Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [102]
“I’d forgotten you talked to animals, Moirin,” Balthasar remarked.
It evoked a long-ago memory of Jehanne, posing me a similar question in a sweet, poisonous voice, long before things had changed forever between us, long before Jehanne had become my unlikely rescuer, when she’d caught me whispering to the long-legged filly that had been Prince Thierry’s gift to me. Do bear-witches speak to animals?
Ah, gods! Even the memories of her early unkindness hurt to remember.
“I do,” I said in D’Angeline, echoing my long-ago reply. “It doesn’t mean they speak back to me.”
Balthasar Shahrizai, my unlikely ally, smiled at me. “Shall we go?”
I inclined my head to him. “By all means.”
Thus began our journey to Tenochtitlan, the heart of the Nahuatl Empire.
For the first two days, we marched through tropical warmth, the men complaining and sweating through the padded gambesons they wore beneath their armor, the Nahuatl porters trudging uncomplaining in simple breech-clouts with packs on their backs and tump-lines bound around their foreheads; me feeling guilty at riding while others walked, feeling guilty at reveling in the palm trees that swayed above us, dreaming their hot, languid dreams. Whether or not Bao and Septimus Rousse felt guilty in their more comfortable attire, I could not say.
At last, the smoking White Mountain of Iztactepetl drew nearer, and we began to pass beneath its shadow, glancing apprehensively at the plume of smoke that trailed from its peak, hoping the volcano rested easy.
For now, it did.
On the third day, another footroad converged with ours, and we saw our first travelling Nahuatl merchant party.
Pochtecas.
The merchants were unassuming; later, I would learn that it was their way to appear modest and conceal their wealth. Indeed, whatever goods they carried would be hidden upon arrival in Tenochtitlan. There was a long line of porters—or more likely, slaves—carrying bundles in the same manner as ours.
But the warriors guarding the expedition—now, they were as resplendent in their own way as our company. They wore curious armor of quilted cotton that had been soaked in saltwater to stiffen it, and carried wooden shields on which devices had been worked with bright feathers. One of them was dressed head to toe in the skin of a spotted beast, and a great headdress of feathers towered above him.
I was so fascinated, I forgot to be frightened at first.
Balthasar held up one hand, and we all halted. The Nahuatl party halted too, conferring amongst themselves. Then the spotted warrior and the others strode forward, clearly intending to engage us in some way. At a glance, their numbers looked to be even with ours.
Now my heartbeat accelerated, and I silently cursed Porfirio Reyes for planting seeds of fear in me.
“They look like they’re ready for a masquerade, don’t they?” Clemente DuBois said nervously.
“Shut up, Clemente,” Balthasar said in an absent tone. “All right, let’s see what they want, shall we? Denis, you’re our translator.”
Surreptitiously, I strung my bow.
“No foolish ideas, Moirin,” Bao warned me. “You’re staying behind, and I’m staying right beside you.”
“I’m just being prepared,” I retorted.
The Nahuatl carried throwing spears and club-like weapons set all around the sides with rows of sharp obsidian blades. The good thing about the latter, Denis had told us, was that obsidian was brittle and shattered easily, especially against steel. The bad thing about the former was that the Nahuatl used handheld tools to hurl the spears with exceptional force, which Denis reckoned might be sufficient to pierce brigandine armor.
I made myself breathe through the Five Styles and remain calm.
The two parties met where the roads converged. Balthasar’s men didn’t draw steel, and the Nahuatl didn’t raise their weapons. At one point, the spotted warrior glanced over at me. His expression was stoic, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He gestured with one arm, making an inquiry.
From atop my mount, I watched Denis reply. I did my best to keep my own face empty