Traitors Gate

'He was an unexpected pleasure, I admit,' she said with the same half-absent flicker to her gaze as when she'd talked about the unknown 'teacher' who had trained her to be an excellent scout. 'Just as charming as his aunt warned me he'd be.'

'And yet you are torn from him.' He shook his head. 'A sad tale.'

'There speaks a man who is captain in the army that took hostages in Toskala in order to force Toskala to bide quietly under its hand. And hung other innocent folk up on poles to die from pain and thirst.'

'Only the Guardians can truly know who is innocent and who a criminal.'

She rose angrily. 'It's true,' she said, the words clipped in a way that suggested she was forcing down what she really wanted to say, 'that few are truly innocent in any meaningful way.'

'I'd be surprised if any were, beyond children too young and those gods-touched too simpleminded to know what is right from what is wrong. Anyway, isn't it better for the Toskalans to bide quietly than lose hundreds or thousands more as happened in High Haldia?'

Her frown fell as swift as the night-wing's call. This close to the bridge he heard the steady waters slushing along in the nearby channel; a splash plopped farther out, but he didn't understand the sounds here: it might be a thrown rock, a fish, a merling, a man; it might be the Water Mother's afterthought, a tear from her left eye. Lamps glimmered on the far shore while his own people worked in darkness. Curse that gods-rotted Laukas, and himself for being careless and overconfident.

Her voice spilled low across the undercurrent of night noises, trembling in much the same way water surges when too much is forced through too small a channel. 'My husband is well enough — he's far better than what I might have found myself bound to — but what choice had I in the matter? I'm obedient to those who rule me. I have no power of my own. It chafes me…'

Her words trailed off. She seemed ashamed, if folk could be ashamed of wanting what they had always been told they should not desire. Was a man wrong to like the discipline of battle? The

tales of the Hundred did not speak kindly of war, and yet Arras had never tired of hearing over and over again those episodes elaborating the clash of weapons, the daring of stalwart soldiers, the courage of those who sought to resolve disputes with clean force.

'I refused to marry the woman my clan wished to bind me to,' he said at last, 'so they cast me out for my rebellious nature. I found comfort in the Thunderer's cohort as an ordinand, but it was not until I was recruited to this army that I have found true satisfaction. The cruelty they practice, which they call cleansing — the hanging from the pole — is pointless, but it is not my army to command.'

'Do you wish it was?'

He laughed. 'I'm content to fight, as long as they respect me. For in the end, Zubaidit, we must all bow our heads before the cloaks.'

'Captain!' Two runners pounded up, one holding a lamp, the other bending double as he heaved out and sucked in air and came up talking.

Giyara ran up in their wake. 'Captain Arras. Ten boats are coming in to the shore twenty paces north of the eastern causeway.'

'How came I not to hear any sounds of fighting?'

'Subcaptain Orli had screens set up to conceal spearmen in the shallows and men in the water to tip others overboard. We killed about thirty so fast the rest fled. Runners are tracking their movements along the channel downstream. Of the rest, we've taken four living prisoners and six boats.'

'Excellent! If the others come to shore, kill them. Otherwise, waste no arrows in the dark. Their report to their commanders will give the enemy pause. They'll not attack again so quickly. Is there aught else?'

'No, Captain. Your orders?'

'Just as I've told you.'

'Yes, Captain.' The youth nodded at his comrade holding the lamp and after taking a pair of slow breaths, more pushed out than pulled in, he set out at a run.

'Good lad,' said Arras. 'But I don't recognize him.'

'Maybe you couldn't see it from your angle, Captain,' said Giyara, 'but he's wearing a First Cohort badge. Orli must have detached him from his old unit-'

From the far shore came a burst of shouting, a frantic call for archers.

'The hells!' said Arras, raising a hand to signal. 'Do they mean to attack-?'

The sky swept low. A brush of smothering wings and sullen dread doubled him over before he realized he was groveling. Hating himself for his weakness, he straightened. The winged horse trotted to earth on the graveled roadway. The man dismounted stiffly. He walked stiffly, favoring his right leg, and held his left shoulder at an odd angle.

Arras made the obeisance at once, open hands hiding his eyes. 'Lord Yordenas.'

'Who is in command?'

T am, lord. I'm Arras, captain of the Sixth Cohort.'

'Took heavy losses at High Haldia, did you not?' The cloak's tone was surly. Arras dared not look up to gauge his temper, but anger and resentment swept off the cloak so strongly it was like keeping one's balance in a winter gale.

'So we did, lord. We regrouped into three companies, half strength, and more recently were ordered to join the main army for the assault on Nessumara. We have taken positions on this island and absorbed the remains of First Cohort.'

'You did not retreat?'

T saw Seventh Cohort in trouble on the causeway from archers, lord. I deemed it better to push forward to a strong defensive position than to retreat under heavy fire from an enemy whose position we could not penetrate.'

'First Cohort fell apart,' said the cloak with the petty disgust of a child who'd had his favorite toy snatched out of his hands. 'Captains dead, cadres routed. We were supposed to march into Council Square in triumph! The cursed Nessumarans betrayed us!'

Arras thought it prudent not to remind the cloak that the only traitors in this case were the folk who had been prevented from allowing the army to enter the city unopposed. 'Yes, lord. What of the two cohorts caught out on the causeway?'

T don't know! I haven't reached the main camp in Saltow. I've galloped all the way to the northern causeway and back. Heavy woodland, sunken into this cursed marsh. They didn't take the barriers down at all on the northern causeway, as they said they would! Instead, there came archery fire out of the woods. Traps

dug into the mire around the causeway. Snakes and snappers in the water and among the twisting roots of the cursed trees! Our cohorts had to retreat despite Lord Radas's best efforts at keeping them in line and moving forward. Now what will we do?'

The cursed man was throwing a temper tantrum! And that, gods rot him, after he had abandoned the troops he was supposed to be leading.

Arras kept his voice mild, his shoulders bowed, and his gaze fixed on the ground. 'My cohort is intact, lord. I have the remnants of First Cohort well in hand as reinforcements for my own soldiers. If we can learn the disposition and number of the local troops, we can determine our best course of action. Has the city militia sent its entire strength out to the causeways? Have they milked themselves dry in setting up this ambush? If we strike hard and push past now, will we meet concentrated resistance? Or are these troops all they have? If so, we can still take the city today.'

'What do you recommend, Captain?'

The cursed cloak did not know what in the hells to do. That the gods had endowed him with such power had not made him wise or clever. He had no more understanding and discernment than he'd ever had — and that clearly was not much — yet he was meanwhile able to reach right into your heart and kill you.

Even so, a single cloak could not conquer a city alone.

'To come up with a plan, Lord Yordenas, I need information about the number and disposition of troops and barriers and skirmishers within Nessumara and the surrounding region.'