Promise? I thought. Only a fool—or a desperate man—would promise the actions of another person.
“Tarani?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I spoke the truth to Dharak; as long as Yayshah is comfortable, I care not where I rest. You may choose for both of us.”
I nodded to Dharak. “We will join you shortly,” I said, and led Keeshah from the roadway without looking back at the Lieutenant.
I was deeply disturbed.
That’s what I get, I told myself, for thinking simplistically, and identifying Thagorn as only a place of rest. It’s a place of people, which means it’s just as busy and complicated as any other city—more so, I’d say, with sha’um part of the citizenry.
When Tarani and I arrived at the Lieutenant’s home, which was the only single-residence building gateside of the river, it was Dharak who greeted us, showed us to our rooms and offered the use of his private bathhouse. He and I waved at Tarani as she passed the uncurtained door of my bedroom; she smiled and flipped the end of her towel at us.
“I’m ready to talk,” I said. “Why was it so important that Tarani and I stay here? I stayed in the barracks on my last visit.”
“At your own request,” Dharak amended. “And only before you became Captain.” He looked away from me, walked to a chair and examined the lattice-wood construction of its back. “I have spoken to Shola—with what result, I confess I do not know. If you find her company intolerable, Rikardon, then she and I will move to a vacant house, and you and Tarani may have this one.”
I wanted to tell him what I thought of that idea, but I held back. Dharak’s an intelligent man, a wise leader, I thought, but this residence thing—he tenses up and won’t look me in the eye. Something’s screwy here.
“Answer my question, Dharak,” I said.
Something in my voice made him stop his fidgeting. Standing with his hand on the chair back, still facing away from me, he sighed and spoke.
“You remember, of course, that when you were here last, I had the feeling that Thymas was achieving a place of leadership among the younger Riders?”
“I remember. You said you hoped the Sharith would be more united under the leadership of me as Captain. I suspected, at the time, that it was your main reason for pressing me to accept.”
The old man faced me then, snapping around in what was almost an “attention” pose. “It was not!” he denied. He would have said more, but I waved him silent.
“I told you what I believed then,” I said. “I no longer think so, in spite of the present situation.”
“The present situation?” Dharak echoed.
I had begun to put some things together, and I didn’t like the answers I was getting. I let my anger show.
“Yes, the present situation, in which you are using the Captain of the Sharith as a weapon in a power struggle against your son. Why else would it be so important that I stay here, even when it may mean discomfort for Tarani?” I wanted to ask, as well, why Shola was acting so coldly toward Tarani, but that seemed beside the point at the moment.
I watched Dharak’s face display shock and guilt, then harden into determination.
“What I do is no worse than what Thymas has done. Since his return he has used the—I will call it ‘glamour’—of his association with you to win, ever more strongly, the loyalty of the young Riders. The division is growing, Rikardon. You are entirely correct; I thought your presence in my home might be taken as a confirmation of my place as leader. This is more than a personal conflict between father and son, Captain. You know that the scout brought Thymas news of your arrival, but I heard nothing of it until Thymas himself brought me your request—after first attempting to greet you ‘officially’ for the Sharith. He would have liked nothing better than to surprise us all by riding beside you and Tarani into Thagorn.”
“Then you believe he kept the news from you deliberately?” I asked.
“I do,” the old man affirmed. “He knew I would not embarrass us all by withholding my approval after he had invited you—Yayshah included—to stay with us.”
“Did he have reason to fear your disapproval?”
At that, Dharak paused. “No,” he answered at last, “not if he had taken the time to think it out logically. But our … conversations have not been graced with rationality lately.” He slapped at the edge of the chair and muttered under his breath. “Rikardon, the boy opposes me at every turn.”
“Purposely?” I asked.
“Yes!” Dharak nearly shouted, then added more calmly, “Or no. It does seem we have a natural bent toward looking at things differently. Purposeful or not, however, the result is that we seem always to be at opposite ends of any situation.
“In the matter of your arrival—he could not have doubted that you, personally, would be welcome. But as to Tarani and her sha’um … he might have felt I would disapprove solely because he wanted them to stay.”
I shook my head and placed my hand on the Lieutenant’s shoulder. “Could he have thought, my friend, that your actions might be more influenced by Shola’s wishes than by his?”
Dharak gripped my forearm with his hand and chuckled. “How well you read people, Rikardon.”
“Tarani once said something of the sort to me, with as little reason. Shola has hardly been hiding her bad feelings toward Tarani,” I said.
“Not from Tarani, perhaps,” Dharak said, “but from me—she will not discuss it at all. It amazes me, Rikardon. At the mention of Tarani’s name, Shola turns into a salt block. In all the years I have known her, I have never had to deal with this … this silence before. Anger, yes. Fury on occasion. Quiet despair when we finally accepted that our other son would never return from the Valley of the Sha’um. But in those, we were together. She aimed her anger at me, she shared her grief with me. This—cold, isolated bitterness confounds me.”
“How long has this been going on?” I asked him.
“Since you and Thymas left in pursuit of Tarani.”
I left Dharak and walked to the unglassed window. The latticework shutters stood open to reveal a view of the river, on the opposite side of the house from the main road and bridge. I braced my arms on either side of the narrow window and stared out at the peaceful countryside. Some three hundred yards away, the valley floor rose steeply into brush-covered hillside. High on the irregular slope, I caught a glimpse of tan moving with startling speed, flashing in and out of sight as it passed behind hills and denser brush.
I reached out for Keeshah with my mind, and found him busy and joyful, concentrating on getting the glith he had just killed back to Yayshah. I didn’t bother him, but the familiar touch comforted me in this home that had been open and warm once, but seemed so no longer.
“With your permission, Dharak,” I said, “I’d like to try to talk to Shola about this.”
“Do you know what the matter is?” he asked, his voice revealing a blend of consternation and delight.
“I have a couple of ideas,” I admitted. “Mostly, though, I’d like to make it clear that if Tarani is not welcome here, I cannot accept your hospitality.” I looked over my shoulder at the Lieutenant. “And I will not stand for your vacating this house, Dharak. No matter what you feel the effect will be on the Sharith as a group, Tarani and I will leave.”
“I understand, Captain,” he said, the tone of his voice convincing me that he did understand, but still wasn’t very happy about the situation. “It would seem there could be more important duties for the Captain of the Sharith than to settle domestic quarrels.”
“There will be,” I said, realizing as the words came out that they were a promise I didn’t understand, but one I believed.
“Destiny” again, I thought.
“The Ra’ira?” Dharak asked.
I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and wondered if they meant Tarani was through with her bath. Swiftly then came an overwhelming need to wash off the grime on my own body. I turned, took Dharak by the shoulder, and walked him firmly to
the door.
“I told Thymas that story would have to wait until we were all together, so Tarani and I would need to tell it only once,” I said. “I’m telling you the same thing.”
Tarani appeared in the bedroom doorway just as Dharak and I reached it. Tiny droplets of water clung to her dark headfur, creating silver highlights in her widow’s peak.
Tarani flinched back, crinkling her nose. “Forgive me, Rikardon, but now that I am clean …”
“I know,” I assured her, laughing. “I’m going.”
“Until dinner, then,” Dharak said. He nodded to Tarani, pressed my arm lightly, and disappeared around a bend in the hallway.
The Lieutenant’s private bathhouse was functional and elegant, very similar to the one I had used in Thanasset’s back yard in Raithskar. The roof of the small structure was bordered with brownish tile and covered with wood to form a sun-warmed reservoir for water from the nearby river. Opening the fill valve on the tile conduit and cleaning grime from the drain filter were daily tasks for the “working” group of older children, though occasionally they were pre-empted as punishment duty for Riders.
Someone must scrub this tile every day, I thought, as I lowered my body into the tile-lined depression that formed a deep, narrow tub. As I remember, Thanasset’s tub was this well-kept, too—and he doesn’t have a rotating duty roster to take care of such details. All he has is Milda.
The thought of Markasset’s father and aunt stirred memories and longing. They were good people, sincere and caring. They had accepted me as a stranger, and even when they had learned—I had told them the truth as soon as I had known for sure—that Markasset’s identity was dead, they had accepted me as family.
I stirred the pleasantly warm water and slid further down to let it lap over my shoulders. The water’s touch had awakened all the abrasions and muscle soreness I had been ignoring for the past several days, then it had begun to soothe them. I sighed and closed my eyes, homilies like “It’s the simple comforts that mean the most” and “You never appreciate something until you have to do without it” wandering through my mind. I braced my body, slipped into a languid reverie, and relaxed—truly relaxed—for the first time since I had left Raithskar nearly eight weeks before.
The slight chill of the cooling water roused me. I applied soap and coarse washcloth to my skin, opened the drain, and stepped out. It was only then that I realized that I had failed to bring a robe or fresh tunic. I rubbed away most of the water, then wrapped the roughly woven towel around my middle. I left the bathhouse with my skin tingling and my feet bare; I carried my boots and the rags I had been wearing at arm’s length.
The aroma of roasting meat greeted me, and I left the stone-laid path to go around the back of the house to the kitchen side. The ground was covered with grassy plants; the wide, soft blades cushioned the sound of my bare feet as I rounded the corner of the house.
A girl was tending the fire in the bottom section of the domed brick oven. She shoved the ceramic door back into place and turned toward the house at about the same moment that I became part of the view. She shrieked, whirled to run, stopped to look, blushed furiously, and started to giggle.
I tried not to laugh with her—even a bare-assed Captain needs dignity. Lucky for me, Shola had heard the commotion and now she hurried out the door, drying her hands on her apron. She did a fair job of hiding her own amusement as she scolded the girl.
“Yena, where are your manners?” Shola said. She took the boots from my hand and held them out to the girl. “Take these down to the river and freshen them—mind you shake off all the dust before you touch them with water. Go on, now.”
The girl took the boots, looked me over one more time, then fled, still giggling. Shola reached out for my clothes, then seemed to think better of it. “If you will put those on the ground beside the house, Captain,” she said, rubbing her hands on her apron as if she had actually touched them, “I’ll see to it Yena burns them—after dinner.”
I tossed down the clothes and unconsciously mimicked Shola’s gesture, rubbing my hands on the towel—which came loose. I grabbed at it in panic and replaced it before it slipped too far. I discovered I needn’t have worried; Shola was looking at the heap of shredded cloth.
“Your clothes speak of suffering, Captain.” She looked up into my face, her own expression soft and caring. “They make me grateful to have you with us again.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You make me feel welcome, in every way but one.”
Her face closed down and turned away. “If there is anything you need, Captain—” she said, her voice formal. I touched her arm.
“I think you know what I need, Shola.”
Come on, Shola, I urged her silently. Talk to me. Don’t shut me out.
For a moment I was afraid she was going to do exactly that, and I was poised on the edge of disappointment. Then she took a deep breath and announced to the wall of the house: “I am not the sort, Captain, who can pretend what she does not feel.”
“Then why not say what you do feel?” I asked her.
She looked at me then, her eyes flashing. “There is no place in the Lieutenant’s home for rudeness.”
“You have made a place for it,” I said, more sharply than I had intended.
“Have I not been polite to her?” Shola demanded.
“A cold and insincere gift that speaks your disapproval more clearly than words,” I said. “You’re deliberately trying to hurt Tarani. I want to know why.”
“This is a personal matter between us, Captain—hardly worth your attention.”
“I see,” I said, meaning that I could see how this attitude was frustrating Dharak. “Tarani and I will be moving across the river after dinner, Shola.”
“What? But … you cannot do that, Captain!” she said, stepping between me and the kitchen door as I moved toward it.
“Of course I can,” I said. “As I recall, there are a number of vacant homes; we will not inconvenience anyone.”
“I do not mean that,” Shola said.
“What else could you mean?” I asked. Her lips tightened as my point got through to her. “Could you mean,” I asked more gently, “that some actions say more than one thing to the people who see them? That our moving out of the Lieutenant’s house could be seen by the rest of the Sharith as what it is—a reaction against your negative feelings toward Tarani—or as what it isn’t—a withdrawal of support for the Lieutenant?”
“Please, Captain, it is bad enough between Dharak and his son; would you make it worse?”
“I would make Tarani comfortable,” I replied.
“Is she more important to you than the good will of the Lieutenant of the Sharith?” Shola demanded.
“I have no fear of losing Dharak’s good will—or Thymas’s, for that matter,” I said. “But the answer to your question is—yes.”
Shola gasped. “That woman—will her evil never be done?” she raged.
“Evil?” I repeated, shocked.
“What would you call it, Captain, to seduce a boy for the sole purpose of murdering his father? To reach for power in every possible way—leaving the boy for his commander, coming between father and son so that neither might challenge the one she has chosen, going so far as to bring a sha’um mother to a strange place for the sake of winning respect she does not deserve!”
I flinched back from the tirade. I was glad that I had finally provoked a response from Shola, but slightly overwhelmed at its vehemence.
“What has Thymas told you,” I asked, “of what happened when we left Thagorn?”
“Nothing,” Shola said, obviously surprised by the apparent non sequitur. “He has said nothing, except that you obtained what you sought, and that Gharlas is dead.”
I nodded. It fit.
I straightened my shoulders and looked down at the Lieutenant’s wife. “I won’t tell you you’re wrong about Tarani, Shola. My saying it won’t change your mind. But ask yourself how much of your anger toward T
arani is based in fact— incidentally, you don’t have all the facts—and how much in fear.”
“Fear?” Shola said. “Surely you cannot believe I would fear a woman like that!”
“Fear of your family breaking up,” I said. “Isn’t it easier to blame Tarani for driving Dharak and Thymas apart than to admit that neither of them is perfect, and that they’re creating their own problems?”
I moved around her and stepped up to the kitchen door.
“Do you still intend to leave?” she asked.
“Not tonight,” I said, looking over my shoulder at her. She seemed smaller, somehow, uncertain. Maybe I got through to her, I thought. “If our leaving were to disrupt the leadership of the Sharith, right now you’d blame that on Tarani, too. You’ve had a long time to build up your anger—the least we can do is give you a day or two to really get to know Tarani. I only ask that you keep an open mind, and see her as herself, independent of me or Dharak or Thymas. Will you do that for me, Shola?”
She hesitated. “I will … try, Captain. I can promise no more than that.”
6
I was still thinking of Shola as I turned down the hallway that led to the two guest rooms. I paused at my doorway, then continued on to stop before the tapestry hanging that provided private entry to Tarani’s room. I had my hand up to knock on the flat stone sill when I heard a man’s voice from inside the room. The words were softly spoken and indistinguishable from one another, but I recognized the voice.
I lowered my hand and went back to my room.
I was sitting on the edge of the pallet-lined ledge that served as a bed when Tarani knocked at my door half an hour later. I was dressed in a fresh “uniform”—tan trousers and tunic, with darker leather belt and boots (baldric and sword omitted)—and my hands were clenched together between my knees. The knock was so soft that I wasn’t sure I had heard anything until Tarani pushed aside the door hanging and looked into the room.
The Search for Kä Page 5
