expressed in perfect Fisher Coast Bhrudwan. “I’ll cut the bridge down then.”
Another laugh. “Now you are not thinking. Again, you will do nothing that will result in the death of the children.”
“Whereas your people will happily sacrifice strangers to appease the Son.” Noetos decided to gamble. “Not you, though, Siy. You have Tocharan training. Your tutors would not have advocated such a thing. Even the Neherians would not do this.” He slipped the knife into his belt.
“The Neherians would do anything,” said the warrior. “You know nothing if you do not know that. I could tell you stories about those folk fit to freeze your blood. But you are right: this is folly, and unworthy of the Padouki.”
“Then let us go.”
“No. Surrender and I guarantee your deaths will be clean. I vow that I will personally travel to your home town and tell your relatives how bravely you died.”
“My home town is destroyed.”
Noetos found, as he said the words, a deep regret rising within him. Why he should care for a place he had hated, he could not understand. He would have sworn he could not have cared whether Fossa sat smugly in the sun or was burned to the ground, but apparently he had been wrong.
“I will ensure you are buried with honour,” the warrior persisted.
“You must let us go. The cosmographer was right, warrior. We are the only hope of defeating the gods.”
The man called something and the children made their way to his end of the bridge. “You do not understand,” he told Noetos. “The Padouki owe Keppia a great debt. In exchange for allowing him to make an entrance to the Godhouse in our sacred heartland, Keppia gifted us with the life of trees.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Padouki live very long lives,” said the warrior. “As long as the trees they tend. I told you I spent time at the Tochar academy, yes, but this was in the time before the Red Duke of Roudhos. I served the Red Duke, and was already high in his service when I saw him burn in the war against the Falthans. I marched to Instruere and watched the Undying Man’s victory and his defeat. Afterwards I assumed another name and served the Red Duke’s son. Yet this is only a short part of my life, do you understand? Would you give up such a gift to save a few people who have made enemies of your god?”
“What? You served the Red Duke’s son? Demios? But Demios—”
A noise behind him made him spin around. Three warriors stood there, bows drawn.
“You tricked me,” Noetos said with heartfelt bitterness.
“Aye. The most effective traps are baited by the prey. Shame you never went to the Tochar academy.”
No, but Cyclamere constantly told me that, using exactly those words. He was right: I never listened, and now I will pay for it, as he warned.
Another explosion rocked the treetops. Arathé ducked as splinters showered over the Canopy. Heredrew was doing something to the huts; expanding the air inside them so quickly that they blew apart. She had seen dozens of Padouki plummet to their deaths as a result. She had also seen Stella walk away in disgust.
We don’t have the luxury of cherishing our enemies, she thought.
No, you do not. It does not serve me to see you die here.
The hated voice. Arathé was minded to change her opinion simply because it agreed with her.
Then get us out, she thought at him.
The Falthan seems to be doing a creditable job, said the voice, half-admiringly. But I must look after my interests. Very well. Prepare yourself.
The familiar burning took hold of her. Curse you, curse you, she drove at him. I didn’t mean like this! Then everything went white.
The Padouki had magic, it seemed, but their power was sorely limited. When Noetos finally found the source of the smoke, it was to discover a large group of Padouki women standing together on a platform, arrayed against Heredrew, alone on a bridge. They were doing something to the air between themselves and the Falthan sorcerer: it swirled like smoke, one moment hardening as though frozen and then softening in the next. Their stance was purely defensive, trying to keep the man out. Losing the battle, and they knew it. Noetos had seen a similar look of horror and resignation on other faces he had fought. He had probably worn that look himself a time or two.
As he watched, one of them sighed and collapsed onto the platform.