Red (23 page)

He squashed the impulse.
Slow. Slow, Thomas
.

“Torvil, you ungracious piece of meat,” a gruff voice said from the tent to his right. He glanced. A Scab stepped past the flap and glared at him. “Your brother is dying in here and you're looking for women where there are none?”

For a moment Thomas was frozen by indecision. He'd spoken to Scabs before; he'd even spoken at length to their supreme leader's daughter, Chelise.

“Answer me!” the Scab snorted.

He decided. He walked straight on and turned only partially so as not to expose his entire face.

“You're as blind as the bats who cursed you. Am I Torvil? And I would be so lucky to find a woman in this stinking place.”

He turned and moved on. The man cursed and stepped back into the tent.

“Easy,” William whispered. “That was too much.”

“It's how they would speak.”

The Scabs had retired for the night, but hundreds still loitered. Most of the tents had their flaps tied open, baring all to any prying eye. The camp where he'd met Chelise had been strewn with woven rugs dyed in purple and red hues. Not so here. No children, no women that he could see.

They passed a group of four men seated cross-legged around a small, smoky fire burning in a basin of oil-soaked sand. The flames warmed a tin pot full of the white, pasty starch they called sago. Made from the roots of desert wheat. Thomas had tasted the bland starch once and announced to his men that it was like eating dirt without all the flavor.

All four Scabs had their hoods withdrawn. By the light of fire and moon, these did not look like fearless suicidal warriors sworn to slaughter the women and children of the forests. In fact, they looked very much like his own people.

One of them raised light gray eyes to Thomas, who averted his stare.

It took Thomas and William fifteen minutes to reach the camp's center. Twice they had been noticed; twice they had passed without incident. But Thomas knew that getting into the camp in the dead of night wouldn't be their challenge. Finding the Books and getting them out would be.

The large central tent was actually a complex of about five tents, each guarded. From what he could determine, they'd come at the complex from the rear.

The canvas glowed a dull orange from the torches ablaze inside. The sheer size of the tents, the soldiers who guarded them, and the use of color collectively boasted of Qurong's importance. Horde dyes came from brightly colored desert rocks ground into a powder. The dye had been applied to the tent's canvas in large barbed patterns.

“This way.”

Thomas veered into an open passage behind the complex. He pulled William into the shadows and spoke in a whisper. “What do you think?”

“Swords,” William said.

“No fight!”

“Then make yourself invisible. There are too many guards. Even if we get inside, we'll meet others there.”

“You're too quick with the sword. We'll go in as guards. They wear the light sash around their chests, you saw?”

“You think we can kill two without being seen? Impossible.”

“Not if we take them from the inside.”

William glanced at the tent's floor seam. “We have no idea what or who's inside.”

“Then, and only then, we will use our swords.” Thomas whipped out his dagger. “Check the front.”

William stepped to the edge of the tent and peered around. He returned, sword now drawn. “Clear.”

“We do this quickly.”

They understood that surprise and speed would be their only allies if the room was occupied. They dropped to their knees, and Thomas ran the blade quickly along the base of the tent with a long ripping slash that he prayed would go unheard.

He jerked the canvas up and William rolled inside. Thomas dove after him.

They came up in a room lit by a flickering torch flame. Three forms lay to their left, and William leaped for one that was rising. These were clearly the servants' quarters. But the cry of a servant could kill them as easily as any sword.

William reached the servant before he could turn to see what the disturbance was. He clamped his hand around the Scab's face and brought the sword up to his neck.

“No!” Thomas whispered. “Alive!”

Keeping hold of the startled servant, William stepped toward the others, smashed the butt of his knife down on the back of the sleeping man's head, and then repeated the same blow on the third.

The Scab in William's arms began to struggle.

“She'll wake the whole tent,” William objected. “I should kill her!”

A woman? Thomas grabbed her hair and brought his own dagger up to her throat. “A sound and you die,” he whispered. “We're not here to kill, you understand? But we will if we have to.”

Her eyes were like moons, wide and gray with terror.

“Do you understand?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Then tell me what I want to know. No one knows that you saw us. I'll knock you out so that no one can accuse you of betrayal.”

Her face wrinkled with fear.

“You would rather have me kill you? Be sensible and you'll be fine. A bump on the head is all.”

She didn't look persuaded, but neither did she make any sound.

“The Books of Histories,” Thomas said. “You know them?”

Thomas felt a moment's pity for the woman. She was too horrified to think, much less speak. He released her hair.

“Let her go.”

“Sir, I advise against it.”

“You see? He advises against it,” Thomas said to the woman. “That's because he thinks you'll scream. But I think better of you. I believe that you're nothing more than a frightened girl who wants to live. If you scream, we'll have to kill half the people in this tent, including Qurong himself. Cooperate and we may kill no one.” He pressed the blade against her skin.

“Will you cooperate?”

She nodded.

“Release her.”

“Sir—”

“Do it.”

William slowly let his hand off her mouth. Her lips trembled but she made no sound.

“Good. You'll find that I'm a man of my word. You may ask Chelise, the daughter of Qurong, about me. She knows me as Roland. Now tell me. Do you know of the Books?”

She nodded.

“And are they in these tents?”

Nothing.

“I swear, woman, if you insist on—”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Yes? Yes, of course he'd come for precisely this, but to hear her say that the Books of Histories, those ancient writings of such mythic power, were here at this very moment . . . It was more than he'd dared truly believe.

“Where?”

“They are sacred! I can't . . . I would be killed for telling you. The Great One allows no one to see them! Please, please I beg you—”

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed. They were running out of time. At any moment someone would come bursting in.

Thomas lowered his blade. “Fine then. Kill her, William.”

“No, please!” She fell to her knees and gripped his robe. “I'll tell you. They are in the second tent, in the room behind the Great One's bedchamber.”

Thomas raised his hand to William. He dropped to one knee and scratched an image of the complex into the sand. “Show me.”

She showed him with a trembling finger.

“Is there any way into this room besides through the bedchamber?”

“No. The walls are strung with a . . . a . . . metal . . .”

“A metal mesh?”

“Yes, yes, a metal mesh.”

“Are there guards in these rooms here?” He pointed to the adjoining rooms.

“I don't know. I swear, I don't—”

“Okay. Then lie down and I will spare your life.”

She didn't move.

“It will be one knock on the head and you'll have your excuse along with the others. Don't be irrational!”

She lay in her bed and William hit her.

“Now what?” William asked, standing from the unconscious form.

“The Books are here.”

“I heard. They are also in a virtual vault.”

“I heard.”

Thomas faced the flap leading from the room. Apparently no alarm had been raised.

“As you said, we don't have all night,” William said.

“Let me think.”

He had to find more information. They now knew that the Books not only existed, but lay less than thirty yards from where he stood. The find gripped him in a way he hadn't expected. There was no telling how valuable the Books might be. In the other world, certainly, but even here! The Roush had certainly gone out of their way to conceal them. How had Qurong managed to lay his hands on them in the first place?

“Sir—”

Thomas walked to the wall, where several robes hung. He stripped off his own.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm becoming a servant. Their robes aren't as light as the warriors'.”

William followed suit. They pulled on the new robes and stuffed the old under the servant's blanket. They would need those again.

“Wait here. I'm going find out more.”

“What? I can't—”

“Wait here! Do nothing. Stay alive. If I'm not back in half an hour, then find me. If you can't find me, get back to the camp.”

“Sir—”

“No questions, William.”

He straightened his robe, pulled the hood over his head, and walked from the room.

THE TENTS were really one large tent after all. Nothing less than a portable castle. Purple and red drapes hung on most walls, and dyed carpets ran across the ground. Bronze statues of winged serpents with ruby eyes seemed to occupy every corner. Otherwise, the halls were deserted.

Thomas walked like a Scab in the direction the servant had shown him. The only sign of life came from a steady murmur of discussion that grew as he approached Qurong's quarters.

Thomas entered the hall leading to the royal chambers and stopped.

A single carpet bearing a black image of the serpentine Shataiki bat whom they worshiped filled the wall. To his left, a heavy turquoise curtain separated him from the voices. To his right, another curtain cloaked silence.

Thomas ignored the thumping of his heart and moved to the right. He eased the cloth aside, found the room empty, and slipped in.

A long mat set with bronze goblets and a tall chalice sat in the center of what could only be Qurong's dining room. What Thomas called furniture was sparse among the Desert Dwellers—they lacked the wood—but their ingenuity was evident. Large stuffed cushions, each emblazoned with the serpentine crest, sat around the mat. At the room's four corners, flames licked the still air, casting light on no less than twenty swords and sickles and clubs and every conceivable Horde weapon, all of which hung from the far wall.

A large reed barrel stood in the corner to his right. He hurried over and peered in. Stagnant desert water. The water ran near the surface in pockets where the Desert Dwellers grew their wheat and dug their shallow wells. It was no wonder they preferred to drink it mixed with wheat and fermented as wine or beer.

He wasn't here to drink their putrid water.

Thomas checked the hall and found it clear. He was halfway through the entryway when the drape into the opposite room moved.

He retreated and eased the flap down.

“A drink, general?”

“Why not?”

Thomas ran for the only cover the room offered. The barrel. He slid behind, dropped to his knees, and held his breath.

The flap opened.
Whooshed
closed.

“A good day, sir. A good day indeed.”

“And it's only beginning.”

Beer splashed from the chalice into a goblet. Then another. Thomas eased as far into the shadow as he dared without touching the tent wall.

“To my most honored general,” a smooth voice said. No one but Qurong would refer to any general as
my general
.

“Martyn, general of generals.”

Qurong and Martyn! Bronze struck bronze. They drank.

“To our supreme ruler, who will soon rule over all the forests,” the general said.

The goblets clinked again.

Thomas let the air escape his lungs and breathed carefully. He slipped his hand under his cloak and touched the dagger. Now! He should take them both now; it wouldn't be an impossible task. In three steps he could reach them and send them both to Hades.

“I tell you, the brilliance of the plan is in its boldness,” Qurong said. “They may suspect, but with our forces at their doorstep, they will be forced to believe. We'll speak about peace and they will listen because they must. By the time we work the betrayal with him, it will be too late.”

What was this? A thread of sweat leaked down Thomas's neck. He moved his head for a glimpse of the men. Qurong wore a white robe without a hood. A large bronze pendant of the Shataiki hung from his neck. But it was the man's head that held Thomas's attention. Unlike most of the Horde, he wore his hair long, matted and rolled in dreadlocks. And his face looked oddly familiar.