Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) by Lindsay Buroker Page B

yurt before anyone heard his approach, but none of his people would have missed the clanks of the steam vehicle.
    “There’s nobody inside,” Ashara said, perhaps thinking the same thing. Her certainty was strange, since the door and shutters were closed. There was no way to see inside. “Maybe they saw the grimbals in the area and left.”
    Or maybe they were dead. Basilard’s earlier concern that taking Mahliki on this trip would be a bad idea if they found trouble came back to him. He forced himself to inhale deeply and slowly. So far, he didn’t have any proof that anything was wrong.
    There are not always people in the outposts , Basilard signed.
    Remembering that she would not understand, he did not expound. His people did not guard their borders, not the way the Turgonians and many other nations did. Traveling scouts kept watch over the trails into the country, but yurts like these were places to meet and trade, so there was no guarantee that visitors would find it staffed.
    The scent of rotting meat mingled with a musky odor wafted toward him at the same time as he glimpsed movement near the path leading north from the yurt. The path leading into his homeland.
    “You smell it,” Ashara said, looking at him. It wasn’t a question.
    Basilard nodded.
    “There’s more than one. They’re right by that path up there.”
    Grimbals are solitary creatures , he signed, holding up a single finger for emphasis.
    “That’s what I’ve always heard, too, but I promise there are a number of them loitering up there. This will sound silly but…” She paused, frowning past the yurt. “I get the feeling they’re waiting. Are grimbals smart enough to plan ambushes? I’ve only encountered one before. They’re extremely rare as far south as Kendor.”
    They’re rare here too. Basilard shifted on his haunches, uneasy at the idea of grimbals planning ambushes, but also made uneasy by Ashara’s woodland acuity. Her hunches had yet to be proven correct, but if she was right, he might suspect her of having skill in the mental sciences. Could she have a shaman’s training? Shukura hadn’t mentioned it, but that was hardly surprising.
    He held up a hand, indicating he would return, then slipped over the edge, swinging into the cab again.
    Do not slow down , he signed, nudging for Maldynado to translate for Corporal Jomrik. Continue at maximum speed. This area is not safe.
    Basilard glanced at Mahliki, who had stowed her scientific gear in a pack and now stood with the butt of a rifle resting in front of her boots. She had also belted on a sword and dagger. If not for her youth—and the jeweler’s loupe still on a band around her head—she might have passed for a warrior. Basilard took some comfort from that. Everyone here could fight if they had to, but there were other routes into Mangdoria. There was no reason to endanger his team if they could drive past and avoid trouble. He could not risk losing the president’s daughter.
    “You sure, Bas?” Maldynado asked. “What if there are people in that hut who need help?”
    Ashara says the hut is empty.
    “And how would she know?” Maldynado’s eyebrows lifted.
    We may have to ask her about that later. But for now, let us assume there are grimbals waiting at the turnoff. We want to avoid them, but they may be able to catch us if we go that way. The lorry won’t be able to travel swiftly on the dirt paths through Mangdoria. Basilard did not know if the wide vehicle would be able to travel along them at all. He pointed at Jomrik. Tell him .
    “Emperor’s balls,” Maldynado said, all of the usual humor evaporating from his expression. He didn’t even remember that the emperor was a thing of the past now and that such curses no longer made sense. If they ever had. “Grimbals? This far south? Are you sure?”
    Basilard hesitated. Ashara had been. Yes.
    “They’re almost as bad as makarovi.” Maldynado grimaced and touched his abdomen, the spot where Amaranthe had