Traitors Gate

'Toskalan hostages?' Arras glanced around the bustling camp, with folk he had thought were camp followers or hirelings hard at work: cleaning harness, husking rice, pounding nai, braiding rope, hauling water and wood; the endless round of tasks necessary to keeping a soldier ready to move.

'You were assigned none?'

'We were not. We do everything ourselves.'

'Ah. Your companies reached Toskala late. You've what-? Three hundred men?'

'Three companies, Commander. We're slightly understrength, having only three hundred and nineteen. I could absorb new recruits.'

'I've only myself to offer as a swordsman,' said the commander with a genial laugh as his gaze flashed to the young women, who pretended to smile. No doubt Commander Hetti had fallen prey to the aging man's need to see himself as a youthful contender in the other ancient art of swordcraft.

'Have you made any attempts to recruit dissatisfied locals, Commander?'

'Eiya! We've enough trouble with them scuttling in at night and stealing our chickens!'

'Have you? We've recorded no such depredations in our encampment.'

T suspect those cursed Toskalan hostages are turning a blind eye to the pilfering or even helping it along, if you take my meaning. We haven't been able to catch them at it, nor will they squeal on each other. They're a gods-rotted sullen lot.'

Since Arras could think of no reason why a hostage ought to be

cheerful, he said nothing. Sergeant Giyara scratched at a welted hand, where in the mire a clinging vine had scraped its barbed tendrils over her skin. He flicked a glance skyward: as always, an eagle floated very high up, keeping an eye on the camp and their movements. Only dusk drove the reeves down to their halls.

'I'll have my clerk assign a cadre of hostages to your command,' Commander Hetti went on. 'See they're not killed. If they're dead, they're no use to us, eh?' The commander laughed at his own joke, and his attendants and the two young women laughed with him.

'I have a more extensive report to give, Commander. And maps we've drawn of the land we reconnoitered. Some thoughts-'

'I'll send a sergeant to take your report. Meanwhile, take two days' rest for refitting. Expect to move out at dawn on Wakened Ox.'

'Isn't Wakened Ox the same day the gates were opened in Toskala, last month?'

'Good fortune, don't you think? Lord Radas likes that day. Meanwhile, keep your eyes open for outlanders and gods-touched, as before.'

'Why this interest in outlanders and gods-touched?'

'Cursed if I know or am likely to ask. If you find any, even slaves, bring them immediately to me. Also, I'm looking for a cadre of volunteers-'

A shriek lit the air like fire. Shouting rose from one corner of camp, and men rushed to see what was happening.

Commander Hetti fluttered his hands in the direction of his attendants. 'It's those cursed thieves again, I'm sure of it. Go see-' His words were drowned out by a larger outbreak of noise, a real brawl breaking out.

Arras had no desire to have any of his men volunteered for whatever task Commander Hetti had in mind, so he cocked an eye at Giyara, and she nodded.

'At once, Commander!' he said, loudly enough for the words to penetrate. He and the sergeant moved off. It seemed half the soldiers were running in that direction, maybe bored from having sat in camp for too long awaiting the knife in the dark whose blade would open Nessumara for them. Now he heard voices shouting wagers, and encouragement.

'Ten vey on the fat one!'

'Eiya! Don't give up, you wine-sodden wretch! Keep pushing!'

'Think they're betting on a fist fight?' Giyara muttered, with the twisted grin she used when she found any situation darkly amusing.

He pushed through the crowd, men giving way when they saw the lime-whitened horsetail epaulets marking his rank. A circle had formed around open space where two men, one beginning to spread into corpulence and one trimmer but clearly drunk, were grappling, locked in a swaying attempt to topple the other man. There was a woman, of.course, egging them on in the way of the vain woman who likes to see men fight over her. She was tall and lean and not the handsomest female he'd ever seen…

Then she moved, dropping into a crouch to look not at the fight but at something going on lower to the ground. He marked the supple way her body flowed, her complete command of her limbs. Whew! There was a woman worth grappling with.

He nudged Giyara and with a flick of his chin got her looking in the same direction; she caught his intention at once.

'Trained fighter, but not my type. I can see she might be yours, though. She's not outfitted as a soldier.'

'Hostage? Hireling?'

'Spy?'

He pushed Giyara into the second rank of the crowd so he could watch without being spied. There the woman went, shifting backward until he lost sight of her.

He tapped the sergeant's arm. 'You stay here.'

He circled around until he saw, in the gloom, the ranks of wagons piled with poultry cages, all the birds asquawk as if a fox had come raiding. It was easy to miss the noise beneath the roar of the agitated crowd; easy to ignore a pair of dark shapes lifting a pair of cages from the rearmost wagon.

He strolled up. 'You've got permission to secure those, eh?'

One of the figures — a thin youth clad in nothing more than a kilt — shrank back, but she turned to confront him as bold as you please, having set the two cages on the ground at her feet.

'Who are you to ask?' Her voice was low and assured.

He grinned. 'I'm called Captain Arras. You're not a soldier.'

'I'm not.'

'A spy, perhaps?' He set a hand on his sword hilt.

She rubbed her chin, head cocked to one side. 'It's sure I'd admit it if I were.'

'Heh. I'd say you were one of the hostages out of Toskala, but you don't talk like them.'

'I don't, it's true. Not that it's any of your business, but I was married into one of the mat-making clans in Toskala. I'm from the south. I guess the army thought my husband would miss me if they hauled me away.'

'Do you miss your husband?'

She spoke with the posture of her body, playing to his obvious interest. 'He's young and energetic. I have no complaints of how he's treated me since we were wed.'

'But some complaints of the army, I take it. Why are you stealing chickens?'

'Do you suppose our masters feed us properly?'

'You could get whipped for stealing.'

'So I could, but I don't like to see my comrades suffering.'

'You're young to take on so much responsibility, knowing you'll take the brunt of the punishment. Where'd you serve your apprentice year?'

'Where do you think?'

He laughed, lifting his chin to make the question a command. 'What's your name?'

'Zubaidit.'

'Tell you what, Zubaidit. You collect a cadre of hostages, hard workers and decent folk, and bring them along to my company. I'll see you and your people are decently fed and cared for as long as you do your work and cause me and my soldiers no trouble.'

'That's a generous offer, of its kind. What will you ask for in return?'

'It's true I like a good workout at the Devourer's temple, same as any person, but I'm not one of those who uses the power he has to coerce folk into sex. I like that you're not afraid to talk to me, although I've caught you in the act of stealing, for which I could certainly see you and the lad whipped had I a mind to it. Or force you into my bed to spare you the welts.'

'So you'll pull me along to work for your company and hope to persuade me by other means? I've a husband, as I've mentioned.'

'Many a woman has a husband, and many a man a wife, and the tales repeat what observation tells us: that the Devourer acts as she wills, and folk will find pleasure as they are driven by her will acting within them. What's your point? If you're worried you

might conceive a child for his clan not of his breeding, then there are ways to make sure no child is sown in fertile ground. As every hierodule in the Devourer's temple knows.'