7: Enemies and Shadows (2 page)

Hirran had not arrived, but Joulen was already waiting. He didn’t look older out of his uniform, but stripped of the insignias of his rank, his boyish face didn’t seem so surprising. He leaned against a railing that surrounded a stand of trees, absently drumming his fingers on the black wroght iron.

Kahlil walked past Joulen, easily brushing through the railing. It would be simple enough to remain in the Gray Space and watch over Hirran. But he wouldn’t be able to hear anything. He contemplated the stand of trees for a moment. They weren’t big, but their branches seemed strong enough to take his weight and the blossoms would hide him.

Kahlil shifted his direction within the Gray Space, rising with each step, until he crouched up in the tree branches. He braced himself and then dropped out of the Gray Space. Humid heat rushed over him. The fragrance of flowers and freshly tilled earth engulfed him. For just an instant, the texture of the tree bark seemed to bite painfully into his palms. Then his senses adjusted. The pain and heat receded. The smell of flowers saturated the air. All around Kahlil, slim branches bowed with the weight of their white blossoms. A low hum pulsed through the air as dozens of pale yellow bees buzzed between the heavily clustered flowers.

Kahlil watched Joulen take a cigarette from the case in his coat pocket, toy with it, and then put it back. Beyond Joulen, Kahlil recognized Hirran’s graceful figure. She walked slowly. One of her attendants lagged behind her, taking notes. Hirran paused at a bed of firebloom, her long red coat and dress seeming to rise up from the scarlet flowers. Her black hair was startlingly dark by contrast and her skin looked like porcelain.

Joulen stared at her, the cigarette case forgotten in his hand. Kahlil wondered if Hirran had known she would be so eye-catching. He guessed that she did. She hadn’t struck Kahlil as the kind of woman who wouldn’t use her beauty to an advantage.

As Hirran came closer, Joulen frowned slightly. He glanced past Hirran as if expecting to see someone else on the avenue. Hirran stopped at the iron railing near Joulen and gazed at the white blooms that hung down close to her.

Joulen’s frown tightened. He continued to watch the cobblestone avenue. Absently, he opened his cigarette case, then snapped it closed, and put it away in his pocket. Hirran watched him. After a few moments, she turned and looked down the avenue as well. Kahlil followed both their gazes. There was no one.

Hirran took a half step closer to Joulen.

“Was someone following me?” Hirran said, undervoiced.

Joulen started in surprise. “I beg your pardon, madam?”

“Have I been followed?” Hirran repeated.

“Not that I can see,” Joulen replied. He seemed strangely awkward, as if almost unwilling to acknowledge Hirran’s presence. She scanned the rows of trees and cobblestone avenues surrounding them. Catching sight of the two rashan’im, Hirran moved even closer to Joulen.

“Have
you
been followed?” Hirran whispered urgently.  

Joulen sighed and at last turned to face her.

“Madam,” Joulen said, “I’m sorry, but I’m expecting to meet with a businessman. Though I find you quite charming, quite lovely in fact, I haven’t the time to dally. Perhaps another day?”

Hirran appeared to be flabbergasted and Kahlil almost laughed out loud. Joulen didn’t know who she was. In typical gaun fashion, he had mistaken Hirran’s assurance and interest for the advance of some prostitute.

“Dally?” Hirran demanded. Then she looked suddenly worried. “You are Joulen Bousim, are you not?”

“Yes,” Joulen replied, “but I assure you that I am not so rich as people say. There are other men from the gaun’im who would be more worthy of your interest.”

Hirran’s brows knit together in consternation as Joulen continued to watch the empty avenue.

“You don’t know who I am,” Hirran said suddenly.

“No.” Joulen glanced to her. He seemed amused by the idea that he would know of her. “Should I?”

“Yes, you should.” Hirran’s voice carried an edge of indignation. “I am Hirran of the Ironheights.”

Joulen gaped at her as if she’d claimed to be Gaunsho Bousim himself.

“I wrote that I would be wearing a red coat and my hair would be in three braids.” Hirran pointed to her head. “I wrote that you were to meet me at the iron railing surrounding the snow pears at the fifth bell.”

“Yes. But you can’t be…” Joulen continued to stare at Hirran. A slight flush began to color his cheeks. “You didn’t say you were…I had imagined that you would be a man.”

“I never said I was a man.”

“No, you never did,” Joulen admitted, after a thoughtful silence. “I assumed…” Joulen glanced to the single attendant who hung far back behind Hirran. “Are you sure that this is safe for you?”

“The Five Districts Council could call me up for questioning, but technically I have not done anything wrong. So long as we are discreet, I think that can be avoided,” Hirran assured him. “What about you?”

“Fine,” Joulen replied, though he hardly seemed to have heard the question.

Kahlil realized that Joulen was not worried for Hirran’s political career. No woman of the gaun’im would have met a man in a secluded garden with only a little attendant girl to protect her. Even in Nurjima, women traveled in large groups or were accompanied by fathers, husbands, or brothers. To Joulen, Hirran would seem to be at the mercy of any man who crossed her path.

“It’s getting dark,” Joulen commented.

“I know. They’ll be clearing the garden soon,” Hirran spoke quickly and softly, “but I couldn’t meet with you any sooner. I suppose we should be as expeditious about this as we can.”

“Yes, we should,” Joulen agreed. “So why did you send for me?”

“Because this entire matter has gotten out of hand,” Hirran replied. “You have to know that Jath’ibaye did not kill Nanvess.”

“Do I?” Joulen asked, his dark brows rising. “Why did he flee from the Bell Dance then?”

Kahlil tensed, hoping that Hirran had the good sense not to mention him. Telling Joulen about Kahlil’s part in the debacle would only make Hirran’s story seem more implausible.

“Because he went in pursuit of the real murderer,” Hirran answered and Kahlil was impressed by how easily she made it sound like the truth.

“And who was that?” Joulen asked.

“His name would mean nothing to you.” Hirran dismissed Joulen’s question with a wave of her hand.

“That’s unfortunate, since you’re trying to convince me of his existence,” he replied.

“The murderer is called Fikiri. He is a devil who steals our children for their bones.” The anger in Hirran’s tone carried despite her lowered voice. “He is in league with Ourath Lisam to destroy Vundomu and the gaun’im as well. He wants us to kill each other in a war.”

“In league with Ourath Lisam?” A spark of hope lit Joulen’s face. “You have proof of this?”

“None that would convince you or the rest of the gaun’im,” Hirran admitted. “But you have to know that the gaun’im would not survive a war against Vundomu.”

Joulen stiffened slightly at her words.

“I’m not attempting to threaten you, Commander,” Hirran went on, seeing Joulen’s reaction. “I don’t think either of our nations would survive a war. That’s why it’s imperative that our nations find a way to make peace. You’re the only gaun that I would trust to approach like this.”

For the first time Joulen offered Hirran a kind smile. No doubt his exaggerated sense of the danger that Hirran had braved to see him lent a deeper ring of desperation to her words. If it hadn’t been a matter of war that they were discussing, Kahlil thought he might have found the two of them amusing.

“So, what are you willing to do to keep the peace?” Joulen asked.

“Anything,” Hirran replied and Joulen flushed deep red.

“I meant as the representative of your holdings,” Joulen said quickly.

“Yes,” Hirran said, nodding, “anything that I can. But it isn’t up to me.”

“It might be,” Joulen said. “My uncle plans to demand exclusive trade rights with the Iron Heights as compensation for Nanvess’ murder. If you would submit to that, then the Bousim house will be satisfied.”

“It’s impossible.” Hirran shook her head.

“Not even to prevent a war?” Joulen asked.

“No, you misunderstand me.” Hirran stepped closer to Joulen and gazed up at him. “To save our two nations, I would give everything I possessed, but I can’t give it twice. Gethlam Anyyd plans to demand exclusive trade rights to all of my lands as payment for Esh’illan’s death.”

“That’s absurd. Esh’illan was a drunk and a wastrel.” Despite his words, Joulen appeared to be troubled.

“Ourath Lisam has convinced Gethlam that he has as much right to make his claim as your uncle has,” Hirran said.

“How do you know this?” Joulen asked.

“We had a spy watching Ourath.” Hirran bowed her head as if embarrassed. She looked quite pretty in the pose and Kahlil could see that she was having some effect on Joulen. The young guan lifted his hand as if to reassure her but then caught himself.

“I imagine that you have spies in every gaunsho’s camp,” Joulen said.

“No.” Hirran glanced up at him earnestly. “It’s only because of Ourath’s alliance with Fikiri that we sent out a spy.”

Joulen’s expression softened as he gazed down at Hirran. She really knew what she was doing, Kahlil thought.

“I had been worried that Gethlam might do something like this,” Joulen said. “But we Bousim have the stronger house. The Anyyd will back down eventually.”

“There won’t be time,” Hirran informed him. “In one week Fikiri’s forces in the north will be gathered. He and Ourath Lisam plan to attack then.”

“This Fikiri has forces in the north?” Joulen asked.

“An army of hungry bones,” Hirran said. This time there was nothing appealing about her expression. Joulen paled.

“I thought the bones were Jath’ibaye’s creations,” Joulen said.

“If you’ve seen him among them, it was as an enemy,” Hirran said. “The hungry bones are Fikiri’s creations. If Jath’ibaye didn’t fight them, they would destroy Vundomu and then advance into the gaun’im’s lands. Until now, Jath’ibaye has been the only thing standing between Fikiri and his conquest of all of Basawar.”

Joulen’s expression turned skeptical. He toyed with his cigarette case.

“I know you find it hard to believe,” Hirran went on, “but I swear it’s the truth. Say the name ‘Fikiri’ to anyone in Vundomu and you’ll see what a monster he is—how he’s tormented these lands!”

“And yet I’ve never heard of him,” Joulen replied.

“But you’ve seen him,” Hirran said suddenly. “In Ourath’s tent. He’s a gaunt old man with scars all up and down his arms and hands. He has dirty blond hair and skin that looks as if it has been scrubbed raw.”

Joulen looked thoughtful but didn’t say anything.

“He appears out of nowhere,” Hirran went on quickly, “but there’s always this terrible rending noise and a flash of fire. And there’s a smell afterwards.” Hirran shuddered. “I have nightmares about that smell.”

“The man you’re describing was in Ourath’s tent last night,” Joulen admitted.

“You see.” Hirran’s expression was triumphant.

“But that doesn’t prove anything,” Joulen added quickly. “He could as easily have been your own spy as this Fikiri.”

“You have to believe me.” Hirran suddenly caught Joulen’s hand in her own. “If we don’t find a way to stop Ourath within a week, then Fikiri will attack and Jath’ibaye will have to—”

“Have to what?” Joulen demanded.

“He’ll have to treat all of the gaun’im as allies of Fikiri’s,” Hirran said softly. “He’ll destroy everything.”

“Everything?” Joulen frowned at this. “I don’t think we’ll just allow him to destroy—”

“What you think won’t matter,” Hirran insisted. “Ask your captains—the old ones who fought in the Seven Years’ War. Ask them what Jath’ibaye can do.”

Kahlil could see the worry creeping into Joulen’s countenance. Plainly, he already knew the old stories of the wars against Jath’ibaye. Kahlil, too, had heard them when he had lived in the Bousim barracks in Nurjima. Jath’ibaye’s sorcery was said to have destroyed armies in minutes, showing no man mercy, allowing no surrender and taking no prisoners. Kahlil now wondered how much of that had been true.

Knowing John, Kahlil imagined that Jath’ibaye would have forced the Fai’daum to adopt some strange Nayeshi code of honor regarding prisoners of war. He would have tried to enforce the Geneva Convention the same way he tried to install democracy and fishing regulations.

But Jath’ibaye was still the Rifter and Kahlil suspected that very few of his enemies had survived his assaults long enough to be taken prisoner.

“If this war comes,” Hirran met Joulen’s gaze directly, “Jath’ibaye will not restrain himself. He will destroy every last gaunan and all of your lands. The cities will burn and the lands will crumble into the sea. He will not forgive an alliance with Fikiri.”

Joulen said nothing for several long moments.

“So what would you have me do?” he asked at last.

“You must remove Ourath Lisam from power,” Hirran told him.

Joulen pulled his hand from Hirran’s, his frustration plain on his face.

“I don’t have that authority,” Joulen told her. “And even if I did, I don’t have any grounds. All I have is your word.”

“I swear that I’m telling you the truth.”

“I believe you,” Joulen replied. “But I can’t act against a gaunsho without any evidence of his treachery. Not even my own family would support me.”

Hirran leaned against the iron railing, frowning up at the overhanging blossoms. Joulen watched her.

“Then I’ll get you your evidence,” Hirran said firmly.

“How?” Joulen asked.

“I don’t know, but it has to be done,” Hirran replied. “And I will see to it.”

Joulen gazed at Hirran intently and then nodded.

“If you can find any proof,” he said, “you should turn it over to my uncle, Governor Nivoun. He has the legal power to take action against a gaunsho.”

“Can I trust him?” Hirran asked.

Joulen did not answer right away. He seemed uncertain.

“He wouldn’t want a war,” Joulen stated finally.