There were many scattered nations north of the mass of land the Dageians had claimed for their own. Gorent was just one of them. Meirosh used to speak of taking Enosh and Kefier with him to visit. There was one island, Shi-uin, that was covered in thick ice—the result of a visit from the Dageians, though that was all his father would say on the subject.
He looked at Daro as the man wiped grease from his trousers. “I’m going to send Mahe ahead to get supplies for us. A couple of horses, maybe. I don’t know if we can afford it. I don’t know either if Sapphire can walk but the healer said she should be able to ride in a few days.”
“Send her to the nearest city. Bashi-dor, I think? From there she should be able to withdraw from my accounts. I don’t think Yn Garr would’ve bothered to drain them, though there’s a risk he’s sent out men to keep an eye out.”
Daro shrugged. “Mahe can handle it. Give me the details and I’ll send her in the morning.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll have to forgive me, Ferral. I knew there were rumours of your abilities before, but I never saw the need to take you seriously until now. If we’re to work together, then I need a reason to trust you.”
Enosh had barely had time to digest his words when he saw a flash of metal. He flung his arm to protect himself and realized, too late, that this was exactly what Daro wanted. The Dageian soldier strapped an iron manacle around one of his wrists. As soon as the clasp was tightened, Enosh felt a hot pain run through his bones. He reacted, digging deep into himself to fling a warding spell against the intrusion, and found the pain doubling back into him, like a clenched fist around his heart.
Daro stepped around him. “It’s a slave iron-band,” he explained, holding up the other end of the chain attached to the manacle. “I’ve got the only key and I’m throwing it away. So as long as this is on you, your path to the agan is blocked. Your friend needs one, too.”
Enosh turned his head, just in time to hear Sapphire’s muffled cry from inside the hut.
“You’re a son of a bitch, Daro.”
“So I am!” The man smiled. “And you’d best not forget it, Ferral.”
Interlude
The wind that once caressed his cheeks and hair like a mother’s touch now feels like ice slicing through his skin. Only his firm hold on the griffon’s neck stops him from succumbing to the pain and bowling over to his death. His eyes see nothing but white clouds, interspersed with blackness.
Even then, not all the pain in the world can keep his tongue still, and as the griffon struggles with each stroke of wing so does he curse aloud for all the stars in the night to hear. Curses the bitch, for what she did and then not dying for it; curses himself, for not killing her fast enough when he had the chance.
Faran, underneath him, gurgles helpfully.
He struggles to clear his thoughts as they ride past the plains of Jin-Sayeng. Now there is rock underneath them, the terrain rising and falling in sharp angles. The mountains tower over them from all sides. People who look at them long enough often swear to see faces carved from the jagged peaks. Faran angled, turning. The white quarries of Cael look like patches of snow from the distance.
He manages to conjure a shroud around them, to protect them from uneasy eyes, before they head for the city and the large mansion at the edge of it. They land on the rooftop, Faran’s wings sliding awkwardly across the stone surface as he skids to a halt. Arn climbs off and wraps his arms around the griffon’s neck. The griffon finally settles in a half-sit, panting. Running his hands over Faran’s body, he feels dried clumps of blood and tender flesh.
“They hurt you, didn’t they?” he mutters. “I’m sorry.”
Faran folds his wings and opens his beak. No sound comes out. The boy rubs his head before taking him by the collar and dropping down the hatch access from the roof. Faran does not relish his transformation from lord of the sky to shivering hound. They reach the underground chambers which serve as the griffon’s quarters. Arn attaches his collar to the chain on the wall and makes his way to the kitchen to find food for him.
When he gets there, the kitchen is not unoccupied. “You’ve returned,” the deep voice greets him. “You look none the worse for wear. I assume you were able to accomplish your task.”
Arn does not see the sense in delaying the inevitable. “No,” he says. “The bitch is still alive. I tried to kill your old pet, too, but he got me with a knife.”
He sees Yn Garr attempting to control his anger.
“How,” Yn Garr says, “by Yohak’s rotten balls was he able to knife you in the dungeons? Are you just that daft?”
Arn flinches. Kusa yelled at him, too, but his voice did not thunder the way Yn Garr’s can. He closes his eyes before he answers. “The bitch got him out before I could get to him. I’ve been trying not to let him out of my sight since then—quite difficult when he insists in running from me in sheer terror.”
“Of course he’ll run away. He thinks you’re going to kill him, you idiot!” He smashes his fists into the kitchen table, sending plates and cups flying. The dog, thinking he is the culprit, slinks into a corner and tries to make himself invisible.
Arn flings his arm out. “Those were your orders!”
“I said—”
“You said kill him, old man! I heard you right!”
“I said to kill him before the mandraagars get their hands on him, before he spills out too much information to them. If he’s escaped, that changes things. Was that not clear to you? Were you born with moss between your ears or did you put it there yourself to infuriate me?”
“Leave it be. It’s done. He’s…”
“Still alive, and escaped. This changes things. I want him alive. You will bring him back here as such.”
“He knifed me in the back.”
“Because you were fool enough to make him think you want him dead. He…”
“He thinks that you want him dead.”
Yn Garr’s eyes widen. “That’s what you told him? Oh Arn. Arn. I would kill you right now but it would break my heart.”
He falls silent, staring at the fire. Arn remains rooted to the spot, his breath rattling through his very bones. Although Yn Garr’s voice has softened, he is not fooled. One wrong move and the man could start all over again. He once threw a chair at Arn. In his current state, he does not want to tempt it.
Yn Garr glances at him. “He is a dangerous man. Useful, with many talents, but with a mind like a conniving snake. He will bring ruin to us all of he thinks we are against him.”
“So send him a message,” Arn says, swallowing.
“He will not believe anything I say. No, we need something more convincing. I’m going to have to ask Jarche to find him.”
“Jarche? But master, she doesn’t even like going into the city. And two can’t ride Faran, so she’s going to have to travel the long way. Also—” He coughed. “There were two others. Two soldiers, from Dageis. I don’t believe they were allied, but they were protecting him.”
“Dageian soldiers?” Now Yn Garr looks thoughtful. “Yes, the whole situation did arise with a Dageian ambassador in the Gasparian court. I’ll need to think about this. Get that wound checked.”
“I need to feed Faran first,” he murmured.
“I’ll see to him myself. Go.”
He closes his mouth, knowing there is no use arguing, and limps away. He does not take a torch, preferring the darkness, but he finds the door to his room without trouble. There are many rooms in the mansion, but Arn thinks his is the strangest. It contains many musical instruments and shelves of song books. Arn loves music almost as much as he loves Faran, but these things were here even before him and Yn Garr, as far as he knows, couldn’t tell a sharp note from a flat one.
He picks up his viol and cradles it over his shoulder. Even with sore muscles, he begins to play. The music follows down a path that fills his heart with sorrow. The scab in his back cracks open and blood seeps through his shirt, but he does not stop. It is the only apology he thinks cou
ld reach Kusa.
He hears the door creak open behind him. “Don’t spy on me like that, Jarche,” he says, putting the viol down.
“I worry about you,” she replies.
“It’s fine. I’ll live.”
“That’s not what I meant. But may I see the wound?”
He takes his shirt off and allows her to inspect it by candlelight. “It needs a few stitches,” she murmurs. “Didn’t hit your innards or anything. Enosh did this?”
“I was preoccupied.”
“Indeed? I’m just surprised he didn’t kill you.”
“Uh...thank you?”
“I just mean that he isn’t given to sloppy aims. Either he wasn’t trying to, or the past few years have taken a lot out of him. I had asked the master to intervene, so many times, but…” She sighs, making a small gesture. “Never mind that.”
“He said he’ll send you out there after him.”
She nods. “I do miss him.”
“Why?”
“Why do we miss anything? He is not…the bad man…you think he is.”
“I thought the master found me to replace him. He’s done nothing but talk about his incompetence.”
“One man may have many children.” Jarche ruffles his hair and smiles. “I’ll fix you up. Hold still.”
“It’s dangerous to be out there, Jarche. I believe he means to go to Dageis. Do you know what that means for you? They’ll capture you out there, treat you like an animal, or worse…”
“Do not worry so much about me,” she says. “Worry about you. About Faran.” She falls silent and speaks no more to him.
The night is still young. Jarche, heavy with the weight of her master’s task for her (she misses Enosh, but has not left the mansion in many years), opens the gate to allow the courier in. He is panting, a letter in hand.
It is addressed to her, surprisingly. She bites her lip and attempts to pry it open. Then, realizing she cannot read well without her spectacles, she hastens back inside to her chambers.
Much later, she folds the letter and taps her jaw. Her trip, she realizes, will have to be postponed. They will be entertaining guests much sooner than she anticipated. The master, she remembers, is terrible at that. He is a charming man in many ways, but his manners often leave a lot to be desired. There was a time…well, she does not want to spend too many hours reminiscing, but dinner was a disaster, the best carpet in the foyer ruined beyond repair. One needs to keep such things in perspective.
The men they sent were from Kago, but were not Boarshind. Arlisa doesn’t ask why; the Boarshind is not the only men-for-hire group in the region, though for a time, there were none better. These ones speak with a harsh Kag accent, marking them as native Kielers.
“In that room over there,” she says, pointing at the window. She grabs the nearest man before he can make one step. “Be gentle. They want them as guests.”
“Then why all this?” the man asks. “Why not just invite them?”
“Because he is not the kind who will go just because you send a frilly letter,” she says. “Be especially careful with the girl.”
The men look at each other and nod. She watches them stride through the doors and turns away, not watching to hear the rest of it. She still has not fully grasped why Jarche responded to her report the way she did, but Yn Garr does not pay her to ask questions.
It is particularly jarring, though. She likes Kefier and hopes he can understand.
Chapter Seven
The sadness that had clutched Sume’s heart, like a small hand tugging at the hem of her dress, turned into a deep well of ache when she saw that first child on the streets of Oren-yaro. She forced her feet to slow down, aware of how sensitive Ichi was even to the subtlest shift in her breathing, and felt shame flood into her. When did she turn into the kind of person who cared what an old man thought? It ought to be natural for her to miss Rosha. The days since their separation had been nothing but a sharp reminder of her shortcomings as a mother. For her to even consider leaving her own child behind, with a man who wasn’t her father, no less…
She drew another deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. The child, aware of her rapt attention, stood next to the gutter with her mouth hanging open. Sume dug into her purse for a sweet. The child bobbed her head in thanks, smiling, gap-toothed. Her playmates drew nearer and Sume was forced to upend the whole bag of sweets on the street.
She saw Ichi frowning at her when she rejoined him. “Don’t pout,” she said. “I saved you one.”
“As if my mood could be affected by pieces of red bean candy.”
“You’re right. Gold would rain from the sky and you’d find a reason to complain about it.”
“I would. Do you realize the amount of chaos such a phenomenon would cause? Its effect on our precarious economy?”
“No wonder your mother is so fond of you.”
“Leave her out of this. You and your husband both seem to find such convenient ways to remind me that I still have to deal with the old hag.”
“It amuses us.” Thinking about Kefier made her even more restless. Whatever happened that night back in Shirrokaru...happened. She understood that it was supposed to mean nothing—that people, given particular circumstances, had certain needs, but clearly she was not the great judge of her own emotion as she had led herself to believe. She hadn’t even decided yet how to best approach the situation concerning Enosh. To have this added to her plate, on top of everything, was almost laughable.
She had once believed herself a capable young woman: steadfast, dependable, and collected, despite all hardships. When she decided to leave Akki to support her family, she thought she was the exemplar of Jinsein values, a model for all the other young women in town to look up to. Look, she wanted to say. Instead of worrying about men and what looks pretty on my hair, I decided to fill my elder brother’s shoes. Jin arrogance, Enosh had called it. Well...so it must have been. In the end, she was only human, with all the scars to show for it.
She was not happy with that conclusion. Certain mistakes you made...but not twice, and certainly not when the first one had left her with more than she bargained for. She loved Rosha, but a part of her raged at how easily she had thrown away all she had worked for in those years. She had wanted, more than anything else, to carry her family through the misfortunes that had come so many years ago. She used to dream of what her father might say if she brought their ship back, the one he’d lost before her mother’s death. Of sailing to Kago, and finding Oji, and bringing him back to help rebuild their family’s name and fortune.
Too late now, for all those things. There was only Dai left and he was not well. She doubted he would ever get better. It took meeting Rysaran and Sagar for her to realize that she was still alive, that she could restore her family’s name herself, even when all her old dreams were dead. It was a lonely road to walk alone, but if you couldn’t bring the dead back, you could at least honour them.
“You think so much,” Sagar said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “It is very rude to act this way.”
“You would know rude,” she murmured.
They were silent again for a while, walking on the muddy road and occasionally dodging to the side to let wagons pass. Sume tightened the cloak around her shoulders and heard Sagar sniff.
“The inn will be there,” he said, after a moment.
“I didn’t realize you were part-dog.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s cold and all the inns and restaurants have steam in the air.” Ichi tugged at his beard and tilted his hat, to let most of the water slide right off.
“It’s remarkable,” he said, after a moment.
“What is?”
“I have met your mother before, you know. A magnificent young woman.”
“Why, thank you.”
“You are nothing like her.”
“Umm, what?”
“You walk like your father. Ambling, cautious, and too much going on in your head for your own goo
d. Like the sky would fall on you and you’d hold yourself responsible for not stepping out of the way in time.”
Ichi rubbed his beard again, blowing steam into his hands. “Your mother was proud. A true royal. She walked with her head high, and when she made decisions, she followed them through. Like when she married your father.” He gave a wry smile. “Though whether that was for the better or not, I can’t say.”
“My brother was like that,” Sume grumbled, falling in behind him.
“Ah, yes. That brat. He had the longest ears I’ve ever seen on a toddler, I recall.”
She went ahead. As she lengthened her pace, a woman pushed past her, clutching a small pot in her hands as she ran. A man appeared behind her, grabbing the woman by the elbow. The woman screamed.
Sume recovered from her shock and took a step towards them, but the man held a hand out, his lips pulled back. “None of your business!” He yanked the woman to her feet. “Thought you could steal from me, did you?” He lifted his hand, as if to strike her, but the woman lashed out and bit his arm.
He screamed, and somewhere in their struggle the pot was dropped and smashed into the ground. Rice sprayed across the dirt. The woman shoved the man aside and bent down to gather as much of the grains into the folds of her skirt as she could. By the time the man could recover, she had disappeared around the corner.
He swore and glared at Sume before starting after the woman. Sume felt the urge to trip him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She caught Sagar’s eye and turned away, ashamed that she didn’t do more to help. The man was likely to catch up to the woman, wasn’t he? And then beat her? She should have bought her some time.
The inn was just through the next alley. When they reached the front door, a woman stepped towards them, shaking her head. “No room,” she said, waving a broom at them.
An Elegy of Heroes Page 59
