the poor messenger — who had nothing to do with this distressing news — sobbed as if he'd been struck. 'There should be no more reeves in the far north. I must consider before I take action on the other fronts, but in this case, detach a cadre — no, a full company — of experienced men to investigate. Sail all the way to the Eagle's Claws, if necessary.'
'That is a month's hard journey or more, lady. Dangerous, and on treacherous seas. As I know from having taken the journey before.'
'You promised me there were no survivors. Go back and finish what you've left undone, Kallonin. Leave at once.'
'It is understood, lady,' he said in a flat tone that could not disguise his horror at the assignment.
Captain Tomash laughed. 'Suddenly High Haldia and Heaven's Reach don't seem so cursed far away, eh, Kal?'
'Bastard,' muttered the steward, but he, too, laughed, in the way of friendly rivals jesting with each other. 'Lady, I'll leave at once and travel night and day to Dast Elia, where I'll hire a ship. It's my mistake. I'll rectify it. Have you other orders?'
'None, for now.'
'When can Steward Hefar expect your return, lady? It's four days' journey each way over the Liya Pass to Stragglewood, I believe-'
'He can expect me when I arrive. Captain Tomash, I'll meet up with your company at dusk. Expect to march all night.'
The sigh and flutter of wings fell heavily as Night departed.
'The hells,' said the steward. 'We're in for it, eh? Eagle's Claws! Heaven's Reach!'
'Shut your complaining,' said the captain with another laugh. 'We've got the soldiers and the coin, never forget that.'
'I never do. Heya! Men! Get moving!'
The guards dispersed with heavy steps. Quiet settled. An insect buzzed.
A hand scratched at the wall, and the outlander whispered. 'You're that cursed cloak, aren't you? If you've come to preside over the assizes, you're too cursed late.'
'Why weren't you taken out to be judged?'
'I'm a hostage.'
'An outlander hostage! For whose good behavior?'
'My brother's,' he said bitterly.
She cracked the door and peered through. The courtyard was empty but for six corpses. Five sprawled on the gravel, seemingly untouched; they'd been killed by Night's staff. The sixth, collapsed atop the rock, was splashed by blood. Could a Guardian execute a man with her Guardian's staff on a whim, just because she wanted to, or only if that man was actually guilty of the crime he was accused of? Had the cloak of Night spared these five from the agony of the cleansing to be merciful? Or had the others been sent to be cleansed because they were not guilty of a crime she could execute them for?
The double gate was pushed open by a man dressed in humble laborer's garb. A cart creaked in, pulled by a second man walking between the shafts. Both men had the debt mark tattooed by their left eye: slaves, not hirelings. They slung the bodies into the cart like so much firewood.
'She was merciful, eh? Six spared from the cleansing. You have to rake, Erdi?'
'Neh, I'm not assigned that duty today, nor washing off the rock. I'm hells glad about that, eh, for that one sure bled. Look, we've got blood all over. I don't want it drying on my kilt. It's the only clothes I got.'
'Let's take a wash now. Corpses'll wait, eh?'
They grabbed up buckets from the end of the porch and trotted out the gates. Marit was out the door as soon as they were gone. The cell doors weren't locked, only barred. She shifted the heavy bar and shoved the door open. He emerged at once, holding a vest and a blanket in one hand. He pulled the door shut, set the bar in
place, glanced at the winged horse nosing out of the storeroom, then turned to confront Marit.
'The hells!' she said, retreating a step in shock. 'You look a cursed lot like an outlander named Hari. Could he be your brother?'
His body was lean and strong and, since he wore only a kilt, there was a lot of body to admire. But it was his stare — so intense she might have thought him half crazed — that disturbed her most, until she realized he was gods-touched. Veiled to her sight.
'Death's cloak,' he said. 'You're the one called Marit, aren't you? It's because of you the others don't trust Hari. What did he do? Seduce you?'
She grinned. 'Neh, nothing like that. I seduced him.' He almost grinned, but his was a serious face to go with that gods-rotted powerful body. 'Aui! Listen. There's no Sorrowing Tower in this town, which means they must take the dead beyond the walls. Hide under those corpses. The slaves will haul you out the gates. It's the best I can do.'
He reached for her arm, but before touching her he fisted his hand and tapped his chest. He wore two rings, with matching sigils. 'If you gave Hari even a moment's breath of happiness, then I thank you for it. Beware of Night. She'll kill you, if she catches you. How she'll do it I don't know, but she has a way.'
Hari's brother! Who knew where his loyalties lay?
'My thanks for the warning,' she said. 'Now, go.'
Except for the blood, it wasn't so bad getting him hidden in the wagon. Wings unfurled, Warning waited. Marit grimaced at the blood on her hands. It had gotten over everything. Aui! Never mind it. She dashed back into the storeroom and grabbed three knives and two batons. One baton and two knives she shoved under, into his hands. The other knife and baton she kept, to remind her that a reeve and eagle had been sighted over the Elia Sea.
The cloak wanted her steward to go all the way to the Eagle's Claws to find and kill that reeve. So be it. Marit would get there first.
She moved out cautiously, flying low, but saw no sign of the other Guardian. The lovers were, amazingly, still at it: such stamina! Neh, it was a different man at work on the same woman. Anyhow, both were oblivious of what had transpired so close beside them. Eihi!
Wedrewe's people worked on, all oblivious, or perhaps all too aware of how quickly death could strike.
In an outer courtyard, the chain of prisoners was being shoved into tiny cages on wagons and locked in. Knowing herself a fool, she circled low until she saw the wagon with its corpses clear the perimeter fence and head into the woods. After that, she flew to the Vessi Road and followed it downstream until she spotted the prison wagons. Herelia was well-settled country but nevertheless there were stretches of road with no habitation in sight. She bided her time for several mey. In the late afternoon she clattered to earth on an isolated stretch of road with broken woodland and meadows on one side and denser growth blocking her view of the river. The prison wagons rolled into sight, and their sergeant called his men to a halt as she rode toward him and caught his surprised gaze with her own.
He is a killer. He has killed men.
'What is your name?' she asked. His cadre hid their faces behind open hands.
'Bolen,' he said, the word squeezed from him by the strength of her gaze.
He spoke truth, which brightens you. His name, given to him by his mother, linked him to the Four Mothers, and deep within his essence which is body and spirit together, she saw, felt, heard, tasted, the thread that binds spirit and body into one creature. Easy enough, for her, to sever them, now that she saw their misty substance. She drew her sword. The soldiers cowered. The prisoners moaned. It was so easy, after all! She could cut away his life, send his spirit through the Spirit Gate. He was a killer. He had killed. She did not even have to touch him with her sword, only cut the threads that spun his shame and his wrongdoing into the pure air.
He hid his face.
'Release the prisoners,' she said.
'Better you execute me with a clean death, lady,' he said hoarsely, 'than I face punishment by cleansing for disobeying my orders.'
'Then it would be better for you not to serve unjust masters. These prisoners who face cleansing are assuredly not guilty or else they, too, would have been granted the mercy of a clean death at the hands of a Guardian.'
