Shadows, стр. 9
This time it was Subitorni whose eyes shifted to Zeesar for half a second. Yukannak was right, there was something between them they didn’t want him to know about. Under other circumstances, his suspicions might have led him to run, except, on the baked surface of R’Bak, there was no escape. So he climbed into the vehicle and maintained a serene expression, all the while remembering the pistol strapped to his thigh.
The trap door measured fifteen feet wide and twenty feet long. Just below the surface, a road cut into the plateau’s bedrock, angling downward in a gentle slope. Two thick metal rods, one on each side, raised and lowered the door through a series of pulleys and winches. Sitting beside Zeesar in the dim lighting during the downward drive, Yukannak could watch the militia leader’s feigned nonchalance. All of it was new to Zeesar, who no doubt realized that digging out such an entrance involved engineering on a massive scale. There was nothing recent about it, despite what Subitorni said, and Zeesar was trying hard to hide his irritation.
Good. Yukannak needed eyes and ears inside the F’ahdn’s circle to warn him of danger, and a disaffected yuzbazzi was perfect. As his mind whipsawed back and forth about his own predicament, he decided that, whatever happened, he would not return to Kulsis alive unless those he’d betrayed lost power.
At the bottom of the ramp lay a large chamber with tunnels leading off in different directions. The vehicle stopped near four others parked along the south wall as the driver spoke to a mechanic who was bent over an engine compartment. Pulling off again, they continued until they came to a large central tunnel with daylight at the far end, half a mile distant. Stopping about one hundred yards from the exit, Subitorni explained that Yukannak’s quarters were in the wealthy section that was cut into the plateau itself. The tunnel, however, terminated in the Inner City where the merchants lived. Surrounding the Inner City was a high, thick wall made from mud brick and stone.
“The F’ahdn sends his apologies, but he is unwell today. Your evening meal will be brought to your quarters or, if you would like to mingle with the people, there are celebrations each night after sundown. Tell the food vendors you are a guest of the F’ahdn, and he will pay for your meal and drink.”
“Are these celebrations for the better folk or for everyone?”
“Everyone.”
Large, loud crowds often hid assassins. Back home he could spot someone who seemed out of place, but everyone on R’Bak looked suspicious to Yukannak. “Then I will eat alone and rest.”
Subitorni left after Yukannak settled into his quarters, and the guards went with him. At Yukannak’s request, Zeesar stayed behind. A servant provided by the F’ahdn brought them cool water from the artesian well that supplied the city, pumped directly into the small kitchen. Heavily padded chairs and rugs of densely woven cloth softened the feel of the rooms, cut as they were from living rock. As a matter of course, Yukannak assumed that even if the F’ahdn didn’t have electronic listening devices, he had some way of monitoring the conversations of his guests.
“Being on the edge of the Ashbands, Imsurmik can be a dangerous city,” Zeesar said. “Especially with so many outlying militias coming here. The local citizens are generally a quiet enough lot, but things are becoming crowded now, and they are wary of the newcomers. Many are only passing through, which leads to thievery and even kidnappings. You may not always be shown the respect you deserve. Should you need a guide, I again offer my services.”
“And I accept them. It is good to get varying viewpoints about who the satrap may and may not rely on in coming days.”
“And the Kulsians as well?”
Yukannak paused. Few people mentioned the Kulsians in such a direct manner. Was he wrong about the listening devices, or was it a trap? “Yes. It is even more crucial for my people to know whom they may trust.”
“Wise. One can never have enough friends.”
“No, one cannot.”
Zeesar rose to leave and let Yukannak remove his paint and rest from his long trip. But first he bent close and lowered his voice.
“Trust no one,” he said.
“Including you?”
That brought a grin. “Especially me.”
* * * * *
Chapter 5
Captain Cutter, recently promoted from lieutenant, stood atop the highest hill before the river valley to watch his platoon’s third training exercise of the day. The men were tired and hungry and sick of month-after-month intensive learning. Everything from advanced small unit tactics and hand-to-hand combat training, to field stripping and cleaning all the platoon’s weapons blindfolded. They’d shot so many rounds on the firing range that the M14s had left their shoulders sore and bruised. Supply convoys had twice brought more ammo, which, due to their proximity to Imsurmik, had to be hand carried the final seven miles so as not to attract unwanted attention. Griping was epidemic, and Cutter smiled at every second of it; he worried much more about silence than bitching.
His executive officer, Lieutenant Tanavuna, had run the training now for more than two weeks with no input from Cutter. That way, if Cutter took a bullet in the first minute of action, the platoon could still carry out the mission. Being the son of their hetman and married to their healer, Tanavuna was the natural choice. Fortunately, he also happened to be a damned fine officer.
The men in his platoon all came from the same village and had been away from their families for months now, with only a few leaves to visit them. Being separated, they had fewer distractions to interrupt their concentration, and they had rapidly bonded as soldiers. It was Cutter’s version of Army boot camp.
Everyone hated the arrangement, but as Tanavuna’s