The stout caravan master looked down upon Suli, perspiration beading upon his hairless head as he said, “Good Luck Cook?”
Ghuda nodded, as if it was something so obvious he needn’t comment upon. “Yes.”
“What, O Master of Ten Thousand Lice, is a Good Luck Cook?”
“When I was guard on Taymus Rioden’s caravan from Querel to Ashunta, seven years back, we were raided by bandits. Struck as if by lightning. Had no time to even get out a prayer to the Death Goddess.” He made a good luck sign, as did the caravan master. “But I survived as did my Good Luck Cook. Not another man did. I have always had my Good Luck Cook with me since.”
“As that boy can be no more than twelve summers, Father of Prevaricators, he must have been precocious indeed to have been a caravan cook seven years ago.”
“Oh, it wasn’t him,” said Ghuda, shaking his head as if that should be obvious. “Different cook. You see, I was down in the gully with my britches around my ankles with the worst case of runs in my life when the bandits struck. Couldn’t even get up to fight. They just never found me.”
“And how did the cook survive?”
“He was squatting a few feet away.”
“And what happened to him?” asked the caravan master, squinting down at Ghuda with interest.
“I killed the bastard for almost poisoning me.”
The caravan master couldn’t help himself but laugh. When he was through, Ghuda said, “The boy’ll cause you no trouble. He can help the cook around the campfire at night and you needn’t pay him. Just let him eat a full meal every day until we reach Kesh.”
“Done!” said the master, spitting in his hand and extending it. Ghuda spit in his and they shook. “I can always use a good liar around the fire at night. Make the journey pass quickly.” To Suli he said, “Go find my cook, boy.” He hiked his finger over his shoulder to where a cook wagon could be seen amidst a dozen freight wagons. “Tell him you’re to be his new cook’s monkey.”
Suli looked to Borric, who nodded he should go. As Suli left, the caravan master said, “I am Janos Sabér, trader from Kesh. We leave at first light tomorrow.”
Ghuda unslung the small bundle he carried over his shoulder. “We’ll sleep under your wagons tonight.”
“Good. Now, leave me, as I need four more guards before nightfall.”
Borric and Ghuda wandered from the spot and found some shade under a widely spreading tree. Ghuda took his helm off and ran his hand over his sweaty face. “Might as well rest now, Madman. Tomorrow it gets really miserable.”
“Miserable?” asked Borric.
“Yes, Madman. Today we’re merely hot and bored. Tomorrow we will be thirsty, dirty, tired, hot, and bored.”
Borric crossed his arms on his chest and tried to rest. He knew that it had been drilled into him since boyhood that a soldier steals rest whenever the opportunity appears. But his mind raced. How was Erland faring and what was transpiring in Kesh? By his estimate, Erland and the others should be in Kesh by now. Was Erland safe? Did they count Borric dead, or merely missing?
Sighing aloud, he settled down. Soon he was dozing in the afternoon heat, the noise of the busy caravansary becoming lulling in its own fashion.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HUNTING
THE LION STOOD MOTIONLESS.
Erland watched with interest as the cat waited with eyes fixed upon a grazing herd of grassland antelopes. Erland sat on his horse, next to James and Locklear, and the desert man, Kafi Abu Harez. Arrayed nearby were a half dozen chariots, the traditional centerpiece to Kesh’s army. The Commander of the Imperial Charioteers, Lord Jaka, watched as his son Diigai made ready to hunt the cat. The elderly commander’s face was set in stoic repose, as if carved from weathered black stone, showing no emotion at his son’s approaching confrontation.
Kafi pointed to where the lion hunkered down in the tall grass. He said to Erland, “This young male has no pride.” Erland took note of the huge animal, much larger than the small lion that hunted the mountains in parts of the Kingdom. Also this one had a huge mane that was nearly black, while the lions Erland had seen were completely tawny. This was a truly magnificent animal. “He hunts for himself,” continued Kafi. “If the lion survives this day, he will someday be a fat, lazy fellow with lionesses to hunt for him.”
“Might he survive?” asked Locklear.
Kafi shrugged. “Most likely not. It is as the gods will. The boy may not leave the field unless he is disabled, which is much the same as death for one of his rank. His father is among the most important lords in the Empire, so to be reduced to the rank of a sahdareen—a nonhunter—would be more shame than the family could endure and retain its influence. The boy would most likely go out and do something terribly foolish and brave, but die nevertheless, to expiate the shame.”
The lion padded forward silently, head low and eyes fixed upon his quarry. He had already marked a weak herd member, a young calf or a sickly old buck or doe. Then the wind shifted and, as one, the heads of the antelopes came up. Black noses twitched as the herd tested the wind for the scent of approaching danger.
Abruptly, one buck sprang up in a seemingly impossible four-footed jump, and the herd was off. The lion sprang after, using an unusual burst of speed to overtake the rear of the herd. An old doe, weakened by age, kicked at the lion, causing the animal to veer a moment. The young lion stood in confusion. Antelope weren’t supposed to do that, he was certain. Then the lion picked up a new scent on the breeze and realized suddenly that he was no longer the predator but the prey.
At that moment, Diigai gave a shout and his driver cracked his whip and called for his horses to give pursuit. That was the signal, and the hunt was on. Erland and his companions put heels to their mounts and galloped to keep up with the chariots.
In a military maneuver, the chariots fanned out to intercept the lion if it broke right or left. Hunting calls filled the air as the young Keshian hunters cried ancient invocations of their hunting god, Guis-wa. Seen as a dark god in the Kingdom, the Red-Jawed Hunter was a major deity in Kesh and patron god of all Keshian hunters.
The lion raced over the grassy plain. It could not run long effectively, and there was no clear hiding place in sight. Diigai and the other charioteers moved after the fleeing cat.
Suddenly James reined in, calling Erland to halt. The Kingdom riders pulled in, as did Kafi Abu Harez. “What?” asked Erland.
James said, “Just give that organized confusion a moment to get ahead of us, that’s all. I wouldn’t want you to find yourself in front of it accidentally.”
Erland was about to protest, then realized what James was telling him. It was the sort of scene that would lend itself to an “accident.” He nodded and turned his mount, bringing her to a canter, fast enough to see what was occurring ahead without the risk of being caught up in the hunt.
Suddenly the chariots were reining in, giving Diigai ample room to face the lion. By the time Erland’s party caught up, Diigai was off his chariot, stalking the lion with a long spear and hide shield.
Erland said, “Those are pretty primitive weapons to be hunting a cat of that size. Why not use a bow?”
Kafi said, “This is his manhood rite. He is a very important boy, being the eldest son of Lord Jaka. The trueblood will use a bow to kill an animal raiding his herd, but to be a great hunter—a simbani—to have a lion’s-mane headdress for formal occasions, you must use the weapons of your ancestors.”
Erland nodded and moved his horse next to Diigai’s chariot. His driver, a boy of about the same age, looked on anxiously, obviously concerned for the young noble’s safety. The young hunter was now about fifty yards ahead of his chariot, halfway to where the lion crouched.
The lion waited, his tongue lolling in his mouth as he panted to catch his breath. His eyes darted and his head turned as he attempted to determine if danger was approaching and if so from where. Then he reared up on his haunches and looked around. There was no avenue of escape, as a ring of
chariots stood ready to block his flight in all directions. Then he spied the approaching figure. The lion roared a scream of anger and fear.
Several horses nickered and attempted to move, but their drivers held them steady. Erland turned to Kafi and said, “What if he misses on his throw?”
Kafi said, “He won’t throw. It’s too dangerous. He’ll attempt to goad the lion into charging and set the spear to impale it, or get close enough to stab it.”
That made sense to Erland, as much as any of this barbaric ritual made sense. To hunt down lions, bears, wolves, and wyverns that were raiding herds made sense. To hunt something you couldn’t eat so you could wear its head as a trophy, didn’t. Of course, many were the nobles in the Isles who had a wall or two festooned with the heads of great beasts, so it wasn’t a matter of nationality. He just didn’t feel the need.
Then the lion charged. A slight sound of surprise escaped the lips of several of the charioteers, and it was obvious to Erland and his companions that it was unusual behavior for this breed of lion. Diigai hesitated, and in that instant he lost his opportunity to be ready. His spear was incorrectly set when the lion charged and he gave it only a glancing blow. Suddenly all was confusion: the boy was knocked back, his shield saving him a terrible raking as the lion lashed out blindly at the source of his pain. Then the animal was biting at his flank, as if some enemy was attacking him there. The young man’s spear protruded from his side.
The lion knew only two things, pain and blood. It roared, and the young man attempted to back away while covering himself with the shield. The lion spun in a circle, attempting to bite the spear, then the weapon was dislodged. And Diigai discovered he was on one side of an angry wounded lion with his spear on the other.
“He’ll be killed!” Erland shouted.
Kafi said, “No one will interfere. It’s his right to kill or be killed.” The desert man shrugged. “I don’t see much logic in it myself, but it is the trueblood way.”
Suddenly, Erland pushed back in the saddle, kicking his legs out of his stirrups. He reached under the right knee roll and quickly unbuckled his right stirrup leather. Pulling it free of the saddle, he rebuckled it, and pulled his left stirrup iron up so it wouldn’t strike his horse. Erland wrapped the leather of his right stirrup around his right hand twice, swung the heavy iron in his hand to test the weight and how far he could strike with it. James began to say, “What are you—” but before the question was finished, Erland had his horse off toward the young hunter.
The lion crouched and snarled, and began to move at a fast crawl, keeping low until the moment to spring, but as he neared the young man who held his shield to take the charge a new attack materialized.
Erland charged the lion, striking downward with the heavy stirrup iron. The lion roared in pain and Erland’s horse instinctively danced sideways. The lion spun and swung out with a huge paw, but the horse was away.
The big cat began to move after, then remembered there was another enemy to face.
Erland’s distraction was enough. Diigai sprinted to where his spear lay, and made ready. As Erland returned to his companions, the young Keshian noble shouted his hunter’s cry and the lion turned. Crazed with pain and confused with the attacks from all quarters, the young cat sprang at Diigai. This time the spear was correctly set and it took the lion full in his massive chest. His own momentum carried the lion forward, driving the spearhead into his heart.
The charioteers shouted and the young man stood over the twitching cat. Erland turned his horse, who was shying at the smell of blood. It took a moment to control him without stirrups, but being an excellent horseman, the Prince quickly had the mount turned and trotting away from the shouting trueblood men. A chariot approached and Erland found Lord Jaka passing by. Suddenly the enormity of his impulsive act struck Erland. Had he violated some fundamental law of theirs by distracting the lion? As they passed one another, Erland and Jaka’s eyes met. Erland looked for something in the old man’s glance, approval or condemnation, but as the Master of Charioteers passed, he revealed nothing, gave no sign or gesture to the young Prince.
James came to where Erland sat, reattaching his leathers and irons and said, “Are you mad? What possessed you to do something that foolish?”
Erland said, “He would have been killed. The others would have then killed the lion. Now only the lion is dead. Made sense to me.”
“And if your horse had shied a moment earlier, you could have been the lion’s first victim!” James grabbed Erland’s tunic and pulled him almost off his horse as he drew him closer. “You are not some stupid son of a nameless noble. You are not the idiot child of a wealthy merchant. You are Isles’ next King, for mercy’s sake. If you ever try anything that foolish again, I will personally beat you within an inch of your existence.”
Erland pushed James’s hand away. “I haven’t forgotten that.” Erland circled his horse, anger on his face. “I haven’t forgotten that for an instant, my lord Earl. Not since my brother died!” Suddenly, Erland kicked his mount and was riding at a fast gallop back toward the city. James signaled and the Kingdom honor guard gave chase. They wouldn’t try to stop him, but they wouldn’t let him ride unprotected either.
Locklear came to where James sat, now alone, and said, “The boy’s not making it easy, is he?”
James shook his head. “It’s the sort of thing you or I would have tried at his age.”
Locklear said, “Were we really that stupid?”
“I’m afraid so, Locky.” James glanced around. “They’re taking the lion’s head, so we’ll be heading back to the palace. And they’ll be inviting us to another celebration.”
Locklear grimaced. “Has anyone ever told these people that it’s acceptable for fewer than fifty people to eat together at one time?”
“Apparently not,” answered James, kicking his horse into motion.
“Let’s go soothe our Prince’s wounded pride,” said Locklear.
James looked off toward where Erland rode, closely followed by his guard, and said, “It’s not his pride that’s wounded, Locky.” Glancing at the ceremonial dismemberment of the lion, he said, “Diigai is the same age as Erland … and Borric. Erland misses his brother.” James let out a long breath, almost a loud sigh. “As do we all. Come on, we still need to talk to him.”
Together, the two advisors approached the waiting Kafi Abu Harez, who turned his mount and joined in with them to ride back to the city. As they left the celebrating Keshians, Locklear asked, “Kafi, what has Erland done by taking a hand?”
The desert man said, “I do not know, my lord. Had your young Prince killed the lion, then he would have not only shamed Diigai by showing the world the boy could not hunt, he would have made a powerful enemy in Lord Jaka. As it is, he only distracted the animal, allowing the boy to regain his weapon and kill the cat.” Kafi shrugged and smiled as he spurred his horse to a canter, along with James and Locklear. “Perhaps nothing will come of this. With the trueblood, who can say?”
James said, “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.” They rode the rest of the journey back to the city in silence.
Miya sat behind Erland in the pool, rubbing the tension from his neck and shoulders. They were alone, as Erland had sent away the others. While he had taken advantage of the willingness of the Keshian servingwomen available to him, he had discovered himself returning more and more to Miya’s company. He felt nothing he would call love for the young Keshian servant, but with her he felt the comfort of being able to relax and speak of what bothered him. She seemed to know when to stay silent or when to ask the probing question that cleared up his own confusion. And their lovemaking had progressed from the excitement of newness and raw clashing of desire to a more sedate familiarity of two people who understood one another’s needs.
Another servant entered and said, “Highness, the Lord James asks permission to enter.”
Erland felt like refusing, but realized he would have to speak with James sometime today
, so he nodded once. A moment later, James entered the bathing room.
James looked down upon the nude pair, and if he was startled to discover the girl with Erland, he hid it. He didn’t ask anything of the servant who remained in the room, but removed his cloak and handed it to the young woman, who took it from him. He then crossed over to a small stool, picked it up, and carried it himself to the pool’s side.
Putting the stool down, James sat on it and said, “Well, then. Feeling better?”
Erland said, “No. I’m still angry.”
“Who are you mad at, Erland?”
For a silent moment the frustration was clearly etched on the young man’s face. Then it seemed to wash away as Miya continued to probe at the knots of tension in his neck and shoulders.
“The universe, I guess. The gods of fate and chance. You. My father. Everyone.” Then his voice fell away. “Mostly I’m furious with Borric for getting himself killed.”
James nodded. “I know. I feel that way, too.”
Erland let out a long sigh of tension released and said, “I guess that’s why I did what I did. I just couldn’t see that boy killed by that lion. Maybe the boy’s got a brother—” Words failed him as tears came unbidden. For a moment, Erland sat in the warm pool, his grief manifested for the first time since the bandit attack. James waited while the young Prince cried for his dead brother, neither showing nor feeling embarrassment at the display. James had done his crying a week before, in the arms of his wife.
After a moment, Erland looked at his teacher with red-rimmed eyes. “Why, dammit?”
James could only shake his head. “Why? Only the gods know and they aren’t talking. At least not to me.” He reached down and stuck his hand into the water. A moment later he withdrew it and wiped his brow. “Some things make sense, others don’t. I don’t know.”
James was reflective a while, then said, “Look, I’ve not told you this. Your father saved my life. A couple of times. Now I’m no more an expert on why a Prince of the Isles should save the life of a boy thief than I am on why another Prince of the Isles should die in an ambush on the way to a birthday party. I can only tell you that no one ever told me, ever told me, that life makes sense. It just is.”
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