Empire Rising (22 page)

“It’s been more than ten days, and we still know little about him, except he possesses a good deal of wealth and pays well.” Trella reached out and touched the peridot that rested on the table between them. “We need to learn more.”

“You still think there’s something amiss with him, something in his past?”

“It’s not his past that worries me, Annok-sur. It’s his plans for the future. He’s hiding something, I’m sure of it. I’ve been thinking, perhaps Tammuz can discover what it is. Can you bring him tonight?”

Tammuz, barely into his sixteenth season, had ridden as a camp boy with Eskkar at the start of the campaign against the Alur Meriki. His one and only battle had shattered his arm, and he’d nearly died from his wounds. The fight also ended his dream of becoming a soldier. Before joining Eskkar’s fighters, Tammuz had survived as a petty thief, but now even that life would be denied him. With little to look forward to except life as a beggar, the young man had been devastated.

Trella, always searching for friends and allies no matter what their station in life, had devised a plan for him. Four months earlier, she and Empire Rising

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Eskkar gave Tammuz enough silver to set himself up in a small alehouse in the worst part of Akkad, one catering to the poorest and most desperate inhabitants. Acting under the cover of his former profession, Tammuz joined Trella’s network of spies, keeping his ears and eyes open for any plots against Eskkar’s House. Gatus provided an old veteran, injured while training for the siege, to help Tammuz run the establishment, which soon became more a den of petty thieves than alehouse. Tammuz flourished better than Trella hoped, and had already supplied some minor but useful information.

“I’ll escort him past the guards,” Annok-sur said. “You’ll want Gatus here as well, in case Tammuz needs anything from him. Midnight would be the best time.”

Aside from Eskkar, Gatus, and Annok-sur, no one knew of Tammuz’s new role. Even the founding Hawk Clan soldiers had already dismissed the memory of the crippled youth; warriors formed the Hawk Clan, and none of them expected Eskkar to remember his campfire promise to an insignificant boy. Since the day he left Eskkar’s compound, Tammuz had returned only once, at night and with his face concealed by a cloak. Only Gatus or Annok-sur could vouchsafe an unknown person past the house guards.

“No, two hours before midnight,” Trella said. “I want you to bring Zenobia here at midnight.”

“Ah, then it’s time to help her establish a House?”

Trella sighed. “It’s past time, I think. I wish we’d helped her before, but there was no time. Now we’ll have to move faster.”

Annok-sur laughed. “It won’t take Zenobia long to get noticed.”

Trella could laugh at that. “Let’s hope not.”

That night Gatus accompanied Tammuz and Annok-sur into the workroom, where two lamps burned, an extravagance that lent weight to the importance of the meeting. Trella always paid close attention to people’s faces when they spoke, and if that required burning extra oil, she didn’t consider it a waste. She rose and bowed respectfully to the young man, reminding herself not to count his seasons, though he was much the same age as she. As Eskkar reminded her, you don’t treat someone who’s killed an enemy in battle as a boy.

“Greetings, Tammuz,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

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Tammuz pushed back the cloak that hid his face, worn more to mask his identity than keep out the nighttime chill, and bowed as well. Straightening up, he pushed light brown hair away from his face, revealing a broad smile. “My thanks to you, Lady Trella. It’s good to see you again.”

Trella returned the smile, remembering how Eskkar had saved Tammuz’s life, then placed him in her care. When Tammuz smiled, he looked like a young boy, innocent, though she recognized his growing maturity.

“Come,” she said, “sit down, and tell me what you’ve been doing. But first, let me look at your arm.”

The left arm had been broken in two places, and, out on the battlefield, none of Eskkar’s men knew how to set the break properly. The ride back to Akkad had almost killed the boy. Tammuz lost most of the use of his left hand, and now the arm itself seemed shrunken, bent, and hanging at an odd angle. But the young man lived, and Trella knew that life, even as a cripple, was preferable to death.

She ignored Tammuz’s embarrassment as she came around the table and helped him remove his cloak before taking his hand. “Let me see you move your fingers,” she ordered. “Have you kept to the healer’s advice?”

“I have, Lady Trella, though I don’t think it much matters. He says . . .

he says my arm will never be straight, and there’s nothing more he can do.

If it weren’t for you and Captain Eskkar . . .” His voice trailed off as he lowered his head. “There’s no work for a man with one arm.”

Trella had not only nursed him back to health and made sure the healers did their best, but she’d given him a reason to live. More than that, she showed him a different way to fight, a different kind of warfare that went on each day in the shadows, where men whispered over cups of ale.

“Don’t forget you are Hawk Clan, Tammuz. We are always proud of you, and you will never lack for friends.” Trella lifted her hand to include Gatus and Annok-sur, sitting quietly at the other table. “Besides, what you do is more important than soldiering, remember that.”

“I try to remember, Lady Trella, though it is hard sometimes.”

“As is your work. You are our eyes and ears among the poor, the thieves, the prostitutes, and the murderers. With Akkad growing in size each day, there are many desperate men, men who will steal, cheat, and kill. More such will arrive in the coming months. We need someone who can mingle with these people to learn the things Eskkar needs to know. Do you have enough silver? Do you need more?”

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steal, in return for letting them hide themselves and their goods in the alehouse. And I resell a few items myself, mostly small things that can’t be traced back to me. Sometimes customers disappear, leaving their goods behind. It’s enough to keep food on the table and ale jars filled. ”

Part of the arrangement with Eskkar and Trella was that Tammuz need only report on things that concerned Eskkar’s House. Trella did not care about petty crimes or cut purses. Nevertheless, everyone knew that when the wealthy wanted a private murder done, they often sought out and hired desperate men, like those who frequented Tammuz’s establishment.

“If you need more silver, send word through Annok-sur or Gatus.”

She pulled the cloak back over his arm and returned to her chair. Leaning forward, she focused her attention on Tammuz. Along with his responses, she would examine every expression, gesture, even the way he sat. Very little escaped her eyes and ears, and she knew how to take stock of what she heard and observed. “And now I have something different to ask of you. It may be dangerous.”

Tammuz shrugged. “I’ve learned much about danger in the last few months.”

“Still, I want you to be extra careful in this. Do you know of Korthac, the Egyptian?”

“Everyone knows of him.”

“I want to learn more about him, especially more about his men. It’s possible you may be able to find things out, overhear something, notice something.” Trella told him what she’d learned about Korthac, and what she suspected.

“Don’t underestimate him, Tammuz. He has sharp wits and knows how to lead men. He may have been a soldier in Egypt, possibly a leader of soldiers. Our spies have learned nothing about him, his men, or his plans, so do not think this will be easy. You must not let him be aware of your interest. Anything you can discover, even some small bit of gossip, might be useful. This is a challenge worthy of the Hawk Clan.”

“When I see the Hawk Clan walking the streets, their heads held high

. . . sometimes, Lady Trella, I don’t feel like a Hawk Clan.”

“You
are
Hawk Clan, Tammuz. I know how you all swore an oath to help each other, to fight to the death if necessary.” Eskkar had described the horrific fighting, and the pact the survivors had espoused; he repeated the oath for her, depicted the ceremony, the wind blowing through the 118

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dunes and the fire casting its light on each man’s face as they swore binding vows to each other. No man could vouch such words and ever think of breaking his pledge while he drew breath.

“You, of course, were unconscious or delirious most of the time, but they swore for you just the same. And remember, Tammuz, someday there will be much more to the Hawk Clan than simple fighting. In the next few years, there will be more than just battles to be fought.”

At their last meeting, Eskkar had reminded Tammuz that the binding oath extended both ways. He would always be a Hawk Clan, a true brother warrior to Eskkar and his clan.

“Now it is time to speak of other things. Have you thought about taking a wife?”

Tammuz’s mouth fell open in surprise at the odd question. “A wife . . .

why . . . who would want to be with a cripple?”

“You are old enough, and you own an alehouse,” Trella said, ignoring his question. “That makes you a man of substance. Annok-sur thinks you can use some help, someone you can trust, and Gatus agrees. I’ve picked out a slave girl for you. She’s only a season or two older than you. If she proves agreeable and dutiful, we can free her for marriage. If you’re not pleased with her for any reason, you can return her to me.”

Gatus, watching and listening from a stool placed against the wall, couldn’t repress a chuckle. “You should see your face, Tammuz. A woman isn’t the worst thing in the world . . . at least not all the time.”

Tammuz looked at Gatus, then back to Trella. “I don’t know what to say. . . .”

“Then please me in this, and give her a chance. En-hedu is well suited to you, Tammuz, and has her wits about her. She is strong enough to work hard and free you for your other duties. She needs to be treated well; her previous owner drank too much wine and beat her often. You must be gentle with her, and patient, until she forgets her former master. She is not beautiful, but I think she will be loyal, especially if you treat her with respect. I’ve spoken to her several times, and told her about you.”

Trella leaned back in her chair, feeling the child move within her.

“Would you consider taking her?”

“Lady Trella, if you think it best, but . . . I’ve never been with a woman, and she might think my arm . . .”

“Bring her in, Annok-sur,” Trella said. “Tell her nothing about the Hawk Clan, Tammuz. That’s to remain our secret, for now at least. Other Empire Rising

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than that, you can tell her anything. And don’t worry about what you know or don’t know. She will guide you through Ishtar’s mystery.”

A few moments later the door creaked open and Annok-sur led a tall, sturdy young woman wearing a modest and patched shift into the workroom. Brown hair framed a plain but pleasant enough face, except for her nose, broken and never straightened properly afterward. Once again Trella stood, a sign of respect especially important to a slave, and Tammuz followed her example.

“En-hedu, this is Tammuz, your new master. You will obey him as if he were your husband. He needs your help, so I ask that you do all you can to assist him.”

The girl looked at Tammuz shyly, showing a hint of apprehension at meeting a new master. She bowed awkwardly, then dropped her eyes to the floor. Tammuz seemed at a loss for words.

The sight touched one of Trella’s vivid memories. She remembered a night not that long ago when she had been handed over, still crying, to her new master. Fear had rushed over her, fear of the unknown. That was the emotion a slave felt the most, fear of the stranger who had the power of life and death over you. Trella walked over to En-hedu, took her hand, and placed it in Tammuz’s good hand.

“Be good to En-hedu, Tammuz.” Trella looked at Gatus, who nodded and put his arm around Tammuz’s shoulders.

“Time to let Trella get her rest,” Gatus said with a yawn. “I’ll take you back to the alehouse.”

By the time Trella finished with the chamber pot, midnight approached, and she had only a few moments to wait before Annok-sur pushed open the door and guided Zenobia into the room. Trella rose as Zenobia approached the table. Once again, the simple gesture had its effect.

Throwing back her hood, Zenobia bowed very low, as Annok-sur closed the door behind them. Now they could talk privately, three women discussing things men should never hear.

“I thank you for coming, Zenobia,” Trella said. “You are well?”

A woman of perhaps twenty-five seasons, Zenobia had deep black hair, large brown eyes, and a round face offering fine, delicate features.

Trella remembered how Zenobia had looked months ago, wearing a rough shift and with smudges of dirt covering her face. Frightened and bear-120

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ing marks of ill treatment, Zenobia had done everything she could to make herself look unattractive. An unprotected, beautiful woman would have been quickly taken into some man’s house, never to emerge. Zenobia needed a benefactor, somebody to protect her and make sure she was not enslaved again. Trella had provided that protection.

Zenobia came from a land far to the east and had traveled many weeks before arriving at the village. She hadn’t been in Akkad long, arriving only a few days before the siege of Akkad began. Shortly after her arrival, she had met Trella by chance during one of her walks. Zenobia’s story had been both sad and unfortunate, but it created yet one more opportunity for Trella.

Raised as a pleasure slave since childhood, Zenobia had grown skillful at satisfying men. She’d pleased one of her patrons so much that he bought her and set her free. Despite his feelings for Zenobia, the patron saw a chance for gain and decided to establish his own pleasure house in the bountiful lands to the west. With Zenobia’s help, he had purchased three slave girls to help launch the business, hired a small caravan of guards and animals, and set forth, determined to reach Akkad.