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The history of Kina's cult might deserve some study someday. After I secured
myself in today's world.
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I had not spent all my time just waiting for Narayan to decide the time was
ripe to let me in on a few secrets. Over the weeks I had done my listening
among the men, had dropped a question here and there, to hundreds of
individuals, and had put together a fair picture of the Kina cult as it was
seen from outside.
Every living Taglian had heard Kina's name and believed she existed. Every
Taglian had heard of the Stranglers. They thought of them more as bandits and
gangsters than as religious fanatics. And not one in a hundred believed the
Stranglers existed today. They were something from the past, eradicated during
the last century.
I mentioned that to Narayan. He smiled.
"That is our greatest tool, Mistress. No one believes we exist. You have seen
how Sindhu and I make little effort to hide from the men. We go among them and
say we are the feared and famous Stranglers and they had better not displease
us. And they don't believe us. But they fear us even so, because they know
stories and think we might try imitating the Deceivers of old."
"There are some who believe." I suspected those included Smoke, the Radisha,
and some others in high places.
"Always. Just enough."
He was a sinister little man. And probably really a vegetable peddler honored
in his community as a good Gunni, good father, good grandfather. But during
the dry season, when large portions of the Taglian population were on the move
for reasons of trade, he would be, too. With his band, pretending to be
travellers like other travellers, murdering those others when the opportunity
arose. He was good at that, obviously. That was why Sindhu thought so highly
of him.
Now I understood their caste system. It was based on number of successful
murders.
Narayan was, likely, secretly, a wealthy man. The followers of Kina always
robbed their victims.
They were more egalitarian than other cults. Narayan, of low caste and cursed
with a Shadar name, had become jamadar of his band. Because he was a brilliant
tactician and favored of Kina-meaning he was lucky, I assumed-according to
Sindhu. He was famous among the Stranglers. A living legend.
"He doesn't need arm-holders," Sindhu said. "Only the best black cloths kill
so quickly and efficiently that they don't need arm-holders."
A living legend, and my lieutenant. Interesting. "Arm-holders?" He used the
word as a title more than as a job description.
"A band consists of many specialists, Mistress. The newest members begin as
grave-diggers and bone-breakers. Many never advance beyond that level, for
they develop no skill with the rumel. The yellow rumel men are the lowest
ranked Stranglers. Apprentices. They seldom have a chance to kill, being
mostly assigned as arm-holders for red rumel men and as scouts and
victim-finders. Red rumel men do most of the strangling. Few win the black
rumel. Those almost always become jamadars or priests. The priests do the
divining and take omens, intercede with Kina, and keep the chronicles and
accounts of the company. When it becomes necessary they act as judges."
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"I was never a priest," Narayan said. "A priest has to be educated."
Never a priest but once a slave. He'd managed to keep his rumel throughout his
captivity. I wondered if he had fought back, dealing silent death.
"Sometimes. When the moment was propitious," he admitted. "But Kina teaches us
not to slay indiscriminately, nor in anger, but only for her glory. We do not
slay for political reasons-except for the safety of the brotherhood."
Interesting. "How many followers do you suppose Kina claims?"
"There is no way to tell, Mistress." Narayan seemed almost relieved by this
line of questioning. "We are outlawed. We come under sentence of death the
moment we take our oath to Kina. A jamadar will know how many there are in his
band and will have contacts with a few other jamadars but he'll have no idea
how many bands there are or how strong they might be. There are ways we have
to recognize one another, ways we communicate, but seldom do we dare gather in
large numbers. The risks are too great."
Sindhu said, "The Festival of Lights is our great gathering, when each band
sends men to the rites at the Grove of Doom."
Narayan silenced him with a gesture. "A great holy day but little different
than the Shadar festival of the same name. Many of the band captains, come but
bring few of their followers. The priests attend, of course. Decisions are
made and cases judged but I would guess that not one in twenty believers
attends. I would guess that there are between one and two thousand of us
today, more than half living in Taglian territory."
Not many at all, then. And only a minority of those truly skilled murderers.
But what a force to unleash in the darkness if I could make it my instrument.
"And now the true question, Narayan. The heart of the thing. Where do I fit?
Why have you chosen me? And for what?"
Chapter Twenty
Crowing and clatter wakened Croaker. He rose and went to the temple entrance.
Ghostly dawn light permeated the misty wood.
Soulcatcher had returned. The black stallions were lathered. They had run long
and hard. The sorceress was besieged by squawking crows. She cursed them and
beat them back, beckoned him. He went out, asked, "Where have you been? Things
have been happening."
"So I gather. I went for your armor." She indicated the horse she hadn't
ridden.
"You went all the way to Dejagore? For that? Why?"
"We'll need it. Tell me what happened."
"How were they? My men."
"Holding out. Better than I expected. They may hang on for quite a while.
Shadowspinner isn't at his best." The voice she chose rasped with irritation.
When she continued, though, it had become that of a cajoling child. "Tell me.
It'll take forever to get it out of them. They all try to tell me at once."
"The Howler came past yesterday."
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She raised that wooden box to eye level, though she didn't make him look at
the face inside. "The Howler? Tell me."
He did.
"The game grows more interesting. How did Longshadow lure him out of his
swamp?"
"I don't know."
"I was speaking rhetorically, Croaker. Go inside. I'm tired. I was in a bad
mood already."
He went. He didn't want to test her temper. Outside, she chattered with a
flock of crows so dense she disappeared among them. Somehow she brought
confusion out of chaos. Minutes later the temple vibrated to the beat of
countless wings. A black cloud flew away south.
Soulcatcher came inside. Croaker kept his distance, kept his mouth shut. Not
much intimidated him but he wasn't one to stick his hand in a cobra's mouth.
Morning came. Croaker wakened. Soulcatcher appeared to be sleeping soundly. He
resisted temptation. It was less than a flutter of a thought, anyway. He
wouldn't catch her off guard that easily. Chances were she wasn't asleep at
all. Resting, yes. Maybe testing him. He couldn't recall ever having seen her
sleep.
He made himself breakfast.
Soulcatcher wakened while he cooked. He didn't notice. A dramatic pink flash
startled him. He whirled. Pinkish smoke swirled beyond the sorceress. A
child-sized creature pranced out, flipped the woman a salute, sauntered over
to him. "How they hanging, chief? Long time, no see."
"Want an honest answer or one that will please you, Frogface?"
"Hey! You ain't surprised to see me."
"No. I figured you were a plant. One-Eye doesn't have what it takes to manage
a demon."
"Hey! Hey! Let's watch our tongue, eh, Cap? I ain't no demon. I'm an imp."
"Sorry about the ethnic slur. You did fool me, some. I thought you belonged to
Shapeshifter."
"That lump? What could he offer?"
Croaker shrugged. "You been in Dejagore?" He contained an old anger. The imp,
supposedly helping the Black Company, had been absent in the final debacle [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]