Black Jade ec-3

by David Zindell

  Where does the light go, I wondered, when the light goes out?

  Bemossed stared back at me, at the lightning bolt scar cut into my forehead, and the deeper wound cut into my eyes. I never told him, with words, how desperately I needed him by my side in the final battles that soon must be fought. He knew it even so. A lovely light came into his eyes as he smiled me. I felt my heart quicken and my breath whispering like a cool wind even as the old pain in my chest died away.

  'Valashu,' he said, holding out his hand to me. 'I have decided: I will come with you as far as the Brotherhood's school, and perhaps farther.'

  We clasped hands then and stood there smiling at each other. In him I sensed much of Karshur's strength, Yarashan's verve and Asaru's grace and goodness. He was like the brother I no longer had.

  'And I,' I told him, 'will go with you, even to the end of all things.'

  After that he clasped hands with each of the others as we welcomed him into our company. It grieved me only a little to see him embrace Atara and kiss her lips. Then Kane shocked him, coming up to crush Bemossed's slender body to him and kissing him. And he growled out, 'When you ran, I fell mad like a rabid dog. Will you forgive me?'

  'Will you forgive me for biting you?'

  They laughed together then, Bemossed's gentle tones as warm as a summer rain and Kane's voice breaking from him like thunder. It was a happy moment, full of soaring spirits and hope.

  It took most of the next two hours for Liljana to help clean up Bemossed and Master Juwain finally to tend his wounds. After we had broken camp and everything was packed away, I hitched Altaru to the cart and patted his neck as I told him, 'All right old friend. Let's see if we can find our way back home.'

  But this, it seemed, was not to be. Just as we were setting out, I heard an unwelcome noise through the trees, and quickly drawing closer. From the direction of the road came the beat of horses' hooves against stone. Then soldiers burst into the clearing again, and this time there were many more of them.

  Chapter 37

  At the head of these armed men rode Lord Rodas, who was now in command of this district's magicians, alchemists, dancers, augurers and courtesans — and traveling troupes such as ours. It seemed that he had grown in power in the days since he had extorted silver from us on our crossing of the Black Bridge. Upon seeing this scrawny New Lord in his silks and gold embroidery, I gathered that he had been successful in a scheme to slander Lord Olum and see him ruined. He made his way toward our cart as if he had been elevated to lordship over all the Haralanders, and not just a few ragged outcasts. His six hirelings in their hideous purple and yellow livery accompanied him as before, but so did twenty of King Arsu's men-at-arms. They wore weapon-scarred bronze armor and bore shields and lances that looked well-used. It seemed that Lord Rodas had begged King Arsu to detach this company in his charge in order to 'escort' us to the army's encampment just outside of Orun.

  Lord Rodas's gaze swept from the cart to Bemossed, now wearing a fresh tunic that hid most of his scrapes and cuts. Lord Rodas said to me: 'I see you've acquired this man since our last meeting. You must be doing well, though with the price of slaves falling so low, I suppose even poor players such as yourselves can afford one, if only a Hajarim.'

  He brought out a purse full of jangling coins and bounced them in his hand.

  'The King has asked to see you, and has given me coin in pledge of your performance,' he told us.

  'We are honored that King Arsu requests this,' I said, feeling the sweat running down my sides, 'but our way lies opposite from Orun.'

  'It is not the King's request,' Lord Rodas told me, 'but his command. And mine. As it is also my command that your way not take you out of the Haraland. Now, come! The King is returning to his encampment, and we must prepare for his arrival.'

  I eyed the twenty soldiers sitting on top of their horses. Unless we were willing to fight them all and managed to kill them to the last man, we had no choice but to go with Lord Rodas into the very last place in Hesperu that we wished to go.

  I nodded at Kane then, and he nodded back his affirmation that a battle at this time would be too great a chance.

  And so, with ten of the soldiers riding behind us, and ten more with Lord Rodas and his hirelings out in front, we made our way onto the Ghurlan Road. A stiff wind rose up to blow away the mist from the walls of trees lining our way. The birds nesting there chirped and sang in the peace of the late morning. Bemossed sat with me on the seat of the cart, and appeared to be listening to them — or perhaps to the drumbeat of his heart. The grinding of the cart's wheels turning over worn stone reminded me that time itself was grinding on and on, and pulling us inexorably toward our fate.

  By the time we passed through the rice bogs and finally reached Orun, the sun burned up the blue sky like a gout of Galda fire flung up by a catapult. We turned south onto the great road running along the Iona River. King Arsu's army had encamped in some pasturage off to the right of the road a couple miles outside of the city. Their hundreds of tents spread out in neat arrays like a little city of its own across fields of grass, all churned-up and muddy from the tramp of many horses' hooves and the boots of thousands of men.

  Upon seeing this, Maram nudged his horse up close to me and muttered, 'Into the belly of the beast, once again — oh, too bad, too bad!'

  'It will be all right,' I told him. 'We've only to perform as we have a dozen times already. And then we'll find a way to go on.'

  'Do you think so? I'm afraid that this will be our last performance.'

  'One way or the other,' I said, smiling, 'the last.'

  'Don't jest, please. I can't believe that we were stupid enough to pose as players.'

  'But it was your idea.'

  'I know, I know,' he muttered. 'My stupid, stupid idea.'

  Lord Rodas led us down through the lanes formed by the many rows of tents. Outside them stood King Arsu's soldiers, cleaning their armor or sharpening their spears or roasting meats over little fires, playing dice, or swatting at flies and grumbling, as soldiers do. They cast us curious looks as we passed by, I gazed back at them with an even greater curiosity, which I tried to conceal. My eyes drank in the length of their spears and the size of their shields: rounds of thinnish-looking wood that I did not think would hold up very well beneath the cut and sweep of steel kalamas. I looked for the weak places in their fish-scaled armor; I watched a few companies of these battle-worn Hesperuks at drill, standing too close to each other as they locked shields in a dense block of men many ranks deep bristling with iron spear points. It seemed that it would be hard to attack such an armored block — almost as hard as it would be for them to maneuver. I noted, however, that all of King Arsu's men seemed to move to a fierce and relentless discipline.

  At last we came to the camp's center: a great square formed by the soldiers' tents with the pavilions of King Angand and Arch Uttam standing on either side of King Arsu's pavilion, to the south. Smaller tents of prominent commanders were arrayed nearby. Many banners flapped in the strong wind. A pole flying a bright yellow one emblazoned with a great red dragon had been planted in the earth just outside of King Arsu's pavilion: a vast, billowing monstrosity of purple silk sewn with gold. King Angand's pavilion was of sky blue, as was the field of the banner displaying his emblem: a white heart with wings. Of all the Dragon kings, only King Angand had kept his family's ancient arms, because only he had possessed the foresight to make alliance with Morjin freely, instead of being forced to swear fealty to him.

  Across the square from King Arsu's pavilion, vendors from Orun had arrived to set up carts, stalls and small tents of their own. Most of these were food sellers, offering fresh fruits, tarts and various roasted meats. The Harlanders were fond of a strong-tasting riverfish called the katouj. It seemed we couldn't go ten yards without passing some old woman frying up this foul-smelling fish in pan of sizzling oil. The Haralanders ate it piping hot, on slices of salted bread slathered with a hot greenish sauce that looked like toad slime.
It occurred to me that a people who could consume such fare could endure almost anything.

  As we moved through the square, I counted scarcely two hundred of Orun's citizens standing about eating with the soldiers. If this had been anywhere in Mesh — or in Ishka, Taron or Kaash — the whole city would have famed out to greet the realm's warriors.

  But most of the soldiers that King Arsu had summoned for the assault upon Avrian were levies from the south. These darker, shorter men looked upon the Haralanders with contempt even as the Haralanders did them, though of course in secret. The few Haraland contingents of this army, as I soon learned, were those who had proved themselves again and again in fanatical devotion to their king.

  The arrogance of all the soldiers hung in the air like a charge before a thunderstorm. They bullied their way to the front of the food queues or charged about on their horses so that people had to leap out of their way to keep from being trampled. I thought that King Arsu had been wise to recruit mostly Haraland men for the army that had invaded Surrapam five hundred miles to the north — what better way of removing the most resentful and bellicose of his subjects without having to nail them to crosses?

  Lord Rodas led us to a place reserved for us in the center of the line of carts. Here gathered the performers summoned to show their skills to King Arsu and King Angand. Lord Rodas commanded us to await the arrival of the King, who was off at the local Kallimun school to consecrate a great new statue of Morjin. The captain of the twenty soldiers in Lord Rodas's charge informed him that his men had completed their escort and had better things to do than to watch over a troupe of ragged players. Without waiting for Lord Rodas's consent, they rode off toward their tents, leaving Lord Rodas and his hirelings as our guards.

  Lord Rodas, with a false largesse, bought us all servings of katouj, which we forced down with false smiles of gratitude. Although it seemed that many people in the encampment had turned their gazes upon us, common sense told me that we attracted no more attention than we should have expected as heralded players. Even so, Maram fell so nervous that he could hardly eat — for him, a rare affliction. He stood next to me, fairly gagging on the green katouj as he grumbled, 'Why is everyone watching us?'

  He caught Daj staring at a mounted knight across the square, and murmured to him, 'What's the matter with you? Keep your eyes down!'

  But it seemed that Daj could not help staring at this knight for a surge of hatred washed through him, and he stood trembling like a cat waiting to fight. I came over to him and wrapped my arm around him as I whispered, 'What is the matter?'

  And he whispered back, 'That man killed my father and my brothers. He sold my mother and sisters into slavery. And me.'

  I bowed my head at this. His suffering, I realized, burned no less terribly than did my own.

  The knight whom he had been regarding, I sensed, took too great an interest in us. On top of a snow-white stallion, he rode slowly along the rows of soldiers kneeling down in front of the tents as they awaited their king. He seemed to be searching the ranks for any sign of disorder, or indeed of displeasure, in any of these men who had been honored to attend the day's celebrations. He gripped in his fist a long lance, with which he pointed here or there, as if to chasten individual soldiers to hide the boredom in their eyes or sit up straighter. His bronze fish scales had been polished to a blinding sheen, as had his helm, crested with green peacock feathers. His golden surcoat showed a half-sized red dragon that proclaimed him as a lord of some importance. He wore a blood-red cape. Many of the townsfolk from Orun could not bear his gaze and turned away from him. He guided his horse over to the foodsellers' stalls, casting men and women dark looks as if he suspected them of disloyalty to the King or even of being assassins. And all the while, with dartings of his dark eyes, he kept glancing at Daj and me and the others of our company — and particularly at Bemossed.

  At last he worked his way over to us. Lord Rodas, who had dismounted, saluted this man and called out, 'Lord Mansarian — this is the troupe I told you about! Here we have Kalinda, the fortune teller, and Mother Magda and Garath the Fool.'

  Lord Rodas presented each of us in turn, and Lord Mansarian stared at each of us, in turn. He seemed tall, for a Hesperuk, and thick in his limbs and body. His face was like a hammer, all blunt and scarred, and his eyes drove into each of us like nails. As his gaze fell upon me, I thought that I had never seen a harder-looking man, not even in Argattha.

  'Arajun,' he said, staring down at me. His voice came out all hoarse and raspy, like a wheeze of ill wind. The scars seaming his heavily bearded throat suggested that he had been badly wounded there. 'Arajun, the flute player — is that right?'

  'He pipes like a bird,' said Lord Rodas, who had never heard me play. I saw that Lord Rodas had begun to sweat, whether from the hot katouj sauce or the sun or his fear, it was hard to say.

  'And you, Jaiyu,' Lord Mansarian said to Daj. 'You are of the Haraland, are you not?'

  Daj nodded his head as he kept his gaze on Lord Mansarian's boots.

  'Where in the Haraland, then?'

  'Ghurlan,' Daj said, naming the one large city in the north that had never rebelled against King Arsu. It pained him not at all, I sensed, to tell this lie.

  'And how did you come to be with this troupe?'

  'My mother died in childbirth,' he lied again. 'When my father passed on, too, Teodorik and Mother Magda adopted me into their troupe and took me into other lands.'

  Lord Mansarian nodded his head at this as he stared at Master Juwain and Liljana. I gave thanks that he appeared not to recognize Daj, who had been very young when Lord Mansarian's men had enslaved him.

  Then Lord Rodas gathered up his courage and pointed at Liljana as he told Lord Mansarian, 'Are you still looking for healers? As you can see, there are none with this troupe, and certainly no young ones — just an old potionist.'

  I felt Liljana restraining her ire at being called old. I felt, too, Lord Mansarian fighting very hard not to look at Bemossed, even as Bemossed struggled to keep his eyes cast down upon the ground.

  Lord Mansarian sat on his horse above us, and I sensed within him a great turmoil of anguish and hate. He seemed to keep locked inside his heart some fearful thing that he did not want anyone to see. The tension between him and Bemossed grew tighter and tighter, like that of a great weight pulling on a grappling hook buried in his chest. At last his eyes stabbed into Bemossed, and he stared at him. Then he pointed his lance at him and called out, 'Lord Rodas! The King will arrive soon, and it would be best if he did not have to look upon this Hajarim. Keep him out of sight!'

  'Yes, my Lord!' Lord Rodas called back, bowing so deep that he practically scraped the ground. It seemed he had forgotten that he, himself, had been made a lord.

  Without another word. Lord Mansarian looked away from Bemossed, reined his horse around and continued his patrol.

  'A great man,' Lord Rodas called out a little too loudly. 'And a great Haralander, too.'

  'What is his rank?' I asked Lord Rodas. 'He must be a great lord.'

  'Stupid flutist — can you be so ignorant?' he barked at me. He was one of those cowards whose fear too easily transformed into ill-use of those whom he considered beneath him. 'Lord Mansarian commands the Crimson Companies!'

  He went on to tell something of Lord Mansarian's fearful pan Some years before, it seemed, when King Arsu had sworn fealty to Morjin, Lord Mansarian had taken up arms against the King in protest, along with other Haralanders. He had fought with great cunning and savagery, killing many. At last, however, the Red Priests had found a way to his heart, and they persuaded him to turn traitor to the rebellion — and to pledge his undying loyalty to King Arsu. King Arsu had then tested him, in many ways and in many places. Lord Mansarian always proved himself, and more, like many converts to a new cause, strove to serve his king with zealousness. He requested permission to form a force of other Haraland nobles and knights who opposed the rebellion.

  These two hundred men — they were call
ed the Crimson Companies, after the red capes they wore — soon wreaked a bloody terror upon their kith and kin. They hunted down rebels through every part of the Haraland. When they drove the last of them behind Avrian's walls, King Arsu had then led the main body of his southern army in siege against the city. After it finally fell, he gave the surviving errants to Lord Mansarian and the Crimson Companies for justice. It was Lord. Mansarian who had suggested and taken charge of crucifying them all along the Avrian Road.

  'The Red Capes did their work well,' Lord Rodas told us, 'as you will see if I decide that your troupe should try its fortunes up around Avrian. The errants' corpses are to be left on their crosses until they rot and the vultures pick clean their bones.'

  I turned to watch Lord Mansarian riding along the lines of kneeling soldiers as he stabbed his lance at them. There was a coldness about him, as if the evil of his dreadful deeds had turned him to stone.

  Lord Rodas went on, 'It is said that now the King will have him hunt down those who have taken false oaths of loyalty — as well as counterfeiters, enchanters, false healers, and the like.'

  At the mention of the word 'healer', I tried not to look at Bemossed, standing next to me. Lord Rodas turned away, saying, 'See that your Hajarim removes himself from sight, as Lord Mansarian commanded!'

  Lord Rodas scowled and strutted off, leaving us under the supervision of his hirelings.

  I walked with Bemossed over to the cart. In a low voice, I said to him, 'This Lord Mansarian recognized you?'

  'Yes,' he said.

  'And you recognized him.'

  'Yes,' he said again, nodding his head. 'The lord who brought his daughter to the Master to be healed — it was Lord Mansarian.'

  And with that, he went inside the cart and shut the door. Could it be, I wondered, that the pitiless Lord Mansarian might be protecting Bemossed out of gratitude for curing his child? Or was he only waiting to betray both Bemossed and our company to the King at a key moment for his own gain? I watched Lord Mansarian all stiff and stonelike on his great horse, but he did not look back at us.