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Chapter Twenty

Tasvar gestured to the group. “Please be assured that we—Yasla and I—appreciate your patience with our safety measures. The greatest danger to us is not attack, but infiltration. That is why I did not greet you personally. It was necessary to assess if you posed any immediate threat.”

“And we just proved ourselves trustworthy . . . how?” Bannor asked.

He smiled. “By not attacking when your ignorance was conclusively revealed. Frankly, I had no expectation that you would do so. Every other aspect of your behavior and speech was reassuring. But it was also quite odd.”

“In what way?” Ayana asked quietly.

“We shall return to that presently,” Tasvar said with a casual wave of his hand. “For now, let us define the other terms you seemed not to recognize: arurkré and x’qagrat’r.”

“That last one,” Dora grumbled, “it’s a modification of grat’r, yes?”

Yasla’s smile was almost rueful. “More literally than you can know. It refers to x’qao spawn resulting from the infesting of a grat’r.” She checked herself. “Well, it would mean that, if such a thing had ever happened.”

Yaargraukh’s eyes pushed slightly beyond their protective bony ridges. “Grat’r cannot be hosts for x’qai?”

She shrugged. “Hosts? Yes, but the resulting spawn are never more than q’akh.”

Riordan nodded, remembering Arashk’s tutoring. “They’re stunted, unable to speak or even use weapons.”

Tasvar nodded. “There are other differences, but those are the important ones.”

Ayana straightened. “The last word, arurkré: the herald spoke it with a formal, even deferential, inflection.”

“That’s because it is the term for the intrinsic aristocracy of the x’qao: those that can transform themselves.”

Newton leaned away as if the concept alone was worthy of avoidance. “What do you mean by ‘transform’?”

Yasla steepled her fingers. “Over time—decades, maybe centuries—arurkré can progressively alter their physical form. They can also compel increasingly slavish obedience from, and alter the behavior of, lesser killspawn.”

Duncan was hoarse with revulsion. “Then . . . then why haven’t the arurkré overrun everything? What keeps them in check?”

Tasvar sighed. “I wish I could claim it was due to the resistance of other species, but we are little more than an annoyance. We continue to exist only because, collectively, we are a necessary annoyance.” His face became grim. “The only check on their spread is each other. They are intemperate, voracious, and self-seeking. We survive only because they cannot unite in any meaningful fashion, or for any extended period of time.”

“So,” Yaargraukh said slowly, “the reapers allowed us to pass because they thought I was a . . . variety of self-transforming x’qao they had never seen before.”

“Well,” Yasla temporized, “I am sure that accelerated the process, but I cannot envision them denying the rest of you entry to Forkus. Many of you are too fair to be anything but reaper burntskins.” She saw their confused glances. “Burntskins are . . . ” She paused as if choosing her next words with particular care. “They are any humans who are not descended from the original population.”

“And they can tell that by complexion alone?”

“The original humans’ skin is always very dark in color. Very dark.”

Not surprising, Riordan thought, given an F-class sun.

Yasla had not paused. “And even though you were not a typical group of harrows and scythes, there would be no other way to explain seven persons carrying equipment such as yours. I suspect that may have made them particularly cautious in questioning you.”

“Because of what we might have done to them?” Dora asked, her tone indicating she already doubted Yasla had intended that meaning.

“No: because your equipment looks quite new, a great deal of it is similar, and you are traveling without servitors. So, yes, you appear quite formidable. But that was further complicated by their inability to ascertain who your liege or even suzerain might be. Meaning that they had no way to gauge how much retribution they might incur if they obstructed you.”

“But logically,” Duncan muttered, “that also means they’re going to be watching us. Really closely.”

“That, too, is true. Which is why your next steps, and even ours, must be settled in advance and taken with great care.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Riordan said with a nod, “but you still have not shared how you knew of us.”

Tasvar smiled. “Is it truly so mysterious?”

Damn, do we have to agree to tell the same secret on the count of three? Riordan shook his head. “I presume that Arashk notified an ally soon after we started out. I suspect he sent Hresh, since he’s an oathkeeper. We conjectured they had contacts in Forkus, or they wouldn’t have known so much about it. Hresh probably went further east before he entered the city proper, thereby ensuring that our paths would not cross. Assuming that his route allowed him to remain within the precincts of those contacts and their allies, he probably got ahead of us pretty easily.”

Tasvar’s smile had broadened.

Caine smiled back. “But here’s the part we don’t understand.”

Tasvar’s smile dimmed.

“Getting into Forkus before us is easy to explain. But how he got word to you before we arrived? That isn’t as obvious. Maybe he managed to pass something to the crew of the ferry, but we kept a close watch on them: if anyone meant to set up an ambush on the north bank of the river, that was how they’d have to send word.”

Tasvar’s smile was faltering.

I won’t make you sweat, although I could. And maybe I should. But we’re guests and prospective allies, so—“Here’s what I propose, Tasvar. Since you knew we were coming on the advice of the h’achgai, you must also know why we were heading to you in the first place. I’m guessing that’s why you vetted us this way: not because we simply wished to meet you, but because it was likely that we would wish to stay with you or your allies.” Riordan shrugged. “As you said, infiltration is your greatest danger.

“We appreciate how much trust accepting guests requires, even after putting us through these paces and watching how we reacted. So we shall trust that you will eventually reveal how you received advance word of us, once you’ve decided that we will be sufficiently cautious and responsible with that knowledge.”

Tasvar nodded slowly. “That seems reasonable to me. But there is one last question I must put to you. And quite bluntly.”

Riordan noticed the slight shift in Yasla’s posture and the direction of her gaze, but only because he’d been watching for it. Okay, Tasvar; you just gave her a cue. Caine did not react to it, but instead, sent a questioning glance around the hemicircle of his companions. None looked doubtful or hesitant. He met Tasvar’s eyes again and nodded. “Ask your question.”

Tasvar was a good actor, but not accomplished enough to hide that he was almost as nervous to ask the question as Caine was to hear it. “Your arrival”—he gestured to the whole Crewe—“is not, by any chance, related to the appearance of the new star . . . is it?”

Caine managed not to react externally. But, internally . . . Shit: the one thing we decided we wouldn’t reveal under any circumstances. But maybe—

Newton spoke before Riordan could consult the surrounding faces again. “What new star?” Baruch asked.

Caine hoped his rueful smile concealed the full measure of his surprise and dismay. Newton, for the love of God: really? He watched as Tasvar’s darting eyes noted all of the Crewe’s reactions, particularly their surprise when the answer to that particular question came from someone other than Caine, as well as their bafflement that it had come from Newton.

Tasvar folded his hands. “Assuming you intend to revisit that answer”—Newton’s expression was both angry and aghast—“I will tell you what we have seen over the past ten days or so. First a star shows up, the kind that moves in the heavens, which we call an asíkrerk.”

In his earbud, Riordan heard the constantly running translator declare: “Asíkrerk. Comet.”

“However,” Tasvar continued, “this one moved erratically, distinctly changing direction on two different occasions. Then, after a few days, it flared suddenly and headed away on a consistent course. We supposed that this heavenly body had split or fragmented. Clearly, a sizable remainder was now heading away. We presumed that the rest had probably fallen, as do shooting stars. And so we thought the matter ended.

“But then we received word from an ally—a small but independent h’achgan liege here in Forkus—that we shall soon have visitors of a most unusual nature. We had few details, but when you arrived, we noticed the same unique and puzzling details that the reapers did. And many more, besides. And so, here you sit, highly intelligent and yet startlingly ignorant.”

He paused, lowering his hands to rest on the arms of his chair. “It is my observation that when highly intelligent creatures enter a new environment, they attempt to reduce their ignorance as swiftly and completely as possible. Which leads me to conclude that you have not yet had ample time to do so.” Tasvar shrugged. “It is still entirely possible your arrival here is merely an event of perverse serendipity, and that your appearance so soon after that of the erratic star is mere coincidence.” He paused, looked around the group. “But that would be a very strange coincidence, indeed.”

Riordan smiled. “I quite agree. But it is so strange that we should speak about it directly with the Legate himself.”

Now it was Tasvar’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Unfortunately, no one sees the Legate personally.

“Why?”

“If they did, they would be killed. All specific information pertaining to the Legate is closely guarded.” Tasvar frowned. “Perhaps you would be more at ease if I asked my question in reverse: Can you tell me that you are not from the star?”

Riordan took a moment to check the Crewe’s faces as he’d meant to before Newton had blurted out his well-intentioned lie. Several of the group looked sanguine; several others looked panicked. Ayana and Yaargraukh were equally unreadable.

He turned to Tasvar. “Would it trouble you if we took a moment to discuss this in a different language?”

Their hosts exchanged glances. “That is acceptable,” Tasvar said hesitantly. Riordan noticed that the guards who’d been posted to either side of the door were no longer facing directly away.

Caine turned to the others, who leaned in to form a hemicircular huddle. “Quick reactions: now,” he muttered in English.

Dora and Bannor started at the same moment:

“Boss, I don’t like this one damn—”

“Sir, this may be the best chance of—”

“STOP!” shouted Tasvar.

He had jumped to his feet, eyes wide. But his expression—was it shock, rage, awe, or something closer to rapture? “Do you test us?” he shouted. “Do you think us fools?”

Riordan stood slowly. “We mean no—”

“Explain yourselves! Immediately!”

“Explain what? We hadn’t even started our discussion.”

Tasvar waved his hand irritably; Riordan saw that it was horribly scarred. “I do not care what you were about to say. It is how you were saying it.” His anger, and possibly fear, dimmed in response to the uniformly stunned faces wondering at him. “Your speech. That is one of the many tongues revealed by the Legate.”

Riordan swallowed. Holy shit. Others said the same two words aloud. “Tasvar, this . . . this is our most common language. Half of us grew up speaking it.” Riordan realized he’d put his hands out in the fashion of those who are too blindsided, too shocked to tell anything but the truth.

Now it was Yasla and Tasvar who were stunned. Tasvar recovered a split second before she did. “And do you know the Legate’s battle tongue, too?”

“Uh . . . ” Dora muttered, “since we didn’t know this was the Legate’s special language, how would we even know that he had a battle language, let alone what it might be?”

Wait a minute. What if—? “Tasvar,” Caine said quickly, “if the Legate’s battle language is another one from Ea—from his homeland, we might have a way to translate it.”

“You mean, by using the magic talking machine?”

Seems your h’achgan friend gave you a pretty detailed report. “Yes: the talking machine. If you speak some words, it will be able to—”

“No. The battle tongue is only useful if it is secret. Discovering whether you speak it is not important enough to risk that.”

Riordan nodded. “I’d make the same decision. So I shall make you a further promise: we will not use the translator without informing you first. That way, you can be certain that it shall never be operating in a place where you might be speaking in your battle language. Is this acceptable?”

Tasvar swallowed heavily. “It is.” His eyes were still wide, his expression such a strange mix of emotions that Caine could not tell if the other man wanted to kill him or embrace him or both. “I shall send word of your arrival. This changes much.”

But the way he said “this changes much” made it sound more like “this changes everything.”

Yasla stood. “I have a further question. Have any of you been given any baubles or gifts? Objects that the tribes might have claimed to be charms?”

Caine shook his head. “No.” She stared hard at him. “The only thing we shared was food.”

She continued staring at him, then glanced at Tasvar in evident frustration, and finally looked away with a sigh.

What the hell was that abou—?

This time it was Dora who leaped up from her seat. “Coño! I know the evil eye when I see it! We show you trust, and this is how you repay—?”

Tasvar raised a hand as he shook his head, his face serious. “It was a precaution only. Please understand: what you claim is . . . unique. And if there was anything on your persons that could relay what you see or hear to others—”

Ai! Okay, then.” Dora was still frowning, but moved back toward her seat.

Caine glanced at her; she shook her head with a look that said, I’ll explain later.

Ayana had reengaged their hosts. “Concerning our ‘unique claims’: are you referring to our origins”—she glanced up beyond the roof toward the new star—“or our language?”

Tasvar and Yasla exchanged glances. “Both.”

“Yet, they are not entirely unexpected?”

Yasla thought for a moment. “Let us say there is reason for us to think that such things might be possible.” She stood. “Hard travel is plain upon your faces, your equipment. Please: we would offer you food, drink, and a place to bathe.”

Riordan nodded around him; the Crewe stood. “We would be honored.” He smiled. “And probably much more pleasant to the senses, afterward.” However miraculous Dornaani suits were, they still didn’t have built-in showers or deodorizers.

Yasla and Tasvar smiled. “I look forward to continuing our conversation in the days to come.” He gestured to the guards beyond the door. “Please: they shall show you to your quarters.” The two tall warriors moved out into the great hall, pointing to a dark doorway across the much-repaired expanse of concrete flooring.

Duncan caught up to Caine as they exited the room. “Damn, how lucky can we get?” he murmured.

“That they speak English?” whispered Ayana from behind.

“Sure, and assuming that someone from Earth taught them, we should be able to get acculturated really quickly.”

“They do seem like natural allies,” Bannor added quietly.

Riordan was about to respond when the guards reached the top of the stairs. The first three risers had been cut through the concrete; the rest were carved from the native rock. “Do not be concerned,” one said, gesturing into the stygian darkness below. “Your accommodations are in the most secure part of this citadel. We shall answer any questions you have once we arrive there.”

But Riordan hardly heard the words or Ayana’s suppressed gasp; he was too surprised by their appearance.

Both guards’ features were chiseled from skin that was not so much swarthy as tawny. And their gaze was so easy, so steady, that Caine could not fail to notice that their eyes were bright amber.

Ktoran eyes.

Not trusting his voice, Riordan nodded and motioned that they should lead the way down the stairs.

As they turned to comply, he looked over his shoulder into the stunned faces of his companions. “Here’s hoping we have found natural allies,” muttered Caine, “because otherwise, we’ve just delivered ourselves to our worst enemies.”


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