in wearing pale robes of mourning and seated on a great hunting
stallion, the very picture of vigor and manly prowess. Five riders were
with him: his friends, members of the utkhaicm unfortunate enough to
have heard of this hunt and marry themselves to the effort. "They would
have to be dealt with. Adrah took a pose of obeisance before l)anat.
"We've had word that a cart left by the south gate last night," Adrah
said. "It was seen coming from an alley beside the tower."
"Then let its follow it," l)anat said. He turned and rode. ldaan
followed, the wind whipping her hair, the smell of the beast under her
rich and sweet. There was no keeping up the gallop, of course. But this
was theater-the last remaining sons of the Khai Machi, one the assassin
and servant of chaos slipping away in darkness, one the righteous
avenger riding forth in the name of justice. I)anat knew the part he was
to act, and Idaan gave him credit for playing it, now that she had
goaded him into action. Those who saw them in the streets would tell
others, and the word would spread. It was a sight songs were made from.
Once they had crossed the bridge over the "l'idat, they slowed, looking
for people who had heard or seen the cart go by. Idaan knew where it had
really gone-the ruins of an old stone wayhouse a half-hand's walk from
the nearest low town west of the city. The morning hadn't half passed
before the hunt had taken a wrong scent, turned north and headed into
the foothills. The false trail took them to a crossroad-a mining track
led cast and west, the thin road from the city winding north up the side
of a mountain. Danat looked frustrated and tired. When Adrah spoke-his
voice loud enough for everyone in the party to hear-Idaan's belly tightened.
"We should fan out, Danat-cha. Eight east, eight west, eight north, and
two to stay here. If one group finds sign of the upstart, they can send
back a runner, and the two waiting here will retrieve the rest."
Danat weighed the thought, then agreed. Danat claimed the north road for
himself, and the members of the utkhaiem, smelling the chance of glory,
divided themselves among the hands heading east and west.
Adrah took the cast, his eyes locked on hers as he turned to go. She saw
the meaning in his expression, daring her to do this thing. Idaan made
no reply to him at all. She, six huntsmen of the Vaunyogi loyal to their
house and master, and Danat rode into the mountains.
When the sun had reached the highest point in the day's arc, they
stopped at small lake. The huntsmen rode out in their wide-ranging
search as they had done at every pause before this. Danat dismounted,
stretched, and paced. His eyes were dark. Idaan waited until the others
disappeared into the trees, unslung her bow, and went to stand near her
brother. He looked at her, then away.
"He didn't come this way," Danat said. "Ile's tricked us again."
"Perhaps. But he won't survive. Even if he killed you, he could never
become Khai Machi. The utkhaiem and the poets wouldn't support him."
"It's hatred now," Danat said. "He's doing it from hatred."
"Perhaps," Idaan said. Out on the lake, a bird skimmed the shining
surface of the water, then shrieked and plunged in, rising moments later
with a flash of living silver in its claws. A quarter moon was in the
sky-white crescent showing through the blue. The lake smelled colder
than it was, and the wind tugged at her hair and the reeds alike. Danat
sighed.
"Was it hard killing Kaiin?" Idaan asked.
Danat looked at her, as if shocked that she had asked. She met his gaze,
her eyes fixed on his until he turned away.
"Yes," he said. "Yes it was. I loved him. I miss them both."
"But you did the thing anyway."
He nodded. Idaan stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. His
stubble tickled her lips, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her
hand as she walked away, trying to stop the sensation. At ten paces she
put an arrow to her bow, drew back the string. Uanat was still looking
out over the water. Passionlessly, she judged the wind, the distance.
The arrow struck the back of his head with a sound like an axe splitting
wood. Danat seemed at first not to notice, and then slowly sank to the
ground. Blood soaked the collar of his robes, the pale cloth looking
like cut meat by the time she walked back to him. She knelt by him, took
his hand in her own, and looked out over the lake.
She was singing before she knew she intended to sing. In her
imagination, she had screamed and shrieked, her cries calling the
hunters hack to her, but instead she sang. It was an old song, a
lamentation she'd heard in the darkness of the tunnels and the cold of
winter. The words were from the Empire, and she hardly knew what they
all meant. The rising and falling melody, aching and sorrowful, seemed
to fill her and the world.
Two hunters approached her at last, unsure of themselves. She had not
seen them emerge from the trees, and she didn't look at them now as she
spoke.
"My brother has been murdered by Otah or one of his agents," she said.
"While we were waiting for you."
The hunters looked at one another. For a long, sick moment, she thought
they might not believe her. She wondered if they would be loyal enough
to the Vaunyogi to overlook the crime. And then the elder of them spoke.
"We will find him, Idaan-cha," the man said, his voice trembling with
rage. "We'll send for the others and turn every stone on this mountain
until we find him."
"It won't bring back my father. Or Danat. There won't be anyone to stand
at my wedding."
She broke off, half surprised to find her sobs unfeigned. Gently, she
cradled the corpse of her brother to her, feeling the blood soak her robes.
"I'll gather his horse," another of the hunters said. "We can strap him
to it-"
"No," Idaan said. "You can give him to me. I'll carry him home."
"It's a long ride back to the city. Are you sure that-"
"I'll carry him home. He'd have done the same if our places were
reversed," she said. "It is the way of our family."
In the end, they draped him over her mount's haunches. The scent of the
blood made him skittish, but Idaan held control firmly, cooing in the
animal's ears, coaxing and demanding. When she could think of nothing
else, she sang to the beast, and the dirges possessed her. She felt no
sorrow, no regret. She felt no triumph. It was as if she was in the
moment of grace between the blow and the pain. In her mind were only the
sounds of the songs and of an arrow splitting bone.
THE FARMSTEAD WAS SET HACK A SHORT WALK FROM THE ROAD. A CREEK RAN
beside it, feeding, no doubt, into the river that was even now carrying
dead men down to the main channel. The walls were as thick as a man's
outstretched arm with a set of doors on both the inside and outside
faces. On the second story, snow doors had been opened, letting in the
summer air. Trees stood in close, making the house seem a part of the
landscape. The horses were kept in the stables on the ground floor,
hidden from casual observers.
Amiit led Otah up the stairs and into a bright, simple room with a
table, a few rough wooden chairs, an unlit lantern and a wide, low
cabinet. Roast chicken, fresh cheese, and apples just on the edge of
ripeness had been laid out for them. Sharpened by Otah's hunger and
relief and wonder, the smell of them was wonderful. Amiit gestured
toward the table, then opened the cabinet and took out two earthenware
mugs and flasks of wine and water. Otah took a leg from the chicken and
hit into it-the flesh tasted of tarragon and black pepper. He closed his
eyes and grinned. Nothing had ever in his life tasted so good.
Amiit chuckled.
"You've grown thinner, old friend," Amiit said as he poured himself wine
and Otah a mixture of wine and water. "You'd think accommodations in
Machi would he better."
"What's going on, Amiit-cha?" Otah asked, taking the proffered drink.
"Last I heard, I was going to be either executed as a criminal or
honorably killed in the succession. This ...... he gestured at the room
with his mug. "This wasn't suggested as an option."
"It wasn't approved by the Khaiem, that's truth," Amiit said. He sat
across from Otah and picked up one of the apples, turning it over slowly
as he spoke, inspecting it for worm holes. "The fact is, I only know
half of what's going on in Nlachi, if that. After our last talk-when you
were first coming up here-I thought it might be best to put some plans
in motion. In case an opportunity arose, you understand. It would be
very convenient for House Siyanti if one of their junior couriers became
the Khai Machi. It didn't seem likely at the time. But ..."
He shrugged and hit into the apple. Otah finished the chicken and took
one of the fruits himself. Even watered, the wine was nearly too strong
to drink.
"We put out men and women to listen," Amiit went on. "To gather what
information we could find. We weren't looking for anything in
particular, you understand. Just an opportunity."
"You were looking to sell information of me to the Khai in return for a
foothold in Machi," Otah said.
"Only as a last resort," Amiit agreed. "It's business. You understand."
"But they found me instead," Otah said. The apple was sweet and chalky
and just slightly bitter. Amiit pushed a platter of cheese toward him.
""That looked bleak. It's truth. And that you'd been in our pay seemed
to seal it. House Siyanti wasn't going to be welcome, whichever of your
brothers took the title."
"And taking me out of their tower was intended to win back their favor?"
Amiit's expression clouded. He shook his head.
"That wasn't our plan. Someone hired a mercenary company to take you
from the city to a low town and hold you there. We don't know who it
was; they only met with the captain, and he's not on our side. But I'm
fairly certain it wasn't your brother or your father."
"But you got word of it?"
"I had word of it. Mercenaries ... well, they aren't always the most
reliable of companions. Sinja-cha knew I was in the city, and would be
interested in your situation. He was ready to make a break with his old
cohort for other reasons, and offered me the opportunity to ... what?
Outbid his captain for his services in the matter?"
"Sinja-cha is the commander?"
"Yes. Or, was. He's in my employ now. With luck, his old captain thinks
him dead along with you and the other armsmen involved."
"And what will you do now? Ransom me back to the Khai?"
"No," Amiit said. "I've already made a bargain that won't allow that.
Besides, I really did enjoy working with you. And ... and you may yet be
in a position to help me more as an ally than a commodity, ne?"
"It's a bad bet," Otah said and smiled.
Amiit grinned again.
"Ah, but the stakes are high. Would you rather just have water? I wasn't
thinking."
"No, I'll keep this."
"Whatever you like. So. Yes, something's happening in Machi. I expect
they're out scouring the world for you even now. And in a day, perhaps
two, they'll find you floating down the river or caught on a sandbar."
"And then?"
"I don't know," Amiit said. "And then we'll know what's happened in the
meantime. Things are moving quickly, and there's more going on than I
can fathom. For instance, I don't know what the Galts have to do with it."
Otah put down his cup. Even under the blanket of whiskers, he could see
the half-smile twitch at Amiit's mouth. The overseer's eyes sparkled.
"But perhaps you do?" Amiit suggested.
"No, but ... no. I've dealt with something else once. Something
happened. The Galts were behind it. What are they doing here? How do
they figure in?"
"They're making contracts with half the houses in Machi. Large contracts
at disadvantageous terms. They've been running roughshod over the
Westlands so long they're sure to be good for it-they have almost as
much money as the Khaiem. It may just be they've a new man acting as the
overseer for the Machi contracts, and he's no good. But I doubt it. I
think they're buying influence."
"Influence to do what?"
"I haven't the first clue," Amiit said. "I was hoping you might know."
Otah shook his head. He took another piece of chicken, but his mind was