Snare (37 page)

‘Zayn?’ Ammadin had walked up to him. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course.’

‘You look ill.’

‘Do I?’

‘Grey and sweaty, yes.’

‘Oh. Maybe I’m hung over. I feel like hell, actually.’

‘Why don’t you go lie down for a while in the tent?’

‘Thanks. I will.’

Zayn ducked into the tent like a hunted animal reaching its den. He sat down on his blankets, pulled off his boots, then lay down on his stomach and buried his face in his arms. He felt so physically sick that he was almost able to talk himself into believing he’d eaten spoiled food and nothing more. Almost. He knew better. I cannot kill the man who risked his career to save my life. I can’t. But if I don’t – I swore a vow to the Great Khan. I swore a vow to the Chosen.

He turned over onto his back and stared up at the tent’s grey ceiling. From outside he could hear voices and footsteps, members of the comnee calling back and forth – his friends’ voices. Maybe he could just stay with the comnee. If he avoided the border horse fairs, it would take the Chosen a long time to hunt him down. He’d have a few years, a few good years, before Fate caught up with him.

‘Zayn?’ Dallador lifted the tent flap and ducked inside. ‘Maddi told me you were ill.’

‘I’m all right now. Just tired, I guess.’

Dallador sat down next to him and stretched out his long legs. He smelled of horses and sweat, but the smell was somehow clean, even inviting. Zayn felt his closeness like a slap on the face, waking him from a kind of sleep. When he remembered the dreams he’d been having, he could lie to himself no longer. Dallador held out his hand. Zayn somehow knew that this was the moment for him to sit up and move away, and that if he did, Dallador would never allow such a moment to develop again. He could not move, was afraid to move, was afraid to stay, wanted to speak, said nothing. Dallador leaned forward and ran his hand through Zayn’s hair, then bent over and kissed him on the mouth. Zayn flinched, then felt his body ease of its own accord. The kiss seemed like the most normal thing in the world.

With a supple twist of his body Dallador lay down next to him. Zayn rolled into his arms with barely a thought.

‘Ammi, you really mean this?’ Maradin said. ‘You’re going to leave us?’

‘Not forever,’ Ammadin said, smiling. ‘But I have to ride this
quest. I’m sorry, Maddi, but it’s crucial. I’m not even sure why, but I know I absolutely have to ride east with Water Woman. I’ve been having spirit dreams.’

‘Well, that settles that, then. But –’

‘There isn’t anything more to say.’

Maradin sighed, a defeated little noise. In the late afternoon sun they were walking among the horses, taking count of their stock. Ammadin had sold every horse she’d brought to market except for one black two-year-old, and he was a horse that she had no objections to taking back to the grass with her. Maradin had done equally well.

‘I saw you giving the little buckskin to that rabbi,’ Maradin said. ‘Well, not giving but you could have got about twice the money for her.’

‘I know, but I’ve met Reb Donnol before, and he’s a good man. His church does a lot of good, too, even if they do think there’s only one god.’

Their stroll had taken them to the far side of the tethered herd, upriver of the camp and the town. For a moment they stood at the edge of the meadow, where a cluster of fountain trees offered some shade. They leaned on the fence and looked east across fenced fields of wheatian, pale gold and bowing in a summer breeze.

‘Does Water Woman know?’ Maradin said.

‘Oh yes,’ Ammadin said. ‘We’ve decided that we’ll meet north-east of here. She can’t travel openly in the Cantons, of course, but the Chiri Michi have their own roads – or so she told me. Secret roads, she called them.’

‘I suppose they must. It was their land first, after all.’ Maradin paused, thinking. ‘You know what amazes me the most, though?’

‘No, what?’

‘Finding out that Chursavva was a woman. Well, a ChaMeech woman, but still! After all those legends and things that said she was a king. I wonder why they made a mistake like that?’

‘ChaMeech females are bigger than their males, and they do most of the talking.’

‘I can see how the Kazraks thought that meant she was male, yes, but I’m surprised at the Cantonneurs.’

‘Maybe they had different attitudes, all the way back then.’

‘Could be. You sure you’ll be all right? I mean, you’d know,
wouldn’t you, if you couldn’t trust Water Woman?’

‘Well, no, not if you mean can I smell if she’s lying. They have different bodies, so all their scents mean different things.’ Ammadin considered for a moment. ‘She’s not telling me everything. I don’t need spirit powers to figure that out. There’s some other faction or group back in her homeland that she mentioned once, but when I ask her, she turns evasive. But if you mean, do I feel she won’t harm me, yes, I do, because I’m too valuable. She really needs H’mai on her side for some reason. I’m just not sure what.’

‘Well, it sounds risky to me, but I know you. If your mind’s made up –’

‘Nothing you say will change it, yes.’

Maradin laughed, then turned to look at the distant tents. Smoke from cooking fires was rising among them. ‘We should get back. Does Apanador know you’re leaving?’

‘No. Kasso and I will talk to the chiefs this evening.’

‘You know, Kassidor’s awfully good-looking –’

‘Oh stop it! I can’t think of a worse marriage than one between two spirit riders. They’d fight all the time over whose visions were better. That’s why there’s only one spirit rider in a comnee, after all.’

‘Well, yes, that’s true. I’ll bet Zayn’s going to be just sick when he finds out you’re leaving.’

‘Why? He’s having an affair with your husband.’

‘So? He’s in love with you, not Dallo.’

‘Oh? I don’t think so.’

Maradin laughed again. ‘Of course he is! You understand spirits, Ammi, but I understand men.’

‘You’re right, aren’t you?’ Ammadin grinned at her. ‘But I’ve got the better bargain.’

He would have to ride away before he stayed forever. After Dallador left, late that afternoon, Zayn lay on his blankets and repeated that bitter truth. He would have to ride away, and it would have to be that night, or he would stay with the comnee till one of the Chosen came to kill him. He sat up, listening to the normal sounds of the camp outside, the talk, the laughter. Through the smokehole a long shaft of sun fell upon the hearth stone in the centre of the tent, his tent as he’d started thinking
of it, the tent where he’d been given a place. He got up, stretching, then dressed. He spent a few minutes putting the things he owned into his saddlebags. He would have to smuggle them out as soon as it grew dark.

In the meantime he would have to act as he were thinking of nothing but returning to the grass. Zayn left the tent, glanced around for Ammadin, and saw her nowhere. Some of the other men were lighting cooking fires, some of the women were out among the herd. No one seemed to take particular notice of him. They would wonder tomorrow, he supposed, why he’d gone. In the bright sun of a hot afternoon he strolled down to the river, flowing smooth and brown between its purple banks. Although he considered going into town to hunt up information about Soutan, he knew that if he found Jezro Khan, he would find Soutan with him. Nothing else would have brought Idres across the plains.

The orange-mottled water reeds, stirring in the light wind, made him remember his spirit crane. Out in the water a flock of animals swam back and forth; they were squat and grey, flecked with purple and magenta, and about the size and shape of true-hens. Like the hens they had tucked-up wings, but of pink scaly skin, not feathers. Their long necks ended in bulbous heads and mouthfuls of teeth. Zayn sat down on the grass and watched them dive for black river crabs, which they brought up kicking and crunched down alive.

Tomorrow he would be alone again. He would be hunting not just information, but a man’s life. Jezro Khan had to die – his duty and his common sense both told him so. The thought rose in his mouth like the taste of vomit. If only there were more time! He could simply ride back with the comnee, then head for Haz Kazrak and tell his superiors what he’d learned. They could send someone else to make the actual kill. But there was no time. Idres was ahead of him on the road.

Zayn heard footsteps behind him and turned to see an old man, leaning on a long true-wood staff as he shuffled along. Dressed in a dirty patchwork smock and threadbare brown trousers, he carried a small cloth sack in one hand. In a voice cracked with age he sang to himself, wavering from one song to another. When he saw Zayn, he stopped singing and smiled, revealing that half his teeth were missing.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘Have you come to watch the ducks?’

‘Well, not exactly. I’m a comnee man, you see, and I just wandered down from the camp.’

‘Ah.’ The old man sat down next to him. ‘Don’t mind if I join you, do you?’

‘Not at all. Do you live in town?’

‘Well, off and on, off and on. I have a daughter here, and I live with her most times, but I like to wander around the country during the summer.’ He waved vaguely at the animals he’d called ducks. ‘I make lists of beasties, you see. I count ’em and write down what they look like. I’ll bet that strikes you as a peculiar way to spend your time.’

‘As long as you enjoy it, it’s none of my business, is it?’

‘I wish more people saw it your way. And I look for old books, too. Know what a book is?’

‘Daccor.’

‘Well, that’s a surprise. A lot of comnee men have never seen one.’

‘I wasn’t always a comnee man. I’m from Kazrajistan. Ever heard of it?’

‘Oh, heavens, yes! They’re supposed to have wonderful libraries there, filled with books so old we’ve forgotten the titles in our part of the world. When I was young, I used to think about making the trip, but I waited too long. Too old, now, to travel that far.’ He sighed, a long rattle of sound. ‘My name’s Onree, by the by.’

‘Mine’s Zayn.’

‘Pleased to meet you. Ah, you Kazraks! After all, you were never invaded.’

‘Um?’

‘To lose your books, I mean. When the ChaMeech took N’Dosha, they burned a lot of ours, all they could find, or so the story runs. They came for the books, you see, or well, that’s what some people say. For the books and for the – well, the magic.’

‘What would ChaMeech want with books?’

‘Nothing. That’s why they burned them. Or that’s what the story says. I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there myself. I mean, I know I’m old and all, but not that old.’

‘Not by half, no.’ Zayn paused for a smile. ‘You travel all over, you say?’

‘Yes, I certainly do. Every spring and summer. When the weather gets wet, I go home.’

‘I was wondering if you’d ever run across a man named Yarl Soutan.’

The old man tossed his head back and laughed. Out on the river the ducks turned towards shore and laughed with him, or at least, they cackled and whistled.

‘Uh, what’s so funny?’ Zayn said.

‘Do I know Soutan? Oh yes, I know him. Rotten little bastard, that’s what he is. Why are you asking?’

‘Well, it’s a long story. The man I’m really looking for is another Kazrak, named Jezro. Someone told me that Soutan might know where he was.’

Onree laughed again. ‘Maybe he does,’ he said at last. ‘But asking Soutan a favour is a little like asking a longtooth saur for the time of day. Maybe he knows it, maybe he doesn’t, but he’s likely to bite your head off before he tells you either way.’

‘All right. I’ll keep that in mind.’

Onree cocked his head to one side and considered Zayn for a long moment. ‘Do you think I’m crazy? Just a crazy old man with a wandering mind?’

His stare was disturbing, an unblinking gaze from surprisingly clear and shrewd blue eyes.

‘Not in the least,’ Zayn said.

‘Thank you.’ Onree brought out a thin wooden tablet, coated on one face with thick wax, and a thin pointed stick. ‘Time to count these ducks.’

‘Nice to have met you.’ Zayn stood up. ‘I’d better get back to camp.’

As he walked away he glanced back and saw Onree writing on the wax with the stick. Out on the river the ducks sailed back and forth, teeth and jaws green with crab blood.

Zayn had been dreading having to cook for Ammadin and chat as if nothing in particular was on his mind, but when he returned to the tent, she was gone. One of Sammador’s men told him that she and Kassidor were eating with the two chiefs in Apanador’s tent.

‘She might have told me, damn it!’ Zayn snapped.

‘Well, you know what spirit riders are like. Always off on a cloud somewhere.’

Zayn stayed inside the tent until the twilight turned thick and grey over the camp. He could not bear seeing Dallador. All it
would take, he knew, was one of Dallo’s slow smiles, and he would never leave. He waited until everyone in the comnee was eating at one fire or another, then slipped out, carrying his saddlebags. At the far end of the meadow stood a cluster of fountain trees. Zayn cached the saddlebags among them, then went back to camp and hid in the tent again. The evening wore on, darkened. The other men began to sing, a sure sign that they’d drunk enough keese to blunt their eyesight. Zayn took his saddle and his bedroll out to the fountain trees and laid them down with the saddlebags.

This time, when he returned to camp, he paused at the edge of the darkness and looked at the fire-lit tents, the wagons, the people who sat among them, laughing and talking. He had been planning on hiding in the tent for a while more, but he knew that he had to leave right then or never. He got his bridle and the last of his gear from the tent and strode out to the horse herd. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, they assumed that he was doing some errand that needed to be done. He found the sorrel and led him into the fountain trees.

Picking up the saddle nearly lost him his nerve. Once he rode out, he’d never ride back. He would find Jezro, kill him, and then return to the khanate, where his superior officers would doubtless shower him with praise he didn’t want and a promotion he’d despise. The sorrel gelding nuzzled his shoulder.