Waterborn

'Ghan…' She sighed. She might never know what happened to him—or Qey.

They came to the Ember Gate, Hezhi walking with her head down, trying to seem humble, respectful. Two guards met them there.

'Who is this?' they asked, eyeing Hezhi suspiciously.

'Just a boy,' Tsem replied. 'I had too many fish to carry, so I gave him a soldier to help me.'

'A boy, eh?'

Something was wrong; she already knew that. The guards seemed too alert, too suspicious, as if they had been warned to watch for her.

'You should know better than this, Tsem,' one of them grunted.

Tsem grinned good-naturedly. 'Well, you can't blame me for trying, can you? A man has to have a little something, doesn't he?' He ended his question with a wink and a bit of a leer.

The soldier shook his head. 'We were warned about this,' the guard said, drawing out his sword. The other followed suit.

'Princess,' one of the guards commanded, 'tell your servant to back away from us. Do it.'

She hesitated, and she saw Tsem tense for a spring.

'Princess, he might kill one of us, but we have swords. Tell him.'

You fool, Hezhi thought. I can no longer tell Tsem anything.

Tsem confirmed that by taking that moment to lunge. The guard saw it coming, backpedaled away from the Giant, his sword slashing down. Tsem caught the blow on his left arm, and blood started instantly. The other guard stepped around and behind Tsem, sword raising up.

Hezhi shrieked and lashed out, though her fists were clenched at her side. In her mind, her shriek was a spear, hurtling through one guard and then the other.

The effect was instantaneous. The guard stepping behind Tsem dropped his sword and curled around his belly, gagging. The other, dancing away from Tsem, doubled over and disgorged, first his breakfast and then a stream of blood.

Whatever it was she had done struck Tsem, as well, though a lesser blow; he staggered and crumpled to his knees, eyes glazing. Blood was pouring from his arm.

'Tsem!' she gasped.

'I'm all right,' he muttered, rising back onto his feet. 'Come on, we have to hurry.'

'I didn't mean to hurt you, too.'

'Doesn't matter,' he said, looking dully at his slashed arm. 'Come on.'

'Wrap your arm,' Hezhi said.

'Later.'

'No! Someone will see!'

Comprehension flickered in the half Giant's eyes, and he tore one of the guard's surcoats off. Both of the men still seemed to be alive, though in terrible pain. She felt a stab of remorse, and then remembered that they had meant to kill Tsem, had been doing it, and the guilt died, stillborn.

The scale on her arm ached as if burning. Tsem wrapped his arm, took her by the shoulder with his free hand. Together they passed through the now-unguarded gate, and for the first time in her life, Hezhi entered the city of Nhol.

 

 

Ghe stared down at the dead priests in disgust and dismay. They never even understood they were dying; he could see that on their frozen, stupid faces. It was his own fault, as well. He had spent too much time with Hezhi instead of following the old man and the Giant; by the time he had found them, understood what they were up to and had taken measures to have the boat seized and the gates guarded, he had lost touch with Tsem. Yes, he had allowed himself to be distracted by a silly boyhood whim, and now priests were dead. And yet, he had done the impossible, kissed a princess, the daughter of the Chakunge himself. What gutter rat in Southtown wouldn't give his knife arm for that? Not that he could tell anyone, but he would know.

Ghe caught the motion easily; it was the old woman, of course, the one he had found just staring down at the dead bodies. Why hadn't he noticed the scissors? He was distracted.

He disarmed the old woman as she stabbed—overhand, of course—and watched her crumple as the blade of his hand struck the base of her skull. She would live, to pay for her idiocy on a torture rack. He had things to do.

He hoped the guards at the gate would stop them, but if not, the boat should have been seized by now. There were only two men guarding it, its owner and a barbarian sellsword.

Ghe checked his weapons to make sure they were all accounted for, and without sparing the - nata priests a second glance, he loped hurriedly down the corridor. He still had much to prove, to the other Jik and to the priesthood. He should have taken Hezhi just after their lips met, while she was happy, before the palace was littered with bodies, but sentimentality and uncertainty had stopped him. No, hope. Hope that the stupid girl wouldn't go through with it, but stay in the palace and accept whatever destiny the River granted her. Now he had much to explain.

 

 

Perkar was sitting on the edge of the dock, watching the water ebb and flow against the pilings when Zeq' gave a sort of strangled yelp. He looked back to see what the matter was. Whatever it was wasn't back there; Zeq's distended eyes were staring out at the street. He followed the boatman's terrified gaze.

Eight men were marching down the street. They were dressed in identical kilts striped black and dark blue, blue tunics stiff over steel breastplates. Their dark hair was shoved up under plain steel caps.

'Who are they?' he called back to Zeq'.

'Nunewag,' Zeq' replied stiffly. 'The emperor's elite guard.'

The men showed no sign of halting or explaining themselves. The situation seemed clear enough to Perkar; these troops had been sent by the emperor to find his daughter. Serving the emperor, they served the River. They, at least, were unambiguously his enemies. Still, they were Human Beings, and so it was with some small reluctance that he walked over to the gangplank connecting the ship with the dock. He drew Harka.

The apparent leader of the men—the one in front, at least— looked up at him and said dryly, 'Barbarian, I give you one chance to escape being a ghost. We are the Nunewag, the emperor's personal guard, on his business.'

'What business is that?'

The leader made a disgusted face. 'Barbarian, if that is any concern of yours, then I will have to arrest you. Do you understand me?'

'I understand that this man has not given you permission to board his boat,' Perkar said as easily as he could. He knew that if he appeared calm, that would most likely rattle them. In point of fact, he was calm, and Perkar wondered—not for the first time—if Harka had some hand in that, too.

The leader of the soldiers waved his hand and the others began to spread out quickly so they could flank Perkar, though they would have to leap to the boat to do so.

'Take them the fight,' Harka advised. 'Don't let them pin us on the boat. Despite the advantage we have at the moment, we will lose it if any of them manage to get behind us on the boat. Better to have them behind us out on the street, where we have room to move.'

He saw no reason to argue with Harka. He waited until the men were actually in position to jump before he made his own move. Skirling the fierce war whoop of his father, he charged down the plank.

The leader faced him first and was consequently the first to die. Harka met the oncoming blade, slid down to its guard, sheared through that, arm, and breastplate. The man's dying face was more incredulous than shocked, as if the great opening in his chest were less an issue than the wholly unfair way it had been achieved. Perkar's charge did not slow; he whirled away from the crumpling man and continued it, crushing physically into two warriors who did not have their swordpoints up yet. One actually fell and the other stumbled away as Perkar beheaded a third.