The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [67]
Sparing a frown for Udra, Nikandr mounted his pony and rode to meet Ranos. Together, they headed through the trees back toward the palotza road.
“What news?” Nikandr asked. Just then a wave of nausea struck him so fiercely he was forced to lean forward in his saddle to keep himself from vomiting over himself and his pony. He breathed deeply, pushing himself into a normal riding position.
Ranos was clearly lost in thought, for he answered as if nothing had happened. “They allowed me to search the rooms Ashan was given for his stay. There was nothing useful. A few blankets. A small telescope. Everything else he took with him when he left to find Nasim. And what’s worse, the mahtar refused our petition. If Ashan and Nasim are found, they claimed the right to take them into custody themselves until we present more evidence of their involvement.”
The nausea began to pass, and Ranos’s words began to sink in. It was not the best of news. A covenant had been drafted long ago, outlining the terms under which the Aramahn would lend their services to the Grand Duchy. Much of it related to the number of Aramahn that would be granted to each Duchy every month, their duties and compensation, which largely consisted of passage from island to island and a measure of the stones they used to bond with hezhan. It also detailed the strictures of how the Aramahn would be treated, especially with respect to those suspected of committing crimes under Grand Duchy law. Except in cases of a select few crimes, the Aramahn were to be given the option of trial by their own people, and they were to be allowed the right to decide punishment. The murder of the Grand Duke certainly qualified as serious, but there still needed to be some evidence tying the accused to the crime itself, and at this point they had practically no evidence whatsoever.
“Nasim is involved, Ranya. I’m sure of it.”
“That may be so, but they will claim, rightly, that the Maharraht were behind the attack, and without something concrete, they will have rights to withhold their qiram from service to Khalakovo.”
They came to the road where a dozen streltsi waited on ponies, ready to accompany Ranos toward Radiskoye. Every third man held a dousing rod instead of a musket. Six went on ahead, while the others fell to the rear.
“So what do we do?” Nikandr asked.
Ranos paused, the hooves of their ponies muffled by the thick blanket of snow over the road. “We find them before Iramanshah does.”
Five sotni had been sent to search for them, but even with five hundred men, it was doubtful they would be found. Three days had already passed and they’d found nothing. It would help their chances greatly if Mother could spend her time searching, but she could not. It was too important to monitor the land directly around the palotza for immediate threats. If she went too far afield, she risked missing another attack entirely, and that was something Khalakovo could not afford. So it would be left to the soldiers, and even if they numbered in the thousands, it would still be difficult to locate someone who wished to remain hidden. The mountainous island positively brimmed with small, hidden valleys that would be difficult to navigate before the summer thaw. And besides, it was entirely possible that they’d left the island; by now they could be on Duzol, Grakhosk, Yfa, even Kravozhny.
Ranos cringed as the rook on his shoulder cawed raucously and flapped its wings.
“They have been found,” the rook said.
“The Maharraht?” Ranos asked.
“The boy and his guardian, south of the lake.”
Nikandr reflexively looked northward—as did Ranos—to the high ridge above them.
The rook craned its neck as the feathers along its head and neck crested. “Send men to Jahalan and have him search the lake immediately. A larger ship will follow.” It cawed several more times as Mother left its body, surely to spread the word.
Ranos was looking at the men, probably deciding which he would send.
“I’ll take them,” Nikandr said before Ranos could order them to go alone. His heart was beating