The Paladin

by C. J. Cherryh

  So they passed through the street, with Taizu walking at Jiro's head, with people hurrying along behind them to call out wishes for good luck and wishes for them to come back soon, with people rushing up to wave scarves at them and to give him ribbons and flowers.

  * * *

  "They think I'm a demon!" Taizu said when they had left the last of the villagers behind—a last dog coursing after them to bark and annoy Jiro. Taizu turned a furious face on him.

  "With a look like that, no wonder."

  "Dammit, I'm not your wife!"

  "Demons can turn their thumbs around the right way if they cast a spell. Can't they?"

  "It's wicked, what you did! You lied to those people!"

  "About what? Don't you believe in demons?"

  "Demons aren't to mess with!"

  "Maybe the bandits will think the same. That's no loss, is it?"

  Taizu's mouth was open. She shut it and walked in silence a while.

  "I'm leaving them," he said, "to take you to Hua. It's not their fault. The only thing they ever had to protect them was a story about me. So it's only fair I leave them a story in my place. Isn't it? They're losing the furs I used to trade them. That's a lot of money to them."

  "I know that!"

  "They're losing my protection."

  "That's not my fault! You don't have to go with me!" She turned around and waved her bow at him, so Jiro shied up. "Go back! Go away!"

  "With you or behind you, girl. You'd be hell to track, but then, I could always just meet you in Hua. Come to Gitu's gate and ask if he's seen a demon-wife who's been looking for him. ..."

  "Don't joke!" She made a sign against devils. "You lied to those people!"

  "I'm sure they'll put out rice and wine for the demons. I doubt the demons will object. Who knows, they might even protect the place."

  "It's unlucky!"

  "For the bandits, it is. Who knows, my wife might come after them."

  "It's not funny, master Shoka!" Her face was red with anger. Tears shone in her eyes. "They'll get killed believing you!"

  He regarded her sadly. "I know. But they'll fight better if they have hope. A lie is better than nothing. And a lie, lady wife, is all they ever believed in. What's better or worse in another fable?"

  He shocked her. Completely. She looked away from him and walked on under her load, shaking her head. Eventually she stopped and looked back at him, and said, calmly, composedly: "Go back, please, go back—"

  "Will you?" he asked, while Jiro, confused by this yea and nay, threw his head and worked the bit.

  "No. I won't. But nobody knows me. They'll know you, and the soldiers will be hunting us, and we won't have a chance."

  He smiled. "You're thinking. Good. So you've got me to look out for. And if you run off, the only thing I can do is go to Hua looking for you."

  "They'll kill us both! Please go back."

  "No," he said, in her tone, her exact tone; and she drew a long, trembling breath, turned and stalked on her way.

  So he followed, at a pace Jiro found quite comfortable, beyond the fields of the village, beyond the further hills, where the trade road became a dusty track following the general line of the small river through grasses and rocks and occasional copses of trees. They were in Chiyaden now, in the province of Hoishi, on the track caravans went, from the kingdom of Shin through the barbarian lands of the Oghin to the civilized heart of the Empire, the Lap of Heaven. Home, Shoka kept thinking, and hating the thought, because home was back on the mountain, home had nothing to do with Chiyaden or its troubles, and he resisted that ambiguity. With all it meant.

  * * *

  They made camp that evening in the lee of a lump of rock, where the hills came close to the road, and where there was a spring and a wide place in the road where many a traveler had camped.

  "This is too open," Taizu objected; to which he shrugged and said:

  "So it is. Are you afraid already? Do you want to go home?"

  "I am going home," she retorted, and sat down to unpack.

  So he unsaddled Jiro, and set Jiro's gear carefully on the rocks to dry of sweat; and took off his armor and rubbed Jiro down with handfuls of grass before he thought about washing the dust off himself.

  Sparks and fire glimmered where Taizu had coaxed a little fire out of their kit, feeding it with grass and small sticks and larger ones she had scoured up. He was washing at the spring when she came to fill their cooking pot with water.

  "Wash," he said, feeling generous and wanting to make peace. "Take the armor off. I'll cook."

  She was still not speaking to him, but she abdicated the cooking to him, and started shedding the armor—cause enough to be in better humor, Shoka reckoned to himself, and certain enough, coming freshly-washed and free of that weight to a dinner already done improved her mood no little.

  "Mmmn," was all she said until the rice and the tea were gone, and sighed afterward and just sat with the bowl in her hands.

  "I tell you," he said then, "I won't talk about going back if you don't. Any time you want—we can. Do you want to?"

  "You said you weren't going to talk about it!"

  "So I'm not. I was just asking. Here. Give me the bowls. I'll wash up."

  "That's not your job!" She stood up and took his from his hands and stalked over to the spring.

  He untied their bedroll then. It was cool in the hills, even toward chill at night. He put the mats down doubled, two blankets for cover, and had bed ready by the time she had washed.

  "I'm tired," she said, putting the bowls and the food away. "I just want to sleep tonight. Please don't bother me. All right?"

  "Of course," he said mildly. "Whatever you like. But I hope you don't mind doubling up on blankets. It's going to be cold before morning."

  She made a disgusted sound.

  And when they lay down she pointedly turned her back to him.

  All right, he thought, finding himself not so indifferent as he had hoped to be, and finally, uncomfortably, edged closer to her. The girl had thinking to do. At any moment she could change her mind and decide that she wanted to go back to the mountain, which was all to the better. So he could be patient.

  He could not see himself being patient all the way to Hua.

  Damn the girl.

  He thought again of force. But Taizu had had that, had had much too much of that, gods knew, and she was not one to forgive a man's lack of patience. He had been patient two years. He could become ascetic with more patience than this.

  Gods.

  He stared at the stars. He got himself very well under control and said, quietly:

  "You're not cold, are you?"

  "No."

  "I'm sorry about the demon business."

  "Don't talk about it."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm trying to sleep!"

  "Do you believe in demons?"

  "Of course I do. Stop talking about itl Do you want to make them mad?"

  "Well, I don't. I lived on that mountain for ten years and I never saw one. Did you?"

  "No, and I'm glad I didn't!"

  "The village believes they're all through the mountains. And they aren't. If they were there I'd have seen them. Jiro would have smelled them."

  She said nothing.

  "Taizu."

  "I shouldn't have slept with you in the first place. Now you tell lies about me in the village and you try to scare me."

  "What does sleeping with you have to do with it? I thought you enjoyed it."

  Long silence.

  "Didn't you?"

  "It was better the second time."

  "You were helping. It does make a difference." He brushed a hand down her shoulder. "One never knows—how many chances there are. Gods know—you're supposed to enjoy it, Taizu. It's no good if you don't."

  Silence.

  "Dammit, you could at least answer a man."

  "I'm trying to sleep!"

  "Well, I'm not having much luck at it." He got up and shoved
at her. "Get up. Give me my mat and a blanket. This isn't going to work."

  "You said it was cold."

  "So it is cold. A damn sight colder in this bed."

  "I'm tired," she said, and sat up and put her arms around him, laid her head against him. "All right. It's all right. If you want to, I don't mind."

  He was sorry then. He put the blanket around them and stroked her hair and held her, reckoning it had been a long way and a heavy load for a girl. Probably the armor made her sore in the joints. Gods knew it did him, and he had been on horseback all day.

  "Just go to sleep," he said. "That's all a man needs, you know, a civil answer."

  She put her arms around his neck and held on. He felt her shoulders heave gently.

  "Are you crying?"

  No answer.

  '"What for?" he asked finally. "Is it me?"

  She took a fistful of his hair and hugged him tighter and shook her head. Whatever that meant. He heard her sniffing back tears.

  "Tired?" he asked.

  She nodded against his shoulder and did not let him go. So he sat there a while feeling awkward, but finding a lapful of Taizu quite warm enough against the night chill. He leaned his head against hers and sighed and prepared to sit there as long as comforted her.

  But she patted his face then and said: "We can do it. It's all right."

  "Dammit, girl." Because now he was out of the notion. "Be kind. Tell me once for all if you want to or don't. Don't change your mind again. You're wearing me out."

  "I said yes. I mean yes!"

  "Gods." He took her in his arms. He held her a while, feeling the exhaustion himself, and felt her shiver. "You're not scared, are you?"

  "Cold." Her teeth were chattering.

  He rolled her onto the ground and pulled the covers over. Exhausted, he thought. And scared.

  So he held her close until she stopped shivering.

  And by that time she was half asleep and he was.

  "Hell," he murmured, "we'll try it tomorrow."

  Chapter Eleven

  Jiro sulked in the morning. A bit of exercise and an interesting trek through the hills was one thing, but he seemed to have a notion that home was getting further and further away, and waking up a good long way from his stable and his pasture put him thoroughly out of sorts. Being armored up again was not to his liking, and he more than laid his ears back, he cow-kicked and snapped.

  Smart horse, Shoka thought, feeling a sharp pain in the leg this morning, so that it was hard not to limp, and picking up Jiro's saddle and slinging it on sent a stab of pain through the knee.

  It was some satisfaction to see Taizu moving a little slower today, bending and stretching and grimacing as she massaged her shoulders and put the armor-sleeves on.

  Decidedly slower this dawn than last.

  "See," he said, "you should make love every night. It works the stiffness out."

  She made a face at him. He grinned and threw the saddlebags over.

  "I'll take one of the quivers," he said.

  "I'm not going to argue."

  "I could take half the bedding."

  "I won't argue that either."

  She never once suggested she ride—because, he thought, she knew that walking would have him limping in short order. And she never threw that up to him even when he provoked her, even when he was trying to wear her down and persuade her home again: she might have, he thought, except she was at heart kind, except she doubtless understood very well what he was doing, and put him off last night with some little justice on her side.

  He remade the bedrolls separately, and came over to help her while she was doing her hair. He brought her ribbons the ladies of the village had given them, another red one and a bright orange.

  She smiled at his gift, and tied them in with the first, and gave him a worried look, as if she was not sure she did not look the fool.

  He smiled. Her eyes lightened.

  So he walked off and mounted up, before a word could start another argument.

  * * *

  The day warmed and the road went smoothly, two ruts of silken yellow dust between the low growth of wild, late-summer grass. "Will you ride awhile?" Shoka asked finally, but Taizu shook her head and wiped a little trail of sweat from her temple. "No," she said. "Thank you, master Shoka. I'm all right."

  "Jiro can carry the bedroll."

  "No," she said cheerfully, light-hearted, even. She hitched the bedroll higher. "One isn't so much."

  He had not once today said that they should go back. She had not spoken a cross word since morning. It was a seductive peace. It tempted a man to let it go on, at any cost.

  But because the cost was Taizu he had no such intention.

  * * *

  There had been ruts in the road since yesterday, in the yellow dust; distinct and with the weeds and overgrowth crushed down here and there, broken, but not yet brown.

  "There's someone ahead of us," Taizu said eventually.

  "I wondered when you'd notice."

  She turned and frowned at him.

  "They could have said, in the village."

  "We didn't ask, did we?"

  "It would have been friendly of them to say!"

  "I suppose. But I'm a lord of Chiyaden. Who talks to lords about such details? That's why we have retainers. There's a hierarchy of such things."

  She scowled. "Well, then, lords must not know much that's going on, must they? I'd have said, and I'm a peasant. I'd think it was polite to tell somebody what was on the road."

  "Of course you would," he said. "You'd run right out to a lord's stirrup and tell him."

  "Huh. No. I'd let him and his horse fall through a bad bridge or meet up with strangers. If I didn't like him, I would."

  Shoka smiled. "You would, too."

  "Of course I would."

  "Is that the manner in Hua?"

  "We never let our lord fall through a bridge. We'd come and say, lord Kaijeng, you should fix that. Lord Kaijeng, strangers went through here."

  "Lord Kaijeng was a good man."

  "Did you know him?"

  "Not half well. I met him a few times. He never attended court except the year of the floods. Then he was there to ask help."

  "I wasn't born yet."

  Shoka thought about that and gave a rueful shake of his head. "Well, I was in court then. It was in the old Emperor's reign. Lord Kaijeng came to report to the Emperor. I was impressed with him. He was a frugal man. He asked remission of his tax for that year. He bought six wagon-loads of rice and cloth and sent it back to Hua to his tenants, so, he said, the farmers could keep their strength up: there was a lot of rebuilding to do and if the land was torn up, a well-fed people were like troops to a campaign. That was his reasoning. It impressed the Emperor so much he sent ten wagon-loads of cloth and rice himself; and Hua sent back a hundred percent of its taxes the next year, and sent a gift of its best to the Emperor's table."

  "I heard about that."

  He could not see her face. The tone was easy. It was virtually the first time she had been able to talk about Hua. He did not want to press it too far.

  "Pays to be reasonable with people," he said. "A lady should remember that."

  That got a scowl, Taizu walking half-sideways to glare at him past the bedroll and the sword and bow and quiver slung to her shoulders. "Don't you tell them lies about me!"

  "What do I tell them? Excuse me, good sirs, but I'm Saukendar of Yiungei, escorting this farmer-girl back to Hua so she can kill lord Gitu and marry me. I'm sure."

  She shut her mouth and glared.

  "Well?" he asked. "I think you'd better be my wife, so far as the people we meet know. Nobody thinks anything strange as long as you're decently married."

  Taizu faced forward again, in time to avoid a large weed. "If I didn't have you along," she said nastily, "I'd lag back till night and then go past them in the dark."

  "And get shot."

  "Wide past them. Without making a racket. I'd be per
fectly all right on the road."

  "I'm sure you would, but I thought we agreed we weren't going to argue on that."

  "I didn't agree. You did."

  "That isn't the way I recall it. —See there?"

  There was a dark spot on the farthest horizon, where the road made a turning around the riyerside. Taizu looked, walking on tiptoe a moment and stretching to get a better vantage.

  "Farmer-folk or traders," she said finally. "Wagons."

  "Traders, I think. No few wagons. We're going to be all day working up to them, I think, catch up to them toward dark—"

  "They won't like that."

  "I certainly wouldn't blame them."

  At least ten, eleven, Shoka decided, as the rolls of the land slowly concealed and revealed the caravan—which by late afternoon was surely watching them with some anxiousness. The river Hoi was on their left. The hills to their right hove up bare-flanked, too steep and rocky for trees: the Barrens, the locals called this place, which lay on the edge of Hoishi and Hoisan, an anxious place to a soldier's eye—or a trader's, who doubtless, bound into the Empire, had wagons full of raw jade and maybe iron and precious metals.

  So it was not surprising the caravan-guards lagged back to the rear, and faced them as they came, guards armored and mounted on wiry steppes ponies, with bows in their hands and arrows nocked.

  "Go carefully," Shoka said, and lifted his hand to show it empty.

  The guards made no such gesture. He expected none.

  "We can go wide," Taizu said. "Just pull off from them, for the gods' sakes. They won't want us passing by their wagons and spying on them."

  "It's our road, much as theirs."

  "I don't want to get full of arrows!"

  "And I don't want Jiro's feet bruised. It's rotten ground out there."

  "You don't want Jiro full of arrows, either. He's a big target. You're on him. I'm beside you."

  "Steady, steady. I thought you weren't afraid of anything."

  "Arrows," Taizu muttered. "I don't like arrows."

  "Well, they're not shooting, are they?" He kept riding, one hand held aloft. The caravan halted, one of the riders racing up the column; and soon enough a different man came riding back, a man in reds and grays.