Toward the pompous captain, who grabbed and…
“Help me out here,” he whispered into the storm of the spirit’s wails. Evidently, she didn’t need to draw a breath to keep the noise going.
A tangle of chaotic anger and fear broke his memories into pieces.
Pieces…
Among the shouts and the clatter of weapons had come a flash of light on silver. Not a blade, but the cuffs as they fell to the floor.
Soldiers heaving back and forth. Sherakai sketched the action with his hands, paused, then hurried toward a bookshelf across the gallery. He knelt to peer behind it.
“Yes!” he shouted when a faint gleam greeted him. He reached for it, but his arm wouldn’t fit in the space. With his knife, he coaxed the cuffs toward him, then hooked the blade through one circlet to drag it free. He didn’t want to touch it. The idea produced a shudder that wracked him from head to toe.
The spirit’s wailing dropped to a whimper.
Sherakai chewed his lip. The cuff slid down the blade of his knife and clattered against the guard. He needed something to carry the thing in. He fetched a small leather bag from a shelf in the office and dumped a collection of keys out on the desk. With the cuff safely stowed, he tucked it into his shirt and headed for the door, only to draw himself up again.
Keys. Old keys.
Back at the desk, he pushed them around thoughtfully. He knew what these were for. Why his father had left them on a shelf rather than hidden away puzzled him. Except that Sherakai was the only one alive familiar with the secret passages…
Picking one up, he held it tight in his fist. Magic hummed in it, as he’d reckoned it would. The locks these keys opened wouldn’t easily succumb to anything so simple as a lock pick.
“Did you leave these for me to find, Papa?” he wondered. “I can’t do this now. I can’t. Whatever is there, I won’t risk the jansu finding it and using it.”
He wavered in his decision, The spirit lingered nearby, whispering things to him just beyond his ability to catch and understand. “No,” he said to her, shaking his head and straightening. “I can’t help you and I can’t help Papa until I help myself.”
A small box emptied of bottles of ink and quills served to hold the keys. At the ornate panel, he sought the hidden buttons and knobs disguised as engraved motifs. He didn’t remember the sequence, and it took several tries before the latch tripped. Soundless, the panel swung outward and Sherakai set the box inside the dusty passage. When he straightened, he saw the disk that hid the peephole. How well he remembered his father’s exasperation at his spying! He started to close the door, then paused.
His father had kept journals detailing the comings and goings of the farm. He often jotted down his thoughts and observations about the family, his people, and life. He may have mentioned the chambers the keys opened. Sherakai couldn’t bring the journals with him, but he could keep them safe. The box he’d chosen for the keys wouldn’t hold them all, so he found another large enough to store both together.
His hand lingered on the lid as he put the box in the passage. “If you can help me come back, Papa, I will take this journey.”
In the back of his head, he heard Mimeru chiding him about promising things before he understood what the other person wanted.
“Yes, but I trust Papa, Ru.” Besides, he might never return to Tanoshi. First, he had to kill a mage one step from Prime, he had to break the link, and he had to get rid of the rakeshi. Provided he could somehow do all that, he’d need to avoid getting his head lopped off for wholesale murder and high treason.
He closed the secret door and leaned his forehead against the carving. Just one minute. One minute to inhale the scent of Papa’s office and soak up the comfort of familiar things around him. One minute to set aside a place in his heart for a sliver of hope. One minute to brace himself for the fight to come.
Then he brushed past the glimmering spirit. He had one more item to collect before he journeyed back to Bairith Mindar and the Gates of Heaven.
Chapter 63
Sherakai caught up with the soldiers a few hours before they reached Nemura-o pera Sinohe. He made sure they saw him watching them from the vantage point of a hillside, then fell in behind the troop, still in sight. The jansu’s errant savage had returned.
The sergeant sent men after him twice. He avoided them easily. The rocky terrain leading up to the keep helped; the horses couldn’t go where he went and the men wouldn’t.
Sherakai dallied, breathing in the scent of freedom as if it were an elixir as powerful as anything Mage Tylond or the jansu himself could fashion. And what if Bairith sensed pleasure through the cursed link? Let him.
A pair of soldiers at the ponderous gates had been given the ridiculous order to escort him through. He found it amusing. They found it uncomfortable.
Lord Chiro waited on the step before the keep doors, not for the men, but for his pet. The knowledge trickled through the link like ambrosia. He was wanted. He was loved.
The sergeant ensured that his own arrival at the jansu’s side coincided with Sherakai’s. “Your grace, I am pleased to bring news that we have been successful in our mission. Your—” He had the good sense to pause before he blurted an insult. “Sherakai killed the captain and four of our men. Because of his very specific duties, he’s not yet received any discipline. It is, I believe, a hanging offense.”
Bairith regarded the two soldiers bracketing Sherakai with spears pressed to his back. Then he smiled and held his arms out. “Come, my son.”
“Excuse me,” he murmured to his would-be jailers. Unhurried, he moved to stand before the jansu, head bowed.
“At the very least,” the sergeant went on, affronted by the genial greeting, “we want him whipped.”
“Oh, do you.” Not a question. Briefly, he laid his hands on Sherakai’s shoulders, then linked his fingers together at his waist, the picture of casual interest.
The confrontation attracted a small crowd made up of members of the troop, duty guards, and a few curious passersby. Afternoon sunlight reflected off stone walls, gently baking a courtyard that would find itself encrusted with frost in the morning. Yellow leaves shone like jewels against the brown earth.
The sergeant drew himself up. “Letting him get away with murder sets a bad precedent for the troops, your grace.” He had no idea how ludicrous his statement was.
“Do I need your advice about disciplining my people?” Bairith inquired.
The sergeant shifted from one foot to the other. “No, sir, but—”
“Thank you, that will be all.”
The man’s teeth ground audibly. Spinning on his heel and hollering instructions to the soldiers, he stalked away. A single man remained behind, waiting for the jansu’s notice.
“You there, do you have something to say?”
“Yes, m’lord, I wish to give witness.”
Sherakai recognized the man as a lanky, quiet fellow, obedient without being too eager. Maybe even likable under other circumstances.
“Would you like to support the sergeant’s request?” Bairith asked.
“I want to supply some missing information.”
Piqued interest showed in the flick of one inky brow. “Very well, go on.”
The soldier licked his lips. “The captain was killed during battle because he got too close. The other fellows decided they needed to try to rescue him. They got too close, too. And sir, if Sherakai had not taken down a knot of Romuri that charged us, the sergeant wouldn’t be here either.”
“Is this true, Sherakai?”
What purpose he had in putting Sherakai on the spot was anyone’s guess. “As best as I remember, sir, though I don’t recall the Romuri charge,” he replied with absolute honesty. The rakeshi killed everything that got in the way, Romuri or not.
The soldier gave him a curious look, then a nod.
“And do you wish to hang your savior for the captain’s mistake?” Bairith inquired.
Savior. What a
lie.
“You’d know best what to do with him, your grace.”
The jansu chuckled. Waving the man off, he tucked his arm through Sherakai’s and turned up the steps. Guards opened the doors, then closed them again behind the pair. “You are pleased to be home.”
“Yes.” He could not kill the man from miles away. “I have had much opportunity for contemplation. I enjoyed the journey to Tanoshi. It allowed me to put my situation into perspective and consider the future.” He had considered a variety of ways in which he might dispatch the jansu. For the first time in his life, dreaming of blood had awakened anticipation. One more battle and he would be free. Even the ice that sheathed his heart could not keep that organ from beating faster.
“And it thrills you,” Bairith purred.
“Yes, it does.”
Bairith shepherded him through the massive entrance hall and along the corridor that led to the tower rooms. “You reached a turning point. What was it?”
Sherakai measured his words before replying. “There was no one thing, sir, but a series of realizations guiding me back to this place. To you.” Always mindful of the jansu’s hunger for more, he gave what he’d already practiced. “You made me what I am. I don’t fit in with common soldiers, and my boyhood at Tanoshi is a part of the past. I belong here.” I have a debt to collect…
Sherakai stood relaxed under the expected scrutiny. He was going to be free.
“I like you this way. Calm and open.” Bubbles of pleasure percolated through the link. “You will let yourself be comfortable here at last?”
Like a rakeshi cozily trapped by magic in a too-small cage. “Matters are… settling into place, yes.”
“Excellent. We have much to discuss, my son. I will have a special dinner prepared in celebration of your return. In the meantime, you’ll want to change and rest.”
The jansu expected Sherakai to want such things because he wanted them. “Yes, lord, thank you.” He well recalled the mechanics of how to be polite, and how to stroke the jansu’s sense of self-importance. “No doubt you’d prefer it if I bathed, too, or your fine meal will be ruined by the smell of too many days on the road.”
The jansu laughed and squeezed Sherakai’s arm before letting him go. “You will tell me all about your adventure tonight.”
Sherakai bowed his acceptance. When Bairith disappeared down the corridor, he went to make himself presentable for the jansu’s fine nose. While the cascade of hot water filling the bath rumbled in the background, he studied the contents of the wardrobe. It was filled with clothing he never wore. Peacock green with gaudy glass beads across the yoke, or a liberally slashed garnet tunic over a shirt of marigold? His reality drew attention to the frivolity of such lavish, useless garments. He wondered idly what had become of the dirty shirt and pants he’d left hanging on the chair in his room at Tanoshi. How melancholy… How infuriating…
A knock sounded on the door.
“What?” he barked, then immediately thought who?
“It is only I, my lord,” came a youthful voice as the unlocked door opened a crack. “May I enter?”
“Why?” he asked, leaving the decision of his clothing to confront the trespasser, a boy roughly the same age Sherakai had been when he’d come to the Gates.
The boy crossed his arms, one hand on either shoulder, and bowed. “I am to bathe and dress you, sir.”
He folded his own arms across his bare chest. What was this, another test, or some kind of peace offering? The rich and pampered had personal slaves. He had no one to speak of. Apprehensive servants, soldiers, or guards pushed him from place to place. They buckled him into his armor or carted him off to the Hole. How like the jansu to withhold choice and inflict a spy. He had no doubt at all that he would interrogate the boy. He would also be sure to tell Sherakai that the servant was a gift he should appreciate.
“Fine.” He headed for the bathing room. Best to get the process over as quickly as possible. “You can start by choosing something for me to wear.”
Chapter 64
The jansu provided a meal the likes of which Sherakai had not seen in a long time: fish in sweet onion sauce, an entire roasted swan, three kinds of cheese, bread shaped like flowers, a bowl of glazed beets and one of green things he did not recognize… and the perpetual izaku.
Bairith poured the liqueur into beautiful, delicate goblets. He dropped a slender golden spoon into each before offering one to Sherakai.
The syrupy sweetness of pomegranate laced with ice pepper reminded him immediately of the way he’d first smelled color. On the heels of that came the memory of being forced to drink the stuff and puking it up all over the jansu’s lovely carpet. Challenging sea-blue eyes met his over the rim.
Sherakai tipped the goblet in a silent toast and took a sip. It was every bit as hideous as any of the elixirs Mage Tylond had prepared. “Some things never change. I still find the taste not at all to my liking. I will drink it if it will make you happy, but I should warn you.”
The jansu smiled. “Are you going to vomit it up again?”
“That I cannot predict, but your pleasure may be short-lived when the rakeshi is loosed.”
“Ah, yes.” He smelled the wine, then gave it a practiced swirl. “I recall Hamrin Demirruk telling me something to that effect.”
“You remember the occasion?” Like so many other times in his life, he couldn’t be certain of details.
“Everything in your quarters had to be replaced,” Bairith chided. Indulgent. Intrigued. “I should like to see the beast in such a state of strength and glory.” A hunger crept into his eyes.
Would the jansu have the same ability to constrain the rakeshi if alcohol came between them? If he didn’t, the rakeshi might kill him. And Sherakai would tip the advantage with the bleakstone cuff if he could figure out how to get it on the man’s wrist. “As you like.” He lifted his glass, only to have Bairith catch his hand.
“Another time. You have been gone for weeks, and it is your eyes I want to see tonight, your voice I want to hear. Tell me about your trip to Tanoshi.”
Sherakai marveled at the control the jansu had over his Voice. What a wonder to be able to communicate curiosity, anger, jealousy, suspicion, and hope all in the space of a few words. Of course, Bairith had the link at his disposal, too. He considered the sensations pushed so delicately through it. He quirked a brow at the jansu’s hand still wrapped around his as he held the goblet. “I went for you, lord.”
“Me?” He let go to touch his chest with fingers outspread, a study in understated surprise.
Sherakai set his goblet down on the little table between the chairs at the fire. From the pouch at his belt, he withdrew a silver and bone torc. An intricate, twisted chain made up the neck ring with a pair of boar’s teeth for the terminals. The caps holding the teeth were stylized boar heads worked in minute detail—a work of art themselves.
“King Muro gave this to Tameko dan Yasuma to mark their friendship.” Deliberately, carefully, he did not use the word ‘father.’ “Tameko prevented the boar from attacking the king during a hunt in the woods south of Kelamara. The king dispatched the animal but insisted that the two had shared the kill. It was one of Tameko’s greatest treasures.”
The jansu’s eyes glimmered with avarice as he accepted the ornament, turning it to examine in the light of the fire.
Sherakai’s senses tingled. He started to rub his temple, then changed his mind and linked his fingers together instead. The torc had been a good choice. It held emotion and meaning the jansu would perceive with his magic.
“What was greater?”
He almost said my mother. “His wife. His children. His honor.” And, if he were being truthful, the Children of the Wind. But Lord Chiro had already destroyed Tameko’s wife, children, and honor. Sherakai did not want him to destroy the horses. “Is my gift pleasing, lord?” he asked, his voice not quite a whisper.
Bairith rubbed one of the smooth-worn teeth. “Surely it is of value to you.
Do you not wish to keep it to wear yourself?”
“I got it for you. I—” How utterly Bairith-like to turn the goodness of giving a gift into a thoughtless mistake. His refusal to give a direct answer devalued the gift itself. “I thought wrongly. I beg your forgiveness.”
Pain was energy. Sherakai drew on the misery of uncountable days and let it fill him. He dismissed the insult of rejection in favor of the injuries Bairith inflicted on him. His terrified family killed with his own hands, dead villagers, beatings and breaking meant to make him somehow better.
“Come now, it was a charming thought, my son. Here, I shall wear it for you.” Bairith lifted the ornament to place around his neck, placating.
“As it please you.” He kept his gaze downcast and the anger out of his voice. The torc had not been his goal at Tanoshi after all, merely a diversion.
“And the present I sent you? What did you think of the boy? He is handsome and biddable, and I don’t expect you’ll have any trouble training him to suit you. He cost me an outrageous amount of coin and considerable attention to bring him along this far.”
“You are giving me a slave?”
“Do not act so surprised. You’ll require one to attend to your personal needs.” He took his wine to the fire.
“I don’t know how to thank you, sir. You are too generous. I fear I will need as much training as he.”
“Pht. False humility does not sit well on you,” said he who demanded humility and subservience. “Do try not to break him.”
“As it please you, sir.”
“Are you testing my patience? Sit. I want to hear about your sergeant and how he handled the troop after the captain’s death.” He stirred the wine, peering into the murky depths.
The question set the tone for Sherakai’s return. Every morning, he broke his fast with the jansu. Every evening they ended the day together at table arrayed with extravagant food. There were always an excessive number of servants, and exorbitant gifts to show the jansu’s love and adoration for his son. Conversation tended toward the inane. He surmised that he was being tested yet again. They discussed the food, jewelry, fashion trends in the capital, and frivolous stories about the aristocracy. The jansu insisted upon teaching Sherakai a new dance.
Flesh and Bone Page 40
