Is it an honor, his wife had demanded, or does your master mean to see you killed?
Even now, as he approached the crowd waiting at the ancient gatehouse, Viyeki could not guess at the true answer. He had not admitted to Khimabu that he had probably destroyed any chance of succeeding Yaarike as magister. Viyeki had the courage to face the Northman hordes—just barely—but not enough to admit his foolishness to his wife. As it was, she had bidden farewell to him at the door of their house stone-faced and dry-eyed, as though she had already been widowed for many seasons.
General Suno’ku was at the gatehouse before them, pacing back and forth, a display of impatience and vigor seldom seen among the impassive Hikeda’ya. She did not wear her white armor, but only what was called a house uniform of the same color, as if she did not fear the barbs of the enemy at all. As usual, Viyeki was torn between his admiration of her spirit and concern for her stubborn, heedless bravery. As the day had worn on and this hour had come ever closer, he had found himself hoping that something would arise to change the plan. It was not a fear of being injured or killed he felt, but a sort of deeper, more formless dread, like a man in the wilderness watching an approaching storm as it turned the skies black.
You’re a fool, he told himself. Nothing will happen today. The Northmen will give their terms, and we will take them back to our masters. There will be no great deeds. Suno’ku has sworn to abide by the council’s will, and whatever else she may be—however uncommon she may be in our dark, quiet world—she is no traitor.
Viyeki joined the other two legates, rune-faced Nijika of the Singers’ order and a thin, small-statured Celebrant named Yayano of the Pointing Finger, kin to Zuniyabe and a powerful noble in his own right. Together, they followed Suno’ku through the echoing gatehouse. The general seemed to want to waste no time. Before they had even reached the gates—which were heavily patched and barricaded on the inside, the hasty work of High Foreman Naji’s crew of Builders—Suno’ku was already signaling to the guards to open them. As the bars and bolts were drawn from the sally-gate and the Sacrifice guards moved into close order to prevent mortal trickery, Viyeki and the other legates all stood silently. At last the pulleys creaked, the heavy witchwood timbers groaned, and the tall but narrow salley-gate swung open.
Even under dim twilight, it seemed bizarre to see the sky again. Viyeki had been back inside Nakkiga long enough to regain the feeling that stone above his head was the natural order of things. The great gray expanse of clouds outside the mountain seemed almost too vast to bear, as if something monstrous had torn off the top of the world. The rocky slopes on either side of the gate seemed to stretch out forever.
A dozen Northmen waited in the no-man’s-land beyond the gates, behind and a bit to the side of their great ram, which had been left in place—as a reminder, Viyeki did not doubt. He turned to look back at the gates and saw the great dints in their stony timbers, as well as all the places the metal bracings had buckled under the repeated pounding. Most of the ornamentation had long since been smashed into fragments. The gates now looked, not like the symbol of power and protection they had always been, but like something old and frail and long forgotten. Seeing the damage made Viyeki’s guts churn, and he turned to discover what expression Suno’ku wore. But if she had seen what he had, the general had not stopped to dwell on it; she faced the mortals squarely and began to walk toward them.
“But there are only supposed to be four,” said Yayano. “Four of them, four of us!”
“The others are merely guards. They will make sure we have not brought weapons,” Suno’ku called sharply over her shoulder. “By the Garden that made you, show the mortals no fear!”
She stopped a few steps away from the bearded Northmen, who stared back at the Hikeda’ya as though they were something entirely unknowable. Suno’ku spread her arms and stood with her feet wide apart; it took a moment before the guards realized she was waiting for them. Half a dozen burly Northmen now came toward her, creatures Viyeki thought more like stubby mountain giants than people. These gross mortals ran their hands over Suno’ku’s body and one of them said something to his fellows, which provoked a nervous laugh from a few of the others.
“I speak your tongue well enough,” Suno’ku said. “And in any case, you should know that I do not need any weapon to end you. I could do it with my hands alone, and you would be dead before you fell.”
The Rimmersmen were war-hardened killers who gave no obvious sign of having heard what she said, but Viyeki’s keen eyes saw the tightening of their muscles, the narrowing of their eyes.
When the Hikeda’ya legates had all been searched, the mortal guards retreated to one side. The biggest of the waiting Northmen waved them back even farther. They obeyed him, but with the unhappy look of dogs kept on too short a rope. Viyeki thought the large one must be their leader, Duke Isgrimnur. His beard was not quite so long or full as the others—the shortest of the mortal captains had a trail of whiskers so lengthy it was tucked into his belt—but everything else about the duke seemed oversized. His chest was broad, his belly even more so, and Viyeki thought he looked like a creature who could not control his appetites. His face was broad too, with a tinge of choleric red, but the man’s eyes were shrewd and strangely calm.
“Well, my lady, we meet at last,” said the duke in a deep, rumbling voice. “I fear none of us can speak your tongue. Can we trust you to translate our words fairly to your people?”
“As I said, I use your tongue well enough for this day,” said Suno’ku. “And though I do not know all its twistings and turnings, I do not think in any case that I am anyone’s lady. I am Suno’ku seyt-Iyora, Host General of the Queen’s Sacrifices, and I speak for my lord Muyare, the Queen’s High Marshal. Speak your terms so that we may get on with this.”
Isgrimnur’s mouth curled in what might have been a smile. “Very well. You see that we have come in good faith, as we promised on our love for our God. Neither my companions nor myself are armed. We wish only to talk straightly with you.”
“There has already been more than enough talk,” she said. “State your terms.”
“You are as abrupt in diplomacy as in battle,” the duke said almost approvingly. “Very well. You must know that your position is hopeless. We have cleared the mountainside of your soldiers, sealed your burrows, and now you are trapped in this place with your backs against stone. Your people crossed into our lands and attacked us, and aided the Storm King in trying to destroy us. But we are not animals. If you surrender and open your mountain fortress to us, we will not harm any innocent women or children. In fact, they may go freely and we will give them passage, as long as they do not try to cross back into the lands of men.”
Several of the duke’s men stared open-mouthed, as though this were something they had not heard before. The short one with the long beard said, “Let them go free? Even if it is only women and children, that is madness, my lord!”
“Quiet, Vigri. The king and queen in Erkynland gave me the power to dispose of this struggle as I deem fitting.” Isgrimnur had never taken his eyes off General Suno’ku. “Do you understand me?”
Do the rest of us not even exist? Viyeki wondered. Are we no more than court musicians, while Suno’ku is the dancer who all watch? But as he looked at the pale-haired warrior standing so straight and unconcerned before the burly mortals, he was content to let her stand for them all.
“Truly?” Suno’ku asked. “I am female, Duke, as you may have noticed. Will you let me walk free? And many of my Sacrifices are women too. Shall they all go free?” She shook her head. “You do not know anything about us, mortal. Children? Even our children are twice your age—thrice, even ten times!—and, I doubt not, many times wiser as well.”