Markswoman (Asiana #1)(49)
“As you wish.” Navroz backed away, eyes lowered. Near the entrance she straightened, permitting a tiny bubble of relief to escape her lips.
“A moment, Eldest.”
Navroz stopped, pulse quickening as she raised her eyes to gaze at the new Mahimata.
“Is this what you were searching for?” Tamsyn tossed a linen-wrapped package on the desk and leaned back, watching her with a hooded gaze.
Despite herself, Navroz’s eyes darted toward the package. She had hoped that Shirin Mam had left a message or a clue for her to find, but it seemed Tamsyn had found it first. Well, she wasn’t about to reveal her dismay to the Mahimata. “I don’t know what you mean, Tamsyn,” she said. “I was here to inform you of the visitor from Valavan. What is in this package? Is it something important?”
“I found it in a hidden drawer in this desk,” said Tamsyn. “Perhaps it is something from Shirin Mam. Would you like to open it? I can see that you would. Here, take it.”
Navroz stared at her, concealing her surprise. This woman was more devious than a demon. The package must be sealed with a word of power, or Tamsyn would have opened it herself. Obviously, Tamsyn was testing her. Aloud she said, “I thank you for the honor, but it is not my place to open it. If it is from Shirin Mam, it is intended for you, the new Mahimata. You will inform us of the contents if you deem it appropriate. Now if you will excuse me, I must see if the elders can join me in meeting our visitor.”
She bowed and left before Tamsyn could say anything further. As she walked down the torchlit passage that led to the central cavern, her eyes strayed to the last portrait hanging on the wall. Shirin Mam’s face smiled back at her and she wanted to curse. What had Shirin Mam been up to, those last few days?
*
It was a cool, crisp afternoon, at least ten degrees lower than the Deccan village from which the petite and dusky Derla Siyal had come, but if she was cold, she did not show it. Navroz studied her composed face with grudging admiration. Derla had never Transported before, but she had used two sets of doors to arrive at the Ferghana Hub. To look at her, sitting serene and regal under the mulberry tree, one would have thought she’d arrived by palanquin. Navroz was not surprised that Faran Lashail, the head of the Order of Valavan, had chosen her as the Order’s new ambassador. She had “elder-in-the-making” written all over her smooth brow.
Felda’s arrival interrupted her train of thoughts. The squat, scowling elder looked even grimmer than usual, although she made an attempt at a smile for the visitor.
“Chintil Maya is taking an advanced combat class and Mumuksu Chan is in meditation, but we will have them join us if you stay long enough,” said Felda, dropping down on the grass next to them.
“I’m sorry that the Mahimata is otherwise engaged,” added Navroz. “She means no disrespect.”
Derla raised her delicate eyebrows. “Perhaps you did not convey the seriousness of the situation? Faran will be most disappointed. First I will have to tell her that her dear old friend Shirin is no more. Then I will have to tell her that the new Mahimata does not deem a visitor from Valavan significant enough to grant her an audience.”
Navroz almost snorted. Dear old friend indeed. Shirin Mam and Faran Lashail went back a long way, but they had been as “friendly” as two cats fighting for the same bit of fish. She said, “As the new Mahimata, Tamsyn has her hands full right now. But you have the ears of the elders of Kali. Now, please tell us what brings you here. It is not often that the caves of Kali have such a distinguished visitor.”
Derla smiled, but the smile did not touch her eyes. “It is not often that we hear of entire villages in the Thar being laid waste by the dark weapons.”
Her words hung in the air like bits of ice. Navroz swallowed. “Entire villages? Are you certain?”
“Certain?” said Derla. “No. Although our authority extends into the Thar, we do not often venture there. The only door to the middle of the desert that we know of is here in the Ferghana Hub. We have a door to Jhelmil, northeast of the desert, too far to be of much use. But we’ve questioned a couple of survivors who made it to Jhelmil. It appears that an army is in slow march to the north, mowing down any that stand in its way.”
“Kai Tau,” said Felda.
“Kai Tau,” agreed Derla. “The Taus are the only outlaws equipped with death-sticks. You know that they stole twelve kalashiks from the clan of Arikken several years ago. The remaining weapons in Asiana have been under constant guard since then, in the Temple of Valavan.”
She paused. Navroz and Felda exchanged a meaningful glance. There had been much secrecy surrounding the location of the remaining weapons cache, with Faran Lashail refusing to admit that such a cache even existed.
Derla continued, “The point is, why now? We left the Taus alone and they were careful not to draw attention to themselves. We probed a bit further, and heard disturbing rumors of a mark. Apparently, Kai Tau’s son was executed by a Markswoman of Kali some months ago. Now I am sure that you will tell me I am wrong, because the Thar is our territory, and Shirin Mam would not have done such a thing without Faran Lashail’s permission and approval.” She sat back, fixing her calm gaze on them.
Felda began to speak but Navroz forestalled her, knowing that Derla was baiting them, trying to draw them into a defensive position.
“You may have nominal territorial jurisdiction over the Thar,” she said. “But as you have confessed, your Markswomen hardly ever go there. The Order of Valavan may number eighty-five compared to our thirty-three, but you are still too thinly spread over the subcontinent to enforce the Kanun in every field and dune. Perhaps Faran needs to step up her recruiting?”