Traitors' Gate (Crossroads) Read Online Free PDF

his sword again.
    The Qin chief stepped forward, a man of easy competence who reminded Kesh of the scout Tohon. “Captain Jushahosh. No need to waste this young woman. I will take her as a wife if you do not want her.”
    But the motion was already complete, her fortune long since sealed. The cut drove deep into her neck, and she slumped forward, twitching, not yet dead, mewling and moaning. As the captain stepped back with a look of dazed shock, as if he’d thought to kill her in one blow, the Qin chief calmly finished her off but with a wry smile that Kesh took at first for cruel amusement. A murmur swept through the Qin soldiers like breeze through trees, but the Qin chief raised a hand and all sound ceased. The chief turned his back on the dead as a look of pure disgust flashed in the twist of his mouth and the crease made by narrowed eyes. Then he caught Kesh watching him, and his expression smoothed into the solemn look the Qin normally wore, as colorless as their black tunics.
    Perhaps the captain had seen. “A woman of the palace! She can have no honor left, her face exposed in such a manner. And her hair, seen by every man here, even by barbarians! Death honors her, although she disgraced herself.”
    “She’s dead now,” said the Qin chief, facing him with the same deadly smooth expression unchanged. “Why kill the child?”
    “That was one of the sons of the Emperor Farazadihosh.”
    “A boy can be raised as a soldier, useful to his kinsmen.”
    Servants brought canvas and silk to wrap the bodies. “Why do you think we found a palace woman on the road at all? Escorted by a contingent of palace guards? With Farazadihosh’s death in battle, the palace women who have borne sons of his seed have scattered. If even one survives, a standard can beraised against the new emperor. With a few such deaths, we bring peace. Isn’t peace to be preferred to war?”
    “This seems settled then,” said the Qin chief. “Are these slaves to be killed also?”
    “Slaves belong to the palace, not to the emperor. They obey those who rule them.” He handed his sword to an aide, who wiped it clean. “Master Keshad, will you continue our meal?”
    Eliar stumbled away, collapsing to all fours as he heaved. Kesh looked away from the bodies being rolled up, from the slaves awaiting their fate. He studied the Qin chief, but the man’s gaze made him nervous, like staring down a wolf who might be hungry and thinking of you as his next meal or might recently have fed and finds you merely a curiosity. It was not that the Qin were merciful, but rather that they valued their loyalty to their kinsmen above all. For that, Kesh admired them.
    But he was in the Sirniakan Empire now, and the Qin were, presumably, mere mercenaries. He turned to Captain Jushahosh.
    “Yes, certainly, Captain. I hadn’t finished my story, had I?”
    They walked back through camp to the fire where they had first sat. Here, the slaves had already set out folding table, tray, cups, a fortifying wine warmed with spices. The white-robed Beltak priest who accompanied their troop was being helped by a pair of underlings toward the road, his priest’s bowl hanging by a strap from his right wrist.
    “The skirmish did not last long,” remarked Kesh as he settled onto a folding stool opened for him. The stool marked, he thought, new status in their eyes.
    “They were desperate, but few in number. Still, there are dead, and the priest must oversee the proper rites. Those who fought must be cleansed at the next temple.”
    “You’re wounded? I saw you were limping.”
    “No, not a scratch.” His grin was lopsided, a little embarrassed. “Turned my ankle jumping out of the way of a man trying to stab me.” He sipped at the wine, and made a face. “Eh. It tastes of blood.”
    It tasted perfectly fine to Kesh, and when the captain had not the stomach to eat, Kesh finished off the spiced meat andfreshly cooked flat bread. Slaves never knew when they would next