Shadow Gate (98 page)

The priest smiled awkwardly, which was perhaps an attempt to show sympathy and perhaps the curling bite of lofty scorn and perhaps only the man's own anxiety peeping through his stern façade.

“You have not heard, of course. Emperor Farazadihosh is dead, killed in battle by his cousin.”

 

Turn the page for a preview of

K
ATE
E
LLIOTT

Available August 2009

 

 

A TOR HARDCOVER

ISBN-13: 978-0-7653-1057-6          ISBN-10: 0-7653-1057-0

Copyright © 2009 by Katrina Elliot

L
ATE AT NIGHT
a fight broke out beyond the compound's high walls.

Keshad sat up in the darkness. At first he thought himself in the Hundred, in the city of Olossi, still bound as a debt slave to Master Feden. Then he smelled the faintly rancid aroma of the harsh local oil used for cooking. He heard cries and shouts jabbering words he could not understand.

And he remembered.

He wasn't in the Hundred. He was in the Sirniakan Empire.

He groped for the short sword he had stashed under the cot, shoving aside pouches of his most valuable trade goods and getting his hand tangled in a length of leather cord before he finally gripped the hilt.

“Eh? Keshad?” A bleary voice murmured on the other side of the curtain separating his cot from that of his companion.

“Quiet. There's trouble.”

The cloth rippled as, on the other side, Eliar got up and wrestled with clothing, or his turban, or whatever the hells the Silvers were so cursed prudish about. Bracelets jangled. There came a curse, a rattle, and a thump as the cot tipped over.

“Eiya! Where's the light?” whispered Eliar so loudly
that he would have woken any other sleeper could there have been one in such a narrow space.

“Hush.” Kesh wrapped his kilt around his waist, approached the door, and, leaning against it, pressed an ear to the crack. All quiet.

“Nothing to do with us,” he said in a low voice. “Yet.”

“How can you say so?” The cot scraped, being righted. “The Sirniakan officials have locked us in the compound, won't let us trade, and hand over a scant portion of rice and millet once a day so we don't starve. One of their priests told you that the emperor is dead, killed in battle by his cousin. They've locked down Sardia and are restricting all movement. These troubles have
everything
to do with us. We have to get out of here, return to Olossi, and report these developments to Captain Anji.”

“Hush!”

Kesh jiggered the latch and cracked the door. It was strange, even unseemly, to deal with doors on hinges instead of proper doors that slid, but in the empire things were done one way or not at all, and if you didn't like it, the priests would condemn you to the fire.

A single lamp hung from a bracket set high on the wall. Its glow illuminated the courtyard and the storehouse gates to either side, but the far walls of the courtyard with their set-back doors into other storerooms and sleeping cells remained hidden in darkness. He wedged himself into the opening, one foot in and one foot out. The trumpets, the shouting, and the clash of weapons swelled in the distance, well away from the restricted market district where foreign merchants were required to reside and carry out all their trade. A whiff of burning stung his nose, and a light wavered into life behind him.

“Heya!” he whispered, shutting his eyes at once. “Pinch that out, you fool! We don't want anyone to know we're awake.”

With a hiss, the light vanished. Eliar bumbled up against him and, with a stifled oath, took a step back so they weren't touching.

“Sheh!” Kesh opened his eyes. Nothing stirred in the courtyard. If anyone had seen that flare of light within the room, they weren't acting on it. “The whole point is to stay hidden, so no one knows we're awake. That's the best way to protect ourselves. So we can get back to the Hundred alive.”

“And fulfill our mission!”

“Say it a bit louder, perhaps. That will help us, neh? If everyone figures out we're spies?”

He stuck his head out a bit farther. A pair of figures slipped through the shadows, moving toward the gate. He ducked back inside.

“Listen, Eliar, you stay here with your cursed sword or whatever it is you think you can fight with, and make sure no one gets into the back room and goes after our trade goods. I'm going to the gate to see if there's any news from the guards.”

“Why can't I go?”

“You, who lit a lamp in such circumstances?”

“No need to constantly criticize me—”

Keshad bit at his own lip to keep his mouth shut on another carping comment. Aui! No matter how much he disliked Eliar, he had to make this expedition work or he'd never get what he wanted. And to get what he wanted, he had to stay on Eliar's good side.

“No, you're right. I beg your pardon. It's hateful to be stuck in this cursed compound day and night.”

Eliar grunted in acknowledgment of an apology Kesh knew was gracelessly delivered. “The guards won't tell us anything anyway. They never tell us a cursed thing.”

“They may talk to me because I worship at the Beltak temple.”

Thankfully, that shut Eliar up.

Keshad sheathed his sword and slung the sword belt over his back. He eased into the courtyard and padded cautiously to the doubled wall that funneled traffic to the double gates, locked and barred for the night. Indeed, they had been locked and barred for eight days, since the
night when trumpets and horns had disturbed the peace and all the markets had been closed. He counted eight figures huddled by the gates, muttering to each other as one of their number lit a lamp and raised it.

By its light, the other merchants recognized him.

“Is that you, Master Keshad? Maybe you can get these cursed guards to talk to you, since they favor you so much.”

The other Hundred merchants didn't like him any better than he liked them. They thought him a traitor for abandoning the gods of his birth for the empire's god, but what did it matter to them what god he chose to worship or what benefit that worship brought him? There were a pair of outlanders as well, a man out of the Mariha princedoms and one from the western desert who had slaves languishing in the slave pens he hadn't seen for days. For that matter, the drivers and guardsmen he and Eliar had hired in Olossi were confined in a different housing establishment altogether, and he'd had no contact with them since the citywide curfew was imposed.

He rang the bell at the guardhouse. A guard in one of the watch platforms above turned to look down into the forecourt at them, then twisted back to his survey of the streets and the turbulent city. Within moments, bars scraped and locks rattled. The door scraped open and the sergeant pushed into the forecourt, a pair of armed guards at his back and another guard holding high a lamp.

“Get inside your cells!”

“What is happening? We heard the commotion—”

“Get inside!”

His angry words drove them back into the main courtyard, all but Keshad, who held his ground. “Honored one, may I ask if we are in any danger here? How can we protect ourselves against these alarms?”

“Get inside,” said the sergeant, but less gruffly now that he only faced one man. “I know nothing. Men have broken curfew. That is bad. Best you get inside until the storm passes.”

The storm roared closer. A burst of running feet in a nearby street was followed by a chorus of shouts so loud the sergeant flinched. Kesh took a step back from the gate, wondering if the tumult was about to blow the gates off their hinges. The distinctive clamor of swords and spears in melee hammered the night, the skirmish racing as though one group was chasing another. The guards drew their swords; a fifth man popped out of the guardhouse.

“All ranks at the ready,” snarled the sergeant, and the man vanished back into the tower. “They may try to break in.”

The skirmish flowed down the street, passing by the gates outside as Kesh gripped his sword so tightly he was shaking. Then the melee moved on; the noise reached a pitch close by and abruptly subsided.

The sergeant exhaled. He spoke to his guards in the local language; Kesh was too rattled to catch more than a word here and there. Foreigners. Market. Fire. Traitors to the emperor.

Kesh sidled sideways, trying to get a look through the open door into the guardhouse. He was pretty sure it snaked through the compound wall because there was another opening for the guard unit street side. The guards watched both ways, keeping locals out and foreigners in.

A muffled shout caused Kesh to jump away from the gate to the far wall. As though slapped by a giant hand, the gates shuddered. Frantic voices called from inside the guardhouse. The sergeant swore, signaled to his men, and bolted inside. The last guard swung the door shut behind him, and at first Kesh just stood there as a struggle erupted within. Then merchants came running from the courtyard, babbling and questioning, and Kesh shoved past them and ran to his own cell, where Eliar waited by the door.

“What do we do?” Eliar demanded.

“The hells if I know. These gods-rotted empire laws have us caged like beasts, not a chance to get in or out
nor anywhere to hide or escape to. Curse them. Maybe we can get out over the roofs.”

Eliar reached past him and slammed shut the door. “I tried that!”

“You got up on the roof?”

“I did. You think I'm useless, but I've had plenty of practice getting in and out of tight places in Olossi. My friends and I, we smuggled goods over the river.”

Outside, merchants shouted, “Block the gate!” “Block the guardhouse door!”

Kesh began to laugh, because there wasn't anything else to find funny in their situation. “The hells! Were you part of that gang the Greater Houses were constantly chasing?”

He couldn't see Eliar's face; inside the chamber, there was no light. But he felt the sting of a smile as though he could touch it. “I was. I mean, I am.”

“Aui! So when in the hells did you get up on the roof?”

“One night when you were sleeping. I used rope tied around the lamp brackets. But I didn't try to get farther. There's a walkway around the entire roof. They patrol it all night. Keeping us in, or others out.”

“Or both. Grab some rope. And whatever you can carry that's too valuable to leave behind.”

“How will we get out of the city? If they capture us breaking curfew, walking where we're not allowed—”

“The hells!” Kesh dropped down beside his own cot and dragged out the two pouches of local spices, best-quality braid, and polished gems he'd brought south from the Hundred; he slung them over his back, buckling tight the straps so the pouches wouldn't shift as he moved. Then he grabbed rope coiled against the door that led into a small storeroom accessible only from this chamber. None of the goods in there were worth his life.