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

devised some kind of gesture-based language to communicate with the others. After catching a few exchanges, Ashara recognized some of the signs as belonging to the Mangdorian hunting code, but it had evolved far beyond those origins, and she could only understand part of what he said. Not that she was trying hard to learn.
    Currently, Ashara sat wedged between two crates in the back of the lorry, doing her best to avoid her traveling mates. She had no wish to get attached to them. This mission would be hard enough without feelings of camaraderie confusing her duty further. The one named Maldynado was hard to avoid as every time they stopped, he ambled over wearing his ridiculous hat and tried to engage her in conversation. She shouldn’t have spoken to them on the morning of their departure; perhaps she could have pretended she didn’t speak the language. In retrospect, that would have been a wonderful way to play the role of spy. Alas, it hadn’t occurred to her until they were underway.
    Midway through the second day, the lorry halted, and Ashara lifted the flap in the bed to peek out. Mahliki hopped out of the cab with a huge satchel clanking against her hip. After a brief disappearance behind some bushes, she strode toward a stand of oaks. The trees looked to be no more than twenty years old, new growth interspersed with decomposing stumps. From the lorry, Ashara did not see any sign of tree disease, but she climbed out, knowing she needed to keep an eye on the young scientist—or whatever she was.
    Unfortunately, the men climbed out of the cab too. They stayed nearby, walking around and talking. Ashara tried to follow Mahliki without being noticed, but it was hard to stealthily cross a highway with the afternoon sun stealing all of the shadows.
    “Hello, Ashara,” Maldynado called after her.
    She ignored him. She caught up with Mahliki at the base of one of the oaks. She had dropped her pack and was eyeing the bark with a small knife in hand.
    Ashara stopped several paces back, hoping not to attract attention. That was probably a vain hope after Maldynado’s loud greeting, but Mahliki did seem to be absorbed with what she was doing. Ashara rested her palm on a nearby oak, a casual enough gesture that anyone observing her should not think anything of it. She let her eyelids droop and reached out with her senses, using skills her mother had taught her as a girl and that had been further enhanced during her training as a tracker. She wanted to ensure that what she saw with her eyes matched what was truly going on in the young forest. She examined the oak beneath her fingers, then stretched her senses outward, through the roots and into the surrounding trees. Here and there, a few traces of fungal growths afflicted some of the oaks, but it was nothing uniform that could be called a blight, nor was it anything outside of the norm. The tree Mahliki was examining was perfectly healthy. With some puzzlement, Ashara watched her shave off a couple of bark samples and use a coring device to extract a sliver of wood from the trunk.
    Ashara dropped her hand, letting her connection with the woods fade. She immediately grew aware of another presence and turned to face Basilard. It disturbed her that he had approached without her hearing him, even if practicing the mental sciences required concentration and it was understandable if one’s attention was less reliable than usual.
    He gazed curiously at her with sky-blue eyes. He was a Mangdorian, she reminded herself, the battle scars notwithstanding. He would have learned to move silently through the forest as a youth, since all of the men in the culture were taught to hunt.
    Basilard lifted his hands, as if he wanted to ask her something, but his lips twisted and he waved to catch Mahliki’s attention instead. When he signed a few words to her, Ashara watched. It wouldn’t hurt to learn to understand him, if only so she might gain some intelligence later on, when he signed to