She crouched, her head tilting to peer beneath.
"Come out," she said pleasantly."I won't bite."
The merchant whimpered.
Nyraxa sighed, reached under, and dragged him out by his hair.
He was heavier than he looked, but she'd hauled worse.She deposited him in the centre of the hall, amid the bodies of his guards and guests, and stood over him with her blade resting casually against his throat.
The torches flickered back to life now that the killing was done.
Amara wiped her knife on a dead man's robes, restocking her harness, unwilling to part with her precious silver.
"Now then," Nyraxa said, the corners of her eyes crinkling."Let's talk about Orda Naiman."
He talked.The words poured out of him like wine from a shattered amphora: names, dates, quantities, destinations.Weapons moving north.Coin moving south.Information flowing both directions like blood through veins.
Nyraxa listened, and when he finally ran dry, she thanked him politely and cut his throat.
She rose, stepping over his corpse, and crossed to where Zara was studying the ledgers, retrieved from inner rooms by torchlight.
"Well?"
Zara looked up, her expression unreadable."There's more here than just trade agreements."
"Show me."
Zara pointed to a series of entries in the margin—notations in a different hand."These are correspondence records.The letters may be gone but it seems they kept this bit of evidence.Someone's been writing to them; it seems this one was on the day of the ambush."
Nyraxa's blood went cold."Kasimir."
"Looks like it."Zara flipped pages."These match his handwriting from the messages we found.But there's something else."She pointed to a different set of notations."These records don’t match; they aren’t from him."
Nyraxa leaned closer.“Did they burn those ones?”
Zara’s eyes glinted.“Naturally, they weren’t that smart.”
A letter found its way to Nyraxa’s hand.The script was elegant and flowing—a woman's hand, unless she was mistaken.The notations were sparse but it was signed with a small drawing of a viper.
“Borjigin?”She guessed.“In the shape of an O.”
"I am a bit concerned; the letter references something I’ve not heard before," Yelena said, appearing at Nyraxa's shoulder."Invocation?"
Nyraxa stared at the writing."Invoking the god of the Udamili.Opening the Third Gate.”
But even as she said it, something niggled at the back of her mind."Copy these pages," she ordered."All of them.I want every notation, every marginal note, every scratch that might mean something.Send a set to the Great Khan; he might wish to call Varok."
Zara nodded, already reaching for fresh parchment.
With a little pressure, the skull crumpled in on itself.Grey and white matter oozed out and mixed with the blood of its owner.
The Djinn stood in the centre of the room, his chest heaving, his onyx claws dripping.At his feet, the slave trader's body dropped, his blood mixing with the filth on the floor.The man had begged, of course.They always begged.They never seemed to understand that the begging only reminded him why he'd come.
Glowing blue eyes swept the room.
Steel cages were stacked three high on every side.In the dark he could clearly see the watery eyes of children, their bodies pressed against the black wall as fear wracked their bones.Borjigin children.All of them.Their skin, their features, the shape of their bones, some even Anyali, but those seemed to be stored in their own cages, special merchandise.
They cowered as his gaze passed over them.Some whimpered, but most were simply silent, as they had long since learned that sound brought only more pain.
