Traitors' Gate
The Point of No Return . . .
Anji’s bandaged hands and blistered face spoke the words Joss could not say out loud. The outlander had taken a sword to the gift the gods had granted the Hundred.
“Male or female?” Joss cried suddenly. “What cloak? I must see it!”
“The cloth was more brown than orange, something of the color of clay soil. The demon appeared in the guise of a very old woman.”
It was not Marit!
Yet that wasn’t what should matter. They had broken the boundaries. Now they would be punished. Yet a dawn wind rose on the curve of the sun as it did every morning. Light spilled in the usual way over the rolling river, catching in the streaming waves, dazzling Joss’s eyes until he realized those were tears. The world had not ended. The gods had not howled down and obliterated them.
“So it is done,” he murmured. “We can never go back.”
“We can never go back,” echoed Anji.
PRAISE FOR CROSSROADS
“Kate Elliott’s Crossroads series has the feel and color of a John Ford Western. The characters are both believable and larger-than-life, and there’s plenty of action.”
—David Drake, bestselling author of the
Lord of the Isles series
Traitors’ Gate
“Traitors’ Gate is the best episode yet in a superb series that is far from over.”
—BookLoons
“The Crossroads series is on the short end of the definition of ‘epic’ as page counts go, but each book is filled with intrigue and excitement and romance. I expect great characters from Elliott, and this series has them. Even the point-of-view characters who pop up for a few minutes are fully realized.”
—Sequential Tart
Shadow Gate
“Crossroads is shaping up to be Kate Elliott’s best work and is highly recommended to both fans of the author and any readers who appreciate fantasy in the vein of Robin Hobb, Jacqueline Carey, and J. V. Jones.”
—Fantasy Book Critic
“This is every bit as full of texture and flavor as Spirit Gate, sure to leave you begging for more.”
—SFX
“[Elliott] brings her characters fully alive with stringent detail and attentive world-building. Fans of Elliott and new readers alike will find this novel satisfying.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Human dilemmas grip the reader right through to the abrupt final cliff-hanger.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Classic fantasy with magical beings, dastardly plots, feisty heroines, and stoic heroes.
—The Cairns Post
Spirit Gate
“Spirit Gate makes an exciting start to a new series, rich in varied characters, intriguing cultures, and subtle conflicts.”
—BookLoons
“Elliott crafts complex if not wholly original characters, including strong women who persevere in repressive, nonegalitarian societies. She is equally adept at outlining intricate religions and myths. This promises to be a truly epic fantasy.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Spirit Gate has kept me up late at night for too many nights in a row. It’s a big, complex, absorbing book.”
—Laura Resnick, award-winning
author of In Legend Born
Books by Kate Elliott
CROSSROADS
*Book I: Spirit Gate
*Book II: Shadow Gate
*Book III: Traitors’ Gate
*Book IV: Crossroads (forthcoming)
THE NOVELS OF THE JARAN
Jaran
An Earthly Crown
His Conquering Sword
The Law of Becoming
CROWN OF STARS SERIES
King’s Dragon
Prince of Dogs
The Burning Stone
Child of Flame
The Gathering Storm
The Golden Key
(with Melanie Rawn and Jennifer Roberson)
Writing as Alis A. Rasmussen
The Labyrinth Gate
THE HIGHROAD TRILOGY
I: A Passage of Stars
II: Revolution’s Shore
III: The Price of Ransom
* A Tor Book
TRAITORS’
GATE
BOOK THREE OF CROSSROADS
KATE ELLIOTT
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
TRAITORS’ GATE: BOOK THREE OF CROSSROADS
Copyright © 2009 by Katrina Elliott
All rights reserved.
Map by Elizabeth Danforth
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-4932-3
First Edition: August 2009
First Mass Market Edition: March 2010
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This novel is affectionately dedicated to
Ruth Perzley Silverstein,
surely the world’s most generous and loving mother-in-law.
Contents
Part One: Foreigners
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Part Two: Encounters
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part Three: Demands
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part Four: Guardians
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Part Five: Weapons
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Part Six: Choices
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Part Seven: Gates
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FIRST, I MUST particularly thank my son Alexander, who dutifully read early sections and offered useful feedback and who also helped me strategize.
Second, a special shout-out to William-James McEnerney, LT, USN, who, in the course of spending a couple of hours talking with me one evening, made me rethink certain aspects of the story; I’m sure it’s his fault the book is so long.
Third, to my LiveJournal communitarians: Thanks! They came up with the title for the book; it was a subtle but meaningful change from my working title of Traitor’s Gate to the final title of Traitors’ Gate.
Finally, thanks to the usual suspects: Constance Ash, Katharine Kerr, Sherwood Smit
h, and Michelle Sagara West, who answered when I called; James Frenkel, my exceedingly patient editor, and his minions, especially his assistant in Madison, Alan Rubsam; Flatiron people Liz Gorinsky and Steven Padnick, and intern Emily Attwood; copy editor extraordinaire Terry McGarry; the supportive Orbit crew; Paul Emanovsky, for forensic advice (mostly for Shadow Gate, but I forgot to thank him then); Russ Galen, as always; and my other two children and long-suffering spouse, who put up with me.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
IN THE HUNDRED, any and every set and sequence of patterns is seen as having cosmological significance. Every number has multiple associations. For instance, the number 3 is associated with the Three Noble Towers present in every major town or city (Watch Tower, Assizes Tower, and Sorrowing [or Silence] Tower); with the Three States of Mind (Resting, Wakened, and Transcendent); with the Three Languages; and with the Three-Part Anatomy of every person’s soul (Mind, Hands, and Heart). The number 7 is associated with the Seven Gods, the Seven Gems, the Seven Directions, and the Seven Treasures.
Folk in the Hundred measure the passing of time not via year dates set from a year zero, but rather through the cyclical passage of time. The standard repeating twelve-year cycle is named after animals, in the following order: Eagle, Deer, Crane, Ox, Snake, Lion, Ibex, Fox, Goat, Horse, Wolf, Rat. However, this year cycle is meshed with the properties of the Nine Colors to create a larger cycle of one hundred and eight years. A clerk of Sapanasu, or anyone else who can do this kind of accounting, could thereby identify how long ago an event happened, or how old a person is, depending on the color of animal year in which he or she was born.
Each animal or color, having its own particular and peculiar associations, lends to all events in that year and to people birthed therein specific characteristics. Therefore, Keshad, born in the Year of the Gold Goat, combines Goat characteristics of cleverness, vanity, strong will, jealousy, pride, a deep sense of purpose contrasted with instability of shallow purpose, and a talent for seeking wealth, with Gold qualities like energy, intellect, intensity, dishonesty, envy, and aloofness.
TRAITORS’ GATE
PART ONE: FOREIGNERS
1
LATE AT NIGHT a fight broke out beyond the compound’s high walls.
Keshad sat up in darkness. At first he thought himself in the Hundred, in the city of Olossi, still bound as a debt slave to Master Feden. Then he smelled the rancid aroma of the harsh local oil used for cooking. He heard shouts, jabbering words he could not understand.
He wasn’t in the Hundred. He was in the Sirniakan Empire.
He groped for the short sword he had stashed under the cot.
“Eh? Keshad?” A bleary voice murmured on the other side of the curtain.
“Quiet. There’s trouble.”
The cloth rippled as Eliar wrestled with clothing, or his turban, or whatever the hells the Silvers were so cursed prudish about. Bracelets jangled. There came a curse, a rattle, and a thump as the cot tipped over.
“Where’s the lamp?”
“Hush.” Kesh wrapped his kilt around his waist, approached the door, and, leaning against it, pressed an ear to the crack. All quiet.
“Nothing to do with us,” he whispered. “Yet.”
The cot scraped, being righted. “The Sirniakan officials have locked us in the compound, won’t let us trade, and hand over a scant portion of rice and millet once a day so we don’t starve. One of their priests told you the emperor is dead, killed in battle by his cousin. They’ve locked down Sardia and are restricting all movement. These troubles have everything to do with us. We have to get out of here, return to Olossi, and report these developments to Captain Anji.”
“Say it a bit louder, perhaps. That will help us, neh? If everyone figures out we’re spies?”
“No need to constantly criticize me—”
Aui! No matter how much he disliked Eliar, he had to make this expedition work or he’d never get what he wanted. And to get what he wanted, he had to stay on Eliar’s good side.
“I beg your pardon. It’s hateful to be stuck in this cursed compound day and night.”
Eliar grunted in acknowledgment of the apology, which Kesh knew was gracelessly delivered. “We’ve got to do something.”
Kesh jiggered the latch and cracked the door. It was strange to deal with hinges instead of proper doors that slid, but in the empire things were done one way or not at all, and if you didn’t like it, the priests would condemn you to the fire. In the courtyard, a lamp hanging from a bracket illuminated the store house gates, but the far walls with their set-back doors into other storerooms and sleeping cells remained hidden in shadows. Trumpets, shouting, and clash of weapons swelled in the distance, well away from the restricted market district where foreign merchants were required to reside and carry out all their trade. A whiff of burning oil stung his nose as a flame flared behind him.
“Pinch that down, you fool!” he whispered. “We don’t want anyone to know we’re awake.” Nothing stirred in the courtyard. If anyone had seen that flare of light, they weren’t acting on it. “Listen, Eliar, you stay here. Make sure no one goes after our trade goods. I’m going to the gate to see what the guards will tell me.”
“The guards never tell us a cursed thing.”
“They talk to me because I worship at the Beltak temple.”
That shut Eliar up.
Keshad sheathed his sword and slung the sword belt over his back. He eased into the courtyard and padded cautiously past the open inner gate to the forecourt. The double gates had been barred for eight days, since the night when trumpets and horns had disturbed the peace and all the markets had been closed. Several figures huddled by the ranks of handcarts. One raised a lamp.
“Master Keshad? Maybe you can get these cursed guards to talk to you, since they favor you so much.”
The other Hundred merchants didn’t like him any better than he liked them. They thought him a traitor for abandoning the gods of his birth for the empire’s god, but what did it matter to them what god he chose to worship or what benefit that worship brought him? There were a pair of outlanders as well, a man out of the Mariha princedoms and one from the western desert whose slaves, languishing in the slave pens, he hadn’t seen for days. For that matter, the drivers and guardsmen he and Eliar had hired in Olossi were confined in different quarters altogether, and he’d had no contact with them since the citywide curfew was imposed.
He rang the bell at the guard house. A guard in one of the watch platforms above turned to look down into the forecourt. Bars scraped and locks rattled. The guard house door opened and the sergeant pushed into the forecourt, a pair of armed guards at his back and another guard holding high a lamp.
“Get inside!”
His angry words drove the merchants back into the main courtyard.
Keshad held his ground. “Honored one, may I ask if we are in danger here?”
The sergeant’s expression softened. “I know nothing. Men have broken curfew. Best you get inside until the storm passes.”
The storm roared closer. A clatter of running feet in a nearby street was followed by a chorus of shouts so loud the sergeant flinched. Kesh took a step back from the double gates. The distinctive clamor of clashing swords and spears hammered the night, the skirmish racing as though one group was chasing another. The guards drew their swords; a fifth man popped out of the guardhouse.
“All ranks at the ready,” snarled the sergeant, and the man vanished back into the tower. “They may try to break in.”
The skirmish flowed along the street outside as Kesh gripped his sword so tightly he was shaking. The noise reached a pitch and abruptly subsided.
The sergeant exhaled. He spoke to his guards in the local language, but Kesh was too rattled to catch more than a word here and there. Foreigners. Market. Fire. Traitors to the emperor.
Kesh glanced through the open door into the guard house, which snaked through the compound wall; there was a small gate for the guard unit on the street s
ide because the guards watched both ways, keeping locals out and foreigners in.
As though slapped by a giant hand, the gates shuddered. The sergeant swore, signaled to his men, and bolted inside, swinging the door shut. A struggle erupted outside. Several merchants came running from the main courtyard, but Kesh shoved past them and ran to his cell, where Eliar waited by the door.
“These gods-rotted empire laws have us caged like beasts,” Kesh snapped, “not a chance to get in or out nor anywhere to hide or escape to. Curse them.”
“Maybe we can get out over the roofs. I’ve had plenty of practice getting in and out of tight places in Olossi. My friends and I, we smuggled goods over the river.”
In the forecourt, merchants shouted, “Block the gate!” “Block the guard house door!”
Kesh began to laugh, because there wasn’t anything else to find funny in their situation. “The hells! Were you part of that gang the Greater Houses were constantly chasing?”