He faltered, coming to Hasibal the Formless One. The midges were gathering in a fury. The only words he could think of were those he had heard chanted by Mai and her servant Priya to their foreign god, the Merciful One: May the rains come at the proper time. May the harvest be abundant. May the world prosper, and justice be served.
He returned to the familiar expanse of cultivated fields, orchards, ditches, and houses.
'Accept my prayers out of compassion,' he said to the sky and
to the earth, to the wind and to the waters of a pool lined with mulberry trees. He unfastened the bindings and shook out the silk jacket. Freed, the cloak of sun rippled like a living thing, billowing and beating into the air as the wind caught in the bright fabric and lofted it heavenward. Released to the gods.
'Peace,' he whispered as it blew up and away over the trees, fading until he could no longer see it.
He laced his vest back on and trudged to the abandoned hamlet, where he restored the shovel to its place in a humble shed.
Scar was waiting, curious at his absence; he dipped his head to look at Joss first with one eye and then the other, as if a raptor's vision might see different aspects of a man's heart and spirit depending on which eye he was looking with.
'I'm content,' Joss said to the eagle, and for once in his life, since that last day with Marit, he was. He spotted a damaged covert on Scar's tail, but only one, not enough to interfere with flight. He circled twice until he was satisfied there was nothing else amiss.
They launched, and he retraced his path east to the river. The afternoon sun gilded lonely pools. Narrow tracks wove through the landscape, and twice he glimpsed folk walking briskly toward unseen destinations, almost as if they were no longer afraid.
Late in the afternoon, the spiny ridge above Skerru hoved into view. Lanterns lit the town as if it were festival. The army had settled in for the night on the battlefield below the town, protected by the river on either side, although a huge herd of horses was grazing beyond the eastern crossing. A number of eagles were floating off in the distance, with no reeve dangling below. Out hunting.
Wagons were being unloaded, food prepared over campfires, horses watered and groomed and fed grain. Canvas had been set up in orderly units. The singing of victorious soldiers spun a joyful tune into the breeze.
The bodies of the enemy dead were being dumped in the river, swept away by the powerful current, carried away like so many petals torn from the flower necklaces worn at festival time; down to the sea with a single song sung over their departed spirits.
Yet what they had given, they had, in the end, received. The Four Mothers would take their bodies and turn and turn them until they became part of the land once again.
Four reeves, aloft as sentries, flagged him. He descended and
was met by soldiers who kept a respectful distance from Scar as they looked Joss over with startled expressions.
'Commander Joss? The commander wishes to see you at once.'
He slapped dirt from his hands and checked his vest and trousers, everything in place, quiver buckled tight, baton and sword swinging from his belt, his pack slung over a shoulder. Was there dirt on his face? Was that why everyone was staring?
An escort accompanied him through camp, folk turning to watch. Women, wagori drivers, stopped stock-still and stared; one whistled boldly as Joss blushed and the soldiers snickered. The command awning had sprouted wings, and a pair of curtained private chambers, but the central area looked the same as ever: a long low table, many camp stools, soldiers and reeves clustered in a meeting. Two rings of black-clad Qin guards eyed him with various expressions of dismay except for the one local man who looked him up and down with a smirk of appreciative interest.
He recognized Kesta from the back; she turned, having heard the murmur following him, and took a step back. 'Joss! The hells!'
He stepped under the central awning as Anji rose from his camp stool. The captain cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he examined Joss with the expression of a man who has just conceived an intense distrust, but he said nothing as Kesta strode forward and grabbed Joss by the arm.
'The hells! You went missing, and I didn't know — So I came to report — But that hierodule said she'd seen you before the battle's end — I didn't know-' Tears streaked her face.
He was panting, sweating, dizzy.
'Aui!' Kesta's grip burned on his bare arm. 'You look ten years younger, Joss, and twice as handsome. If that's possible, which I would have doubted. What happened to you?'
He and Anji's gazes had locked. It wasn't, Joss thought, that Anji was envious of him, or that he desired Joss's looks or charm for himself. It was that Anji was sure that a man as handsome and charming as Joss must lure away any beautiful woman who is offered such a choice. Therefore, let a woman — let Mai — not be allowed to face temptation, not as his first wife had been, coaxed away by a handsome outlander.
Yet how is it possible to fence in temptation unless one controls every road and gate?
'Joss!' Kesta shook him with an impatient grimace born of years of friendship. 'Have your wits been addled?'
Joss blinked, and after all, Anji looked like an ordinary man, bemused but concerned.
'Bring drink, and food,' the captain ordered, and men ran off as Chief Deze and Chief Esigu moved up to flank Anji as though they wondered if Joss meant to strike. 'Do you need to sit, Joss? You look dazed.'
T killed Lord Radas.'
The words sucked out the last of his strength. His legs gave out, and Kesta tugged him up before he hit the ground; an instant later, a stool appeared and he sat hard, sagging forward, head in hands. Trampled grass was crushed beneath his boots. The leather of his boots looked oddly mottled, charred and flaking, as though he had walked through fire. Why hadn't he been burned? Marit had told him that anyone who tried to take a cloak off a Guardian would suffer terrible agonies. Masar had died.
A cup of cordial was thrust into view, and he downed it, the sharp flavor slamming straight into his head.
'Can you repeat that?' asked Anji.
'I killed Lord Radas. The lord commander is dead.'
Within the stunned silence, commonplace noises rolled on: horses whickering; a fire crackling; fat sizzling; a knife being sharpened whsst tvhsst; a woman's cheerful whistle as she wound down the old familiar tune, 'Oh to clasp a man like that in my arms!'
A guardsman poured more cordial into Joss's cup, and the tinkle of falling liquid shook him out of his daze.
He looked at Kesta. 'Is there a fawkner here? Scar needs tending, his harness shed for the night. I just-'
'I'll take care of it.' She released him. 'I was just afraid something had happened to you, Joss. If that's all — killed the gods-rotted demon, the enemy commander — the hells! Wait until I tell the other reeves!' Her grin was as bright as a lamp. She swatted him on the shoulder, spoke a courtesy to Anji and his chiefs, and strode away into the gathering dusk.
.'Where did it happen?' asked Anji in a low voice. 'Where is his cloak?'
'At an altar right where the Istri splits at Kroke's Ridge. As for his cloak-'
He met Anji's gaze again, but it was only a man like himself who looked back, worn by days of travel and given strength by the ferocity of his determination. What kind of man was Anji,
really? A man who had killed a Guardian and bound its cloak in chains because he thought thereby that he was saving the Hundred from the rule of demons. But the Guardians weren't demons, not as Anji defined demons. They were just men and women, who might do the wrong thing believing it was the right one, or the right one hoping for the wrong; they might rise to the best in themselves or fall into what was worst in their hearts. You could not choke justice into existence. It had to live in the bones of the land.