The Shadowed Sun (Dreamblood) (57 page)

Once the Sentinels were dead, Bibiki’s men herded the hostages forward through the complex of buildings, with small detachments of soldiers breaking off to search each building and capture or kill any templefolk they found. Upon reaching the Hall of Blessings, they discovered that most of the Servants had gathered there, already aware of the invasion.

There were no fighters left among the templefolk at that point, only a few hundred brown-robed Teachers and red-draped Sharers, along with acolytes and apprentices. They stood silent and watchful, unnaturally calm in the manner of their kind, flanking the door
in two ragged lines as Bibiki’s soldiers entered. One line blocked the steps leading to the dais, so that Hananja’s altar would not be defiled by men with unpeaceful intentions. The other line blocked rows of prone, silent figures on pallets, fours of them arranged on one side of the Hall. The victims of the nightmare plague.

Being herded along by the soldiers, Tiaanet stopped to stare at the sleepers, then stumbled and nearly fell as people behind her pressed forward. An old Sharer, as pale as Tiaanet was dark, stepped forward from the nearest line to steady her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tiaanet said. “Thank you.” When he said nothing else she looked up at him, and realized that he was staring at Tantufi.

“Shall I—” he began.

“No,” Tiaanet said, pulling Tantufi closer against herself, and quickly moved on.

Bibiki commanded his men to secure the Hall, which they did in short order, the bulk of the foot soldiers and archers clustering around the main entrance to prepare against an assault. A few archers entered the Hall’s back corridors and moved up to the balconies. He then ordered the hostages into the donation alcoves, along the side of the Hall of Blessings. The rooms were small, and very quickly the children filled them, leaving Tiaanet and the other adult hostages to find resting places along the walls and at the foot of the Hall’s vine-and flower-bedecked columns. After a long, contemplative look at the templefolk, then at the sleepers, Bibiki moved to the center of the room.

“You will not be harmed if you cooperate.” He spoke loudly, as the Hall tended to swallow sound. Tiaanet saw several of the Servants grimace at the volume of his voice. “Unless the people of this city decide that you are not worth saving, but that is a matter for your concern and not mine.”

Some of the Servants relaxed at this, but most remained stiffly
silent, more affronted than afraid. After a moment one elder in Teachers’ robes stepped forward.

“We will cooperate,” he said. Perhaps to rebuke Bibiki for his loudness, he spoke so softly that Tiaanet could barely hear him. “If you allow, we can provide your men with food and drink, and care for any injuries they might have. Not with magic.” He glanced around, at the sleepers, and uttered a soft sigh. “Our magic depends on sleep, and sleep is dangerous around these poor souls—take heed. But we still have herb-craft, surgery, and some small alchemy. All we ask is that you commit no further acts of violence in this hall. We stand before the likeness of Hananja, and Hananja treasures peace.”

Bibiki stared at him, plainly incredulous. “You foment open rebellion in the streets, then offer us hospitality?” He shook his head and sighed. “I may never understand you people. My men will eat and drink nothing from your hands, and we need none of your healing. However, if any of the hostages have need, you may see to them.”

The Teacher inclined his head and started to turn away. “As for violence,” Bibiki said, forestalling him, “on that I make no promises. We are soldiers and this is war. We do what is necessary.”

There were murmurs of approval from the edges of the room: Bibiki’s soldiers, most of whom watched the templefolk sullenly. The Teacher regarded Bibiki and them for a long moment, disgust curling his lip. Then, wordlessly, he turned away and began speaking to his brethren.

Weary, for she had not rested well in the past fourday, Tiaanet settled down in the shadow of one of the pillars, shifting Tantufi into her lap to ease the strain on her arms and shoulders. She had snatched naps when she dared with Tantufi so near, in between being bundled onto horses or shoved into makeshift corrals with the other hostages. It helped that she had long ago cultivated the
knack of sensing when Tantufi was moving into dreaming sleep, and waking before her own soul could be ensnared.

But although the usual drugs must have worn off days before, Tantufi had kept herself awake the whole while, employing all the little habits she had cultivated over the years: constantly moving some part of her body, rolling her eyes, biting her tongue and hands, and whispering to herself in an unending monotone babble. She could not keep it up forever, and indeed Tiaanet had already noticed the signs that she would soon sleep whether she wished it or not. Her manic movements were slowing. Whenever her moon-round eyes blinked shut, it took her longer and longer to reopen them. With the brutal aid of their father’s guards, Tantufi might have gone longer, but amid the strain of the past few days, with the lulling peace of the Hetawa all around them now, Tiaanet suspected it would not be long before Tantufi gave in.

Insurret settled against the wall across from Tiaanet, watching her with glittering eyes. The trip had made Tiaanet’s mother more lucid than she had been in years, as if the hardships of traveling had forced her mind out of its endless loops of insensibility. That had done nothing to ease her hatred. But to Tiaanet’s relief, she had not spoken a word since the soldiers had taken them from their greenlands estate.

“Will you have water, lady?” A Hetawa youth, probably set to the task by his superiors, paused beside her with an urn and dipper in his hands.

“Thank you,” Tiaanet said. The boy gave her the dipper, which Tiaanet held for Tantufi, then drank herself before handing it back. “And my mother,” she said, nodding across the aisle at Insurret.

The boy nodded absently, and Tiaanet saw that he too was staring at Tantufi. Giving the boy a cold look, Tiaanet shifted so that Tantufi’s face was hidden from casual view. The boy flinched at the
silent rebuke, bobbed over the dipper in apology, and turned away to offer water to Insurret.

“This is pointless,” Orenajah murmured at Tiaanet’s side. Like the other hostages, she had peered curiously at Tantufi the first day, but by now the child’s appearance did not trouble her. “The city has gone mad. No one will care that we are being held here.”

Tiaanet knew that her father would care, and very much. He would certainly care enough to offer ransom; he might even care enough to betray his comrades and the resistance, though Tiaanet suspected he would stop at incriminating himself. And others of the conspirators would care that the Hetawa had been breached—so many that they might withdraw their support from Wanahomen, now when it was essential that he have unity among his allies.

“The Kisuati are still strong,” Tiaanet said. “I heard Bibiki telling his men that the bulk of the Kisuati forces had retreated to Yanya-iyan. If the Prince’s alliance falls apart, then the Kisuati need only exert themselves a little to regain control. Kill the Prince, destroy the Hetawa, and the people’s spirit will be broken. Gujaareh will be theirs again.”

Orenajah frowned, contemplating that. “I don’t care so much if I die,” she said at last. “I would have commissioned a Gatherer soon anyhow. But—” She looked across the aisle at the alcoves, where weeping children could be heard within.

Tiaanet could not help turning to gaze at the pallets of sleepers. Sharers and acolytes moved among them now, tending them as they must have done for the past month; she saw one woman, older than herself, being diapered.

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured, turning away. She had seen victims of Tantufi’s power before. Nothing could be done for them; best to regard them as already dead. “We must consider ourselves now.”

Behind her she heard Orenajah’s faint sniff of disapproval at this, but the old woman said nothing more.

“Mama,” whispered Tantufi. Tiaanet looked down at her; the huge, bloodshot eyes were on her face, lucid for the moment. “The people.”

The sleepers. “Shh,” Tiaanet said. “Are you hungry?”

Tantufi shook her head fiercely. “No no no.” She turned, looking over Tiaanet’s shoulder at the pallets; her face tightened in palpable distress. “So many, Mama.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tiaanet said again. “Nothing matters for you but me, and for me but you. Hasn’t it always been thus? Be still now.”

Tantufi fell silent at last, resuming her manic movements, but her eyes lingered on the sleepers, and now and again she made a low, fluting sound of despair. Across the aisle, Insurret uttered a faint contemptuous snort, but otherwise kept her silence, and so Tiaanet ignored her.

A relative silence fell in the Hall as they waited—for what, Tiaanet did not know. Another acolyte passed, this one carrying slabs of flat bread; apparently Bibiki was allowing some templefolk to visit their storerooms under guard. Tiaanet took a piece of bread, more to keep herself awake than out of any real hunger, and pressed Tantufi to eat for the same reason. The girl had begun to grow still for brief periods of time, another warning of impending sleep.

But before Tiaanet could get Tantufi to eat, she jumped as one of the soldiers near the Hetawa’s main doors called sharply, “Captain!”

Bibiki, conferring in a corner with some of his soldiers, immediately went to the doors to see what was the matter. There was nothing else for a long while; Tiaanet ate and fed Tantufi, chewing some of the bread for her, as the child’s teeth were loose. But eventually it became clear that something was happening outside. The soldiers had become more alert, clustering at the front door and windows
with weapons held ready. Their tension jarred the Hall’s air of peace.

Abruptly Tiaanet heard Bibiki murmur, “I do
not
believe this,” and laugh. “Well, well. Perhaps this mess will end sooner than I first thought. Let us see if we can take him alive.”

The men shuffled themselves quickly, though Tiaanet could not see what they were doing or why. Then she heard the deep bronze groan of the Hetawa’s doors being opened.

The Servants, all around the Hall, tensed at once. “They are drawing weapons,” said one Sharer in an audible, incensed whisper. He clenched his fists. “Weapons!”

“Peace,” said the Teacher near him, but he looked no happier about it.

Then Bibiki’s voice called, “Now!” and Tiaanet heard the twang-hiss of arrows. A great roar echoed into the Hall, a thousand angry men’s voices, and the voices of women and elders and children as well. Over this she heard Bibiki shout, “Fire into the front line! Drive them back! You four, go and fetch him. Hurry. The rest of you, cover them!”

There was a great flurry of activity at the Hetawa entrance before a moment later the doors groaned shut. And then a cluster of Bibiki’s men came running into the center of the hall, one of them pulling along a woman in barbarian garb who struggled wildly in his hands. One Kisuati soldier dragged another Banbarra, but even from her vantage Tiaanet could see that this man was dead; a single arrow had stuck through his throat. Blood began to pool around him as soon as they dropped him to the floor.

The third figure that they dragged with them bled as well, but cursed and struggled as they dropped him to the floor. Wanahomen.

“Mind your snakeling, daughter.” Insurret’s voice pulled Tiaanet back to her own concerns. Insurret was smiling; she nodded toward Tiaanet’s arms. With a sharp stab of alarm Tiaanet realized that
Tantufi’s body had gone slack, her eyes shut and mouth hanging open.

“No—” Immediately Tiaanet shook her, as hard as she dared short of injury. Tantufi’s eyes, glazed and unseeing, opened a crack but drifted shut again almost at once. “ ’Tufi, wake. You
must
not sleep, not now.”

Not in a room full of sleepers, their souls already weakened by long captivity. Not in the heart of the Hetawa, surrounded by narcomancers who would know Tantufi at once for what she was.

But it was too late. Tiaanet shook her again, slapped her, even lifted one limp hand and clamped her own teeth over one of the recent scars there, but Tantufi did not stir. It was always so whenever she finally fell asleep; if not woken at once, her body demanded recompense for the days of abuse. Nothing short of a beating would wake her at that point.

Leaving Tiaanet helpless and terrified as her daughter sighed, snuggled closer to her breast, and quietly began to dream.