Shadows, стр. 17
“The silci is a mighty lord and my words are meant only for him. Perhaps if we could step into that alley, I could tell him something of interest. A moment only, lord, is all I ask of you. If we can step into privacy?”
Yukannak’s sigh was theatrically loud. He stopped, shook his head, and pointed to the alley in assent. He hoped that no one noticed his finger trembling at the excitement of whatever news Zeesar might have brought.
“Lead on, then.”
Barely wide enough to pass through in single file, the alley lay between two solid stone buildings. Yukannak’s guards automatically posted themselves at either end, while the servant boy stayed back with them.
“You have news of the archive?” Yukannak asked in a low voice, so as not to be heard over the street noise of clattering carts and the calls of vendors.
“I cannot speak with you long,” Zeesar said. “We are in danger, both of us. My inquiries were nearly made too late. I must leave the city before dawn, and you would be wise to do the same.”
Traps within traps, Yukannak thought. Vague and dire warnings were an old trick. Zeesar might be telling the truth, or it might be a test laid by the F’ahdn to discover an ulterior motive for the silci’s visit. It could also be the satrap testing his loyalty.
Feigning indifference, Yukannak waved Zeesar away. “The silci is no hetman of a squalid village. What threat could endanger the anointed envoy of my master?”
“Who are you trying to impress?” Zeesar asked. “If you’ll stop ignoring me and listen, you might understand the danger we face!”
“What do you have for me?” Yukannak said.
Zeesar motioned to lower his voice. “Keep your voice down. The stone echoes our words, and there are always those eavesdropping in Imsurmik.” Pointing upward with his right forefinger, he leaned forward and whispered in Yukannak’s ear. “Have a guard check the roofs.”
Quietly, Yukannak spoke to one of the guards, who disappeared. They stood in the shadows beyond the illuminated street for several minutes. Without warning, there was a scream over their heads. It ended abruptly, and a body rolled off a roof edge and slammed into the dusty alley. One of the guards grabbed a torch and revealed a man wearing simple robes and a face wrap, groaning as blood leaked from his head. Zeesar bent down and cut his throat in one swift motion before leading Yukannak away from the spreading pool of blood.
“We could have questioned him!”
“He would have lied.”
“How can you know that?”
“Outlanders,” he said, as if the word tasted bad. “Some aren’t content selling their harvest or gathering plants. They see Imsurmik as a city where everything has a price, with information being its most valuable product. This man was the type you will find around any leader—no doubt the satrap, too—willing to do anything for pay. His name was Larrihoi, and his death is not worth troubling over. Whatever words he spoke would have been laced with untruths so you could not know what to believe. ”
“Do you speak of him, or yourself?”
Zeesar ignored the barb. “This man no doubt worked for the F’ahdn.”
“Would the city’s master dare spy on me?”
“Of course he would. But gathering information is the easy part. Staying alive to sell it is what is hard, as Larrihoi just found out.”
“Tell me what is going on.”
The edge of Zeesar’s knife glimmered in the torchlight as blood dripped to the pavement. Yukannak noted how easily he handled the weapon, and how surely he’d slit the spying man’s throat. Whatever his outward veneer of custom and courtesy, Zeesar was still, and always would be, the hetman in a region where lives often ended in quick, violent deaths. But just as the Kulsians would pay heavily to know of Yukannak’s duplicity, the F’ahdn would no doubt value knowing that as one of his trusted aides, Zeesar was also selling information to the F’ahdn’s potential enemies. If that was truly what Zeesar was doing. In the dark world of trading secrets, the satrap’s mouthpiece didn’t doubt that Zeesar had plans in place to protect against such a double-cross.
Zeesar pursed his lips. “I have been a blind fool. Without my knowing it, the J’Stull commander, Subitorni, has acted against me to become the new yuzbazzi. A woman in the F’ahdn’s household, who has accepted my coins for many years, told me this story not an hour ago. He and the F’ahdn plan to defy the satrap and deal with the Harvesters directly. Bypassing the satrap will let them ingratiate themselves with the Kulsians. It seems the F’ahdn wants to become the new satrap. Subitorni would then become silci.”
“Continue.”
“Just after sunrise yesterday morning, men under the F’ahdn’s command returned to the city carrying a mysterious person wrapped in blankets. My friend the masker heard whispers of a healer taken from a local village to cure the F’ahdn’s Bleeding Black, and that it was an act carried out under the authority of the F’ahdn’s yuzbazzi.”
“But you did not order it?”
“No, I did not.”
“Why would they not simply move against you? Why go to all of this trouble?”
“He cannot move too fast without being discovered. I am convinced he means to defy the satrap, with the intent of replacing him. The Harvesters don’t care about anything except getting their plants, but even without Imsurmik, the satrap is powerful. The F’ahdn needs every man who can use a weapon to fight for him.”
“But why turn against you? Would you not support him against the satrap?”
Zeesar hesitated. “So that you will trust me, I will answer your question honestly and directly. The day may come when I need your friendship, and it may come soon. The F’ahdn