Traitors Gate

6

'You're not the boy I remember, Shai.'

Hari lounged on a silk-covered couch, the kind of furniture found in the houses of the rich in Kartu Town. The florid couch looked out of place inside a campaign tent otherwise furnished with only two rugs, a folding table holding a pair of cups and a ceramic bottle with an unbroken seal, and a single lit lamp. Two objects rested on the table: the Mei clan wolf ring and wolf belt buckle Hari had been wearing the day he'd been marched out of Kartu Town as a prisoner of their Qin overlords.

Shai pointed to them. 'I went through terrible things to get that ring and buckle back. Will you put on your ring?'

'No. I'm no longer a son of the Mei clan.'

Shai displayed the wolf ring he wore as a child of the Mei clan, although his ring wasn't anything like as fine a quality as the one that had been given to Hari by Grandmother when Hari had reached manhood. After all, Hari was the favored third son, while Shai was merely the excess seventh. 'Who are you, if not a son of the Mei clan? Father Mei sent me to bring your bones back to the clan for proper burial.'

As a boy, Hari had perfected the ability to raise a single eyebrow; he could mock you while looking so exceedingly clever that you found yourself smiling in sympathy, wanting him to approve of you. 'Here I am.'

Today, Shai wasn't smiling. 'You're dead.'

'Harsh words, little brother. Yet you would know, you who can see ghosts.'

Shai flushed. 'Have you forgotten that in Kartu Town, they burn people who see ghosts?'

T never told anyone you could see ghosts. I would never have betrayed you.'

'Yet here I am, your prisoner.' He walked to the tent flap and twitched the entrance curtain aside to stare over the camp, where soldiers worked into the dusk breaking down tents and loading gear into wagons in preparation for a dawn departure. Guards surrounded the tent.

Behind him, Hari sighed. 'You're not my prisoner. I'm sheltering you. Don't you trust me? You used to.'

Shai let the cloth fall as he turned. 'You were the best of my brothers, it's true.'

'As if that's saying much!'

'It's why I came all this way to find a dead man. Yet you're no ghost. You live and breathe.'

'Maybe it just seems to you that I live and I breathe. Maybe I am a ghost. The soldiers call us cloaks. A few whisper that we're lilu. Some name us as Guardians, the ones who bring justice.' His crooked smile made his expression bitter.

'This army brings no justice.'

'I never said it did.'

'Yet you ride with murderers and rapists and thieves. You command them.'

'I am a prisoner of those who command me.'

Furious, Shai walked over to the couch. 'You don't look like a prisoner! You look like a lord, who with a gesture of his hand marks who will live and who will die. You sent a man to be hanged from the pole. How can you do it, knowing what he will suffer?'

Hari shrugged, his expression masked. 'I'm not the brother you think you remember.'

'You can't have changed that much! You were the bold one, the bright one, the one who always spoke his mind!'

'Maybe you didn't know me that well. You were young. You saw what you wanted to see. Maybe I was the drunk one, the stupid one, the dissatisfied one. Maybe I pushed our Qin overlords too hard not out of a sense of righteous anger, but as a prank. Or on a dare. Or because I was bored. Or wanted to impress my reckless idiot friends.'

'I don't believe it!'

'You want to believe I am something I never was. Now listen, little brother. We've got to get you out of here before Night or Lord Radas discover you-'

Shai grabbed one of his brother's wrists and squeezed it; it was shocking to feel he might overpower the older brother who had once been able to sling him over a shoulder, run down to the pond, and toss him into the water howling and laughing. He tightened his grip until Hari winced. 'How did you get to the Hundred?'

Hari lifted his chin defiantly but in the end looked away. He addressed words to the sloped end of the couch, the fabric a saturated dark purple similar to the hue of the cloak he wore carelessly flung over his shoulders. 'Will you let go?'

Shai let go.

Hari rubbed the wrist. His forehead was beaded with sweat. I'm done speaking of it. What use is there in me speaking? All my words are tainted, because I'm a demon.'

The tone of self-loathing hit Shai hardest. The Hari he knew had never hated himself. 'You aren't a demon.'

Hari grasped Shai's shoulders. Years ago, Hari had grabbed him so, stared into his eyes, and scolded him: Stand up for yourself, Shai. Speak up, Shai!

Best of brothers!

But now he looked leached at the edges, as if sickness had drained his vitality.

'Aren't I? I can't see into your heart to know what you really think of me. What if you scorn me, and I would never know?'

'I would tell you what I think.'

'People say so, but they never do.' Hari laughed mockingly. 'People say what they think you want to hear. But now, their hearts and thoughts are laid bare to me, and I can see what's true. All their pain and greed and rage and selfish lust cuts me, just as it cuts them. I can't rest for thinking of all the horrible things I've seen in people's hearts. And yet I can't look away. I want their secrets and their shame. Then I don't have to think about my own.'

'Stop it!'

'Why are you hidden from me, Shai? No one else is, except the other cloaks. And you're not a cloak.'

Shai clasped his hands. 'I'm just your brother, Hari. We'll go home together. It's what we're meant to do.'

Hari broke free and leaped to his feet, pacing to the entrance and back again. 'I can't go home! Night will hunt me down, or Lord Radas will. If I don't obey them, they hurt me. And since I can't die, then I just suffer and it hurts so badly. We've got to get you out of here. If they know I have you, they'll force me to betray you. And I'll do it, because I'm a useless selfish coward. I've always been one. What do you think I've been running from all my life?'

Voices from outside startled them both. Shai began to stand, but Hari grabbed his arm and shoved him down on one of the rugs, gesturing for him to lie flat. He rolled Shai up inside the rug. From within the stifling confines, Shai heard Hari plop down on the couch as several people entered.

'Aren't you ready to go yet?' demanded a coarse voice bleeding with raw rage. 'You're such a cursed lazy ass, Hari.'

'Yordenas, control yourself.' The other voice was also male, as sharp as poison. 'Harishil, I expected you to be ready to depart. There are slaves who can collect these furnishings.'

'I thought I was going back to Walshow with the camp followers to make sure they disperse,' said Hari, his voice more like a sullen lad's than a grown man's. 'And then afterward set up as commander over the northern region based in High Haldia with Captain Arras as my administrator. That's what you promised me.'

'That's what Night promised you,' sneered the one called

Yordenas. 'Because she favors your sorry, rotten hide despite you running the second army into disaster at Olossi.'

'Yordenas!'

'My apologies, my lord.' The cringing tone sounded real enough, as slimy as scummed water. 'I would have done better, had I been given the chance. I was a reeve. Marshal of a reeve hall. I know how to command.'

'You are to be given your chance now, Yordenas. As for you, Harishil, may I remind you that promises are not coin, they are contingencies. Our plans have changed. We've pulled most of the forces out of the far north and Haldia in order to quickly subdue Nessumara and the delta region. Surely you understand that under the circumstances, given your complete failure to direct the southern expedition against Olossi, you will have to prove yourself to us before we can possibly allow you a new command.'

The other man sniggered.

'Furthermore, there is the matter of the woman wearing Death's cloak, the one called Marit. You may not have betrayed us, precisely, but we can't be sure you are reliable. You may have mixed loyalties. I would be rid of you if it were up to me. Yet Night has insisted you be given a second chance. Therefore, I have a special assignment for you.'

'I should have had it,' groused the one called Yordenas. 'I wanted to go.'

'I thought you wanted to command an army,' said Hari. 'But if you can't make up your mind, you're welcome to take my new assignment, whatever it is.'

'Don't be hasty, Harishil,' said the poisonous voice.

'What is it you want, Lord Radas?'

'Neh, what is it you want? Do you want your staff?'

Felt even through the muffling layers of thick carpet, a shift of tension tightened the air like the taste of a coming storm. Weight pressed on Shai's left hip as one of the men rested his foot heavily there.

'Maybe I do,' mumbled Hari. 'Maybe I- don't care. Maybe I don't want to judge people, as you do.'

The poisonous voice grew silkier, killing with a sweeter flavor. 'You know Night wishes to interview all the gods-touched, but we're seeking in particular an outlander Bevard captured not far west of here, a young man who was veiled to his sight. He should have reached the army by now.'

'He'll talk when I get my hands on him!' Yordenas had a mean edge to his voice that Shai imagined was accompanied by a grin, rather as Shai's awful brother Girish had giggled when he contemplated the nasty things he could do to helpless children.

'Sure he'll talk,' drawled Hari, 'after one whiff of your foul breath, Yordenas. What's to say the cursed outlander isn't dead already? Or fled? Or that Bevard wasn't so drunk that he mistook his vomit for a man?'

The pressure of the foot eased abruptly. The sounds of a scuffle ended with Yordenas's yelp.

'Harishil, you do not amuse me,' said Lord Radas. 'That such an outlander exists I do not doubt, nor should you. Now and again a rare individual is gods-touched, able to see ghosts. Such individuals are veiled to the sight of Guardians. Therefore dangerous. Able to commit crimes and lie about it.'

The dust in the carpet made Shai's eyes itch, or perhaps it was the memory of ghosts that stung.

'Dangerous to justice,' Hari asked, 'or merely dangerous because we can't bully them by ripping out their hearts and fears and shames?'

'Your gods-rotted outlander ass is just waiting to get itself whipped, isn't it?' said Yordenas.

'You're one who loves to bully, aren't you, Yordenas?'

'Enough!' The voice of Lord Radas cut deep. The weight of the foot returned, pinching Shai's skin, but he sucked in the pain and did not move. 'As it happens, Bevard encountered another such outlander, at Westcott. A man veiled to his sight. Do you suppose all outlanders can see ghosts and are therefore veiled, Harishil?'

'I wouldn't know. I'm not "all outlanders."'

'Be respectful, you ass.'

'Quiet, Yordenas. Harishil, I want you to track down this outlander captain Bevard encountered at Westcott. We have reason to believe he may be related to, or the same man as, the one who captained Olossi's militia to victory.'

'What about Yordenas and Bevard? What will they be doing?'

'Their duties are not yours to inquire after, but as it happens, I am willing to tell you so you can see what rewards you can expect if you succeed. Bevard will accompany the camp followers to Walshow and afterward take temporary command of the northern region and assizes. He'll be scouting Haldia for signs of

the two cloaks who ran from us — obviously we can't trust you with that task given your relationship with the woman called Marit. Yordenas will take part in the attack on Nessumara, to improve his command skills.'

'I'd rather go to Walshow,' said Hari.

Yordenas snorted. 'I'm surprised they're letting you go off on your own at all. They don't trust you, Hari. Nor should they, you being a cursed outlander and all.'

'Then why don't they release me?' retorted Hari in a voice Shai would once have heard as bold and forthright and now recognized as angry with reckless despair.

The pressure of the foot lifted. Shai let out breath, sucked in, and almost choked on a lungful of dust and a stray wisp of straw that caught in his throat.

T can call a soldier in,' said Lord Radas as calmly as if he were suggesting a tray of tea, 'and have him stick his sword in your guts. Once. Twice. A third time.'

'No. No. No: I'll go, as you command.'

'Coward,' said Yordenas.

Hari said nothing.

Shai gritted his teeth and swallowed a sneeze.

'Be ready to leave at dawn on your new mission.' Lord Radas's footfalls moved toward the entrance. 'Bring me the head of this outlander captain who Bevard says is veiled.'

'How am I to bring you his head if I have no weapon? Give me my staff, and I might manage it.'

'Your weapon is your ability to command others to kill him. You've yet to prove yourself to us. Do so, and I will give you your staff and a chance at a new command. One other thing. I was given a report that you interviewed an outlander today.'

'I interviewed more than one,' said Hari so easily that Shai's gut relaxed. Maybe Hari wouldn't betray him. 'Slaves, craven and weeping. Their hearts revealed nothing more than the misery of being torn from their homeland and forced to endure the lash of cruel masters. I let them go. Their masters were waiting. Just as mine do.'

T wonder if you are telling the truth,' said Lord Radas.

It seemed to Shai he could actually feel, like the brush of fingers, the man probing the tent, seeking what was hidden.

Hari said, 'You think it might have been more merciful to have them cleansed and thus released from servitude? I suppose so.'

'Don't tempt me,' said Lord Radas. The touch of poison eased; vanished. The man had left.

'You'll never manage to kill that outlander captain,' said Yordenas. 'You're a gods-rotted coward and a stinking outlander. I hate you.'

'Do you, truly? I don't care enough about you to hate you. Mosquitoes gripe me more. Run after the one whose boots you lick, eh?'

'You'll regret speaking this way to me.'

Hari laughed.

Yordenas's hot presence stamped out of the tent, and then it was cool and quiet and Hari whispered, 'Don't move, don't speak. We can hear better than you know.'

He apparently went outside, because it was silent for some time. Shai thought maybe he was getting a rash on his forehead where the coarse fibers were pressed against the skin. An outlander captain veiled to the sight of the demons. A man who could, like Shai, see ghosts. Obviously, they meant Hari to hunt down and kill Captain Anji.

With a shove, Shai was tumbled around and over and rolled gasping out of the carpet. Hari tugged him up to his feet, and Shai turned away to sneeze, three times. He wiped streaming eyes with the back of a hand. He had been so close to Lord Radas, and he had not acted. Yet how had he intended to strike?

'When they find out you're veiled, they'll kill you.' Hari grasped Shai's arm and pulled him around to face him. Hari's gaze bored deep, but Shai matched him until Hari shook his head in frustration. 'We have to get you out of camp before they find you. And they will find you. Someone will betray you. I'll betray you. Hu! How did you even get to the Hundred?'

'Father Mei sent me to bring back your bones.'

'You can't have walked all this way yourself!' His bitter laugh cracked. 'Those Qin soldiers I saw on the road with you months ago. They pinned me with arrows. The bastards! Did the Qin make you a soldier and slave, as they did me?'

Thinking of Mai, Shai shook his head. 'I am not soldier or slave. How can I kill Lord Radas?'

Hari flung himself away, walking again to the entrance and peering out as if he was sure Shai's words had carried outside the tent wall. Then he strode back. 'You can't.'

'Lord Radas threatened to have you killed.'

'No, only punished. He has a soldier stab me until I'm dead, but since I can't die, I live through the agony of dying and then I heal through pain worse than that of dying. Don't you remember how your Qin soldiers shot me full of arrows? How do you think I survived that?'

'Yet here you stand. A ghost, who yet lives.' He touched Hari's arm, but his brother jerked away. 'Didn't you ask him to release you?'

'Only a cloak can destroy a cloak. Five Guardians can judge one. You who are not prisoners of the cloak cannot kill us.' Tears shone in his eyes. 'Do not pity me.'

'I don't pity you! You pity yourself!'

Hari raised a hand to strike, then flung himself away, pressing that hand to the clasp that hooked his cloak around his throat.

'You don't have to be their prisoner! Just take it off!' Shai dogged Hari's steps, reaching for the cloak's elaborate clasp, but Hari shoved him so hard he fell onto the plush upholstery of the couch.

'It will burn you, kill you, if you touch it. You think I haven't seen Yordenas torture people? He forces them to touch his clasp until their flesh burns away to the bone!'

'Then release yourself!'

Hari's smile lit him with a flash of his old charm, but the reckless glint was twisted and bitter. 'Once started down this path, no one is ever content, little brother. Do you know why I'm their prisoner? I hate what I am, and yet I embrace it, because I fear the shadows that lie beyond the gate. Now that I am dead, I fear death more than anything. Just as she does.'

'She?'

'The cloak of Night. The one who woke me and taught me to know what I am. She fears death, too. We all fear death, who have suffered it. That's why we are what we are and why we do what we do.'

This could not be Harishil, best of brothers. This was his shell, inhabited by a demon.

The cloak ran a hand over his head, face creased, eyes tight, other hand in a fist. 'You must have come to the Hundred with the Qin. What do you know about an outlander captain? One who might be veiled?'

Shai looked the demon in the eye. His heart sang with grief, even as his mouth opened and his voice emerged with

astonishing evenness, the lie as easy as breathing. 'Nothing. If you'll give me safe passage out of camp, I'll accept it with thanks.'

'Captain Arras.'

Lord Twilight stood with his back to the captain. A single lamp burned, the flame's wavering light rippling across the fabric of his cloak.

'What brings you to Toskala, Captain? I'll admit, I enjoyed our time together in High Haldia. I had been looking forward to a quiet retirement up there in the north with you as my congenial colleague.'

'My lord.' If it were possible to feel comfortable around a cloak, then Arras felt comfortable with this man, but he knew better than to believe they could ever be comrades. 'Two weeks ago I received orders that a new administrator would be taking over the occupation of High Haldia. I've been reassigned with my three companies to serve at the whim of the governor of Toskala.'

'Are you glad to come to Toskala?' The cloak kept his back to Arras.

'Presiding over an occupation does not suit my temperament. I'm trained to fight, not hang people up from poles just for the pleasure of watching them die.'

'Some in this army gain too much pleasure out of the suffering of the vanquished.'

'It's better to kill rebels, criminals, and traitors cleanly and at once, and move on with the real work.'

'What if I were to use my influence to make sure you got reassigned in support of the army marching south on Nessumara? Do you trust me, Captain?'

They were alone, no one in earshot as long as they spoke quietly. The tent's furnishings had been hauled away; all that was left were a pair of rolled-up rugs.

'Yes, my lord. I trust you.'

'As much as you trust any of us, eh?' said the cloak with a laugh that made Arras grin.

'I return what is given. You trust me enough not to demand my compliance through eating out my heart. It's a courtesy I appreciate.'

A smile creased the cloak's profile. 'Then we understand each other. I am required to depart immediately, leaving unfinished business here in camp.'

'The outlander?'

'You can see the problem this presents me. I'm asking you to disobey orders. You could betray me to Lord Radas and I wouldn't fault you for it. Or you can help me. If we both survive this war, I'll have reason to be grateful to you. Although I can't promise my gratitude is worth much.'

'Are you asking me to betray Lord Commander Radas, my lord?'

'No. I just need to get a single individual to safety in Nessumara without him getting caught and turned over to Night. Without anyone except you and me knowing or suspecting what's being done. A tactical challenge, if you will.' Still, the cloak did not turn to use his third eye and second heart to expose Arras's intentions. 'Will you help me, Captain?'

Trust can never be offered lightly, nor lightly refused. In the army, Arras was just one ambitious captain from the uplands of Teriayne, with no means for advancement except distinguishing himself and his companies in battle. He'd been left behind in High Haldia despite fighting well and taking the brunt of the initial attack, while better-connected men who'd done less had received promotions and moved on.

'Get me assigned to the attack against Nessumara, my lord. If you do, I can help you.'

Joss left Clan Hall at dawn, alone, guiding Scar downstream toward Nessumara. Eagles he had ordered out on patrol sweeps soared in the distance. It was easy from this height to perceive the land as if it were at peace, until you recognized how many villages bore the scars of battle: burned houses, freshly built scaffolding on which to lay the dead, empty paths and roads. A crude encampment lay hidden within woodland, but he dared not land to see who they were. It seemed almost cruel to grab bites of rice cake and swigs of cordial from the pouch of provisions lashed to his harness while wondering if those refugees were starving.

He caught up with the enemy midmorning. Three eagles floated above, observing. He knew the reeves by their eagles: Peddonon, Vekess, and Disi. The soldiers marched in orderly ranks, cohorts spaced at intervals. Clearly they did not expect to be attacked. The vanguard had taken control of the town at Skerru, where the River Istri split. The deep channel cut west

along an ancient ridgeline. Copper Hall reeves flew patrol over Istria, and by Scar's attention, others soared too far away for him to see but not so for the raptor with its exceptional vision. Downstream, many small channels braided into a vast delta.

Two causeways spanned the wetlands, linking the city to the mainland. The northern causeway, a raised roadway from Skerru that pushed into the delta through a swamp forest, was already blocked by barriers. An eagle preened in the sun on a massive log off to one side. The eastern causeway linking the trading town of Saltow to the docks and markets of Nessumara was packed with refugees fleeing into the delta. A pair of reeves had set down in the midst of the traffic where a knot of confusion had brought movement to a halt. Boats bobbed within the marshy hinterlands; others were being rowed or poled along the narrow channels of the inner delta where the flow of water was regulated by a complicated scheme of locks, dikes, canals, and holding pools.

With the sun at zenith, he and Scar dropped over Nessumara, a city sprawled across a hundred greater and smaller islands. Copper Hall's four watchtowers beckoned. He flagged — and received no answer.

The hells! No one was manning the watchtowers. Where was everyone?

Scar skimmed low south to the swirling confluence of land and sea while Joss scanned the landscape. The hive of activity might be better described as chaos. The entire place was coming apart.

There were a hells lot of boats and ships out in the bay; the harbor of Ankeno was crowded with vessels. Any one who could afford passage was running before the tide. Where in the hells did they all mean to go? And how keep themselves once they were there? The countryside crawled with folk in motion. More reeves down there betrayed even more trouble and confusion. Was it possible for reeves to police this kind of upheaval, much less maintain order at their own hall?

Scar found an updraft and they spiraled up, then began a long descent toward what was now the main compound of Copper Hall, where the marshal had his cote. The eagle seemed eager, recalling his home perch, the place he had jessed Joss. The shores of the Haya coast unfolded below. Surf rolled against sand beaches, or sprayed where rockier ground met the water.

The wide North Shore Road had a cursed lot of traffic on it, folk trudging east toward the Haya Gap and Zosteria. Reeves were out in force.

Late in the afternoon he spotted the familiar watchtowers. It was here Joss had trained; here he had met Marit; here he had flung his reckless defiance into the face of Marshal Masar one too many times until the marshal had forced him to transfer to Clan Hall just to be rid of him. Looking back, Joss supposed he would have done the same in Masar's place. What a gods-rotted rebel he'd been! There'd been no purpose to his troublemaking beyond the frustration of a young man who had had something he craved torn from him. He was older now. It was easy to see the pattern.

He flagged the tower and received permission to come in.

Scar landed with feathers fanned out and talons forward, almost vertical. He grasped a perch, and Joss, swinging gently, unhooked and dropped. The raptor chirped eagerly as he inspected his surroundings. He knew where he was, of course. He'd called Copper Hall home for longer than Joss had been alive.

A murmur of activity came from the main compound, yet in the empty quiet of the visitors' ground, you might think the place deserted. Joss inspected Scar, waiting for fawkners, but spotted only a lad skulking in the entrance to a loft.

'Where are the fawkners?' Joss called.

The lad shrugged.

'Can you fetch someone for me?'

The lad scratched his short hair, then ran for the gate. Joss swore under his breath as he attended to Scar's needs. The visitors' lofts were empty, so Scar lumbered into the closest loft and found an open perch, settling in to preen. The afternoon light falling through the open doors shone gold onto Scar's glorious feathers.

Joss jessed him and went out. In the main compound, smoke was rising from the kitchens, two women squabbled, wagons piled with bags of rice rumbled up to one of the storehouses. The forge boiled with heat and noise, hammers ringing.

No one took notice of Joss. He walked down the alleyway between storehouses and fawkners' barracks that led to the marshal's garden. Long ago, during Joss's days as a novice, Marshal Alard had lovingly tended beds of bright flowers just

for their beauty, but now every plant here had its use: culinary herbs, lavender, woundwort, wiry desert tea, peony, ginseng with its tapered leaves.

The door into the marshal's cote stood open. Joss climbed the steps into the shade of the porch. In the marshal's audience room, an elderly man sat behind a low writing desk, forehead propped on a hand, back bent. An old map, frayed and ripped at the edges, lay unrolled, its corners held down by cups. Smears of ink blotted the sheet; one spot, near the center, had been rubbed so many times it was worn through.

'It doesn't matter what emergency you bring word of,' said the marshal to the desk. 'I've got no more reeves to send out.'

'I'm not here-'

The man looked up. 'Joss? The hells!'

'Masar? I thought you retired — there was a new marshal-'

The old reeve's cheeks were hollow with age and exhaustion. 'There was. Why are you here? Aren't you marshal of Argent Hall?'

No niceties. No wine. Masar gestured with the quick-hurry-up known to all.

'Clan Hall's council has asked me to step in as commander. As a temporary-'

'No need to ask my permission, if that's why you came. I don't see how Clan Hall's administrative juggling affects us here.'

Joss coughed into a hand. 'Well, as commander of the reeve halls-'

Masar's curt laugh silenced him. 'All right, then, Commander. We're overwhelmed. Have you brought supplies? Come with brilliant ideas on how to beat back this cursed army?'

'I have to order things at Argent Hall, get a sense of what is going on at the different halls, find out what happened to Horn Hall-'

'Yes, and after you've managed all that, then you can come back and offer me and mine aid. Is that what you're saying? Fine. I heard you. Good-bye.' He looked past Joss. A rare smile graced his stern face. 'Jenna! There you are.'

A pretty young woman wrapped in a bright orange taloos climbed the steps carrying a covered dish. Behind her trotted a lad not much younger but clearly her sibling. As she paused to kick off her sandals, she looked at Joss with a pretty smile.

'None of that!' scolded Masar. 'He's too old for you.'

'I never said a word!' protested Joss, burned by Masar's scorn. She was a pretty enough lass, but so cursed young.

Masar's frown lowered like a threat. 'These are my grandchildren, Jenna and Kedri.'

'Reeve Joss!' The lad's cheeks flushed as he stared. 'I've heard so many stories-'

'Enough!' snapped Masar. The lad ducked his head as his sister flicked fingers on his arm to silence him. 'Clan Hall can call you their commander if they will — "and I suppose you'll do no worse than anyone else given the chaos — but it's cursed meaningless to us. My own daughter is missing and her husband dead, these two of their five children fled to me. And they aren't the only refugees sheltering here.'

'I'm cursed sorry, Masar,' Joss said, raising his hands to show he'd no weapon and no excuse. 'That's a terrible thing for a parent to suffer. I really did come seeking what information you have to tell me. To let you know the situation at Clan Hall. And to pass on vital information about the army and certain clans in Nessumara who may be plotting to betray the city.'

Masar nodded at his grandchildren, and Jenna hurried off, dragging her hero-struck brother behind with a parting smile for Joss. 'My apologies. I'm no worse off than many, and more fortunate than some. Sit down. Let's talk as reeves do. What are we up against?'

And hear Joss did, so much so that at dawn he felt he might never sleep if he tried to right all the wrongs afflicting the Hundred. The list was endless, and it only began with the recent death of the marshal who had replaced Masar when he had retired from active duty. Joss flew north toward the southernmost spur of the Liya Hills, where twenty years ago he'd often rendezvoused with Marit. How distant those halcyon times seemed now! The Haya Gap could be seen to the north; south lay the vast tangled'forest known as the Wild, a refuge of the mysterious wildings. The eagle followed the north-leading ridge of the hills. At last, Joss caught sight of the ragged notch in the hills that marked the Liya Pass.

He tugged on the jesses without conscious thought, and soon enough Scar pulled in to land on the stony height of Candle Rock. The towering rock was deserted; without wings, no man

in woman could reach this spot. He scouted the environs, the fire pit, the hollow where eagles roosted, an overhang where the remnants of a wood stack moldered beside an even older axe held together by hope and twine. The decaying wood had been tossed into a jumble while the wood still solid enough for a good burn had been stacked in one place. Some reeve had been up here in the last few months. And why not? It was an unassailable position, overlooking the road below.

He found a log, not yet split and half shot through with rot, and dragged it over to Scar. The eagle was delighted, pouncing on the log and squeezing it with his talons. Joss set to work on the fire pit, restacking the rocks where they had shifted and come loose. He layered a few to create a tiny crevice, where stones painted to mark the phases of the moon could be left for the next reeve: Meet here when the moon is full. By the time he was done Scar had reduced the log to splinters and settled in, extending his wings to sunbathe.

Joss settled as well. The wind streamed over the crags and the afternoon sun beat down on his back. Twenty years ago, reeves had patrolled these lands regularly. Over the years, mey by mey, village by village, they had retreated. Given up ground as a new commander had claimed their territory.

The abandoned patrol stations needed to be put back into use as observation posts and havens. It was the kind of thing the commander of the reeve halls could order done.

He lifted his gaze east to the ridge held by the hierarchs to be sacred to the Lady of Beasts. The distinctive spire called Ammadit's Tit loomed, but he had no desire today to scout the Guardian's altar where he and Marit had made their fateful discovery over twenty years ago. That's where it had all started to go so terribly wrong.

It was time to head south toward Argent Hall. He whistled Scar down and hooked in. Wind buffeted them as Scar plunged into a powerful updraft. They climbed until the air he sucked into his lungs seemed as thin as his memories of the past, falling away below. His eyes watered, but surely that was the wind.