A World Too Near (44 page)

Johanna slept that ebb in her forest. SuMing made up the pallet amidst the trees, but not underneath, so that Johanna could view the stars.

Allowing SuMing the more comfortable rest of her own bed, Johanna dismissed her servant. She made her prayers. In the midst of them she remembered that when Lord Inweer asked about her portrait, she had failed to ask him whether he had yet sent it to Sydney. That would have been a logical question, had she really cared about sending a picture to Sydney. Eventually, to fulfill his promise, Inweer would send it. Suddenly, and with overwhelming longing, Johanna found herself wondering what reaction her daughter would have to receiving such a gift. She would throw it away, perhaps. But what if she was glad to have it? Johanna pushed the thought away. Her family was a thing of the past, and longing for it had long since dwindled to a slow, hard ache.

Hours later, she slept so deeply that when the shadow gripped her arm, she nearly cried out.

“Who?” she hissed.

“Your lord.”

She sat up, dragging her fists over her eyes to clear them. She could see nothing, but she recognized the slender dark shadow of a Tarig. It wasn’t Inweer.

“You aren’t my lord.”

“Perhaps you mistake him.”

Lord Oventroe, she guessed, the one who had interrupted her dinner with Inweer. “Be welcome, Bright Lord,” she whispered, knowing instinctively that he had come to her in the dark for secrecy.

“Gather your wits, and listen, now. These words come only once.” Holding her arm, he pulled her closer, where she could smell his distinctive odor: a sweet, caramel smell that was both like and unlike Inweer. His grip was a torque around her upper arm, and he wasn’t gentle.

“Do you wish the engine gone?”

She had never tried to hide that wish. “Yes,” she answered.

“If that is so, then whatever you feel for Lord Inweer, set aside. Think of yourself now bound to Lord Oventroe, who holds your life, and the life of your world.”

“Holds, my lord? How?”

“Say nothing. Your husband comes within two days. To be ready for him, we require you to memorize the sequence of the maze, so that you may lead him to the engine.”

“Yes, the maze . . . ,” she began.

Oventroe yanked her closer, his breath cold on her cheek. “Speak again, and we will cut you.”

He went on, “Your husband will sow doubts. He will doubt that the All can withstand the onslaught of his destructive device. This you will not heed. Let no hesitation come to you, and by any means necessary—by love, or shame, or threats—bring him to the engine, there leaving the cirque that he carries on his ankle. It will annihilate the engine.”

Annihilate. Yes. They were sweet words. But was this a trick to show her a traitor? Why would a Tarig lord do such a thing? She glanced about to be sure that she was actually awake and not dreaming.

He bent her arm so far she gasped. “Swear to your lord you will do so. You may speak.”

She had prayed so long for help. Believing in miracles, she took this as one. “I do swear, my lord.”

He released her arm. “I will tell you how it will be done.”

Overwhelmed, Johanna whispered, “Thank God.”

The starlight revealed the lord’s bitter expression. “God does not look on such as us.”

She wasn’t so sure. Might not this be His hand coming through the wall of the world to change the heart of a lost creature?

In the shadows, her conversation with Lord Oventroe seemed charged with brilliance. She hung on the words of her new Tarig lord as he quickly and methodically explained the astonishing things that she must do.

General Ci Dehai watched as the Jout regiment dug at the hardened ground. Their coarse faces streamed with sweat, although Ci Dehai had given them leave to work under the cooler skies of evening. Grave digging was a chore proper to Shadow Ebb, he mused. If his arguments had triumphed, there would be no graves, but the Lady Chiron did not regard a minor general’s protestations.

The lavender of the ebb eased his throbbing head. It had been a busy few days, with the bright lady’s visit and the need to squire her entourage in the midst of a Paion incursion of some vigor. Now this chore, digging and filling, and having to endure the surly expressions from the work unit, who cast sideways glares at their general. Well, these sentients had reason to hope for glory in the Long War, not grave digging.

He turned to his aide, a capable lieutenant who had been standing well back from the summit of the hill, letting his general have a moment of contemplation.

“See them well buried, Han,” Ci Dehai said, waving the lieutenant forward to command the unit. “Each with their flag.”

Ci Dehai walked down the slope, away from the scene of carnage, where the last of the prisoners at last had died under the bright lady’s ministrations. By the Miserable God, there would be no mass grave for these unlucky sentients, he vowed. Each would have their parcel of ground, even if it was in the blasted plains of Ahnenhoon.

Dotting the battlefield, points of campfires showed where the soldiers cooked their meal. A peaceful sight, those dots of light, each with its circle of weary sentients. There would be good rest this ebb, with the Paion retreated into their cursed land, wherever that might be, perhaps hunched over their own damnable food. For himself, Ci Dehai couldn’t think about eating, after watching the lady do her work.

The Tarig dispensed capital justice. No other could lawfully do so, for the sways and armies were forbidden to kill, except in the case of Paion. It preserved the peace, prevented vendetta, and ensured justice. All good things. But it gave the Tarig lords and the Tarig ladies a dark aspect that no one forgot for long.

A rustle to one side drew his attention. Someone approached him, climbing
up the side of the hill. A civilian, where none had leave to be.

“What’s this?” he growled.

The civilian stopped climbing, and waved in friendly fashion. “A hard climb for one like me,” the stranger said.

Ci Dehai would have ordered him away, but paused because of the self-assured, casual hail, and the man’s strange physical appearance. When Ci Dehai drew closer, he saw that it was not a man at all, but a woman.

“Who the mucking bright are you?”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Such a greeting from an old friend.”

“You’re no old friend to me.” Ci Dehai squinted. Or
was
she? Surely he would remember a dwarf with long hair, dressed as a godwoman.

The godwoman’s face drooped in mock disappointment. “That’s the trouble these days. Friendships don’t last. Or carry over from mother to daughter.” She looked boldly into Ci Dehai’s face. “You don’t remember Jin Yi?”

Ci Dehai paused. “But Jin Yi . . . she went for a navitar. That was long ago.”

“Yes. She sends her greetings. She’s retired now. Well deserved. I’m Zhiya, her only progeny.” She gestured at her body. “A disappointment, to have only a dwarf for a daughter. But who can blame her for fearing to try again?”

Jin Yi. Once a charming, infectiously humorous, attractive girl. Long ago. But Ci Dehai himself wasn’t much to look at these days.

“No longer a navitar? But I thought such . . . responsibilities . . . demanded one’s all.”

“Yes, it’s rare to leave the Nigh. But she shares my sky bulb now.” Zhiya sobered. “She’s weak. Still, she remembers you.”

“As the bright guides me,” Ci Dehai murmured, taken aback, pierced by memory.

Zhiya gave him a respectful moment. Then she pointed to a sky bulb anchored on the plains below. “My conveyance. I have a godwoman’s duties, and must waste no time, Excellency.”

“Yes?” He now tried to imagine what this woman wished with him.

“I’ve come to suggest that we must help a mutual friend.”

Ah. Now come the favors and demands, he thought. “If you’re hoping for preference in a friend’s advancement, I judge by merit alone.”

“Merit.” Zhiya smiled. “I used to believe in that, too.”

“You’re miserable indeed if you don’t judge so yourself. What should we have otherwise? The vile and proud in positions of power?”

Zhiya murmured, “Perhaps we have such a situation already, General.”

Did she insult him? He waited for her to explain herself.

“At the highest level, you understand.” Zhiya turned away, looking up primacy, toward the Ascendancy.

Ci Dehai’s awareness contracted into a very small circle. He remained silent, lest he be brought into treason.

“How go the burials?” Zhiya blinked innocently.

It could not be more explicit. His silence was now a disloyal act. Yet Ci Dehai held his tongue. Just over the rise of the hill, he could hear the clang of shovels on rock.

“Badly,” he answered, letting the full impact of these needless deaths reach his heart at last. He thought he was inured to the slaughter of war, but not slaughter like this.

He spoke low. “What mutual friend needs help, daughter of Jin Yi?”

“The same friend who sojourned with you for a time.” When he failed to pick up her meaning, she went on. “Who now carries the Going Over blade.”

Ci Dehai knew quite well who now carried that knife.

He squinted at her. “How is it you possess information which any lord would pay handsomely to know?”

Zhiya smiled, enjoying herself a little too much. “I travel quite a bit. One can’t help hearing things.”

The godwoman now had his complete attention.

Ci Dehai asked, “Why do you care about him?” Let her commit the first treason, for it would not be he.

Her face lost its arch smile, and she glanced sideways to assure herself they were still alone. “To be frank? I’m a spy, General.”

“Ah. But a spy for whom?”

“Sadly, I have no champion. Just enemies.” She glanced up primacy again, making her meaning clear. “So as to why I care, let’s call it affairs of state. We find ourselves suffering a great absence of statesmanship, General. I sometimes nudge people along to fill the gap. Can’t nudge them if they’re dead, of course.”

Oh, it was treason and all. Ci Dehai was staggered. And intrigued.

Before the godwoman left, Ci Dehai had promised to help Titus Quinn. All quite rash, based on a long-ago connection to a woman gone for a navitar despite his offer of marriage. It was that connection, and as well, the fact that Titus Quinn was in the process of slapping the collective Tarig face. And Ci Dehai wanted in on the action.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

When in difficult country, do not encamp. Do not linger in dangerously
isolated positions. The safest camp is on the plain, no walls but
the storm walls small in the distance.

—from Tun Mu’s
Annals of War

T
HE TWO FUGITIVES had slipped quietly into camp an interval ago, using every precaution to avoid detection, and now knelt before Yulin. Suzong kneeled near the cave entrance, keeping a sharp eye out for spies.

Yulin glared at the suppliants before him, the two people who had caused the most consternation in his life: Titus Quinn and Ji Anzi. They were a continuing source of aggravation, since now he must make the decisions that he had dreaded and delayed. A short walk from this cave where Yulin chose to receive the fugitives, the legate Hu Zha lay asleep in his tent. He could be wakened in a moment. Chiron could be here quickly. But Yulin must decide.

Instead of the momentous decision before him, Yulin found himself embroiled in a discussion of marriage. Is that why Titus Quinn had come there? To dispute Ji Anzi’s betrothal? Truly, the man led with his heart, to risk so much for this girl.

Turning his regard to Titus Quinn, Yulin demanded, “What does it matter who she marries?”

Quinn said, “She doesn’t love the man you chose.” Quinn looked different than before, with the ministrations to his face and his long hair pulled back into a tie. In the flickering candlelight, he looked very Chalin. Very tired.

“It is a small matter, surely,” Yulin said. “We waste time to speak of it, with spies everywhere.” Anzi met his irritable gaze with the equanimity of a miscreant who couldn’t comprehend her faults. “You,” he snarled, “repay me with strange gifts, Niece.”

She bowed her head to the dirt floor. Her muffled voice came: “So many pardons, Uncle. But everything was for Titus Quinn and our alliance with him.”

“Alliance, is it? Now a faithless girl decides alliances?” She didn’t know that Chiron had discovered Yulin’s camp and held him hostage, so he couldn’t blame her for the oversimplification. If Yulin had shared that piece with her, she would never have led Titus Quinn to the trap.

“I thought we
were
allied,” Quinn said.

Yulin must tread carefully. Should he wake up Hu Zha, or not?

“Our alliance nearly killed me,” Yulin growled. Now let him offer something to make it all worthwhile, or by a beku’s balls, he would wake Chiron’s spy and hand Quinn over.

“We warned you,” Quinn said, as though that made up for losing his sway, his wives, and his palace. Yulin forbore to make a point of it. What was lost was lost. He cut a glance at Suzong, giving her leave to enter the tangle of the conversation.

Suzong hugged her jacket to her in the chill of the cave opening. “Why have you returned, Titus Quinn? We are sure it was not to inquire after our welfare.” When Quinn didn’t immediately respond, she prompted, “The Inyx was our guess. For your daughter, and all that you left unfinished.”

Yulin pulled on his beard, listening with interest to hear why indeed Quinn had come back. What did the Rose universe intend, now that the doors were open between here and there? Or half-open. Or, at least, open enough to emit a draft.

Suzong sucked on her teeth, staring at Quinn. “Well?”

“Yes, to the Inyx,” Quinn said.

Yulin thought the man an impossible mixture of the personal and the visionary. What good to save one child where dynasty, trade, and advancement were concerned? And now here he came meddling for Anzi’s sake. Truly a difficult man to grasp. He shifted his seat on the hard ground, glancing now and then at the cave entrance, where the ebb’s dour light began to wax toward morning.

Anzi looked sickly in the lavender light. He guessed that there was an issue between her and Quinn; she didn’t look like a woman about to be rescued from a hated marriage, but rather like the niece he knew so well: the one who hated to be told what to do.