“Why didn’t they kill us?”
“That is something Sahin and I are going to have a very long talk about.”
“I don’t trust a man that shaves his head to hide that he is balding.”
Leger chuckled. “He has the respect of everyone here, and judging by how they react to those they don’t like, I would say it is a respect hard earned. And he may no longer be our enemy. If even a small part of what I think happened tonight is true, Sahin would sooner fall on his sword than hurt the prince now.”
“Tell me we are safe and that I do not need to stand through the night with a sword in my hand.”
“Dia, the prince is safe.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder, and he hugged me once.
The growing warmth pulled at my eyelids and I yawned. Leger rose on shaky legs, and offered me his hand. My legs too tired to refuse me, but he held me up and to give me a moment to get my balance.
I thanked him and smiled. “I should get a fire going in my room before this night gets any colder.”
“Sleep well, Alsman.”
He unbarred and opened the door. “Take good care of him.”
“That is why I am here.”
I barred the door behind him, discarded my road-sullied clothing, and washed at the basin. I put on one of my prince’s simple linen tunicas, blew out all of the candles, and climbed in next to him. He had already warmed the bed, and it proved to be the most comfortable thing I had ever laid down on.
The fire’s red light made his swollen face look full of rage, but that was not who he was.
“I love you, Barok,” I said, kissed him once, and laid my head down on his good shoulder.
Part II
Opposing Oaths
19
Alsman Leger Mertone
The Morning of the 92nd of Autumn
I woke with a start and the vapor of ghosts dancing in the corners of my vision. Dawn lit the room, and the door was ajar. I heard a small sound beyond and leapt out of bed.
“Who is there?”
“Gern, sir, Alsman, sir. Breakfast is in the great hall if you are hungry.”
“Yes, thank you, guardsman.”
He moved away, and I leaned into the wall. The foggy terror of my dreams swirled again. The hot and hateful eye of the ghost Barok had called son were there before me. His gray fingers burned through my chest and snatched out my heart. I searched for distraction—something alive.
I found the empty bottle of wine on the floor.
“You won yesterday. Not today.”
A water pitcher and a small basin had joined the uneaten plate of chicken on the bedside table. Gern must have brought it in for me. I washed the dried blood off my face and out of my hair and scrubbed most of the stink off, too. When I was done, I rested my weight on the table. The call in my blood rose. No good would come from standing still. I found fresh clothes, snatched up the uneaten meal, and made my way down to the great hall.
The large space was warm with the morning’s glow, and the people of Urnedi sat around its large table. The prince and Dia were not there, nor was Sahin.
“What do you have there, Alsman?” an older woman asked. She was one of the pair I had terrified in the kitchen.
“Your kindness from yesterday. I fear I let it go to waste.”
She took the plate out of my shaky hand. “Nothing goes to waste here. Well, look at that. You’ve saved Gern the trouble of butchering a second chicken for the evening stew.”
Everyone laughed, and the cook gestured back toward her empty chair. “Please, take my seat and eat your fill.”
I said a thank you and bowed.
She smiled and started down the stairs. “I never thought I would live long enough to see an alsman bow to me.”
The room waved me in, and I took her seat.
“Where are the others?” I asked Gern.
“Sahin rode north at first light. He said he’d return by midday. Barok and Dia are still sleeping. Should I wake them?”
Someone handed me flat bread, and someone else set into a bowl a thick slice of ham, a heavy scoop of roughly mashed potatoes, and another of stewed apples.
“No. It is really not much of a wound and that wheat grass poultice will do wonders. Let him rest for now.”
The crowd murmured cheerfully at the news. The sound was an honest one.
The smell of the pan-seared ham steak made it into my nose then. I pounced upon it and managed to bite my thumb hard enough that it bled alongside the nail. It would have hurt more if I had not been so ravenous.
I saved the apples for last, and their sweetness startled me. I had not enjoyed the taste of food in a very long time.
“Good, aren’t they?” someone asked.
I waved on an offer of seconds and finished it almost as fast. I sat back into my chair and was warmed by the fire, food, and company.
“This is a place I can win the battle each morning.”
All eyes were on me. I had not meant to say it aloud. Their expressions were soft but puzzled.
“It is,” someone said. We all turned toward an older man at the far end of the table. His confident unmoving expression told me he did indeed understand.
“What do you do here, friend?” I asked him.
“Many things. Care for the horses, manage the work in the fields, maintain the drawbridge.”
“And chop wood,” one of the women laughed.
He gave her a playful, dirty look. “Yes, and today I am chopping wood.”
Old memories shouldered forward. I had chopped many cords in my early years in uniform. It was a common punishment for an errant recruit. The thickskulled men who trained me never did figure out that I liked doing it. I could almost feel the axe in my hands and the satisfying crack of its fall. Such exercise was just what I needed.
“I could help you with that,” I offered.
He scoffed, but then eyed me like a father trying to decide if his boy was telling the truth. The rest were as unsure. It occurred to me then that of all the tools an alsman used, an axe was never one of them. They must have thought me very strange.
“That is very kind of you, Alsman,” he said finally.
I got up out of my chair, and everyone rose as if I were a lady or general departing. I waved them back into their seats while the old man moved around toward the stairs. The room said farewells and good mornings.
He led me around to a small well-shaded clearing on the northwest side of the keep occupied by a small stable and a trio of thin shacks. Against the base of the keep, an empty, open-faced woodshed waited for the logs piled nearby. The old man retrieved a heavy axe.
“My back and shoulders thank you,” he said and handed it to me.
“I bet they do,” I chuckled and took hold of a log. He started toward the stable, and I remembered a worrisome detail from the previous day.
“Sir,” I said to get his attention.
He turned. “Please do not ‘sir’ me, Alsman. You pay us too many kindnesses. You can call me ‘old man’ or maybe ‘Thell,’ but please, never again ‘sir.’”
“Do you shoe horses, Thell?”
“I do.”
“Dia’s horse needs a new set.”
“Sahin said the same thing. That was what I was heading to do now. He also wanted me to melt the old ones down. Craziest thing I’ve ever heard, wasting such good shoes.”
“He has a good reason.”
“He said that, too,” Thell replied with a shrug.
“Did he mention adding eggs and butter to the horse’s feed?”
“Didn’t need to. I’ve never taken care of a hot blood before but know enough to get him the right kind of feed. Some of the boys and I will be out harvesting wild barley and rye the rest of the day for him. Not as good as he’s used to, I imagine, but better than he got on the road.”
I nodded—the conversation over. Thell continued toward the stable.
Sahin knows about the horse. I added it to the topics we nee
ded to discuss.
“Urnedi has more secrets than uncut wood,” I said toward the large pile. It did not respond, but I suppose it was too busy fearing the axe.
I scoffed at my poor humor, but was happy to find I had any at all. I rolled my shoulders and set the first log on the block. The axe had good weight and a good edge. It had been a long time. I set my feet and brought the tool around and down. The log split and fell away. My muscles remembered the work well, and the sound was a good one. I rolled the chopping block closer to the pile and got a better grip on the axe. Another log spilt and fell, and I found the rhythm of the work—set, breathe, around, and down. Set, breathe, around, and down.
My muscles and the day warmed.
“There you are.” Sahin said as he came around the corner of the keep. He was wearing a sword and had taken the time to shave and find fresh clothes. The pile of logs had shrunk to nothing, and the cut pieces were strewn around me. I had taken my tunica off at some point, and sweat dripped from my nose. The sun was high overhead.
“The morning went fast,” I said.
“It looks like you could use some help stacking.”
I set the axe aside, and we piled the pieces into the woodshed.
When we were finished, I asked, “Are you Edonian?”
He fixed his eyes on me. “You heard that word from Barok?”
“Yes. I learned a lot of new words while I carried him out of that haunted forest.”
The bowyer glared, but I waited for him to find an answer to my question. He did not look toward his sword, but it was an option he weighed.
“Yes, I am Edonian.”
“Barok and the ghosts are as well?”
He closed his eyes tight and made fists. I picked up my tunica and wiped the sweat from my arms and face while he got ahold of himself, but he stood fixed upon the spot, unable to find words. His hands began to tremble so he set them on his hips. My thoughts were clear from the morning’s labor.
“I understand you better than you think,” I said.
“Do you?”
“Yes, and I will save you the courage of saying it. You either knew or suspected Barok’s mother was from Enhedu, so you took Barok beneath the yew to find out. And if he wasn’t you were ready to frame me for his murder.”
He reached for his sword, but I had the axe up off the ground before he could pull it free.
“It hasn’t come to that yet, Sahin.”
“Hasn’t it? What alsman could forget my crime?”
“Alsmanship is very new to me, and the guardsman that I used to be was very good at being forgetful. I also did not believe in ghosts this time yesterday, so I have a bit of an open mind today. Try me. Explain yourself.”
“If I tell it to you, I cannot let you leave Urnedi alive.”
“Whatever life I have left, bowyer, is already bound to the prince. Telling me what happened yesterday changes nothing.”
He blinked several times but relented. His tale did not surprise me.
“I am a Chaukai, a member of a brotherhood sworn to the kings of Edonia. Kyoden Vesteal was the last king to sit upon the throne before he and his entire family, but for a single granddaughter, were murdered in that yew forest some 300 years ago. Three Chaukai escaped with the girl and kept her survival a secret. Zoviya erased Edonia, and the Exaltiers have kept this last little forest piece of Edonia subjugated and squashed. We have been happy to let them think we are gone—let them forget that we exist.”
“How is Barok Edonian? Is he not a Yentif?”
Sahin looked ready to spit, but he found words for it. “The heirs to the throne were never great in number. When I became Chaukai, only a single girl named Alisa had survived the harshness of living so secretly. While she was still young, the Exaltier took her away to be one of his wives. It was her penalty for being too beautiful for this place. Do you know of her? Is she well?”
“I do not. Lord Vall guards his wives better than his sons. No one knows where he keeps them, and I have never had an ear for palace rumors. How did you know Barok was Edonian?”
“A guess from those same rumors. A tax collector who loved to drink and gossip told me a story about two princes who fought a duel over one of them saying the other had provincial blood in his veins. From others, I learned Vall had taken only one commoner for a wife and she had borne him a single son.”
“Not much to go on.”
“It is the closest I have gotten to word of her. I began to hope that Barok was her son when I saw how little he looks like the face on a coin, but that was no guarantee. He does not bear much resemblance to his mother either.”
“Why did you let Lord Vall take her? She was your purpose for being.”
“There is more to us than ...” he started to say but then growled. “Blast you, Alsman. Do not ask such questions. Know this, Barok is the heir to the throne of Edonia. I would die to protect him and kill you to do the same.”
His sword slid almost free then, and his eyes darted once over my shoulder. I had not heard or seen anyone approach, but other Chaukai must be in the trees, perhaps with swords bared and bows drawn. But Sahin, fierce though he looked, was but an average swordsman. If his sword came free, I was very certain what would happen next. I set down my axe and crossed my arms. He watched me, fixed again like a statue.
“An arrow in my back and most of you dead would be hard to explain to the prince.” The words did not move him. He was resolved to whatever end kept his secrets.
I asked, “Did you take an oath?”
“Pardon?”
“When you became a Chaukai—did you take an oath?”
His sword slid deeper into the scabbard. “I did.”
“I will take this oath.”
“A Hemari? An alsman? You cannot take the oath of the Chaukai.”
“If I am not worthy of this oath, you have but one option.”
“What would you have me do, Alsman? You have walked beneath the trees. Suppose we gave the oath? Tell me what happens when you climb back into a wine bottle? Tell me how we can trust a man who arrived covered in his own vomit—a man who stole wine from the cellar?”
My blood ran cold, and I felt the deceitful calling deep within my bones. I tried to find a way to tell him I was no longer that man. It was my turn to look for words, and he stood his ground as I had. I wrestled with the anguish and knowledge of my years of frequent and failed pledges to stay sober. While drunk, I did not know the words duty or honor. There was only one word in my drunken vocabulary.
“This impasse is worse than our first,” Sahin said.
I nodded. “A drunk is worth very little trust.”
“The problem, indeed. So, do we kill each other or do you stop being one?”
“A man never stops being a drunk, bowyer. That is an ill-told tale.”
“I know one who stopped drinking,” he replied.
“The old man?”
“You met him this morning?”
“I offered to chop the wood for him and asked him to change the horse’s shoes. Melting them down was a very good idea, by the way.”
Sahin slid his sword all the way back into his scabbard, folded his arms, and shook his head. “That girl brings almost as much trouble with her as you do, Alsman. Do you know what she heard?”
“For now, Sahin, it is best for you to assume she knows everything I do.”
He did not like this but gave up the topic for another. “Do you know of any other crimes she committed on her way here I should be worrying about?”
“As far as I know, the only other problem she brings with her is a question of whom she is pledged to. She escaped with my help and made her way here alone. And the stallion was not so much stolen as it was loaned.”
“Loaned?”
“A Hemari colonel loaned it to her. He had been sent to retrieve her, but she talked him into loaning her a horse instead. He will be the one responsible for its loss. Poor bastard, I know his predicament very well. When he returns to the capit
al short an Akal-Tak and without the girl, I can only guess at the excuses he will give. I doubt any mention of her will be included in them, however. To reveal that he’d been tricked would end his careers. He will make up some story about the horse breaking its leg in a rabbit hole, and if he is lucky or liked, he will only be put on half pay until he covers the cost. If Dia is not wanted for anything else, she might be clear.”
“Can you find out for me?”
I gave Sahin a long look. “I will talk to her.”
He started toward the woods and I got my first look at the Chaukai in the trees. One of their number had the same thick crease of his brow as Gern—undoubtedly his father.
“No oath today, Alsman. I cannot make such a decision on my own.”
I was not so sure the conversation was over. “Do I need to be worried about visitors in the night?”
He stopped but did not turn. “Do you think your declaration you could kill so many of us has made me decide to cut your throat while you sleep?”
“At least one of you would fall.”
“If you ever drink so much as another drop, we will find out if you are right.”
Then he walked into the woods, and the Chaukai disappeared.
20
Lady Dia Esar
Fana Sedauer
I woke wrapped in my prince’s arms. There was a bit of a chill in the air, so I kissed him on the chin, slid out of the bed, and fed the fire.
My next want was for a nice long bath, but the chaos of the room was too disturbing. I worked instead to organize all the things I had packed for him.
A few of the small vases had been smashed, but a thick, silver-edged mirror had survived unscathed. I hung it from a simple iron sconce between the door and the bed. I caught my own eye and stared. My hair was a barmy snarl, and my face and eyes looked like they belonged to someone else—someone old and dirty.
“He might not even recognize you,” I said to the stranger and laughed. My white teeth I remembered. I was still a dirty vagabond, but the smirk made me look more like me. I needed to finish cleaning up the room so I could take a much needed bath.
Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series Page 12
