Beramun ducked her head, astonished. They moved so swiftly and quietly!
Suddenly, she remembered the strange, green-garbed youths commanded by Zannian’s crippled mother. Jade Men, they were called. How could she evade such well-disciplined troops?
With great care she lifted her head again. Four men were still visible in the narrow opening of the pass. Worse, the others were lurking in the shadows, seeking the source of the sound they’d heard.
Beramun tossed another pebble, this time aiming behind them. Like bats on the wing, the dark sentinels split into two pairs and advanced on the spot where the stone had landed. Their backs were to Beramun now.
Halfway to the unguarded pass, her left foot skidded on a wet stone. Though the sound was barely audible in the falling rain, the sentinels turned instantly, facing her. She froze in horror, and the four dark men advanced.
Beramun drew her knife, then remembered Amero’s orders to flee rather than fight. She sprinted away. Without a word, her pursuers broke ranks and ran after her. One caught her by the arm well before she reached the sandstone spires.
Beramun whirled, slashing at his chest. Her flint blade cut a long gash in the man’s green leather breastplate, but the hide was thick, and he wasn’t injured. Quite strong, the Jade Man forced her wrist down and relieved her of her knife with ridiculous ease.
Before she could recover, her other arm and both legs were seized. Since there was no longer a need for stealth, Beramun gave voice to her outrage. Her curses rang in the night.
“Let me go!” she said, fighting hard.
“Kill it,” whispered the one holding her right foot.
“Yes,” said another. “The Master expects it.”
“It may know answers to questions,” murmured the third, her left arm transfixed in his rock hard grip. “We should return it to the Mother to be examined.”
More of the green-clad fanatics returned from the shadows, curious to see what their comrades had snared.
The clouds and fog were parting, and by the faint starlight Beramun saw the Jade Men were young, her own age or even younger. There was a blind fierceness in their eyes totally at odds with their deft and silent manner. She had no doubt they could gut her like a rabbit and never feel the slightest remorse.
Unable to overcome their implacable grips, Beramun went limp. Her garments were well soaked from the rain, and slick. She felt one leg slip just slightly. Bursting into motion, she jerked the leg free and kicked the nearest Jade Man in the face. The other three were knocked off balance. She yanked herself free and fell to the ground.
A bronze blade flashed by her nose. It raked lightly down her ribs, snagging the lacings of her buckskin shirt and pulling them loose. The garment fell off one shoulder.
She rolled over on her belly and tried to crawl away. Instantly, many hands seized her again. One of the Jade Men grasped her by the hair and dragged her to her feet. A sharp point buried itself in the soft flesh under her chin. Her heart contracted to a small, tight knot.
The next thing she knew, she was free. The shock of this sudden change was so great she staggered slightly, then whirled, expecting a stab in the back. It never came. The Jade Men had formed a square around her and made no move to recapture her. They watched her closely with cool, expressionless, painted faces.
“You bear the Master’s mark,” said one.
“Mark?”
The one who had spoken bared his left breast. Starlight illuminated the shiny triangle on his skin. As Beramun stared, one after another they revealed identical green triangles.
“You bear the Master’s mark,” the Jade Man said again. He was little more than a boy, judging by his smooth, hairless chest.
“What does it mean?” she demanded.
“You belong to the Master. You do his will, as we do.”
Beramun flushed and opened her mouth to deny it hotly — opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap.
“You’re right,” she said, sidling away from the eerie band. They didn’t try to stop her. “I am doing the will of the Master. You will tell no one about seeing me — not Zannian or anyone else.”
“The Master’s will is our will.”
As one, the Jade Men intoned, “Greengall. Greengall…”
Beramun turned and ran. The path was steep and treacherous, lined with loose gravel and thorny brush. She fell several times but continued to run until the valley vanished behind her.
The night was more than half gone. She needed to be well into the mountains before daybreak.
She paused only once, at a promontory a league from the mouth of the pass. Her hands and legs were smeared with the green paint worn by Sthenn’s boy troop. It smelled awful, like rancid oil, so she halted by a puddle of rainwater and scrubbed herself hard. Even after the paint was gone, she felt unclean where the Jade Men had touched her.
You hear the Master’s mark. You belong to the Master. You do his will, as we do.
Denying it in her head but fearing it in her heart, Beramun took to her heels again.
When day broke, the villagers received a shock. Their lookouts on the eastern cliffs saw bands of raiders gathered near the north wall. The lookouts sounded the alarm and sent word to Amero that the enemy was up to something.
Much worse was to come. As the sun rose over the eastern cliffs, the raiders set up two stakes in view of the village lookouts. To these stakes they tied two of the scouts who’d been sent to find Karada’s nomads. The runners, captured during the night, weren’t dead — not yet, not quite.
The news sent a chill of horror through the village. “Two lost already,” Lyopi mourned. “And now Zannian knows we’ve sent for help.”
“Two lost means six got through,” Amero said grimly. “They knew the dangers. They also know they carry all our hopes with them.”
Rain and mist clung to the mountains for two days. It was driven away at last by a rising wind that tore the clouds to shreds. Strange portents followed the wind — booming thunder from a clear sky, cold whirlwinds scampering through the side canyons, flashes of green and blue light in the eastern sky at dusk.
Through all these disturbances, Amero kept a solitary vigil atop the Offertory. He watched as one runner after another was captured and staked out below the walls of Yala-tene. Two, then three, then five distant figures hung limply on posts in plain view.
Amero suffered for each one, having known them all their lives, but as much as he grieved for them and their families, he kept the summit of his anguish locked away, waiting for the unbearable moment when Beramun would join them.
Chapter 23
Two raiders, well muscled and hard of mien, threw their prisoner at Zannian’s feet. The young villager, caught in Bearclaw Gap east of Yala-tene, had been cruelly treated. He was the sixth scout the raiders had found.
“Well?” said Zannian. “What did he tell you?”
“Same story as before — the Arkuden sent him and seven others to find Karada.”
Zannian burst out laughing. “So it’s true! They seek a ghost!”
Nearby, Nacris was working on a tally of the animals they’d captured in the valley. She heard the hated name and put down the willow twig she was using to scratch the count in the dirt.
“Karada again?” she asked sharply.
“It’s nothing,” Zannian said, waving a dismissive hand. “The Arkuden pins his hopes on a dead woman.”
“There’s more, Zan.” The bearded interrogator prodded the unconscious scout with the same stick he’d used to beat him. “If Karada herself wasn’t found, he was to bring back any of her warrior band he could find.”
