Shadow Gate (85 page)

She set the bowl down on the bench without eating.

Voices murmured, startled and speculating. Has the pretty clan-less girl turned down the chief? Impossible!

She hadn't thought the Qin could look surprised at anything. The chief's eyes widened as he looked at the bowl, her empty hands, and her face, which she knew was flaming. What if he was angry?

But he shrugged in good part, rose with the faintest of smiles, and left, scratching his chin as if trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Tears bloomed. She choked down a sob, felt it lodge in her heart. Was she simply too afraid to go through with it?

She had to cling to the one thing she knew: Her father had been a good man, a gentle man, a kind man. He had treated her mother well. They had been fond of each other. He had treated Nallo with the same kindness, and even Nallo had found a bud of kindness in herself, not much of one, but her surly nature had tempered in the house, only to surface again in its full fury after his horrible death.

“Vish?” Jerad cantered up, all gangly legs and arms. Aui! He was growing! He shoved the covered bowl of rice into her hands, and snatched the half empty one off the bench. “I
knew
you weren't that stupid!”

He bolted back to Jagi. Without really stopping, Jerad grabbed the man's sleeve and yanked, and tugged, and pulled, while the soldier stood blinking like he'd been blinded by the sun and could not quite make out what was going on right in front of his eyes.

Someone laughed.

Abruptly, Jagi shook free of Jerad, took two steps, then thrust the riding whip into the boy's hand and strode the rest of the way. Not smiling, not today. He plopped heavily down on the bench next to Avisha. He seemed about to say something, but then he let out all his breath as he fixed his gaze on the distant mountains. He was blushing.

The bowl of rice Jerad had given her was still warm, because he had been thoughtful enough to bring it covered. Just as her father would have. She laid the cover aside and handed the bowl to Jagi, because if a man sat on the bench next to a woman, the woman had to offer.

Hands trembling, he carefully ate half, and gave the bowl back into her hands.

Any man might eat, but to seal the agreement, the woman must finish the rice.

Chief Tuvi had an important position. Jagi did not; he ranked among the youngest and least experienced of the Qin soldiers.

Chaji—before his awful death—had been the best-looking of the Qin, since he looked more like the Hundred folk than his comrades. The scars of a childhood disease pocked Jagi's round face; he could not be called a handsome man, but he had nice eyes and a sweet smile.

Keshad, of course, had a bold, bright, intense spirit. Having met him, she would never forget him. Did she regret that he was never meant for her?

Jagi shifted nervously on the bench, and looked at her. Not accusingly, but questioningly, as if to say: What will happen now?

After all, a kind man is best.

She raised the bowl, and ate the rest of the rice.

The Qin had set up their main militia training compound outside the city of Olossi, separate from the camps in the Barrens and at Storos-on-the-water. For Joss, the journey from Argent Hall to the substantial military camp was an easy one, up on a thermal and a long, long glide down. The local militiamen standing guard at the gates waved him through. The Qin guards allowed him entry past the inner palisade to the captain's office, a raised platform built of planks and covered by a canvas roof. Its inner and outer walls were tied up in a configuration that let through light and air while concealing the innermost chamber. Rather like the man himself, Joss reflected as he navigated the brief maze.

Anji was seated at a low writing desk with paper unrolled on the slanting desk, one hand holding the missive open while he mouthed words.

As Joss entered, Anji looked up and smiled. “Sit, my friend. Let me finish, if you will. I have received a letter from my wife.”

“Are you reading?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Not in one of the Lantern's hierophants. Mai can write?”

“She can tally an accounts books. As for writing, I believe she may be learning the temple script. However, it is Priya who has written this to her dictation.”

“Priya? The slave?”

“She was a priest before she was taken captive. She is an educated woman.” His gaze drifted back to the page, and he smiled absently as if he could hear Mai's voice through the words. “Heh. That pretty girl Mai took in. It seems Chief Tuvi attempted to marry her, but she turned him down and chose one of the tailmen instead.”

“A good-looking one? The young are enamored of looks.”

Anji glanced up. “Not only the young.”

“I'm hit!” Joss staggered, a hand clapped over his heart.

Anji laughed. “Sit. Since you came yourself, your message must be important. Let me just . . .” His voice trailed off as his gaze tracked lines from top to bottom. The smile drifted back.

Joss settled himself on one of the pillows. With Mai in the distant Barrens, he thought it likely that Anji had himself chosen the elegant furnishings: masterfully painted silk wall scrolls depicting lush green stands of pipe-brush, embroidered gold silk pillows, five vases filled with yellow and white flowers. The stubby legs of the desk had been lathed by a master into smooth curves. Was Anji's weakness that he loved beauty too well, starting with his wife? Hard to say. Certainly any man might stumble in the face of beauty, and desire yet more comforts. It was possible, and yet Mai herself possessed other qualities that made her formidable. Anji slept, it seemed, on a simple pallet on the floor, and a single ebony chest sufficed to hold his possessions.

“As news comes in that men in the Barrens settlement are finding wives, the men stationed here and at other postings become anxious, although I have given permission for a few to—how do you say it—sit on the bench. Have you ever married?”

Joss shrugged uncomfortably. “It always seemed I was too occupied with reeve's work.”

Anji rolled up the letter and set it aside. “What news?”

Joss mentally scrambled back through thoughts of his mother and aunties inquiring in their gently persistent way about his prospects, now that he was getting older, and older. And older. “Eiya! Yes. A cloaked man like to a Guardian has been sighted on the Rice Walk, accompanied by about three hundred soldiers, marching northeast.
They've been marching at night, when reeves can't spy them out, and camping under cover of trees during the day. A local villager alerted a pair of reeves on patrol after his village was ransacked for supplies. They scouted the road at dawn and dusk and caught a look.”

“About three hundred? The reeves didn't count exact numbers?”

“Being inexperienced and therefore cautious, they kept elevation. I've lost four reeves in the last four months, and there's no knowing whether they're dead, captured, or run off. Meanwhile, I've sent an older reeve to confirm the sighting.”

“Could this be a scouting force come out of the north and now headed back?”

“Perhaps. But I think these are stragglers he's rounded up and is leading back north.”

“Men who went to ground for five months instead of running? It's possible.” He tapped fingers on the desk, thinking. “I'd like to get my hands on a Guardian. Can we ambush the company and take prisoners?”

“I should think it would be impossible to take a Guardian as a prisoner. If it is a Guardian. Maybe it's a demon.”

“I'm willing to try. How far ahead are they?”

Joss brushed a hand over his tightly shorn head. “I have a difficult time with earth-bound distances. Fifty or sixty mey.”

“A strike force with remounts can travel that in two days.”

“Impossible. A message rider would take four days to cover that distance. Regular traffic, ten or more.”

“For a fixed distance, along a good road? If we change over to remounts at Storos?” He was well started now, a wolf already begun its race after a herd of scattering red deer. “We've got militiamen in training who need experience fighting. Such a strike would build cohesion, and give them a sense of triumph.”

“If we win.”

“Against three hundred of the same rabble who besieged Olossi? If we remain steady, and allow for the troubles that invariably beset orderly plans, it could prove a small but significant victory.” He stood, grabbing his sword belt and riding whip. “Especially if we capture a Guardian.”

“The ghost-girl killed three of your men.”

“She caught them by surprise. What if we can trap this one where it can't see us?”

His determination caught in Joss, tumbling his thoughts through possibilities. “A barrier to delay them.” He grinned.

“What are you thinking?” asked Anji.

Joss told him.

Z
UBAIDIT WAS SHARPENING
her knives.

Shai glanced toward the awning strung low between trees. Their little cadre had set up camp off the path in a narrow clearing, not much more than an arm's reach of open ground where a pair of massive old trees had fallen, taking down smaller trees. The children huddled beneath the canvas, settling down for the night after a scant meal of rice and nai paste. He saw their forms as darkness churning, but maybe that was only the fear in his heart. Weren't they all captives, in a way, of Zubaidit's insane plan to join up with the northern army posing as merchants with slaves to sell?

“You're crazy,” he said.

“Every dawn I tell those who wish to stay behind that they are free to go,” said Bai without looking up. Eihi! How the whetstone grated his nerves! “Every day, they stay with us.”

“You can strand a man in an oasis in the middle of the desert. You can tell him he is free to walk in whatever direction he wishes. But he knows he will die of thirst before he reaches the next water hole. Anyone can choose
to die instead of live as a slave. That's not the same as freedom.”

Veras, oiling harness, looked up. “Shut up, Shai. Bai knows best.”

She smiled, stroking a blade. “Neh, let him talk. You're grown voluble, little brother. I like that. But remember. If we succeed, then even if we die our lives are an insignificant sacrifice compared to those who will suffer if we don't fight. Maybe brave children are clear-sighted enough to know what crucial part they can play.”

“Think of what a tale it will make!” said Eridit, from her seat on a log.

Shai turned away in disgust. He would have taken the children and walked away, but he had no idea how to get back to Olossi, and he had no idea how to feed them. He was just afraid to take charge. It was easier to let Zubaidit and Tohon make the decisions.

He covered his eyes with a hand. What was he, after all? Just the useless unlucky seventh son, accustomed to taking orders from his elders.

“Hsst!”

Bai leaped to her feet, a knife in either hand. Veras dropped the harness and drew his sword. Eridit took in a sharp breath.

Ladon rattled out of the trees. “Patrol coming.”

Bai nodded coolly. “Take positions.”

Eridit ducked under the awning, crouching at the front. Pulse galloping, Shai grabbed a spear and stood, as if guarding prisoners.

Veras and Ladon took cover along the fallen trunks, one on each side. Ladon had his bow ready; Veras propped his supply of javelins beside him. Bai tied a belt of knives around her middle, checking each sheath. Tohon remained hidden.

Bodies pushed through undergrowth. A pair of men appeared at the edge of the clearing.

“Who're you?” one demanded.

“The hells!” Bai answered. “Who are you?”

“Just passing through. Where you headed?”

“I've no pressing need to tell you where I'm headed.” The cheap tin medallion worn around her neck caught the firelight and winked.

“Heya! You headed to Walshow, maybe?”

“Come out of the shadows and I might be willing to talk.”

“Sheh! You cursed lackwit.” This compliment, delivered by a second voice, was directed at his comrade. “I only see two.”

“And an awning that might be concealing more, and logs for cover. When did you get to be such a fool?” The first man whistled. Branches snapped and vegetation rustled as an unknown number of confederates approached. “We can make it a fight, or we can join forces. Up to you.”

“Depends on who you are,” Bai said. “I might be going to Walshow, or I might not.”

“We might just escort you there.” A dozen soldiers filed out to take up positions around the clearing's edge. Veras, flushed out, rose slowly with a javelin in hand. Men stiffened. Hands gripped weapons. Shoulders grew taut. Every man wore a tin medallion around his neck, just like the ones they'd taken from the corpses of their former captors.

“I'm willing to travel with you,” said Bai, “but I have a few conditions.”

“Not sure you're in a position to give conditions, verea,” said their leader mockingly. He was a burly man with a scarred forehead and hair cropped against the skull.

“That's because you're thinking you know all my resources, but you don't.”

The men looked nervously around at the trees.

“Told you not to rush in like a cursed bull,” muttered the second.

“Shut up.”

“I got no quarrel with you lot,” added Bai in a reasonable
tone. “I'm taking cargo to Walshow. I don't want any trouble.”

“What manner of cargo?”

“Slaves. Children mostly. From the Olo Plain.”

“Olo? How were you down there?”

“How do you think I was down there? Marched with the cursed army, didn't I? Got our asses kicked, didn't we? Cursed bad fortune, wasn't it? Captain Mani is dead, gods rot him, and the rest with him. That left me in charge of these dregs. Here, Ladon, you pissing dog. Stand up.” The youth stood, startling one of the soldiers so badly that the man yelped and thrust with his spear, but the jab wobbled and went far wide as Ladon jumped back into a rattle of branches.