Servants of the Sands, page 7
She sipped harsh black coffee, admitting to herself that Ishru’s odd thopuh blend tasted better, and stared at the bands of sunlight filtering through the wide windows. The servants had left one curtain drawn back, and lattice-abstract light fell across the table in a wide swath. Her eyes watered with the increasing brightness, and the spots where sunlight intersected her bare skin were growing distinctly uncomfortable. But she couldn’t move to a better spot at this point. That would be distracting and rude.
She realized that the sunlight would be highlighting Ishru, catching glimmers of bronze from his hair and skin, bringing a glow to his face and body. No wonder the girl was enraptured. Given Ishru’s slight adjustment of Azni’s chair placement before assisting her to a seat, he’d planned for this exact result. Bloody Toscin. Always playing games within games.
Azni firmly blocked the kathain from her awareness. “Cafad,” she said, with just enough edge to bring his head up and his eyes focusing on her.
The bleak twist to his mouth thinned out, then relaxed.
“Yes,” he said. “I know. Don’t brood.”
His kathain put her hands on his shoulders. He waved her off again, as though shooing away an annoying blackfly.
“I had a bad night,” he said abruptly. “Dreams. Strange dreams. I—” He paused. “Never mind. It’s not important. What is it we’re talking about again?”
“Open Conclave,” Azni said. “Schedule it for the first day of Swehiir. That’ll place it during the Hope Moon, which is a good omen to the superstitious. And you’ll have a calmer crowd, on the heels of the Day of Rest.”
She shielded the thought that a night of meditation would very likely ease Cafad’s own temper, which could only be a good thing.
“Fine. Arrange it. Do as you like.”
Azni bit the inside of her cheek, reminding herself to stay calm. “I’ll go on walkabout to check the wells. I can leave in the morning—”
“I should do it,” Cafad interjected, switching his cup restlessly from hand to hand.
“Cafad—” Azni said, echoed by Seg’s: “Lord Scratha....”
“I can go to the borders of my lands, can’t I?”
She raised an eyebrow in dry response. Godsdamnit, he knew better. He was only being provoking to see what happened next. Childish....
Cafad dropped his chin to his chest, scowling, petulant. “I know, I know. All the same, I’d rather send someone else. I need your guidance, Azni.”
Azni glanced at the tall man standing in the corner. His eyes were pale and emotionless, his dark face devoid of expression. “What about Seg?” she said, by way of a hint that Cafad had just tacitly insulted his s’e-kath.
As expected, Cafad missed the cue completely. “He’s not a desert lord. And you’ve known me for years, Azni. You know—” He stopped short, as though finally realizing that any variation on You know more than he does would be truly rude. He glanced over his shoulder, his mouth thinning. “Sorry, Seg. No insult intended.”
Seg blinked slowly and tilted his head a fraction to one side. “You have said nothing untrue.”
Azni arched an eyebrow, watching a corner of Seg’s mouth twitch. Unspoken, the word yet hung in the air. She shook her head. “Truth and tact aren’t the same thing. Cafad, Seg is your s’e-kath. He’s supposed to be your adviser, and gods know he’s closer to current southern politics than I’ve been. He’s a far better person to lean on.”
Seg bowed slightly. “Thank you, Lord Darden. I would add, Lord Scratha, that Lord Darden is currently the only person qualified and permitted to travel so far as to perform the required walkabout.”
Cafad shot one last stare at his s’e-kath, then answered with more grace than she’d expected. “You’re right. I’m out of sorts this morning. I apologize.”
Azni let out a long breath, surprised at his capitulation, and decided that was a good spot at which to leave the conversation. “Thank you, Lord Scratha,” she said, leaning forward to put her cup on the table. “I’ll leave you to your morning—”
“Will you be taking Riss or Gria along on walkabout? Or Ishru?”
“No,” Azni said. “I don’t actually need company, Cafad. In fact, it would be nice to have some time alone. I’ve gotten used to having my quiet, over the years.”
The F’Heing girl’s eyes brightened, a flush coming to her cheeks. Seeing Azni looking at her, she hastily dropped her gaze. Azni adopted a pleasant smile, unwinding her legs in preparation to stand upright.
“The morning departure went smoothly enough,” Cafad said, ignoring the unsubtle hint. “Thank the gods I won’t have to deal with that ridiculous girl any longer. Or the teyanain.”
“I’ll agree with that,” Azni said. Her lower back ached, and she shifted her weight to relieve the twinge. Ishru immediately knelt behind her, pressing his knuckles to exactly the right spots. “Thank you, Ishru,” she murmured as the discomfort faded.
Ishru set his fingertips lightly against her shoulder by way of acknowledgment, then returned to his quiet, waiting pose. She cleared her throat and stood up.
“Thank you for breakfast, Lord Scratha,” she said. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your morning in relative peace.”
Cafad set his own cup down and stood, mouth drawing aside in what could have been belated embarrassment or annoyance. “I know I’m to lean on Seg,” he said with slow emphasis, “but I am very glad you’re here, Azni. And—thank you. You were right, and I was wrong. As usual. I would have been abandoning my responsibilities if I’d stayed in Bright Bay, or gone on with that absurd quest as King’s Researcher.” He paused, adding thoughtfully, “I wonder how Idisio’s handling the task?”
“Probably cursing you to every one of the hells and back,” Azni said. “He never struck me as the scholarly type.”
“No.” Cafad sighed. “I might have made a mistake, handing the job off to him. But done is done, and as I’m not about to go north to face Oruen again, it doesn’t particularly matter.”
His expression darkened, gaze on some distant moment of memory. Ishru hissed softly, and Cafad’s kathain stiffened, eyes widening. Azni snapped, “Cafad!” just as Seg called, “Lord Scratha!”
Cafad’s head jerked up. He stared at them in momentary confusion, then grimaced. “Damnit,” he muttered. He drew a deep breath, his forehead furrowing deeply. Then he turned and pulled his kathain closer. The girl let out a stifled yip as his fingers dug in. Azni’s lips thinned, but she didn’t interfere. Harsh or gentle, turning his attention to his libido was still safer for everyone than allowing him to brood about something as deeply upsetting as the affair with Nissa.
Cafad shot her a sour glare. “Unless you want to watch—” As he spoke, he pushed the girl to her knees.
Azni motioned discreetly to Ishru, bowed, and withdrew with a murmured farewell, trusting that Seg and the kathain between them could handle Cafad’s black mood—and thanking whatever gods might exist that that job was not part of her duties.
“Ishru,” she said as the door closed behind them, “Ask the numaina and her aunt to join me in the north garden for tinchi.”
“Yes, lord.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with a mischievous smile, and he trotted off.
Azni watched him go, admiring the curve of his frame. He was considerably heavier than most kathain, although far from obese. She thought about his warmth pressed up against her during the night, then abruptly shook her head, laughing at herself.
“Long since time for that urge to be over with, all things considered,” she muttered. From the room she’d just left came a rough grunt, answering the question of why her thoughts had leaned in that direction to begin with.
It was definitely time to get away from this area. The kitchens should be safe enough. She had time. Gria and Sela weren’t likely to move quickly, even with Ishru’s best charm, and the tinchi would take time to set up.
She lingered a moment longer, reluctant to let the surge of youthful interest go. Then, scolding herself as fiercely as her mother could have done, she marched herself off to handle proper responsibilities.
Chapter 7
Sunshine turned the flames pale, adding stark contrast to the heavy smoke swirling through the air. The smell of roasted meat hung, tantalizing and deceptive. Allonin bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his gaze on the bodies atop the bonfire.
Not all of them had been dead first, but they most certainly were all dead now.
To his left, a young woman knelt, sobbing and shivering despite the ambient heat. To his right, another stood with her arms crossed, watching the corpses burn with fierce satisfaction. There were others, male and female, of varying ages. But only one besides Allonin was over fifteen years, and that one was a crippled eunuch with a blank-faced stare.
A complex cracking sound echoed from behind him as a building collapsed, gutted by more flame. Allonin didn’t turn. He’d watched four buildings turn to rubbled ash already. There was nothing worth saving in the village at his back that wasn’t already standing around him, watching evil turn to burnt bone.
Abrupt movement to his right. Allonin spun, shoving the would-be attacker aside hard. It was a young man, head shaven, eyes wide and white with berserk rage. The boy staggered back, then charged once more, mouth open in a soundless howl. He was missing two front teeth, and a rough scarring across one cheek made Allonin think of a dolomite seam he’d once seen.
Allonin stepped out of the way, grabbed the boy’s upper arm, and heaved him into a tumbling roll across a relatively clear patch of pebble-sand. The boy was pathetically thin, all knobbly bone and hatred. It was like heaving a sack of charred potatoes.
A few faces turned to watch the fight. Nobody moved to intervene.
Mouth, arms, and knees bleeding from the inevitable rocks hit during his fall, the boy stood and came at Allonin again.
“Godsdamnit,” Allonin muttered, resigning himself, and stood still, keeping his hands up to protect his face.
Small fists pummeled his ribs, stomach, shoulders, legs. Allonin warded aside blows to his face and groin, but made no other effort to stop the attack. Compared to what this boy had been through, a few bruises were nothing. After the first few punches, the boy backed up, staring; launched forward and battered at Allonin once more.
After several rounds, he paused, wavered, then burst into tears and collapsed on the ground, trembling as though struck with bone-deep chills.
Allonin let out a long breath and squatted beside the boy, careful to keep arm’s-length distance. “What’s your name?” he said. “Your real name, not the one they gave you.”
The boy scooted further away, staring, distrustful.
“He’s mute,” a thickly built boy with unevenly cropped black hair said. He rubbed at one grimy cheek, sneering at Allonin. “Din’t you figure that yet?”
Allonin swore under his breath, frustrated with himself. “Thank you,” he said aloud. “Is he deaf as well?”
“No.” With slow, hostile deliberation, the boy picked his nose and flicked the snot to the ground near Allonin.
Allonin ignored that gesture. “Thank the gods.” He’d dealt with more than one deaf-mute in recent days. They always broke his heart more than the others, for some reason. “Listen,” he said to the shivering boy. “My name is Allo. I’m not angry at you for trying to hurt me. I understand.”
The boy raised his hands slowly, warily. When Allonin stayed still, he made a few rapid, trembling motions in the air before his face.
Allonin held up a hand hastily. “Wait, I don’t—Please, slow down. I only know a little—”
“I know his talk,” another child, this one bone-thin and bald, with heavily acne-spotted, walnut-colored skin, said, squatting beside Allonin. “Hey, Ashy, back up, start over, I’ll tell ‘im what you’re sayin’.”
The mute boy’s hands moved again, less nervously this time, as though reassured by the company. His wide brown eyes darted between Allonin and the translator.
“He’s asking, ‘What do you want from us? Why are you doing this?’”
“I don’t want anything from you,” Allonin said. “I’m giving you your freedom.”
Ashy shook his head emphatically and began motioning again. Allonin recognized several of the signals this time.
“He’s saying—”
Allonin put a hand up gently. “I know what he’s saying. I’ve been through this part of the conversation eight times in the last tenday.”
The mute boy dropped his hands to his knees and stared, apparently astounded. So he wasn’t stupid, by any stretch. He’d picked up the meaning of that immediately.
“Your village was the last of the katha villages on the east coast that I know of,” Allonin said. “Every last one of the others has been destroyed.” He paused, aware of the overall attention shifting. The kathain were slowly gathering around him; staring, distrustful, anxious. “You’re all free. All of you. You can do whatever you want now.”
“That’s a bloody handful of piss in a sandstorm,” the boy who’d picked his nose said contemptuously. He motioned at the crowd. “We ain’t got nothing, now you’ve gone and burned it all down. You just said as we don’t have anywhere else to go, you burned them all down too. We ain’t got no life but whoring. What the hells d’ya think we’re wanting to do now?”
Allonin looked up at the gathered kathain, studying their various expressions: some appalled at the boy’s bold rudeness, others nodding cautious agreement. “There’s a place you can go,” he said to all of them. “In the mountains. It’s safe. You can stay there as long as you like.”
“‘Why?’” the translator asked as the mute boy motioned again, emphatically. “‘Why do you care? I’ve seen you before. You came here and left with—’” The translator paused, frowning, and looked at Allonin. “Wait, you’re the one as killed Little Red?”
Allonin shook his head quickly, before a dangerous level of hostility could coalesce from the misunderstanding. “He’s not dead. He’s alive and well. I’m here because of him, actually—because of a promise I made him. There are no more katha villages. It’s over. They’ll never be restarted.”
Not to the same scope, at least. He wasn’t stupid enough to think the market for child-whores had died. Best not to clarify that at the moment, though.
“‘How do we know you’re telling the truth?’” the translator asked.
Allonin drew in a difficult breath, let it out, then said, “Little Red chose a new name for himself after I took him away. He’s calling himself Tanavin these days.”
Silence and a few puzzled frowns and headshakes. Then the translator’s eyes widened; he—she? Allonin wasn’t sure, even at third glance—blurted, “Tanavin. Tan and Avin!”
Two of the former kathain burst into tears. Others knelt as though their legs simply wouldn’t support them any longer, faces blotching with emotion, staring at Allonin as though he were one of the Three come to earth.
Allonin did his best to keep his composure against the explosion of grief and pain washing through the air. He’d known that those names were powerful to Tanavin, but he hadn’t expected this reaction.
“He remembered.” Allonin aimed the words at the gathered crowd, using years of experience manipulating vulnerable emotions to guide his tone; hating himself for doing this, even as he acknowledged the absolute necessity of it. “He remembered, and he wanted you all to be free. I promised I would do that.”
That wasn’t an entirely honest explanation, but fell close enough to truth to suit the moment.
“So there you are,” he went on. “You’re free. And there’s a place for you in the mountains, where you can live for the rest of your days if you wish. I’ll lead you there.”
Heads bobbed in agreement. Allonin looked at the mute boy, who was still eyeing him suspiciously.
“Do you want to hit me some more, Ashy?” he asked. “If that would help, go ahead.”
The boy motioned rapidly at the translator, patting at his face as though to add emphasis.
“‘Don’t call me that. It’s not my name. I’m not all ashes—’ oh, right, we only called you that because of when—” The translator stopped short, cut a glance at Allonin, and shook his head. “What do you want him to call you then?”
Ashy paused, frowning, then motioned more slowly—spelling something out.
“‘San,’” the translator clarified shaking his head as the boy continued gesturing. “Make up your mind! All right, all right. Sand. Sand? Seriously? All right. He wants to be called Sand.”
“Sand it is,” Allonin replied gravely, looking up at the gathered kathain again. “You can all pick new names as well,” he told them. “Start thinking about who you are now.”
Rising to his feet slowly, he stepped back a few paces. “Anyone who wants to follow me, I’m going to the safe place in the mountains. There are other kathain there who will take care of you.”
“‘What about you?’” the translator asked as Sand’s hands moved again. “‘What happens once we get to your safe place? What are you doing then? What do we do then?’”
Allonin held back a smile, not wanting to risk misinterpretation. Sand was sharp. Allonin could already see several places where the boy would be welcome, once he recovered enough to start looking for more than a safe place to sleep. Water’s End, for one. The hayrar liked taking in unknowns and making them a part of his extensive surveillance network, headed by Shadow—a deliberately cryptic pseudonym. Yes, Shadow would like this one. She’d probably put Sand to work with Lamb, come to that.
His pause prompted narrowed eyes and renewed suspicion. Time to start talking again. “This safe place—it isn’t my place. It’s yours.” He looked around again, measuring the effect of his words. “You decide what you do, once you get there. But if you don’t mind too much, first we have to get there. So gather up what you saved before we burned this place down, and let’s get moving. It’s a long walk from here, and the weather’s turning chill.”
