The Last Hour of Gann (140 page)

He would have liked to ask her, but he was afraid of starting a fight. Not because of her moods, but because of his. To say truth, he couldn’t even claim to know just what her moods were, his own were so demanding.
Gann’s corruption emanated from the slaves like smoke—invisible, odorless, but choking in his throat whenever he was among them. He kept his distance as much as he could, patrolling while the women rested, but as soon as he was among them, the fires began to burn in his belly and the blackness came creeping in at his mind. And Amber was always there trying to talk to him, touch him, come and sit beside him, unaware that it was Gann’s animal lust that lived in him now, Gann’s honeyed words that whispered in his ear to take her, revel in her,
rut
with her.

When Amber tried to lie down with him at night, he got up and
left. When he had to speak to her, he did it facing away, feeling her wounded eyes on his back like live coals. She was hurting and he did not dare embrace her. He could hear her crying softly at night, but the creeping blackness that took his words would not let him explain. She needed comfort, but until he was away from these women and cleansed of Gann’s taint, he could not give it.

So Meoraq went back to Praxas for the very simple reason that he wanted to be rid of the slaves as soon as possible. The little time he’d spent in that city (not even the city, but
at most ten paces down its Southgate tunnel) had given him the impression of an evil place, largely inhabited by men he was ashamed to call brothers under the Blade, but that wasn’t his problem. His entire intent had been to find and reclaim his wife. He had surrendered to Amber’s insistence that the raiders’ slaves had also been set in his path to be rescued solely because there wasn’t time to argue with her. Perhaps it had been Sheul’s will and so perhaps the slaves could be redeemed and brought back into the light of His lamp, but that was for the priests of Praxas to decide. Meoraq’s interests began and ended with Amber.

A
t first light following the funeral for the…for Nali, Meoraq started them moving. It took too long, owing to the weakened and generally useless condition of the slaves, time which Meoraq spent as far away from them as possible while still keeping them in the shadow of his protection. With Sheul’s guidance, they reached their destination in four days and broke free of the woods surrounding the city close to dusk.

Again, he met no sentries, but this time, it was not for lack of them. He saw
one almost immediately after leaving the treeline, but rather than come forward and challenge his party, or at least hide until he had reinforcements enough to make that seem like a good idea, the sentry took off at a run.

Well, all right. Not a commendable act, but perhaps an understandable one. Praxas had sent away a single man and now came eight figures. The obvious conclusion?
A raiding party, coming to find out who they had to thank for the visit from a Sheulek.

B
efore long, the braziers were lit on the wall. In the growing dark, this sign of alarm only illuminated how much of the wall had been too heavily damaged to allow access to a brazier. Meoraq was not intimidated, but he was careful to begin hails at the soonest opportunity and to persist even when he was not answered. Their silence disturbed him far more than the lit braziers, yet they must have recognized him. No one fired upon them anyway, although he could see figures moving on the roof and behind the sealed gate. The Word forbade the use of all weapons which delivered death ‘not requiring the blow of a man’s hand,’ as the Prophet had written, but priests had ruled long ago that a man’s hand could deliver blows in a number of lawful ways—the cut of a sword, the throw of a spear…the tipping of a barrel. In defense of their cities, warriors of the walls kept flammable oils and acids or other volatile substances, not to mention hot coals in the braziers themselves, to repel attack. A city like Praxas, which commerced with raiders, might have anything…but they let him come.

He continued to hail and they continued to ignore him. A body’s length from the gate, Meoraq halted his herd of women and went the last few steps alone.
He would be calm. Threading his arms through the bars, Meoraq clasped his hands and leaned on the gate which Praxas boldly shut against him. He looked at each man who had perhaps come to fight him off. The only one who held his stare was Onahi.

“I have not released this city,” Meoraq said
at length.

Onahi
raised his spines slightly in acknowledgement. He did not answer.

“Praxas stands in the shadow of Uyane,” Meoraq said. “Open to me.”

“I am barracks-ward here, sir,” Onahi told him. “I no longer hold a key.”

Barracks…ward? Meoraq had never seen that title held by a boy older than sixteen. “What is happening here?” he asked
bluntly.

“They’ve gone to fetch the governor. It won’t be lo
ng. He’s been boarding here since you left us, sir. I turn his sheets,” Onahi added caustically. He glanced behind his shoulder and stepped aside as Warden Myselo lumbered into sight.

“Open this gate,” ordered Meoraq in what he felt was an admirably patient voice.

Warden Myselo drew himself up importantly and raised a hand in salute, not to Meoraq, but to one of the two men coming up the tunnel behind him. “Governor Rsstha Tolmar of House Rsstha, a son of Lonagra, who was son of—”

“I’ve never heard of you,” interrupted Meoraq, and knew at once which was Rsstha by the flattening of his spines.

“—a son of Posh’ar, who—”

“I am Uyane Meoraq,” said Meoraq, lowering his own spin
es with deliberate insolence. “Son of Uyane Rasozul, steward of House Uyane which is champion to the city of Xeqor in Yroq. Have you heard of me?”

“—who is Praxas in the sight of Sheul,” Myselo f
inished, flustered.

Governor Rsstha gave the warden a tap of release that did not quite reach the man’s actual shoulder. “I have,” he said. His voice was ridiculously deep and full coming from such a reedy, workless body. “Praxas welcomes you, Sheulek.”

Meoraq leaned back to run his gaze over the bars of the gate. “Such is Praxas’ welcome, eh?”

“We are happy to make provision for you on your journey. House Rsstha it
self shall board you for however long you desire to rest within my walls, but before I open to your conquest, I will hear your intentions.”

How easy it would be to argue.
Meoraq had never once been given so audacious an order in all his years of service and he thought no tribunal in the world would so much as call him for query if he cut Rsstha down for making it. He yearned to say this aloud…

Ah, but even valid arguments turned easily to insults, which had a way of building to a surge of temper when Meoraq was tired
, even when he hadn’t been four days keeping a herd of unwanted women ahead of the murderous raiders who may be in pursuit. So instead of parrying the governor’s demand, Meoraq simply said, “I do not intend to stay. I will speak with the high judge here. Afterwards, I have a short list of needs for your provisioner and as soon as they are met, I will release your city and go. Open the gate.”

“You will go,” the governor repeated. “You and your…party?”

Meoraq’s temper, none too secure already, slipped. “Take the sneer out of your tone when you speak of them,” he said, and Myselo took a broad step back, bumping into his watchmen. “These women come from this city,
your
city, and it was here just days ago that their own fathers conspired to place them in Gann’s hands for coin.”

“You have proof of this accusation?”

His temper slipped again. “I am proof!” he snapped. “Are you involved in this commerce?”

“Certainly not!” The governor’s
indignation did not appear to be feigned. “Neither have I any reason to question the judgments executed at my tribunals! These women were exiled according to the laws we are all sworn before God to uphold!”

“These women were not exiled, they were
sold
! That crime is unforgiveable and will be rooted out at its source and if those roots go as deep as the Governor’s Seat, so be it!” Meoraq bared his samr and stabbed it suddenly through the bars, restraining himself with less than a finger’s breadth between his blade and Rsstha’s neck. “Open this gate or here do I swear in the sight of Sheul that I will come through it.”

The governor hissed at Myselo and retreated to an
ignoble distance with his aide. The nervous jangling of the warden’s keys could not quite cover the sound of their voices, but Meoraq did not care enough to listen. He returned to his herd with an itch under his scales and paced among them, coming to stand at last beside his wife. Predictably, the women shrank away, leaving a wide space around him.

And Amber.

Activity at the gate ceased. Rsstha came a few steps forward, staring, then retreated again. More hissing.

Warden Myselo opened the gate and raised a salute. “Honored one, the governor wishes to speak.”

“Is everything okay?” Amber whispered.

He glanced at her, wondering blackly how close he’d come to being able to just do what he’d come to do and walk away. He shouldn’t have pulled a
sword on the governor. A Sheulek was supposed to be the master of his emotions at all times and this was probably why. Fuck.

“Stay here,” he said and went to see what the piss-licker wanted.

“The barracks-ward here will take your list of needs to be filled,” Rsstha said with a wave at Onahi. “And to arrange your meeting with the high judge. Until that matter is settled, I must insist the women be confined under arms. Regardless of the sins of their fathers, they still stand convicted of criminal acts and have by your own acknowledgement been exposed to further corruption in the grip of Gann.”

“Insist
,” Meoraq said. His hand flexed on the hilt of his samr. “Go on.”

“The human.” Rsstha tucked his hands into his sleeves
, oblivious to all danger. “My guards will take it now, honored one.”

“I’ll split the man who so much as
…” Meoraq’s hiss died in his throat. His head cocked. “What did you just call her?”

“Human.” Rsstha flared his mouth and hissed delicately through his teeth. “It is the word for their
monstrous kind.”

“It is.”
Meoraq tipped his head further. “How did you come to hear it?”

Rsstha’s answer took few words. Meoraq stared at him, at Myselo, at the
ceiling of the tunnel (which had several disturbing cracks). He took six deep breaths and six again. At length, he released the grip on his sword. He brought his eyes down and his spines up. He looked at Onahi.

“Do you have a room where these women can be held?” he asked. Calmly.

“Yes, sir.”

“And defended, if need be?”

Governor Rsstha bristled. Meoraq ignored him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Gather your men, then. See that the women of my party are provided food and fresh clothing. A bath, if one can be managed. And hold that door until you are given my word to open, do you mark me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Meoraq released Onahi, who left the tunnel at a soldierly run, and turned to Myselo. He leaned in very close, taking up every step that the warden tried to put between them, until there was a wall at the man’s back and Meoraq full in his face. “You know my father,” he said.

“I, eh, I’ve heard of him, sir.”

“You’ve heard of how he climbed the wall at Kuaq.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Killed one hundred and eleven men, alone. Killed the Raider-Lord Szadt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who am I, warden?”

“Sheulek, sir.”

“Who am I?”

Myselo’s throat worked weakly as he cast his eyes about for aid. “Uyane?”

“I am Uyane. I am my father’s son. I am the Sword and the Striding Foot of Sheul. I am—” Meoraq caught the warden’s broad face and forced him to look at him. “—the man who comes to you now from the ruins where your Raider-Lord Zhuqa laired and who killed his way in and out to bring you these women. I did not count them,” he admitted. “I will not say that I have bettered my father’s tally at Kuaq, but I will tell you this, warden.” He yanked Myselo’s snout down so that he could lean even closer. “I can climb this wall.”

Myselo had no answer other than his rapid breath and the metallic stink of fear that rode it. Meoraq released him and went through the gate back to his women.

“A room is
being prepared,” he told them. “You will rest there until permanent arrangements can be made. I want you with them for now,” he said to Amber.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. “Not far,” was the best he could think of.

She took a small step toward him. “I want to go with you.”

“No.”

“But—”

“No. Get back!” He held up his hand and looked aside until she stepped away again. His throat felt hot. He rubbed it, breathing until he had lost some of the blackness that clouded his brain. Some. Not all. Rsstha’s words—those few, simple words—scratched bloody furrows in his head. Damn him. Damn
them
.