Chapter 15: 15

The sliver of the Moon offered scant light with which Barrin could secure hand and footholds as he scaled the sheer surface of the canyon face, but it only slowed him down a bare amount. A child of the mountains and an unforgiving, often brutal, father had made such obstacles of little consequence to him. He had climbed upon rock surfaces until his fingers cramped from cold, until the tips bled, and climbed ever higher to seek the approval of a man that never gave it.

This canyon seemed little deeper than a crevice to Barrin and he soon found himself clinging to the wooden structure of the wall of the outpost. As he had expected, though tight to the edge, the wall had suffered from the hubris and laziness of thinking none would dare attack from this angle, as Barrin had hoped. The curved knife he had taken from the armoury of the Company of the Golden Moons slipped from the grip of his teeth into his hand and he penetrated the dried clay packing between wooden posts, digging out a handhold.

Inside, the war dogs began to wail, sensing his presence, but Barrin had anticipated that. He had no fears of discovery, not yet, at least. With great agility and strength, he carried himself up the surface of the wall, taking care not to rush, but not too much care. A twist in his gut came once again as he wished he could have brought his crescent-moon sword and he scowled as he clambered upward.

Never in his days had he craved a weapon as much as he did that sword. Now, with that sword covered and attached to the saddle of the horse Maeal rode, he wanted it in his hand more than he had ever wanted anything, but it would have hampered his ascent. Had he not needed the knife to help the climb, he would have carried no weapon at all. Too much metal to reflect the pitiful moonlight that gave distinctive, unnatural sounds as it struck other objects.

He wasn’t certain any within these walls had the sharpness of his senses, but it did well to assume they did. At the top of the wall, he peered over the edge. To one side, a patrol wandered into view and Barrin lowered himself back below eyesight. The mournful howls of the dogs appeared to grow in volume, as though they could smell Barrin’s progress, and he cursed Maeal for not performing her part soon enough.

A muffled hammering echoed and reverberated around the outpost and the voices of the dogs rose from keening howls to vicious barks, the sound of chains straining. All this Barrin could hear as he listened to the questioning voices of the patrol. The sound of shuffling feet stopped above Barrin and, gripping fingers into the handhold he had created, he held the knife ready in the other, awaiting a shadow passing above to indicate his subterfuge had come to the attention of those Barrin had wished to avoid.

According to Gaharri, some of those in this outpost remained loyal to him, but not all. The captain would prefer Barrin did not kill anyone, but understood he may not have a choice. Barrin always had a choice, but killing was almost always more expedient than allowing select few enemies to live. If at all possible, however, Barrin wished to placate Gaharri. This debt the mercenary captain incurred would come into play later. Sooner, or at some date long into the future, Barrin could not say. He could not think that far ahead, knowing only that having a mercenary company in your debt would serve a greater purpose, some day.

Voices. They carried up from the courtyard even through the sound of the wind attempting to pluck Barrin from the wall and the incessant howls and barks of the war dogs. One voice he recognised and he hoped Maeal had an ounce of artifice within her set of skills. Above, the patrol moved on, their boots stomping as they took a set of stairs, side-by-side.

Barrin reached up, flipped his legs over the spiked tips of the outpost wall and landed upon light tip-toes, in a crouch. He watched the final tip of a spear disappear down the stairs before spinning and heading the other way. Gaharri had told him the layout of the outpost and had pressed Barrin to memorise where he expected they held his daughter. Barrin ignored that, for the moment. Instead, he headed toward the lone tower in which the outpost commander laid his head or, in this case, her head.

As expected, the appearance of a dishevelled priestess at their gates had brought the attention of most of those within these walls, even the woman that Barrin sought, easy and comfortable in a light shift, her muscled body noticeable beneath as she spoke to Maeal. Maeal, for her part, played the passing priestess in search of food and water as well as Barrin could hope. It helped that, even though she had eaten well for some days, Maeal still looked malnourished, unlike the outpost commander.

This was not expected. Barrin had paused, looking down into the courtyard. The commander had taken an immediate shine to Maeal, fingers brushing back Maeal’s hair over her ears, eyes tumbling down Maeal’s body, assessing her and giving a slow, appreciative nod before placing a hand on the priestesses shoulder, leading her away.

Caught wasting time, Barrin made a silent curse to himself and moved toward the wall of the tower. That proved no more of an obstacle than the canyon or the outpost wall and he soon arrived at the top, knowing that a trapdoor led down, into the tower, where observers would come to look out further from the walls. Once inside, he took the time to gather his bearings. The stairs, here, led downward, clutching at the walls, turning to match the corners at landings, leading downward for four flights. On the second flight below, the commander’s quarters sat. At the very bottom, the cell that should hold Gaharri’s daughter.

Taking his time, Barrin tested each stair before stepping upon it, missing the ones that creaked, the ones that shifted under his weight. As he reached the floor he sought, he heard voices within, beyond a crude door. Maeal and the commander. Barrin pressed an ear against the rough wood, listening to the conversation.

“Poor thing!” The empathy exaggerated, the commander sounded almost breathless. “A lost city? A trek through the desert? Alone? I suspect you would give anything for a warm meal and a soft bed.”

“Aa says that the offer of hospitality to those in need is the greatest of gifts.” Even in such a situation, the woman promoted her god! Barrin could almost laugh. “Accepting such hospitality with grace and a humble manner are gifts in and of themselves.”

“Indeed. Indeed.” The commander’s voice had a throaty, lust-filled quality to it that Barrin had heard many times in his life. “I shall speak plainly, does your order subscribe to celibacy, or may I seduce you now?”

They both laughed and Barrin reconsidered his thoughts about Maeal. Either she was among the great performers, or she truly found herself attracted to the commander. It didn’t matter to Barrin to whom Maeal took her pleasures, if she did, but he had not seen any sign of such over the last few days. Even her limited flirtations with him had stopped. Regardless, he was not here to play the voyeur. He moved as silent as a thought.

“Make a noise and your tongue will feed your hounds first.” He had slipped into the room as the two women had leaned in for a kiss, Maeal’s eyes widening, almost giving him away. “I have questions for you and I have little patience for lies.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod, the blade of the knife against her throat an excellent incentive for acquiescence. Barrin hooked his head to Maeal, sending her to watch the door and the landing outside and then turned the woman around. She had already allowed the shift to fall, revealing a magnificent body, still supple and muscular, even though the commander had some years upon her. Barrin allowed her to dip and collect the shift and she dropped it over her head.

“I would bluster and say you cannot escape, but I can see that, either by subterfuge or blood, this place would not contain you.” Her eyes flickered to the side, but Barrin had already seen her sidearms. A sword and a matching dagger. She didn’t look again. “I know you. White hair, the size of you? You were one of the slaves we passed on, to continue South. It was a job. Nothing more.”

“Who hired you?” Barrin dipped, picking up the belt and the attached weapons, passing them to Maeal. “That is all I need to know from you. Speak the truth and I will let you live.”

He almost believed that himself. Barrin had no intention of letting the woman live. She had gone against her captain and allied herself with Barrin’s unnamed enemy. He could not let that pass. The commander sighed, pointing toward a jug of water and raising her eyebrows in question. Barrin shook his head. Should anyone give him such a chance, he would use the jug as a weapon. As always, he assumed others would do the same, that way, he could not get caught unawares underestimating anyone.

“A merchant in Dakkesh. They had a large number of people captured to press into slavery. My captain refused to take such contracts, so I persuaded him.” She stood almost to attention, her back straight, shoulders squared, impressive chest pressing against the light cotton of the shift. “That is the truth. That is what you wanted to hear?”

It wasn’t the truth. Not all of it. A merchant in Dakkesh? No. No merchant would have engaged in impressing slaves. They may have served as a facilitator for others, but not themselves. To the side, Maeal waved a hand, silencing Barrin as a voice carried up the stairs. Barrin stepped forward, pushing the commander back against the wall, the knife once again pressed against her throat. His other arm looped about her, gripping one of her arms and crushing the other to her body with his chest.

She stared into his eyes as the voices passed the door, on the way to the next floor, or to the observation area on the roof. They passed by, whispering lascivious thoughts about the commander and the waif of a priestess. Barrin could see the commander’s proclivities were well known among those under her command. A mistake. If Barrin led any, they would know nothing about him that could cause such disrespect.

“Do not lie to me again.” He pressed his mouth against her ear, hissing the words. She tested his strength, attempting to tug her hand from his, and failed. “I have lost something precious to me and you do not wish to annoy me any more. I am not a forgiving man.”

“I have not lied. I have only left out part of the truth. Kahri. That is his name, yes?” She stopped struggling and smiled as she caught sight of his frown. “Oh, yes, I know who you have lost. And he is lost. Soon, he may not even exist.”

“What does that mean?” A bead of blood appeared upon the commander’s throat where Barrin pressed the knife. “Tell me! Where is Kahri? Where?”

“Shumma-Vohk che khassh!” The eyes of the commander widened as she spoke those words. “Shumma-Vohk che hattesh!”

Without warning, the commander jerked in Barrin’s grip, lifting her head back before slamming it forward, forcing the blade of the knife to penetrate her throat. A fountain of blood arced outward, spraying over Barrin’s shoulder as he lowered the commander to the floor. He pressed a hand against the wound, trying to stem the flow, but, each time, the commander jerked her head away, renewing the gout of blood once again, wide, defiant eyes daring Barrin to do anything, but he could do nothing.

She slumped, eyes closing, body becoming pale and limp and Barrin almost struck her corpse. She had told him nothing. Nothing of worth. Oh, the mention of Shumma-Vohk merited discussion, later, but it brought Barrin no closer to finding Kahri. He had only one, possible, trail to follow. A merchant in Dakkesh. He still doubted that, but he had to investigate, all the same.

He looked up to Maeal and saw her silent features as she stared down at the body of the commander. He could ask. Whether she truly found the commander attractive or whether she acted a part, but it did not concern him. She bedded who she bedded, or didn’t. It meant nothing to him.

The only thing that mattered for the moment was his task. Below, somewhere, Gaharri’s daughter awaited rescue. The commander, her blood not even cold, no longer interested him. Then, once completed, he had a new task to pursue. Find a merchant in Dakkesh. As though there weren’t a hundred of them in the small port.