The Emperors Knife - By Mazarkis Williams Page 0,136
turns by the riverbed that only her father’s best Riders would attempt. She galloped back up the hill and jumped the sheep fence, scaring the animals and the Red Hoof thralls in the pen. She raced along the mountain road, avoiding the mud and waterfalls of spring, until she had a view of the plains stretching beyond her father’s lands and into the realms of the traders-who-walked.
The wind blew, raising dust from twenty thousand horses and fifty thousand feet. She saw Windreader, Black Horse, Blue River, Flat Earth, even Red Hoof ribbons raised aloft on spears. The Cerani marched beside them, breastplates bright in the sun, their lines straight, their shoulders proud. The enemy poured down to meet them from the eastern mountains, descending on strange shaggy mounts, so many that she couldn’t see the stone beneath their feet. The enemy’s cloaks made a pattern of shifting colours and light, unmistakable once recognised, not the Pattern Master’s design, but threatening nonetheless. It spread over the grass and reached beneath the feet of her father’s men. Mesema tried to shout a warning, but her mouth would not open.
“Mesema.” Someone shook her shoulder. “Mesema, dawn approaches.”
“I’m awake,” she said, sitting up and opening her eyes. Her voice sounded loud, and she realised Beyon had been whispering.
“You had a bad dream.” He fiddled with a bundle under his arm. “I got blankets and food.”
“You shouldn’t have gone. It’s dangerous.”
“It’s dangerous to stay here. In fact, I was thinking we should hide in the tomb until nightfall.”
“We are in the tomb.”
He motioned behind him. “I meant in the tomb. It has airholes—we can close the lid. That way if anyone comes in here they won’t see us.”
Mesema looked with horror at the sarcophagus. The lid had been turned diagonally to its base, as if someone had put something inside it, or taken something out. “I think we should go back to the ways, find Sarmin.”
“At nightfall.” He paused. “The ways are full of Carriers.”
“They didn’t catch you.”
“I know. I can hear them.”
“How long have you been able to hear them?”
He bit his lip. “For a few hours.”
Mesema looked again at Beyon’s tomb. She wondered if Carrier voices could influence him, compel him, without his knowing. She shook her head. “How does it make a difference if we find Sarmin by day or by night? We should go now.”
“I’m tired,” he said, and she wondered if he meant something beyond sleep. “I need to rest.”
Mesema wanted Sarmin more than anything in that moment, his soft voice, his kind face. The way he could look at something difficult and give it a name, change it. Mesema glanced at Beyon. She knew he was different from the night before, but she couldn’t say how. “All right, we’ll rest. And then, if the coast is clear, we’ll go straight to Sarmin.”
“Good. I’ll lift you over.” But when Beyon hoisted her above the rim of the gold-and-silver-filigreed tomb, the feeling of wrongness overcame her once again. The silk wrappings meant for his corpse already waited in place. A ceremonial sword made of gold rested on its side, along with an elaborate crown. Beyon would never wear such a crown or such a sword. A strong resin smell rose from it all, a smell of storage chests and funerals.
“No! It’s not right—put me down. Put me down!” Fright overwhelmed her caution.
“Shhh.” He pushed her over the edge and began his own climb.
She knelt among the rich silks of his shroud. “Listen. I don’t like it. I really don’t like it.” Something terrible is going to happen.
He settled beside her and rolled open his bundle. “You’ve always been so brave—I can’t believe you’re screaming about a tomb.” Between the rough material of his stolen blankets Beyon had hidden bread, cheese, dried meats and fruits, and even a skin full of liquid.
Mesema stared at the feast. “I’m very hungry.”
“Then eat.” He turned his attention to the lid, pushing it in line with the tomb, closing them in.
She could see the weight of it written in the straining of his muscles. She didn’t think she could open it alone. She swallowed, and tried to stop her heart from beating so quickly. The stitches, do the stitches. She embroidered a garden of flowers in her mind, lily, rose, and thorn. The lid settled into place, and the filigree dappled the morning light, putting Beyon’s face half in shadow. His marks looked darker of a sudden.
“I thought you were going to eat.” Beyon’s eyes flashed