Queen of Slaves (The Powers of Amur Book 4)

by J. S. Bangs

Shadle blew out a long breath between her lips. “Then the os Dramab become clanless.”

  “And?”

  Shadle chuckled. “To be clanless is to be defenseless, vulnerable, helpless. Everyone in Kalignas has a clan, and the clan is your protection, your identity. If the os Dramab were clanless, they couldn’t legally own their clanhome. The whole valley of the Dramab would be free for any other clan to claim, and the os Dramab wouldn’t even have the right to defend it. In this case, the os Tastl would certainly appear and plunder them.”

  “Couldn’t they defend themselves?”

  “They could try. But no other clan would come to help them, and every one of the os Tastl they killed would be counted as a murder by a clanless and punished by the clanmoot.”

  “But you’re clanless.”

  Shadle chuckled. “The sailors’ guild is as good as a clan for me, and in any case no one is bothered by an old dock whore. Not like I hold a rich valley and flocks of sheep for someone to plunder.”

  “But…” Mandhi started. “Surely there has to be precedent. This can’t be the first time that the patriarch of a clan has gone missing.”

  “But he’s not missing,” Shadle said, gesturing toward Hrenge and Jhumitu. “Having an infant patriarch is unusual, but the clan-law allows it. His mother or grandmother acts as the matriarch until he marries.”

  “But suppose that Jhumitu were to leave. Isn’t there someway to make Kest or one of the other elder men the patriarch?”

  Shadle sighed. “You have to petition the clanmoot to change patriarch in that manner. And the only way to make that claim legitimate would be if you married Kest.”

  Mandhi snorted. “How does that help?”

  “In Kalignas a man may marry his dead brother’s wife and takes up his brother’s titles and inheritance. He will adopt their children. That’s the usual way we deal with this. If you were Kaleksha you would probably be married to Kest already.”

  Mandhi felt a rush of relief that she wasn’t Kaleksha. “And if I married Kest, I could leave with Jhumitu? And Kest could marry someone else after I left.”

  “I suppose,” Shadle said. “Is that what you’re thinking of?”

  Mandhi hesitated. “It’s the best idea anyone’s given me yet.”

  “You know it would take months. The clanmoot doesn’t meet until spring, and if you returned to Amur before then they would reject the petition. Given the present humiliation of the os Dramab, no one would vote for their cause if the mother and legal patriarch were absent.”

  Next spring. It was late summer now. That meant most of a year here in Kalignas, and for what? To protect the os Dramab from the consequences of their idiotic clan-law? Did she owe that to them?

  The answer rose unbidden from her heart: Taleg does. Taleg had left his family and found Mandhi, and created the tragedy with which Mandhi struggled. She couldn’t regret his choice: he was her husband, her guardian, her lover, the father of her child. But that meant that, in the end, she bore responsibility with him.

  “I’m going to talk to Nakhur,” she said. “There may be a way.”

  “Are you actually thinking of marrying Kest?”

  Mandhi raised a finger. “I don’t know. Don’t tell anything about this to Hrenge or the others.”

  “I won’t, mostly because I think you’re mad,” Shadle said laughing. “I wouldn’t marry outside my clan if I had one, and I certainly wouldn’t marry into a clan that is losing a hleg against its neighbors.”

  Mandhi snorted. “Well, I have my mercenaries as well. We won’t lose the hleg as long as I’m here.”

  She rose to a standing position. Hrenge sat on a stool at the far side of the lodge, next to the clan guardians. Jhumitu slept silently in her arms. She felt an urge to go and reclaim him, to feel his gentle breath against her skin and his warmth in her arms. But no, let his grandmother have him for a little longer.

  Outside the lodge the sun was slowly settling toward the west and lengthening shadows throughout the clanhome. She found Jauda and Nakhur squatting together around their hut.

  “So you want to return to Amur?” she said as she walked up to them.

  Nakhur looked up in surprise. “Is Aryaji well?”

  “Sleeping. But do you want to return to Amur?”

  Confusion on Nakhur’s face. “Of course,” he drawled.

  “I may have a way,” she said. “But it will be hard.”

  * * *

  “You act like a common whore,” Adleg said, glaring at Mandhi across the table. “You think this is how we perform marriages in Kalignas?”

  Mandhi folded her hands quietly in her lap, trying very hard to maintain her composure in the face of Adleg. The lodge was full, with Kest and his uncles and cousins mingled with the women of all ages. It was evening, and the only light was the dim glow of the fire in the center of the lodge, casting every face in grim orange and deep black shadows.

  Hrenge and Kest sat directly across from Mandhi, their hands folded atop the wooden table. To Kest’s left sat Glanod and Adleg, the other two men who had met with Mandhi in Davrakhanda, chosen as the clan’s representatives for their command of Amuran. Shadle sat near Hrenge, translating. The rest of the gathered os Dramab formed a huddled black mass around them.

  Mandhi sat with Nakhur on one side and Jauda on the other, with a small band of mercenaries behind her to prove they had muscle. “I can just take my child and leave,” Mandhi said as calmly as she could muster. “Don’t call me a whore.”

  “You mock Kest and our clan with your proposal,” Adleg said, pounding his fist on the table.

  Mandhi jerked back from the rattling wood. Aryaji held Jhumitu next to her, and the baby began to cry at the noise. Tisking, Aryaji rose and paced the room trying to calm him. A few of the aunts rose to join her.

  Mandhi turned back to the awful Kaleksha faces across the table from her. She was tired and wanted to leave these people, but she wrestled down her reluctance and answered them.

  “I was told that brother marriage is your custom. Was I told wrong?”

  Adleg started to hiss, but Glanod put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “The problem,” Glanod said, “is that this is hardly a marriage.”

  “How so?”

  “You would leave us after we go to the clanmoot. You would not bring the child of our patriarchal line back to us. That would be little better than death.”

  “Your other alternative is death at the hands of the os Tastl—”

  Glanod raised a hand to stop her. “We understand. What we want is for you to come to us in earnest.”

  “Do you mean to stay here in Kalignas? No, I want to return to Amur.”

  Glanod leaned forward. “Can we do both?”

  “Both?”

  Glanod nodded. “We discussed it among ourselves, with Kest and Hrenge and the rest of the clan. We would permit you and Kest to marry, and you could return to Amur after the clanmoot recognizes Kest as the patriarch. But we ask that in the third year after the wedding you return to us for a year, and every third year after that.”

  Mandhi shuddered. Stars above, to spend a whole year in this place, and to do it over and over for the rest of her life. She looked across the table at Glanod and Adleg and recoiled. Her eyes fell next on Kest and Hrenge. She could see Taleg in him: the same nose and eyes; darker hair, but clearly within the family. And Hrenge had been kind to her.

  “Why three years?” she asked.

  “That’s how long our men go out when they join the sailor’s guild. So it’s not so strange for us to have someone leave and return to us every third year. You’ll bring Jhumitu with you, of course. He must learn our language and be known to us.”

  “Would Jhumitu still be… when Kest dies…?”

  Glanod nodded.

  Mandhi shivered again. Oh, no, this was not going as she had planned. She wanted to avoid condemning these people to death, but she wasn’t prepared… no.

  Nakhur touched her shoulder. He whispered in her ear,
“You aren’t obliged to do anything for them. Remember that.”

  “If I did that, I could never marry in Amur,” Mandhi said.

  “You were planning on marrying two men?” Adleg asked, his lips drawn together in a snarl. “Not for nothing did I call you a whore.”

  “I hadn’t thought…” She wanted to say that her marriage to Kest would be a formality, but of course if the os Dramab insisted that she return to Kalignas, they believed it wasn’t just a formality.

  The idea struck her. “The worship of Ulaur.”

  “What about it?”

  Mandhi spoke quickly. “If you want me to be truly married to Kest and to live with you for one year out of three, then you all must be clean. You have to learn the laws of purity, taste the tincture of ram’s blood and milk—”

  And Jhumitu will be the Heir of Manjur, she thought. She didn’t say it though. He was already their patriarch. But if he was to be Heir of Manjur, then he would rule more than just the os Dramab. Stars above, she would be bringing this barbarian tribe of Kaleksha into the very heart of the Uluriya.

  Shadle quietly translated this for Hrenge, who scowled and covered her mouth. The translation murmured back through the dim gathered crowd of os Dramab, setting off a thunder of muttering and speech. Glanod raised his hand and shouted something in Kaleksha. The room quieted.

  “That’s a hard request, Mandhi,” Glanod said.

  “You’re the ones who are asking me to live with you, to spare you from the fury of your neighbors,” Mandhi reminded them.

  “To spare you and Taleg from your choices,” Kest said quietly. It was the first time he had spoken.

  Mandhi met Kest’s gaze. He stared at her, mournful and serious.

  “Taleg chose to run away from the clan, and you chose to marry him in secret,” Kest said. “You need to give us something as well.”

  “I’d be giving you a third of my years,” Mandhi said.

  Kest folded his arms across his chest. “So shall we be Uluriya for only a third of our years?”

  Mandhi fell silent. She looked at Nakhur, who held his hands folded quietly and considered both her and Kest with attention.

  Jauda spoke up suddenly. “We should retreat to consider the proposals. Nothing gets decided well in a room full of people.”

  “You don’t speak for us,” Mandhi muttered.

  “But my advice is good,” he said sharply.

  It was good. Mandhi watched the faces across from her for a while: Hrenge, her eyes in shadow and her mouth twisted in confusion, Kest looking glum but determined, Glanod and Adleg watching her with a mixture of hatred and defiance.

  “Very well,” Mandhi said. “We’ve spoken our peace, haven’t we?”

  Kest and Glanod nodded.

  “Then go back to your homes. Take many days to think about this. There is no hurry.”

  A mutter of agreement sounded from the Kaleksha crowd, though few of them moved. Mandhi rose to her feet and looked for Aryaji in the gloomy corners of the lodge. She glimpsed her sitting on the stone ring of the fire pit, rocking Jhumitu gently, lit in brilliant yellow by the evening fire.

  She stepped back from the table and pushed through the mercenaries and the os Dramab to her maid. Aryaji looked up and wordlessly offered Jhumitu to her. Jhumitu stirred a little as Mandhi took him, but she nestled him against her belly and cooed softly, and he calmed. She sat down on the warm stones of the fire ring.

  “Did you hear?” Mandhi asked. “They want me to marry Kest.”

  Aryaji giggled. “I thought marrying Kest was your idea.”

  “No, they want me to actually marry him, and to return to Kalignas every three years.”

  “Ah,” Aryaji said. She was quiet for a moment, and a strange expression passed over her face.

  The amashi is coming to her, Mandhi thought. She felt a flutter of panic. Here, next to the fire, she would throw herself in and be burned.

  But the expression passed. Aryaji let out a soft breath and put a hand to her temples.

  “Are you well?” Mandhi asked.

  “I’m fine,” Aryaji whispered. “It’s just… no, I’ll be fine. Let’s go to bed, Mandhi.”

  The strange look did not leave her face, but she said nothing more.

  Navran

  The morning light blazed through the window of Navran’s bedchamber, lighting up the silk bedsheets in shards of brilliant color. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the vine-patterned ceiling and the gentle scent of incense and sweat.

  Sweating in the hot night air, limbs entangled, movement, moonlight.

  He rolled to his left and looked at the shape beside him. Utalni’s eyes were still closed. He leaned forward and kissed her on the top of her nose.

  She stirred, stretched her arms and legs, and yawned. Her deep black eyes opened. She smiled.

  “Navran-dar, my lord and king,” she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed Navran on the lips.

  “Utalni-dar, my queen. Sleep well?”

  She smiled at him. “Indeed.”

  A week past, he had invited her to spend the whole night in his bed, rather than returning to the queen’s chamber after their union. It had been a moment’s urge, nothing important, but it was the most fruitful urge he had ever indulged. She hadn’t slept in her own chamber since.

  She rolled over and threw an arm over Navran’s chest, resting her head on Navran’s shoulder. “What today, my king?” she asked.

  “You know, silly girl. The signing with Bidhra-dar and Gauhala-dar.”

  She laughed quietly. “I know. I won’t see you all day.”

  “Not till tonight.”

  He slid his arm over her naked back and pressed her against him, enjoying for a moment the feeling of her breasts and hips rubbing against his. He kissed her, then rolled up and got out of bed. He had to wash and eat. The other kings needed to find him clean and smelling of rose-water rather than his wife’s sweat.

  “Should I call your maid?” he asked.

  Utalni sighed and got out of bed. The silk sheet slipped off of her, leaving her standing naked in the morning sunlight. She glanced over her shoulder and gave Navran a shy grin, then she bent and picked up the sari lying rumpled next to the bed.

  “I’ll go to her myself,” she said, wrapping the sari loosely around her. She came up to Navran, ran her fingers lightly across his naked chest, and turned toward the curtained doorway. “I’ll send your valet in.”

  She left.

  The rest of the morning wasn’t nearly as sweet. His valet bathed and dressed him with the proper ritual prayers, sprinkled him with perfumes, trimmed his beard, and served him a light breakfast of crisped roti and slices of pomegranate. The pomegranate was slightly old, the pips small and niggardly. It was the first time that Navran had perceived Paidacha’s preparation to stumble.

  The drought, he thought. If he was feeling it in the palace, how much worse must it be in the villages?

  When he finally emerged to meet the other kings, a messenger awaited outside his chamber. The messenger bowed and pressed his hands together.

  “Navran-dar, my lord and king,” he said. “Something important came in the night.”

  He presented a wooden cylinder to Navran. The wax seal on it bore the double imprint of Am’s spear and the sea-eagle of Davrakhanda.

  “From Sadja-daridarya,” Navran whispered. “Finally. Come into my rooms.”

  They passed through the antechamber into Navran’s bedroom, where Navran sat on the cushioned couch and pressed his hands together in impatience. “Read it to me.”

  The messenger stood by the door and bowed. He broke the seal and withdrew the gently curled palm-leaf message. He dropped to his knees to read.

  “By the tongue of Sadja-daridarya, Emperor of all Amur, the spear of Am, the Lord of the Harvest on earth, who makes Ashti his consort and Jakhur his scribe; Sadja-dar of Davrakhanda, the caller of the sea-eagle and the master of the waves, blessed by the waters of Ashti and her dolphins, to Nav
ran-dar of Virnas, the Heir of Manjur, the chosen of Ulaur, who wears the iron of heaven on his finger. Greetings.”

  Navran let out a long breath. Half a page in these official letters was always taken up with titles, and he sometimes stopped paying attention before they got around to saying anything.

  The messenger went on. “You have doubtless heard by now the rumors of the wicked man who calls himself the Mouth of the Devourer, who overthrew the city of Tulakhanda and wreaks chaos in all the villages from the mountains to Majasravi, who makes the cobras and asps of the field into his servants. I assure you this man is more demonic than even you know, for he frees the slaves and urges the peasants to turn against the khadir and spill their blood in the streets, and he corrupts even the Red Men to disobey the majesty of the Emperor and join with his crusade. Now he approaches the imperial city with threats and curses.

  “But I do not write you out of fear, for I command the power of Am and the garrison of the Dhigvaditya, and all the power of Am and Ashti is turned against him. Furthermore I beseech the Power Kushma, the destroyer of serpents, to assist us and trample the Devourer whom this wicked man serves. Yet I urge you, Navran-dar, Heir of Manjur, to beseech and make sacrifice likewise to Ulaur, the Power whom you serve, who like Kushma is renowned as mighty against the power of the serpent.

  “By the Powers of Amur, who chose me and set me upon the Seven-Stepped throne, your Emperor Sadja-daridarya.”

  The messenger prostrated himself to the ground and folded the palm leaf, re-inserting it into the wooden case. He presented the case to Navran.

  Navran took the case quietly. “Thank you.”

  His mind bubbled. It was difficult to tell with the language and formality of the written forms, but it seemed to him that Sadja was asking for help. Sadja would never ask for the blessing of Ulaur if he was confident in his own strength. And if Sadja was compelled to ask for help, then the truth about the Mouth of the Devourer must be worse than the rumors.

  Yet there was one rumor which Navran had heard that Sadja hadn’t mentioned: the Mouth of the Devourer had been a disciple of Ruyam. Navran knew of only one person whom he would consider a disciple of Ruyam, and he hadn’t seen him since the day Ruyam died.