the dankness beyond.
I saw Marán on an inside balcony. For just a moment battle anger left me, and I wondered what it was like to love someone who’d chosen a life as I had, when each leave-taking might be the last. But there was no time for anything behind. At a gallop we went into the driving rain and out of the city, with blood on our minds.
• • •
The rain stopped for a moment, and dying sunlight outlined the village of Nevern. It sat atop a hill and, even though it was unwalled, would be easy to defend, with only half a dozen streets, which wound past ancient stone houses. I heard the wail of a babe, quickly silenced, from one. But we had little attention for the village.
Twenty-five naked corpses hung on butcher’s cutting tripods along the road, impaled on hooks through their rib cages. They were the missing Lancers. I looked at Legate Ili’s body. Beyond the ghastly wound in its chest, it bore no signs of violence. But he had not died easily — his face, like the others, was twisted in a grimace of fear.
I remembered Horseman Gabran’s babblings about men becoming snakes, and imagined Legate Ili’s column a few hours ago, drawn up in the village square, about to begin the hearings, seeing the crowd pressed about them change, writhe, become serpents and slither toward them.
Very well. Those who dealt terror would experience it themselves. I shouted for the commander of the Tenth Hussars’ troop, Captain Pelym, and ordered him to surround the village with the hundred men of his company. Kill anyone attempting to leave — man, woman, child. He saluted, and his company rode away.
“Your intentions, Tribune?” Kutulu was being formal.
“This village was responsible for the murder of twenty-five of their fellow Numantians. Under martial law, I intend to put it to the sword.”
I saw Seer Sinait’s eyes widen. For a moment, I remembered that police sergeant about to slay three elderly innocents, but shoved the memory away.
“Good,” Kutulu said. “The emperor’s rule can be just — but it can also be harsh to miscreants.”
“Tribune,” the seer said. “Will you give me a moment before you issue your orders?”
She dismounted, took the canvas roll from behind her, opened it, and took out a very slender dagger, the blade of which shone of silver, and the haft of gold.
“I would like to try something I’ve never attempted.”
She touched the blade to her forehead, then to her heart. She walked to Legate Ili’s body, touched the tip of the dagger to the gory wound in his chest, then went back to her roll. She took out a coil of string that shimmered in the light of the dying sun. Murmuring words I couldn’t distinguish, she wrapped a figure-eight loop around the dagger’s haft, then held it suspended in air. The perfectly balanced weapon hung level. Sinait chanted:
“There is blood
There was blood
Seek the Slayer
Find the man
Find the woman
Find the child
Blood seek blood
Point true
Point it well
Blood seek blood.”
The dagger didn’t move; then it swung, pointed toward the village.
“That’s as I thought,” I began, and then the dagger swung to the side. It moved back and forth, like a hound questing for a scent, then steadied. It pointed a dozen degrees away from Nevern.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“Wait,” the seer said. “Let me be certain.” Again she chanted, and again the dagger behaved exactly as before. “These soldiers weren’t slain by the people of this village. The dagger points to where the real murderers now are.
“I’d guess the villagers knew what was about to happen, but were afraid of giving a warning. The knife shows they carry some guilt. I felt this,” she went on. “I sensed no threat, no enemies ahead. That’s not a trustworthy feeling, all too often. But it’s still worth considering.”
“You said the villagers share guilt,” Kutulu said. “That’s enough.”
Sinait didn’t answer, but looked at me, waiting.
I saw Marán on an inside balcony. For just a moment battle anger left me, and I wondered what it was like to love someone who’d chosen a life as I had, when each leave-taking might be the last. But there was no time for anything behind. At a gallop we went into the driving rain and out of the city, with blood on our minds.
• • •
The rain stopped for a moment, and dying sunlight outlined the village of Nevern. It sat atop a hill and, even though it was unwalled, would be easy to defend, with only half a dozen streets, which wound past ancient stone houses. I heard the wail of a babe, quickly silenced, from one. But we had little attention for the village.
Twenty-five naked corpses hung on butcher’s cutting tripods along the road, impaled on hooks through their rib cages. They were the missing Lancers. I looked at Legate Ili’s body. Beyond the ghastly wound in its chest, it bore no signs of violence. But he had not died easily — his face, like the others, was twisted in a grimace of fear.
I remembered Horseman Gabran’s babblings about men becoming snakes, and imagined Legate Ili’s column a few hours ago, drawn up in the village square, about to begin the hearings, seeing the crowd pressed about them change, writhe, become serpents and slither toward them.
Very well. Those who dealt terror would experience it themselves. I shouted for the commander of the Tenth Hussars’ troop, Captain Pelym, and ordered him to surround the village with the hundred men of his company. Kill anyone attempting to leave — man, woman, child. He saluted, and his company rode away.
“Your intentions, Tribune?” Kutulu was being formal.
“This village was responsible for the murder of twenty-five of their fellow Numantians. Under martial law, I intend to put it to the sword.”
I saw Seer Sinait’s eyes widen. For a moment, I remembered that police sergeant about to slay three elderly innocents, but shoved the memory away.
“Good,” Kutulu said. “The emperor’s rule can be just — but it can also be harsh to miscreants.”
“Tribune,” the seer said. “Will you give me a moment before you issue your orders?”
She dismounted, took the canvas roll from behind her, opened it, and took out a very slender dagger, the blade of which shone of silver, and the haft of gold.
“I would like to try something I’ve never attempted.”
She touched the blade to her forehead, then to her heart. She walked to Legate Ili’s body, touched the tip of the dagger to the gory wound in his chest, then went back to her roll. She took out a coil of string that shimmered in the light of the dying sun. Murmuring words I couldn’t distinguish, she wrapped a figure-eight loop around the dagger’s haft, then held it suspended in air. The perfectly balanced weapon hung level. Sinait chanted:
“There is blood
There was blood
Seek the Slayer
Find the man
Find the woman
Find the child
Blood seek blood
Point true
Point it well
Blood seek blood.”
The dagger didn’t move; then it swung, pointed toward the village.
“That’s as I thought,” I began, and then the dagger swung to the side. It moved back and forth, like a hound questing for a scent, then steadied. It pointed a dozen degrees away from Nevern.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“Wait,” the seer said. “Let me be certain.” Again she chanted, and again the dagger behaved exactly as before. “These soldiers weren’t slain by the people of this village. The dagger points to where the real murderers now are.
“I’d guess the villagers knew what was about to happen, but were afraid of giving a warning. The knife shows they carry some guilt. I felt this,” she went on. “I sensed no threat, no enemies ahead. That’s not a trustworthy feeling, all too often. But it’s still worth considering.”
“You said the villagers share guilt,” Kutulu said. “That’s enough.”
Sinait didn’t answer, but looked at me, waiting.
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