BULAN WATCHED THE LONE rider approaching.
That spells trouble, their instinct told them.
Nobody crossed the Red Desert alone. Not under any circumstances. Reygistani were more likely to cut their own throats than attempt such a journey. Yet here was a Reygistani coming from the largest populated city in the Red Desert, heading out into the sands.
In all their years on the Red Trail, they had never seen such a thing.
They did not flatter themself that the rider was merely coming to meet them. Wagon trains arrived every few months from one Reygistani city or other. Even wagon trains from as far as Aqron, as this one was, were not infrequent enough for Queen Drina to send a welcoming committee. Besides, what kind of welcoming committee consisted of only one person? No, there was something strange here, and in their experience, strange or different or unusual almost always spelled trouble.
“Orange Alert,” Bulan said to their second in command, a young Vanjhani named Muskaan, who had stepped into the position after Bulan’s previous number two had been eaten alive by deadwalkers during the battle six years ago. Young, in Vanjhani terms, meant only a couple hundred years of age, but despite their tender years, Muskaan was proving quite competent. If they lived long enough, they might even make a damn good train master someday. For now, though, they had an irritating habit of questioning some orders instead of simply doing as instructed.
“Is that necessary? It’s just one rider,” Muskaan said, as if on cue.
Bulan glanced at them with one face, eyes cutting sideways with an expression of displeasure. “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” they responded curtly. “I said Orange Alert.”
Muskaan did as they were told, calling out the alert to the watchers in the towers, who passed it on across the train.
They watched as the rider approached, passing the first several circles without stopping the dromad. That suggested familiarity with train organizational structure, the knowledge that the train master’s circle would be in the middle of the caravan. In itself, it didn’t mean anything. Hundreds of thousands traveled with the trains. It didn’t take special knowledge to know where to find the train master. Still, it did suggest the rider had business with Bulan.
As the dromad came closer, Bulan’s keen vision judged that its rider was female. And not any female. This one had the look of a Maatri or even a Maha-Maatri. It was in the way she held herself on the dromad, sitting hard and proud, not hunched over or draped over the humps as some commonfolk might do.
That suggested trouble.
As she brought her dromad within reach of Bulan’s wagon and was intercepted by the militia, Bulan’s feeling grew steadily. By the time the rider had been checked for concealed weapons and permitted access to the master, they were certain that this wasn’t any ordinary visit.
The rider was a tall, statuesque woman of indeterminate age, with the attitude and stance of an experienced warrior. Definitely a Maatri at least, Bulan judged. And one who had seen a fair bit of combat and some hairy battles.
“Maha-Maatri Ladislew,” she said, raising her open hands to touch her cheeks in the Reygistani greeting. “Whom do I have the pleasure of greeting?”
“Vanjhani Train Master Bulan,” they replied. “Forgive our manners, Maha-Maatri,” Bulan added. “We had not expected such an illustrious guest. We are honored by your presence. Pray allow us to offer you the humble courtesies owed to a fellow traveler. Will you do us the honor of joining us in a breaking of bread and taking of nectar in our wagon?”
Ladislew made the Reygistani gesture of acknowledgment. “I regretfully decline. My mission is urgent, and time is precious. I must be on my way.”
Bulan nodded. “Then, if I may be so impudent as to ask a question?”
“You may ask.”
“Are the streets of Reygar grown too crowded for you, Maha-Maatri? Why does a Mother of the Great City venture out into the Red Desert on her own?”
A muscle jumped in Ladislew’s cheek as acknowledgment of Bulan’s humor. “Not the streets, not yet, but the environs of Reygar, yes. I take it from your query that your scouts have not yet spotted the army of the traitor?”
Bulan frowned. “Not as yet. Which traitor would we be speaking of here? It has been a few seasons since we visited Reygar—please excuse our not being current with the state of politics.”
“There is only one traitor worth speaking of. The wretch named Dirrdha.”
“Brother to Queen Drina herself? We have heard tell of him. Last we knew, he was sent into exile by his sister some twelve years ago.”
“He was, and he has now returned, at the head of an army. It is of that force I speak. They are stationed some two hundred miles north and east of Reygar.”
Bulan hated it when their instincts proved right. “Where would the traitor Dirrdha have got himself an army? No Reygistani force of any size would dare challenge Drina and the might of the Maatri or dare to act against the Holy City.”
“Dirrdha has found a sponsor. A Krushan named Jarsun.”
Bulan sighed with one mouth and swore with the other. “We know of him. He has plagued our train all the way from Aqron. We had hoped we were well rid of him, as he has not made a move against us for some time now.”
This earned a look of sharp interest from the woman. “Jarsun has attacked your train? Personally?”
“We have been spared that honor. Nay, only his minions. And by minions, I refer to a wide and varied number of devices, most of them not of this mortal realm.”
Bulan quickly summarized the attacks by the deadwalkers and desert dragons and other calamities that had befallen the train on the Red Trail. Ladislew listened with keen interest, asking pointed questions. From her interest and the questions, Bulan guessed she didn’t simply happen to be here to bring them up to date on the latest occurrences in the city.
She was on a mission. And they would wager that her mission was to seek little Krush’s accursed father himself. That would explain her being alone on the road. The Maha-Maatri were renowned as the world’s most skilled assassins. Unlike the Maatri, they engaged in battle only if it was absolutely essential. Instead, they focused their energies on singling out and quietly eliminating high-ranking individuals among the enemy.
“You seek the Krushan. To eliminate him.” Bulan’s tone was neutral, casual. They had no desire to provoke or offend a Maha-Maatri. Not only because such a lapse might prove fatal, but also because they respected the Maatri more than the usual Reygistani rabble. This was a great, ancient race of matriarchal assassins and warriors who had more knowledge and experience of warcraft than most entire civilizations on Arthaloka. They had even heard of Maha-Maatri Ladislew herself. In a sense, they were in the presence of a celebrity, a legendary assassin. And as chance would have it, they were in a unique position.
Ladislew’s eyes swept the circle. “Your numbers are sorely depleted by your hardships on the trail. You must be low on resources as well. It would be difficult for you to withstand another sustained assault.”
She had sidestepped the question as well as put the master on warning. Bulan saw their second in command reacting belatedly as understanding spread across both their faces: they shot Bulan an alarmed glance as if to say, So this is why you issued the Orange Alert. Bulan ignored the novice, keeping their attention focused on the visitor.
“We have a common enemy, my lady,” Bulan said, choosing their words carefully. “And by the stone gods’ graces, Bulan is in a unique position to assist you in your goal.”
Ladislew’s eyes flickered with interest. “Go on.”
“You seek the Krushan, no doubt because he is the force behind the traitor Dirrdha’s return, and the army that he now commands. You are probably one of several Maha-Maatri dispatched to multiple locations, each tasked with the mission of seeking out and eliminating the Krushan. Your destination is probably Aqron, since you have been told that is the seat from which he operates as ruler of the White Kingdom and self-styled God-Emperor of Arthaloka.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “You are wise even among Vanjhani,” she said. “Continue.”
“Jarsun is not in Aqron. You would waste the better part of a decade traveling there only to find him absent. I seek to save you that effort.”
A tiny muscle twitched in her forehead, not even the full wrinkle of a frown. “My mission is eternal. A Maha-Maatri does not count years or decades. All that matters is the fulfillment of a given task.”
“Indeed. And we seek to assist you in that fulfillment. By sending you to Arrgodi rather than Aqron. Arrgodi is where Jarsun now spends his time. He has installed a puppet there named Tyrak and married his daughters to this tyrant.”
“Jarsun has more than one daughter? I have heard only of the one named Krushita, who is reputed to be dead, slain by his own hand.”
Bulan made a brushing-aside gesture. “He has as many wives and children across the land as a Maatri has lovers.”
That earned a smile. “Careful, Train Master. I might be offended if I thought you were comparing us to that cursed oppressor.”
“Not at all, my lady. He is not worthy of comparison to your boot heels. I point out only that Jarsun has many alternate identities and spouses and offspring. None, however, have inherited his powers, tending, for the most part, to take after their mothers. So you are right, only the one named Krushita remains his true child and heir, a Krushan by blood and ability.”
A raised eyebrow. “Interesting choice of words. So you believe she lives yet?”
“We will come to that presently. What do you say to our offer? Will you accept our aid?”
“In directing me to Arrgodi? You have done that already. If your information is true and up to date . . .”
“It is. As of this very day. Jarsun is in Arrgodi. He travels around the East extensively, but spends most of his time in Arrgodi city itself, with his son-in-law and puppet liege Tyrak.”
“You seem very confident of your sources, especially for one who has been traveling from Aqron to Reygar and is a long way from Arrgodi.”
“My source is accurate. My information is current. And I offer you the means to confirm it for yourself before the sun sets on this day.”
For the first time since they had begun speaking, Ladislew looked startled. She regained her composure at once, but the widening of her pupils told Bulan that their arrows had struck home.
“You speak a big game, Train Master Bulan of the Vanjhani. But now you exceed your abilities, I fear. Not even a Maha-Maatri can cross the Red Desert and half the Sea of Grass in less than a single day. Ten, fifteen years, possibly. Those are the realities of space and time.”
“Not to me,” said a voice from behind her.
Ladislew spun around, blades flashing in both hands.
She stared at Krushita who stood only a few feet away.
“How did you approach me from behind?” asked the Maha-Maatrika. “No one has ever done that to me, or to any Maha-Maatrika. It is impossible.”
Krushita smiled. “The same way I will take you to Arrgodi. Silently and instantly.”