It felt strange passing through the gates after so long. The cooler air there raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “Why don’t you just say that you don’t know and we won’t see our beds until long after dark?”
“I didn’t think I needed to state the obvious.”
Gravel crunched underfoot as they walked, but soon gave way to squelching mud as they descended the hill.
“I would like you to rethink that.”
“My lord?”
How awkward the title felt. It did not belong to him. It implied a confidence and authority he did not possess. He tried to think of a graceful way to admit he was stupidly tired and had no idea what he should or shouldn’t do. “I would appreciate your advice,” he said carefully.
From the corner of his eye he saw Nayuri’s faint smile. “As you wish.”
Chapter 22
The distinctive smell of smoke hovered in the air, acrid and permeated with fear and loss. In Tameko's study, a man knelt on the floor before Sherakai. Captain Nayuri and Suchedai Ginsaka blocked retreat. The stench of charred flesh, burned clothes, and sweat made him want to gag. It was all he could do to keep a neutral expression on his face, and he wondered how well he fared.
Three days after the violent weather, challenges continued to plague Tanoshi. The inner moat had overflowed and flooded vegetable gardens critical to winter stores. One entire wall of the south barn had collapsed. A small landslide further up the mountain hampered efforts to divert the stream here in the valley. Some of the storm’s refugees had returned to their homes, but those without that luxury remained in the gathering hall along with most of the wounded. Even tucked away in his father’s study, the hum and groan from the gathering hall wore at him. His mother and the women had their hands full—then Fazare’s wife had gone into labor several hours ago.
Thumb and forefinger rubbed burning eyes. “Tell us what happened, please,” he instructed, trying to breathe unobtrusively through his mouth.
The man lifted his head, a ruined kerchief clenched in his hands. The tracks of tears and sweat streaked his soot-blackened face; an ugly burn marked one side of it, extending into his singed hair. Pale blue eyes beseeched the youth for help. “I don’t know how the fire started, m’lord, but it filled the room. I barely got my wife and children out—” For a moment distress stoppered his words. “M-my son is burned bad, and my wife. The animals are dead. The house is gone, and all we had. Clothes, food, tools. All of it is gone.”
Sherakai watched as the man struggled mightily to keep his composure. He’d watched how Tameko had dealt with the serfs hundreds of times. It’s important to take care of those who take care of us. Of first importance was immediate health. With a tip of his head, he regarded Ginsaka. “Has the healer seen the family?”
Ginsaka nodded respectfully. “Of course.”
He suspected that the suchedai could have handled the incident and not involved him—would have, had it been Tameko here instead. “Very well, thank you. Lady Imarasu will want to be informed so she can arrange for food and clothing. As soon as the fire has cooled, have the remains cleared. Salvage what you can, then put together a few men to begin building again.” An upraised hand cut off the protest growing in Ginsaka’s eyes. The suchedai had the right of it. Every able-bodied man, woman, and youth worked from dawn until well after dark, trying to put their lives back together.
The opening and closing of the door threatened another complication. He ignored it. Gracious Creator, can I not get through one thing before the next strikes? The quietness suggested the latest problem needing his attention was not an emergency. He should be grateful for small blessings, he supposed.
“Suchedai Ginsaka, I need lists by order of priority. The captain and I—and my mother if she is available—will review them. Captain Nayuri, send someone to have a look at the fire or—” He paused, recalling that the captain had an ability with fire magic. “If you have a moment, perhaps you would tend to it yourself?”
“Yes, sir,” Nayuri agreed, approval in his expression. Nothing must be taken for granted anymore, and even the storm had not chased that from their minds.
Ginsaka was not so cooperative. “Young master”—he began, using the phrase guaranteed to irk Sherakai because it emphasized his youth—“we cannot spare any workers, as well you know. The border and fences require every available hand, else we stand in danger of losing more horses. Those few men we can spare are working to repair the hall and the barns.”
“Have you not yet moved the horses?” he inquired sharply.
“To the opposite side of the field,” Ginsaka nodded, “where herders are keeping them.”
“Move them out completely.”
“Where? Your father—”
“Is not here, suchedai, and I am aware of the plans for the horses.” He and the Horse Master had made them. The sting of insult nettled him. “We can put some of them in the other barns for now and shuffle what remains between fields. Do I need to do it myself?”
Ginsaka twitched back a step, startled. Like a fish, his mouth opened and closed, twice, then he shook his head. “I will deal with it, m’lord.”
The burned man listened to the exchange with his eyes lowered and his aura distressed.
“We’ll find a place for you until your home is rebuilt,” said Sherakai. “For now, you’re welcome to find a place in the hall.”
The man touched his fist to his forehead. “Thank you, Lord Sherakai.” He wavered when he stood, and Nayuri reached out to support him until the dizziness passed. “Thank you,” he whispered again. At a nod from the captain, a guard came forward to help him out of the room.
Discretely, Sherakai touched his fingertips to his nose, trying to block out the nauseating odor in his wake. He waited until the door closed behind the pair. “Do I understand, Master Ginsaka, that every pair of available hands is working on clearing the hedgerow or rebuilding the barn?”
“Vanu.” Yes. “The horses are our livelihood.”
“And what of the homes that were damaged?”
“They will be tended as soon as the horses are secured.”
“Where are the residents staying in the meantime?” he asked, knowing perfectly well that circumstances had altered little since the morning after the storm.
“In their houses if they are sound enough or with neighbors. Many are still bedded down in the gathering hall. Have you forgotten my reports?”
“No, I have not.” Sherakai walked behind the desk and put his hands on the back of the chair. He wanted to sit down, but that would put him below eye level and rob him of whatever authority his meager height might offer. A third figure near the door claimed his attention. Imarasu gave him a nod of assurance and remained where she was.
“I have seen the houses our people live in. They are small and mean compared to what we enjoy here,” he went on, musing aloud. Neither of the men responded to his observation, but he thought he detected a breath of discomfort. “The barns will be full with our livelihood.” Hands linked behind his back, he turned his gaze back to the suchedai. “The season is changing and I fear it will bring more rain soon. We’ll put that man and some of the other families from the ruined houses—the workforce that sees after our livelihood, and without which we would be undone—in your generous quarters until their homes are repaired.”
Ginsaka’s jaw dropped. “Surely you cannot be serious!”
“Surely I can, unless you have a better suggestion?”
He cleared his throat. “Your plans to move the horses will allow us to redirect some of the manpower toward housing, sir. What if we put the families up in some of the keep’s unused rooms?”
“Excellent idea,” he nodded, keeping his tone as mild as a summer breeze. “I don’t think my father would do any less, do you?”
Ginsaka inclined his head. “No, he would not,” he allowed.
“Does that meet with your approval, my lady?” Sherakai dreaded adding to her burden, especially now that she’d l
ost Rila’s able assistance.
“It does,” Imarasu said, coming to join the men near the desk. “I haven’t been down to the village yet, but what I hear tells me that it will take longer than a few days to get things sorted out. We are blessed to have room at the hall to share.”
“Thank you.” He took in her exhausted features and sharp worry, and wondered how she stayed on her feet. “Then I will leave the two of you to work out the details.”
“Very well.” Ginsaka picked up a sheaf of papers from the corner of the desk. “Will that be all?”
“For now, yes. I am grateful for your help.”
“However I may serve.” He inclined his head in place of a bow, begged the jansu-sa to excuse him, then made his way from the study. He trailed a prickly sort of stiffness that likely would blossom into a challenge.
“Nicely done,” Nayuri murmured, a hint of amusement in the set of his mouth.
“I’ve insulted him.”
“He tested you.”
“Don’t you both?”
Nayuri’s amusement grew into a smile. “Yes.”
“Too much by far, if you ask me,” Imarasu cut in. “He is a boy. He’s never had to deal with anything like this before in his life. And this is the help you give him? When was the last time you slept, Kai?”
Nayuri saved him from answering by bowing respectfully to the jansu-sa. “My lady, he has learned more in the past week by doing what needs to be done than he would ever have done by standing by and watching.” In his high-collared uniform of burnt orange trimmed with blue, he looked every inch the officer; Tanoshi’s officer. “It is his good fortune not to be cast alone into the sea of adulthood. He is surrounded on all sides by people who can and will help him.”
Sherakai snorted quietly. When they both looked at him askance, he shrugged. “It’s a funny comparison after this storm.”
“Apt,” Nayuri argued. “I saw you go under when you were helping clear the stream. Who pulled you out?”
“You and Beseni.” Turbid water had blinded and choked him, but their strong hands had hauled him to safety and thumped his back until he breathed properly again. The reminder brought a taste of muddy water to his mouth.
“He almost drowned?” Imarasu gasped.
Sherakai waved his hand. “Not even close, thanks to the captain.”
“You didn’t tell me.” Her eyes narrowed at Nayuri.
“He is well, and there are more important things to use words on.”
“I’m fine.” He grimaced as he rubbed his aching head. “I am not sure why my father didn’t leave one of you in charge.”
“I am at your service however you need me,” Nayuri reminded. "But I think your father will be pleased with the way you are managing. You use your advisors to good effect.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Whether it does or not, the captain is right.” Imarasu came around the desk to drop a kiss on Sherakai’s cheek. “This advisor suggests you get some sleep, but I thought you’d want to know Rila has given birth. She is resting now. You have a new nephew.”
“A boy! That is wonderful. Fazare will be pleased.”
“Yes, he will.” Her chin lifted. “And your father will be pleased with you and the baby. If you’ll excuse me, I must go sort out rooms and injuries and sensibilities. Captain,” she nodded, and made her way out of the room.
“You seem less than impressed,” Nayuri observed.
“I am glad for her,” Sherakai said, chewing the inside of his cheek. Glad, too, that they needn’t undergo another funeral. “I have a hundred tasks parading through my head, demanding attention.” Restless, he moved to stand at the window. Typical busyness filled the ward, people and animals coming and going. His gaze drifted to the gates at the far end and he wished his brothers would ride through. Now, or… now…
“You are young and inexperienced. It is only natural you feel out of your depth.”
“I was never supposed to be in this place, Nayuri. You know it. Everyone knows it.”
“The gods will have their way.”
“I wish the gods would explain.” Behind him, the captain sucked in a breath.
“If they desire it, they will do so in their own time.”
“Do you pray often?” Sherakai asked.
There came a small silence, then the suggestion of a nod. “Yes, I do.”
“Does it help?”
“Yes. Even if the gods do not answer me directly, I find comfort in prayer. The opportunity to express my doubts or my desires usually puts them in a new perspective. It makes them easier to sort out.”
“Like writing in a journal.”
“A little, yes, but prayer involves more than oneself, and I would rather have the guidance of my Maker, no matter how small the influence, than to rely solely upon my own might.”
Surprised, Sherakai looked at the captain, who was always a quiet tower of strength and calm. That he might want or need help from elsewhere came as a shock. “But you are experienced and…”
“Old?” he filled in with a humorless smile.
“I didn’t say that. You do have experience and learning. Wisdom.”
Nayuri shrugged. “I cannot claim it as my own. I owe every breath to my Maker.”
The possibilities inherent in that statement boggled the mind. He turned to look out the window thoughtfully, a frown creasing his brow. Just as he opened his mouth to ask a question, activity near the gate caught his attention. His heart leaped. Fazare and Imitoru? Oh, please, Creator, let it be! “Something is happening,” he said.
Nayuri came to stand beside him. “Perhaps your father has returned earlier than we expected.”
That, too, would be a good thing, but Tameko did not ride into the ward. Instead, one of the guards hurried to the House. Sherakai and Nayuri both faced the door to wait. A moment later, the man knocked even as he pushed the door open. He did not come inside. “Sirs,” he said, giving a sketchy bow. He looked first at Sherakai, then to Nayuri. “Excuse me, but you are needed at the gate, Captain.”
“With my lord’s permission?” he asked, looking sideways at Sherakai.
He nodded and reserved a heavy sigh for after the door closed behind them. It opened again, and another man stepped in, taking a position opposite the other guard. He was never left alone any more. He didn’t even sleep alone. At least his guards didn’t have a constant stream of requests and petitions for him. Rubbing his forehead, he sat down at his father’s desk to give the collection of correspondence some attention. Some things could wait for his father’s return. Others must wait, for they involved complicated politics he was only beginning to understand. A missive from Lord Iwara troubled him. Childishly, Sherakai had assumed Iwara and his father were friends. The letter suggested something else.
His lordship droned on for some time about the terrible losses he faced because of the storm. One would think others in the storm's path had only suffered minimally. Then Iwara altered his course to offer a thinly veiled threat suggesting Tameko cease trying to capitalize on his friendship with the late king. House Tanoshi’s restoration was a recent thing and Tameko ought to concern himself with the foundation before he added a new roof.
Was Iwara accusing his father of reaching above his station? Perhaps jockeying for position as one of the High Houses? Tanoshi had been included in that list before the Hemaya Purification decades ago. A distant relative had cast his lot behind the wrong party, and poof! High House no more. His father’s plaintive jokes about farming potatoes hardly sounded like someone eager to advance his political ranking.
Perhaps Nayuri had an answer. In the meantime, reports of damage from the storm arrived daily. They required the delicate juggling of manpower, and coin, as well as fragile sensibilities. Suchedai Ginsaka usually kept most of the everyday complications under control, but the storm had thrown everything out of balance.
With a letter concerning stud services in front of him, Sherakai withdrew a fresh sheet of paper f
rom an increasingly small stack and picked up his quill pen. As he mentally composed a response, he tapped the tattered feather against his nose. He had just crafted a particularly nice turn of phrase when the door opened again. Eyes closed against the interruption, he whispered the line aloud to memorize it.
“M’lord Sherakai.”
Captain Nayuri’s taut voice sliced right through his rumination and his eyes shot open. “Yes, Captain.”
The man stood rigidly before the table, teeth clenched and the muscles in his jaw knotting. It was a moment before he gathered himself to go on, a moment in which dread flooded through Sherakai’s limbs and left him cold. “Fazare,” he began, gritted his teeth, then continued, “is dead.”
Chapter 23
“What?” A breath only, a refusal to understand.
“I strongly suggest that you do not see him. No one should see him, not like this.”
“Fazare is here?”
“Yes.”
Sherakai rose from his chair to drift to the window as if in a dream. Was this the introduction to another nightmare? His ears rang. “How?”
“It will avail you nothing to torture yourself with the details.”
“It will avail me nothing to remain in ignorance. I am not a man one moment and a child the next! My father gave me the duty of overseeing Tanoshi in his absence and my brother is Tanoshi.”
“I do not argue that, Sherakai,” Nayuri allowed. “I argue that you should remember him the way you saw him last, strong and hale. Fazare loved you and he would have wished this for you.”
“What happened to him? Did he die in battle as Tasan did?”
He gave a hesitant shake of his head, then licked his lips. “No, my lord. He has been ill used.”
A buzzing sensation drilled Sherakai’s temples. If he hadn’t died fighting his captors, what had happened to him? “Was he tortured?”
“Sherakai—”
“Tell me,” he demanded. Silence met the question, affirmation of his worst fears. “Who? Who did this?” he croaked.
Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1) Page 15
