“He did?” River asked, leaning in, standing on Quinn’s other side.
“Yes,” her sister responded. “Is that significant?”
“I think so. I’ve only heard about them once when I was talking to a historian from the university. It was a dinner party. Remember, dear, the engagement party for our neighbors’ daughter and they know all those First University people—”
“River,” Quinn said, somewhat tersely.
I noticed this exchange, Quinn having the more practical intelligence of the two, whilst River was the curious intellectual.
“Oh, right. This man told me about them. He knew a lot about continental military history. They’re not exactly soldiers, although they are in the army. It’s a small troop of soldiers selected by the Shark King and people say they act as his teeth. If he wants to take a bite out of something, he uses The Procurers. Tintar is vicious. And the Shark King is a terror all on his own. If he wants something, it istheythat go and get it. If he wants to throw his weight around politically, they kidnap his enemies’ loved ones and hold them for ransom. You know they are constantly at war with the Helmsmen clans over their northern borders because of the treacherous Hintercliff mountain range there. They can never agree on what belongs to who. And Helmsmen are known for their trench warfare. Amongst all those valleys and paths, they are hard to conquer. A few winters past, The Procurers sneaked into Helmsmen territory, camping there undercover for days so as to locate and poison an entire settlement’s water supply. Any country who tangles with Tintar will ultimately meet with The Procurers. They sabotage enemy camps. They assassinate. They may have been sent here for a particular reason, not just to help the Tintar army.”
“I do not like this,” said Quinn. “It is concerning enough that we are being taken prisoner by an army that is known for not taking prisoners. Now you tell us, dear sister, that we are being abducted by Tintarian’s elite warriors.”
Helena had joined with Mischa in distracting her daughter with conversation about what time of the morning it must be.
I spoke to the sisters. “I say we keep this between the three of us. Emotions are already running high. The rest of them do not need to know. Does that seem like a good plan? Or should we all be informed?”
“You are a natural general, Edie,” said River.
Quinn squinted into the smoky dark. “And she is correct. Let’s just see how the rest of this day unfolds. We need to get our bearings with them.”
“They could be decent captors. They could be beasts,” said River.
I thought of Helena’s worry in the priest’s quarters when we both noticed the handsome-faced young guard’s notice of Maureen.
“I’m thinking about that too,” I said, my words doubly hushed. “Especially with Catrin and Maureen. They are both so young and pretty. And Eefa cannot be older than sixteen.”
“I will repeat what you said in the chapel,” said Quinn. “We must stand together. And be united in our captivity and in our pretense.”
“Well said,” her sister chimed in.
I peered out and through the wooden slats to the street behind us and saw the leader marching alongside the wagon. Had he heard us? His gaze flicked up and he met mine. I should have pulled in the half of my face sticking out but I did not. I again noticed his refined-looking eyebrows. In the early morning darkness, the rose glow of fading fires in the distance flickering across his lean face, he looked like a demon in an illustrated version of Rodwin’s scriptures. The teachings of the saint claimed the unrighteous would spend their afterlives as the servants of a cruel demon folk in a far-off realm. In drawings they were always rendered as slender and sharp-featured. He and I looked at each other for what felt like a long time, my heart thudding in my breast. Then he closed his eyes and slowly opened them, looking past me up the street. I had lost his interest.
We remained standing as we left the city, riding through the demolished gates. I took in our space in the wagon, roughly estimating how much room there was for us to sit if we all wanted to and decided it would not be comfortable. I wondered if I should suggest sitting and standing in shifts. Even when the cobblestone gave way to dirt roads, it was necessary to hold on to the wooden slats with both hands so as not to be hurled to and fro. Eefa was sniffling, her mother shushing her. Catrin had already decided to sit, taking up nearly a quarter of the floorboards.
“Who wants to rest?” I said, my voice just above a whisper.
They all looked at me.
I went on. “We have limited room and the gods know how long it will take to get to Tintar if they are on foot. We should sit in shifts. I’m not tired yet.” This was a lie, but I sensed I had the emotional fortitude to keep standing, more so than Eefa or Catrin.
“That is a plan,” said Helena.
“I agree,” said Bronwyn.
Maureen, Bronwyn, Eefa and River all sat with Catrin, usurping almost all of the wagon floor. Mischa, Helena, Quinn and I stayed up, each pushed to the four corners of the cage. For that is what it was, a cage. This pushed me closer to the back of the wagon. Now I was standing facing the marching troop. I watched them salute or nod to fellow units of Tintarian soldiers. The other soldiers gave our wagon sideways glances as if they had not expected to find it full of white-robed women.
“Again,” Quinn whispered to only me, from where she was in the other corner closest to the men. “I say I do not like this. See how these other troops look at us. There’s something going on. Some factor I cannot seem to grasp.”
“You are making me feel less mad,” I replied. “I see it too.” I looked back into the street and found the captain again. And again, his eyes found mine, his stare frank and assessing, as if he was branding the shape of my face into his memory, as if he saw through me and my hastily donned white robe, my ink-streaked blue cheek. This time, it was I who turned away.
5. Whispers
“Where is the transport wagon?” the captain asked, his hands on his hips, staring at a line of public hitching posts on the side of the road. Twenty gray horses with saddles and full saddlebags were tied along the posts, but there was no vehicle.
We had left the city along a broad dust road that led into one of the mining districts, joining the other units of Tintarian soldiers, their numbers spreading far on either side of us, all of them pouring from the Eccleston gates in formation. Our company of ten on a wagon pulled by four horses and nineteen men on foot had fallen behind the cavalry and the infantry units marching at a fast pace.
“Those cavalrymen think everything is theirs,” said one man with silver hair, despite him looking no older than Mischa. “They always absorb other troops’ supplies into their own. I know it was them.”
