Traitors' Gate (18 page)

“Your weapon is your ability to command others to kill him. You've yet to prove yourself to us. Do so, and I will give you your staff and a chance at a new command. One other thing. I was given a report that you interviewed an outlander today.”

“I interviewed more than one,” said Hari so easily that Shai's gut relaxed. Maybe Hari wouldn't betray him. “Slaves, craven and weeping. Their hearts revealed nothing more than the misery of being torn from their homeland and forced to endure the lash of cruel masters. I let them go. Their masters were waiting. Just as mine do.”

“I wonder if you are telling the truth,” said Lord Radas.

It seemed to Shai he could actually feel like the brush of fingers the man probing the tent, seeking what was hidden.

Hari said, “You think it might have been more merciful to
have them cleansed and thus released from servitude? I suppose so.”

“Don't tempt me,” said Lord Radas. The touch of poison eased; vanished. The man had left.

“You'll never manage to kill that outlander captain,” said Yordenas. “You're a gods-rotted coward and a stinking outlander. I hate you.”

“Do you, truly? I don't care enough about you to hate you. Mosquitoes gripe me more. Run after the one whose boots you lick, eh?”

“You'll regret speaking this way to me.”

Hari laughed.

Yordenas's hot presence stamped out of the tent, and then it was cool and quiet and Hari whispered, “Don't move, don't speak. We can hear better than you know.”

He apparently went outside, because it was silent for some time. Shai thought maybe he was getting a rash on his forehead where the coarse fibers were pressed against the skin. An outlander captain veiled to the sight of the demons. A man who could, like Shai, see ghosts. Obviously, they meant Hari to hunt down and kill Captain Anji.

With a shove, Shai was tumbled around and over and rolled gasping out of the carpet. Hari tugged him up to his feet, and Shai turned away to sneeze, three times. He wiped streaming eyes with the back of a hand. He had been so close to Lord Radas, and he had not acted. Yet how had he intended to strike?

“When they find out you're veiled, they'll kill you.” Hari grasped Shai's arm and pulled him around to face him. Hari's gaze bored deep, but Shai matched him until Hari shook his head in frustration. “We have to get you out of camp before they find you. And they will find you. Someone will betray you. I'll betray you. Hu! How did you even get to the Hundred?”

“Father Mei sent me to bring back your bones.”

“You can't have walked all this way yourself!” His bitter laugh cracked. “Those Qin soldiers I saw on the road with you
months ago. They pinned me with arrows. The bastards! Did the Qin make you a soldier and slave, as they did me?”

Thinking of Mai, Shai shook his head. “I am not soldier or slave. How can I kill Lord Radas?”

Hari flung himself away, walking again to the entrance and peering out as if he was sure Shai's words had carried outside the tent wall. Then he strode back. “You can't.”

“Lord Radas threatened to have you killed.”

“No, only punished. He has a soldier stab me until I'm dead, but since I can't die, I live through the agony of dying and then I heal through pain worse than that of dying. Don't you remember how your Qin soldiers shot me full of arrows? How do you think I survived that?”

“Yet here you stand. A ghost, who yet lives.” He touched Hari's arm, but his brother jerked away. “Didn't you ask him to release you?”

“Only a cloak can destroy a cloak. Five Guardians can judge one. You who are not prisoners of the cloak cannot kill us.” Tears shone in his eyes. “Do not pity me.”

“I don't pity you! You pity yourself!”

Hari raised a hand to strike, then flung himself away, pressing that hand to the clasp that hooked his cloak around his throat.

“You don't have to be their prisoner! Just take it off!” Shai dogged Hari's steps, reaching for the cloak's elaborate clasp, but Hari shoved him so hard he fell onto the plush upholstery of the couch.

“It will burn you, kill you, if you touch it. You think I haven't seen Yordenas torture people? He forces them to touch his clasp until their flesh burns away to the bone!”

“Then release yourself!”

Hari's smile lit him with a flash of his old charm, but the reckless glint was twisted and bitter. “Once started down this path, no one is ever content, little brother. Do you know why I'm their prisoner? I hate what I am, and yet I embrace it, because I fear the shadows that lie beyond the gate. Now that I am dead, I fear death more than anything. Just as she does.”

“She?”

“The cloak of Night. The one who woke me and taught me to know what I am. She fears death, too. We all fear death, who have suffered it. That's why we are what we are and why we do what we do.”

This could not be Harishil, best of brothers. This was his shell, inhabited by a demon.

The cloak ran a hand over his head, face creased, eyes tight, other hand in a fist. “You must have come to the Hundred with the Qin. What do you know about an outlander captain? One who might be veiled?”

Shai looked the demon in the eye. His heart sang with grief, even as his mouth opened and his voice emerged with astonishing evenness, the lie as easy as breathing. “Nothing. If you'll give me safe passage out of camp, I'll accept it with thanks.”

•  •  •

“C
APTAIN ARRAS
.”

Lord Twilight stood with his back to the captain. A single lamp burned, the flame's wavering light rippling across the fabric of his cloak.

“What brings you to Toskala, Captain? I'll admit, I enjoyed our time together in High Haldia. I had been looking forward to a quiet retirement up there in the north with you as my congenial colleague.”

“My lord.” If it were possible to feel comfortable around a cloak, then Arras felt comfortable with this man, but he knew better than to believe they could ever be comrades. “Two weeks ago I received orders that a new administrator would be taking over the occupation of High Haldia. I've been reassigned with my three companies to serve at the whim of the governor of Toskala.”

“Are you glad to come to Toskala?” The cloak kept his back to Arras.

“Presiding over an occupation does not suit my temperament. I'm trained to fight, not hang people up from poles just for the pleasure of watching them die.”

“Some in this army gain too much pleasure out of the suffering of the vanquished.”

“It's better to kill rebels, criminals, and traitors cleanly and at once, and move on with the real work.”

“What if I were to use my influence to make sure you got reassigned in support of the army marching south on Nessumara? Do you trust me, Captain?”

They were alone, no one in earshot as long as they spoke quietly. The tent's furnishings had been hauled away; all that was left were a pair of rolled-up rugs.

“Yes, my lord. I trust you.”

“As much as you trust any of us, eh?” said the cloak with a laugh that made Arras grin.

“I return what is given. You trust me enough not to demand my compliance through eating out my heart. It's a courtesy I appreciate.”

A smile creased the cloak's profile. “Then we understand each other. I am required to depart immediately, leaving unfinished business here in camp.”

“The outlander?”

“You can see the problem this presents me. I'm asking you to disobey orders. You could betray me to Lord Radas and I wouldn't fault you for it. Or you can help me. If we both survive this war, I'll have reason to be grateful to you. Although I can't promise my gratitude is worth much.”

“Are you asking me to betray Lord Commander Radas, my lord?”

“No. I just need to get a single individual to safety in Nessumara without him getting caught and turned over to Night. Without anyone except you and me knowing or suspecting what's being done. A tactical challenge, if you will.” Still, the cloak did not turn to use his third eye and second heart to expose Arras's intentions. “Will you help me, Captain?”

Trust can never be offered lightly, nor lightly refused. In the army, Arras was just one ambitious captain from the uplands of Teriayne, with no means for advancement except distinguishing himself and his companies in battle. He'd been left
behind in High Haldia despite fighting well and taking the brunt of the initial attack, while better-connected men who'd done less had received promotions and moved on.

“Get me assigned to the attack against Nessumara, my lord. If you do, I can help you.”

•  •  •

J
OSS LEFT CLAN
Hall at dawn, alone, guiding Scar downstream toward Nessumara. Eagles he had ordered out on patrol sweeps soared in the distance. It was easy from this height to perceive the land as if it were at peace, until you recognized how many villages bore the scars of battle: burned houses, freshly built scaffolding on which to lay the dead, empty paths and roads. A crude encampment lay hidden within woodland, but he dared not land to see who they were. It seemed almost cruel to grab bites of rice cake and swigs of cordial from the pouch of provisions lashed to his harness while wondering if those refugees were starving.

He caught up with the enemy midmorning. Three eagles floated above, observing. He knew the reeves by their eagles: Peddonon, Vekess, and Disi. The soldiers marched in orderly ranks, cohorts spaced at intervals. Clearly they did not expect to be attacked. The vanguard had taken control of the town at Skerru, where the River Istri split. The deep channel cut west along an ancient ridgeline. Copper Hall reeves flew patrol over Istria, and by Scar's attention, others soared too far away for him to see but not so for the raptor with its exceptional vision. Downstream, many small channels braided into a vast delta.

Two causeways spanned the wetlands, linking the city to the mainland. The northern causeway, a raised roadway from Skerru that pushed into the delta through a swamp forest, was already blocked by barriers. An eagle preened in the sun on a massive log off to one side. The eastern causeway linking the trading town of Saltow to the docks and markets of Nessumara was packed with refugees fleeing
into
the delta. A pair of reeves had set down in the midst of the traffic where a knot of confusion had brought movement to a halt. Boats bobbed
within the marshy hinterlands; others were being rowed or poled along the narrow channels of the inner delta where the flow of water was regulated by a complicated scheme of locks, dikes, canals, and holding pools.

With the sun at zenith, he and Scar dropped over Nessumara, a city sprawled across a hundred greater and smaller islands. Copper Hall's four watchtowers beckoned. He flagged—
and received no answer.

The hells! No one was manning the watchtowers. Where was everyone?

Scar skimmed low south to the swirling confluence of land and sea while Joss scanned the landscape. The hive of activity might be better described as chaos. The entire place was coming apart.

There were a hells lot of boats and ships out in the bay; the harbor of Ankeno was crowded with vessels. Any one who could afford passage was running before the tide. Where in the hells did they all mean to go? And how keep themselves once they were there? The countryside crawled with folk in motion. More reeves down there betrayed even more trouble and confusion. Was it possible for reeves to police this kind of upheaval, much less maintain order at their own hall?

Scar found an updraft and they spiraled up, then began a long descent toward what was now the main compound of Copper Hall, where the marshal had his cote. The eagle seemed eager, recalling his home perch, the place he had jessed Joss. The shores of the Haya coast unfolded below. Surf rolled against sand beaches, or sprayed where rockier ground met the water. The wide North Shore Road had a cursed lot of traffic on it, folk trudging east toward the Haya Gap and Zosteria. Reeves were out in force.

Late in the afternoon he spotted the familiar watchtowers. It was here Joss had trained; here he had met Marit; here he had flung his reckless defiance into the face of Marshal Masar one too many times until the marshal had forced him to transfer to Clan Hall just to be rid of him. Looking back, Joss supposed he would have done the same in Masar's place. What a gods-rotted
rebel he'd been! There'd been no purpose to his troublemaking beyond the frustration of a young man who had had something he craved torn from him. He was older now. It was easy to see the pattern.

He flagged the tower and received permission to come in.

Scar landed with feathers fanned out and talons forward, almost vertical. He grasped a perch, and Joss, swinging gently, unhooked and dropped. The raptor chirped eagerly as he inspected his surroundings. He knew where he was, of course. He'd called Copper Hall home for longer than Joss had been alive.

A murmur of activity came from the main compound, yet in the empty quiet of the visitors' ground, you might think the place deserted. Joss inspected Scar, waiting for fawkners, but spotted only a lad skulking in the entrance to a loft.

“Where are the fawkners?” Joss called.

The lad shrugged.

“Can you fetch someone for me?”

The lad scratched his short hair, then ran for the gate. Joss swore under his breath as he attended to Scar's needs. The visitors' lofts were empty, so Scar lumbered into the closest loft and found an open perch, settling in to preen. The afternoon light falling through the open doors shone gold onto Scar's glorious feathers.

Joss jessed him and went out. In the main compound, smoke was rising from the kitchens, two women squabbled, wagons piled with bags of rice rumbled up to one of the storehouses. The forge boiled with heat and noise, hammers ringing.

No one took notice of Joss. He walked down the alleyway between storehouses and fawkners' barracks that led to the marshal's garden. Long ago, during Joss's days as a novice, Marshal Alard had lovingly tended beds of bright flowers just for their beauty, but now every plant here had its use: culinary herbs, lavender, woundwort, wiry desert tea, peony, ginseng with its tapered leaves.