularinum, Tan had become less accustomed to everyone and his cousin having that sort of gift, but there was a lot of Feierabianden blood in the Delta.