The Rogue (40 page)

Anyi chuckled. “I gave him a good reason to keep you.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re going to use you as bait to trap Skellin.”

Lilia stumbled to a halt. “You’re going to—”

“Anyi!”

A woman had stepped into the alley ahead, where it met another street. They both turned to stare at her. She was tall and very thin, and other than a cursory glance at Lilia, her attention was fixed on Anyi.

Anyi cursed quietly, then trudged forward.

“Heyla. Are you following me?”

The woman’s stare was unwavering. “Yes. I want to talk to you.”

Anyi crossed her arms. “Talk then.”

Heyla glanced at Lilia. “Privately.”

Sighing, Anyi walked to the corner and stopped. “This is private enough.”

The woman looked like she might protest, then shook her head and hurried over to join Anyi.

The pair began to talk quietly. Lilia was only able to make out a few words. Heyla said “I’m sorry” several times. Watching the woman’s face, Lilia read guilt, regret and, oddly, hunger. The woman’s shoulders slumped. Her hands moved quickly, and at one point she reached out toward Anyi, only to snatch her hand back.

Anyi, on the other hand, looked calm and attentive, but something about the tension in her jaw and the narrowing of her eyes suggested she was holding back anger. The longer Lilia watched Anyi, the more she grew convinced she was seeing something else in her rescuer’s face. She couldn’t decide if it was hope or pain. Then the woman said something, and Anyi winced and shook her head.

The woman suddenly pointed at Anyi aggressively and said something in a low voice.

Anyi laughed bitterly. “If you can find him, tell him he’s a bastard. He’ll know why.”

The woman turned to look at Lilia again. “What about her? Is she a client? Should I warn her to keep her bedroom locked? Or is she my replacement?”

“Well, she hasn’t turned into a traitorous, thieving rot-addict yet,” Anyi snarled in reply.

Heyla whirled around to face Anyi, one hand curling into a fist, but Anyi, with the slightest shift of her stance, was suddenly poised and ready for a fight. Heyla paused, and stepped back.

“Whore!” she spat, then stalked off down the street.

Anyi watched the woman until she had disappeared far down the thoroughfare, then she beckoned to Lilia. “We’d better keep an eye out,” she said. “She might try to follow us – or have someone else watching.”

She headed back down the alley, then took a narrow, covered route between two buildings into another alley.

“Who is she?”

“An old friend, believe it or not.” Anyi sighed. “We were close once, until she tried to sell me off to our enemies for money to buy rot.”

“What did she want?”

“Money. Again.”

“She threatened you?”

“Yes.”

“If you’ll forgive me saying this,” Lilia said. “But you’re having about as much luck in choosing who you associate with as I am.”

Anyi didn’t smile. Instead she looked sad, and Lilia regretted her words.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m over her,” Anyi said. She quickened her pace. Lilia lagged behind, then forced her legs to move faster so she could catch up.

“
I’m over her
“, she thought.
That sounds like what people say when … Wait. What was it Heyla had said? “Should I warn her to keep her bedroom locked? Or is she my replacement?” That could mean something else but …

As another possible meaning behind the woman’s words dawned on her, she could not help looking ahead, at her guide, and speculating.
Perhaps I’m wrong about her and Cery.
Anyi was no great beauty, but she was …
impressive
. Poised, strong and smart.
In fact, if it weren’t for Naki … no, don’t think that.

Because not only was it disloyal to Naki, but it would make working with Anyi much too distracting.

Looking pale and ill, Tayend moved to the railing to join Dannyl and Achati. He’d decided that morning that he would only take a half-dose of the seasickness cure, so that he wouldn’t be groggy when they arrived at their destination. Dannyl knew with fatalistic certainty that Tayend would be wide awake by the evening, and keeping him and Achati from having any private time together.
Not that any private time would come to much, since Achati warned us that our next host is a … how did he put it? ... a “disapproving prude”.

“Welcome to Duna,” Achati declared, gesturing toward the port ahead.

The
Inava
was sailing toward a wide valley. On either side, cliffs rose in staggered, weathered layers. In the centre, a wide, muddy river poured out into the sea, the grey-brown water cutting a swathe through the salt water for some distance before it mixed with the ocean.

Achati had been not entirely accurate in his declaration. The valley was not the beginning of the Duna lands. The ship had been sailing past them for the last few days, though there was no agreed boundary point. The valley ahead was where most visitors disembarked when they arrived by sea, and it was the closest thing the Duna had to a capital city.

Unlike the dry land and rough cliffs they had seen to their left for most of the journey, the valley was green with vegetation. Houses had been built on high stilts, the level of floodwaters suggested by stains on the wood high above the height of a man. Ladders provided access to some, while rough staircases made of bundled and bound-together logs had been added to others. The gathering of huts was called Haniva, and the valley was known as Naguh Valley.

The captain called out to the slaves, who began to scamper around the ship. The anchor went down and sails were furled.

“We can’t come any closer,” Achati explained. “The silt from the yearly floods makes the water too shallow. Occasionally storms pass through and wash the build-up away, but since they’d probably destroy any dock we might build it’s not worth trying to keep the bay clear with magic.”

When the ship was secure, the slaves lowered a smaller row-boat down to the water. Dannyl, Tayend and Achati thanked the captain, then climbed down a rope ladder into it. Once on shore, they waited for the slaves to return to the ship for their travel trunks and followed as they carried these into Haniva.

The town had no streets, just trails kept clear by the passing of feet, and the houses appeared to be randomly placed – often in groups connected by narrow walkways. Floods were obviously not expected for some time, Dannyl guessed from the crops growing around the houses. These were planted in a way that allowed room for the enormous trees, from which fruit hung in bunches. Each was a single smooth trunk topped with either an umbrella-like mass of branches, or an explosion of huge leaves. Tall spikes shooting from the ground puzzled Dannyl at first, until he saw a few larger ones sprouting leaves, and realised they were the sapling versions of the trees, throwing all their energy into growing tall enough to escape flood waters before putting out foliage.

As they passed people walking in the field, he noticed that their skin and build was somewhere between the stocky brown typical of Sachakans and the grey slim build of the tribesmen. He assumed there had been some interbreeding of the races over the centuries. Settling in towns was not the usual habit of the Duna tribes, from what Dannyl had read or been told. They were a nomadic people.

Perhaps these people could be considered another race
, he thought.
Maybe called “Naguhs” or “Hanivans”.

After they had passed a few dozen houses, the slaves headed toward a group of buildings standing alone in a field. It was immediately obvious that these were different, despite being constructed of the same building materials and raised on stilts. Their arrangement was symmetrical, with one house in the centre three times the size of the local homes, and smaller buildings arranged around the sides and rear, all accessed by a walkway. A single wide stairway led up to the central house, and the path that led to it was straight. As the slaves reached it they stopped and waited for Achati, Dannyl and Tayend to climb up ahead of them.

Climbing the stairs changed not only the view of the town, but the way Dannyl viewed it. He could see more houses, and the people in them, as well as the workers in the fields. Suddenly Haniva felt far more populated and town-like.

A house slave emerged and threw himself face down on the wooden deck at the top of the stairs.

“Take me to Ashaki Vakachi, or whoever speaks for him when he is absent,” Achati ordered.

The man leapt to his feet and led them inside. The inner walls had been painted white and led down a corridor to a large room.
Like a typical Sachakan home, except the walls are straight.
In the Master’s Room, a man stood waiting for them. His skin had a hint of dusky grey to it, and his shoulders were narrow, hinting at a touch of Duna in his blood.

“Welcome, Ashaki Achati,” the man said, then as Achati thanked him he turned to his two companions. “And you must be Ambassadors Dannyl and Tayend.”

“We are,” Dannyl replied. “And we are honoured to be staying with you.”

The man invited them to sit. “I have arranged for a light meal to be served, then you each will be taken to your own
obin
– one of the detached houses you no doubt noticed on your arrival. They are a local idea, usually added for the use of a son after he is married, or an elderly relative after the son inherits the house, but also to keep an eye on unmarried young men and women.”

“Is this a Duna tradition?” Tayend asked.

Vakachi shrugged. “It is and it isn’t. The tribe of Naguh Valley have their own traditions, different to the rest of the Duna. Though they are a settled tribe, and more civilised than their cousins, they are regarded as inferiors and pay tribute to those of the escarpment.”

“Is it possible that any of them are Keepers of the Lore?” Dannyl asked.

Vakachi spread his hands. “I couldn’t say for sure. Since the Keepers remain hidden by living ordinary lives and saying nothing of their status, there could be some here but nobody knows it.” He smiled. “No, your best chance to meet one is to climb up to the escarpment and seek one among the full blood tribes. Not that your chances are good even then. The Duna have a unique and effective habit of being uncooperative.”

“So I have heard, and read,” Dannyl said.

Vakachi nodded. “Still, it’s possible a foreigner will have greater luck than a Sachakan. I have arranged transportation to the escarpment for you all, setting out tomorrow. It will take a few days. In the meantime,” he gestured to the slaves filing into the room, “eat, rest and be welcome.”

As Sonea entered the treatment room, Dorrien looked closely at her and frowned.

“You look pale,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she told him as she sat down.

“How long has it been since you saw sunlight?”

Sonea considered. She’d been working the night shift for some weeks now, only taking time off to meet with Cery. The morning after the failed attempt to catch Skellin had been the last time she’d seen sunlight, though surely—

“If it’s been so long you have to think about it this much, it’s been too long,” Dorrien told her sternly.

Sonea shrugged. “The short winter days mean it’s dark when I leave the Guild.”

“If you wait until the days get longer, you might not see the sun for weeks.” He crossed his arms. “You’re like some sort of creepy nocturnal creature, and the impression isn’t helped by the black robes and black magic.”

She smiled. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

He chuckled. “Not one bit. But I’d hesitate to invite you over to dinner. You might scare the girls.”

“Hmm … it’s probably my turn to host a dinner.”

“You don’t have to take a turn,” he told her. “You’ve got too many other things on your mind. Have you heard from Cery lately?”

She shook her head. “Just a few cryptic messages. He believes Lorandra will have joined Skellin by now.”

“How is Kallen’s search for Lilia and Naki going?”

“He and his assistants have printed out flyers with drawings and descriptions of the girls, and hired people to hand them out around the city. A few have reported seeing one or both of the girls, but none of the sightings has led him to either of them.”

“People have seen Naki? At least that means she’s alive.”

“If the girl they saw
was
Naki. Still, the Guard hasn’t found any bodies of young women that look like her.”

Dorrien looked thoughtful. “We should put some of those flyers up in the hospices.”

Sonea nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“I’ll send a messenger to Kallen before I leave. Pity we didn’t get a picture drawn of Lorandra before she escaped.”

“Her appearance is much more distinctive than the girls’, and so is Skellin’s, but the descriptions we put out of those two haven’t attracted any reports of sightings.”

“No, I suppose—”

A knock at the door interrupted him. Sonea turned in time to see it swing open. Healer Gejen nodded to her politely.

“Black Magician Sonea,” he said politely, before turning to Dorrien. “Your wife is here to see you, Lord Dorrien.”

“Tell her I’ll be out as soon as I’ve finished briefing Sonea,” Dorrien replied.

As the door closed, Dorrien sighed. “I was wondering how long it would take before she gathered the courage to check on me here.”

“Check on you?”

“Yes. To make sure we’re not up to anything she wouldn’t approve of.”

Sonea shook her head. “I don’t understand. What does she think we do here? Is she afraid I’ll corrupt you?”

“In a way.”

“She thinks I might teach you black magic?” Sonea threw up her hands in exasperation. “How can I convince her to trust me?”

“It’s not that she distrusts you. She’s in awe of you. And she’s jealous.”

She looked at Dorrien. He wore an expression she had seen before. Before she could put a name to it, he spoke again.

“It’s me she doesn’t trust.”