River Secrets (12 page)
Four days after the death of the dog, Razo paced outside the barracks. He had not returned to the pastry kitchen and had so far avoided Pela, though lately everything he ate tasted a little off. He hoped it was just his imagination. Now Thousand Years was abuzz with the gossip that two of Ledel’s men had deserted after the last feast day. According to Ledel, the men had been enamored of a group called Manifest Tira. With new blood in their ranks, Razo suspected Manifest Tira would creep out and bite soon.
He should try to chase them down. But how? Were they the burners? Was Dasha involved? And how could he find out without hanging around her and confirming to Enna and Finn that he really was infatuated? The problem became harder and crunchier the longer he chewed, and he feared he might crack a tooth on it.
“Hello!”
Startled, Razo took two steps back, his heels hit a stone, and he fell on his backside. Dasha stood over him, as pleased as if she were looking at a litter of bunnies.
“I scared you! I never scare anyone.”
“No?” Razo hopped back up and adopted a posture that said he was completely unruffled, never had been, and in fact was ready to do something manly like lift boulders or swallow live worms. “You frighten me regularly.”
“Would you say I’m terrifying?” She lifted one eyebrow.
“Alarming, at the very least.”
“Oh, good.” She hooked her arm through his and began to walk, easily knocking his composure off its feet, until he noticed that her shoulder was touching the top of his arm and he could see the part in her hair. He was taller than Dasha. His gait turned into a swagger.
“And where’re we going?”
“The assembly. They asked for Lady Megina today, and you’re the first Bayern I came across.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know, but when the chief of assembly calls, you don’t dawdle.”
It was past midday when all the Bayern gathered, entered carriages, and made the slow, bouncy ride into the heart. The scene around the assembly was calm and quick in the supple heat of early autumn, the sky a bottomless blue. The ambassador promenaded across the plaza, smiling and waving. Razo felt raw and exposed, missing the protection of the prince.
The door guard outside the assembly collected swords, daggers, and slings. A Tiran man pushed his way in front of Dasha. He was perhaps twenty years old, with hair cut short, his robes sharply white. Razo took him for some assembly member’s aide who had taken too long on an errand. When the door guard asked for his weapon, the man held up his arms to show that he wore no sword. There appeared to be something darker than his white robes at his waist beneath his lummas, but Razo decided it was just a fold in the fabric.
Talone ordered Enna to stay with half of Bayern’s Own outside. He did not trust the assembly door guard to keep back any armed fanatics who might try to come in after the ambassador. Finn, Razo, and the Own’s best grapplers, including Conrad, accompanied the captain inside.
The walls of the assembly were curved, high windows piercing the white stone dome. The sixty assemblymen and -women in white robes and scarlet sashes sat on rows of steps that wrapped around the chamber. When the door minister announced Megina, the current debate paused. All faces turned to see the Bayern, then outcries arose like birds startled from a wheat field.
“Something’s not right,” said Talone, reaching for the sword that was not there.
The chief of assembly stood in the speaking circle at the lowest point of the room. “Quiet, please. Lady Megina, why have you come?”
“Lady Dasha gave me a message, saying you requested my presence.”
“I am here, honored chief,” said Dasha, stepping forward. “The message came from your aide, Tophin, just after the third bell.”
“I apologize, Ambassador, for your inconvenience,” said the chief of assembly, “but I sent no message.”
“How odd. But as I am here, may I take this opportunity to address the assembly?”
The chief stepped aside, offering the circle.
“Lady Megina, we should go,” Talone said in a low warning.
“We have less than two weeks before they vote,” Megina whispered. “I can’t pass up this chance.” She began to descend the wide, shallow steps.
No sooner was she beyond Talone’s reach than two men rushed forward, coming between the ambassador and her guards. One shoved Talone, knocking him back against the steps. Razo reached for the man, his fingers just grazing his tunic. The other man had already gained the circle, and he pulled a short dagger from his side, seizing Megina around her waist.
Talone hollered, and the Bayern leaped forward. The first thug pulled his dagger and shook it at them.
“Stay back! We will speak, and you will hear us or she dies.”
It was the young man who had pushed through the line. Razo cursed his own stupidity. The assassination of an ambassador was something even those Bayern eager for peace would not be able to ignore.
“This assembly is disgraced by harboring enemy spies and kissing our brothers’ murderers,” said the first villain.
They were walking Megina up a set of stairs, apparently seeking a wall at their backs. Razo scanned the chamber. When the ambassador and her captors reached the top, they would be directly below a ledge. Razo started toward it till he glimpsed Talone with Conrad and another grappler, climbing a pillar. Razo stayed back, thinking he would only get in their way.
“We will be heard! We will not allow Tira to fall in with thieves—” One of the men’s sandals squeaked on a marble stair that was suddenly wet. He slipped, regained his feet, and slipped again. Razo wondered how that particular stone came to be wet but thought it awfully lucky. The slip bought Talone a little more time. Razo peeked toward Talone, gauging the progress in their climb, and caught a glimpse of Dasha. Her face was intense, almost pained.
“The vile enemy …,” the villain screeched. “Our murderers are not our neighbors. …”
His voice was building, higher and louder, as though he would come to some climax, and soon. Talone was still out of sight. Razo did not think Megina could wait.
The door guard had taken his sword, his javelin, his bag of stones, and his short sling from his side, but his long-distance sling still cinched his waist like a belt. An elderly assemblyman beside him was clutching a cane topped with a wooden ball as big as a fist.
“Excuse me,” said Razo, snatching the cane. He broke it over his knee.
The assassin was canting in a voice rubbed raw, building in pitch, coming to the end. “We make this sacrifice…”
The sling felt cumbersome with the cane knob in its leather pouch, the target too close for a distance sling. His hands shaking, he wrapped a length of the sling around his wrist to shorten it. The villain was angling the dagger to Megina’s throat. Razo swung once and released.
The knob hit the assassin on the cheek. He screamed, let go of Megina, and fell over, his hands cradling his face. The second villain’s dagger did not have time to fall. Talone dropped from the ledge onto the man’s back, shoving him to the ground. Conrad followed, wrestling the dagger from Talone’s man, the other grappler securing the wounded man. Finn rushed forward, putting Megina behind him.
“And on the very steps of our assembly chamber…,” whispered the old man.
The Bayern were quiet as they rode back to Thousand Years.
Razo watched Dasha, and she watched the carriage window. The assembly guards were hunting Tophin, the chief’s aide, who had disappeared. Razo wondered if his body would show up burned.
Lord Belvan and Talone led the bound, would-be assassins to the bowels of the palace for questioning, where the only light seeped from oily torches dripping smoke. Razo was at their heels. He needed to hear those men admit to the burnings.
At the door of the dark, stale chamber, Talone put a hand on Razo’s chest.
“I’ll help,” said Razo.
“No, son, I’ll do this myself.”
Talone shut the door.
Razo found Talone two days later sitting on his bunk at the barracks, his forehead resting on his fist.
“Are you grayer than you were?” asked Razo, rubbing his own temples.
Talone smiled grimly, and Razo decided he would rather not know what had happened in that cell.
“I do not believe that they’re the burners.”
“Ah, Captain, don’t tell me that. They’ve got to be!”
Talone shook his head. “I don’t think so. They belong to that Manifest Tira group. One was former military and from a moderately wealthy family, the other a poor boy who felt cheated when the quick end to the war stole his chance to fight. Their confidence was frightening—they believe all of Tira will hail them as heroes for even attempting to kill the ambassador. They hate Bayern, no doubt, but a bungled assassination of the ambassador in the midst of the assembly is juvenile, desperate, clumsy. The burner is following a much more sophisticated plan.”
“Aimed at the same results—a repeat of the war.”
“Perhaps.” Talone’s voice was too tired to have emotion. “Manifest Tira claims that Tira is destined to inherit any nation that touches its borders, and war is the sacred means to claim that destiny. They are brash, fearless, like the soldier who flung himself into the Bayern barracks just to kill as many as he could before being killed himself. But the burner is shrouded, slow, and secretive, and seemingly murdering fellow Tiran just to incite hatred of Bayern. That’s a different kind of evil. Smells like revenge to me, vengeance for a deep, ugly wound.
“This does not bode well for Megina, or any of us,” said Talone, rubbing his eyes. “The burner attacks from the shadows, secretive, calculating. But Manifest Tira…”
“People know them,” said Razo. “They’re cousins and neighbors, and they’re out in the market saying vile things about Bayern. They couldn’t be a secret if the people of Ingridan didn’t choose to protect them.”
Talone nodded, his eyes closed. “Those two would not give up the names of their cohorts, but one did reveal the location of their meetings. Belvan’s men will have cleared out any lingering members of Manifest Tira by now. Even if they’re not the burners, they’re still a threat to our mission. I want you to take a look.”
Talone gave him directions to a warehouse on the western edge of the city and was half-asleep when he told him to be careful. Razo clicked the door shut under the sound of a snore.
He wore plain Tiran garb, the only bits that had as yet escaped the dye pots. The sky was vague with clouds still disputing the question of rain, but Razo shaded his head with his lummas and hoped no one would wonder why. He hopped in the back of a penny wagon through the heart, then made his way on foot past the pungent luxury of the spice market and the sour, stifled air of the slaughter district.
Sometimes his sandals flapped on the stones, echoing in alleyways, invoking the sound of someone following. Razo earned an ache in his neck from looking back so often. He was negotiating a fringe area of the city—weeds cracked through the cobblestones and tough green moss crawled under shadows, hinting that not all in Ingridan was scrubbed clean.
He thought he was lost and used that excuse to run, shake off the feeling of being followed. He scampered over four or five streets before discovering the Rosewater, the river that formed the city’s western border. It was thick with rubbish this far south, and the blue-tiled sides did little to brighten the waters. An occasional boat slid past, but all business was halted for the feast of cedar fires, and the day was as slow and sluggish as the clouds.
A couple of Belvan’s men milled outside the warehouse and gave Razo a nod of permission to enter. It was a one-story, thin structure and smelled like sodden wood, cheap and sad. The floor was littered with grubby straw, a few empty crates the only remnants of business before the warehouse became the meeting place of angry politics. Nothing looked burned. Razo pocketed a few scraps of paper and besides that found only a copper ring, cut straight and stamped with a ram’s head. It fit his left middle finger, so he slipped it on for safekeeping, recalling one like it on the man who killed Veran. And now that he thought of it, he believed those two assassins also wore—
“Psst.”
Razo had not expected to hear someone from behind. He held still, the hairs on his neck rising to listen. His left hand was up, the ring visible.
“Psst, there are guards out front. Where is—”
The voice cut short, perhaps doubting for the first time whom he was talking to. Razo turned, met eyes with a man of thirty, hair shorn, a copper ring on his left hand. When he saw Razo’s face, he pulled a knife from his belt and charged.
Razo lowered his shoulder and rammed into the man’s gut, forcing him to stumble back and giving Razo time to draw his sword.
“Hel—” Razo began to holler, but the man was upon him again, slicing the air with his dagger. Razo thrust with his sword; the man dodged, grabbed Razo’s sword arm, and slashed his skin.
Razo exclaimed and dropped his sword at the slicing pain, but he managed to grab the man’s arm, gripping fiercely until his arms shook with the effort of keeping that dagger one thumb away from his belly. He stepped back into his foe and bit down hard. He tasted blood before the man dropped his dagger. Razo elbowed behind him and heard a grunt but soon had two arms around his neck. He was brought down, unable to breathe.
He thrashed, he screamed, dry and silent. Through a crack in the door, he could see the back of one of Lord Belvan’s men, casually standing guard. Tiny black dots played across his vision. Panic clawed at him, bony fingers pulling him down.
If you’re going to win one blasted wrestle in your life,
he thought,
this should be the one.
Razo relaxed his whole body and closed his eyes so he would not have to see the going-black that meant he had no air. Then, pulling all his strength together, he whipped his head back. There was a crunch, and Razo laughed breathlessly that he was the one breaking noses for once.
Intoxicated by the air in his lungs, he leaped to his feet and stormed into the man. They locked arms. The man tried to trip him with a leg behind Razo’s knee—an old trick. Razo managed to stay on his feet by crouching down, then shoved his head up into the man’s chin. The man’s jaw snapped shut. As he fell back, he kicked Razo in the gut. They both hit earth, Razo gagging at the pain in his belly, rasping for breath to call for help. The man was crawling for his dagger. Razo lurched forward, throwing himself on the man’s back, scrabbling to keep his foe from reaching the weapon.
“In here,” said Razo, his voice chafing. He gulped for more air. “In here!”
Belvan’s men peeked through the door, then ran in when they saw. The soldiers seized the attacker by his arms, allowing Razo to roll off his back onto the floor, slump against a crate, and breathe. Slowly, the black dots swam away.
“Another one?” asked one of Belvan’s men.
“Climbed in a window, I guess,” said Razo. “I thought I’d bought it, but I bested him in the end. Me, Razo, grappled down a bigger foe. Don’t keep this one a secret, fellows.”
The soldier sniffed. “And what should we do with him?”
“Uh, take him back to Captain Talone and Lord Belvan, would you? I’m going to keep poking around.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Razo twisted his forearm, trying to get a good look. “That fellow had teeth, sure enough.” The cut was not deep but might leave a striking scar. He tore a strip of his lummas cloth and wrapped the arm.
For some time after the soldiers and their prisoner left, Razo stayed put, his eyes half-closed. His solitude fastened around him.
Something rasped. Something else squeaked. Razo snatched up his sword, holding the weapon before him as he scoured the warehouse.
“Anybody home?” he called out, swinging at every mouse scratch or board creak. “I’m so lonely,” he said in mock-timid tones to make himself laugh, but he glanced at the door once or twice, wishing he’d thought to ask one of Belvan’s men to stick around.
He was sorting through the detritus of broken crates when movement outside made him look up. Fifty paces off, on the bank of the river, stood Tumas.
Razo dropped down, breathing so loudly that he was put to mind of his brother Jef snoring. His calves began to tremble from crouching, and he knew if Tumas found him here, far from watchful eyes, he’d break bones bigger than his nose. The waiting made him ache with impatience. After a time, he gave up thoughts of self-preservation as boring and scuttled to the doorway. No one there.
Calling himself a fine spy to hide instead of hunt, he ran toward the river, looking down every alley, glancing at every window. Near the place where he had first spotted Tumas, a narrow stairway tumbled into the water, joining a small dock. Had he rowed away?
Razo kept a careful three-pace distance from the edge while he walked, scanning the water, not watching where he stepped. His boot stuck something yielding.
The smell of burned bodies was becoming uncomfortably familiar to him now, a foul mix of baked meat, garbage fire smoke, and weakly built privies. He could taste the smell, and he spat over the side of the river.
The face was burned to black indistinction, the body nearly as brittle as charcoal. No jewelry, no indication of who the poor fellow was. In a second-story warehouse, Razo thought he saw the pale sheen of a face staring out, but when he looked, no one was there. He had to get rid of this in a hurry, before someone discovered a Bayern and a burned body together. With his feet, he rolled the corpse toward the water and sent it hurtling into the river below.
“Sleep well,” he whispered. He hated the burner for forcing him to bury another person like that, with no family knowing where their child or sibling had gone to, with no mention of great deeds and loving friends, the body not embraced by earth but tumbling into the unsteady sea.
The squeak of a sandal brought Razo up. There she was, Dasha, standing so close that he was startled by her blue eyes when everything else was so dull—a leaden river under the sunless sky, a smudge of ash on gray stones. He took a step back from those eyes.
“Razo,” she said.
There was something tight in her voice, and he wondered if she would admit it all. Just then, he could not bear to hear.
“It was you.” He backed away from the thought and, like a fool, moved closer to the river. His heel bumped a stone, he stumbled, and then came the astonishing sensation of falling.