Shoka crept back along the wall, up to the next terrace, familiar territory. Beside the potted pines and up again, but not toward the house itself, with its terraces and its archers. The main court had to lie near the main gate, and in his mind Shoka could see the front gate from the inside, men running for horses and for defensive vantages the moment the watchmen advised them of movement up the street.
The defenders might well, then, choose to vacate the headquarters and break for the north gate with a weight of numbers that might force a passage to the Cheng'di road—with the gold, with the Emperor, with their alliances to foreign kings—every asset that would mean disaster to the Empire.
And a fool of a girl was loose somewhere on the grounds trying to assassinate one of the two men on whom everything depended.
Curse the decision that had left Taizu with his bow and Wengadi and Panji with the other two, and his own short-sightedness that had not even thought about equipping himself to do more than pull a fool out of a death-trap—
Ill-thought, ill-prepared, ill-done from the start. He was bruised and exhausted and confounded by the erratic moves of his own allies. His wits were fraying, he was tired, dammit, and people on his own side made him move again and again and again—there was a limit. He knew he was beyond it.
How in hell did she get through the streets?
How in hell did she get in here without raising an alarm? She's too short to do what I did.
If I knew where she got in I might know where she is.
No, no need to wonder. Find Ghita, find Gitu, that's where she is.
If they haven't found her first.
No bow, none with the dead men back there; so the work had to be close-in, and that meant mixing in with the mercenary guard around the house.
Close-in enough to reach Ghita, who knew his face as well as Beijun did, damn right he knew it; and he had to beat a fool kid to it.
He kept low as he crossed the terraces, and dropped off the wall of the highest to a soft slope under the shade of pines, slipped down a path and around the meanderings of a hedge. He heard horses, beyond the shoulder of the house, and where the hedge ended he saw lanterns, the front gate, and the great courtyard of the estate, where the gate let in on a paved expanse large enough for the hundreds of horses that were gathered there, and up onto the delicate garden-slopes—everywhere an animal could stand.
Men were running to the gates. Whoever had come in to join them had arrived at the front with a great deal of commotion in the street, but no attack. There were too many horses inside to admit more riders, but the gates opened a crack and they began to file inside all the same, riders crowding up into the gardens on this side of the courtyard.
Staying mounted, most all of them. Preparing for an imminent breakout, then.
Dammit, no sign of Reidi. Ghita's lot were organizing, doubtless moving on the street to clear the buildings nearby of rebel archers who might have made things difficult and given Reidi and his men some help—and the group which had gone back after Reidi had no idea what else had come in. If Reidi came with only his own company—
Where in hell is Feiyan and Hainan? Chewed to rags in the streets, pinned down? Chasing some damn ragtag down the east road? How did they let a whole damn wing loose to come back here?
Dammit to bloody hell, where are they? They should have been chasing up this company's backside.
Kegi. Bloody hell, Kegi's probably haring off to Cheng'di, Ghita's set him a lure and he's probably hot on it. Ghita's damn good. Set up an easy fight and a retreating enemy all the way down the bridge street and out the north gate and the east—
While he retakes Lungan from a sweep up this street and back to our lighter forces at the bridge, take them out, and get across to hold south while the Cheng'di garrison and Anogi come in to catch us three-sided—
Not damn bad, old fox. But you're discounting the people's tolerance for you.
Or gambling foreign threats will make you the lesser of evils.
And that the Emperor will be your safety with the priests and the north.
Horsemen rode close to the hedge, the crowding becoming that thick in the yard. Concealing what they do have in here, in the case an attack does come.
Keeping as many men as they can off the street while they get the gold loaded and the records—I'll bet there are records Ghita doesn't let out of his sight—names and lists, blackmail material—or work for his assassins. He wouldn't separate himself from those. He's too good and too careful.
Reidi, for gods' sake, scout it out before you come in.
He stood up. He walked out, a shadow afoot, he trusted, among the shadows of horses and riders, just one more soldier wandering around, possibly one of the first-arrived out designated to keep the perimeters. He slapped a soldier's horse on the rump to let it know he was there, walked past it and on down the slope.
If Reidi came down that street now he would see a comparatively small cavalry force holding the street outside. He might mistake it for the Regent's forces, drawn up to defend the headquarters . . . chase it past the gate and then discover himself attacked from the rear and the front.
No damn time to wait. Reidi was due, any time now, depending on how fast he had been able to muster a force and pass necessary orders to other companies.
Right into a trap.
He walked the high part of the slope, trying for a clear view over the backs of the horses, worse now that men were mounting up. No sight of Ghita or Beijun, which might mean that they were not—
But there was a wagon near the terrace at the main house doors. A good sturdy wagon and a double yoke of horses. That was where something had to come—the records, the gold, and likely not far off, the officers and the staff who had to make sure that wagon stayed safe. The elite guard, the Imperials, or the native Angen troops would be watching that, damn sure no random lot of mercenaries who might take it into their heads, considering all that had gone wrong, to pay themselves all at once and the hell with the commander and Chiyaden.
"That's the gold down there," he muttered to another man afoot. "Damn bet it is. Wouldn't y' like t' guard that?"
"Ain't a chance," the man said wistfully, and spat. "You come near that, you're dead."
"Where's the commander?"
"Ought to be out. Don't know what they're doin' in there."
"Waitin' for th' rebels. I had a bellyful of waitin'. I lost m' tent, lost ever' damn thing—"
"Me too." Another spit. "Not that it was much."
"Lot of gold down there."
"Don't say it. You can die for thinkin' it."
"I ain't. I ain't thinkin' a thing. If I was thinkin', I wouldn't be here."
He walked on, sauntered down the slope, down among the horses—looked up as the doors opened and light flooded out, with the shadows of Imperial guards and a number of official types coming out onto the terrace.
"Clear it back!" an officer yelled, and Imperials moved down to clear a space around the wagon, and to bring certain horses in close to the steps. Moving fast now. Shoka edged his way closer to the line the Imperials were making, and kept an eye to the porch.
Plan your retreat, master Shoka.
Up the steps, cut a few throats and run like hell down the terraces for the scullery gate—if the leg still has it.
Damn scullery lane's a dead end. Got to make that streetside corner in a hurry.
Where are you, kid? For gods' sakes, where are you?
He looked up to the porch as more men came out, one smallish man in robes being hustled along by others. And one tall, lank one in plain armor, with a gilt-embroidered robe thrown over it, and a helmet fancier than the armor.
None of that mattered. He knew Ghita's face, every nuance of body movements.
"You!" a voice snapped from the height of the steps, and he looked, alarmed, straight into an Imperial's face.
"Get him!" the guard yelled. And Imperials poured off the porch as soldiers scattered—as Shoka drew and took out the first and second to come at him, and charged for the porch, hell with anything but the target, who was retreating behind his guards.
Horses screamed of a sudden and wheels cracked into the terrace steps, splintering wood, then jerking forward. Shoka cleared himself a space about him and staggered back as a horse bolted between him and the guards, horses scrambling every way in mortal terror, over the terraces, breaking down railings, crashing through hedges—
He whirled clear of pursuing guards and reeled under the buffet of a horse's shoulder, dived into the general chaos of bolting and rearing horses and struggling riders and saw the fire burning, saw a fiery trail come through the air and rebound off a horse's rump, to fall and panic others as it burned under their feet.
"Taizu!"
He saw the outer gate opening, saw men running out into the lantern-lit street. Horses escaped that way. From somewhere high in the air came a booming, echoing voice.
"Damn you, Gitu!" it howled, female and huge. "Damn your cousin too! You pack of thieves, I'll have your eyes for pig-food! I'll roast you in hell and have your bones for a necklace! And anyone with you, I'll lay diseases on him, I'll give him the plague and the pox, I'll curse you with cold beds and cold feet and cold in your bones all your life, till you die and I carry you off to hell for my dinner, every one of you!"
Men ran in the firelight, crazed as the horses, bolting for the gate, the terraces, the gardens, grabbing onto horses and escaping as they could.
Ghita stared, looking up at the balconies, and Shoka jumped for the porch, vaulted the rail and sliced his way through startled guards and staff, two blows dealt before Ghita realized where he was and backed up to shelter behind clerkly men who wanted no part of it.
"You damn dog!" Shoka yelled, and took his head off while staff ran for the inner halls and guards rushed to defend a dead man.
One, two, and three died, before the quick-thinking fourth assessed the situation and somersaulted backward over the terrace railing, out of his way.
There was Beijun cowering on the porch. There was his wife up there on the balconies somewhere, and he had no hesitation in that choice.
Even when at the bottom of his gut he wondered if there were demons, and if he was rushing up there to confront a sight he would never want to see.
He took the stairs at the corner up and up, one turn and another, while the firelit courtyard and the dark alternately swung past his vision, and he saw the paved area emptying, the wagon burning, riders rushing out the gate, to shouts and curses inside and outside the walls.
He came out on a balcony at the very top of the house, face to face with a white demon shape and an arrow aimed for his heart.
"Taizu!"
The apparition whirled and sent the arrow out through the railings, several stories down into the courtyard.
And looked back to him, white-faced, white-armored, white hair streaming in the wind.
He stared. She said, with a breath: "It's flour."
"You damned fool, wife!"
"I figured you'd come here." She drew another arrow from her quiver and studiously let fly at the chaos below.
"How did you get in here?"
"With Ghita's bunch." She picked out another arrow. "I rode in, slipped down in the dark and got the scullery gate open. And got some flour and coals and stuff in the kitchen. Walked right up here." Another shot. "The kettle there's the echoes. I was going to wait till they got the gates open, but I heard a commotion and I thought it might be you. —Is help coming?"
"I damned well hope so! But I've got no guarantee. Come on, come on, dammit!" He lunged after her and grabbed her by the arm, hauled her to the stairs. "Drop the damn bow!"
"It's yours!"
"Drop it, dammit!" He hauled her down around the turns, running, hell with the pain in his leg. She followed that order the way she listened to everything, but he let her go, to follow him on her own. The bow banged on the railings and the steps as she struggled to stay with him, shedding flour all the way. "The Emperor's down below. He was. I went to save your neck! Drop the damn bow!"
She still had it when they hit the second floor. Fire was everywhere below, the courtyard deserted, the burning wagon lying wrecked, horseless, overturned against the terrace corner. A pine had caught fire, gone up like a wick. Loose horses still ran the garden and the courtyard, darting this way and that in thunderous panic, ignoring the open gates and the safety of the lantern-lit street.
He rounded the last turn, felt the shaking of the stairs, and in the next instant came face to face with guards coming up.
He yelled. Taizu yelled. They yelled. He took out the first one who stood paralyzed in shock and the hindmost three lit out down the stairs. The second came to life as he stumbled on the corpse. A sword flashed past his head and took the railing out with a downstroke: he followed up in the same direction and the man and his head followed the railing down.
Shoka ran, charged the rest of them, trying to keep the momentum, trying to gain ground—damned if he knew where anything was at the moment, except the terrace and the gate that was escape; and the place where he had parted with Beijun.
The guards ran, skidded around the corner, hit the railings and left them in sole possession of the porch and the burning wagon.
"Beijun!" he yelled into the lighted hall—the way he would call the boy-heir twenty years ago. "Beijun, dammit!"
Forgetting all the years and the titles.
"Beijun!"
"Shoka!" the Emperor cried—came staggering out from beside the door, robes askew, lost in the weight of brocade and gilt.
Like the damn fool horses, hiding in a burning building, with the open gate in front of him.
"Master!" Taizu yelled from behind. He turned, twisted away with the sight of a dozen men rolling across his vision as he hit the boards with his shoulders and came up again in a charge at the men who came at him from the courtyard.
He could not make it, he thought, while the sword was swinging, not so many, not with a trap closed on them. He trusted Taizu to get Beijun off the porch, to follow him to the gate and hope to hell he had not cleared the way only to more of them. He stopped thinking then. He killed, anything, everything in his path.
That was all he could do, the last he could do, with his knee threatening to give, his lungs shooting fire and his shoulders going numb from strain and repeated shocks.
Get to the gate.
Get the way open.
For Taizu and Beijun behind him. . . .
Someone shouted at his back. No stopping. Her business. He was engaged on two fronts as it was, desperately extended himself to cripple a man, to finish his partner, to jump clear and swing at the man who was trying to hamstring him. . . .
He spun in that move and in a passing blink saw Beijun running and Taizu running in front of a band of men coming around the corner of the porch.
He spun on around, dodged again and killed his man in a desperate, awkward strike, completely off his balance. He caught it again with a tearing pain in his leg as he turned, as Beijun grabbed him and swung behind him, Taizu lagging back with a trio of enemies pelting off the porch after her.
Going for her back. He ran and yelled, but she was already turning—she caught an attack on her blade, canted parry, but not in balance.
She sprawled—and did that damned stop-thrust, right up under her enemy's armor-skirts—
Shoka got the one behind, with no more grace. And the one after. There were four dead men on the terrace. Her doing. He staggered aside and grabbed Taizu's shoulder as she gained her feet and stood watching the man squirming on the ground.
"Gitu," she said, shaking free of his hand.
And killed what was still trying to live, a simple beheading stroke.
Shoka caught his breath, reached out for her, held her by the arm.
Riders were coming, hooves on cobblestone, shadowy figures filling the gateway and pouring inside. "Beijun," Shoka yelled, shoving Taizu for the garden, toward shadows and the escape of the scullery gate.
She grabbed him by the sleeve, pulling at him to run with her.
But the banners of the invaders were black and white. Reidi's lotus emblem. Shoka let his sword-arm fall, let the fingers relax. It was about the limit he could go, just to stand there, but he walked forward, bowed to his Emperor, bowed to lord Reidi, everything in good form.
Reidi climbed down and made his respectful obeisances. Beijun babbled something about lord Gitu, treason, and the affront to his person. The fire and the shadows swam in Shoka's eyes, and he trusted himself only to little, familiar motions, flicked his sword clean and wiped its hilt and put it in its sheath.
Gods, there was too much blood on him.
And Taizu—white spattered with dark—
A railing crashed in fire on the terrace, startling everyone. A pillar followed. Reidi ordered a detail of men to fetch buckets and axes and prevent it spreading.
Beijun came and thanked him—"They made me go along with them," Beijun said, "they lied to me—Shoka, believe me—"
He wanted a bath. He wanted to sit down. He wanted to be anywhere else.
He looked around when he could do it without offending the Emperor. Taizu was not where he had left her. He sweated, decided she was sitting down, somewhere inconspicuous in the gardens, sparing herself this babble of power-mongering and ephemeral gratitude.
"Excuse me," he finally said, no longer caring whom he offended. "Excuse me, my wife's somewhere around here—"
The roads were scantly trafficked yet. The smell of smoke was still in the air, and a woman trekking the road down to Choedri, even a ragged peasant with flour in her hair, had reason to worry; but Taizu carried her sword to hand, wrapped up in the bundle of rags on her back, just a rag-wrapped hilt where she could get to it in a hurry if she had to.
Not that there was much magistrate's justice to worry about. Just the occasional soldiers.
A band had followed her last night, and she had worried. She worried now, when she looked back and found riders coming up behind her.
But: "M'lady," they said when they came up even with her. "You are lady Taizu."
"I'm a peasant," she said sullenly. They were men of Taiyi. Kegi's. She scowled at them. "I'm going home."
They went away, but one of them stayed, riding just out of speaking range. She waited sometimes, and yelled curses at him, and finally he dropped back further.
But another one came toward evening, all in red and gold, riding a red horse and leading a very conspicuous mare.
She kept walking. She kept walking after he caught up to her.
"Taizu," he said.
Hearing his voice was hard. Damned hard. She walked on, looking at the fields in a kind of sunset glitter, and he stopped.
And got down and walked along beside her. It was Jiro, of course, that he had been riding. And it was her white-legged mare he was leading along with Jiro.
"Going home?" he asked her.
She shrugged and looked his direction, but he glittered so much he hurt her eyes. Jiro, on the other hand, was just Jiro; and when she stopped he nosed up to see if it was really her, and to get his chin scratched. She felt a fool. The whole damn country did what Saukendar wanted. She had seen him—from a distance. All the glitter. All the shouting. He had had her followed all the way from the bridge at Lungan. A lord could do that.
"What in hell do you think you're doing?" he asked her.
Third shrug.
The people wanted a story. That was all. They wanted Saukendar and the demon. Her going away was part of the story. Demons always left, once the fighting was done.
"You hate me?" he asked.
She shook her head.
He started walking again, her direction, Jiro and the mare trailing along behind. "I'd give you your horse, but I don't want to have to chase you down."
"You would, too."
"What in hell's into you? I've had men all over these roads for two days—"
She set her jaw.
"Beijun's appointed Reidi his chief Councillor," he said. "I resigned."
That hardly surprised her. "I wish Beijun'd died," she said. "They'd make you Emperor. That's what they'd do, if they knew anything."
"Hell if they would. I said to Reidi—he said they were going to chop old Baigi up in Yiungei. I said that was a waste, just retire the old thief, put someone else in. So Reidi offered me Yiungei. My old estates. I said no."
She listened. It sounded like a fool. "Don't tell me. Hua."
"They want me on the borders. They want me to set up a treaty with Shin, try to keep the borders stable. That's Reidi's old job. I said I'd much rather stand in for him down in Hoishi. Lord Councillor's Deputy. Lord Warden of the South. Some such title."
She glanced over at him. She had to see the face that went with craziness like that, or whether something like that could really happen. It was him, in all that glitter. Same eyes, same mouth. Same conniving scoundrel.
"So I'm going out there," Shoka said. "Keido's Reidi's family home. I wouldn't live there. Just a small grant in the hills down by Mon. Widen the border a little. Two or three mountains. Put a little garrison down by the river, a few good men I have in mind—Mostly it's my reputation Reidi wants down there. And my wife's. Clear out the bandits, keep the road open. —Where were you going?"
She frowned at him and bit her lip. Demon. Hell! "Are you going to give me my horse?"
He handed her the mare's reins. "Go easy on us old men. Jiro's too old for a chase."
She snorted, threw her bundle on the mare's back, and tied it down, one side and the other, except she took her sword out and slung it on her shoulder. He got on Jiro. She got on the mare, and fixed him with a long, long stare. "Are you lying to me?"
He shook his head solemnly, innocent as any boy.
"Never," he said.