“They are aiming at Yarik,” Grano said, pointing. His pennants were down; most every horse and man around him was already struck. Yarik was there, a dozen men on top of him. Ping. Ping. Ping. And three more fell.
I turned to see Tanner riding in upon a fresh Akal-Tak with a wicked saber in hand.
“Liv, no!” Travijion screamed before she hacked deep into the side of his neck. His mule bolted, and the pair pitched into the fetid waters. Tanner turned without a word and started toward the trail.
“Liv?” I said—lost to what I was witnessing.
She looked back at me, her beauty too great for a tired man to behold. She had lied to me. Only one girl had escaped Dagoda, and her name was not Tanner. Her name was Liv, and she’d led us straight into Sahin’s trap.
“You are off my list,” she said to me and galloped down the swampy trail where so many Hurdu languished.
My tired horse was not fit to pursue her, and the Hurdu were too busy dying to realize the sleek dun that raced by. The few that gave chase were quickly struck with arrows, and she was away.
I would have laughed if an arrow had not shrieked overhead.
“Away!” Okel ordered and seized my reins. The snap of my head away from Liv was a painful shock, and it woke me to the screaming world.
The Hurdu, in their bright metal armor and gleaming yellow capes, were being slaughtered.
I stole one glance across at my brother. He was lying in the mud, a trio of dead horses and a dozen men littered around him. One shaft had stabbed through the armor above his shoulder, but perhaps too high to hit meat. His was a lucky day.
The patter and clang of the arrows trailed off as my brigade hurried east and out of range. Sahin must have run out of arrows because there was nothing else to stop him firing at Yarik the rest of the day. A soft call was heard, and horses stood up upon the isthmus. Forty fit men mounted and rode away.
Grano approached. “Should I find a volunteer, sir?”
At first, I thought he meant in order to kill Yarik where he lay vulnerable upon the field. But the lad did not have the icy guts of my chief.
“What?”
“Sir? Hundreds of Hurdu are dead, and the bandits have escaped. Bessradi will want someone to blame. You have to get word back to your father first. Let me find a volunteer to carry a letter to him.”
There were no bright-eyed guardsmen left. Each was weary and bedraggled. Hurdu packed the road back home, and I had no clear idea of what I could report that would lay the blame at Yarik’s feet.
Grano reached this conclusion independently. He slumped, saluted me, and rode back to his command.
A happy chord strummed my sickened guts as we turned back toward Doctrice. Tanner would be there in camp, waiting for me to lie down next to her. I believed it for several wonderful moments, and continued along like a chicken without its head, flapping about as though the world was something I could still escape.
Tanner would not be there. Her name wasn’t even Tanner.
I’d been betrayed.
But, I was still smiling. Why?
I was off her list.
22
Boatswain Soma O’Nropeel
The 10th of Spring, 1196
The lap of calm waves upon the side of the ship was the only sound that starry night. The exhausted crew was asleep below, the sail down, the oars in.
The glow of my solitary lantern held away the night, but for only the reach of an arm before it was eaten up by the darkness of the measureless ocean.
It was the thinnest planks of wood beneath my feet—a bit of wood and a handful of nails holding me up from the vastness.
So quiet.
The stars told the story. To leeward, they were hidden behind a wall of clouds as black as the sea. My ears wrung still from the howl of the wind and the crack of canvas. My hands stung from the pull of the ropes, and my arms and legs were numb from the oars.
The storm had threatened us most of the day, a slow soaker with big rolling waves. We had nearly made it to the shelter of the Heneuran coast before we were forced to turn and ride out the dreadful storm. We were off course—somewhere near the Raydau town of Moorsmoth and its shoals and patrolling ships.
Of our sister ship, there was no sign.
A crab swam lazily by on its side—or was it wounded, perhaps? I was not sure which until I recalled our distance from the shore.
Helmsman Rindsfar came up to take his turn on watch, and I went down to find what sleep I could before the dawn.
23
Arilas Barok Yentif
The 12th of Spring, 1196
“More or less what you expected,” Gern said as I finished reading his report of the thousand-odd people just coming into view upon the carriageway. I handed the sheet to Selt, nodded my agreement, and tried to ignore the chafe of my high collar. I wished I’d had more practice wearing formal attire. I’d not worn so many layers of silk since I was paraded along the Bessradi River by my father. Selt looked just as uncomfortable.
“Your scout didn’t date the report,” I said. “What is today, the 12th?”
“Sorry, my lord,” Gern replied. “I’ve never been very good at counting the days.”
“You can thank the magnificence of the prophets,” Selt said. “They love things in fours. Four seasons to a year, four prayers to a day, four stations to a prayer. They wrote all manner of books on the beauty of the number. The laws even favor things that number four.”
“They couldn’t have come up with something simpler than a 94 day season?” Gern asked. “Before Prince Barok arrived, no one in Enhedu could agree on what day it was.”
“Sadly, no,” Selt said. “Ninety-four is not divisible by four, only by two.”
Gern scoffed and then looked sideways at the reeve. “Hold on a moment. There are two prayers each day, not four.”
“Ahh, you would think so, but you cannot count the prayers of priests and the prayers of men together. Each must be counted separately.”
“So, two for the priests, and two for everyone else. That sounds like dividing by two to me.”
“No, Captain. It counts to four. The prophets are quite clear on this point.”
“Bless their wisdom,” Gern said with remarkable aplomb, despite the ridiculousness of the conversation on so busy a morning. Selt wisely closed his mouth and allowed Gern to finish his report.
He said, “I also have word of a single ship making its way up from Almidi. Could be Leger and Geart, but it would be odd for them to leave their men behind. Whoever it is, one of Mercanfur’s barges could deliver them upriver any moment.”
“Get one of your men down to the mooring, just in case. We need to keep Geart and Leger away until I know the intention of these envoys. I don’t want to lose the excuse of their absence.”
I thanked him and led the pair down to meet the ready bunch that waited on us in the grassy plaza between the palisade and the keep’s curtain wall. My envoys were as well dressed as ever, and Dia and Pemini were in proper court dresses as bright as indigo flowers. The beauty of the linen and all its finery distracted me from the work they must have done to fit Dia into that corset and dress.
“Does it hurt?” I asked her.
“Only when I breathe,” she said with that smile of hers that left me unsure if she was telling the truth. She took my arm without further comment.
“Any surprises in the crowd?” Erom asked.
Selt shook his head but read straight from Gern’s report. “700 assorted persons seeking employment and the guard and retinue of the following: royal messenger, tax collector, stipend carrier, and representatives of Lord Vall, the Sten, and Minister Sikhek, too, I believe.”
“Minister Sikhek?” Pemini said with alarm. “Isn’t he a Hessier?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t clear,” Gern said. “Sikhek himself is not here. He just sent an envoy—a red-faced man with all kinds of hair and jokes. No Hessier in this group.”
The sound of the approaching throng drew
our attention. They were just in sight through the opened palisade drawbridge. My father’s messenger and his Hemari escort rode forward of the rest as though they were the vanguard of this odd little army. The man was the same capital-spawned nobleman’s son who had carried my father’s letters the previous year.
My envoys and guards arrayed themselves behind me. Dia moved off to my right behind the line of greencoats. It was as visible as a Yentif wife could be without causing outrage.
I waved the messenger forward and asked, “You did not let one man in front of you upon the road the whole way, did you?”
He missed my humor. “Lord Prince, no man or beast hindered this divine communication.”
I shut my mouth and took the letter case before I could say anything to offend him. He and the rest would take a great many tales of me and my town back to Bessradi. I put on a Yentif face and did what any royal would do—I read the letter on the spot and made every other person there wait for me to finish it.
The 1st of Spring, 1196
* * *
My son,
News of your victory against the Pormes last year has done much to ease the woes of Zoviya. Victory is a curative as certain as the blue light of our Lord.
* * *
Your brothers Evand and Yarik have similarly shown their quality. I have given command of the Hurdu 1st to Yarik as reward for graduating from the Academy two years early, and Evand remains our Hemari rock in the East.
* * *
My sons have become extensions of Bayen’s will: Yarik my sword, you my shield, and Evand the savage heart that beats with love for our divine blood. With such loyal, fierce, and marshal sons, no enemy will ever rise above the toe of my boot before it is crushed.
* * *
In furtherance of our family’s divine mission upon this earth I wish for you to raise a new division by the 60th day of Spring that will be attached to your royal person: 6,000 men of foot and 2,000 of horse. I have increased your stipend accordingly to 64,000 weights of gold each spring and autumn. You may not name them Hemari, though you may continue to uniform and train them as you see fit.
* * *
I hasten to remind you of the limitation upon this force and your person so there can be no misunderstanding of its intent. You and it are forbidden from entering the Kaaryon.
* * *
The mission of this force is the preservation of your person and to provide a pillar of stability for the turbulent North. A royal envoy accompanies this letter. Humor him. The court has concerns that I am certain you can alleviate. The Sten and Minister have sent men of their own. I trust that they will leave Enhedu similarly satisfied by your house and affairs.
* * *
May Bayen’s light find you and keep you,
Vall Yentif, the Father and Exaltier of Zoviya
I handed the empty case back to the messenger. “You are dismissed with my compliments. Please await my reply upon the practice field.” He bowed and scurried away as he was supposed to. His Hemari marched after him.
As soon as they began to depart, the group seeking employment began to rush through the gates. They were a noisy bunch. I gestured for Erom and Selt to take care of them. Several troops of greencoats went with them.
I tried to get a look up the road at the envoys, but the crowd blocked my view. I tapped the crisp vellum sheets upon my thigh. The textured edge caught upon the tight weave of my silk robes, and for a moment it was like I was standing upon the Deyalu. I understood the letter perfectly. My father had not changed.
Father had not given me permission to raise a division—I already had the right to do that as Arilas of Enhedu. He wanted command of my greencoats.
Over my dead body, father.
The noise of the crowd rose sharply, and I was yanked away from the words on the page to men moving at speed. Swords had been drawn, and a man was down near Dia with two greencoat spears in his chest. A wall of greencoats formed around her.
“Greetings, Prince Barok,” a man said as he stepped free of the jostling crowd.
I could not remember his name, but I knew his face and movements at once. He was a Bessradi swordmaster who I’d wounded in a duel over my manual of sword. He’d switched to a left-handed short sword that was no match for my Bessradi steel, but neither his handicap nor the quality of his weapon seemed to matter to him.
“You have a new art you think will serve you better?” I asked.
He was not interested in debating the art. His pace carried him forward, our swords came free, and he tensed for a lunge.
Switching to lefty had destroyed his form. I found the measure between us, and I struck, fast and clean along the blade of his clumsy short sword.
He did not bat at my sword, or lurch backward as his tension dictated that he must. He leaned, instead, like the neck of a dancing swan and guided the tip of my reaching rapier into the emptiness between his body and arm.
He’d baited me!
And forward he came, inside my guard from the elegance of his parry. I retreated, but the advantage was all his. His face was a twist of hate as he thrust certainly toward my heart.
His face began to glow, and a blue light stole his rage. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees. I stumbled back and searched for my savior. Horace, some twenty paces away, let go of his healing song.
I started back toward the swordmaster as the nearby greencoats converged.
“Don’t kill him,” Gern said.
I had every intention of killing him. A guardsman beat me to him, though, and slammed him to the ground with a kick to the side of the head. The rest took hold of him.
“There could be others,” I said to Gern.
“There will always be others,” Gern said. “That’s why we want him alive.”
Dia crossed and waved off our looks of concern. “I know them both,” she said. Her breathing was labored inside the confines of the corset, though in truth, I was equally out of breath from the suddenness of the duel.
“I know the swordmaster,” I said as he was gagged, bound, and rushed away. The dead man went, too. “Who was the other?”
“Erik Feseq,” Dia said. “He was the bluecoat lieutenant Prince Yarik sent after me. He is the one I stole Clever from.”
“Yarik,” I said though my teeth. “His mother is a Feseq. I should have sent Leger after him. He’ll never stop trying to kill me.”
Gern had got busy while we talked. His greencoats had pushed the crowd back into a tidy half circle around the gates, and the quality of the crowd struck me for the first time. They were poor men, with few clothes and fewer possessions. Their smell was forgivable for any traveler of my long mountain road. But no tools? No livestock? No carts bearing wares? These were not craftsmen in search of work. These were men without credentials. Half were escaped slaves, if I was any judge of such men.
The court has concerns, my father had said.
“Selt, Erom,” I called, and the pair separated themselves from the tangle. “Change of plans. Do not sign anyone who does not bear credentials.”
“What?” Dia said. “They are no different than the slaves you freed after the Battle of Urnedi.”
“Those men belonged to Kuren Pormes and were surrendered to me. They were my property by the laws of Zoviya when I freed them,” I said.
“You cannot send them back. You know what will happen to them.”
“Those men are the property of others. If I do not return them to the Kaaryon, the Council of Lords could sanction me on behalf of any injured party for the full amount of the loss plus any penalty they see fit. The more likely outcome is the arrival of an army raised by their owners. The theft of a slave is a high crime. You know that. And the envoys will be watching.”
But I could not stop looking at them—a father holding his shirtless son and a pockmarked young woman with lash scars on her neck and shoulders who stood utterly alone. I was about to put them in chains and send them south over the mountains.
“Barok, there mu
st be something … are you okay?”
“Yes. No …” I said but lost my words as I searched the sad faces.
My eyes and ears tingled for a moment before being lost to me entirely. I lost feeling in my arms and legs next as the ghosts that possessed me crowded inside my head.
Kyoden not now!
24
Geart Goib
We’d switched from Mercanfur’s ship to a pony-drawn barge at the mouth of the river. Its south bank had been cleared and leveled for the team, but it hardly made sense that eight ponies could pull the well-loaded barge upstream. Mercanfur’s bargeman claimed it would take just two if he didn’t have the springtime current to contend with, and just one upon a proper canal. I’d called him a liar. He told me to shut my mouth or swim home. Avin pulled me forward and counseled me on my impatience.
We didn’t have much else to say, Avin and I. For me, it was the view that filled my thoughts. Seeing Enhedu again warmed my bones. I felt as though I’d caught my breath.
Avin continued to frown into the water.
“Seasick again?” I asked.
“Hmm? No,” he said. “I keep thinking about Leger. We should not have left him behind.”
“That’s a waste of worry. He took it hard, but he’ll be fine.”
Forgotten Stairs Page 9
