The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(82)
“In Gujaareh, no one would question such things,” Ehiru murmured, more to her than to the Protectors. He felt fresh pity for her now, hearing that both her mentor and her protégé had died at the Reaper’s claws. For that, he tried to comfort her, though only with words since that was all he had. “No one but Gatherers, and we did not know. If we had, we would have helped you.”
She gave a curt nod, getting control of herself, and faced the Protectors again. “Before I left Gujaareh, I also learned that the creature has been involved in a number of incidents at the capital’s prison. Many prisoners have died in ways which puzzle even the Gujaareen, for these are young, healthy men who slip away in their sleep—ungently. So it would seem the Prince is not content to use his Reaper as merely a convenient assassin. He nurtures the creature’s evil, helping its powers to grow for reasons known only to himself.” She hesitated, glancing at Ehiru. “What I could not be certain of was the Hetawa’s involvement.”
And thus she’d dared not trust him with everything she knew. He heard the apology in her voice and nodded acceptance, though he marveled at it given her hatred of his kind. But somehow, over the course of recent days, her feelings toward Gatherers—no, toward Ehiru—had apparently changed. There was a degree of respect in her manner now, which he had never expected to see.
He glanced toward Nijiri and saw grudging compassion in the way he looked at Sunandi. Change on both sides, then; good.
“And Kinja learned, though Jeh Kalawe was the one to bring us this knowledge,” said the old woman, with an approving glance at Sunandi, “that for the past five years—since the Prince found the scrolls—Gujaareh has been quietly building its fleet of ships to levels useful only for war. Other spies have confirmed this. Shipyards outside the city, along the Sea of Glory, have been producing vessels in great quantity. We do not watch the Sea of Glory closely; it has no connection to the Eastern Ocean and so poses no threat to Kisua—or so we believed. But we now know those ships were designed with thicker hulls than are needed on the Sea, built using techniques borrowed from the northern tribes. Therefore we suspect the Prince now has a fleet of ships which can sail all the way around the northern continent, through the frozen and dangerous waters at the top of the world, to reach the eastern seas.” She paused. “We suspect the Prince has sent these ships forth already, most of them years ago. Each left its docks as soon as it was completed, never more than one at a time—but by the volume of materials involved and the guesses of our own shipmasters, we estimate some five hundred ships could have begun the northern journey by now.” She heaved a long sigh. “Your Prince is as patient as an elder.”
The Kisuati woman. She cannot be permitted to reach Kisua, Ehiru, or there will be war. Eninket’s words echoed in Ehiru’s mind, and he shivered at the enormity of his brother’s misdirection. War had already been declared. Only its timing made any difference.
“Yes,” Ehiru said. He was angry again, too angry; another mark of his corruption. He controlled it with an effort. “Patience is only one of the gifts our Goddess bestowed upon him. I hadn’t realized until now just how thoroughly he has misused those gifts.”
A hint of compassion seemed to flicker in the old woman’s eyes for a moment. “Then perhaps you will oblige us by sharing information of your own,” she said. “As I told you, we suspect the Prince has forged secret agreements with several of the far-northern tribes for military alliance, and for safe passage through their waters; these agreements have been primarily brokered through a Bromarte trader-clan. A minor member of this clan, a Bromarte named Charleron of Wenkinsclan, was one of Kinja Seh Kalabsha’s contacts; he recently died. Jeh Kalawe has heard rumors that he was Gathered—or perhaps Reaped. Do you know anything of this?”
Goddess forgive me. This madness goes so much deeper than I ever suspected. Ehiru closed his eyes and took a long slow breath. “I was the one who collected his tithe.”
The Protectors began to murmur again, though the old woman shushed them quickly. “Who commanded his death? The Prince? His own kinsmen? Did he give you any information before he died, about strife between the Prince and your Superior?”
“These things I do not know,” Ehiru replied. “The commission came in the usual manner. I was told he had an incurable disease. I had no reason to suspect anything unusual…”
But even as he said this, he remembered the Bromarte’s words in the dream: they’re using you. And too, he remembered the silhouette that had been watching from a nearby rooftop.
If I had not killed him, the Reaper would have. He shuddered as understanding came at last, too late and tinged with a bitter irony.
The old woman looked at her fellow Protectors. “The Bromarte clans are reluctant members of the alliance, thanks to their long ties with both Gujaareh and Kisua. They have stayed as neutral as possible, only brokering deals with other clans that are more willing to fight, like the Soreni. But some of them, like Charleron, were willing to warn us of the danger.”
“No troops have left Gujaareh,” another man mused, picking at a spot on the table. “Their armies are at full strength, deployed a bit closer to the border than usual, but they haven’t begun to move. Of that much we can be certain.”
Another man said, “The Feen and the Soreni have ports along the Eastern Ocean, and they have ties to tribes with ports even along the frozen northern seas and the Windswept. Gujaareh has great wealth; they can afford to pay others to fight their wars. So if the Prince’s vessels were empty, so that they could travel faster, and if they could be filled with northern warriors after making the ocean journey…”