Kate Elliott - Shadow Gate

'Unless you got any preference otherwise, I'll put you both in here where most of the younger reeves bunk.'

She stepped into the chamber, which was long and narrow and had a musty odor, nothing unpleasant, just redolent of bodies. There were about twenty beds, most decorated with homely remembrances like a flower-patterned quilt or an embroidered pillow.

'Here's one for you, Pil,' said Likard, gesturing toward the sole bed set against the same wall as the door.

'Neh, not that one,' said Nallo. 'It's likely too noisy.'

Footsteps sounded on the floor, and a young woman in a hurry barged through the door, jerking to a halt before she slammed into Likard.

'Heya! Why be stopped like that in the middle of- Here, now. Who are these?'

'Novices from Argent Hall, sent to train here,' said Likard. 'Greetings of the day to you, too, Kesta.'

'Fuck off, you turd.' Then she turned a bright smile on the others. 'I'm Kesta. Sorry, not much of a greeting, is it? Welcome to Clan Hall. Always glad to see a new face.'

The words seemed sincere enough, and she had the grace not to stare at Pil. And she was cursed attractive, with her sleeveless vest laced tight over a muscular frame.

Nallo averted her eyes, trying for something safer, like the reeve's chin. 'I'm Nallo. This is Pil. He's an outlander, as you may have noticed, and he doesn't say much.'

'Eh, so you talk for him?' She grinned, and lifted her chin in a gesture almost flirtatious. 'Fair enough. Anyway, I'm late for duty-'

'There's a surprise,' muttered Likard.

'-so I can't chat, but I'll see you at hall this evening, if I get back. The hells! There it is.' She grabbed a baton off the bunk decorated with the embroidered pillow, and ran out.

Pil said, with his careful diction and heavy accent, 'Where lies the men's hall?'

'Men's hall?' Likard looked him up and down in an intrusive way

that truly annoyed Nallo. 'Can't wait to get to the temple and be devoured, eh?'

Pil blushed.

'Leave him be! Among the Qin, men and women who aren't kin or married don't bunk down together. So he'd be uncomfortable bunking in these quarters.'

Likard scratched an eyebrow, as if this answer confounded him. 'Why in the hells would we be wasting our time here with a men's hall and a women's hall? He want a private chamber, like a legate? Or his own cote, like the cursed commander?'

'He's got no idea of our ways and customs, so don't mock him. You know, Likard, it seems to me there are in general more male reeves than female. Maybe one of the bunk rooms has all men in it, or fewer woman, anyway.'

'I never thought to count,' he said with an exaggerated and sarcastic smile. 'Aui! Just throw your gear in the workroom. I'll let Ofri sort it out.'

But Pil would not leave his weapons or his gear, so in a show of solidarity, Nallo lugged her gear as well. Likard led them through the compounds into a private garden court where a fountain spilled water into a series of stone basins carved to look like giant nai leaves, whose root feeds all people.

An old man sat on the porch, studying a half-finished game of kot. Seeing them, he rose. 'What's this, Likard?'

'Novices brought from Argent Hall to train here. Volias brought them.'

'Where is Volias, then?'

'Trouble's injured.'

'Eiya!' His expression darkened. 'How bad is it?'

'It's the leg. She had to fly while losing blood.'

Nallo faltered. 'Will Trouble die?'

'No use courting worries, lass,' said the old man. 'The fawkners will have all in hand.' He considered Pil with a frown, then gestured. 'I'll let Commander know you're here.'

They heard voices engaged in discussion as they took off their boots. They waited on the porch until the old man came back out to beckon them into a spacious audience chamber where six older men and two women sat on pillows, with a ninth seated behind a low desk.

'Your names?' The woman behind the desk had years, and pain, etched in her face.

'I'm Nallo. This is Pil.'

'Can the outlander not speak for himself?'

'I am Pil,' he said, curtly enough that it might be taken for arrogance, but Nallo recognized the way he had of looking at people without quite having the nerve to look at them. She could not reconcile his shyness with his killing arrows.

The woman nodded, not one to take offense at trifles. 'I'm the commander. These are my council.' She ran off names, pointing to each reeve, and ended with a middle-aged man called Ofri. 'Why did Marshal Joss send you from Argent Hall? Why not keep you there?'

'I didn't want to train at Argent Hall, verea. As for Pil, here — you'll need to ask Volias — but I think it was determined he'd train better away from the other Qin soldiers.'

'Is that true?' asked the commander, tone like a whip. 'Pil, you'll answer me.'

'Captain Anji asked it be done, Commander,' he said in his soft voice. His mouth twisted as if he was in pain. 'He said it is better I go away to train. I am no longer a proper Qin soldier.'

'Because you are chosen as a reeve?'

He parted his lips to reply, then closed them.

'We'll sort it out later. At the moment, we can use you to ferry messages so more experienced reeves can patrol. Wait outside. When we're finished, Ofri will take charge of you.'

Outside, they sat cross-legged on the porch. Pil had the knack of sitting perfectly still, hands at rest on his thighs, while he stared at the fountain and seemed, if anything, to be praying. Nallo could not find a comfortable seat. The raw burn on her hip smarted. Everything else itched, poked, ached. She listened to the reeve council discussing the approach of a vast and terrible army, the flight of refugees from burned villages, a spy recovered from the river, the death of two reeves and an eagle. What had happened to the Green Sun clan? They'd abandoned their warehouses and all left town, very odd, and the council wanted the reeves to search for traces of them. Should we use oil of naya, as they did at Olossi? How do we transport a lot of oil quickly, if we do, when river transport down the lesser Istri might be blocked?

The words, by themselves, had no tangible meaning, like a tale sung at festival time, but their voices had an edge so sharp that Nallo found her own shoulders tightening in response. A great ravening beast was lumbering down on them, and they just sat there helplessly in its path.

The Istri Walk was the great thoroughfare of the Hundred, wide enough to accommodate two wagons rolling abreast on the raised central pavement with well-trodden dirt paths flanking the walk on either side. Marit found it eerie to pace its measures in such solitude. Every village was closed down tight, not one person out on road or path except for gangs of farmers working the fields without the usual songs to pass the time. Everything was too quiet, Marit thought, not with the lull before the storm but with the shock of destruction after.

The trailing edge of the army appeared roadside, the detritus of their passage: a naked toddler with a distended stomach sucked its dirty thumb; a lad herded a paltry herd of skinny goats along the verge; a man with a crutch limped away when he saw them, keeping his head down. People had been scavenging for wood and kindling, for there was not a scrap of forest litter on the ground besides rotting vegetation.

Wagons blocked the road, but the riders broke into a canter and flew over them. The guards bobbed their heads in obeisance, afraid to look her in the eye.

'Who built this road?' Hari asked. 'I've never seen anything like it. Not even in the Sirniakan Empire.'

'No one knows,' said Marit. 'Even the tales don't say'

'I see such a path one time,' said the girl, who called herself Kirit.

'Where?' asked Marit when it became obvious she wasn't about to say more.