the Warden of Elleais?"
"I'd just signed on then," the armsman said.
"You've always been a good fighter, Lachmi. I want you to know I respect
that."
With the speed of a snake, the commander's wrist flickered, and the
armsman fell hack in the cart, blood flowing from his opened neck. Otah
tried to push himself away as the commander turned and drove the sword
into the armsman's chest. He dropped the blade then, letting it fall to
the cart's floor, and took a pose of regret to the dying man.
"But," the commander said, "you should never have cheated me at tiles.
That was stupid."
The commander stepped over the body and spoke to the driver. He spoke
clearly enough for Otah to hear.
"Is it done?"
The driver said something.
"Good," the commander replied, and came hack. He flipped Otah onto his
belly with casual disregard, and Otah felt his bonds begin to loosen.
"All apologies, Otah-cha," the commander said. "But there's a lesson you
can take from all this: just because someone's bought a mercenary
captain, it doesn't mean his commanders aren't still for sale. Now I
will need your robes, such as they are."
Otah pulled the leather strap from around his head and spat out the
cloth, retching as he did so. Before he could speak, the commander had
climbed out of the cart, and Otah was left to follow.
They had stopped at a clearing by a river, surrounded by white oaks. The
bridge was old wood and looked almost too decrepit to cross. Six men
with gray robes and hunting bows were walking toward them from the
trees, two of them dragging the arrow-riddled body of the armsman the
commander had sent out. Two others carried a litter with what was
clearly another dead man-thin and naked. The commander took a pose of
welcome, and the first archer returned it. Otah stumbled forward,
rubbing his wrists. The archers were all smiling, pleased with
themselves. When he came close enough, Otah saw the second corpse was on
its back, and a wide swath of intricate black ink stained its breast.
The first half of an east island marriage mark. A tattoo like his own.
"That's why we'll need your robes, Otah-cha," the commander said. "This
poor bastard will have been in the water for a while before he reaches
the main channel of the river. But the closer he seems to you, the less
people will bother looking at him. I'll see whether I can find something
for you to wear after, but you might consider sponging off in the brook
there first. No offense, but you've been a while without a bath."
"Who is he?" Otah asked.
The commander shrugged.
"Nobody, now."
He clapped Otah on the shoulder and turned back toward the cart. The
archers were pitching the corpses of the two armsmen into the water.
Otah saw arrows rising from the river like reeds. The driver was coming
forward now, his thumbs stuck in his belt. He was a hairy man, his full
heard streaked with gray. He smiled at Otah and took a pose of welcome.