chest, hidden beneath his clothing. Scar could land on the peaked roof, but it would be a difficult climb to get up to him.
'Assizes Tower.'
'What is the charge? You cannot prosecute me until an advocate from Clan Hall is here to witness. This is very serious, accusing a reeve. You know the laws.'
'Murder is a serious charge,' said the captain.
That was the kick, but Joss was already drawn too tightly to flinch. Indeed, he was getting angry. 'Certainly it is. Who am I supposed to have murdered, and where?'
Jonit backed away, staring at him as though he were welted with plague. Shadows lined the porch and moved along the rice paper walls of the sliding doors and windows as folk crowded up outside to listen.
'One of the Thunderer's ordinands. A captain stationed most recently at the border fort at the terminus of West Spur, on the Kandaran Pass. Name of Beron.'
He almost staggered, hit so hard and quickly, but reeves learned to keep their feet under them. 'I just arrested such a man,' he said quietly, 'for conspiring with a band of ospreys to rob caravans coming up from the south over the pass. But he's in transit here, with a caravan, under guard.'
Captain Waras shrugged. 'I hold the order. Nothing more. If you'll come with me, there'll be no trouble.' One of his guards leaned in and whispered, and the captain had the grace to look embarrassed before he held out a hand. 'If you please, give me the whistle they say you carry. The one that will call your eagle to you.'
'I will not! None but a marshal has the right to take that from me.'
'If you're innocent, you've nothing to fear.'
Joss laughed. It was all he could do. He had no idea how far the rot had spread, even now, even here. 'I'll come to Assizes Tower and wait for a witness from Clan Hall, as is my right. I'll agree to bide peacefully until the caravan arrives. They are witness to my operations. But I'll give up nothing, not my weapons, not my whistle, nothing. When the caravan arrives, you'll see this is a false charge.'
He pushed past them and out the door, head held high, praying to the gods but especially to Ilu the Herald, that Captain Anji was an honest man and as clever as he looked. Wheels were spinning within wheels here, and even the Herald might not be able to guide him out of this labyrinth.
The folk gathered on the porch scattered back as he reached the stairs. He started down, and on the third step crossed from shade into the blast of the sun. Blinking, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. A gasp warned him, a woman's choked shriek. A whisper of air chased his ear. The haft of a spear smacked into the side of his head.
He dropped hard, spinning in and out of darkness as consciousness wavered. Images flashed: the assassin striking with her knife; the captain's stabbing accusation; beware the third blow.
He hit the ground, tried to raise himself on a hand, but hadn't the strength.
A man's stocky form loomed above him, blocking the sun. 'Take him to the tower, and lower him into the dungeon. And take that damned whistle off his neck!'
He blacked out.
31
After the reeve left, Anji kept Mai close beside them as they rode. She learned to enjoy the constant movement up and down the line of march. As the days passed, she watched for what interested her, spent a great deal of time finding out what coin and other measures of barter the folk here used, and how much things cost. She also looked for and mentioned things she thought Anji might find of interest: a lame horse; an abandoned doll; a shuttered hut; a carter with sores around his mouth that could be the sign of a corrupting disease. Most of the time he or Chief Tuvi or one of the men had already noticed these things, but not always. Sometimes things troubled her that interested them not at all.
The morning they came into sight of their destination for the first time, they paused to survey the river plain, the distant fields, the delta, and the sprawling town with its inner heart and its outer skirts. Anji and Chief Tuvi pulled their horses off to one side and conferred about lines of entry and exit, visible roads and paths, and their options for escape should they receive a hostile greeting. The caravan rattled past. Mai's gaze drifted to watch the faces of the merchants as they recognized that today-at long last! — they would reach the market they longed for. Such a range of pleasure and enthusiasm, relief and laughter!
Yet one man's brows were wrinkled with anxiety. One man, walking past beside his wagon, was not lightened by the sight. As usual, his cargo remained hidden within the canvas tent that covered his small wagon. Mai knew a mystery when she saw one.
She waited for Anji to finish. When at last they rode forward again, passing the slower-moving wagons as they rode toward the vanguard, she watched for one merchant in particular. She marked him easily; he was almost stumbling, hanging on to the wagon as though he were sick and dizzy. As they came up from behind, she slowed her horse to keep pace with his wagon.
'Are you well, merchant?' she asked him.
Startled, he looked up at her. He paused, forced a smile that did not touch his eyes, and tried out formal words on his tongue. 'A long, weary journey, Mistress.' He let go of the pole and wiped his sweating brow.
She smiled, hoping to reassure him. 'Close now, I see. Is Olossi your home?'
'No, Mistress. But it is my destination.'
Or maybe he was getting sick; sickness was always dangerous. She glanced at the wagon, wondering if the girls were sick, too, but they ate so much she doubted it. This was more likely a sickness in his heart. Anji had gotten ahead of her, so she nodded at him and rode after her husband.
'That man is hiding something,' she said when she caught him.
He smiled. 'We are all hiding something.'
'I am hiding nothing!'
'Your true price. Your father sold you cheaply.'
She colored, not liking to think of herself as merchandise bought and sold, like almonds and peaches, but it was true, and anyway she was happy her father had neglected to drive a harder bargain. Not that she would tell Anji that. 'That's not what I mean. You asked me to use my market eyes and my market ears, and now I am telling you that man-he's called Keshad-is hiding something.'
He looked back over his shoulder at the cart, then back at her. 'What makes you think he's hiding something? Besides the obvious fact that he is a merchant.'
'The closer we come to Olossi the weaker and more nervous he becomes. The whiteness around his eyes betrays fear, and his eyes are inflamed by shed tears.'
'Many men suffer the traveling sickness-exhaustion, loose bowels, sick stomach, sore feet.'
'I thought so too. But in the days we've traveled from the border, his pace has remained steady, and he eats at night.'
'You have been watching him?'
Was that a sharp note in his voice? She chose to ignore it. 'I am curious about the two girls in his wagon. They eat enough for three or four. Maybe they're just very hungry. But a prickling between my shoulder blades alerts me.'
He grunted thoughtfully, surveying their surroundings.
The carts and wagons of the caravan proceeded along the middle portion of the road, with its paving stones, but she and Anji rode on the margin paths, against the main flow of traffic, crushed stone crunching under their horses' hooves. Farther out a skein of footpaths paralleled the road, and along this walked various locals. Some carried burdens: a grandmother limped along with a baby in a sling at her hip; a girl balanced a bulging reed basket atop her head; a trio of women easily handled massive sheaves of grain that obscured their faces and torsos. A pair of sweating, half-naked men hauled a cart piled with rocks. Other men and women ambled or hurried toward distant fields and orchards with hoes and shovels and rakes in hand. A pair of boys ran, giggling, with what appeared to be a writhing snake in the hands of one.
They had such a different look here, a different shape of skull, a rich, golden-brown complexion in a variety of shades nothing like the folk she had grown up among in Kartu Town. Yet here and there among them walked an old
