Chapter Twenty-Six
The clearest indicator that Tasvar felt increasingly secure with, and friendly toward, the group was that he chose to meet in a semiprivate dining space, his guards markedly more relaxed.
“I am glad you have agreed to the arrangement I proposed,” he said, his tone and expression suggesting he was far more pleased than his words conveyed. “And I am very interested in continuing our conversation about the mathematical codices I saw in your magi—er, electronic helmet.” Because of their vehicles’ ignition systems, the humans of Bactradgaria had retained a rudimentary understanding of electricity. Otherwise, explaining the operation of the translator would have been impossible, as well as the HUD on which Tasvar had viewed various useful formulae and mathematical tables.
Riordan nodded. “I look forward to discussing those codices, just as soon as we return.”
Tasvar shrugged after a short pause. He had no doubt hoped to finalize that additional trade before the Crewe departed. On the other hand, he now had even more reason to ensure that they survived.
His reply underscored the growing value he placed on them as both allies and a source of new opportunities. “Well, since you must depart, I am resolved to make sure that you get back in one piece. So heed this piece of advice above all others: The rescue of your friend will be reported swiftly, and various powers will commit resources to determine who effected it.”
Miles O’Garran crossed the arms that had prompted the Lost Soldiers to give him the mysterious nickname “Popeye.” “Everyone—including you—tells us that hovels change hands all the time in Forkus. So why the special interest in this case?”
Tasvar leaned forward. “Because almost all those attacks are made by praakht against praakht. They are noisy, bloody battles, usually preceded by friction between two gangs where the attacker perceives a clear advantage.”
He shook his head. “No one will mistake you for praakht, my friend. Rather, if you use the equipment I have seen, you will be presumed to be reapers.”
Riordan leaned forward. “So in addition to completing the rescue as swiftly as possible, how do we avoid being intercepted before completing our escape? Or to prevent being followed, once we have?”
Tasvar speared a sliver of unfamiliar meat and chewed it thoroughly before answering. “I believe I may be able to help with that. The praakht gang leader who holds your friend had no contacts with any power that could afford such an ‘asset.’ Consequently, he spread word through the black market. And because many praakht are led by whakt, those who are part human, we often hear black-market whispers before the x’qai.
“That is how I learned who held your friend and that only one secretive bidder made an offer, probably because he threatened all others. It is also certain that he will be quite angry when you free your companion before his trade is completed. Accordingly, you need a guide to help you exit Forkus with all possible speed. So I took the liberty of retaining someone who is familiar with those routes and is already known to you: Ulchakh.”
Dora nodded, eyes narrowed. “I see how everyone else is making a profit from all this ‘cooperation,’ Tasvar. But what about you?”
It was a mark of his growing familiarity with the various personalities of the Crewe that, rather than taking umbrage at Dora’s blunt question, he merely smiled. “A greater bond has been created between the Legate and Vranadoc, whose forces and influence in Forkus are far greater than ours. And Ulchakh assures us that not only will trade with Achgabab become more frequent, but very favorably priced.”
“So you’re being paid in political and economic capital,” Duncan summarized with a smile.
“A very tactful expression. Yes, that is correct.”
Riordan nodded. “But you still haven’t told us who we’ll be angering by rescuing our friend. Or how, once we’re out of Forkus, you’re going to foil any pursuers.”
Tasvar moved his empty plate-bowl to the side. “The exchange is being conducted through an intermediary that is a known vassal of Ormalg’s liege in Forkus: Hwe’tsara. The liege and vassal are similar in one regard: both have the subtlety of a battle-ax.”
“Great,” Craig Girten sighed as he pushed a few remaining morsels around his plate. “So we’ll be pissing off some x’qai kingpin.”
Tasvar nodded at the paratrooper’s idiom; apparently, “pissing off” was yet another colloquialism where little if anything was lost in translation. “Yes. He and his vassals are the ones most likely to mount a pursuit if they can find your trail in time. So, facilitating your immediate escape is the first of the ways I mean to help you. I have arranged all your new goods to be positioned just north of the hovel that is your target. Ulchakh will be waiting with them.”
“Alone?” Katie asked, startled.
“No,” Tasvar answered with a slow smile.
Bannor was shaking his head. “If this Hwe’tsara gets word within a few hours, his forces will still find our tracks. The dust and sand doesn’t shift that quickly. And if any of us are wounded, that means slower movement, a blood trail, or both.”
“That brings me to the second way in which I shall aid your escape,” Tasvar answered. “I am dispatching a small caravan just before you attack. We can be sure that it will be detected: Legate compounds are always being monitored, wherever we are. Eleven of the individuals traveling with the caravan shall be attired in the very robes you wore to the vansary. Their length and weight are both distinctive and will no doubt be reported by those watching. Hwe’tsara’s forces have little means or inclination for precise reporting, so no matter the order in which their alerts reach him, he will presume that you attacked the hovel first and that the predawn caravan is your means of escape.
“I am also certain that Hwe’tsara will not put human troops in charge of the force he sends after the caravan: our fellow-feeling has taught x’qai not to pit us one against the other. So he will rely on x’qao or praakht leaders, who will be slow to discover that they are shadowing a decoy. By the time they realize, your actual trail should have been erased by wind and rain.” He raised an index finger in warning. “But, as you head north, be careful not to leave spoor. Even if it means slower movement, at first.”
Newton crossed his arms. “And if there are wounded among us who cannot help but leave ‘spoor’? What then?”
“Then,” Tasvar said gravely, “you have very difficult decisions to make.” He shook his head. “But you are not merely warriors; you are soldiers. These quandaries are not new to you. You will face them as you have in the past. Now I wish to touch upon one further item of mutual interest and impart one final piece of advice.”
Riordan nodded. “What is this item of mutual interest?”
“Camphor,” Tasvar replied flatly. “From our conversations, you know Zrik Whir is the only significant source of it. But we cannot secure it. For us to manufacture smokeless powder in meaningful quantities, we must ask you to be our agents—our very handsomely compensated agents—to Zrik Whir.”
Riordan smiled even as he frowned. “Why do you not do it yourselves? Surely you have infinitely superior resources and ready contacts.”
“We do, but they are of no help in the case of Zrik Whir. We do not travel there except at very great need.”
“Why?” asked Duncan.
Tasvar folded his hands. “When the Legate’s standard is seen anywhere upon or near Zrik Whir, it causes unprecedented worry among the x’qai suzerains. Nothing else has ever caused them to put aside their competition long enough to take unified action.”
His tone became grim. “Our visits proved very costly, both to us and the people of Zrik Whir. They rightly insisted that while we must remain friends, it must be from a distance.” His voice and eyes brightened. “You, however, would not be traveling under the Legate’s sigil or with our assistance. And you alone know why the camphor is required and the form in which we need it.”
So, yet another reason you won’t co-opt us. “Apparently, we would be useful as liaisons.”
“Very much so. I only wish I had information that would make it easier to find your way there and to the right persons.” He frowned. “Had you arrived just a few days earlier, I could have introduced you to a native of those islands. A fellow by the name of Tirolane.”
“When will he return?”
“I do not know if he shall. He was journeying here to meet and discuss the possibility of joint ventures here, rather than upon Zrik Whir. However, the small caravan with which he was traveling was attacked while he was scouting the path ahead. When he returned to it, there were but a few wounded left. They reported that two of his companions had been taken captive.”
Ayana’s nod was approving. “And now he is attempting to rescue those he calls ‘friend.’ Just as we are.”
Tasvar nodded. “You are much the same in many ways, your people and his. You would have liked each other, I think.”
Caine put his own empty plate aside. “You also mentioned advice. We would be grateful to hear it.”
Tasvar nodded, but looked away until he was able to push a frown off his face. When he turned back, his gaze fixed upon Dora. “Pandora Veriden, when Yasla was attempting to, eh, assess your group, you cried out that she was using the ‘evil eye.’”
“I did,” Dora muttered suspiciously, eyes hard on Tasvar.
“Although what Yasla did is not malign, you are not entirely wrong. And your reaction put an important matter before us: that you and your friends are convinced that what we deem significant powers are nothing more than superstition or delusion.”
Caine had no reply. Nor did anyone else.
“I have watched carefully while you were our guests,” Tasvar explained. “You place all your faith in machines. I suspect that wherever you come from, they are the only power you know. And so, you have no reason to believe that other powers exist.
“So my advice takes the form of a question. First, for the sake of argument, let us suppose that there are powers which are neither detectable by, nor conform to the laws of, the science you worship. Let us further suppose that this place—of which you know very little—is amenable to the projection of such powers. My question is this: By what means may you establish, with absolute certainty, that such powers are impossible?” He ended looking directly at Riordan.
Caine shrugged. “No one can know that a thing they have not observed isn’t, in fact, possible. That it might only have been extant in times or places where they were not present.”
Tasvar’s eyes became slightly less pinched, as if he were trying to conceal that Caine’s answer came as a relief. “Then I put this to you, as the logical extension of what you have just said: Is it prudent to dismiss such possibilities as you make plans here? Particularly those which may involve combat?”
He rose, smiled apologetically. “I must attend to other matters. If you have need of me, you may pass word through your escorts. I shall assist if time and duty allow.” He glanced at the room’s hourglass. “You have much to plan and little time to do it. I shall not delay you further.”