himself, and the members of the utkhaiem, smelling the chance of glory,
divided themselves among the hands heading east and west.
Adrah took the cast, his eyes locked on hers as he turned to go. She saw
the meaning in his expression, daring her to do this thing. Idaan made
no reply to him at all. She, six huntsmen of the Vaunyogi loyal to their
house and master, and Danat rode into the mountains.
When the sun had reached the highest point in the day's arc, they
stopped at small lake. The huntsmen rode out in their wide-ranging
search as they had done at every pause before this. Danat dismounted,
stretched, and paced. His eyes were dark. Idaan waited until the others
disappeared into the trees, unslung her bow, and went to stand near her
brother. He looked at her, then away.
"He didn't come this way," Danat said. "Ile's tricked us again."
"Perhaps. But he won't survive. Even if he killed you, he could never
become Khai Machi. The utkhaiem and the poets wouldn't support him."
"It's hatred now," Danat said. "He's doing it from hatred."
"Perhaps," Idaan said. Out on the lake, a bird skimmed the shining
surface of the water, then shrieked and plunged in, rising moments later
with a flash of living silver in its claws. A quarter moon was in the
sky-white crescent showing through the blue. The lake smelled colder
than it was, and the wind tugged at her hair and the reeds alike. Danat
sighed.
"Was it hard killing Kaiin?" Idaan asked.
Danat looked at her, as if shocked that she had asked. She met his gaze,
her eyes fixed on his until he turned away.
"Yes," he said. "Yes it was. I loved him. I miss them both."
"But you did the thing anyway."
He nodded. Idaan stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. His
stubble tickled her lips, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her
hand as she walked away, trying to stop the sensation. At ten paces she
put an arrow to her bow, drew back the string. Uanat was still looking
out over the water. Passionlessly, she judged the wind, the distance.
The arrow struck the back of his head with a sound like an axe splitting
wood. Danat seemed at first not to notice, and then slowly sank to the
ground. Blood soaked the collar of his robes, the pale cloth looking
like cut meat by the time she walked back to him. She knelt by him, took
his hand in her own, and looked out over the lake.
She was singing before she knew she intended to sing. In her
imagination, she had screamed and shrieked, her cries calling the
hunters hack to her, but instead she sang. It was an old song, a
lamentation she'd heard in the darkness of the tunnels and the cold of
winter. The words were from the Empire, and she hardly knew what they
all meant. The rising and falling melody, aching and sorrowful, seemed
to fill her and the world.
Two hunters approached her at last, unsure of themselves. She had not
seen them emerge from the trees, and she didn't look at them now as she
spoke.
"My brother has been murdered by Otah or one of his agents," she said.
"While we were waiting for you."