She opened a door and passed the threshold. At length, puffing and panting, he got to the top and stepped into a fine chamber ornamented with all manner of luxurious furnishings. Beside an open coin chest rested a reclining couch imported from the south. A set of paintings depicted a crane seen through the six seasons, edges embossed with gold foil to frame each hanging silk scroll. Two greenware ceramic ewers flanked a brass basin worked into the shape of a very rotund peacock with feathers spread high and small mirrors adorning each "eye," so a person could catch a glimpse of himself as he washed his face.
It was the kind of chamber where a merchant entertained guests he wanted to impress with his wealth, or where he reclined on his couch in order to entertain himself by counting out his strings of money. It appeared that Zubaidit had arranged a different sort of entertainment for the other person in the room. This grand gentleman wore only an ankle-length night jacket cut from such a fine grade of southern silk that even Joss could appreciate its quality. The precise shade of blue was hard to distinguish because there were only two lamps burning, both set on tripods, one on each side of the chair to which the man was tied. Zubaidit finished untying the gag she had secured around the man's mouth, and with a glance at Joss, she seated herself cross-legged on the couch next to her prisoner and folded her hands in her lap.
"I've met you!" said Joss, staring at the merchant. "I met you in the north."
"He stinks!" croaked the man. "Don't let him sit on my best pillows! Or on my Dayo'e carpet! Aui!"
"You have an overly sensitive nose. Best you be thinking of your life and livelihood and that of this city, rather than your pillows and expensive carpet. Oh, just sit down, Joss."
He had to. His legs were about to give out. He tried to stay away from the doubled rank of eight pillows with their embroidered scenes depicting that day in ancient times when an orphaned, homeless girl knelt at the shore of the lake sacred to the gods and prayed for peace to return to the land. This set of scenes portrayed the gods'answer: the calling of the Guardians, and the gifts given by each of the gods to those Guardians, to aid them in the burdensome task of restoring peace and establishing justice.
The merchant whimpered as Joss sat, but Zubaidit cut him off. "Master Feden, I thought perhaps you might be more likely to believe me if I let you speak to Reeve Joss, who hails from Clan Hall."
"You're lying," said the man. "This is some story you've woven to confuse and befuddle me. You came here with Reeve Horas earlier today. You stood beside him as his ally, and swore to him that you would deal with this prisoner. Yet here this man sits, contaminating my good carpet! What have you done to my guards?"
"Nothing as lasting as the death that will greet them if you do not believe me when I tell you the truth. There is a strike force not a day's march from these walls, and an army two or three days' march behind that, many thousand strong, who mean to burn, rape, and plunder this town and set their own governor over what remains. You were a fool to ally with Argent Hall and whatever folk out of the north you have made alliance with. But it is not too late to act, and save yourself and this town."
"An army?" said Joss. "On West Track? I saw none when I flew down
… and yet-"
"Go on," she said encouragingly. She had yet to move her hands, clasped so easily there between her thighs, as if she were waiting for a cup of tea to be brought so they could sip in cool collusion.
"On our way down here, we came across groups of men, armed bands. But I never thought… Could small groups be brought together that quickly, to form an army?"
"If they are well led, certainly. Who is your ally, Master Feden?"
"None of your business. None of the temple's business."
"Surely it is. If the temple is to be attacked, the temple must be prepared to withstand the assault."
"Who would attack a temple?" cried Master Feden.
"You have not been listening to the stories that have walked south, have you? Those who serve the Merciless One have become targets, just as reeves have. In the north. Only in the south and in the east have the temples remained immune."
"Impossible. No one would hurt those in service to the temples."
"On the Ili Cutoff, you were talking to Lord Radas of Iliyat," said Joss to Feden. "It just doesn't make sense. Does Lord Radas know about this army? Who leads it? Where it comes from?"
Feden did not answer.
"I'll tell you this," said Zubaidit. "I have seen a thing I thought I would never see, a thing spoken of only in stories."
She moved smoothly, uncoiling more than rising. Stepping away from the couch, she bent, picked up one of the pillows, and displayed the fine needlework in the spill of lamplight. Folk no doubt lost their eyesight stitching those tiny details. It made Joss's eyes water to look, or perhaps that was the cloying scent steaming off a heated bowl of perfumed water strewn with petals that had been placed on the low side table next to Master Feden's chair. It had the sticky aroma of diluted sweet-smoke. Joss wondered if the man was an addict. Master Feden was twisting his hands, testing the bonds that trussed them, but he was caught fast.
"Look at me!" She shook the pillow. "You see? Here, the gods offer their gifts."
Every child knew the Tale of the Guardians by heart, how the orphan had come to Indiyabu to plead with the gods to intervene, to save them.
Joss chanted.
Taru the Witherer wove nine cloaks out of the fabric of the land and the water and the sky, and out of all living things, which granted the wearer protection against the second death although not against weariness of soul;
Ilu the Opener of Ways built the altars, so that they might speak across the vast distances each to the other;
Atiratu the Lady of Beasts formed the winged horses out of the elements so that they could travel swiftly and across the rivers and mountains without obstacle;
Sapanasu the Lantern gave them light to banish the shadows;
Kotaru the Thunderer gave them the staff of judgment as their symbol of authority, with power over life and death;
Ushara the Merciless One gave them a third eye and a second heart with which to see into and understand the hearts of all;
Hasibal gave an offering bowl.
"I saw two of them," said Zubaidit.
"Two Guardians?" said Joss, with a thrill of fear and excitement.
"Two orphans?" said Feden with a sneer.
"Two horses, winged." She threw down the pillow. "Two horses. Winged. And an army of thousands, too many to count. Although based on the number and formation of their cohorts I would say there were four or five cohorts of about six hundred soldiers in each. Let us estimate three thousand men, three hundred and twelve in the strike force, and more ranging up and down the line as foragers and scouts. That, Master Feden, is the army that marches on Olossi. What did they promise you?"
"There is no such army," he said, "and all agree the Guardians have long since vanished from the land, and were anyway only a tale told by our grandparents to school the young ones. You are insane."