“Um, I don’t know about you, but I’d count nearly three months of hard travel across wide and wild mortal countryside as rather much.”
“We are not traveling companions,” said Sairu.
“Speak for yourself.”
“One of these days, my dogs will catch you.”
“I’d like to see them tr—no. No, I take that back. I’ve seen them try plenty, thank you, and would prefer if you called them off entirely. Before I’m obliged to do something drastic.”
Sairu narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never seen them in such a state. I’ve never seen them afraid. What did you do to them just now?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” purred the cat.
“I would,” said she, carefully lifting and placing another foot. He was watching her too closely, however, and moved along with every move of hers so that they circled each other at achingly slow speed. The Katuru tree watched and rustled its leaves and dropped more seed pods.
“You’ll just have to wonder then,” said the devil-cat. “We have more pressing matters to attend to at this moment. For instance, that guide you’re waiting for? He’s not coming.”
Gently Sairu slipped her free hand up into the opposite sleeve, withdrawing another knife from hiding. “Oh, isn’t he? How sad. I suppose we’ll have to continue on our way without him.”
“If you do that, you’re sure to make a swift and sorry end,” said the devil-cat, his gaze flicking from one knife to the other.
“I know how to handle myself,” Sairu said.
The devil-cat laid his ears back, disgusted. “Arrogant miss, aren’t you? Don’t you hear what I’m telling you? Your guide isn’t coming because he didn’t make it. Your guide who knows this road better than you ever will—though I won’t say he knows it well, because no one seems altogether at ease in these mountains. They aren’t friendly mountains. Were I in the Between, I wouldn’t go anywhere near them, and they’re bad enough on this side, even mostly asleep. You’ll need a guide to make it through, but you’ll not have this fellow because he was taken by slavers. Not five miles up the road, in fact.”
While the cat talked, Sairu had brought herself very slowly into a partial crouch, preparing for a spring. But she stopped now, and her smile slipped lopsided. “Slavers?”
“Indeed. As nasty a collection of brutes as you ever did see. On their return journey from Nua-Pratut with a couple of leftovers who didn’t make the sales. And now they’ve taken your guide and will try their luck in rural Noorhitam and on to Aja.”
The devil-cat sat then and began to groom one white paw as though he hadn’t a care in the world, much less an armed threat crouching but a few feet away, ready to attack. He licked five times then chewed at his toes, purring as he did so. When quite through, he placed that paw neatly beside its mate and blinked up at Sairu.
It was like having her own smile turned back upon her. Sairu shuddered and, for the first time in her life, felt sympathy for all those upon whom she’d inflicted that very look.
“Well,” said she, “we’ll have to rescue him, I suppose.”
Much to her surprise, the cat stood up, one forepaw neatly curled in mid-step. “I was hoping you’d say that! Shall we be on our way then?”
Tu Syed’s heart leapt with terror at the sudden crashing in the woods off the road. He sprang to his feet, swearing by Anwar and as many of the starry host as he could name.
But it was just the girl returning from her ramble.
“By all the holy lights above us!” Tu Syed exclaimed as she burst into their encampment, her three dogs at her heels. “Where the devil have you been? Lady Hariawan was . . . was . . .”
Tu Syed was a truthful man at heart. He couldn’t bring himself to say that Lady Hariawan had been worried. Indeed, Lady Hariawan had been nothing of the sort. She had been practically comatose as always: upright, cross-legged, head bent, and breathing deep the whole time Sairu was gone. Tu Syed and his cohorts had been the worriers. And it was they who felt waves of relief at the handmaiden’s return, like a nest full of starlings lifting their beaks to the return of their mother. Tu Syed covered his relief with scowls and bluster. “You have no right to simply—”
“No time! No time!” Sairu gasped as she neared the camp. She scooped up Dumpling and dumped him unceremoniously in the slave’s startled arms. “Hold him. Don’t let him follow me. The others will obey him, but you’ve got to keep him with you.”
“What?” Tu Syed stammered, his stomach jumping inside with renewed terror. “You can’t leave us! The sun will soon set, and then—”
“I’ll be back before dawn,” Sairu said, casting a quick glance Lady Hariawan’s way. But Lady Hariawan still had not moved and made no indication that she would move for many hours yet. Sairu fixed Tu Syed with a stern eye. “Make certain she does not get cold.”
Then she ran, back toward the forest of the lower foothills, her pilgrim’s robes flying behind her. Dumpling yipped and wriggled in Tu Syed’s arms, but he held the beast tight, and the other two sat whining at his feet. “Where are you going?” he shouted after her retreating back.
Over her shoulder she called, “To find our guide!” and vanished into the greenery.
Sairu pushed her way quickly down the trail she had made for herself, following the broken branches and undergrowth she had bent her first time coming this way. She nearly ran over the demon-cat, who appeared suddenly in her path.
“Are we well rid of the hedge-pigs?” the demon-cat asked, springing out of her way and crouching low, tail lashing.
Sairu did not bother to answer what the cat could clearly see and smell for himself. “Lead on, demon,” she said. “But remember, I am not one to be easily fooled, and if this proves a trap, you will regret it.”
“Haven’t I heard rumor that the young ladies of your order read faces?” said the cat, turning and leading the way into the forest. “Can you not read trustworthiness in my face?”
“I’ve never before tried to read the face of a cat,” Sairu replied.
“A pity. Once you learn to read a cat, no face will be closed to you. Not even the face of that stone-cold mistress you serve.”
Sairu, her smiles long gone behind lines of concentration, glared at the furry ear-tufts below her but did not bother to answer. She believed the creature was telling the truth, though she did not believe him trustworthy. But she kept her thoughts to herself and was nearly as silent as the cat himself as she followed him up into the hills. They did not use the road, but she glimpsed it now and then. When she asked the cat why he did not take that way, as it would be easier than navigating the thick forest itself, his hide shivered.
“I don’t trust that road,” he said. “I don’t know it, and I don’t like it. Should we succeed in rescuing your guide, I’ll walk it then, but not before.”
Sairu did not question this. She did not understand it but felt that further questions would only confuse the matter. Better to contemplate the issue at a later, more leisurely moment.
Although cold breezes blew down from the mountain, summer was hot in the plains country, and the heat rose up to follow Sairu even as she followed the cat. She was soon sweating with exertion and even began to miss her grouchy old donkey. Yet a small part of her heart—a part she tried to calm like a silly, giddy child—kept squealing and jumping with joy.
This was such a world! Such a wild, wonderful, weird world, so far from all the cultured gardens of Manusbau and the Masayi! Yes, there had been untamed portions within the walls of the Emperor’s great palace, places where deer, boar, and even spotted panthers were permitted to wander freely, where the Golden Daughters often met to practice the woodcraft Sairu employed even now, moving through rugged terrain with the same silence as the panthers. But these were all, ultimately, so tended, so nurtured, so cared for, both the grounds and the animals therein, that they could hardly be called wild anymore. Not truly wild like this land.
It began to grow dark, darker still because they wa
lked beneath the trees, which effectively blocked any lingering daylight. The cat progressed at the same pace, but Sairu was obliged to slow and choose her steps carefully. Soon the cat was out of sight.
Sairu stopped. She wasn’t afraid, not even while this far out in a territory not her own, filled with threats she could not see. She did not need to see threats to sense them, and she felt herself a match for any one of them. In the first few miles of this venture, she had avoided five poisonous snakes, innumerable poisonous spiders, at least one pitfall, and spotted signs of wildcats and even mountain dogs along the way. As long as she knew what to expect, she did not fear.
She did not fear even when she didn’t know what to expect. This was the whole purpose of a Golden Daughter.
Still, she was not one for recklessness, so she stopped when the cat disappeared, drew one of her knives, and sniffed the air, seeking a certain scent. If slavers did indeed reside nearby, they would have built a campfire by now. She should smell smoke.
“One thing I’ve never liked about humans is your tendency to lag behind.”
Sairu smiled down at the cat. His eyes shone with unnatural light, like two bright lanterns, and reflected off his white chest and tufty paws. But his orange coat looked blue in the gloom.
“One thing I’ve never liked about cats is your tendency to look down on everyone.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “But then, you’re no cat, are you?”
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t believe cats speak in the tongues of men.”
“Good,” said the cat. “Neither do I.”
“Thus I surmise that you’re no cat.”
“Oh, I’m a cat all right. But who says I’m speaking your tongue?”
“It is a logical assumption. After all, I do not speak cat, and yet I understand you.”
At this, the cat twitched an ear, and it struck Sairu as a patronizing sort of ear twitch, which she did not appreciate. “Keep up,” he said, and turned once more into the forest, moving slower now so that Sairu had time to feel out her way as she followed him. They had progressed in near-silence for a few minutes when finally Sairu caught the scent of smoke.
Another minute more and they crested the hill and gazed down into a rock-strewn valley through which a stream ran. On the far side of the stream was the campfire surrounded by four, five—no, six figures. And a single sentry on that boulder up above, sitting cross-legged with his head bent. Hardly a worthy lookout. Seven then. Seven total.
And the slaves lay in a pile of limbs, sickness, and despair just beyond the firelight. Sairu couldn’t be certain from this distance, but she believed there were five of them.
“Which one is our guide?” she asked the cat.
“How should I know?” the cat replied.
“Because you told me he was captured. You must know which one he is.”
“Well, I don’t,” said the cat. “I never set eyes on the man.”
“How did you—”
“I have my sources, all right? Nagging wench!” With this he sat down and set to grooming again, washing his face with delicate care. “You’d best rescue them all. Just to be certain.”
“And what will you do?”
He gave her a sideways look. “Probably work on my tail. It’s collected a number of burs.”
“You’re not going to help me?”
Here he smiled his cattish smile at her again, so smug in the glow of his own eyes that it took every ounce of self-control Sairu possessed not to smack him on his pink nose. “Do you need my help?”
Sairu vowed to herself then and there that one day she would get the best of this demon. She would turn his own words back on him and leave him speechless even as she now was. One day she would serve him what he served her, and she would enjoy watching him eat it!
But . . . not today.
The slopes down into the rocky valley were scrub-covered, but no trees grew upon them, so cover was sparse. The sun had dropped behind the horizon, leaving only a purple haze low in the sky. Up above, clouds scuttled across the face of Hulan, blocking out the stars for long intervals. Occasionally the blue North Star—Chiev, as he was named by the priests—would peer through, as though curious to see what went on in the world of mortals. But his light was not strong enough to reveal Sairu to those below.
Princess Safiya always counseled her girls act at once when they saw the need, not to plan. “Begin to act,” she always said, “and the plan will come. Wait to act, and the plan will wait as well.”
It wasn’t a mantra suited to every aspect of life, but it suited Sairu rather well, for she hated sitting still. Leaving the cat to his ablutions, she slid carefully down the steep incline, feeling out where she placed her feet so as to make the least noise possible. At first her heart leapt about in her breast with the thrill of danger.
And then, as she drew near and began to read the slavers below her, her heart calmed to a slow, steady pulse. This was her element, and everything inside her went quiet, analytical, precise. No room for fear. No room for anxiety. Room enough for the right amount of nerves to keep her senses keen, but no more.
She read the slavers by the light of their own fire. It was difficult to discern much from their faces, cast into flickering red and black contrasts as they were. But she read enough. She saw how they sat near to each other but not too near, with weapons lying across their knees or beside their legs. They ate simple travelers’ fare, watching each other even as they tore into the tough beef jerk and stale flatbread. Each face was uglier than the last, not in feature but in expression. Their eyes were dead inside, but their mouths were alive with malice.
She turned from them to read their slaves and learned more about the slavers in the process. The five wretches sat together in a lump, underfed, hopeless, and weak. And yet they were bound to an unnecessary extreme, heads attached by chains to their wrists, wrists attached by more chains to their ankles. In addition, ropes secured cruel wooden bars behind their backs, over which their elbows were hooked, rendering it impossible to sit comfortably or to sleep.
One more lay facedown, hooked elbows pointed at the sky, trembling with a ravaging fever. Helpless as a sickly lamb, and yet they hobbled him like that!
The sight of that one slave alone told Sairu everything she needed to know about the slavers. They were cowards. She could make use of cowards.
Keeping well out the firelight, she crept along the bank of the stream and crossed over. She considered using stones to avoid wetting her feet, but the chance of slipping in the dark was too great. So she walked in the water, slowly dipping each toe and sinking it beneath the running gurgle until it found secure ground. Not a sound she made could be heard over the voice of the stream itself, but she could hear the slavers’ voices as they talked amongst themselves, and she even picked up a few of their names.
Soon, her shoes filled and dripping, she climbed out on the far side. Here she faced a rocky slope so steep that she was obliged to catch hold of the stout-growing scrub to pull herself up. She could not take the easiest route, for that would bring her too close to the sentry’s line of vision, which she dared not risk even in the dark. But she was in no hurry, so she climbed slowly, testing her weight on branches and uncertain footholds as she went.
At last she was level with the top of the boulder upon which the sentry sat above his fellows. Scarcely daring to breathe, she navigated a narrow path and, like the shadow of a passing owl, slid onto the boulder and crept across, stepping on the balls of her feet, crouching to support herself with her fingers.
The sentry, oblivious, nodded at his post. But he had not survived all these years in his hateful profession by being stupid. Possessed of a certain animal cunning, he sat upright suddenly, sniffing the air. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Something was—
One knifepoint pressed deep into the flesh of his thick throat, and another touched between his ribs. He gasped, but his survival instinct kicked in, and he made no other sound. If he wasn’t dead y
et, then whoever was behind him wanted something. He waited.
A voice, so soft it might almost have been a woman’s, whispered in his ear. “Call your friend Guntur’s name. Call it once. If you say one word more, I will kill you.”
For a moment the sentry could not breathe enough to make a sound. Then he called out in a loud but trembling voice, “Guntur!” And that was the last he knew until the following morning when he woke with a horrendous headache.
Sairu backed away from the unconscious sentry into the shadows on the far side of the boulder, pressing herself against the steep slope wall. She heard a voice below, “Eh? What’s that? Bouru, did you call me?”
When no answer came, there was a murmured conference below. Then Sairu heard the heavy sound of a man climbing the easier trail up to the boulder. Hulan peered out from behind a cloud to reveal Guntur’s large shape as he found his balance and made his way across to the sentry’s form, which still sat cross-legged in place. “Bouru? What is—”
Then he too went deathly still as he felt the knife at his throat and the other at his rib. Big man that he was, his innards turned to curdled milk, and he whimpered softly then swallowed his voice when the knife pressed deeper.
“Call your friend Kechik. Just the name,” hissed a voice in the darkness. “One word more and you die.”
“Kechik!” Guntur cried, his voice a thin wail, which was not what Sairu had in mind. Irked, she struck the slaver in that tender place behind the ear, and the bruise stayed with him as a reminder of that night for weeks to come. But he knew no more until late the next day. He sank to his knees and then on to his side.
Sairu peered over the edge of the boulder, using the propped-up form of Bouru as a shield. She saw the next slaver get to his feet, heard him calling, “Guntur? What is it? Bouru?”
It wouldn’t work much longer. Possibly this once more, then she’d have to move into the second stage of her plan. As Kechik started toward the wall, Sairu swiftly stripped the first two slavers of their weapons, her mind calmly running through her next three, four, five steps.