The Killing Moon by N.K. Jemisin

Author:N.K. Jemisin
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Adult, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780356516158
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

22

Jungissa stones may be touched only by those in the service of Hananja.

(Law)

The Reaper does not serve Hananja. It no longer needs a stone.

* * *

Niyes was a fool to think he could escape this nightmare, thought Charris.

Now General Charris, elevated to Niyes’s place. Once Charris might have been pleased with the appointment and with the oblique victory over his old rival, but no longer. Now he would have given anything to be able to hand the title back to Niyes, and the foul duty that came with it.

The prisoners knew they were to die. They moved reluctantly, only after much shoving and shouting on the guards’ parts; Charris could see the despair in their eyes. They could not have seen the heavy-walled, locked wagon that Charris had brought with him to the prison, and which now stood in an adjoining courtyard. They could not have known about the monster locked inside it—yet still they seemed to sense the imminence of death. Criminals they might be, but they were true Gujaareen as well.

Because of that, Charris—normally more pragmatic than devout—prayed for them. May Hananja watch over you in the dark places you’ll inhabit for eternity, he whispered in his mind. And may you die better than Niyes did, for I saw his body when that thing was done with him.

“Sir.” Charris turned to see one of his message-riders standing at attention, escorted by one of the prison guards. The rider was sweaty and filthy, all but swaying with exhaustion. Charris narrowed his eyes and ordered the guard to go fetch lemon-water and salt. Then he pointed toward the floor, and the rider gratefully sat.

“Report.”

“Orders were delivered to the southeast garrison by messenger bird two days ago,” the rider said. “Another bird was dispatched from there to the southwest. The southeast commander distrusts birds for critical information, so he sent me to deliver the message to—” He hesitated. “To the high desert. I killed a horse getting there, but delivered the message successfully. On the return journey I passed through the border town of Ketuyae. The minstrel caravan crossed the river there a fourday ago.”

“Just four days? You’re sure?” Barring storms or accidents, the fastest desert route to the Kisuati Protectorate’s northernmost trade-town was usually seven days. Ketuyae was a day out of Gujaareh. They would be past Tesa by now, half their journey completed.

“Yes, sir. But the desert commander assured me that his troop would be able to catch up to the caravan. They have good trackers. And they have Shadoun horses, bred and trained for the high desert and twice as fast as any camel.”

Which meant that it would take another day, perhaps two, for the garrison troop to find and catch up with the minstrel caravan. Right at the border. Charris could only pray that Sesshotenap, the commander of the desert force, would have enough sense to send his men without Gujaareen livery. All they needed was for a Kisuati patrol to catch a party of Gujaareen soldiers

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