He leaned back, closing his eyes. The magic of Mysane Kosk washed over him in slow, caressing eddies. He sighed with pleasure. He would take Reisil alive, of course. There was no art to killing her. Maybe he’d even keep her. He smiled. He wasn’t one to keep trophies, but this hunt wouldn’t be over with the capture. She’d fight for her freedom. He ran the tip of his tongue around his lips in hungry anticipation. The battle would continue. She’d never give up.
The Head Steward finished his report, passing a sheaf of papers to Metyein, who rifled through them, asking some questions. Emelovi listened, trying to remember everything. Her head ached, as usual. The skin on her cheeks and forehead felt hot and tight. It was the dread of being here, of pretending she was capable of leading her people. She had never known all that must be thought of, all that must be done, in order to rule. How could any one person do it? How could she?
She smoothed her hair over her temples. Her fingers trembled. She dropped them back to her lap, clenching them together, a rush of anger warming her belly.
“Do you have any questions, Dazien?” Metyein asked when Tillen finished.
She shook her head. “You have been very thorough,” she said to the Head Steward.
He tipped his head. “Thank you, Dazien.”
“Then we will see you tomorrow, Tillen. And I will let you know when we can expect another shipment from Dannen Relvi. He’s aware of our need for salt. Will the forges be ready as soon as Kaj Raakin arrives?”
“Ready as can be,” the gruff Steward affirmed stoutly.
“Good then. Bright evening to you.”
With that, Tillen departed, leaving Emelovi alone with Metyein. He turned to her.
“You have been quiet this evening. Is that a testament to your understanding?”
“You have taught me a great deal,” Emelovi said carefully.
“A very politic statement,” Metyein said dourly. “But you avoid the question.”
“And what is that?” Emelovi said, rising and going to fill her wineglass. She offered the decanter to Metyein, who glared at her.
“All right. I’ll play. What I want to know is, how are you doing?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
His breath made a hissing noise. Once she would have blanched and yielded to the annoyed exasperation in his expression. Not today, however. She was tired of that Emelovi.
“Dazien—” He began, but she cut in before he could finish.
“Yes, I know. ‘Dazien, you must behave yourself. Dazien, this is very important. Dazien, stop acting like a child. Dazien, do this, hear this, know this.’ Does it never end? No, don’t answer that.” She paced away, her arms crossed tight over her breasts. She stopped at the window and then whirled about.
“All right. You want to know how I am doing? I am tired. My head feels like it’s been stuffed fatter than a Nasadh goose. There are six more plague victims this week. That makes thirty-eight total. And that six is triple what came in last week. Is the epidemic beginning? If not this week, then next?
“And what am I to do about it? What am I to do about anything? I am absolutely useless. All I do is sit in your shadow and listen to reports on stores, supplies, weapons, horses, fighter training, tunnels, barracks, middens, and it never ends! What exactly is the point?”
She stood now with her hands on her hips, glowering at Metyein. He was smiling. Fury sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. She balled her fists, wanting to kick him. He read her desire and smiled wider.
“And there it is. If I really were any kind of a ruler, I’d have you sent to the headsman for insolence. Aare certainly would,” she declared, throwing up her hands and returning to stare blindly out the window.
She heard Metyein’s chair scrape and footsteps as he came to stand behind her. He settled his hands on her shoulders. She jumped at the unfamiliar touch, and then closed her eyes as he rubbed at her taut muscles. Tears welled in her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had touched her in anything but a perfunctory way. Kebonsat—But no, never again.
“You are learning to rule, Dazien,” Metyein said softly, his fingers rubbing gently over her shoulders. “You already know a great deal. You have sat at the feet of your father. He was a great Iisand.”
She gasped, feeling physical pain at the mention of her father, at the speaking of him in the past tense. Metyein’s hands dropped to her arms, rubbing slowly as she collected herself. He turned her to face him, waiting until she met his somber gaze.
“But now you are to be the one who rules. And that means learning a great many details, trivial as they may seem.”
Emelovi shook her head. “Anyone with eyes knows that you rule here. As it should be. They trust you to lead them well. They have no reason to believe that of me.”
“They will. I don’t have Varakamber blood in my veins. That counts.”
“For what? Aare’s a Varakamber. And he’s a leader. The rightful heir to the throne.”
“Yes, and he’s hunting down the ahalad-kaaslane. He’s betrayed the Lady and his people. You said it yourself: He’d cut off a man’s head for mere insolence. He’ll be a very bad Iisand. And his first act will be to destroy Kodu Riik. If Nurema is right, if Reisiltark is right, then if he destroys Mysane Kosk, that will be the end of everything. You have no choice. None of us do. Your brother has to be stopped. I can lead the people against him, but only you can give them the heart to fight.”
“How?”
Metyein shook his head slowly. “Only you can decide that.”
With that, he let go of her and retreated to the table, scooping up the papers and stacking them together.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” he said. “Kebonsat asked me to review the troops.” He paused, as if to say something else, then shook his head and turned to leave. Just inside the door, he stopped. He returned to the table and set the papers back down.
After he was gone, Emelovi remained still, watching the closed door, listening to the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The loud pop! of wood exploding startled her from stillness, and she began to pace.
He was frustrated with her. He wanted her to be more independent, to take charge. How? She didn’t know anything about any of this! She made a sound of disgust. The first thing she had to do was quit pitying herself. And then she had to stop doing nothing. She wandered over to the papers, running her fingers over the edges. She sat down.
More than an hour later, she’d gone through them all. Reading them slowly gave her the chance to pause where she wanted to, to flip back and reread, to make connections she hadn’t made before. There was a shortage of cloth and thread. That meant using hides for clothing and blankets, but there were too few of those ready. Which meant that someone had to make decisions about who got what.
When she sat back, she wore a thoughtful expression. Once she began to think of all the numbers and issues in terms of the people, her people, she began to see why the details were so important. The people were the details.
She stood up and stretched, her bones popping. With a satisfied smiled, she headed back to her quarters to change for dinner. She had questions for Metyein. She even had one or two for Kebonsat.
It was a start.
Chapter 31
Juhrnus slid awkwardly off Indigo. He gripped the pommel, his legs shaking. Exhaustion hung on him like heavy mail. He let go of the saddle and staggered forward. He dropped down on a rock, yanking off his hat and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He’d been riding since before dawn, not bothering to stop to eat. But he was elated. He’d left Mekelsek Keep the day before, with promises of aid to follow quickly.
Lord Mekelsek had died in the spring. He’d been gored by a bull. Juhrnus had been pleasantly surprised to find that Edel had the rule of Mekelsek, dropping the honorific -sat that had previously indicated he was the heir.
Juhrnus had arrived at dusk, not wanting to call attention to himself. He’d ridden up to the gates, Esper hidden in his sling. Saying he was a messenger with u
rgent news, he’d been taken into the Hall. Edel had greeted him gladly with a pounding hug. Edel was a tall, well-built man, with black hair caught at the nape of his neck, and a close-trimmed beard. His nose thrust prominently beneath his gray eyes. He pushed Juhrnus away, glancing at the other occupants of the Hall.
In a low voice, he said, “But you must not be seen. News of an ahalad-kaaslane in Patverseme would spread quickly indeed, with the blockade.”
They’d retreated to Edel’s offices. Edel sent for food while Juhrnus released Esper to lounge on the warm hearth.
Juhrnus then began fielding a peppering of questions. He waved them aside, and told the story as he knew it. The telling went well into the night. He ended it by handing the oilskin-wrapped packet to Edel. The other man set it down, drumming his fingers on it, his expression grave.
“I had not heard about the Scallacians being involved,” he said at last. “This Kedisan-Mutira sounds . . . intriguing.”
Juhrnus smiled thinly, raising his glass in a salute and tossing the red wine back in a single swallow. “She is. Never let it be said I choose easy women.”
Edel laughed ruefully. “What would be the adventure in that? How is Kebonsa—” He stopped, shaking his head. “It’s easy to forget. Kebon. His brother wears the title of heir now. It has been a heavy blow to his father. To know his son is alive and in trouble, and have no remedy for it. And Ceriba—all that she went through, and to be in the Verit’s hands. Poor girl.”
“Kebonsat’s been invaluable to Honor’s Lord Marshal,” Juhrnus said, refusing to drop the honorific at the end of his name. “Though the Dazien is none too friendly to him.”
“The Iisand Samir has truly turned nokula?” asked Edel. “I can hardly imagine it. Any of it. But tell me, why have you risked the blockade to come here?”
Juhrnus rubbed his hands over his face. His eyes were gritty and he’d not slept for two days. “To get help. It’s all in there.” Juhrnus thrust his chin toward the packet. “I’ve been on the road for five weeks. Took longer than I thought to cross the blockade. Honor’s running out of time.”
Edel nodded thoughtfully, and then rose to his feet. He went to a small door nearly hidden in the rose-wood paneling behind his desk. He opened it. Beyond Juhrnus could see a well-appointed apartment furnished in masculine shades of forest green and burgundy.
“You should clean up and sleep. Lock the outer door. The bath is already prepared for me. It’ll be cold, but it’ll have to do. We’ll speak again in the morning.”
Juhrnus had slept like the dead. In the morning, Edel had done all he could have asked for.
“I’ll bring my men as soon as we can assemble. Probably two hundred strong, maybe a few more. I’ll send word to Vadonis as well. It may be that they will send men too. It’ll be two weeks before I can get started. We have to finish the harvest. There’s too few of us after the war; I can’t leave my people without winter stores. And I’ll need to make arrangements for looking after Mekelsek.”
Juhrnus nodded. As much as he wanted to push for speed, he didn’t. It was a miracle that Edel was willing to help at all. To do so, he had to cross the blockade. And that meant every likelihood of losing Mekelsek and his title and everything else. Same as Kebonsat.
“I’ve already sent men with the messages to the Karalis and to the Wizard Guild. The latter isn’t strong, you know,” Edel cautioned against raised hopes. “There are few wizards left after the banishment, and of those, only a handful have any real power. If they do decide to help, they won’t be able to hold back the Scallacians or the banished wizards long.”
“Long enough for Reisil to fix things, I hope,” Juhrnus said.
“How long before she returns?”
“Lady only knows. She doesn’t even know what she’s looking for, or if these nahuallis have it. She promised to return by midspring, with the answers or not.”
“She does not break promises,” Edel said softly.
“Sometimes you don’t get a choice,” Juhrnus returned flatly.
He’d stayed a few more days to rest and to regain his strength before returning home. The wounds he’d suffered in Kodu Riik had healed, but he was terribly, terribly tired. He slept a lot, spending the evenings talking with Edel. One night he asked about the spread of the plague in Patverseme.
“It’s in pockets, mostly on the east slopes of the mountains and along the border of Kodu Riik. Anyone gets it, and the entire town is quarantined. When the plague finishes its course, the town is burned to the dirt. There have been only a few survivors. All are completely blinded. You have had such survivors as well?”
Juhrnus answered in the affirmative. A very few people survived the plague, and inevitably they were blind. No one knew why.
“I included word of these plague-healers in the letter I sent the Karalis. There have been rumors of nokulas in some of the towns—but now I wonder if they are instead plague-healers. It would be a relief, if so. One of the towns hit was Priede, did you know? Not too long ago. Maybe three months. They’ll be burning it before long, I expect. Avoid it when you go back.”
“I didn’t realize. I passed near there when I came across the Sadelema.”
“Not too close, I hope,” Edel said with a wry grin.
“Wouldn’t matter if I did. I’ll never get the plague. I was born to hang. Can’t avoid fate.”
Edel chuckled. Juhrnus quickly returned to the business at hand.
“Once you’re through the blockade, you can cross at the bridge at Kallas. I spoke to Varitsema, the mayor. He will have supplies ready for you. With any luck, I’ll meet you there and guide you the rest of the way. But I have to warn you, it was a close thing getting through the blockade. How are you going to bring your men through?”
“Luckily, I sent a number of troops in support of the blockade. They’ll pass us through. And anyway, no one really cares about people going east; it’s coming back that’s going to be a problem.”
A fact that Juhrnus hoped would speed his own journey home.
With a gusty sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and uncinched Indigo’s saddle, dropping it heavily to the ground. He rubbed the wiry dun down with fistfuls of grass, lifting his hooves to pick out any rocks. He then picketed the animal at the edge of the meadow near the tumbling stream. Next he set about collecting wood and building a fire. He sat again, propping himself against his saddle, thinking he would rest a moment before baiting hook and catching his dinner.
~I’m getting too old for this.
~You are just soft, Esper jeered lovingly.
~And who’s been toting you around? Talk about soft.
~I do not dream of feather beds and rich food.
~No, because you’re spoiled. You get waited on hand and foot. When was the last time you had to walk anywhere on your own?
Esper answered with a hissing noise. He was tucked warmly in his sling, his tail wrapped around Juhrnus’s waist.
~That’s what I thought.
Juhrnus woke in the night, shivering. He was stiff from lying on the hard, frosted ground. Esper was curled up on his stomach. Juhrnus’s head ached and his gut churned with hunger. He sat up, pushing a disgruntled Esper to the side. He dug through his pack for some hard bread and cheese that had begun to mold. He made a face at the taste, but forced himself to swallow it, and then took a swig from the brackish water in his water pouch. Grabbing his blanket, he curled up to sleep again, pillowing his head on his saddle as Esper burrowed against his chest.
The next day he was groggy and queasy. Juhrnus kicked himself for eating the moldy cheese. Later, his gut began to gurgle and he was forced to stop or mess himself. By midafternoon, he gave up and set up his camp, picketing Indigo. He quickly fell asleep, not bothering to eat, waking only to relieve himself of the cramps in his belly.
In the morning, his head ached and he felt weak. His skull felt stuffed with gauze and his entire body ached with pains that had nothing to do with exertion.
~What’s wrong
with me?
Esper didn’t answer.
~Esper?
Still no answer.
Juhrnus struggled up into a sitting position, gazing about blearily. Esper lay at his feet, his tail thrashing slowly from side to side, his eyes wide and staring. He looked . . . Juhrnus fumbled for the word. Scared. He looked scared.
“Esper?” The word was raspy and weak. Juhrnus swallowed. His throat felt raw. He reached up and brushed his fingers across his forehead. His skin felt hot. Chodha. Not now. He remembered his joke to Edel. He was born to hang. He swallowed again, looking back to Esper. They’d better hang him fast then. Because he had the plague.
He knew what to expect. It began mildly, with a low fever, aches and pains, stomach upset, and dysentery. Then the fever would explode and the pain would be crippling. He’d become extremely sensitive to light and have dizzy spells. And then he’d get a rash and start bleeding internally. He’d find blood in his stool and his vomit. After that, things would get bad. He’d get big yellow blisters, and his arms and legs would start to rot off. He’d bleed from his ears and eyes and gums. Not that he’d see it. By then he’d be blind. The pain would be beyond bearing. All in all, sometime in the next two to three weeks, he’d be dead.
He spent that first night of horrified realization curled in a ball, hugging Esper tightly. There were no tears, just the pain of looming loss. To be without Esper . . . And then he wouldn’t be able to help Reisil. He was going to let her down.
By the next morning, he’d gotten a shaky hold on himself. Esper had become stoic, refusing to let Juhrnus see his fear and pain. At least sisaliks didn’t get the plague. It wasn’t a lot of comfort, but it was some. Juhrnus elected to ride higher into the mountains, far off the trail. He didn’t want to accidentally spread the disease to some unlucky traveler. He didn’t know what to do with Indigo. The gelding was Reisil’s horse. He knew she’d miss the beast. She’d miss him, too, hard as it was to believe, thinking back to when they grew up.
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