Ghe wandered through the various rooms, noting their furnishings, access, and escape routes. He always preferred to know every way by which a room could be exited. One of the larger cabins, he discovered, had a latched access to the cramped cargo space that ran the length of the barge between the two “houses” at each end. After a moment's pause, he shucked his expensive robe—it had come with the cabin—and entered the dark space, clad in only the brief cotton cloth that wrapped twice around his waist and once to cover his crotch and in the scarf tied about his neck. Unused as he was to fine clothing like the robe, he did not want to soil it in his explorations.
In a deep crouch, he wandered curiously about the hold. Light streamed through a pair of open hatches and through the occasional perforations in the bulwarks at floor level that would drain rainwater or any other inundation that might tend to flood the barge or stand in the hold. Several sailors stood in the hatches, shuttling a few remaining items into storage. Though there was no particular need to, Ghe avoided them, padding through the shadowed crates and bags, identifying them by their markings: food, rope, assorted trade goods if they needed them. In addition, Ghe knew, there were sealed packs of arrows, spare edged weapons, extra boots and clothing for cooler climates. Finally, wrapped carefully and stored separately, a number of the head-size pitch balls that the catapult mounted abovedeck could fling at any vessel that might oppose them.
The horses were not on board yet, but Ghe found and wandered through the maze of stalls, wondering how such large beasts would be able to stand imprisonment that scarcely allowed them a pace to move in. This part of the hold was also open to the sky, though canopied in good weather with an elevated tarp. He wound through the stalls in the suffuse light that bled through the canvas, and though the deck was clean to a polish, he smelled the faint, musky odor of beasts. He found where the bulwark could be opened to let the animals on and off and marked it in his memory for his own possible use.
It seemed, to Ghe, a well-equipped expedition. Fifty footmen—most of them elite—thirty horse, himself, an engineer, the captain, whoever he was—and Ghan. Yes, it seemed a force to be reckoned with, but then, what did he know of that? What sort of dangers might they meet? He would have to talk—to Ghan, to the sailors who had been up-River before. Despite the tales he had told Hezhi, Ghe himself had never been more than a league beyond the walls of the city.
He could summon the ancient lord living in his belly to his lips, he supposed, ask him a thing or two. He could reach vague understandings with his ghosts without empowering them. But to deal with them specifically, he had to give them his voice to speak in. Though he could now summon and banish them at will, still he disliked hearing his voice chattering without his leave. No, he would save that summoning for later, when he had learned what he could from the living.
There was some change above him; the faint cadence of work songs, the thudding of feet on the heavy planks died away into silence, and replacing that, the faint tones of a single voice.
This must be my captain, Ghe thought wryly. He considered once more that this might all be some elaborate trick, that the emperor had merely devised a ruse to rid himself of a dangerous ghoul. It would make more sense, in many ways, than the scenario he seemed to find himself in. Hiding like a spider in the rich cabin of one of the emperor's own barges, the elite guard obeying his orders? Much since his rebirth had been painted with the gray and blue of nightmare. Even moments of success and joy would suddenly flatten into something akin to terror when he remembered that he was, after all, dead. Here was one such moment, mocking even this achievement. A gutter scorp from Southtown on a royal barge …
He had taken the risk, and he believed he had won. Had to believe it, for the nightmare reached its nadir in the Water Temple. Returning again from oblivion, awakening in a canal with priests and Jik swarming in search of him, he had known that without powerful help his mission was doomed. He would fail against whatever that thing was that held the first emperor himself on a leash. Ghe was not the only inhuman creature walking in Nhol, nor the most powerful. Only the emperor himself was an ally worthy of that thing, and Ghe had known, then, that it was his to win the emperor or win nothing at all.
But the Chakunge was a man as well as a god, a living man,and as such had a natural abhorrence for Ghe and what he was. Perhaps the expedition was meant to go on, but he was not.
If so, however, the emperor should have had him extinguished in the palace, for here, floating on the very skin of the River, Ghe was in the flower of his strength. Even the gnawings of hunger stayed distant, an occasional irritation, but nothing he need feed. This was fortunate, since on a ship with only eighty people, he could not sate his hunger without being noticed.
So, with the barest hesitation, he threaded softly back to the entrance to the cabin, lifted the board aside, and entered.
“What sort of ship's rat is this?” a voice purred softly. A woman's voice. Ghe whirled, wondering how he could have been so preoccupied.
She stood there, regarding his condition of undress with obvious amusement. Thick, sensual lips bowed faintly at the corners of a narrow, tapered face. Opalescent eyes shimmered with amusement, curiosity—perhaps cruelty, as well. Her hair, bound up with a comb, was black, but unlike that of most of the nobility, it was not straight but instead slightly wavy, like his own—usually a sign of lower-than-noble birth.
Her clothing carried a message quite different from her features and hair, however. Though not ostentatious, her dress was of jeh, a fiber much like silk but rarer yet, available only to Blood Royal.
“Well?” she asked, and he realized he had not answered her. “What cause have you to skulk in my quarters? And what sort of apparel is this, loincloth and neck-wrap? Some new fashion in the court I haven't learned of yet?”
“A-ah,” Ghe replied, all but successfully avoiding a stammer. “You must pardon me, Lady. If you will hand me my robe, I will don it.”
“arrobe?”
“Yes. I did not wish to stain it inspecting the cargo.”
“I see.” Her gaze fastened on his scarf, and the amusement faded a bit, replaced by … fascination? An odd gleam in her eye, anyway. “You are Yen.”
“I am he.”
Only the emperor and perhaps Nyas, his advisor, knew Ghe's real name. Easiest to hide his identity from Ghan if he were the only one avoiding mistakes.
“Well, I think we expected you to be dressed to receive us. I do not stand on such formalities—with men, anyway—but Lord Bone Eel shall, I think.” She stooped and handed him the robe, which he stepped into immediately. She was slight though not particularly short. Young.
“I was expecting only Bone Eel,” Ghe said, frowning, trying to understand the faint buzz of emotion emanating from her, and failing.
“Lord Bone Eel is my husband. I am the Lady Qwen Shen.”
“Oh. I was not informed.” He stopped and bowed what he thought to be the appropriate bow, and she did not laugh outright.
“You will be accompanying us?” he asked when he straightened.
“Yes, of course. I could not let my husband stray far from my sight. Servants will be along soon with my clothes. I only wanted to see my quarters.”
“Well, then,” Ghe answered. “I hope that you approve.”
“Oh, I don't,” she said. “They are drab and cramped, and I detest them already.”
“Except when it rains, a pavilion will be erected for you on deck,” Ghe informed her. “I have seen such pavilions, and they are much more comfortable than these rooms.” Though he thought his cabin was very nice indeed, compared to anywhere he had ever lived, or to the crowded common rooms the soldiers must make do with.
“Well, it isn't raining now. Come up on deck and greet my husband.”
“Unfortunately, I am under direct orders from the emperor himself to remain here until the voyage begins. I regret the inconvenience, but the lord must come below to meet me.”
“He won't like that, even thou
gh he must come down here anyway. He prefers for his men to greet him on the deck.”
“Once again,” Ghe said, “I must apologize. But I must also do the emperor's bidding.”
“Yes, you must, I suppose,” she replied indifferently. Her mood had changed; whatever interest and amusement she might have found in him earlier departed. “Well.” She brightened. “Perhaps I will go see about having that pavilion erected.”
There came a clumping behind them, as someone descended from the upper deck. “I have seen to it already,” a man's voice assured her. Ghe turned, not caught unaware this time.
“Lord Bone Eel,” he replied, bowing a degree or so lower than he had for Qwen Shen.
“Yes, yes, enough bowing. We are shipmates, and you will find that on board ship there is less of that stifling formality we have in the city.”
“Yes, Lord,” Ghe replied, trying to get the captain's measure.
He already knew a thing or two, of course. The highest nobility, those in the immediate family of the Chakunge, were all named so that water was actually mentioned in their names. It was the next tier down, the secondary nobility, who tended to be named for creatures of the water. He thus knew Bone Eel to be well removed from the line to the throne, but not as far removed as the most minor nobility, who were named for creatures that lived around but not in the River, such as the little whelp who had courted Hezhi. Wezh, whose name meant “gull.”
Bone Eel looked like a captain. He was tall and striking, his profile hewn from a strong stone but polished to perfection. His hair was straight, glossy black, and worn cropped like a helmet at his ears. He was dressed in a simply cut but elegant yellow sarong and a sailor's loose shirt, umber with bluish turtles batiked upon it. A scabbarded sword hung casually from a broad leather belt.
“You are Yen, the diplomat of whom the emperor informed me?”
Diplomat? “Yes,” he answered cautiously. “I am Yen.”
“And who do we wait for now? This scholar, Ghem?”
“Ah, Ghan, my lord,” he corrected. ”And he will join us sometime hence.”
“Well, let's hope he arrives soon. I wish to be under way before nightfall.”
“Nightfall? I thought we were to leave by morning.”
“As did I,” Bone Eel replied, his mouth flattening into a grim line. “But the emperor said that we were to take no priests on this journey, you see?” By his look he clearly took for granted that Ghe did see.
“No, Lord, I'm sorry, I don't.” Ghe was beginning to feel a certain irritation with the man. He let his gaze wander inside the captain's chest, thought idly about just stroking the strands there, the way one might stroke a harp. But the time for that would probably come soon enough, not now. He must have patience, for there was much he did not know. If he had learned anything at all in the past days, it was that impulsive actions were not always wise ones.
“No? Well, ships are supposed to carry at least one priest, and they are raising a mighty hue and cry about this barge leaving without one. We must be under way before things become too noisy.”
“Oh.” Ghe wondered if the Ahw'en were behind this—if they suspected—or if it was just the usual petty political war waged daily in the palace courts.
“In any event, I am ready to go!” Bone Eel exclaimed, his deep voice tinged with enthusiasm. “Too long have I been a prisoner of land. I'm ready to feel the River beneath my feet again.”
“And how long has it been since your last voyage?” Ghe inquired.
“Oh, it's been—well, let me see …” He ticked off one finger, then the next, frowning.
“It's been five years,” Qwen Shen put in sweetly. She beamed at Ghe, but he thought perhaps there was a hidden glare in the expression.
“That long?“ Bone Eel muttered. ”Yes, too long indeed.”
Bone Eel continued to agree with himself as he went back above.
XIX Drum Battle
A wind slanted out of the east with the dawn, and Hezhi leaned into it, let it relieve her weary muscles of some small part of the task of supporting her. She was listing in the saddle anyway, worn out in more ways than she knew, and she could almost imagine that the wind, fragrant with sage and juniper, was a pillow, nestling against her, welcoming her to sleep.
Her body may have lain as if asleep while she traveled the skies, but it had apparently received no rest. After the fight and the discussion—after her decision—they had wasted little time, slipping from the camp while the sky was still an inky beast with a thousand eyes. Now they were more than a league from the Mang camp, the most immediate danger behind them, and events, unbroken by oblivion, crowded together in Hezhi's brain until they were a senseless litany of colors and shapes. Her eyes read the sky and the landscape only from habit, without much comprehension.
Of the night's watchful eyes, only one remained, the rest having fled or fluttered shut beneath sky-colored lids at the graying of the horizon, and that only made her sleepier, made her wish that she were a cold, distant, sleeping star. The holdout still flamed, defiant, defending his domain in the vault of heaven even though his was the easternmost portion, where the sun's birth was heralded by servants of copper and gold.
“What star is that?” Hezhi asked wearily, in an attempt to keep awake.
Brother Horse cracked the barest grin in the gray light. Hezhi noticed not so much the show of humor as how old he looked, with the stubble of beard on his chin.
“We call him Yuchagaage, the 'Hunter.' ”
“What does he hunt?”
Brother Horse waved the back of his hand at the star, winking dimmer each moment to their right. “He has hunted many things. Right now he hunts the sun.”
“Will he catch the sun?”
“Well, watch for yourself. The Bright King will kill him, sure enough, before even he has risen.”
“The Hunter is not the most intelligent of gods,” Raincaster added from up ahead of them, next to Tsem. Hezhi had been staring east in the first place to avoid watching the tail of Rain-caster's horse, which threatened to mesmerize her as it switched back and forth.
“True,” Brother Horse said. “He lies in wait for the sun, each morning getting closer. Always he is slain; he never succeeds—nor learns, apparently.”
“But he is still here, when the other stars have fled,” Hezhi noted. “He lives longer in defiance than in retreat.”
“The other stars are smarter,” Raincaster answered, but Hezhi thought she heard a faint contempt in the young man's tone—or had her ears added that?
“But not braver,” Hezhi retorted sourly. “And he isn't always running”
“I won't play this word game,” Tsem said, turning to speak but not so much that she could see his face. These were the first words he had spoken since crying the night before. “It was you who decided we should leave.”
“I never decide, Tsem,” Hezhi replied. ”It always happens, but I never decide.”
“Well, you are not a star, Princess, and if you are blown out like a candle one morning, you will not return to light the world again. I don't know much about these ghosts that people out here call gods—you know much more than I, as always. But they seem to me, from what I have heard, to be poor creatures to model your actions after.”
“Well put,” Brother Horse agreed, “though I must admit that as a young warrior I carried the likeness of the Hunter on my shield. Many young Mang do so still. He is a rash god, but then, young men value rashness.”
“What do old men value?“ Raincaster asked.
“Young women,” Brother Horse answered. “If I carried a shield now, I would paint one on it.”
Ngangata—riding slightly ahead of Raincaster—turned, his face a weird rose color in the light of the rising sun. “Perkar is like the Hunter,” he put in glumly. “Always. And you see where it gets him.”
The wind picked up, clean and cool, and for an instant it swept the rooms of Hezhi's mind of the broken bits of thought that cluttered them. She had to ra
ise her voice a bit for Brother Horse to understand her.
“Yes, Perkar,” she said. “You told us we would speak of him.”
“Later, when you have had some rest.”
“I should rest soon, then. When I returned—well, just before I awoke, in your yekt—I saw the monster again, the one feeding upon him. I think it may be winning. If I do have the power to help him now—as you say—I may not in a few days.”
“That's probably true,” the old Mang conceded. “But first tell me everything. How you went through the drum, what happened—everything. We have time enough for that.”
Hezhi nodded and told him, trying to leave nothing out, though even the wind failed to keep her mind clear and the droning of her own voice threatened to put her to sleep. Her story became a patchwork of digressions, and she feared that what little sense it had ever made was now lost. The sky continued to brighten, as the sun puddled red on the horizon, and then, finding its spherical shape, rose up. At Brother Horse's direction, they put the rising light to their backs, bearing nearly due west. The land rolled and then flattened out like a pan, rimmed at the limits of their sight by hills on the south and north. Ahead, Hezhi could make out the purple contours of distant mountains. The sky was as clear as blue glass, and the last traces of snow were gone from the ground.
The end of Hezhi's story whipped off with the wind across the endless plain, and Brother Horse rocked silently in his saddle for some time without commenting on it. Hezhi did not rush him, instead looking about her once more.
Tsem sat a horse nearly twice as massive as the one she rode, and he was still too large for it, though the horse bore his weight without complaint. Tsem himself remained glum, his visage hidden from her as she recounted her journey to the mountain. It was just as well, for she feared what her words might have written on his face. Ngangata now rode well in front of the rest of them, ever the scout, and Heen had paced ahead with him. Yu-u'han led Perkar's horse, and Perkar dragged and bumped along behind on a travois. At Ngangata's insistence, they were also accompanied by Sharp Tiger, the mount that Perkar had been leading when he reached the Ben'cheen. Raincaster, after their conversation, had dropped back to rear guard, his hawklike features clouded with exhaustion. Two additional horses carried their provisions and tents.
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