Storm and Steel (22 page)

The group quickly surrounded his unit. Corporal Idris, who had been the last one still sitting, stood up and walked over to the arrivals. “What's all this?” he asked in his usual gruff tone.

The man Ismail had seen before pointed at the low, leaf-covered shelters the unit had made for sleeping. “We've come to get that gold you got hidden. Ramagesh says it belongs to the cause now.”

“Ramagesh says, eh?” Corporal Idris leaned over and spat at the man's feet. “Well, Ramagesh don't command this unit, and our captain ain't here. So you boys just move along.”

Ramagesh's man moved so fast Ismail didn't see it coming. One moment the corporal was standing up, looking ominous, and the next he was down on his back clutching his face.

“Get the gold!” the man shouted.

The rest of Emanon's band poured out of their tents and lean-tos, including Mahir's scouts with their bows in hand. Ismail spotted Seng moving through the trees like a flitting ghost. Sergeant Partha finally arrived with the other squad leaders, all them looking ready for a fight, but they were still heavily outnumbered. Ismail glanced over at the mercenaries' camp. A few of them were looking over, but none seemed inclined to lend a hand.

The sergeants started arguing with Ramagesh's men, but they were getting shoved around pretty badly. Some of the new arrivals started tossing the shelters, one by one.

Hell, no. I didn't pull that gold halfway across the swamp just to see someone else walk away with it.

Ismail stood up. “Stay the fuck back!”

Heads turned in his direction. Ismail strode forward, swinging his stick back and forth. He didn't know where this newfound courage was coming
from, but he decided not to question it. He remembered too late that he wasn't wearing his sword. “No one is taking anything from us. Not Ramagesh. Not hoary old Endu himself! And if any of you motherless sons of goats tries, there's going to be blood spilled!”

The leader of the new arrivals pushed through the crowd toward him. “Is that so? Maybe we'll start with you then.”

Ismail started to have second thoughts, but he didn't want to appear craven in front of everyone, so he continued to bluster. “Damned right you will.”

He was trying to work out how he was going to fight off the entire group with just a shaved stick and a knife when an arrow struck a tree less than a pace away from the leader's head, causing him to halt in his tracks like a startled deer. Ismail felt his own heart lurch as he peeked over his shoulder and saw the mercs all looking his way. One of them lowered his bow with a nasty grin.

“You all stay out of this!” the leader called over to them. “This don't concern outsiders.”

Captain Ovar strode out of the mercs' camp as casually as if he were taking an evening promenade. Tall and lean with big shoulders—what the veterans called
rangy
—he had a dark bronze complexion worn and weathered by years in his profession. “Ah, but it does,” he said in an accented Akeshian. “That's our pay chest you're trying to lift, boy. And that don't sit right with us.”

Ramagesh's men began to look uncomfortable with the odds as they sized up the mercenary crew. Their leader glowered, his lips pressed into a tight frown. “You'll regret this when the commander gets back.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Captain Ovar said. “But until then, make yourself scarce.”

Feeling silly standing between the men with a stick in his hand, Ismail went back to the fallen log where he'd been sitting. “I've seen a lot of stupid things in my life,” Captain Ovar said as he came over. “But that might have been the stupidest.”

Ismail shrugged as he sat down. He considered the stick and decided perhaps he could whittle it down into something useful, like a spoon. “I just don't like seeing people take things that aren't theirs.”

“A keen sense of justice, is that it? Well, I hope you show better sense in the future. There's no place in this world for idealists.”

Ain't that the truth.

As the mercenary captain went back to his own camp, Ismail got to work on his spoon. Or maybe fork.
Yeah. Definitely a fork.

Ramagesh's men didn't go all the way back to the center of the encampment. Their leader positioned the bulk of his men close enough to keep watch over Captain Emanon's unit. They found places to sit among the swamp's hillocks, and both sides settled down into what looked to become a very icy standoff.

Every so often Ismail glanced over at the arrow stuck in the tree.

There were times when being a freewoman had its benefits, Alyra thought as she passed from the city center, with its fine estates and temples, into the Garden Quarter. Freewomen could come and go as they pleased without worrying about whether their absence would be noticed by a prying owner. However, freewomen in Akeshia were almost always noticed, especially when they were alone, whereas a slave could blend into her surroundings.

She crossed the stone bridge over an artificial canal where the clay streets gave way to smooth cobbles made from river stones. Shade trees lined the boulevards here, blocking out the wan moonlight to create shadowy tunnels. This part of the city was home to older noble houses. Tall walls surrounded the palaces with their soaring minarets and marble domes. Lights occasionally moved behind the walls as armed guards walked the grounds.

Her destination was in the oldest section of the neighborhood at the end of a winding avenue. Ancient cypresses loomed beyond the estate's stone walls, covered in patches of gray and white lichens. The heavy bronze gates, wide enough to admit two carriages side by side, were black with age. The estate belonged to a former general. Lord Qaphanum et'Porranu. Alyra had done a little digging on him. Although he had retired from his official post not long
after Byleth assumed the throne, the lord-general still maintained many of his political ties, including a personal connection to the Order of the Crimson Flame. Two of his nephews were members of the Order, both stationed in other cities. The more she'd learned about him, the more Alyra suspected Cipher was right. This was precisely the sort of man who would support a coup. Now, if she could just find the evidence.

She wasn't sure what game the network was playing here. She doubted the Nemedians wanted to aid Byleth—the fall of a major city-state could kick off a civil war that might conceivably expand to embroil the entire empire. That seemed like the best possible outcome for the spy ring. So what were they going to do with the information? It troubled her that she couldn't see their plan.

Looking around to be sure she wasn't being watched, Alyra ran to the north end of the wall and dipped around the corner. Back off the road, the walled estate was enclosed with private woods.

Moving among the trees, she approached the side gate where she was supposed to meet her contact. Alyra breathed easier when a small light gleamed through the bars. She darted toward it, her heart beating hard in her throat. “Katara?” she whispered.

She said it so fast she wasn't sure the other had heard her until the reply came back. “Yes.”

The woman inside opened the gate with a slight squeak of rubbing metal. She held a lamp in one hand and a key in the other. She was tall, easily a hand taller than Alyra. Her willowy frame was wrapped in a long shawl that hung down to her knees. Under the shawl, Alyra could see a fine gown of undyed linen and an iron collar. Narrower than most collars and tightly fit around the woman's slender neck, it reminded Alyra of the golden one she had worn for years. She ducked inside the gate. “Sorry I'm late. It couldn't be helped.”

If her tone was brusque, Katara did not comment on it. “Come. The slaves' entrance is this way.”

The estate's main house sprawled across an acre of ground with many wings. The central portion reached up four stories including a pointed roof surrounded by eight minarets built in an antique style. The stonework was
exquisite, even in the dark. Tall rows of hedges divided an intricate series of gardens. Like many homes of the wealthy, the manor had several entrances. The one for slaves was a small door hidden between two flowering bushes that rose almost of the height of the roof.

The door led into a small kitchen. From there, Alyra followed Katara down a narrow hallway of plain, unadorned plaster. The hallway branched out in several directions, all of the passages unlit.

Katara handed Alyra the lamp. The wick shook in the oil reservoir as it changed hands. “The master's study is the last door.” She pointed down a hall leading to the south end of the manor. “It is not locked, but take care not to disturb anything. He notices when his private things are out of place.”

That will make searching for his secrets more difficult.

“I must be back to bed before the master wakes,” Katara said.

“Thank you. I know you're taking a risk.”

The woman looked down her nose. “I'm the mistress of a wealthy lord who treats me kindly, which is a far cry from the midden where I grew up. I owed a debt, and now that debt is paid. Tell them I will not betray my master again.”

Alyra was taken aback. Yet part of her understood what the woman was saying. “So you're happy?”

“I'm content, and that is enough. The luck of the Silver Lady be with you.”

Left alone, Alyra headed down the corridor. Colorful frescoes covered the walls with scenes of fine living—a family lounging beside a tranquil pool, two men practicing archery in a green meadow, an equestrian hunt. The ceiling was sky-blue.

Guided by the lamp's feeble light, she strained her ears for any sounds. According to her information, the manor's owner tended to retire early. Alyra hoped he remained true to that habit tonight.

She found the study where Katara had said it would be. The door was unlocked, which made things easier. As she lifted the brass latch, the door beside the study rattled. Alyra glanced back the way she had come, but there was nowhere to hide in the hallway. Holding her breath, she shoved open
the study door, darted inside, and closed it quickly. As the latch clicked, she pressed her ear to the wooden panels and listened. Too late, she realized the lamplight could probably be seen through the crack beneath the door. She felt for her knife but didn't draw it. She didn't want to have to use it on the owner of the house or his family. Fortunately, the person outside didn't seem to have spotted her, as footsteps sounded down the hallway away from the study.

Relieved, Alyra took a moment to look around. The room was large and square, about ten paces on a side. Heavy draperies covered the windows in the south wall, and a musty smell hung in the air. She expected a desk or table but instead saw only two chairs facing a hearth on the far side of the room. Three of the four walls were covered with wooden shelves from floor to ceiling.
This might take longer than I expected.

She started searching. Setting the lamp on the back of a chair, Alyra tried to determine if the shelves were filed with some kind of system. But, after finding things as varied as plans for the estate's landscaping kept alongside warehouses inventories, she wasn't sure the order was based on any logic at all. She was going through the papers as fast as she could when footsteps sounded outside the study again.

She rushed over to the lamp and shielded its light with her cupped hands. Waiting in the dark, she tried to decide what to do if she was discovered. Fight or flee? She hadn't checked the covered window, but it was possible she could get out that way before an alarm was raised. A faint sound met her ears, and for a moment she thought the person outside was lifting the door's latch. A burst of anxiety set her heart to pounding. Then the sound of another door opening came from the hallway outside, and a couple seconds later it closed again.

With perspiration breaking out under her arms, Alyra carried the lamp to the next row of niches. She went through the writings as quickly as possible, cursing under her breath as her exasperation grew. After nearly half an hour of looking, she found some interesting things. Among them were the last instructions to the local Order Chapter House. According to the document, which had no names attached, the captain-curate was ordered to stay and defend the house at all costs. The interesting part was a confirmation that Order reinforcements were imminent. If the occupants of the Chapter House
had survived until help arrived, Alyra wondered how that would have changed the balances of power in Erugash. How far would the queen have gone in her defiance of the Sun Cult?

She also found a copy of the captain-curate's final will. She skimmed through it but didn't see anything noteworthy. Clearly, the commander of the Chapter House had been prepared to meet his end. She put the document back in its place.

Tucked behind a roll of blank papyrus was a stack of letters between the lord-general and one of his nephews in Hirak. A quick perusal discovered nothing unusual. The text of the letters was uninteresting—mainly a dry accounting of the life of a temple priest—but there was something about them that raised her suspicions. They were
too
boring, as if the writers had wanted these letters to be passed off as meaningless by unwanted eyes. Thinking they might contain coded messages, she stuffed them into her bag.