By guile and brave struggle.
But the minions of mortality are only overwhelmed by this busy season
And swiftly enough they will catch up their work again.
Buyo, the commander of the Sacrifice league meant to guard Viyeki’s Builders, slowed his horse until the magister caught up. Beside Viyeki, Riugo straightened in his saddle, but the commander showed no interest in him, instead addressing Viyeki directly, albeit with proper deference. “Your pardon, High Magister, but we approach the outer gates.”
It was hard to miss the immense, tumbled ruins of the outer walls that loomed before them, but Viyeki only inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I see them, Commander Buyo.”
The Sacrifice touched his chest. “Forgive me for my terrible rudeness, Magister Viyeki, but I am directed to say that once we pass out of Nakkiga-That-Was, and until we reach the borders of our land where you will be given the queen’s orders, you and your men must do only what I say. Your safety is my utmost concern.”
“Heard and accepted, Commander.”
Buyo nodded again and made a stiff gesture of respect. “Thank you, High Magister. Soon, I am sure, all will be clear to you, and then you will direct me once more as befits your station.”
On the far side of the gates, instead of the open, empty land that Viyeki had expected, he was surprised to see an entire company waiting for them. For an unnerving instant he thought it might be a Northman ambush, but he soon saw that those waiting were all Hikeda’ya, armored Sacrifices as well as some from other orders. Was there to be yet another ceremony? Had the near-endless ritual pledges and prayers at Black Water Field not been enough for one day?
Two figures stood apart from the soldiers; as he examined them, Viyeki’s unease grew. One was tall and imposing, with ornamented black armor that showed him to be a high-ranking Sacrifice. The other, smaller figure was clearly from the House of Song—the arrogant posture gave it away as surely as the hooded robe. Who could this odd pair be, Viyeki wondered, and why did they wait for him? Did they bring some bad news that had missed him at home? Had something happened to his daughter Nezeru, or had Viyeki himself been undone by some unexpected treachery from Akhenabi? But why would the Lord of Song wait until such a late moment? Viyeki reined up and did his best to wait patiently, hiding all feeling behind the mask of his position.
“High Master Viyeki, we have been waiting for you!” said the small, slender one, executing a shallow bow. The voice was female. “I give you greetings from my master Lord Akhenabi. I am Host Singer Sogeyu.” She then indicated her tall, sharp-featured companion. “And this is General Kikiti of the Order of Sacrifice.” The general inclined his head. Viyeki knew Kikiti, as did most of Nakkiga, from his vigorous suppression of dissent during the Northmen’s siege of their mountain. Some people claimed as many had died at the hands of Kikiti’s warriors as had been killed by the mortals.
“And why are you here?” Viyeki asked.
“To accompany you,” said Sogeyu, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She drew back her hood to reveal a shaved head like an acolyte’s and an unmasked face, but Viyeki could tell from her spare, thin-skinned features that the host singer was by no means young. “In fact, I carry your orders from the Mother of All, which I will give you when the time comes.”
“My orders?” Viyeki was caught by surprise. “But I thought that Commander Buyo was going to give them to me.”
Sogeyu showed the closest thing to a smile that Singers generally revealed, a slight thinning of the lips to denote amusement, though her eyes remained as hard and lifeless as blackstone. “Oh, no, Magister. Your mission is too important to be entrusted to mere league commanders. Our all-knowing queen and my master wish to be sure these important directives are given directly to you—at the proper moment.”
Without leaving the hands of the Order of Song, you mean, Viyeki thought, caught between deep unease at all that was strange here and anger at how he was being manipulated. “Does this mean you two will accompany me to the edge of our lands?”
“Oh, and beyond, great magister.” Again, the tiniest stretching of the mouth, but the host singer was not being so openly expressive by accident, Viyeki knew. A message was being sent.
But what does she mean by ‘beyond’? Where are we bound?
The additional troop of Singers and Sacrifices fell in behind them. As Viyeki’s troop marched out past the last of the ruined walls and into the wilderness around the derelict outer city, the magister did his best to recover some kind of equanimity.
I do not understand what is happening here, he thought, but for you, Great Mother, I will go anywhere, do anything. May the memory of the Garden preserve you and all the People.
And so Viyeki sey-Enduya, lord of the Builders’ Order, rode out of Nakkiga and into the wide world, a world that he knew hated him and all his kind.
He is gone, Tzoja kept thinking over and over. He is gone, and I am alone and helpless in a house full of enemies.
She was ashamed of herself for thinking such weak thoughts, and she knew Viyeki would have been disgusted, but that was just the problem: for all his wisdom, the one she loved did not understand his own household, his own people, in the same way that she did. How could he? Magister Viyeki was a noble of an old noble family and he was male. He did not notice the silent hatred that slaves felt for even the kindest masters. He could not grasp the murderousness of a spurned wife.
Still, though, despite her worries, she was surprised when the knock on her door came less than a bell after the High Magister had departed. She opened it cautiously and was relieved to discover that it was only one of the serving girls. Tzoja did not even have a chance open her mouth before the servant spoke, as emotionless as a cat yawning.
“My mistress sends to know if you will join her for the evening meal, now that the master is gone.”
So the bitch Khimabu was ready to begin hostilities before Viyeki had even reached the outskirts of Nakkiga-That-Was. Tzoja was caught off balance, and was furious with herself for not being ready. She had expected a respite of a day or so before Viyeki’s wife began her campaign in earnest, but obviously that was not to be.
The easiest thing to do would be to refuse, of course, to claim she didn’t feel well. That was probably what Lady Khimabu expected. In fact, that might very well be the excuse Viyeki’s wife would use to take Tzoja into her own care, and then to make sure that the mortal woman’s health took a sudden and surprising turn for the worse. Good sense dictated she should go nowhere near Khimabu’s end of the residence.
“Tell your mistress that I offer her many thanks and will come at the appointed hour.”
The servant gave no sign of surprise except for a very slight hesitation before bowing and retreating, but Tzoja knew she had managed an unexpected maneuver. She could only hope that either it would intrigue Khimabu enough to convince her to hold off a little longer, or that the dinner was only meant to be an exploratory gambit anyway, the opening of a cat-and-mouse game that could keep the lady of the house cheerfully occupied during the early days of her husband’s absence.
Still, Tzoja knew it was a very dangerous gamble on her own part. She was not entirely helpless: She had a poison-stone to protect her, one she had brought with her from her days in the household of Valada Roskva, so many long years ago—or so many to Tzoja, at any rate. But poison was only one of many ways the mistress of the house could remove Tzoja as a rival.
All the centuries the Norns have lived in this dark mountain, she thought. How can a people live this way—hiding from the sunshine, barely sipping at the light as though it were some dangerously potent liquor? But it was no good to yearn after sunlight, however much she missed it now. This mountain was where Tzoja would have to make her stand if she was to survive. And the most dangerous skirmish yet was only hours away.