by Zoe Marriott
I wrapped the long piece of material from his sleeve around the wound twice and pulled tight, relieved when he responded with no more than an audible teeth grinding. I hated it when people screamed. It was one of the reasons I was no good helping Mira in the herb room.
As I went to work knotting the ends of the rough bandage, he spoke to me for the first time. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a rescue, but you have my thanks.”
The distinctive flattened vowels of the Sedorne accent jolted me. My fingers stilled for a second. When I forced them back into action, they were shaking. Was I insane? This man was Sedorne, and here I was patching him up as if he was a friend or … a Rua. What would Deo say?
Before I could even begin to formulate an answer, a shadow fell over us. I jerked my head up, then relaxed when I recognized the Rua coachman on whose behalf I had first intervened.
“My lord…” he whispered, appalled, as his gaze took in the bruised and bloodied state of the blue-eyed man.
My lord? This time my hands fell away from the knot of material completely. “Lord?” I echoed softly.
He didn’t hear me. “Are you all right, Abha?” he asked the driver.
“Yes, yes – I am so sorry, my lord!” the Rua babbled.
“Never mind that,” he interrupted hastily. “Do you think you can get up to the fort and bring some help down? I’ll need a litter to get back up there with this leg. And I’ll have to compensate the stallholders and anyone else who might have been injured in this. Get Costin and Sergiv to take names and details.”
“Yes, my lord. I – yes.” The driver hesitated for a moment, then turned and trotted off up the road. As I watched him go I noticed the crowds of people, Rua and Sedorne, who were gathered around the wreckage of the coach, watching with wide eyes.
“I think we may have caused a scene, sister,” the blue-eyed man – no, his name was Sorin, Lord Sorin Mesgao – muttered to me.
Again, I couldn’t think of a reply.
He raised his voice, addressing the crowds. “I’d like to get these outlaws safely trussed up before they come round and start causing more trouble. Would anyone be interested in tying them up for me, and then watching over them, while someone else fetches the gourdin? You’ll be rewarded for your trouble.”
There was a small rush of people, who eagerly grabbed the unconscious outlaws and began securing them with any handy bits of rope or cloth they could find. The outlaws were soon bound hand and foot and surrounded by watchful eyes. A couple of others – both Sedorne, I noticed – went to find the gourdin. Typical that the Sedorne soldiers had managed to be absent when they were actually needed, I thought with some bitterness. They were always around to help in the persecution and murder of innocent Rua.
The man – Lord Sorin – nodded, satisfied. “Excellent. My men should be here soon, and you’ll get your payment then. In the meantime…” He looked at me. “I don’t suppose you could help me up, could you?”
I found my voice enough to reply, “Ah – of course.”
“She speaks,” he said teasingly as I slid my arm round his back and braced myself to take his weight. I blinked at him, momentarily distracted by the heat of his arm as it settled over my shoulder, then realized he was laughing at me. I set my teeth grimly. Insane, I told myself. Completely insane.
He saw my carefully blank expression and smiled wryly. “Never mind.”
He grabbed the side of the carriage and, with my help, pulled himself upright. Both of us were still breathing hard from the effort when he spoke again.
“I’m famished. You?”
I stared at him. “Eh?”
“I can smell something wonderful. I think it’s coming from over there.” He nodded in the direction of the food hut I had been about to enter before all this began. “Help me across, would you?”
“You want to eat? Now?” I asked incredulously. I let him lean on me as he limped towards the blue canopy.
“Why not?”
“Because … because – you’re mad,” I finished in a mutter.
“Just hungry.”
He managed the step up onto the decking with a grunt of effort, leaning heavily on me. The cooks, who had been clustered at the front of the hut with their patrons, watching the uproar, rushed back to their steaming cooking plates. The customers eyed us warily as they returned to their cushions.
“We’ll sit here on the deck,” the lord said to the flustered serving girl.
“We?” I questioned, helping him lower himself onto the plump cushion before a low table. He folded his good leg neatly under him and stretched the bandaged one out comfortably.
“You’ll join me, won’t you?” he said as I straightened and stepped away from him. “I need someone to keep me company until my men arrive, and I think you and I have lots to talk about.”
Now that his body was no longer in contact with mine, I found myself reluctantly amused by his arrogance. Lots to talk about, indeed. Egotistical man! Of course, he wasn’t just any man, was he? No doubt he was well accustomed to getting his own way.
And I’d just saved his life…
The fleeting amusement died. What had I done? He was Sedorne, and ruled over stolen lands at the behest of a despot. The Holy Mother only knew what awful things he had done to gain his position of power. The resistance probably wanted him dead anyway. Perhaps I shouldn’t have intervened. Then I felt a surge of guilt. Sedorne or not, he was a living being. No living being deserved to die like that – in the choking smoke and the flames. No living being, not even a Sedorne.
“Please.” The laughter was gone from his voice now, and I saw that he was completely serious. His eyes were almost pleading. “Sit down at least.”
I looked away and sighed. “Very well.”
I kneeled on the cushion across from him. The serving girl hovered over us, wiping her hands nervously down the front of her brown tunic. I tried a reassuring smile, but she winced away rather than meet my eyes. I twitched my hood into place and stared down at my knees.
“Aniseed tea, please,” I mumbled.
“Do you have any river prawns?” the Sedorne – I must remember that – asked. “Are they fresh?”
“Oh yes, my lord,” the girl answered anxiously. “Fresh this morning.”
“How are they prepared?”
“Stir-fried with onion and garlic. There’s cold sesame sauce and butter rice. Or we can do them on spits…”
“No, the fried ones will do. Two bowls of those, please, and aniseed tea for two.”
“Yes, my lord. Right away.”
I heard the girl’s swift footsteps as she scurried away. “I’m not hungry,” I said flatly to my knees.
“Well, you will be when the food arrives; and if not, I can always eat yours. I’m hungry enough.”
A large calloused hand laid itself on my folded ones. I jolted, pulling back instinctively. The hand withdrew. I resisted the urge to wipe my fingers on my breeches.
“What’s wrong?”
What isn’t wrong? What am I doing here? “I shouldn’t be involved in this,” I blurted out.
“I quite agree. But you’ll forgive me if I’m glad you are. I’m almost completely uninjured, thanks to you.”
“It’s my fault your leg was hurt,” I felt bound to point out. “I didn’t check the outlaw for weapons and once he was down I forgot about him, until he attacked you.”
“Your fault?” he asked coolly. “Strange. I rather thought my injury was the fault of the man with the knife. Don’t try to change the subject. I owe you a great debt for this. What would you like as payment?”
“I see!” My confusion and guilt vanished and I looked up angrily. “You want to pay me off! Well, I won’t take anything from you, do you hear? Honour is not measured in gold!”
He looked surprised, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I know it isn’t. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, sister. I was only offering because I thought you might have a good cause that n
eeded … or … something,” he finished feebly.
“I’m not a sister,” I corrected sharply. “I’m … I’m—” Abruptly I remembered that I was supposed to be a novice. “I’m a novice. And the House of God can take care of its own, thank you. We don’t need blood money.” The last words slipped out before I could stop them, and I stiffened, waiting for his reaction.
“Ah. I see.” He nodded slowly. “Well, that settles that.”
Silence fell between us. Somewhere behind me I could hear the sweet singing of the wind chimes I had admired earlier. I tilted my head to hear them better. After a moment, I sighed and turned back to find him examining my face with narrowed eyes.
“How did you get that scar?” he asked quietly.
I was surprised – especially after the stares I had been forced to endure this morning – to find that I didn’t resent the blunt question. There was no pity in it. I answered evenly, “In the fire that killed my family.”
“The Great Fire?”
“If you mean the Invasion Fire, then yes, it was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” I met his eyes, expecting them to fall. He looked back steadily and it was me who had to look away.
There was another moment of quiet. Then the serving girl arrived, plates piled on her arms. She laid out two bowls of giant river prawns, two of rice and one of sesame sauce, and returned a few seconds later with the pot of aniseed tea and cups. The smell of the hot food reached my nose and my stomach let out an embarrassing rumble. I was reaching for the nearest bowl and a spoon before I realized what I was doing. I picked up a prawn, pinched off the head – I disliked eating things that looked at me – and took a bite. It was delicious. I hummed with pleasure, and saw the Sedorne cover his mouth to hide a smile. I didn’t care; I was too hungry. The food seemed to soothe the hollow feeling under my breastbone, and I relaxed a little.
“What’s your name?” he asked, spooning up some rice.
I hesitated, then said, “Zahira.” It was close enough.
Before he could ask me anything more awkward, I asked him the question that had been bothering me since I realized what had happened to the coach.
“Why did those outlaws ambush you like that? You’re the lord; even if they’d succeeded, the gourdin would have hunted them down and killed them. It was madness.”
“Ah, well.” He sipped his tea, not bothered by the question. “Those men serve a rather powerful master, and he doesn’t worry about things like that.”
I frowned. Lords held absolute power in the lands they ruled. The only person more powerful than a Sedorne lord was … the Sedorne lord. Their king, Abheron. I looked at Sorin Mesgao. Was he implying that his own king had ordered him killed? Why?
“They had very expensive swords for penniless outlaws,” I ventured, dipping my spoon into the sesame sauce and drizzling it over the rice. “And it seems odd that they intended to set fire to your carriage. A very indirect method of murdering someone.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. Who knows?”
You do, I thought. You know all right. You just don’t intend to tell me.
I shrugged and concentrated on my meal, listening to the wind chimes again. I had just scraped up the last of my rice when the lord’s men arrived. There were five of them, all Sedorne, and dressed in much finer clothes than the lord himself. They rode down the hill on tall slender Sedorne horses – very different from the stout furry ponies the Rua favoured – looking around in appalled silence at the devastation on the road, the tied-up outlaws and the crowds of people patiently waiting for the next act of this entertaining play. Finally their horrified eyes found Sorin and me, seated together on the decking under the blue canopy. They dismounted in a hurried clattering of stirrups and bridles and rushed over to their injured master, bombarding him with concern.
“Ioana, my lord! What happened?”
“Your leg? How bad is it? Do you need a healer?”
“Are these the men who attacked you? They’re Sedorne!”
I tensed in anticipation of the interrogation I was sure would be coming my way – I was singularly out of place in the midst of these pale foreigners. But the men didn’t address a single word to me, and after a moment I realized gratefully that I was being ignored. The lord gave a highly abbreviated account of events to his men before instructing them in what to do next. I noticed with some amusement that despite his fulsome thanks to me, I was not referred to as a rescuer, only as a kind bystander who had bandaged his leg.
Strange, I thought as he muttered to one of his men in the guttural Sedorne tongue. He couldn’t be a particularly vain man – his servants wore nicer hair ornaments and clothes than he did. Still, what did I know of men? Especially Sedorne men…
The servants hurried off to their different tasks, leaving Sorin and me alone.
“Well,” I began, “I don’t think you need my company any more. I’ll just—” I started to rise but he caught my arm. This time, despite my instinctive recoil, he held on.
“Don’t leave yet,” he said gravely. “There are three more things to be dealt with.”
I frowned, looking down at his hand; the contrast of pale gold fingers gripping my brown forearm gave me a funny feeling in my stomach. I didn’t resist as he pulled me back down onto the cushion. He promptly released me and I sighed in relief.
“Three more things?” I asked warily.
“Yes. The first is a warning. Many people saw what happened here today, and I’m sure the story will travel quickly, but if anyone asks you about it I pray you will deny all involvement. I told you that those men serve a powerful master; I don’t wish you to suffer because you have foiled his plans. Hopefully the stories will die down in a few days, if you do not confirm them.”
“You need not worry,” I assured him drily. “I’m hardly likely to boast about it.”
“I didn’t think so. The second thing is this. You gave me aid here today, risking your own life to save mine. I owe you. No.” He gestured sharply when I opened my mouth to disagree. “This is not about gold. It is, as you said, about honour. Believe it or not, we Sedorne value our honour. I owe you my life and I will not forget it. If ever you need anything from me, no matter what it is, or why, you will come to me, understand? I want no arguments. Promise me.”
I remained silent. I didn’t want to make any vows to this man. It seemed to me that he was an opportunist, and that he would find a way to turn any bond between us to his advantage.
“I won’t let you go until you promise,” he said with a touch of grimness. “I mean it, Zahira.”
I believed him. I sighed. “Then I promise. But I doubt I’ll ever need anything enough to come to you.”
“Perhaps not. I hope not.” He relaxed, the intensity replaced with an easy smile.
“The third thing?”
“Costin is returning with it now,” he said looking over my shoulder.
I turned to see one of his men coming towards us, carrying a small wooden box with some ceremony. He reached us and gave it to Sorin.
Sorin held the box out to me.
“Please accept this as a token of my gratitude.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I gave in to curiosity and took it. After all, I could always return it once I’d looked. I lifted the lid and saw, lying on a silk bed and held in place with fine wires, a silver wind chime. The chimes themselves were shaped into graceful curls like the ripples on the surface of a river, with tiny mother-of-pearl fish leaping between them. I gaped at it, speechless, and then looked back up at Sorin.
He was grinning at my surprise, as gleeful as a child.
“How – how did you…?”
“I noticed you listening to them while we ate. Your face changed, as if the sound made you happy. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” I whispered. I felt awkward. It was as if he had discovered some private thing about me that no one else knew. We stared at each other. I opened my mouth, then closed it
again. Finally I attempted a smile. He smiled back.
The man who had brought the wind chime cleared his throat noisily. “My lord? I think Sergiv has the litter ready.”
Sorin sighed. “Thank you.” He leaned forward, braced himself on the table, straightened his good leg, and pushed himself to his feet. While he favoured the wounded leg, it was clear that it could bear his weight.
I glared at him indignantly. “You didn’t need my help to walk at all!” I exclaimed.
“Well, no.” He grinned. “I just wanted to put my arm round you.”
While I was still gasping, he grabbed his servant’s shoulder and stepped down carefully from the decking.
“Don’t forget your promise, Zahira,” he called.
Then he was surrounded by the group of servants, and hustled out of my sight.
CHAPTER
FIVE
“You’re very quiet,” Surya said.
I looked up to see that her eyes were fixed on the shoulders of the ponies pulling our little cart, not on me. Her hands on the reins were as relaxed and easy as always.
I shrugged. It was true. We hadn’t had much to say to each other since we left lower Mesgao yesterday afternoon. I’d just been trying to get Surya out of there as quickly as I could, before the tale of the attack on the Sedorne lord spread that far. I had been stopped three times on my way out of the upper town by people asking if I was the namoa who had saved Sorin Mesgao, and, when I denied it, if I knew her or who she was. I did not want the same thing to happen to Surya.
“Are you still angry with me?”
“What?” I shook off my thoughts and turned to her again. It took me a moment to work out what she meant. “Oh. No. Anyway, I was more shocked than angry.”
“You were more hurt than angry, you mean. And you were angry enough. I’m sorry.”
I shrugged again, uncomfortable. “I expect you had a good reason.”
“A very good reason.” There was a pause. “I can’t tell you.”
I found a smile from somewhere. “You do surprise me.”
We fell silent again as Surya carefully guided the ponies through a narrow rocky gorge overhung with twisted silver-grey trees. We had left the lush greenness of the terraced farmlands behind early this morning. The tumbled rocks on either side of us were almost bare, home only to scrubby, dusty plants that looked half dead. To our left, over the brown shoulder of the hill we were climbing, I could see the highest peak of the Subira range, Emany, its violet and black slopes crowned with drifting clouds.
