left behind by its master.
The Leopard officer who had now taken charge of Qinnitan and her captor asked if he wished to make either himself or his “gift” ready to be received.
“I was told to bring her to the Golden One with all speed,” the hunter said. “I am sure he will forgive me if I take him at his word.”
The officer and one of the more important of the Favored looked at each other apprehensively, but the courtier bowed. “Of course, sir. As you say.”
Qinnitan took a shaky breath as they were led down the long, surprisingly wide hallway of the rocking ship. She felt nothing, or at least nothing she could recognize. If she had fallen into the water this moment, as she had imagined doing earlier, she knew she would sink straight down. She felt cold and hard and dead as stone.
They paused outside the doorway of the ship’s central cabin while the Leopard officer discreetly and almost apologetically searched the man who had caught her. The chief of the Favored did the same for Qinnitan. The eunuch’s breath smelled of mint and something sharper and fouler, the stench of a rotting tooth, perhaps; at any other time she would have been revolted by his touch, but now she just stood and let herself be handled like a corpse readied for burial. There was no point in feeling anything. No use caring.
The Favored led them through the door and across the broad cabin toward the tall man seated on a plain chair at the center, legs spread, booted feet planted firmly on the ground, examining the documents Qinnitan’s captor had given to the courtiers.
It was not the autarch.
“All hail High Polemarch Ikelis Johar, Overseer of the Armies!” said the Favored, striking his staff three times on the cabin’s wooden floor.
The general looked up, his heavy-browed face turning from Qinnitan to her captor. “Vo, is it? Daikonas Vo. I think I have heard the name before—your father was a White Hound, too, am I right?”
So the empty-faced man who had taken her had a name, Qinnitan realized—not that it mattered. Soon she would be beyond remembering any name, even her own.
“Yes, Polemarch.” The man seemed a little taken aback, although his face was still stony and indifferent. “Forgive me, Lord, but can you tell me when I may see the autarch? I was given very specific orders...”
“Yes, yes.” The general waved his calloused hand. “And you have done well to come here swiftly and without waiting. But as it happens, you have missed the Golden One by a matter of half a day.”
“What?” Vo seemed, for the first time, quite mortal. “I don’t understand...”
“He has gone in one of his swiftest ships,
Qinnitan was stunned. She done her best to prepare herself to see the autarch’s terrifying smile and she felt as though she had stepped off a cliff where she had expected to set her foot on hot coals. She didn’t know what to think, except that her torment would go on a little longer, her death would be a little delayed, and she had no idea what she felt about that.
The Overseer of the Armies slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. He was tall, and looked half again as heavy as Daikonas Vo. “Well, then, if you just pass the girl over to my servants we will keep her most safe until the autarch returns.”
“No.”
The polemarch, who had begun to turn away, pivoted slowly on his heel, surprised. “No? Did I hear you say no to me, soldier?”
“You did, Lord. Because the Golden One himself commanded me to bring him the girl with all dispatch—me and no one else. I will need your fastest ship.”
The high overseer looked from Vo to the rest of the courtiers and soldiers standing in the room. His mouth curled, but the smile did not hide his annoyance. “My fastest ship, eh? You are insolent, even for one of the Hounds.”
Vo had recovered his equilibrium. He stared back. “There is nothing insolent in serving the Golden One just as he commands—in every word. Our master was most insistent.”
The older man looked at Vo, and Qinnitan could almost believe they were staring at each other over a game board, a fierce bout of Shanat, perhaps, like the old men played in the marketplace, everyone talking except the two competing. At last Ikelis Johar shook his head.
“Very well,” he said. “We will find you a ship. You will tell the autarch, when you find him, that this was your own idea.”
“I will certainly do that, High Polemarch.” Vo turned. “I would like some food and drink while I wait for the new ship to be readied.”
The polemarch frowned heavily, but at last sat down in his chair again. “The servants will see to it. Now you will excuse me, Vo—I have some little work to do, after all.”
“Yes. One last question, Polemarch.” Vo almost seemed to be doing it on purpose now, poking Johar to see if he could make one of the world’s most powerful men lose his temper. “How long ago did the autarch leave for Xis?”
“Xis?” Now the polemarch regained his good humor. “Who said anything about Xis? Your journey will not be so easy. The Golden One is bound north on our fastest ship, following the coast.”
“North?” Daikonas Vo, Qinnitan saw, was not feigning surprise: he was genuinely astonished. “But where is he going?”
“To a small, backwater country few have ever heard about, let alone cared to visit,” the polemarch said, signaling for one of the servants to bring him something to drink. “It is so small he is only taking a few hundred soldiers, although they are all fine, fierce troops—your Hounds among them. And we are sending three more ships full of soldiers after him, too, as well as one of the Royal Crocodiles on a barge— one of the big cannon.”
“Taking them where?” said Vo, confused. “What country? Why?”
“Why? Who knows?” Johar took his goblet and downed a long swallow. “The autarch wills it and so it happens. As to where, it is some insignificant place called Southmarch. Now take your runaway whore and let me get back to the business of destroying a real city.”
41. Kinswoman to Death
The gods have reigned in justice and strength ever after, defending the heavens and the earth from all who would harm them. The fathers of mankind have prospered under the gods’ fair leadership. Those who follow the teachings of the three brothers and their oracles and do them proper fealty find a welcome place in Heaven after their own deaths.
A gullboat just in from Jael, which had received its news from other ships newly arrived from Devonis, had brought word to Southmarch that the Autarch of Xis had sent a huge war fleet to Hierosol. The gullboat had left southern waters before collecting any further news, but no one in Southmarch Castle doubted that holy, ancient Hierosol was even now surrounded and besieged.
The doings of those aboveground only seldom stirred the inhabitants of Funderling Town, but they had already heard a great deal of bad news this year—the king imprisoned, the older prince murdered, the royal twins gone and perhaps dead. Many of the small folk wondered whether the final days had truly come, whether the Lord of the Hot Wet Stone had lost his patience with mortals entirely and would soon lay waste to all they had built. There was little work, anyway, nor much to eat or enjoy, so the most pious Funderlings spent their days praying and insisting that the rest of their people join them.
Today, two of the Metamorphic Brothers were standing just inside the gates of Funderling Town, scolding all who passed for trafficking with the sinful upgrounders. Chert turned his head away from them, ashamed but also
