Chapter One
THE GREAT KING CHURSAVVA of the Chiri Michi said to the leaders
of the Humai, "You have broken taboo. You have come to the forbidden country.
Your power shall be deadened forever, and your [toys? trinkets?] smashed and broken."
Thus said Chursavva on the first day of the council, and all the Humai wept and
wailed in terror. Then the captain of the Humai rose and spoke boldly to the king's
face. "We did not mean to break taboo. Yet we will accept your terms, as proof of our
kind hearts and pure minds."
And the great king Chursavva of the Chiri Michi said to the leaders of the Humai,
"You keep the spirits of many animals bound into the crystals in the jars and cabinets
of your flying boat. You may choose two large ones and two small ones and two winged
ones to accompany you into your long exile." Thus said Chursavva on the second day
of the council, and all the Humai moaned in confusion. Then the captain of the Humai
rose and led his chiefs apart into their fort so that they might choose the animals.
Over the two small animals there was no dissension, for all loved the beasts known
as the eeka and the cat. Over the two winged animals there was no dissension, for all
loved to eat plump fowl and to see hawks fly. Over the first large animal there was no
dissension, for all agreed that the sheep would provide clothing as well as meat. But
over the second large animal there was dissension. Some wished for a beast known as
the cow, which gave much milk and meat, but which required much land on which to
live. Some wished for a beast called the goat, which gave some milk and some meat,
but which could live in the waste places of the wild lands. And so they argued, until
an old woman rose and called for silence.
"It is truly said that the cow and the goat, and yes, even the unclean pig, will
give us food and give us skins for our clothes. But you are all forgetting the beast known
as the horse."
Many of the council members jeered, saying that the horse was tough and stringy
and would give little food. The old woman called again for silence and continued her
speaking.
"Little food, yes, but it will give us something greater, something that Chursavva
can never foresee."
"Indeed?" said the captain of the Humai. "And what is this marvelous gift?"
"Speed." The old woman paused and smiled. "And eventually, freedom."
And the council members fell silent, thinking about ancient wars in the history of
the Humai, until one by one they smiled, too, and pronounced the old woman wise
beyond belief. And because a woman chose the horse, to this day among the Tribes
women alone may own them ...
-from the Histories of Ahmed, the Last Hajji
IN THE WARM NIGHT, the scent of true-roses hung over the palace
gardens. Among the red spear trees and the obsidian statuary, water splashed in
fountains and murmured in artificial streams. In a cluster of orange bamboid two
persons sat side-by-side in the lush true-grass, one a young slender woman,
shamelessly bareheaded, and the other a heavy-set soldier with a touch of gray
in his dark curly hair. Anyone who saw them would have known that they were
lovers, but Captain Idres Warkannan was hoping that this truth would hide
another, that they were also plotting high treason. Lubahva Shiraz acted her part
by giggling in the most vapid way she could manage. Her gold bangles chimed
as she laid a slender, dark-skinned hand on Warkannan's arm.
"Do you see why I thought you needed to hear this?" she whispered. "Right
away?"
"I certainly do. Send me another note if you hear more."
"I will. We'll be doing the dinner music tomorrow for the same officials.
They forget about us once we're behind that brass screen."
Lubahva kissed him good-bye, then got up and trotted off, hurrying back to
the musicians' quarters. Alone, hand on the hilt of his saber, Warkannan made
his way through the palace grounds. As an officer of the Mounted Urban Guard,
he had every right to be in the Great Khan's gardens, but he hurried nonetheless,
cursing when he found himself in a dead end, striding along fast when he could
see his way clear.
The palace buildings rarely stood more than a single story high, but they
dotted the gardens in an oddly random pattern. Beautiful structures of carved
true-wood housed palace ministers and high-ranking officials. Squat huts of pillar
reed and bamboid sufficed for servants. In the warm night windows stood open;
he could hear talk, laughter, the occasional wail of a tired child, but no matter
how domestic the sounds, he knew there might be spies behind a hundred different
curtains.
Beyond the buildings, low walls of filigree moss and high walls of braided
vines transformed the hillside into a maze made up of mazes. Down some turnings,
the cold pale light of star moss edged broad paths that ended in thickets
of bamboid. Down others, fern trees rose out of artificial ponds and towered over
him, their fronds nodding and rasping in the evening breeze. Among their
branches, the golden-furred eekas whistled and sang; now and then two or three
dropped suddenly down to dash in front of him on their spidery legs. Once
Warkannan took a wrong turn and ended up caught in an angle of mossy walls,
where a half dozen eekas surrounded him. They joined their little green hands
and danced around him in a circle, squeaking and mocking. When he swore at
them, they darted away.
The outer wall at last-he'd reached it without being challenged. Gates of
gilded true-wood stood open in the living walls of thorn vine, woven into bronze
mesh, that guarded the compound. Two guards in the white tunics over black
trousers of the infantry stood at attention on either side. When Warkannan held
up his hand in salute, one stepped out to talk with him: Med, an old friend,
smiling at him.
"I thought you were on a long leave," Med remarked.
"I am. Just came by to see one of the palace girls and pick up my salary."
"Those girls don't come cheap, do they?"
"No. She's got her heart set on a necklace she saw in town, she tells me.
God only knows how much that's going to set me back! It's a good thing I'm
doing some investing these days."
"Well, good luck with it, then."
"Thanks. I'm going to need it."
Warkannan sauntered through the gates while he wondered if his excuse
would hold. Would someone high up in the chain of command learn that he'd
returned to the palace in the middle of his leave?
"Charity, sir, oh charity?" A crowd of ragged children rushed forward and
surrounded him. In the lamp light Warkannan could see their pinched little
faces, their bony hands, the rags flapping around prominent ribs. "Oh please,
sir!"
Warkannan dug into the pocket of his uniform trousers; he'd taken to carrying
small coins these days. The children waited, staring at him. There was only
one way to give charity without being followed and mobbed. He held up the
handful of deenahs, glanced around, and saw a patch of well-lit grass.
"Here." Warkannan tossed the coins into the grass. "Go get them!"
The children dove for the coins, and he hurried downhill, jogging fast till
the street curved and hid him from their sight. Every day, more beggars, he
thought. When is this going to end?
The Great Khan's compound lay on the highest hill of Haz Kazrak, a city
of hills. Far below to the west lay a sea harbor, embraced by stone breakwaters
where red warning torches glowed and fluttered, staining the water with reflections.
In the cloudless sky the Spider was just rising in the east. This time of
year the entire spiral would be visible by midnight as a swirl of silver light
covering a tenth of the sky. Already it loomed over the eastern hills like the
head and shoulders of a giant. Over the open ocean the two Flies, small glowing
clouds, were scurrying to the horizon ahead of their eternal enemy. The rest of
the sky stretched dark.
As Warkannan walked on, the Spider and its light disappeared behind a
hill, but the soft glow of oil lamps bloomed in the twisting streets. The neighborhood
around the palace was safe enough. The compounds of the rich lined
the wide streets, and most had lanterns at their gates and a doorman or two as
well, standing around with a long staff to keep beggars and thieves away. Further
down, though, the private lamps disappeared; the streets narrowed as they wound
along the slopes. The squat little houses, made of bundled reeds or bamboid,
stood dark and sullen behind kitchen gardens that smelled of night soil and
chicken coops. Warkannan stayed out in the middle of the street, where the
public lamps shone, and kept his hand close to the hilt of his saber.
Down by the harbor the way broadened and brightened again. Here among
the shops and warehouses people stood talking or strode along, finishing up the
day's business or drawing water from the public wells. A good crowd sat drinking
with friends in the cool of the evening at one or another of the sidewalk cafs.
In the center of the harbor district lay a large public square, and in its center
stood a six-sided stone pillar, plastered with public notices and religious dictates
from the Council of Mullahs. Whores lounged on its steps or strutted back and
forth nearby, calling out to prospective customers. Warkannan noticed one girl,
barely more than a child, hanging back terrified. She'd been forced onto the
streets to help feed her family, most likely. It happened more and more these
days.
Warkannan crossed the square, then paused to look up at the velvet-dark
night sky. In the north he saw the Phalanx, as the Kazraks called them: six bright
stars zipping along from north to south, tracing a path between the Flies and
the Spider. Since they appeared every night at regular intervals, he could get a
rough idea of the time, enough to figure that he was late. In the light of a street
lamp he took out his pocket watch. Yes, a good twenty minutes late. He put the
watch away and hurried.
Fortunately his destination lay close at hand, where the street dead-ended
at a merchant's compound. Over the woven thorn walls, the fern trees rustled
as the breeze picked up from the ocean. The outer gate was locked, but a brass
bell hung from a chain on the fence. When Warkannan rang, the doorman called
out "Who is it?"
"Captain Warkannan."
"Just a minute, just a minute."
Warkannan heard snufflings and the snapping of teeth, low curses from the
doorman, and a collection of animal whines and hisses. Finally the gate swung
open, and he walked in cautiously, glancing around. Huge black lizards lunged
on their chains and hissed open-mouthed as they tried to reach his legs. When
the doorman waved his staff in their direction, they cringed.
"They can't get at you," he said, grinning. "Just stay on the path."
"Oh, don't worry about that." Warkannan fished in his pocket and found a
silver deenah to tip him. "Thanks."
The graveled path led through the fern trees to an open space around the
house, a rambling structure, all one story, woven of bundled rushes and vines in
the usual style but overlaid with a small fortune's worth of true-wood shingles.
At the door, Nehzaym Wahud herself greeted Warkannan and ushered him inside
the warehouse. Although she never told anyone her age, she must have been in
her late forties. On her dark brown face she wore the purrahs, two black ribbons
tied around her head. The one between her nose and upper lip marked her as a
decent woman who observed the Third Prophet's laws of modesty; the other,
around her forehead, proclaimed her a widow.
"How pleasant to see you, Captain," Nehzaym said. "I'm glad you could join
us tonight."
"My pleasure, I'm sure. I'm extremely interested in this venture of yours."
"If the Lord allows, it could make us all quite rich, yes."
Warkannan followed her across the room. Against the walls, covered with
a maroon felt made of dried moss, stood a few lonely bales and sacks of merchandise
left over from the winter trading season, a big desk littered with documents,
some battered cabinets, and a tall clock, ticking to the rhythm of its
brass pendulum. Nearby a bamboid door led into Nehzaym's apartment. She
ushered him through, then followed. In the middle of the blue and green sitting
room a marble fountain bubbled, pale orange ferns in bright pots stood along
the walls, and polished brass screens hung at every window. Just in front of the
fountain stood a low table, spread with maps of pale pink rushi, where other
members of their circle sat waiting for him.
"Sorry I'm late," Warkannan said.
Sitting on a heap of purple cushions, Councillor Indan Alwazir looked up.
The old man kept his long white robes gathered round him as if he were afraid
he'd be polluted by the incense-laden air. Warkannan's nephew, Arkazo Benjamil,
a young man with a beaky nose and a thin-lipped grin, was sitting cross-legged
on the floor and holding a good-size glass of arak between thumb and
forefinger. When Warkannan frowned at him, Arkazo put the glass down on the
floor and shoved it under the table in one smooth gesture.
Standing by the marble fountain was the most important man in their venture.
Tall and slender, Yarl Soutan was wearing the white shirt and loose white
trousers of a Kazrak citizen, but his blue eyes, long blond hair caught back in a
jeweled headband, and his pale skin marked him for the infidel stranger he was,
a renegade from the Cantons far to the east of the khanate. Although he looked
Arkazo's age, his eyes seemed as old and suspicious as Indan's, squinting at the
world from a great distance. As always, Warkannan wondered just how far they
could trust a man who claimed to be a sorcerer.
"We have been waiting," Indan said to Warkannan. "For some while, actually."
"I had to go up to the palace. You're about to hear why."
Indan raised an eyebrow. With a demure smile for the men, Nehzaym barred
the door behind her, then perched on a cushioned stool near the councillor.
"All right," Warkannan said. "Someone's laid an information against us with
the Great Khan's Chosen Ones."
Arkazo swore. Indan went pale, his lips working. With a little laugh, Soutan
turned from the fountain.
"I told you I saw danger approaching. These things always send omens ahead
of them."
"You were right," Warkannan said. "This once, anyway."
"May God preserve!" Indan was trembling so badly that he could hardly
speak. "Do they know our names?"
"Calm down, Councillor," Warkannan snapped. "Of course they do, or we
wouldn't have anything to worry about. They're wondering if we're really going
to prospect for blackstone."
"Is this anything special?" Arkazo broke in. "As far as I can see, the Chosen
are suspicious of everything and everyone all the time."
"I don't know what they know," Warkannan said. "All that Lubahva heard
was that someone bragged about our investment group.
Continues...
Excerpted from SNARE
by Katharine Kerr
Copyright © 2003 by Katharine Kerr
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Copyright © 2003
Katharine Kerr
All right reserved.
