“No.” The Tyaanismir’s long face was set and unwontedly thoughtful. “I can no more dispute your honor, Anjalismir Kaialitaa. I would not wish to be your enemy.”
“Then you are wise.” Oddly enough, his gruff approval mattered. “Thank you, Tyaanismir.”
“Will ye nae tell me what is goin’ on?” Redfist’s voice hit a pitch just below a bellow. “I wake wit’ the clash o’ steel, and bring yon ant’s nest of men in, and ye’re bleeding to boot! What is it, K’ai?”
“I believe Rikyat wishes me to assassinate the God-Emperor of Shainakh—or use me as bait on a hook, somehow. And he was indiscreet enough to let the fact slip.” I rubbed my forehead with my fingers. I suppose I cannot consider it a compliment, though I am sorely tempted to. “I am hungry enough to eat a hanta. Janaire, how soon may I finish the taih’adai?”
“Too quickly may cause sickness.” She blinked, owlish in surprise.
The minstrel yawned and stretched, stirring for the first time. “I may walk through the camp,” Gavrin said quietly. “Minstrels hear things. I can catch what is said of this attack, and who is reporting to whom.”
If I ever considered you an empty-headed lutebanger, you have my apologies. “Well enough. They will bring breakfast. D’ri, you should check the food for poison—though I doubt it will be used, tis best to be safe. Janaire, I need the rest of the taih’adai as soon as possible. Redfist, Gavrin, Diyan, tidy the tent and get everything stowed. After breakfast I shall visit Rikyat, and the rest of you will find what gossip you can. D’ri, you shall accompany me, and your task will be to play a barbarian elvish princeling. Can you do so?”
He shrugged, a fluid, lovely movement giving assent. “Come. Let me bandage your shoulder, adai’mi.”
“Very well,” I said, as Gavrin hauled himself to his feet and stretched. His straw-colored hair stood in ragged tufts, and my own braids felt mussed. “We may yet see a way free of this trap.”
I could not help but realize I might be lying.
Chapter 41
Foreknowledge
Breakfast was light and poison-free, Shainakh spongy flatbread and dried fruit, kimiri cheese, kafi and chai and cir juice. It was brought by four wide-eyed adjii, their badges of Rikyat’s personal staff. We were treated as part of the command staff, which might have made it easier to escape—or far more difficult. The adjii snapped their salutes, and I returned them. Nobody spoke overmuch, and I was glad of that, at least.
D’ri bandaged my shoulder, and I refused Janaire’s offer of a healing for no reason other than I was too busy going through the assassin’s personal effects. Twas a strange collection of items, including a cylindrical scroll-case I did not open yet. I wanted a measure of privacy to plumb its secrets, though I suspected already what it would say.
We were just finishing kafi and chai, the tent flaps pulled open to let the morning breeze in, when Janaire froze between one word and the next, her pretty face draining of all color. I stood by the open front flap, sipping my kafi meditatively, D’ri a silent warmth behind me and Diyan crouched at my feet. The boy was unwilling to go very far from me. Redfist glanced up from his food—he ate as much as all the rest of us put together, and often remarked mournfully that he wished he had some ale. The minstrel was just finishing a cup of chai, slurping contentedly.
“J’ni?” Atyarik asked.
My head came up, alerted by the tentative shortening of her name.
She trembled, her eyes dilating, and dizziness spilled through me as if the world had halted its steady motion. In Anjalismir, during my childhood, there were several girls gifted in fatan’adai—the telling of the future. They all twinbonded very young. I heard twas so because fatan’adai is so dangerous to an untwinned adai, the gods made certain to send their s’tarei to them as quickly as possible.
I recognized the breathless blankness of her face, all light emptied from her eyes and the gaze grown piercing, as if she saw below the skin of the world.
Her tone was light, queerly flat. “No…no…too much, the army, there will be slaughter…” More came, in G’mai, the words spilling from her pale lips too quickly for true comprehension, their urgency striking the air like a carrier-bird's wings.
My stomach dropped inside me, turning in midair like a Kshanti acrobat. Army and slaughter meant nothing good for us.
I set my kafi cup aside and opened my mouth to ask D’ri what was happening—twas reflex, since I knew perfectly well—when the alarums began to sound.
“Redfist!” My voice sliced through Janaire’s. He bolted to his feet, no small feat for a barbarian the size of a small mountain. “Go fetch the horses! Diyan, stay with Gavrin. Minstrel, make certain everyone remains here unless the camp is breached. If tis, direct them—and the gold—away and set your course for Vulfentown. I shall find you there. Move, damn you!”
Redfist ran for the pickets, thundering out through the tent flap. I collated the battle-alarums—a large force approaching, certainly an enemy. I swore. The minstrel hurried to pack a saddlebag, Diyan aiding him with a cheese-pale face and trembling fingers.
Darik touched my elbow. “K’li?”
“An enemy force approaching means Rik has been found out. He will have to fight or lose three-quarters of the army and perhaps the leader of the rebellion too—Gavrin, pack up my saddlebags and take them with you. Make sure Redfist knows to direct you back to Kesa at the Sparrows Moon, cha?”
“Cha,” Gavrin replied.
Diyan's eyes were wide as a hanta's. “Is there gon be a fight, Kaia?” His face was wide-open and worried. This was a different wilderness than the one he navigated as a wharf-rat. I felt sorry for him, caught in such a large game.
“Blood will be spilled for certain. Do not fret, little one.” I ruffled his hair, then set him aside.
I scooped up my bow and a full quiver; I could always borrow another from a Shainakh cavalry archer. Janaire had folded into Atyarik’s arms, her mouth still moving with the future-telling. I had no time to listen.
Hoofbeats, yelling, more cries, more alarums. No panic tinted the sounds, which meant the army was fully drilled and in good morale despite the sloppiness of his sentries on the seaward side. The more I saw of Rikyat’s work, the more uneasy I became. He was not the feckless young sellsword I had known.
He could have used me as a hand uses a glove if not for Darik. What would I have been willing to believe, had I traveled to meet Rikyat alone?
I ducked out the front of the tent and met the Skaialan leading the horses, taking the gray’s reins. Late-morning sun drifted down thick and gold, and I could not see anything other than the camp's rising dust. I did not like not seeing what was bearing down on me.
I swung into the gray gelding’s saddle, hoping he was not battle-shy. “Stay with them, barbarian.” I jerked my head at the tent as Redfist handed the bay's reins to Darik. “Make certain the minstrel does not thieve the gold.” It took a full-throat shout to be heard over the din. “If the camp is breached, flee for Vulfentown and go to Kesa’s. I will come to meet you. You must stay with them!”
Redfist's face darkened, but he nodded, and I wheeled the gray’s head around and touched my heels to his sides. He shifted into a canter almost immediately, and I heard another horse whinny behind me. Darik? Probably. I had other concerns. Redfist would care for the others, which freed me to think of how I was to survive through the morn.
I took the avenue leading to the central tent, and arrived just in time to see Rikyat mounting a huge white Shainakh warhorse trapped with armor. The beast pawed and snorted uneasily, a bad sign. It meant he smelled nervousness.
“How many?” I yelled, using the gray’s weight to force through the knot of adjii and support staff. There were grim young faces, and even grimmer old faces.
“Full battalion!” Rikyat yelled in return. “Hamashaikhan!”
A full battalion of the Emperor’s Elect? I swallowed dryly. There was little chance of avoiding battle now.
Shammerdhine
Taryana appeared, on another white warhorse. She was a tall, competent-looking Shainakh, corded with muscle, a good seat on a horse. Her long black hair was braided back and coiled in the Shainakh noblewoman’s fashion, held with two long flexible metal pins. The smell of dust and horse rose with the din. She wore simple leather and chain, and also carried a Danhai longsword. Her red sash made her identifiable as command corps.
I cursed inwardly. There were other red-sashed Shainakh I did not know, but I had seen them yesterday. “How far?”
“A candlemark. They must have surprised some of the scouts.” Taryana took care with each word, her features set into a mask. “Greetings, Kaia.”
“And to you, Shammerdhine-ka.” I well knew to be respectful of her. “Where do we meet them?” This I directed at Rikyat.
“We hold at the Towan Hills, less than a league from here. I have sentries posted and a group at the west hill to watch that goat-track, do they seek our flank. Kaia, are you hale enough to fight?” Rikyat’s eyes blazed. The bone-beads clacked as he swung his head, accepting the salutes, his gaze moving, moving. There was a great deal of noise, which we all ignored. The other command staff were busy yelling, directing messengers, making decisions.
“I am,” I said grimly. “Who else is command staff, and what am I to do?”
“I shall give you the tamadine.” He smiled his lopsided Ammerdahl grin. I compared it to Darik’s faint ironclad smile and found Rikyat’s lost its charm. “The shock cavalry are loyal, and—”
“—and if I am killed on the front lines you will be forced to explain nothing.” My tone was not polite, and Shammerdhine’s eyes narrowed. Rikyat’s gods-touched eyes met mine, and I was glad I was not Shainakh. How much of the force of his gaze was diluted by my G’mai blood? If I were less of a child of my people, would I feel the swimming sense of languor a bird feels under a snake’s hypnotism? “Give me the baton. North side of camp?” I snatched the silvery wooden cylinder he produced and tucked it away. “You owe me, for this. Who is the officer in charge?”
“Kevest One-Hand. I gave him orders last night.”
I nodded, curtly. I knew Kevest, and more importantly, he knew me and would fight beside me. The tamadine were perhaps men I had fought with before, if I knew Rikyat. He would not send me into battle with a troop of Shainakh who would disobey my commands.
Would he?
If he would use me against the God-Emperor for a still-cloudy purpose—use me, instead of asking me—he was also capable of giving quiet orders that I was to be martyred on the front lines of a skirmish. Would Darik ruin those plans too?
My mouth dried, slick with dust. “Gods be with you, Rikrik.” Your own gods, for mine will be occupied looking after me.
Rikyat leaned in his saddle, grabbed at my reins. “Let us not part in anger, Kahaai. I have an answer for every question. My thanks for your willingness to fight.”
Ammerdahl Rikyat the spendthrift and fellow soldier I knew. This man, Rikyat of the blazing eyes and gods-touched brain and the smooth tongue, was not what I had expected. I snatched my reins away and offered him my fist. We touched, his knuckles to mine, as we had before every pitched battle against the Danhai. My skin crawled. He had set an assassin—two assassins—on me. “Send me a messenger or two. If tis possible, I shall win this battle for you.” It will free me from my promise to you, one way or another. Then we shall see who uses who.
“What of him?” Rik jerked his chin at Darik, who crowded his horse right next to the gray. Redfist had apparently found a high Shainakh saddle for the bay, but the reins were still the loose contraption Darik had put together. His ability to speak-within to a four-footed cousin would be invaluable in a melee. Darik appeared cool and calm, every inch the prince—but his eyes flicked through the crowd, watching for danger.
“He is mine,” I said, shortly. Let Rik make of it what he would. “He fights beside me.”
Darik’s attention was a thin thread of almost-silence in the middle of the crashing, heaving din. Less than a candlemark with a full battalion bearing down on us—Shainakh battalions were easily half an army. And the Emperor’s Elect were well-trained.
Now I was implicitly given part of the command on the very front line of battle array. Kevest would be spitting with fury, he always was before a skirmish.
“Good hunting, then, Kahaai,” Rikyat said. His command staff was waiting patiently.
“Watch yourself. Hashai guard you.”
I do not know why I said it, but Rikyat’s eyes lit up. “He will.” He turned back to his staff. I touched my heels to the gray’s side and forced through a knot of adjii coordinating supply lines. That done, I settled the horse into a trot and started for the north side of the camp. No use in killing anyone with a headlong rush now that I knew what I was to do.
When I am done with this, all promises will be quits. I shall be free to leave Rikyat to his own foul work. Why did I ever promise to see this dice-toss through?
Darik rode next to me. The camp was a clatter of seething activity, and I blew out through my teeth, a familiar knot closing in my belly.
What was I to do? Help command the shock cavalry. Why had Rikyat not kept me close to him in the command staff? Kevest would fight with me, and any of the irregulars I knew personally, but the entire cadre could not possibly hope to trust me as a field-commander. Not in the din of battle.
Kaia, Darik said, and I thought distractedly it was a good thing we had the taran’adai, for he would certainly have had to yell over the noise if we had not. It is not too late to avoid this.
Negation rose in me. And be struck at as we flee? No.
His calm helped. His absolute trust in my ability helped, too. Another s’tarei might have been fussing at me about the danger.
I still might. Amusement tinted his tone. You seek to give our companions time to flee, then.
Among other things. I edged the gray around a knot of infantry exchanging battle-banter, strapping on their swords. A few of them recognized me, saluting. I saluted back. They seemed far more trusting of me than I believed possible. Then again, Rikyat had maneuvered them as neatly as he maneuvered me.
I shook the thought away. How had I arrived in the midst of a rebel Shainakh army with a knot of companions seemingly determined to follow me about and a gods-touched commander who tried to kill me—and then put me in partial control of his most important troops? Troops who had possibly not even seen me yet?
Darik’s calm invaded my head again. If they refuse to follow your command, we shall watch the battle from afar. Tis that simple. Now stop fretting, and start thinking of the terrain.
I did.
Chapter 42
Luck
Kevest One-Hand bellowed at a knot of men and women saddling their horses. I reined the gray to a stop and looked down at him, a grizzled Shainakh with threads of gray in his thick dark hair and a seamed, wrinkled face. He wore the crimson sash of a commander and a short Shainakh machat strapped to his belt. He saw me, and I held up the baton, waiting for his expression.
His eyebrows raised fractionally, and he nodded slightly. Just the same. I had a moment of memory so strong it seemed as if I was reliving a hundred raids and battles against the Danhai—the dust, the stench, the screams of the wounded and dying, and my heart staggering under the burden.
“This is what Ammerdahl sends me?” he roared, throwing his good right hand and his mutilated stump up into the air. The entire corps—three hundred strong, the central cavalry unit—would serve as a scout force and shock troops against the front line at whatever Rikyat decided was the weakest point of the attacking army’s line. It was our task to shatter the line and push through to break the opposing army. “Kaia Kahaai Steelflower? This is what he sends me?”
I leaned on my pommel. “And good morn to you, Kevest.” I tossed him the baton, and his good hand flashed out to catch it, instinctively. “I am to adjii you.” I was lying. Those had not been Rikyat’s orders.
Rikyat was not he
re. And he had tried to have me killed to boot.
My mind kept returning to that central fact, playing with it, pawing at it lightly like an inncat with a mouse.
Kevest stared at me with his mouth open in shock while my name was taken up on all sides, a chorus of yells. The tamadine crowded around, the ones already horsed gathering at the rear of the press. Tents flapped in the early-morning breeze.
“Saddle up!” Kevest bellowed, and caught my reins. “You adjii me, then. What is this you bring me?”
He meant Darik. “One of my kind. Good fighter.”
“Well, see he stays out of the way,” Kevest snarled, and a solemn-faced young Shainakh boy brought Kanhaainsal, a huge white stallion I remembered. Nobody else could ride him, he was ugly and bad-tempered—and he was vicious on the battlefield. Kevest’s largest task on the field was staying atop the beast.
“A fine welcome.” I watched as he swung himself into the saddle and stuffed the baton into the specially sewn loop on his red sash. “We face Hamashaikhan, One-Hand. The Emperor’s Elect.” My words carried—I pitched them to a crowd-filling volume. The tamadine quieted, watching. I let my mouth curl up into a smile, playing the role.
Kevest swore. “Who commands them?”
“We shall certainly find out.” I stroked the gray’s mane, soothing.
“They have never lost a battle. Except against the Danhai.” His ruined stump of a hand rested on his high Shainakh pommel, his seamed face pale under its color.
I know, Kevest. Why do you say it? “I have never lost a duel. Ever. ” I restrained the urge to spit to the side. “We shall see.”
At that, a cheer rose and swelled through the tamadine. Roaring, bellowing, ringing their knives against their shields or clapping and stamping, the din was incredible. Morale was good. That, at least, was a blessing.
They are frightened, Kaia, Darik said. I would not fight in G’maihallan under these conditions. You are not required to do this.