A rider drew up before him: a young and handsome man with a thick head of brown hair, wearing Blood Ikati colours.
'What news of our allies?' Zahn asked. He remembered this man; he had sent him into the town to keep tabs on the Tkiurathi. He had been uneasy about letting them leave their ships, but in the chaos that followed the gathering of the demon fog he had been loth to spare the men necessary to prevent them. Now they were loose in the town, and though they appeared to be a help rather than a hindrance, long experience had taught him to mistrust such apparent altruism.
But the young man's report shed no new light. The Tkiurathi were indeed doing their best to speed the retreat, rescuing the injured and aiding stragglers, hunting down those Aberrants that were loose in the streets. Some of them were dying in the process. Perhaps a ploy to win his trust, then?
The young man was coming to the conclusion of his report, but Zahn was not really listening any more. He was gazing up at where the feya-kori rose seething above the slate rooftops of the town, thinking about the strange folk from the jungle continent. It was probably what saved his life.
He saw the rifleman in the upper window of a ramshackle house an instant before the muzzle flash, and only because he happened to be looking that way. It gave him that extra minuscule fraction of a moment which was the difference between the ball hitting his heart or his shoulder. The force of it knocked him out of his saddle, sending him crashing to the ground, his feet tangled in his stirrups. His horse neighed and bucked wildly; he was dragged thrashing across the cobbles. The horse's hooves clattered as it stepped back over him. Shock swamped his senses, making everything distant and slow and remote. He was dimly aware of a man lunging for him, the young messenger, a knife in his hand; but then the messenger's hand was gone, and a moment later his head, as the swords of Zahn's bodyguards cleft through him. Another stroke, and the stirrups that tethered Zahn to the horse were severed. Suddenly, he saw the sky again; the horse danced away, kicking, and someone shot it.
There were men surrounding him, and angry cries as others rode towards the building to flush out the sniper. But the sniper would be already dead, having taken his own life. Nobody would know who had sent him, nor the messenger that had been the backup; but Zahn knew. Of course he knew.
As he lay there panting and white with his men looking into his eyes and speaking incoherently to him, he cursed the name of Oyo tu Erinima, who wanted her grand-niece back.
ELEVEN
Kaiku spun and sewed, looped and knotted, moving on a thousand fronts at once as she darted through the labyrinth of the Weave. Her opponent was fast as she, faster, blocking her, confusing her, burrowing into her stitchwork defences; but Kaiku would not relent, would not allow even the most fractional lapse of concentration. For every gain her opponent made, they lost an equal amount. Tangles frayed, nets were strung, traps laid and avoided; a scurrying combat like an army of tiny spiders warring on a golden web so complex that it stunned the mind.
Kaiku used every trick she knew, and improvised some she didn't. Sinkholes that sucked threads into an insoluble muddle; scatter-stitch that created an endless and disorientating array of possible routes across the battlefield, ultimately heading nowhere. She plucked strings like a harp and meshed them with other resonances to set up interference patterns, disguising her movements. Sometimes her methods were effective, sometimes not; but then, the same applied to her opponent's attempts. This battle had raged for long minutes in the world of human senses. In the Weave, it seemed like it had been going for years, and still neither combatant flagged, neither wavered. They were evenly matched. Stalemate.
Then, finally, her adversary withdrew. Kaiku did the same. They hung there, disembodied, exhausted and wary, like bloodied tigers at bay. On the edge of her perception, she sensed the shift and glide of the leviathans that haunted this glittering world, ever elusive, unreachable. They were calling to each other in their fashion, concussive pops and creaks passing back and forth along the Weave. Kaiku knew that her senses were only interpreting the sounds to accommodate her human mindset, for there was no sound at all in this place; but even so, it was eerie and magical to hear. The leviathans spoke more and more often now.
At the signal, she drew her kana back, retreating into herself like the tentacles of an anemone, and opened her eyes. She was kneeling on a wicker mat in the centre of a wood-panelled room. A paper lantern hung overhead, casting shadows in the cool gloom, half-illuminating the charcoal etchings that hung on the wall, the tiny tables with their vases of dark blossoms. An incense burner filled the room with the scent of kama nuts, bitter and fruity and smoky all at once. Opposite Kaiku was Cailin, regarding her approvingly, her irises a rich red. Both were breathing hard, their skin glistening with sweat in the lantern-light. Both wore the attire of the Order.
Cailin smiled. 'Congratulations,' she said.
Kaiku could not suppress a short laugh of exultation. She had fought her tutor to a standstill for the first time ever. She had taken on the most powerful Sister alive, the Pre-Eminent of the Red Order, and not been beaten by her. It felt magnificent.
Cailin stood up, and Kaiku with her. 'Walk with me,' she said.
Kaiku was a little unsteady, but she obeyed, flushed with success. They walked through the building that housed those Sisters who lived in the village downslope of Araka Jo, and went out into the night.
The village was haphazard and a little ramshackle, as had been the town of the Fold where most of its inhabitants had come from. The Libera Dramach had taken Araka Jo as their own after being driven from the Xarana Fault, since nobody else appeared to want it. The nobles and high families, used to their luxury, had retreated to cities like Machita and Saraku; the latter had become the unofficial capital of the Empire's territories while the war raged.
They followed dirt paths between stilt-legged dwellings. Lights glowed on porches in the darkness; candles flickered in small shrines of stone and metal. Chikkikii popped and cracked in the bushes; mountain rodents sang to each other as they darted in quick bursts from shadow to shadow. Aurus hung high and full in the east, massive and looming.
They did not speak for a time, except to acknowledge the occasional hail from the villagers. The Sisters were well regarded here, and Kaiku enjoyed the attention. Eventually, the houses became sparser, the trees crowded close to the paths, and the gentle sound of the village faded behind them and left only the sounds of the night, riotous and yet strangely restful.
'You have been something of a trial, Kaiku,' Cailin said, then looked at her. 'I hope you see now why I persevered with you.'
'You were right,' she said. She had to admit that, at least. 'It took me a long time to understand, but you were right.'
The taller woman smiled indulgently. 'You have no idea how it felt to let you go, knowing what a talent you had. To watch you throwing yourself into anything and everything with scarce an inkling of your abilities. The gods forbid I ever have children, if they cause me such worry as you.'
Kaiku laughed softly. 'Muleheadedness is one of my less admirable traits.'
They walked on for a time.
'Would you?' Kaiku asked. 'Have children, I mean?'
'None of us should,' Cailin replied. 'Not yet.'