Shadow and Betrayal

fighter, Lachmi. I want you to know I respect that.’
    With the speed of a snake, the commander’s wrist flickered, and the armsman fell back in the cart, blood flowing from his opened neck. Otah tried to push himself away as the commander turned and drove the sword into the armsman’s chest. He dropped the blade then, letting it fall to the cart’s floor, and took a pose of regret to the dying man.
    ‘But,’ the commander said, ‘you should never have cheated me at tiles. That was stupid.’
    The commander stepped over the body and spoke to the driver. He spoke clearly enough for Otah to hear.
    ‘Is it done?’
    The driver said something.
    ‘Good,’ the commander replied, and came back. He flipped Otah onto his belly with casual disregard, and Otah felt his bonds begin to loosen.
    ‘All apologies, Otah-cha,’ the commander said. ‘But there’s a lesson you can take from all this: just because someone’s bought a mercenary captain, it doesn’t mean his commanders aren’t still for sale. Now I will need your robes, such as they are.’
    Otah pulled the leather strap from around his head and spat out the cloth, retching as he did so. Before he could speak, the commander had climbed out of the cart, and Otah was left to follow.
    They had stopped at a clearing by a river, surrounded by white oaks. The bridge was old wood and looked almost too decrepit to cross. Six men with gray robes and hunting bows were walking toward them from the trees, two of them dragging the arrow-riddled body of the armsman the commander had sent out. Two others carried a litter with what was clearly another dead man - thin and naked. The commander took a pose of welcome, and the first archer returned it. Otah stumbled forward, rubbing his wrists. The archers were all smiling, pleased with themselves. When he came close enough, Otah saw the second corpse was on its back, and a wide swath of intricate black ink stained its breast. The first half of an east island marriage mark. A tattoo like his own.
    ‘That’s why we’ll need your robes, Otah-cha,’ the commander said. ‘This poor bastard will have been in the water for a while before he reaches the main channel of the river. But the closer he seems to you, the less people will bother looking at him. I’ll see whether I can find something for you to wear after, but you might consider sponging off in the brook there first. No offense, but you’ve been a while without a bath.’
    ‘Who is he?’ Otah asked.
    The commander shrugged.
    ‘Nobody, now.’
    He clapped Otah on the shoulder and turned back toward the cart. The archers were pitching the corpses of the two armsmen into the water. Otah saw arrows rising from the river like reeds. The driver was coming forward now, his thumbs stuck in his belt. He was a hairy man, his full beard streaked with gray. He smiled at Otah and took a pose of welcome.
    ‘I don’t understand,’ Otah said. ‘What’s happening?’
    ‘We don’t understand either, Itani-cha. Not precisely. We’re only sure that it’s something terrible,’ the carter said, and Otah’s mouth dropped open. He spoke with the voice of Amiit Foss, his overseer in House Siyanti. Amiit grinned beneath his beard. ‘And we’re sure that it isn’t happening to you.’

9
    T he first few breaths after she woke were like rising new born. She didn’t know who or where she was, she had no thought of the night before or the day ahead. There was only sensation - the warmth of the body beside her, the crisp softness of the bedclothes, the netting above the bed glowing in the captured light of dawn, the scent of black tea brought in by a servant with cat-quiet footsteps. She sat up, almost smiling until memory rushed in on her like a flood of black water. Idaan rose and pulled on her robes. Adrah stirred and moaned.
    ‘You should go,’ she said, lifting the black iron teapot. ‘You’re expected to go on a hunt today.’
    Adrah sat up, scratching his back and yawning. His hair stuck out in all directions. He looked older than he had the day before, or perhaps it was only how she felt. She poured a bowl of tea for him as well.
    ‘Have they found him?’ Adrah asked.
    ‘I haven’t heard the screams or lamentations yet, so I’d assume not.’
    She held out the porcelain bowl. It was thin enough to see through and hot enough to burn her fingertips, but Idaan didn’t try to reduce the pain. When Adrah took it from her, he drank from it straight, though she knew it