Maybe so, Kei thought, but it would be a long struggle for that respect.
They’d know soon enough what their fate was to be. Jena had been tracking the progress of the Ai-Kislik hostages and knew they were two weeks behind those of Ai-Beyto. Nerves grew taut again, and there were some quickly ended quarrels among the group as the day of the last hostages’ arrival drew near. Generally tempers were less frayed than they might have been, but the waiting was hard on them all.
Finally, on the thirteenth day, close to noon, Kei heard a blast of horns sounding from the sentinels, and soldiers assembled in the courtyard. He, like the other Darshianese, came outside the barracks to see what was happening. It took some time before the great wooden gates of the fort were swung open, and in rode several men on urs beasts, followed by a hundred or so soldiers and the hostages on foot.
The sergeant in charge of the fort saluted the arriving officers and barked out commands, which Kei recognised as orders for soldiers to come and take charge of the urs beasts. With a shock, he realised one of the men dismounting was the general who’d been so supercilious at Ai-Albon. The man wore an oilskin, and took it off, revealing a much less impressive suit of armour than what he’d displayed at Kei’s village. This time he wasn’t wearing a helmet, and as his oilskin’s hood was removed, a fall of bright golden hair was exposed, as well as a coldly handsome face, half obscured by a neat beard of a darker red-gold than his head hair. He was not, to Kei’s surprise, much older than himself—possibly only Reji’s age. Somehow, Kei had expected him to be in his middle years, but this was a young man in the prime of his life, very tall and muscular, every inch a warrior. What really caught Kei’s attention were the piercing blue eyes under fine blond eyebrows, which seemed to see everything, missing nothing, assessing and judging.
The man scanned the courtyard and his assembled soldiers as the sergeant continued to make his report. He didn’t seem interested in what was being said, instead taking in the details of the building around him, as if trying to divine its weakness. At last his gaze rested on the hostages. Kei again felt the wave of virulent hatred mixed with sadness he’d noted the last time he had encountered this man. Again, even with all Jena’s training, it made him sick to his stomach. This man’s emotions respected no boundaries at all.
He must have moved or done something to catch the man’s eye because suddenly he found himself the subject of that powerful, cold gaze. Only a fancy, but it was as if the man saw Kei’s very soul—only to dismiss it as utterly worthless and hateful. But the moment was brief, and then the man turned away from him and the rest of the Darshianese as of no consequence to him at all. He walked in the other direction through the courtyard, to where the sergeant had his office, and then Kei lost sight of him altogether.
Ruti from Ai-Darbin hissed in a breath. “That’s the bastard that murdered Timo. Cut him down like a dog.”
“He hates us,” Peit said. “The way he spoke to us, the way he looks at us.... Kei, this doesn’t bode well.”
“It’ll bode as well or ill as we let it,” Kei said, letting impatience colour his voice, instead of the turbulent emotions which seeing this general again had raised in him. What had caused the man to have such a compelling disdain for them? And this grief, as strong as the loathing—what had happened?
It was unfortunate, to say the least, that it appeared they would be going south with this man in charge. It was unlikely they would enter Kuprij without someone senior bringing them in. Still, if he wanted them dead or harmed, it would have happened by now, so worrying about it would get them nowhere. Kei went with his comrades to welcome the newcomers from Kislik and to help them get settled. There would be much to do over the next few hours, but even as his mind occupied itself with listing those tasks, he couldn’t help a little shiver of fear. The Prijian officer who had looked at him had wished Kei dead. More than that—he wished Kei had never been born.
Hatred like that was almost like a natural force. Natural forces could be dangerous and uncontrollable things. If you didn’t learn to live with them...they’d crush you.
But could one learn to live with hate that strong? For good or ill, they were about to find out.
Chapter : Utuk 1
Arman was fighting a war within himself, and losing. A man used to certainty in his decisions, and constancy in his beliefs, now he found himself questioning his thoughts, his actions. His desires conflicted in almost every way. His urgent need to shake the dust of Darshian from his boots was matched by his equally powerful urge not to return to his house which was not a home and never would be. His wish that every one of the Darshianese hostages would die painful deaths, clashed with the equally vehement one not to have to return to Darshian to fetch more of them, and his sense of duty to his sovereign.
His body rebelled too. He was tired when he wanted to be awake, and yet he couldn’t sleep when he lay down with that intention. Food had no pleasure for him, and more often than not, he left what was offered untouched, nauseated at the idea of eating. Yet there was a hunger in him for something, anything, to ease the ache in his heart. He had as yet to turn to wine for solace, but only because it would work too well. He would not sully Loke’s name by becoming a drunkard in his memory. Yet, without this to numb his senses, his thoughts ran around and around in his head like a pet hisk in a cage. They led him to dark and unhappy places, and he had no power to prevent them doing so.
Perhaps most disturbing to him, as they began the march towards Urshek and once again fine temples and ample evidence of devotion to the gods marked the landscape, was accepting his unwavering, unquestioning, lifelong piety had utterly ceased to offer him comfort. The rituals, the weekly thanksgivings—once been a pillar of his life—were now meaningless and grating. It was a trial to listen to the familiar words, to sit through the sacrifices, to pretend that, like his men, he still believed Lord Niko heard every word offered in prayer, and responded to them. He did not feel himself beloved of the gods any more.
Worse, he found himself questioning how Loke’s death could be the gods’ will. Why would Lord Niko want to let a good, pious boy die and yet spare the heathen, immoral Darshianese? Why had none of them fallen into the deep ravines as they had crossed the mountains? He had believed Niko to be a merciful, wise father to his children. The senseless, cruel murder of the most innocent of his creations mocked the very concept of wisdom or mercy.
He kept such thoughts to himself, of course. His blasphemy would shock and disgust both peers and his subordinates. Likewise, he spoke to no one of the confusing shifts in his moods from sadness to fury to numbness, which wearied him beyond belief. A further sign, if any were needed, that he was not himself these days—so very far from himself that he no longer recognised the man he had become. He moved through each day in a cold, isolated fog, a perfect military machine, assessing facts and figures and events purely from the tactical point of view, and caring not about any personal impact on himself or anyone else. At night, he continued the long walks which were only slightly effective in wearing him out.
At least the dreams had stopped on the mountains. Exhaustion was all too easy to achieve there, even with the guide ropes and bridges that had been built by the soldiers in the three months since the fort had been established. He had to admit their engineers had done a magnificent job—Her Serenity should be pleased. She should be delighted, in fact. Every thing had gone to plan, precisely as she had wanted it. Whether she would be delighted, they would find out soon enough.
The soldiers and the hostages had camped on the northern edge of Urshek for a few hours, waiting for nightfall when they could be moved through the city with the minimum observation. No one was entirely sure how the southern Darshianese, who could be troublesome when they put their mind to it, would react to a group of their fellows being taken under guard through the streets. So Ritus, meeting them two miles from the city limits, had advised them to wait before they joined the ship. Arman didn’t care one way or the other. The slight
delay allowed him to make his reports to Ritus and learn his instructions. Other than that, he was indifferent.
He had his tent set up and refreshments served from the supplies Ritus had brought with him. “I bet you missed Prijian wine,” Ritus said, stretching in his camp chair expansively.
“One manages,” Arman said in a frigid tone which made Ritus do a double-take and look at him oddly.
“A difficult mission? I thought things had gone well.”
“I’m glad it’s over, that is all. Now, please tell me Her Serenity’s wishes.”
“Well...hang on, where’s that boy of yours? I could have sworn you had him with you when you left. Didn’t leave him behind, did you?” Ritus said jovially.
Arman stiffened. “In a manner of speaking. He was murdered at Darbin, in the bomb attack. It was in my reports.”
“Oh...hells, I missed that. Damn inconvenient for you, losing a good servant like that.”
Ritus couldn’t have appreciated the danger he was in at that point. Arman fought his anger down. “The loss of a Prijian citizen is always more than inconvenient, general. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to know my orders.”
Ritus was obviously surprised at his rudeness, but the damn fool finally took the hint. “Very well, as you wish. She wants a triumph, so make sure your armour is nice and polished up when you hit port. You’ll march down the Avenue of the Gods to the civic square where she’ll address you and the population. Shouldn’t take too long and then you can get back to your wife.”
“And the hostages?”
“Senator Mekus has been appointed to deal with them. They’re off your hands once the triumph is over.”
“Thank the gods,” Arman muttered. “Has the port blockade begun?”
Ritus nodded. “Yes, over a month ago. No movement from the Rulers, but we won’t expect anything for a while. Her Serenity is content with progress. So, tell me about it. What was it like?”
Arman gritted his teeth and put a bit more flesh on the bare bones of his reports for Ritus’s entertainment, but then begged to be allowed to rest before the sea journey. He had no desire in the least to rehash the mission, and there would be many times when he would be forced to over the coming days. He wished Her Serenity could have curbed her love of ceremony and public display, but there was no chance of her missing the opportunity to celebrate the successful annexation of a large chunk of Darshian, if not the capital itself. He hoped attention would be more on her than on him tomorrow.
There were still six hours before nightfall. He decided to try and sleep. He had a feeling tomorrow would be a trial.
~~~~~~~~
Kei had become complacent. While he’d never forgotten they were captives, or that his eventual fate was to be taken to the Prijian capital, these were facts he set aside in his mind most of the time. He’d had to, to preserve his sanity. In the meantime, he’d kept busy, and distracted himself with talking to Jena and caring for the rest of the hostages. Their captors were relaxed too, and allowed them much more freedom than he had expected, which they were careful not to abuse. Their daily routine, while it was no substitute for liberty, was far from intolerable.
All that changed when the ‘golden general’, as one of the young men from Ai-Tuek had dubbed him, arrived. Almost immediately, there was a shift in attitude from their guards—far less informality, less freedom and even a return of the hostility and suspicion which Kei had noted among them when he had first encountered the Prij, but which had slowly disappeared over the past two months. Some of it undoubtedly came with the returning soldiers, who had, according to the hostages from Ai-Kislik, treated them in a much less friendly fashion than had those who had accompanied the other Darshianese south. But most of it emanated from the general himself. “Sei Arman,” he was called. ‘Sei’ was apparently a title, not a first name as Kei had first thought, referring to his family’s senatorial rank. So the ‘golden general’ was not only a high-ranking officer, but also a nobleman at that, with family ties to the royal family itself. His nickname was well deserved.
The fort’s routine became noticeably stricter, but they had only a couple of days to observe it. The hostages of Ai-Kislik were only granted that little time to recuperate, and then all seventy of the Darshianese were instructed to pack and make themselves ready for the mountain crossing. Extra blankets were issued, and they were shown how they would need to tether themselves to guide ropes, brusquely taught knots that would hold them safe, and warned that if they did anything to endanger either hostages or soldiers, they would be punished severely, as would their colleagues. After a month and more of peaceful co-operation, Kei found it galling to be treated with such suspicion, as if they were common criminals—no doubt because of the influence of this Sei Arman.
The month spent in inactivity had been poor preparation for the crossing, although Kei doubted anything could really have prepared them fully for it, given that even the seasoned soldiers struggled with the steep narrow paths, drenched intermittently with heavy rain which made everything slippery and even more dangerous. His fellow hostages were terrified, and so was he—they had never been on terrain like this in their lives, nor so high up. The thinner air made breathing difficult, and his heart pounded to the point of nausea—and the panic of his comrades as they tried not to look at the vertigo-inducing views only made things worse for him. After the first few hours, when they stopped for a meal, he was forced to find Jena and beg her to stay with him, actually in physical contact, to act as a buffer. He disliked using her this way, but she told him the effort to muffle what he felt from the others was far less than what he expended in trying to shield himself, and that she could easily support him for a few days, if she had to. Kei had little pride left after the first day’s climbing, and was glad for any relief he could get.
The highest passes were icy in parts, forcing them to all move at a snail’s pace. Even with this caution, he could only watch helplessly as a soldier in front of him slipped and fell to his death. A halt was called briefly, and words were spoken in honour of the man, but then they were moved on. Staying would only endanger them further, but it still seemed a little callous. The mood of the men was sombre after that—and the Darshianese fears only grew worse. Kei truly believed they would never leave this grim and dangerous place alive.
But after the second day, they began the descent, and while it was still difficult and far from safe, just the knowledge this part of the journey was coming to an end lifted their spirits somewhat. It also helped that it was easier to breathe, and the temperature rose every hour as they came down the mountains. When they finally saw the lush greenness of the south Darshianese coastal plains, Kei could have cried with relief. He could have cried with weariness too, but that was a given.
They were given no time to rest, and were marched a good fifteen miles from the end of the trail. Then, for no reason he could see, they were told to halt. This order came after the arrival of a welcome party of soldiers, led by an officer wearing a similar uniform to that the ‘golden general’ habitually wore. Kei heard one of the soldiers say something about ‘old Ritus’. He guessed the newcomer was the general in charge of south Darshian he’d heard soldiers at the fort mention, not always in flattering terms. Camp wasn’t set up, although cooking fires were soon alight. Kei and the others welcomed food and a chance to ease exhausted bodies, and wondered what would happen to them now.
The mood of his fellow hostages was grim despite the end of the dangerous mountain journey, for it meant now they were truly isolated from their families and friends. Jena sat beside him to eat, sad and weary. Kei touched her arm.
“Can you hear any mind-speakers from the south here?”
She shook her head. “Their thoughts will be guarded and until I can make contact in person, or they find out about me, they won’t ‘hear’ me. It is necessary for ones like us to know those we are mind-speaking to, when over a distance. Only the truly Gifted can speak without an introduction.”
Not even the truly Gifted could speak across the mountains, or the deep seas, nor over the distance Utuk was from Darshek. “So, it’s up to us now,” Kei ‘said’, trying to sound cheerful.
“We can only do our best, and hope for a rescue sooner rather than later. Let’s also hope the rains are not extended this year.”
Even with the messages from Darshek they’d had up until they left, promising an early solution, and even with knowing his family and friends were working hard to push the Rulers into action, Kei couldn’t help but feel depressed at now being cut off from communicating with them. He’d missed Myka and Reji before, but now it felt almost like they had died, their absence now so total, and possibly permanent. It was hard to appear optimistic even though he had to—his moods affected the others who looked to him for leadership. He wasn’t allowed the luxury of sulking.
He was surprised that at dusk, orders were given to be on the move again. Paths illuminated by torches, the soldiers and their captives walked in silence through what seemed the back streets of Urshek. Kei wondered if the Prij were ashamed of their actions, or fearful of causing ill feeling among the southerners. There was a stench in the air he recognised from his time in Darshek—the stink from the docks. Sure enough, they were marched down near the water where an enormous ship waited in moorings.
“Gods,” Peit whispered. “How does it stay afloat? Surely we’re not all going on that?”
But they were, and even Kei, who had once travelled on a boat, albeit a much smaller one, and only on a day’s excursion to one of the islands near Darshek, couldn’t help being afraid of travelling in this monster. It swallowed the seventy hostages easily, as well as the hundred or so soldiers with them, and yet had room for numerous sailors and even three urs beasts. Kei expected the thing to sink like a stone—but it only swayed as its passengers came on board and didn’t go lower in the water at all.
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