“You were not so reluctant to kill the night we went to Hipparan.”
“Nor will I be reluctant if such a situation comes again. It has not.”
Her jaw set. He wanted to loosen it with a kiss, but knew she would in return loosen his teeth, at the very least.
“Haimya, once you spoke of doing the work we came here for. So do I.”
A silence broken only by dripping from the trees and a distant rumble of thunder lasted so long that Pirvan wondered if his companion was still breathing. Then she sighed.
“Perhaps a soldier’s memories are not always the best guide.”
“I will say the same of a thief’s. Now, let me turn a thief’s eye on these gentlemen.”
Pirvan studied the edges of the open ground where the sentries stood. If they had a comrade, even one, hiding under cover-
He saw no one, and his night-sight was as good in the country as in the city. He picked a tree near the left-hand sentry, one whose branches drooped with a burden of seed pods. He began the familiar exercise of committing every detail of the tree to memory, until the spell would let him appear to be that tree for a few minutes.
Which, with luck, would be all they needed.
“Pirvan, what-?”
Pirvan put a finger to his lips. He finished the memory work, then motioned Haimya back into the thicket, where they could whisper without fear of being overheard.
“We have to move fast, because I don’t know when they relieve the sentries. If we wait, we could stumble on four men instead of two.”
“A pleasure I can do without.”
“Likewise. But the two-have you noticed that they’ve chosen places where they can watch without having to move far?”
“Places with good views, too.”
“Yes, but their movements are still predictable.”
“I have done sentry duty, Pirvan.”
“I’m sure of it. And I’m sure you moved around unpredictably. I wasn’t trying to teach my grandmother to suck eggs.”
“Then what-”
“There’s a part of their rounds that brings them close together, close enough that they can be taken together.”
“If they weren’t out in the open, able to see anyone coming …”
“What about trees?”
“Walking trees-?” Her face started to show scorn, then her mouth opened. “Your Spell of Seeing the Expected?”
Pirvan nodded.
* * * * *
By the time Eskaia came on deck, the two minotaur ships were close enough that she could make out details.
They were low, rakish craft, more like Jemar’s ships than Golden Cup, though minotaur size meant they were higher out of the water. They had two masts, with square rigging on the foremast and lateen on the mainmast, a bowsprit, and what looked unpleasantly like rams at the bows.
As Eskaia watched, minotaurs swarmed into the rigging and clutched lines. Their red-and-green sails vanished, and the ships slowed until the water barely rippled over their rams.
Then white sweeps thrust out of ports set low along the waterline. It made the minotaur ships look as if they had a sea bird’s wings.
Kurulus came up beside Eskaia. “Here, Ma’am. Grimsoar found it, but he had to go up forward.”
Eskaia set the helmet on her head. It was heavy enough to make her arms tremble while she held it, and her neck trembled after she put it on. She had worn pageant armor for costume parties a few times, but this was very different-smelling of leather, sweat, and oil, tight on top and loose at the sides, and with a chin strap she was making a hopeless botch of tying.
“Let me help you, Ma’am.”
She stood, staring at the approaching ships as the crew took battle stations. Most remained on the fore and aftercastles, where they would have the advantage of height. That would make it harder for the minotaurs to force a hand-to-hand grapple, where their superior strength and reach would give them the advantage.
Now the two minotaur ships were turning bows-on to Golden Cup’s port side. Smoke curled up from their low aftercastles, and Eskaia wondered if they mounted siege engines, or by some miracle had caught fire.
It was neither. Two smoking pots rose slowly up the mainmasts, until they dangled just below the tops, swaying in the slight breeze. The smoke drifted away downwind, turning from black to brown to pale gray before vanishing in the haze over the sea.
Eskaia started as the mate slammed a large fist against the bulwarks. Her mouth was too dry to let her ask what was happening. Besides, she knew she would learn in moments.
“Sorry, Ma’am,” the mate said. His words came out like the last breaths of a dying man. “That’s the sign for an honor fight.”
“Is that-?”
“Important? Yes. Those minotaurs-they’ve had their honor attacked. So they’re out to regain it. They’ll fight hard and demand high ransoms if they win and think we’ve fought honorably.”
“What happens if they think we haven’t-?”
“Then they’ll give no quarter.”
No quarter. No quarter. No quarter. The words tolled in Eskaia’s mind like a great bell in some distant shrine, borne down the wind.
Then foam gushed over the enemy’s rams, as both teams of rowers dug in their sweeps.
* * * * *
Pirvan raised a hand, then dropped it palm down. The two sentries were both looking away from him. This wouldn’t last more than a few seconds, but that would be enough for him to prepare his only spell.
Without looking behind him, he took three steps to the right and two forward, then knelt. The kneeling made him harder to see. He could not safely change position while surrounded by the spell. (That was one of the few things that made him regret not putting himself in the hands of the Towers for more formal testing or training.)
The two sentries seemed to be talking. Certainly they were close enough to do so, without Pirvan hearing. Lower down on the mountain, the jungle life was louder.
The sentry would never accept the tree sprouting from nowhere as he watched. The spell had to be done before the man turned back-
There. Everything around Pirvan took on the wavering aspect of the world seen through the veil of magic. The jungle noises were as loud as ever. So was the sound of footsteps coming up behind Pirvan.
Haimya, barefoot and lightly armed, sprinted up behind Pirvan, slapped both hands on his shoulders, vaulting over him. Her impact jarred him from teeth to knees. For a moment he feared the spell would break.
It did not. What broke was the silence, as Haimya dashed up behind the nearer sentry and punched him in the neck. Then she rammed her knee into the small of his back.
He was the archer. Haimya snatched up bow and quiver almost as the man hit the ground. The other sentry stood gaping at the spectacle of a woman apparently sprung from the earth or fallen from the tree behind her.
Pirvan heard the twang of the bowstring. The arrow skewered the second man’s leg-and as he began to dance around on one leg, a third man burst out of cover to Pirvan’s right. He ran toward Haimya, a foolish thing when he should have fled to give warning, but showing honorable courage as well.
He also had a good chance of killing Haimya, if he closed faster than she could shoot again. For speed, she had left behind all other weapons but her knife, and he had a sword.
Pirvan’s dagger was in his hand before he thought of drawing it, then in the air. The pommel cracked against the third man’s temple, below the rim of his helmet. He went down in midstride, furrowing the mud with his face.
Meanwhile the crippled second man had realized it was prudent to flee. Prudence came to him too late. Haimya caught him before he reached cover and kicked him hard under the jaw. If Haimya had not been barefoot, she would have broken his neck, if not taken his head clean off his shoulders.
The Spell of Seeing the Expected had died the moment Pirvan had drawn his dagger. The thief rose to his feet. He really wanted to sit-or better, lie down, preferably with some brandy and a bowl of lamb stew.…