The Dunwayan army was an impressive sight.
Warriors marched ten abreast along the road. At the head of each clan walked a man bare of all clothing but a short leather skirt and carrying a brightly painted spear. Members of the tribe took turns at the position, each stripping to reveal the tattoo patterns of their clan. They shared the role not to avoid enduring long hours of bad weather, if it came, but because all members of a clan would fight for the honor otherwise.
Every other man in the army carried half or more of his body weight in weapons. Even the sorcerers carried them; having more than average Gifts did not excuse any warrior from proper war training. Two-wheeled war platten pulled by reyna bred and trained for battle followed behind the troops; warriors would not suffer the indignity of tramping through reyner manure—except that left by the beasts pulling the platten of their leader. Behind the cavalry were arem-drawn four-wheeled supply tarns and the clans’ servants.
Danjin had a fine view of the column of fierceness. The platten he rode in had no cover. Ella and I-Portak sat facing the front, while Danjin and Dunwayan advisers rode facing the White and the Dunwayan leader.
They did not have to look behind to know the army followed; the rhythmic pounding of boots was a constant background to their conversations. If Danjin looked past Ella and I-Portak he found himself easily hypnotized by the near-flawless rise and fall of heads and shoulders beyond.
Watching the army make camp was even more fascinating. Everyone knew their task and worked without need for consultation or orders. All was done with practiced ease, a credit to their training. If any Dunwayans were anxious about the coming confrontation they didn’t show it.
I wonder what happens to the failures. The boys who don’t grow up strong. The men who suffer injuries, illness or melancholy. Are they hidden away, or cast out of the tribe to become servants?
He thought back to the day the army had left Chon. Women had lined the streets and thrown a tart-smelling herb onto the road for the warriors to march over. Some had looked stricken, others relieved.
I hope my letters make it home. He suppressed a sigh. I wish I could have seen Silava and the girls. And even my father, though I’m sure he’ll outlive me even if I survive this war.
He had dreamed of his family every night since hearing of the villagers’ fate. It had been bad enough witnessing the executions of the Pentadrians, though it was the reaction of the villagers that he would find hardest to forget. Some had cheered, some had cried, but most had huddled together silently, their faces white with fear. They’d had reason to fear. Dunwayan justice was harsh. Later, in Chon, those villagers who had been the most welcoming to the Pentadrians had been executed. Those who had simply not protested were sent to work in the mines. But to Danjin’s relief, I-Portak had been more lenient on those Ella had listed as being powerless to object to the Pentadrian presence. They, the old and the children, had been sent back to their village. Danjin imagined the village was now a sad place, populated by so few people.
In his dreams of his own family, he had ridiculous conversations with his wife and daughters. Occasionally they were unaware that he was there, no matter how much he tried to get their attention. Thinking of those dreams now, he felt a familiar mix of fear and resignation. And sadness. If he didn’t return…
Don’t think it, he told himself. If you think it, you’ll make it happen.
But at some point between leaving Chon and now, the thought that he would not survive this war had taken hold of him and he’d been unable to shake it. Where is all the confidence I had during the previous war? He grimaced. It was not confidence, but ignorance.
Or maybe Auraya had given him hope. To see her fly…it had been hard to imagine anything defeating her.
He shivered. Last night, in a dream, she had told him the Voices had imprisoned her in Glymma. There had been no vision of her, just her voice, but the dream had seemed so real he had been certain that she had truly spoken to him. The next day he had told Ella of the dream and asked if she thought Auraya might have been communicating with him. Ella had said it was possible, but she hadn’t heard such news from the White or the gods.
After the dream Danjin lay awake thinking about Auraya. He worried what might happen if she was a prisoner. If the Voices were powerful enough to hold her captive they were powerful enough to harm her—even kill her.
But if they were, why hadn’t they?
Now he worried that Auraya was, as Ella had warned, trying to trick him. He considered reasons why she might want him to believe she was a prisoner. To make me, and the White, believe she’s still on our side when she isn’t. Why would she do that? He sighed. To trick us into a confrontation that we can’t win.
Sometimes he was sure it had been a dream, and he had nothing to worry about.
:If it wasn’t a dream, Auraya is a prisoner, Ella’s voice said in his mind. If it was, we still have much to worry about. We haven’t heard from Auraya in weeks.
Startled by the voice in his head, Danjin looked up at Ella.
:Careful, she added. One of the advantages of mental conversations is that others aren’t aware of them. It kind of spoils things if you jump like that every time I speak to you.
He looked away.
:Do you have any idea where she is? he asked.
:No. And no, the gods do not either.
:What will happen if she has changed sides?
:The gods are confident that they can prevent her fighting us.
:Prevent her…they didn’t arrange for her to be imprisoned, did they?
Her amusement was like a tinkle of glass.
:Maybe. It would be quite a feat, wouldn’t it? Convince the enemy, without alerting their gods, to imprison someone who was willing to join them.
She was right. It was a silly idea.
:If she is a captive, then she hasn’t turned on us.
:Not necessarily. She may have turned on the gods in her heart, but still was not willing to join the Pentadrians. And she may not be a prisoner at all.
:She might not even be in Southern Ithania, he added, mostly to himself. She could be anywhere.
:Then why doesn’t she contact us, or the gods? she asked.
He couldn’t answer that. Glancing at Ella, he saw her lips twitch into a sympathetic smile. Then her expression suddenly grew serious. She stared into the distance and her face relaxed.
“Juran informs me he has passed the last town before the pass. We should meet them within the week.”
I-Portak turned to regard her. “Or earlier, if the weather holds.”
She smiled. “Your warriors never cease to impress me with their stamina, I-Portak. Leave them a little strength for the journey across the desert.”
His shoulders lifted slightly. “I am. We are not unfamiliar with desert conditions. Don’t tell the Sennon emperor this, but we have been sending small warrior groups into the desert to train for centuries.”
She laughed quietly. “I’m sure the Sennon emperor is quite aware of that.”
Danjin suppressed a smile as I-Portak regarded her with barely concealed dismay.
“Do you mean all the secrecy we have practiced has been for nothing?” he eventually said.
“Practice is the only route to perfection,” she said, quoting Dunwayan tradition.
He chuckled and turned away. “And perfection only exists in the realm of the gods.” He shrugged. “So long as the emperor pretends ignorance, we will pretend that our forays into his land remain unknown.”
Far out at the edges of the city was a training ground for warrior Servants. Auraya skimmed over the minds there, glimpsing practice bouts both physical and magical. When she found what she was looking for she smiled. Two Dedicated Servants were sharing a meal and discussing the size, strengths and weaknesses of the Pentadrian army.
A loud clang of iron interrupted their conversation. For a moment she wondered why the man and woman hadn’t reacted. Then her stomach sank and dread clutched her heart as she realized her own ears were hearing the sound.
Her awareness snapped back to her surroundings. Opening her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and let it out. The same four domestics hurried toward her. Nekaun strolled after them.
The smell of flowers came with them. It sent her pulse racing though she wasn’t yet sure why this should bother her. Looking at the domestics, she realized they were all carrying buckets. Bags were slung over their shoulders. Obviously they were planning to do more than just wash and feed her.
She resisted the temptation to look at Nekaun.
The first domestic swung the bucket toward her. She braced herself for the chill water and nearly gasped as she was battered with warmth instead. Before she had recovered from the surprise the second domestic tipped more water over her head. This, too, was warm.
Setting aside their empty buckets, the domestics drew objects out of their bags. Pottery jugs were uncorked. Hands drew out fistfuls of something resembling very fine wet sand.
She flinched as the first spread the substance onto her arm and began to rub it against her skin. It was sand. This, she remembered, was how the locals preferred to clean themselves. The rich used a fine, rare sand from some distant place. The two domestics scrubbed her arms, neck and scalp then, to her embarrassment, worked ever lower. Their touch was efficient and their faces expressionless, but she gritted her teeth and tried not to show how much their touch unsettled her.
All the time she felt Nekaun watching.
Finally the domestics had scrubbed her all over. The other two approached with their buckets and carefully washed the sand off her skin. This rinse water held the perfume she had noticed earlier. It was cooler, but not cold.
When they had stepped away Auraya’s skin tingled all over. It would have felt good to be clean, if Nekaun hadn’t been there.
He hasn’t asked me any of his stupid questions yet, she realized. The domestics swept the dais and then hurried from the hall. None had brought any food. Perhaps because there’s no point. Why bother feeding me if I’m about to die. But why clean me? Does he prefer to kill clean people?
She nearly giggled at the silliness of that thought. But all humor vanished as he moved closer. Her skin felt too sensitive. Her body felt too exposed. She resisted the temptation to curl up as much as the chains would allow.
“That’s better,” he said quietly. “Don’t misunderstand me. I like a bit of sweat and dirt. But not utter filth.”
He stopped a mere step away. He’s just trying to intimidate me, she told herself. And he’s in the void now. He’s vulnerable too.
Now that she would have to go out of her way to avoid looking at him, she met his gaze with what she hoped was a blank stare.
He stared back.
That’s different, she thought. He usually smiles and says something snide and ridiculous to point out that he’s in control.
When he spoke next, it was in Avvenan. The two Servants guarding the door paused, then walked away.
That sent a shiver of pure terror through her. Why send away the guards unless he was about to do something he didn’t even want his own people knowing about?
“There,” he said. “A little privacy.” She resisted the urge to shrink away as he moved a hand toward her, then tried not to flinch as his fingers touched her throat. His hand curled around her neck, warm and firm.
“So thin. I could throttle you right now,” he murmured. “But I don’t gain any pleasure from killing.” His gaze shifted lower. “Did I ever tell you that I was the Head Servant of the Temple of Hrun before I became First Voice?”
His hand slid downward to her breast. Her mouth went dry. Intimidation, she repeated. Don’t react. Be boring. Give him nothing and he’ll lose interest and go away.
“Hmm. How tense you are.” His breath was sickeningly warm. She tried not to breathe it in. “So am I. Here, I’ll show you.”
He pressed his body against hers, pushing her against the stone wall. Smothered by black robes, revolted by his breath, she felt herself shudder in horror at the hardness of his groin beneath his robes.
He really means to do this….
No. Stay calm. He wouldn’t dare. It’s just intimidation.
His hand left her breast. Her relief was brief. She felt knuckles dig into her belly as he pulled at his robes. His breathing was fast. Despite herself she looked up. He bared his teeth.
“Yes. That’s right. Where are your gods now, Auraya? They can’t help you.”
Her mind spun in increasingly frantic circles, then abruptly she saw, with awful clarity, that he did mean to do what he threatened. This is going to be revolting and humiliating and painful but I can bear it. I will have to… But she had glimpsed the wounds and scars in the minds of women who had been used by men. He has, too. He knows he’ll leave me with more than his…oh, gods. She had no magical means to prevent conception. But he won’t want to sire a child, she reasoned. But he’s in the void too. His magic won’t work either. Gods, no! She bit back a scream as she saw herself, chained and bloated with his child, in this place. Imprisoned without and within. But if he’s in the void he’s vulnerable too. I can hurt him. I can kill him. She felt her jaw tense. I will bite out his throat. I will….
“Nekaun.”
The voice was unearthly. It echoed and whispered around the room like wind. Nekaun whirled around. Looking over his shoulder, Auraya saw a being of light. She felt her mouth go dry. She had seen this god before.
“Sheyr!” Nekaun gasped.
“Come here.”
Nekaun hurried off the dais and threw himself to the floor before the feet of the glowing figure.
“Do not harm Auraya,” the god said. “Revenge will come, but not in this way. What you wish to do may disadvantage us.”
“But…” The word was barely audible.
The being straightened. “Do you dare to question me?” he boomed.
“No, Sheyr!” Nekaun shook his head, his whole body quivering at the movement.
“You would take unnecessary risks for a moment of gratification.” The god’s head rose and he stared at Auraya. “Be satisfied that she is alone and friendless, with only her shadow for company.” His head snapped back to Nekaun. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then go.”
Nekaun scrambled to his feet and fled. The glowing figure looked at Auraya again.
He winked, then faded away.
In his place stood a Servant. The man blinked and glanced around the hall, then backed away from her. She looked into his mind and realized that he had given his will over to the god. Otherwise Sheyr would not have been able to see her, or speak with a real voice.
He saved me. She shook her head. How could she feel such gratitude toward one of the Pentadrian gods when they had ordered Nekaun to break his vow and trap her here? “…with only her shadow for company.”
And the significance of his last words came to her. Shadow! She quietly began to laugh, not caring that there was a hysterical edge to her voice.
It was Chaia! And Nekaun fell for it!