Kate Elliott - Traitors Gate

He caught up with the enemy midmorning. Three eagles floated above, observing. He knew the reeves by their eagles: Peddonon, Vekess, and Disi. The soldiers marched in orderly ranks, cohorts spaced at intervals. Clearly they did not expect to be attacked. The vanguard had taken control of the town at Skerru, where the River Istri split. The deep channel cut west

along an ancient ridgeline. Copper Hall reeves flew patrol over Istria, and by Scar's attention, others soared too far away for him to see but not so for the raptor with its exceptional vision. Downstream, many small channels braided into a vast delta.

Two causeways spanned the wetlands, linking the city to the mainland. The northern causeway, a raised roadway from Skerru that pushed into the delta through a swamp forest, was already blocked by barriers. An eagle preened in the sun on a massive log off to one side. The eastern causeway linking the trading town of Saltow to the docks and markets of Nessumara was packed with refugees fleeing into the delta. A pair of reeves had set down in the midst of the traffic where a knot of confusion had brought movement to a halt. Boats bobbed within the marshy hinterlands; others were being rowed or poled along the narrow channels of the inner delta where the flow of water was regulated by a complicated scheme of locks, dikes, canals, and holding pools.

With the sun at zenith, he and Scar dropped over Nessumara, a city sprawled across a hundred greater and smaller islands. Copper Hall's four watchtowers beckoned. He flagged — and received no answer.

The hells! No one was manning the watchtowers. Where was everyone?

Scar skimmed low south to the swirling confluence of land and sea while Joss scanned the landscape. The hive of activity might be better described as chaos. The entire place was coming apart.

There were a hells lot of boats and ships out in the bay; the harbor of Ankeno was crowded with vessels. Any one who could afford passage was running before the tide. Where in the hells did they all mean to go? And how keep themselves once they were there? The countryside crawled with folk in motion. More reeves down there betrayed even more trouble and confusion. Was it possible for reeves to police this kind of upheaval, much less maintain order at their own hall?

Scar found an updraft and they spiraled up, then began a long descent toward what was now the main compound of Copper Hall, where the marshal had his cote. The eagle seemed eager, recalling his home perch, the place he had jessed Joss. The shores of the Haya coast unfolded below. Surf rolled against sand beaches, or sprayed where rockier ground met the water.

The wide North Shore Road had a cursed lot of traffic on it, folk trudging east toward the Haya Gap and Zosteria. Reeves were out in force.

Late in the afternoon he spotted the familiar watchtowers. It was here Joss had trained; here he had met Marit; here he had flung his reckless defiance into the face of Marshal Masar one too many times until the marshal had forced him to transfer to Clan Hall just to be rid of him. Looking back, Joss supposed he would have done the same in Masar's place. What a gods-rotted rebel he'd been! There'd been no purpose to his troublemaking beyond the frustration of a young man who had had something he craved torn from him. He was older now. It was easy to see the pattern.

He flagged the tower and received permission to come in.

Scar landed with feathers fanned out and talons forward, almost vertical. He grasped a perch, and Joss, swinging gently, unhooked and dropped. The raptor chirped eagerly as he inspected his surroundings. He knew where he was, of course. He'd called Copper Hall home for longer than Joss had been alive.

A murmur of activity came from the main compound, yet in the empty quiet of the visitors' ground, you might think the place deserted. Joss inspected Scar, waiting for fawkners, but spotted only a lad skulking in the entrance to a loft.

'Where are the fawkners?' Joss called.

The lad shrugged.

'Can you fetch someone for me?'

The lad scratched his short hair, then ran for the gate. Joss swore under his breath as he attended to Scar's needs. The visitors' lofts were empty, so Scar lumbered into the closest loft and found an open perch, settling in to preen. The afternoon light falling through the open doors shone gold onto Scar's glorious feathers.

Joss jessed him and went out. In the main compound, smoke was rising from the kitchens, two women squabbled, wagons piled with bags of rice rumbled up to one of the storehouses. The forge boiled with heat and noise, hammers ringing.

No one took notice of Joss. He walked down the alleyway between storehouses and fawkners' barracks that led to the marshal's garden. Long ago, during Joss's days as a novice, Marshal Alard had lovingly tended beds of bright flowers just

for their beauty, but now every plant here had its use: culinary herbs, lavender, woundwort, wiry desert tea, peony, ginseng with its tapered leaves.

The door into the marshal's cote stood open. Joss climbed the steps into the shade of the porch. In the marshal's audience room, an elderly man sat behind a low writing desk, forehead propped on a hand, back bent. An old map, frayed and ripped at the edges, lay unrolled, its corners held down by cups. Smears of ink blotted the sheet; one spot, near the center, had been rubbed so many times it was worn through.

'It doesn't matter what emergency you bring word of,' said the marshal to the desk. 'I've got no more reeves to send out.'

'I'm not here-'

The man looked up. 'Joss? The hells!'

'Masar? I thought you retired — there was a new marshal-'

The old reeve's cheeks were hollow with age and exhaustion. 'There was. Why are you here? Aren't you marshal of Argent Hall?'

No niceties. No wine. Masar gestured with the quick-hurry-up known to all.

'Clan Hall's council has asked me to step in as commander. As a temporary-'

'No need to ask my permission, if that's why you came. I don't see how Clan Hall's administrative juggling affects us here.'

Joss coughed into a hand. 'Well, as commander of the reeve halls-'

Masar's curt laugh silenced him. 'All right, then, Commander. We're overwhelmed. Have you brought supplies? Come with brilliant ideas on how to beat back this cursed army?'

'I have to order things at Argent Hall, get a sense of what is going on at the different halls, find out what happened to Horn Hall-'

'Yes, and after you've managed all that, then you can come back and offer me and mine aid. Is that what you're saying? Fine. I heard you. Good-bye.' He looked past Joss. A rare smile graced his stern face. 'Jenna! There you are.'

A pretty young woman wrapped in a bright orange taloos climbed the steps carrying a covered dish. Behind her trotted a lad not much younger but clearly her sibling. As she paused to kick off her sandals, she looked at Joss with a pretty smile.

'None of that!' scolded Masar. 'He's too old for you.'

'I never said a word!' protested Joss, burned by Masar's scorn. She was a pretty enough lass, but so cursed young.

Masar's frown lowered like a threat. 'These are my grandchildren, Jenna and Kedri.'

'Reeve Joss!' The lad's cheeks flushed as he stared. 'I've heard so many stories-'

'Enough!' snapped Masar. The lad ducked his head as his sister flicked fingers on his arm to silence him. 'Clan Hall can call you their commander if they will — "and I suppose you'll do no worse than anyone else given the chaos — but it's cursed meaningless to us. My own daughter is missing and her husband dead, these two of their five children fled to me. And they aren't the only refugees sheltering here.'

'I'm cursed sorry, Masar,' Joss said, raising his hands to show he'd no weapon and no excuse. 'That's a terrible thing for a parent to suffer. I really did come seeking what information you have to tell me. To let you know the situation at Clan Hall. And to pass on vital information about the army and certain clans in Nessumara who may be plotting to betray the city.'