Locklear nodded, as if musing to himself, but spoke to the others: If Beruck and Butar were allied …?
James’s reply was abrupt: Not likely. Our intelligence says if anything there’s a great deal of strain between the Inner Legion and the Dog Soldiers.
So, if the Dog Soldiers were occupied …? mused Erland.
Say up on the border of the Kingdom, finished James, Beruck and his Inner Legion would have a powerful voice in matters down here on the shores of the Overn Deep.
Perhaps even enough to outweigh the Imperial Charioteers, added Locklear.
Kafi said, ‘Perhaps we should begin moving downward, Prince Erland. That way we shall not have any risk of a breach of courtesy.’
Erland said, ‘Please. Lead on.’
A group of guards fell in around Erland and his companions, and the Prince was momentarily startled. He did not notice them approaching in the crowd. They made no cry nor did they need to. People on the ramp behind the boxes seemed to sense their approach instinctively and give way. James observed, ‘At this social strata, people seem to be alert to the possible approach of someone of greater rank.’
Kafi gave a shrug with a gesture of his hands down and outward, and said ‘Ma’lish,’ which Erland knew was Beni – Kafi’s native language – for, ‘I’m sorry,’ but actually meant, ‘Disasters happen.’ It was what the Beni-speaking people called kismet or fate, the will of the gods.
The name Lord Ravi intruded upon Erland’s awareness and he glanced back to see another colourful group of men entering. Each man in front had a shaved head, save for a scalplock down the centre, combed high and kept erect by a pomade or wax. A fall of horsehair, died to match the wearer’s natural colour and tied by a leather thong woven into the scalplock, descended down their backs to the buttocks. The men wore only a loincloth covered by a long flap of leather, worked with beads and gems in ornate design, and their bodies were oiled to a gloss. Their skin was sunburned, but seemed lighter than most Keshians, with a reddish cast. Most of the men were dark haired. Then behind came younger men, who wore their hair long, tied behind in imitation of the horsehair fall, but with ringlets loose at the ears. These wore brightly coloured leather armour, with wide flaring at the top, giving them an exaggerated breadth of shoulders. They also wore only loincloths, rather than trousers. All wore soft leather boots tied at mid-calf.
Erland stopped his party a moment. ‘Kafi, who are they?’
Kafi could barely conceal his contempt. ‘Ashuntai horsemen, my Prince. Those in front are the great chiefs, and those behind are their noble kinsmen. Lord Ravi is Master of the Brothers of the Horse. They are an order of cavalry who are descended from the finest warriors the nation of Ashunta could field. They are among the most difficult people …’ Kafi realized he almost let an opinion slip and said, ‘They were conquered with great difficulty, lord and still hold strongly to their own national identity. It is only because they have been allowed to rise highly in the court that they remain loyal to the Empire.’
And because their city-state is on the wrong side of the Girdle of Kesh, added James, with a humorous feeling to his thoughts. General Aber Bukar had to threaten their city to get them to put cavalry in the field against the rebellious Confederacy, according to our reports.
As the group resumed their travel to the bottom of the amphitheatre, Erland said, ‘I don’t see any women. Is there a reason for that?’
Kafi said, ‘The Ashuntai are a strange people. Their women,’ he glanced at Gamina, as if not wishing to give offence, ‘are considered property. They are bartered and bought and sold.
The Ashuntai do not count them human.’ If Kafi found this distasteful, he hid it well.
Erland couldn’t resist the opportunity. ‘Isn’t it true that your own people give women little freedom?’
Kafi’s dark skin coloured as the blood rose in his cheek. ‘It does appear so. Highness, as we have been taught by our forefathers. But we are also a people who have learned from our neighbours, and we no longer trade our daughters for camels. Even when we did, our women had rights that were upheld by our laws.’ He glanced over his shoulder to the box where Lord Ravi’s company sat.
‘But they sell their female children, and if a woman troubles a man, he is free to do with her as he wishes, including killing her. They are taught to despise warm feelings; to love a woman is to be weak. Desire and lust they count necessary for breeding sons, but love is …’ Kafi shrugged. ‘Among my own people we have a saying, “Even the highest-born man is but a servant in his own bedchamber.” Many of our best rulers take counsel in the arms of their wives, to the benefit of their nation.
‘But those people,’ Kafi glanced down. ‘Forgive me. I do not mean to lecture.’
‘No,’ said Gamina. ‘By all means, do. I find this fascinating.’ To the others, she said, He has a personal dislike for the Ashuntai that goes beyond any objection to their social customs. He truly hates them.
Kafi said, ‘A long time ago, when I was a boy, my father served She Who Is Kesh, honours upon her line, before me. Here, I came to know one who was Lord Ravi’s son. We were boys in the palace, that is all we knew. Ravi’s son, Ranavi, was a fine boy and we used to ride together. Who the best horsemen in the Empire are – the Ashuntai or we of the Jal-Pur – is an open question. They are almost without doubt the finest light cavalry in the world, but we number the best scouts and endurance riders in the Empire. We would often race our horses on the grasslands beyond the city gate, his Ashuntai pony and my desert horse. We became friends after a fashion.
‘There was a girl. An Ashuntai girl who I came to know.’ Keeping his face a mask, Kafi said, ‘I attempted to barter for her, in their fashion, but Ravi made her a prize at one of their festivals. She was won by one of their warriors and he took her to his home. She became his third or fourth wife, I believe.’ He waved his hand, as if this were a long ago, nearly forgotten incident. ‘They bind their women with collars of leather and lead them on chains in public. They do not let them wear clothing, save a loincloth, even in cold weather. The fact of their being without clothing is of little importance to the true-blood, but the Empress, blessings upon her, as her mother before, finds their treatment of their women personally distasteful. Lord Ravi and the others have enough political acumen not to bring down the Empress’s disapproval, so their women are never brought to the palace. It has not always been so. The Empress’s grandfather, it is said, had a decided preference for very young Ashuntai girls. It is said that it is because of the Ashuntai’s willingness to provide him with as many as he required for his … amusement, that the Brothers of the Horse were allowed to rise so high in the court of the Empire. It is only the fact they are not trueblood that keeps them second to the Order of Imperial Charioteers in importance within the Gallery of Lords and Masters.’
‘Upon such things are the strengths of nations founded,’ Locky remarked drily.
‘It is so,’ replied Kafi.
They reached the bottom of the long ramp and a line of guards stood upon either side, keeping the crowds away from the staging area for those who would enter and be presented to the court. Erland’s guards were waiting for him below, wearing the full dress uniform of the Kingdom, and the badge of the Royal Krondorian Palace Guard upon their chest. Erland noted with some amusement the Quegan delegate stood behind his men, fuming at the Kingdom of the Isles being given precedence over his own nation.
Erland returned his attention to Kafi’s story. ‘Ranavi sought to steal the girl for me, as a gift. It is also part of their culture that if you can successfully steal a woman from a rival – carrying her away to your own home – you may keep her. Ranavi was not quite seventeen years of age when he attempted to steal back his own sister from the man who had won her at the festival. He died in the attempt.’
Without a note of bitterness or emotion as he spoke, Kafi said, ‘This, you can see, is why I have some difficulty appreciating the better qualities of the Ashuntai.’ Softly, he added,
‘Whatever they may be.’
Gamina looked at the desertman with sympathy, but said nothing.
They had been standing in place for ten minutes, waiting to move up to the entrance to the amphitheatre. No one had spoken since Kafi had related the story of his friend. Locklear decided it was a good time to change the subject. ‘My lord Kafi, where are the delegates from the Free Cities?’
‘Absent, my lord,’ answered Kafi. ‘They would not send anyone to the Jubilee. Those people who once were Imperial Bosania still have no official dealings with the Empire.’
‘Old grudges die hard,’ said James.
Erland said, ‘I don’t understand. Queg and the Empire have had three wars in my lifetime, and there have been several border skirmishes between the Isles and Kesh. Why is it different with the Free Cities?’
As they moved into place in the procession, Kafi said, ‘Those who live in what you call the Free Cities were once our loyal subjects. When the first revolt of the Confederacy occurred, ages past, Kesh stripped all her garrisons north of the Jal-Pur, leaving those colonists to fend for themselves. Queg, on the other hand, had successfully revolted a decade before. Queg is a successful revolutionary nation. Your own Kingdom was always foreign, but the Free Cities are a people who were betrayed by their own rulers. They were farmers and tavern keepers, left to defend themselves.’
Erland thought about this as they moved forward a few steps in anticipation of being announced. He glanced at the upper gallery, and saw it was quickly filling up as the last of the lords and masters were entering. What had been Bosania, part of which was now the Kingdom’s own duchy of Crydee, conquered by Erland’s own great, great grandfather, was a terribly harsh land, inhabited by goblins, trolls, and the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. Without soldiers, it must have been years of constant struggle just to survive. Erland could understand why those of the Free Cities could still hold a grudge against the Empire.
Then he heard his name announced and Kafi said, ‘Highness. It is time.’
As one, the entire company set off, only Gamina not walking in military lockstep, as they trod the flat stone floor of the amphitheatre. It took a full five minutes to cross the vast base of the bowl, but at last, under the scorching sun of Kesh, the Prince of the Isles was formally presented to the Empress of Great Kesh. And not until this moment did Erland really understand what had been true since Borric’s disappearance. He, not his brother, now stood before the mightiest ruler in the world, and he someday might find her successor his deadliest enemy, for he, not Borric, would someday be King of the Isles. And not since he had been a little boy held in his mother’s arms had Erland felt so frightened.
The presentation went by in a blur. Erland hardly recalled being introduced to the formal court, and could hardly remember speaking the words he had been forced to memorize. As no one remarked or laughed, he assumed he said them properly, and he couldn’t remember what the delegations behind him had said. He now sat at the lowest level of the amphitheatre, on the bench of stone set aside for the delegates who came to offer wishes of health and prosperity to the Empress on her Seventy-Fifth Jubilee. Trying to focus himself, despite his unexpected attack of fear, he said, ‘Kafi, why has the festival been held off this long past Banapis?’
Kafi said, ‘Unlike your people, we of Kesh do not count the Festival of Midsummer as the date of our birth. Here, each man who knows it, celebrates the event of his birth on the day he was born. So, as She Who Is Kesh was given to the world by the gods on the fifteenth day of Dzanin, so her birth is celebrated upon that day. It will be the last day of Jubilee.’
Erland said, ‘How odd. To celebrate your birthday on the actual day you were born. Why there must be dozens of little celebrations each day. I would feel cheated if I were to miss the great festival at Banapis.’
‘Different customs,’ Locklear remarked.
A servant, wearing the garb of the trueblood, appeared before the Prince and bowed low. He held out a scroll, sealed with a golden ribbon. Kafi, acting as the official guide and protocol officer, took the scroll. He glanced at the wax seal and said, ‘I suspect this is personal.’
Erland said, ‘Why?’
‘It bears the chop of the Princess Sharana.’ He passed it to Erland, who pulled on the ribbon, breaking the seal. He read the immaculate script slowly, as he had never been gifted with the written high language of Imperial Kesh. As he read, Gamina began to laugh.
James turned suddenly, fearful for an instant that his wife was inadvertently revealing her ability to hear thoughts, but as he did, Gamina said, ‘Why, Erland, I swear you’re blushing.’
Erland smiled, putting the scroll into his belt. ‘Ah … just the sun, I suspect,’ he said, but he couldn’t hide the embarrassed smile that refused to leave his mouth alone.
‘What is it?’ said Locklear playfully.
‘An invitation,’ said Erland.
‘For what?’ asked Locklear. ‘We dine in formal reception with the Empress tonight.’
Unable to keep from grinning, Erland said, ‘It’s for … after dinner.’
James and Locklear exchanged knowing glances. Then Locklear said, ‘Kafi, is that how the trueblood make … arrangements?
To … call on each other, I mean.’
Kafi shrugged. ‘It is not unheard of, though the Princess, being so highly born, can stretch the boundaries of … decorum more than others, if you follow.’
‘What about the Princess Sojiana?’ asked Locklear
James grinned. ‘I was wondering when you’d get around to that one.’
Gamina narrowed her eyes a bit. ‘That one?’
‘A figure of speech, my love. Locky is known in court for trying … er, to get to know every pretty woman that comes into view.’
Kafi said, ‘If you send a note requesting a meeting with the Princess, be prepared for it to be but one of many she receives every day. Besides, it is said that these days she is … spending time with Lord Ravi, so I expect your note would be politely … ignored.’
Locklear sat back, attempting to find a comfortable position upon the stone, hard and unyielding despite the ornate cushion placed atop it. ‘Well, I’ll just have to find a way to get to meet her, I expect. Once I have a chance to speak with her …’
Kafi made the gesture for ‘things happen’ again ‘Ma’lish.’
James glanced at Erland, who was off in a world of his own, thinking, James suspected, about the Princess Sharana. To Gamina, James silently said, Kafi isn’t saying something about the Princess Sojiana. Can you tell what it is?
No, she answered. But I have an impression at the mention of her name.
What is it?
Extreme danger.
Locklear adjusted his tunic for what might have been the one hundredth time since leaving the guest wing of the palace. He had been surprised to discover a message from Princess Sojiana waiting for him upon returning from an afternoon ride with Erland. James and Gamina had been ‘resting,’ in their quarters, a convenient excuse to allow James to attempt to reach his agent in the palace. As the official protocol representative of the Isles with Erland, Locklear had accompanied him on a somewhat dull tour of the city on horseback.
He had quickly showered and changed after returning to the Prince’s apartment and receiving the Princess’s note. Kafi had informed him that among the truebloods of the royal family, the invitation could be anything from purely social to deeply political. With a wry smile he pointed out it could be both.
Erland was resting in the afternoon heat, as was the custom, and Locklear had no social obligations until the evening meal, which again would be with the Empress and her close family, at the ninth hour after midday. Locklear strode down the hallway feeling slightly nervous, a mix of anticipation and wariness. It had been many years since a woman had made him feel caution, and he relished the tension.
Guards announced him as the servant led Locklear through the entrance to the Crown Princesses’ quarters, and he was ushered into a
n antechamber divided from other portions of the Princess’s apartment by hanging curtains of translucent fabric. He could see Sojiana approach, moving like a big cat, with lithe purpose and supple steps, even before she entered the room.
She wore only her small skirt and her hair was free of all ornaments. ‘Baron Locklear,’ she said with a smile that caused Locklear to feel a shock in his stomach. She was easily the most stunning woman he had ever encountered, and she carried herself with an open air of femininity that would have been scandalous by Kingdom standards, a flaunting of her femininity that was natural in this setting. For an instant, Locklear attempted to imagine what she would look like dressed in one of the ornate court gowns preferred by the Princess Anita and her daughter back in Krondor, and failed.
Locklear, despite his immediate attraction for the woman, kept his poise and bowed. ‘Highness, how may I be of service?’
She smiled and the curve of her lips was as seductive as anything he had seen in his life. ‘How may you, indeed?’ Then she laughed. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I have a sense of playfulness that I indulge too often. My experience with your countrymen is that you are easily embarrassed by the women of my people. It’s a small flaw of character and I wish to apologize.’
Locklear smiled, almost a grin, and said, ‘A tiny flaw, then, Highness.’
She waved for him to sit on a divan with a small table before it, and with a motion of her hand, indicated chilled wine be brought forth. Two goblets were filled by a young woman who at any other time would have had Locklear’s attention, but who in this company he barely noticed. He sipped at the wine and his eyebrows went up. ‘This is very good!’
She smiled and rather than sitting on the divan opposite, came to sit next to him. ‘It’s from your nation, Baron. From the Darkmoor region. Your latest ambassador gave some to the royal family as a gift and I enjoyed it so much I purchased a large shipment last year.’
Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer Page 28
