Shadow and Betrayal

could peer out the seam. The lantern was extinguished, and the scent of its dying smoke filled the cart for a moment and was gone.
    ‘What’s happening out there?’ Otah asked.
    ‘Nothing,’ the commander said. ‘And best we keep it that way. No talking.’
    In silence and darkness, they continued. Otah felt lightheaded. The cart turned twice to the left and then again to the right. The driver was hailed and replied, but they never stopped. A breeze fluttered the thick cloth of the cover, and when it paused, Otah heard the sound of water; they were on the bridge heading south. He was free. He grinned, and then as the implications of his freedom unfolded themselves in his mind, his relief faltered.
    ‘Forgive me. I don’t know your name. I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’
    The commander shifted. It was nearly black in the cart, so Otah couldn’t see the man’s face, but he imagined incredulity on the long features.
    ‘I went to Machi to protect someone - a woman. If I vanish, they’ll still have reason to suspect her. My brother might kill her on the chance that she’s involved with this. I can’t let that happen. I’m sorry, but we have to turn back.’
    ‘You love her that much?’ the commander asked.
    ‘This isn’t her fault. It’s mine.’
    ‘All this is your fault, eh? You have a lot to answer for.’ There was amusement in the man’s voice. Otah felt himself smile.
    ‘Well, perhaps not all my fault. But I can’t let her be hurt. This is the price of it, and I’ll pay it if I have to.’
    They were all silent for a long moment, then the commander sighed.
    ‘You’re an honorable man, Otah Machi. I want you to know I respect that. Boys. Chain him and gag him. I don’t want him calling out.’
    They were on him in an instant, pushing him hard onto the rough wood of the cart. Someone’s knee drove in between his shoulder blades; invisible hands bent his arms backwards. When he opened his mouth to scream, a wad of heavy cloth was shoved in so deeply he gagged. A leather strap followed, keeping it in place. He didn’t know when his legs were bound, but in fewer than twenty breaths, he was immobile - his arms chained painfully behind him at his wrists and elbows, his mouth stuffed until it was hard to breathe. The knee moved to the small of his back, digging into his spine with every shift of the cart. He tried once to move, and the pressure from above increased. He tried again, and the man cursed him and rapped his head with something hard.
    ‘I said no talking,’ the commander murmured, and returned to peering out the opening in the back cloth. Otah shifted, snarling in impotent rage that none of these men seemed to see or recognize. The cart moved off through the night. He could feel it when they moved from the paving of the main road to a dirt track; he could hear the high grass hushing against the wheels. They were taking him nowhere, and he couldn’t think why.
    He guessed it was almost three hands before the first light started to come. Dawn was still nothing more than a lighter kind of darkness, the commander’s feet - the only part of the man Otah could see without lifting his head - were a dim form of shadow within shadow. It was something. Otah heard the trill of a daymartin, and then a rough rattling and the sound of water. A bridge over some small river. When the cart lurched back to ground, the commander turned.
    ‘Have him stop,’ he said, and then a moment later, ‘I said stop the cart. Do it.’
    One of the other two - the one who wasn’t kneeling on Otah - shifted and spoke to the driver. The jouncing slowed and stopped.
    ‘I thought I heard something out there. In the trees on the left. Baat. Go check. If you see anything at all get back fast.’
    The pressure on Otah’s back eased and one of the men clambered out. Otah turned over and no one tried to stop him. There was more light now. He could make out the grim set of the commander’s features, the unease in the one remaining armsman.
    ‘Well, this is interesting,’ the commander said.
    ‘What’s out there,’ the other man asked, his blade drawn. The commander looked out the slit of cloth and motioned for the armsman to pass over his sword. He did, and the commander took it, holding it with the ease of long familiarity.
    ‘It may be nothing,’ he said. ‘Were you with me when I was working for the Warden of Elleais?’
    ‘I’d just signed on then,’ the armsman said.
    ‘You’ve always been a good