Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) Page 18

  Basilard wouldn’t ask him to assassinate anyone—even if Sicarius would consider it, he doubted Amaranthe would, and they were a team—but having someone who would act more ruthlessly than he was capable of made him feel like more opportunities lay open for him. Of course, he had to remind himself that Sicarius worked for President Starcrest these days, not simply for Amaranthe. Basilard couldn’t necessarily win his help by talking Amaranthe into helping.

  “The camp is here,” Sicarius said. “No fire. There have been Kendorians around.”

  The pyre? Basilard signed, though again, he realized there was no point, not in the dark.

  Still, Sicarius must have guessed at the questions he would have. “Amaranthe insisted on a pyre,” he said.

  Basilard nodded, glad for the confirmation that Amaranthe was indeed there.

  Sicarius stopped in a protected hollow, a small bay carving out a pebbly beach surrounded by trees. Water lapped at the shore, the noise just audible above Maldynado’s snores. Basilard picked out three slumbering forms with blankets wrapped around them. Maldynado, Mahliki, and Ashara? Or Amaranthe? He could not tell in the dark, but someone might have been placed on guard.

  A soft clank reached his ears. A lantern being unshuttered. The faint flame did little to brighten the camp, but he recognized Amaranthe’s face above the weak light. She sat with her back against a tree, her crossbow in her lap. She stood up as Basilard approached, and he hugged her. He had not seen either of them for more than three months. Sometimes it got lonely back at the capital, with so few people with whom he could converse. If Amaranthe had been home a couple of weeks ago, Basilard might have asked for advice on the marriage proposal—Maldynado had obviously not been a reliable resource on the subject. Maybe he would have saved himself some embarrassment and would not now be missing his translator.

  With thoughts of Elwa on his mind, Basilard sat down, using the lantern light to sign. It is good to see you. Did you see Elwa on the road from Turgonia?

  Amaranthe’s brow furrowed. Whatever question she had expected from him, that had not been it. Apparently, Maldynado and his loud, snoring mouth had not filled her in on Basilard’s ill-timed proposal yet. It was just as well. There were more important matters to discuss now, but Basilard would continue to worry about Elwa. The fact that nobody had run into her and the courier on the road continued to make him uneasy. As did all of his missing people.

  He took a deep breath, trying to sort his thoughts. Figuring Amaranthe already had an idea as to what was happening with the invaders, he started with, I need advice. I have a crazy plan, and I need you to tell me if it’s suicidal or not.

  “She is not qualified to do that,” Sicarius said dryly from behind her tree.

  Amaranthe twisted to look back at him. “Are you suggesting that all of my plans are suicidal and that it’s only because of your unfailing skill and support that I’ve survived this long?”

  “Do you want me to answer that?” Sicarius asked.

  Amaranthe tapped her jaw. “Perhaps not.” She faced Basilard again, lifting a hand, palm up. “Do you still want my advice?”

  Yes.

  Sicarius touched the top of Amaranthe’s head, the gesture surprisingly gentle from him, then slipped into the darkness to patrol the camp. “Not all of your plans are suicidal,” he offered in parting, the soft words traveling back to them.

  “He’s so generous with his praise,” Amaranthe said.

  Basilard nodded, then launched into his explanation. There are hundreds of Kendorians camped out in the canyon lands, not far from here. I don’t know where my people are, but they would not raise arms to drive out the intruders, so I need to figure out something myself. Either that, or I need to accept that this isn’t my fight and that my people, in choosing peace, have set themselves up to be taken advantage of. But that’s hard for me. Not only are the Kendorians here to pillage our land, but they’ve killed Mangdorians on their way through. I don’t know how many yet, but there have been at least two scouts.

  Several minutes passed as he signed, telling her everything, his fingers flying so quickly that Amaranthe probably had trouble keeping up. But Basilard couldn’t bring himself to slow down. Emotion poured out of him along with the words, the frustration of not knowing where his people were, of being in charge of what had turned into far more than a research trip, and of not knowing how to go forward. He hated that all he had were crazy, idiotic plans that were sure to get them all killed.

  “Let’s start with that,” Amaranthe said. Impossibly, she smiled, as if all of his worries were of no greater a concern than things they had dealt with in the past. Maybe they weren’t, but for the first time, the problems were taking place on his home soil, and he was responsible. At least, he felt responsible.

  The crazy, idiotic plan? he asked.

  “Yes. You want to get these people off your land, right?” Amaranthe glanced toward the slumbering forms. Maldynado was still snoring, but Jomrik and Ashara weren’t such noisy sleepers. Ashara might have been lying awake and listening to the conversation. Perhaps I should also use signs? Amaranthe asked. I’m not sure I understand Ashara’s purpose here, other than that the Kendorian ambassador somehow had her inserted on your team.

  Signs might be best, yes. Basilard did not feel like explaining Ashara at that moment. He wasn’t sure if he could explain her, the fact that he wanted to trust her and that she had been fighting alongside them, but that there was that question about her ultimate loyalties. Perhaps we could talk with her tomorrow, with you being my translator and… observer. You’ve always had a knack for reading people well. And talking them over to your side.

  We can try, but I’m not sure the Kendorians have any love for me, especially now that I wander around with Sicarius. He did a few assassinations in Kendor, back when he worked for the old emperor.

  Yes, Basilard signed, his mouth twisting with displeasure. He did assassinations everywhere, as I recall.

  There was plenty of work back when Emperor Raumesys was in charge. Now, what’s your plan?

  I had the thought… Even though Basilard doubted Amaranthe, of all people, would judge him for a foolish plan, he still found himself loath to voice the one he had been mulling over on the return trek. Perhaps because it involved Turgonia, however indirectly. A part of me wants to find my people and implore them to help, to turn their hunting spears into weapons for combat, but I’m afraid that will end up being a useless effort. I feel I should still try, but I don’t know that one man will be able to change the religious views of a nation, and I’m not sure I should. God said… He stopped. He’d had arguments with Amaranthe, who was as atheistic as any other Turgonian, on this matter before, mostly as she tried to convince him that he wasn’t going to Hell. He didn’t want to go into that now. I believe they will follow God’s words, and not mine. So, my plan is to find a way to trick the Kendorians out of my land, at least temporarily, until a long-term solution can be found. The only thing he had thought up related to long-term solutions was offering the Turgonians something they wanted in exchange for having them guard the Mangdorian borders. Since they, too, were interested in ore, he wasn’t sure trading invaders for guards would be a much better deal, but since he had a relationship with the Turgonian president and didn’t have one with any other nation, that kept coming to mind.

  Trick? Amaranthe prompted.

  He had been staring at the flame in the lantern, struggling to wrangle his thoughts into a singular focus. I thought I might try negotiating with the invaders, telling them that I’m there to give them a warning, to let them leave with their lives before unpleasant things happen.

  Amaranthe’s eyebrows lifted, but she nodded for him to go on.

  The Kendorians aren’t afraid of my people. They are, Basilard signed, looking into her eyes, afraid of yours.

  Maldynado twitched in his sleep, interrupting his own snores with a gurgling sound, then yawned loudly before smacking his lips and rolling onto his side.

/>   “Hard to believe,” Amaranthe murmured.

  At the least, they are wary of your people. They know your military might, and that you outnumber them and have far greater weapons and forces to bring to bear. I know President Starcrest has no reason to help us with this problem, that what’s going on over here is of little concern to Turgonia, and that Turgonia has plenty of other problems it’s dealing with now. But I don’t truly need him for an ally, at least not right now, if I can give the appearance that he’s a Mangdorian ally.

  By telling the Kendorians as much?

  Yes, I thought I could bring a powerful warrior-caste Turgonian representative with me to show that I have the nation’s support. Basilard looked at Maldynado. Now that Sicarius was here, Basilard was tempted to shift who he had in mind for the role of Turgonian representative, but he didn’t know if the Kendorians would believe Sicarius had the government’s ear. They also might loathe him so much that they would shoot him on sight. Starcrest had pardoned Sicarius in Turgonia, but that didn’t mean Sicarius didn’t have enemies throughout the rest of the world. Maldynado was a safer bet. He carried himself with that snooty warrior-caste air that many people associated with Turgonia, and he should also be unknown outside of the republic.

  “A powerful Turgonian representative?” Amaranthe wrinkled her nose dubiously. “Have they heard him snore?”

  You don’t think it could work?

  I suppose Maldynado can be serious when he’s properly motivated. But I think you’ll want a backup plan. And what of the blight? My understanding was that this was the primary concern to your people. I’m sure it’s galling you that the Kendorians are setting up a mining operation on your land, but that’s not going to harm your people’s ability to provide for themselves this winter.

  I believe the Kendorians are responsible for the blight. A distraction to keep my people busy, perhaps even pushing them out of this part of the country, so that the miners would never be noticed. Something that, he worried, was working. Mahliki is seeking a solution. She may need help, but that isn’t something I’m capable of offering. I know which plants are good for eating and for medicine and where to find them, but I don’t know how to fix them when they’re broken. However, I feel that if I get rid of the Kendorians, every other solution we seek will become much easier to find.

  “Yes, I saw the flaming book.”

  Pardon?

  Sicarius killed a shaman, Amaranthe signed, but not before he lit some of Mahliki’s research on fire.

  Basilard rubbed his face. He hoped Mahliki’s professors gave her a very good grade—or whatever the equivalent was that she sought—for dealing with all of these obstacles on her research trip.

  “Tell me about the canyon where they’re set up,” Amaranthe said.

  Basilard held up a finger and left to rummage in his pack. He returned with a scrap of paper and a broken pencil stub. It took a few swipes from his knife to sharpen it sufficiently, but then he sketched a map of the Kendorian encampment. Since he had looked down upon it from above, he was able to display the terrain effectively, if not attractively. He would never have Sicarius’s skill for cartography or drawing. His people had an oral tradition, and only the chiefs and priests learned to read and write, so Basilard hadn’t grown up wielding a pen.

  “Where does that river start?” Amaranthe touched the line through the center of the canyon. The pencil sharpening had been hasty, and the line had ended up with odd bulges. “That is a river, right? Not a path? Or a… Mangdorian plumpthin worm?” Her fingers made a squeezing motion in the air.

  Are you mocking my map-making abilities? Basilard asked and held up his lopsided pencil tip to show what he had been working with.

  “Who, me?”

  It is a river, but not a huge one. The headwaters are here, in this mountain. I couldn’t guess the depth from my perch above, but perhaps eight or ten meters wide. They’ve built a bridge so they can take their lizards and carts back and forth.

  “This time of year, snow should be melting off the snowpack steadily. Before we drag Maldynado into the Kendorian camp to attempt your negotiation, I want to take a look at the area upstream.”

  Basilard shrugged. That was doable. You agree with my plan then? You don’t think it’s suicidal?

  Amaranthe glanced in the direction Sicarius had gone, but he wasn’t visible. “It may be… challenging,” she said, “but we’ll leave someone to guard us from above, to offer assistance if we get into trouble.”

  Sicarius?

  I don’t think he would be welcome by the Kendorians for a negotiation, so it’s just as well if he doesn’t show up.

  Since Basilard had been thinking the same thing, he nodded.

  And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have watching my back. Of course, I don’t intend to get into trouble. I like to surprise him every now and then by not needing to be saved.

  Agreed.

  Basilard was about to rise, but Amaranthe held up a hand, then pointed toward Mahliki’s blanket. “I only spoke to her briefly about the blight, but it sounds like we need to make sure she’s somewhere that she can continue to work toward a solution.”

  That would be ideal, yes. In addition to the need to thwart the blight, Basilard would like the president’s daughter somewhere safe. Walking into a Kendorian camp was not that. The Kendorians might think to kidnap her and try to extort some of Turgonia’s resources out of them. Why not? They were already stealing Mangdoria’s. Worse, they could shoot Mahliki, not even knowing who she was. Perhaps she could continue on to the meeting place where I believe my people will be. Where he hoped his people would be. The doubt that he would find them gnawed at him, that worry lingering beneath all of the other ones.

  “But not alone,” Amaranthe said, then switched to signing again. She’s capable, but with grimbals out here and ancestors know what else, we can’t leave her without a bodyguard.

  No, I agree. Jomrik is a possibility, but he doesn’t have any wilderness knowledge or tracking skills that I’ve noticed. He wouldn’t be the best choice to find my people.

  I’m not sure if Mahliki has that kind of background, either. Even if she knows how to follow a trail, she’s so distracted with her research that she might pass by a subtle sign.

  Or an obvious one. Basilard smiled, imagining Mahliki looking at her dishes with that loupe and not noticing a village of yurts alongside the trail.

  Possibly so. Amaranthe smiled back. Your Kendorian friend. She seems at home out here in the forest. Could she follow your directions and find the meeting place?

  I assume so, yes. But I don’t know if we can trust her. I’d like to trust her, but…

  You’d like to trust her? Amaranthe’s eyebrows twitched.

  Basilard felt his cheeks warm, even though she hadn’t insinuated anything, not truly. She’s been very helpful in all of our skirmishes, both with the predators and… He hesitated. He still wasn’t sure what it had meant the other night when he had come across her on the ground, with that shaman nearby. They hadn’t been talking as equals, but Basilard feared the shaman might have been punishing her because she hadn’t found the information she had been supposed to find.

  Yes, she was helping Maldynado and the others when Sicarius and I came up on your party today, Amaranthe signed. She shot at least two of her own people that I saw.

  She did? Basilard hadn’t received the information about the Kendorian attack yet, but now the funeral pyre made more sense.

  Amaranthe nodded. When I say, her people, I just mean Kendorians. I know there are factions, the same as there always have been in Turgonia, and she might not have any love for those who are invading here, but I thought her willingness to shoot other Kendorians was interesting. Why would she commit to help you so? Maybe Maldynado was right, and you’ve managed to charm her.

  Basilard snorted. Not me.

  “Hm.”

  Perhaps you could talk to her, Basilard signed, remembering his earlier idea. If I had a conversation
with Ashara in the morning, with you acting as my translator, you could observe her without her being wary about you, and then you could let me know what you think, if we might truly bring her over to our side or if she’s been Shukura’s man, er, woman, all along, and if she’s here to hinder us rather than help us.

  I think you’re overvaluing my social abilities. Amaranthe’s lips thinned in a self-deprecating smirk.

  No, I’m not. You tamed Sicarius.

  “Tamed?” She laughed softly. He’s not a grimbal.

  No, he’s flintier.

  And he’s probably observing this conversation from whatever shadow he’s skulking in. Maybe you should say some nice things about him before we need him to get us out of trouble in the Kendorian camp.

  I thought you intended not to need his help.

  You don’t bet on a duel based on the combatants’ intentions. Amaranthe patted Basilard on the shoulder, then stood up. “I’m going to get some sleep and suggest you do too. Tomorrow might be an eventful day.”

  Of that Basilard had little doubt.

  As he headed for his pack to spread out a blanket for himself, he caught a murmur from the trees.

  “Skulking,” Sicarius said. “Really.”

  Amaranthe chuckled, slipping into the shadows to join him. “Was I wrong?”

  Instead of answering, Sicarius pulled her toward him.

  Basilard lay on his blanket, turning his back to them. Even if they were the most subtle of couples, he had no trouble telling when two people were retreating into the trees to share a private moment. He had no wish to intrude in any way. Nor did he want to think about other people enjoying each other’s company when it had been so long since he’d had any company to enjoy.

  Focus on the mission, he told himself, on refining the plan. He would only get one chance to try and bluff those Kendorians out of his homeland. If he failed, more than his life would be at stake.

  • • • • •

  The first light of dawn found Ashara sitting cross-legged on a rocky bank overlooking the lake. As the birds awoke, chirping their songs to welcome the day, she hunkered over a pile of sturdy reeds she had cut. She had retrieved most of her arrows from the skirmish the day before, but she had lost many in the fights with the grimbals, leaving her ammunition depleted. She had heads and a strong glue that she carried in her kit at all times, but the shafts had to be collected from materials found in the woods. Wood would be sturdier, but the reeds would take much less time to turn into weapons, and if she was going to be shooting humans instead of giant, shaggy predators with thick hides, she didn’t need strong, heavy shafts.