'I forgot to bring a welcoming gift for your mother,' Mai murmured.
'She would accept no such gift from you.'
'How am I to greet and converse with a woman who has already tried to get rid of me?'
'Listen, Mai.' He glanced back at Atani, content in Tuvi's arms, then bent his gaze toward her as they walked up the gang plank onto the deck. 'She is my mother. She raised me. She saved my life at the cost of her own freedom. I owe her respect and obedience, as all Qin sons respect and honor their mothers. Anyhow, until I know what has brought her here, I can make no plan. You must follow my lead in this.'
The same tension that had troubled his visage last night before
he had devoured her settled heavily on him, making him seem a different person than the uncomplicated Qin captain who had plucked her out of the marketplace and carried her off to distant lands. But perhaps he had not changed at all. Perhaps this man had always been masked behind the other one, thickly chained like the little chest Toughid carried slung over his mount's hindquarters. Now and then this other man escaped, and however much she loved Anji, she was not sure she liked that piece of him very much.
Shai tracked sixth Cohort for four days before he spotted Zubaidit. He was hiding in a stand of pipe-brush overlooking a stream, and cursed if she wasn't wearing a sergeant's stripes and leading the rearguard along the bank, striding along in that easy way she had. Her soldiers were quiet and disciplined, but they were also in a hurry. For four days Sixth Cohort had been marching toward Nessumara.
Shai pitched a stone into the water. The plop caught the patrol's attention. Then he ran the other way, across a weed-ridden field. He favored a leg, pretending to limp.
'Get him!' That was Zubaidit's voice. 'Capture him alive.'
Had she recognized him just from his back?
He stumbled on purpose, hoping to make the inevitable fall go more easily, but the soldiers hit him across the back with their staffs and piled on, grinding his face into a desiccated thistle. He inhaled bristles and grit.
'He's got a knife.' They took his weapons.
He heard her voice. 'Have you caught yourselves a gods-rotted outlander, lads? There's a cursed good reward for bringing in out-landers.'
'Not fair,' complained one of the men, 'just because those three were close enough to grab him.'
'I could take the whole cursed reward and forget about you lot. But I'll divide the reward and my bonus evenly between the entire cadre and give you three who tackled him a bit extra for your trouble. I'll take the knives and his staff meanwhile. Any complaints? No? Let him up.'
The pressure on his back eased, and he spat out dirt. Cautiously, he rolled to sit.
Zubaidit wore soldier's garb and, around her neck, an eight-pointed star hammered out of tin, the mark of the army. Leaning
on the staff they'd taken from him, she studied him, but the way she was looking at him made him cursed uneasy.
'Get rope,' she said. 'We don't want to lose him. Not with so much coin at stake.'
'What do we do with him, Sergeant?' asked one of the men as he brushed dirt off his trousers.
'I'll search him for other weapons. Then we take him to Captain Arras. Hurry up! We're trailing behind, you cursed lagabouts. I could march faster when I was a wee toddler. There've been reeve patrols sighted in this area. A couple of cadres were hit by attacks.'
'Wish I had an eagle.' The youngest scanned the sky with a wistful look.
'So you'd wish, until it ripped your head off,' said Bai with a laugh. 'Here, give me the rope. Get ready to march out. You three, scout ahead.'
She kneeled behind Shai and yanked his arms so hard up behind him that he grunted in pain. With his wrists tied tightly back, he sat there panting as she patted up his legs and torso.
'Cursed fool,' she breathed into the back of his neck. 'If you came deliberately, fist both hands.'
He fisted both hands.
She grunted, like an echo of his pain. 'Follow my lead.'
She fastened a lead line to his rope shackles, fastened his belt and small pack over her back, and handed the lead to a soldier. 'Six men on him at all times. Let's move.'
As they marched, he in the middle of the cadre and she striding along close by, she commenced a running commentary. 'Well built, isn't he? Are all outlanders so cursed well built, do you think? Look at those arms! Whew! He's got a cursed good chest under that shirt. Makes me miss my Devouring days, eh?'
'If you don't mind my saying so, Sergeant,' said one of the three women who marched in the cadre, a fine-boned woman who carried a bow like she knew how to use it, 'I thought the captain was after your ass.'
'I'll tell you, Taria, the best piece of advice I'll ever give you, is never ever milk a man who sits in authority over you. Not unless you have no choice. And unless you like wielding the whip, don't milk one you have authority over. Slaves are different, of course.'
'Why? You fancy this one? I can't say I think he's that cursed
handsome, but — whew! — you're right about his arms. Why don't we strip off his shirt and look over the rest of him?'
Zubaidit grinned. 'I wish we could sell him. But I suppose the cloaks will just take him away, since they're the ones who set the reward. Although what in the hells they want with outlanders I can't imagine.'
On they strode, as the soldiers tossed suggestions back and forth, ranging from the mundane to the obscene. The odd thing was that this group was not any different from any gaggle of militiamen, mostly youngish men with a few older men and the three women, all archers and, by their similar features, probably related. Zubaidit threw in comments now and again, but she retained an air of separation very like the chiefs among the Qin. It was a strong cadre; they were alert; they looked out for each other; they kept up the pace. They were very little like the first cohort of Star of Life he'd met. These soldiers seemed human.
They paused at the fringe of a woodland copse beside a shallow pool ringed by mulberry trees and a pair of fallow diked fields. The cadre set up a perimeter using a pair of fallen logs as a line of protection, and the three archers headed out around the woodland with a trio of scouts flanking. Shai was allowed to take a piss, with Zubaidit holding the rope, just far enough away that, within sight of everyone but with their backs turned so no one could see their mouths moving, they could exchange a few words.
He did not hesitate. 'I know how to kill Lord Radas. There are two precious vials of snake venom in the pouch. On a dart, the venom is deadly if it penetrates the skin. Even a cloak will fall if infected by the poison.'
'Cloaks can't die.'
'We have to strip the cloak off him while he's in a stupor.'
'Can it be so simple?'
'Not if the cloak knows what you intend. Then it's impossible.'
'Of course. They can always anticipate an attack.' She swatted him, hard, across the back of the head, and spoke in a loud voice. 'Aren't you finished? You're as slow as an ox!'
'And not as well hung!' shouted a soldier, as the others laughed.
'Has anyone checked?' asked another.
'Hush, now, you'll frighten off the game.' Zubaidit tugged Shai back into the midst of the cadre, and he sank down and rested his forehead on bent knees, abruptly so tired he could not keep his
eyes open. He'd shared the secret. She knew; she was still with him; they had their chance to complete the job.
May the Merciful One protect them!
He dozed, and was awakened when the hunting party returned with a half dozen birds and a plump yearling deer. At dusk they reached the cohort, which was settling for the night in a deserted village. The captain was a cautious man; he'd ringed the village with fires and a barrier hastily constructed out of boards torn from the cottages. They'd found a bag of nai flour to cook into porridge, enough for the entire cohort. Zubaidit's cadre fell to arguing over how much of their meat they had to share out among six hundred men, until she snapped at them to shut up. Then, with the three men who'd actually captured him, she sought out the captain.