Kate Elliott - Traitors Gate

'Heya!' called the elder.

Shai and the envoy, sharing a complicit glance, hurried after. They hauled supplies as the afternoon lengthened into dusk. When it got too dark to see, the elder lit a lantern. Eventually they paused for a rest in the abandoned clearing.

'You're a hard worker, Shayi,' the elder said, 'I'll give you that. You might have bashed me over the head and taken a run for it, although you'd not escape the wildings, would you, eh?'

'The wildings?'

As if the word were a summons, the male dropped out of the trees. In lamplight, it sketched gestures with its hands.

The old woman became rigid with disbelief. 'Ambushed at the waterwheel? No survivors? Soldiers coming this way?'

The wilding gestured toward Navita and indicated that the young woman should climb onto its back. Hurry! Hurry!

The breeze waned to stillness. A distant shout hung in the air, and then it was drowned by an odd sound shuddering within the trees, a spill like falling rain. A rippling shadow descended out of darkness: a woman cloaked in night, riding a winged horse. Soldiers emerged out of the forest, surrounding them.

The cloaked woman reined in the horse, raising a hand. 'Child of the Four Mothers,' she said to the wilding. 'I will not harm you because of the ancient law binding my kind to that of the other children of the Hundred. Out of the same blood and bone and thread we were created.'

It hesitated, an arm extended to indicate the trembling young envoy.

'You think to save her, but no action you take can save her from my scrutiny. Go. I may not kill you, but that does not mean my soldiers may not grow impatient and strike.'

It showed its teeth in a grin of furious despair but retreated, vanishing into the trees.

'Aui!' called one of the soldiers. 'Was that a wilding} It's cursed bad luck to kill any of the other children. Curses ten times down the generations.'

'Shut up,' said the captain in charge. 'Holy One, this girl is the Flag Quarter envoy we've been seeking, I'm sure of it.'

'Look at me,' said the cloaked woman pleasantly.

Meeting that gaze, the elder staggered and clutched at her heart as she dropped the lantern, which hit square and did not tip. Two soldiers hauled Navita forward to face the cloak.

'Veiled to my sight!' said the cloak, more a murmur of disappointment. 'You are a seventh daughter, perhaps?'

The girl maintained her dignity with remarkable self-possession. 'I am, Holy One. Seventh of eight girls born to my good mother. I am gods-touched, and according to the law will serve out my days as a servant of the gods. I was dedicated to Ilu the Herald three years ago.'

'Still young,' said the cloak, signaling to the captain, who

moved up behind the young woman with his drawn sword. 'But gods-cursed, not gods-touched.'

The man stabbed Navita in the back, up under the ribs. Her grunt was all that betrayed her surprise. The elder collapsed, sobbing, to her knees, as the captain cut Navita's throat. Her death was swift, and her ghost, twisting out of her body, cast a surprised look at Shai.

'You're gods-touched, too!' the ghost cried. 'Hurry, Shayi! Save yourself!'

Then her spirit fled, crossing under the Gate.

'Are you the veiled outlander Bevard spoke of?' the cloak asked.

T don't have to tell you,' said Shai. 'What harm did Navita ever do to you?'

'Those who are veiled are dangerous because they can lie without fear. They are demons with human faces. It was not the intention of the gods that any stand veiled before us. Captain?'

The captain moved up behind Shai, sword still wet with blood.

'You don't want to kill me,' said Shai.

The cloak sighed a mournful smile. 'Why not?'

'I came to the Hundred looking for my brother. You know him. His name is Harishil, and he wears one of the cloaks.'

The captain whistled. 'There is a resemblance between him and Lord Twilight.'

'Harishil's brother.' The cloak's gaze was as smooth as a polished stone and just as unfathomable. 'Captain, take him to Wedrewe. I'll join you after I have tracked down the gods-touched mendicants so many have spoken of.'

'To Wedrewe! Holy One, that's a cursed long way!'

'Are you a captain, or do you wish to be a sergeant again?'

'Of course, Holy One. It will be done exactly as you wish.' He prodded Shai with the bloody point of his sword. 'Pick up the lantern, and let's get the hells out of this cursed woodland and to a decent road.'

Not dead yet: at this point, that seemed to be the most Shai could ask for. He picked up the lantern and starting walking.

The enemy crept cautiously out of the forest's edge, watching for the glare of fire in the distance where villages burned. Captain Arras had set his ambush carefully: four lines of attack, trip wires, and a gauntlet of spearmen to sweep around from behind so no stragglers could escape back into the trees. The fighting was short, sharp, and efficient; not one of his men was killed, although ten sustained wounds and two were so badly hurt they'd likely be crippled. Ten of the enemy survived the main attack on their feet and refused to surrender, preferring to fight to the death, so he had them taken down with arrows. Three of the enemy were mortally wounded but still breathing; he cut their throats himself, as a mercy.

At dawn, he commanded the men to drag the bodies into the open clearing behind the ruined waterwheel, where he paced out the measure of the dead, his sandaled feet moistened with dew as he counted thirty-four men and women, two short of a full cadre. Too bad they'd joined up with the wrong side; he could have used such bold, hard fighters, molded them into something more than a ragtag poorly led herd of frustrated rebels.

Sergeant Giyara herded the shivering child forward and, at his gesture, moved away to the perimeter. No one could overhear them now.

'You did as you were told,' he said to the child: he wasn't sure if it was a homely boy or a brawny girl. 'How many were left at camp?'

The child was weeping, tears smearing lines through its filthy face. 'Dunno. A few. Not fighters.'

'Any outlanders?'

'I saw one.' Its voice trembled as it contemplated the ashes of its triumph. Under Arras's steady gaze it found its tongue and spoke in a whisper. 'You won't kill my family?'

'First, you'll lead us to the clearing.' The captain fastened a hand over the neck of the child's jacket.

The raid on the villages was well in hand, according to the runners who came in from his other companies to report. He called in the men, had the wounded set up a perimeter within the ruins to await his return, and settled the rest into files, making sure his

strongest, most stubborn fighters were concentrated in the van and at the rearguard. The dogs and their handlers were sprinkled throughout the line in case of attack while they were strung out and vulnerable on a forest track. This was the dangerous part of the operation, so he took point with a pair of trusted men, put the child on a rope, and sent him ahead like a dog. They trotted at good speed along the track.

A mind, surely, was like this forest, tangled and overgrown, its reaches hidden to the common eye. What the cloaks possessed was something like the path they marched along, a way to punch into what you otherwise could not penetrate. What if there was a way to let your thoughts grow over and hide from the cloaks?

The enemy hadn't been entirely stupid. They'd emplaced a lookout, but the person had fled, the only survivor. They'd tried to cover their tracks, keep their base hidden. His company had to wade up a stream, a good technique for throwing off dogs on a scent, and take a second track yet deeper into the forest. But in the end they found the clearing with its canvas structures still strung up. The fire was ashes. Platters were scattered around logs set out as benches; small animals had been feeding on the leavings. Wind bellied the canvas awnings. Birds fluttered away through high branches. Two corpses cooled: an elderly woman and a lass wearing the blue cloak of an envoy of Ilu.