Chapter Forty-Seven
Riordan and Bannor sprinted toward the yelling that had erupted not from the mass of trog prisoners sitting on the battlefield under the watchful eyes of the h’achgai, but in what Miles sardonically referred to as the “terminal debriefing area”: a spot just beneath the stone-capped rise where potentially friendly captives were answering questions.
As they arrived, the human that Caine had believed to be the leader of the two, a warrior named Orsost, was shouting at one of the archers he’d commanded while the actual leader Enoran—a “technicker”—watched coolly, arms folded.
Orsost waved his knife under the nose of the oldest bowman, who, like all the others, were trogans. “You lie!” the human shouted. “You must have known!”
“As if lieges tell us anything we do not need to know?” the other protested, not quite cowering but shrinking back from the knife.
“What’s going on here?” Bannor asked, adopting the same role as Orsost: asking the questions so that the leader could stand back and observe.
Sharat shrugged. “Old business from their liege’s stable, it seems.”
Orsost turned to Riordan. “Leader Caine, this prakhwa received aid from our war leader. He was honor bound to tell us if we were to be sold, as the Legate captain claims.”
Bannor looked sideways at Sharat. “And how certain was your information?”
“It was more than adequate,” Tirolane answered. “I have contacts in Fragkork. They would not lie. I shall prove it.”
“How?” Enoran asked calmly.
Tirolane turned and went to what was clearly the most valuable of the cargo frames that had been recovered from the field: it was heavily bound and secured with unusually thick straps. He loosed one, tossed aside several larger sacks, and revealed a smaller one made of x’qao hide.
A hiss went up from the group that could see: a reaction to both the value of the pouch and the detested source of its material.
Tirolane opened it and pulled out two smaller pouches. He opened one that was of fine manufacture. Ne’sar sighed. “That is handiwork from Lessíb, one of the outlying communities of Ebrekka.”
Tirolane tilted its contents into his hand. A small amount of moss fell out, followed by several bound clusters of lichen.
Enoran spat. “Barely enough to get us to Forkus. Our liege broke his oath. Clearly, he meant us to be passed into the claws of another. Or knew we were to be killed.”
The trogan archer stared at it. “And certainly none for us! Despite our liege’s promises!” He turned toward Orsost. “Do you believe us now? That is our death warrant as well, or at least a further slip into s’rillor.”
Before the human warrior could answer, Tirolane opened the other pouch, trickled a few grains of the contents onto his palm.
“Gunpowder,” Sharat said, crossing his arms. “Not unusual for them to hold back anything more than a single shot for each gun in the caravan.”
Tirolane nodded, held the bag out to Enoran. “Test it.”
The technicker took the pouch, trickled a measure into his own palm, sniffed and then tasted it. He spat it out: not in response to the taste, but disgust. “At least half of the charcoal is ash. It would be almost useless in a gun.”
Orsost sheathed his knife and reached that hand down to the archer. “Apologies. Rise and know I believe your oath was not broken.” The archer allowed the human to bring him to his feet. “I am baffled.”
“At the duplicity of your liege?” Bannor asked.
“No, that he managed to make such preparations without our friends among the prakhwa learning and informing us. They find it easy to keep many secrets from us, but not those involving our tech. They do not understand it well enough.”
Enoran nodded, turned to face Sharat, and gestured to his fellow humans and the trogans seated nearby. “We would swear allegiance to the Legate, if he will have us.”
Sharat shook his head in obvious regret. “If we were bound for one of our enclaves, I would do so. But we are not, so it could be a season or more before I could bring you before either one of our mindwatchers or oathkeepers to receive your fealty.”
“We would follow on our own,” Orsost said . . . impulsively, judging from Enoran’s expression.
Sharat kept shaking his head. “Our orders forbid long travel with those who cannot be adequately vetted.”
Enoran nodded but was already staring at Tirolane. “Lord Tirolane, I would offer our oaths to you, then.”
Tirolane bowed. “Let us travel as comrades, instead. My path is too uncertain to take the oaths of others. I may have to travel alone, as I already have. And then, where would you be?”
Orsost turned to Caine and Bannor. “Then what of you, lords? Surely you have taken oaths of those who serve you?”
Riordan and Bannor exchanged glances. The hard fact of the matter was that over half of those who had taken oaths the night before were dead or soon would be. “We must consider this before we agree. Our path is—”
From the other side of the slope, troggish voices began screaming: some in pain, some in fury.
One of the voices was Bey’s.
***
Riordan and his small group slowed as they approached the grim tableau: Zaatkhur lying atop a brown, baked disk of his own blood, the two missing kajh lying beside him, one with an arrow in his back, the other with one in his leg. And Bey, with shortswords out, half bent over her friend, tears falling into his gaping wounds.
“What happened here?” Caine asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Bey pointed at a spot behind her. Riordan waved the h’achga who’d accompanied them—Hresh—toward the place she’d indicated.
“They killed him?” Riordan asked.
Bey nodded, shoulders quivering.
“Why?” Bannor asked.
Hresh stood. “Zaatkhur discovered their treachery.” He pointed at the spot Bey had indicated. “I do not know the meaning of this sign, but they left a marker: a pattern of stones that looks random but is not.”
“They must have followed Zaatkhur when I sent him to get Ne’sar,” Bannor muttered. “He probably didn’t know about the concealed route back to the camp, either.”
Riordan nodded, glancing at the sequence of low rises that, followed with care, hid crouched figures from most of the battlefield. “And they were worried that he’d see this marker.” Caine felt a chill run down his body. “Which means we’re being followed.”
Bey looked up, eyes red, tear-carved spiderwebs cut into the dust caked on her cheeks. “I will learn who, how, and when,” she muttered hollowly.
Riordan glanced at the rest of the group who’d come with him. “Stay here. Watch them. Bey, come with me.”
He led her over the rise that screened the scene of treachery from the battlefield.
Before he could speak, she was looking up into his eyes, hers unblinking and almost devoid of emotion. “This is my failure. Whatever punishment there must be, must fall upon me, and me alone. I have failed you.”
Riordan crossed his arms, responded carefully, calmly. “Tell me: how is this your failure, Bey?”
Her eyes stared through him. “How is it not, Leader Caine? It was I who suggested to Leader Bannor that Zaatkhur would be an able guard and runner. It was I who failed to see the blackness in the hearts of these two honorless kajh, even as they took an oath of fealty. And above all, it was I whom you asked to lead and protect my people. And see what has come of that. Zaatkhur here. And Sho, at the hunt. They thought she might have seen the marker they left and so they . . . ” She tucked her face down and shut her eyes very hard.
She opened them, startled, when Caine touched her chin and lifted her head to look at him again. “You are a fine leader, Bey, but no one—no one—can see into the hearts of clever traitors. That is why they are so dangerous. Now, what do you plan to do?”
“I plan to learn all that these two beasts know about those who paid them to betray us. Then I will see to those of my people who remain. And finally”—her eyes started to glimmer, but she forced the tears back—“I shall take my friend to the river, that nothing may feed upon his remains.”
Only then did Riordan realize he’d left his hand on her chin. He removed it briskly and nodded. “You have much to do. And I know that you shall do all of it well. Be careful in your questioning of these two. If Duncan were not . . . afflicted, I would send him here to—”
She shook her head. “That is not necessary, Leader Caine, I know best how to unfold the lies these two have been telling. If you leave one of the h’achgai, that will be sufficient. They will not think of trying to overpower me, that way.”
Riordan agreed and sent her back over the rise. She met Bannor coming over the crest, nodded respectfully at him, and marched down to begin her tasks.
“I don’t like this at all,” the Green Beret muttered as he drew near.
“Neither do I. It must go all the way back to Forkus, since the two kajh weren’t in the group that Ulchakh took to Khorkrag.”
“Which means that these two were on somebody’s payroll before we hit the hovel.”
Riordan nodded, started down toward the debriefing area. “What do you think about Enoran’s and Orsost’s request?”
Bannor drew in a sharp breath. “Mixed feelings. On the one hand, I wish we knew them better, but on the other, they’re a really timely replacement for the casualties we took today.”
“Which are?”
“Four of the urldi, including the male, killed outright. Another wounded. A lot of light wounds among the rest of us. Yidreg will be okay, but one of the h’achgai that was in Ayana’s flying wedge is going to be touch and go.”
“And Duncan’s blindness?”
“Gone. When his sight came back, it was just as quick as he lost it.”
Riordan let out a sigh of relief. “And what about Sharat’s people? Did they all get out of the way in time?”
Bannor nodded hesitantly. “All except for that big humanoid from the ‘Great Tunnels.’ Seems that once the dustkine roared a challenge, there was no controlling him. Charged them all and damn near killed one before they rolled over him.”
“Speaking of control; has anyone in Sharat’s group said anything about whatever it was that Tirolane did?”
“Not a word. Seems like it didn’t surprise them. I get the feeling it was part of the reason Sharat didn’t pull everyone off the line right away. They were counting on an opportunity like that, and didn’t want to withdraw until they’d had a chance to capitalize on it.”
“Yeah, without telling us they had it up their sleeve.”
Bannor shrugged. “Not sure Tirolane shared a lot of details with them. Also, given our skepticism every time they start mentioning effects and powers that they know we doubt, I suspect they wouldn’t have read us in even if they had known what he could do.”
Riordan nodded as they arrived in the debriefing area, where Katie’s sunburned face had become alarmingly red. “They do what?” she shouted at Enoran. “That’s a bowfin’ outrage!”
“Corporal,” Riordan said in his command voice, “is there an argument, here?”
“No, sir!” she said, still shouting. “B-but these poor scaffies just told me what happens if they don’t give over to these manky x’qao lieges.”
“‘Give over’?” Bannor repeated, perplexed.
Enoran’s gaze was frankly curious as he supplied the answer. “Leader Katie is, eh, surprised at the realities of life in an x’qao liege’s stable.”
“Such as?”
“Well, that we have no choice in regard to our mates, that all our newborns are immediately taken from their mothers and put into nurseries, and that neither parent ever learns the child’s identity.”
“Feck!” Katie shouted even louder. “Better to fight and die!”
Enoran shrugged. “Yes, and many of us might . . . if the worst that happened was that we died.”
She stopped. “What do you mean?”
“He refers to the moss.” It was Tirolane who answered. “It is withheld if there is the faintest hint of resistance or disobedience.“ Katie went very pale, as did most of the Crewe.
“Our greatest fear,” Enoran explained. “is not in that we shall die, but in what manner.”
Sharat nodded. “If we lose our lives through bold deeds, in possession of our faculties, and tenacious in our resistance?” He shrugged. “It is not particularly uncommon among our species to be able to gird our loins to end our lives that way.
“But to slowly lose the ability to think, to maintain our resolve, to keep in mind and memory those we’ve loved, why we lived, or even the act of defiance that earned such an end?” Sharat shook his head.
Tirolane’s jaw was rigid as he spoke, looking into the distance as if he was seeing some other place and time. “It is one thing to have your life torn away by an enemy, but quite another to feel yourself slowly erased by the frailty of your own body. And to know that the husk of what you were will be paraded about to terrify others into obedience.”
As if punctuating the silence that followed, shrill screams once again rose up from over the rise.
***
By the time Caine and Bannor cleared the crest, they knew what was happening.
Bey was poised over one of the kajh, a dripping knife in one hand, the other close to a leg wound that had not been there before. One h’achga was holding the trog down, the other—Hresh—was wide-eyed and grey-faced. He swallowed as four members of the Crew rose into view.
Riordan forgot not to shout. “Stop! We don’t do that! What are you thinking?”
Bey rounded on him, eyes fierce, wild. “I think we need information. Just as you said!”
Riordan strode down and knocked the knife out of her hand. “We do! But that’s not how we get it!”
“You said I am good at what I do, yes? Well, then leave me to it.” She moved toward the knife.
Riordan stepped into her path. “I can’t let you do it this way.”
“Why not? They murdered and lied and will do so again. They deserve worse than what I’m doing!”
Riordan did not move. “Bey, this is not about them; this is about us. What we do, and how the tools and methods we use define who and what we are. And what we will become.” She looked aside, shaking. “Do you understand?”
She dashed her hand at his words. “Of course I understand. I am not a fool.” She looked back up at him. “The better question is, do you understand?” She looked past him at the rest of the Crewe. “Do any of you truly understand? Your—our—enemies count such scruples as weakness, as an assurance that we shall never use all the weapons against them that they use against us.”
Riordan nodded. “We know. But there is benefit in refusing to use certain weapons. Savagery aimed at enemies ultimately becomes so familiar that you begin using it on your own people. It is like any other thing that becomes a habit; you cease to notice when you’re doing it.” She looked away and nodded; it was not agreement, just a sign that she would follow his orders. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
“They were each promised five years of moss. They never met the factor who hired them. And they do not know if that factor or intermediaries have followed us. Their instructions were simply to observe Eku and his equipment until they were delivered to the liege that purchased them.”
Bannor walked to the h’achga holding the traitor’s legs, urged him to move away. “So they were leaving these marks on their own initiative? No one told them to expect that the hovel was going to be attacked, that Eku and his gear might be removed?”
“Not specifically, no. Rather, the factor was concerned that many parties might be willing to seize those prizes either before, during, or after the exchange. Most of their concern seems to have been with rival lieges. Or the Legate.”
Dora frowned. “Why would these two idiots even trust such a deal?” she said sourly. “They’ve got to know that most betrayers wind up being betrayed themselves.”
Bey nodded. “True, but the factor arranged payment through a bondward who had first witnessed the factor’s promise, so they knew the deal was in earnest. Upon conclusion of their service, it would once again be the bondward who would have conveyed the moss to them.”
Riordan nodded. “And that way, they never see who they’re dealing with.”
Dora nodded along with him. “Because if they did, that would be the last thing they ever saw.”
“Which they knew,” Bey sighed. “I do not believe they know more. I am sorry to have failed yet again.”
Riordan sighed. “You did not fail, Bey. Duncan is recovering, and he will ask them more questions. In our way. You may watch him, if you wish.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. Am I dismissed, Leader Caine?”
He nodded. “You are free to see to your friend. If you require any assistance—”
“No. I shall do it myself.” She strode stiff-legged past the four Crewe members without glancing at them.
Riordan nodded for Hresh to approach. He did, trembling slightly. “You are blameless in this. Go to Ta’rel. Ask him to watch over Bey as she finishes honoring Zaatkhur. Just to be sure that none of the x’qa from the caravan return and discover her alone.”
Hresh nodded and was gone, passing Ulchakh at the top of the slope as he did. The h’achgan trader walked slowly down to Riordan. “I wonder if we might walk together,” he murmured.
Riordan nodded, glanced at Dora; she settled into the stance of a sentinel.
After they had walked ten meters beyond the marker that had become Zaatkhur’s death warrant, Ulchakh said, “Bey is being far too hard on herself.”
“Torture is not something we can tolerate.”
“I am not speaking of that, Friend Caine. I am speaking of whatever plot has been uncovered here.”
Riordan nodded. “I agree. I said as much and will continue to tell her so.”
They walked further. Ulchakh sighed. “This scheme, whatever it might be, is more subtle than anything I have ever seen.”
Riordan replied with a h’achgan idiom. “You are saying something between your words, Ulchakh. Sadly, I cannot hear it.”
The h’achga’s long orang face became even longer. “This is not the work of any x’qao. Oh, the lieges are certainly crafty enough to conceive of such a plot, but they are also clear-sighted enough to know that none of their typical servitors have the patience and concentration to carry it out. No, there is someone or something else at work here. And I would give much to know who, or what, that is.”
“Me, too,” Riordan said, fighting back a deep frown. “Me, too.”