visible marks and to cause you maximum suffering afterward. Is that understood?'
Kesh's eyes were watering. He braced a foot, and immediately his arm was tweaked so hard his vision hazed. 'Yes!'
The Hieros released him.
He dropped, rubbing his shoulder. 'Aui! What did I ever do to deserve that?'
A question to which only you can provide the answer. Dalon, get him out of here.'
Clenching his jaw, Kesh rose, shaking but determined. 'I'd like tea and cups. Sweetened rice cakes, if you have any. Or bean cakes. On a platter.'
The Hieros chuckled. 'Would you now? I admire your stubbornness, Keshad. An undervalued trait. Dalon, bring him whatever he asks for, within reasonable bounds.'
Whatever he asks for.
He ignored the pain in his shoulder as he followed Dalon nto a barracks-like building flanking one side of the Hieros's
courtyard. The courtyard stretched the length of the entire compound. A door led from the barracks into the women's garden, lively at this hour with laughter, conversation, and the sounds of one unfortunate who evidently had the habit of whooping loudly when she reached a climax. Most people were more discreet. Musicians were singing, accompanying themselves with drum, flute, and zither. Dalon led him to a tiny pavilion in a shadowed corner, hung a lantern from a hook, and left Kesh there alone.
There were pillows, a low table, a pitcher of wash water, a copper basin for washing. He washed his hands and face and poured the wash water into a decorative trough of snarling stardrops whose last flowers stubbornly bloomed although it was past their season. He knew how to be stubborn, how to get what he wanted no matter how long and how hard he had to work for it. He placed a pillow on each side of the table and scattered the rest so they did not clump all together, convenient for a quick tumble.
Dalon announced his return with a cough. He handed over a tray resplendent with a beautifully lacquered tea pot and matching cups, and two platters of delicacies: red bean cakes, yam dumplings, ginger rice cakes, raisins, and sliced mango.
Kesh set cups, platters, and teapot on the table and fussed with their arrangement, so engrossed in his task as his mind devised a plan that he was surprised when she spoke.
'Keshad?'
He started back, tumbling one of the empty teacups, and caught it as he straightened to face her. She was dressed simply, in an undyed linen taloos of fine weave, and wore no scarf, her lustrous hair tumbling over her shoulders like a fall of water. Eiya! He heard a distant voice singing of just such a sight: 'Her hair, like the water, falls-'
He was terribly aroused, but he smiled as if he weren't lusting after her so badly it hurt. He knelt at the basin and washed hands and face again, this time with the proper prayers. She copied the movements but did not speak the prayer.
Lips parted, eyes bright as the lamp's sheen made them glisten, she turned to him, lifting a hand to touch his chest. 'Keshad.'
He scrambled to put the table between them, settled cross-legged — tremendously uncomfortable but determined to negotiate this with every cursed trick he knew — on one pillow and indicated the pillow opposite him.
'Look at these enticing foods the Hieros has had brought for us,' he said.
Surprised, and cautious, she sat on the pillow with her legs folded to one side, leaning on her right hand, watching him. She had a way of dipping her chin and looking up through half-closed eyes that was likely to drive him to madness, but he was not to be swayed from his purpose. 'What is this? I thought-'
She ceased speaking as he poured tea and, with the gesture known from the tale, offered her a cup. 'Lthought we could talk,' he said.
'Talk?'
Certainly he wanted to devour her, right now, right here, but what would that gain him? She could come to the garden every night and have sex, with him or with some other person, as she wished. He must withhold himself until he had convinced her to want him for other reasons.
Watching him, she licked her lips.
Aui! This wasn't going to be easy. To hold her off, he had to make sure he distracted her thoroughly with the subjects that mattered more passionately to her than a night's devouring.
'We'll just talk.' He was going to need a hells lot of cold water after this was over. 'Tell me why slavery is wrong.'
Under the weight of a late-afternoon sun, the closed tent was sweltering. Arras sat with four other cohort captains on a bench; subcaptains stood in the back as Commander Hetti spoke. Here in Saltow, five cohorts and the command cohort had gathered for the new assault on Nessumara. Two cohorts had been deployed to the western side of the river to hold a defensive line during the upcoming attack. Three cohorts would make a coordinated attack from Skerru in the north, along the causeway that ran through the swamp.
Captain Deri of Eighth Cohort raised a hand. 'Commander, the attack down the northern causeways five months ago was a disaster. Why repeat it? I understand it's meant to be a diversion for our attack over the dried- out wetlands here in the east, but isn't it a big risk to expose three full cohorts like that? Especially when we might strengthen our attack here?'
Arras caught his eye and gave him a nod. As unimaginative and overconfident as the command were, at least there were a few competent cohort captains.
'You're right it's a diversion,' said Hetti, 'but by placing three full cohorts at Skerru — and being able to draw on the two cohorts on the western shore for reinforcements — we can stop any of Nessumara's militia who break and try to run that direction. We've also spread a necklace of boats and ships in the bay. We've turned their delta fortress into a prison.'
As Hetti went on, Captain Deri glanced at Arras and shrugged. It was a decent plan: advance at night with torches over wetlands mostly dried out here at the fiery end of the dry seasons; dig in before dawn, and if necessary light fires to raise smoke away from the main assault path as a smoke screen. If there was no resistance, keep moving forward until they reached the outer islands of the city.
From outside, a guard called, 'The Lord Commander! Lord Yordenas!'
The tent flat was swept aside to admit a merciful gasp of a breeze, then slithered shut as two cloaks strode in. Every commander and captain fell to his knees, hands shielding eyes.
'Commander Hetti.' Lord Radas had a pleasant voice, but it still made Arras's skin crawl to hear him speak. 'Tonight our agents in the city will make targeted assassinations within Nessumara's council. They'll also kill Copper Hall's marshal. I'll be riding north to Skerru. Lord Yordenas will remain to oversee your forces. It's time to deploy. That is all. You're released to return to your cohorts. Which of you is Captain Arras?'
As the others rushed to exit the tent, Arras stepped aside on trembling legs, not looking up. 'I am, my lord.'
Lord Radas walked into an inner chamber more stifling than the first. Arras followed, sweat pouring. This might be it: a quick death, or a chance to move up. He halted, eyes screened behind a hand.
'You sent a message. Be quick. I must walk the Mire Pool Altar at dusk. What is it?'
'I've captured an outlander, my lord.'
'Why did you not turn him over to Commander Hetti?'
'He is the outlander Lord Twilight was trying to hide, my lord. The one Night took prisoner. I don't know how he escaped. I thought you would want to see him personally. Also, I prefer to receive the credit rather than give it all away to Commander Hetti. Shall I bring him to you, my lord?'
'Twilight's brother, eh? Night wants him badly. Detail a detachment to remain here in Saltow until she arrives.'
'Yes, my lord.'
'Odd the outlander should turn up after escaping from Wedrewe,' mused the cloak. 'Look at me, Captain Arras.'
The hells! He must look. Lord Radas's smile made him flinch; why in the hells had he listened to Lord Twilight? What could that cursed cloak ever do for him? The whole command structure was riddled with weak
