Snare (76 page)

‘Then we kill-must him,’ Herbgather Woman said, ‘and all the H’mai who see-now us here.’

‘Kill-never!’ Water Woman turned on her rival and boomed.

At that Stronghunter Man swelled his throat sac and thrummed, a sound that Zayn felt rather than heard, a tremor like that of an earthquake. The Chur Vocho raised his spear and took one step forward. His men, Zayn among them, did the same. On the other
side of the meeting Herbgather Woman’s spear Chur thrummed and raised their spears, but they never moved. Zayn assumed that they could tally up five of them to the twenty on his side.

Before violence became more than a possibility, the Great Mother took charge, hissing the two rival Chiri Michi into silence. Stronghunter Man lowered his spear and took a step back; so did his men. Zayn realized that he was seeing in the Great Mother a person, a sapient, who understood how to rule. He had never thought it possible, never even thought that the ChaMeech, his hated ChaMeech, would have rulers and chains of command. He understood something else, as well, that his realizations, all this new information and insight, had made his long journey here, even the flogging back in Blosk, worthwhile.

At the end of the proceedings, Herbgather Woman rushed off as fast as she could gallop, and her spear Chur and servants fell into line behind her. At a more leisurely pace Water Woman gathered up her retinue and, with one last lowering of her head to the Great Mother, led them away. Zayn retrieved the three horses from the Chur servant who’d been guarding them and brought them over to Ammadin and Loy.

‘Goddamn!’ Loy said. ‘This has been wonderful! I can’t wait to get back to camp and my notebooks. I hope I don’t forget anything.’

‘Ask Zayn for help if you think you have,’ Ammadin said.

‘Oh, why not?’ Zayn said. ‘I might as well do what I was bred for, I guess.’

‘They bother you, your talents?’ Loy said. ‘I mean, I know about the way you were treated when you were a child, and that would bother anyone. But the talents themselves –’

‘Are something I never asked for and never had a chance to turn down. I don’t like thinking I’m just some kind of gadget.’

‘That’s too bad. I’d give my left arm to have your memory.’

That someone might envy his talents shocked Zayn into silence.

As soon as they returned to their camp, Ammadin and Loy hurried away from the general confusion in order to scan. Zayn tended the horses, then joined them. They were sitting cross-legged on the ground near the twisted trees, each frowning into crystals, or passing them back and forth while they talked in low whispers. Finally Ammadin looked up and saw him.

‘We’ve found Soutan, all right,’ she said. ‘He’s on the eastern side of the traps.’

‘And he’s turned north,’ Loy said. ‘Just like he knows where he’s going.’

Zayn braced himself for the logical next question: I wonder why he’s out here? Fortunately for him, the two women returned to their crystals without voicing it. You’ve got to tell Ammi, he reminded himself. And yet a traitor thought sounded in his mind: why? Maybe she’ll never have to know.

‘How long have we been here?’ Jezro said. ‘Is it really only four days?’

‘Yes,’ Warkannan said. ‘Feels like a lot longer.’

‘Feels is the right word.’ Jezro paused to scratch the back of his neck. ‘As scabby as a shit-stained beggar, that’s me. There’s got to be some kind of parasite living in this dirt.’

‘More than one kind, I’d say.’

Jezro groaned and slumped back against the rough woven wall of their prison. Through the window slits the afternoon sunlight streamed in, thick with dust, and fell upon their gear, thick with dirt. They’d been given enough water to drink but little more, and what extra they had went to keeping Jezro’s handkerchiefs clean enough to use. The soft dirt floor kicked up whenever they walked upon it. Dirt crusted their blankets whenever they sat on them. In the summer’s heat they’d been sweating, as well, and the food they’d been given was universally greasy. Their attempt to play chess had ended when the rushi pieces became too filthy to read. Warkannan had refused to touch his copy of the
Mirror.

‘Last night I dreamt about the bath houses in Haz Kazrak,’ Warkannan said. ‘The ones on the palace hill, but I’d settle for a swim in the harbour if I could get it.’

‘What really gripes me is that canal out back. I can look out at the water, I can smell it, and a fat lot of good it does us.’

‘What I wonder is how they get running water up here. The canal must carry run-off from the rains, but by now it should be dry.’

‘I’ll bet you vrans to breadmoss that the Settlers dug it, and there’s a pump somewhere underground.’

‘That makes sense, yes.’

The khan went back to scratching under his filthy collar. Warkannan walked over to the window slits near the door. He’d found that by grasping the rough sill and finding toe-holds in the
wall, he could climb up a few feet and steady himself for some minutes of watching the village beyond.

At this time of day, when the sun was just moving past zenith, the ChaMeech were normally out and about, going into each other’s huts, meeting out in the middle of the village, or fetching water in big, round jars, covered with scarlet saurskin, from the canal. Today more ChaMeech than usual had come out for what appeared to be some kind of meeting. The females stood out in the open space and waved their pseudo-arms. Their throat sacs inflated and deflated, and now and then Warkannan could hear some particularly high-voiced speaker, probably the little lavender female who had brought them here. The males, spears in hand, stood at the outside of the group and merely listened.

‘Something’s going on,’ Warkannan said. ‘We have quite a gathering.’

‘Yes?’ Jezro walked over to join him. ‘Maybe they’re having a banquet, and we’re on the menu.’

Warkannan said nothing. He was getting sick of Jezro’s culinary jokes.

‘I thought H’mai noses were supposed to stop noticing constant stinks after a while,’ Jezro went on. ‘Mine hasn’t.’

‘Well, it’s worse here near the door.’ Warkannan shifted his weight and inched up a little higher. ‘Huh. Now they’re all walking away, out of the village, I mean, and towards the road down from the tunnel.’

As they walked, the ChaMeech sorted themselves out: the largest females at the head, the largest males at the rear, but they all used their pseudo-hands to straighten their yellow kilts and skirts. Two males came hurrying around from behind their prison and broke into a trot to catch up.

‘Wait a minute,’ Warkannan said. ‘Some of our guards are joining the pack.’

‘Think they’ll keep away long enough for us to get out of here?’ Jezro said.

‘No, unfortunately. The two out front are staying at their posts. The whole damn village has settled down by the road. It looks to me like they’re waiting for something. Or somebody. I can see ChaMeech moving down the hill road.’

‘The guests of honour, no doubt. I wonder if they’ll stuff us with herbs first or just roast us whole?’

‘Will you shut up?’ Warkannan snarled. ‘Sir.’

Jezro laughed at much too high a pitch.

About a hundred yards away from the village, the ChaMeech formed two rough lines. At his distance it was hard to be certain, but Warkannan thought he could hear, and feel more than hear, the deep notes of ChaMeech shouting some sort of welcome. Dust clouds drifted down the road, kicked up by a lot of feet.

‘Someone’s coming, all right,’ Warkannan said. ‘Shaitan, she’s huge!’

Four males carrying spears marched at the head of the column, but right behind them, moving with a calm and even step, came an enormous ChaMeech, a deep royal blue in colour, draped in green cloths. At her approach the villagers raised their pseudo-arms high and began to chant – a high-pitched yodelling sound that Warkannan could hear clearly. Behind her came more males with spears, and following right behind came horses – H’mai on horseback, he realized – three riders and a pack horse, with yet more ChaMeech bringing up the rear.

‘It’s Hassan,’ Warkannan said. ‘Zayn and two women.’

‘Two?’ Jezro said. ‘Greedy bastard! Are they prisoners?’

‘I can’t tell.’

Their guards, who had been standing near the hut door, suddenly boomed and took a few steps forward. From the crowd in the village someone must have answered, because the guards went trotting off to join the welcoming committee.

‘The guards are gone,’ Warkannan said, and he let himself drop back to the floor. ‘And they never lock the door.’

Jezro strode over to the door and pushed it open. ‘Right you are. We can get some fresh air at least.’

Outside the air smelled no cleaner, thanks to the proximity of the village, but it was, at least, different air, stirred by a warm summer wind. Warkannan and Jezro walked a few yards away from the hut, then stopped to watch as the procession filed into the village. The enormous blue female swung her head from side to side as she walked, apparently looking over the territory, because in the central round of the village, she stopped and raised a pseudo-hand to signal her followers to do the same. Other females hurried up to flock around her. The contingent of green-kilted spear males spread out around the perimeter of the village to secure it.

‘So much for our chance at escaping,’ Warkannan said.

‘We wouldn’t have got far on foot anyway,’ Jezro said. ‘Besides, with Hassan come to rescue us, escaping would have been rude.’

The H’mai had dismounted and were leading their horses up to the enormous blue female. Warkannan watched the two women, one tall and blonde, obviously a comnee woman from her clothing, and the other short and dark, wearing khakis like a Canton soldier. The comnee woman gave a shout and pointed at the two Kazraks. Warkannan noticed that she was carrying a pair of red and white saddlebags over one shoulder – the spirit rider, most likely. Zayn shouted in answer, tossed her the reins to his horse, and came running, grinning like a maniac. A pair of blue-kilted ChaMeech males lumbered after him, but they held their spears carelessly, point down.

‘Well, Hassan.’ Jezro glanced at Zayn’s escort and spoke in Hirl-Onglay. ‘Good to see you and all that, but what in hell is going on?’

‘You ordered me to bring help, sir.’ Zayn snapped off a salute. ‘Here it is.’

‘Very good, Captain.’ Jezro returned it. ‘But who is that? The blue female, I mean.’

‘The Great Mother, sir. The Great Mother herself.’

The servants were swarming around her, the other females lowered their necks before her, while the males kept a respectful distance.

‘It’s true, then?’ Jezro said. ‘The ChaMeech have a female ruler?’

‘They do, sir, yes.’ Zayn glanced at Warkannan. ‘It’s a shock, isn’t it?’

‘Yes and no,’ Warkannan said. ‘If I’d never served on the border I’d be shocked, but not after getting to know the comnees.’

Apparently the two males with spears found this opinion amusing. They each stamped a foreleg, then inflated their throat sacs and thrummed.

‘I’ve got to talk fast,’ Zayn said in Kazraki. ‘When she asks you if you’re going back home, your life depends on saying yes.’

The nearest ChaMeech male swung his head around and glared over the obsidian blades on his spear.

‘Sorry,’ Zayn said in Hirl-Onglay. ‘Allow me to introduce you. Jezro Khan, this is Stronghunter Man. Stronghunter Man, Jezro Khan and Captain Warkannan.’

When the ChaMeech held out a pseudo-hand, Jezro shook it solemnly. Warkannan followed his lead. Since the ChaMeech’s finger and thumb were, after all, a good deal cleaner than his own, he saw no reason to give himself airs. Stronghunter Man swung his head around to look back over his shoulder, then inflated his throat sac and boomed. One of the female ChaMeech near the Great Mother answered with a booming sound of her own. The other ChaMeech were milling around and trotting back and forth in their usual chaotic way. The H’mai women were standing off to one side. A young ChaMeech had taken their horses and was keeping them clear of the confusion.

‘The short woman? That’s Loy Millou,’ Zayn said. ‘I was right. She did go with Ammi.’ He smiled, a bare twitch of his mouth. ‘And that’s Ammi with her. I mean, Ammadin, the spirit rider from my comnee.’

‘I see.’ Warkannan could indeed see a number of things, all of a sudden, just from Zayn’s smile and the way he coupled it with the family usage of her name.

‘Hassan, what should we do now?’ Jezro said. ‘The last thing I want to do is insult the powers that be.’

Stronghunter Man tapped the khan on the shoulder, then pointed towards the gathering.

‘We need to join them,’ Zayn said. ‘The Great Mother wants to talk with you.’

‘I’m honoured,’ Jezro said, ‘but can we wash off some of this muck first?’

Stronghunter Man looked them over, then rumbled a barely audible ‘yes’.

‘How come you can understand everything we say,’ Jezro said, ‘but you only speak a few words of our languages?’

Stronghunter Man stamped a forefoot. ‘Hurts.’ He laid a pseudo-hand on his long throat just above the sac. ‘Squeaky high talk hurts.’ He turned and gestured to the other blue-kilted males. Four came trotting over at the summons.

‘They’ll keep you safe,’ Zayn said in Hirl-Onglay. ‘Don’t trust anyone wearing yellow. That’s the faction that wants to kill you.’

‘I see,’ Warkannan said. ‘It’s a bit premature, then, to assume we’ve been rescued.’

‘A perfect Idres remark,’ Jezro said, grinning. ‘Now let’s go. I want to get clean. Or wait. Hassan, do you have any news of Soutan?’

‘Yes sir. He’s not far away, and he knows where Sibyl is.’ Zayn turned to Warkannan. ‘Ammadin’s seen your nephew a couple of times in her crystals. He looks healthy, if not exactly safe at the moment.’

‘Ah.’ Warkannan managed to keep his voice steady. ‘Glad to hear it.’

‘Ammi can tell you more. I’d better get back to the others. Water Woman needs to know what you’re doing.’

As he walked back to the village, Zayn was arguing with himself. He should tell Ammi about his broken Bane. He should keep his mouth shut and hope she never found out. He’d promised her that he’d never lie to her again, and while simply avoiding any mention of his transgression might not count as actual lying in a court of law, in the court of his own conscience he knew himself convicted. Seeing Jezro Khan had reminded him, somehow, that he had a conscience. For that matter, what if Jezro or Idres casually mentioned the truth? In his mind he could imagine Ammadin’s face, stricken with profound disappointment. The image helped him find the courage to confront her.