Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  “Is there another?” Sherakai asked when they’d finished, suspicion shading his words.

  “Only the one,” the tall man replied.

  One long, low tent shared with five other men. The youth looked from it to his companions. It wasn’t what he was used to, but his preferences didn’t count. “How long till dinner?”

  Beseni tossed him a hard biscuit to tide him over.

  “He’ll do,” Araki pronounced to Nayuri later, when Sherakai had crawled into the tent. As if canvas prevented him hearing their conversation.

  “He expects much,” came Beseni’s voice.

  “He doesn’t know what to expect,” Araki disagreed.

  “Obedience and respect from those of lower rank.” The captain this time.

  A stick snapped. The pieces pattered softly as someone tossed them into the fire.

  “Just like you.” Araki’s words held humor.

  “He hasn’t earned it yet. There is much still for him to learn.”

  Araki got to his feet. “If the Creator is willing, we’ll have plenty of time to teach him.”

  “Creator willing,” came the murmured reply.

  Chapter 27

  “Wake up.”

  Sherakai instinctively jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, the unfamiliar voice. Blankets tangled around his legs as he shoved himself up, blinking and disoriented. Faint gray light illuminated the face next to him, and it took a moment to register it as that of Captain Nayuri. “What time is it?”

  Nayuri moved away, slipping out under the edge of the canvas. “Time to leave.”

  If yesterday was any indication, that meant no time for anything so civilized as washing his face or braiding his hair. One glance showed that his was the only bedding still in the tent. When he rolled up to shove his feet into his boots, he discovered muscles he didn’t know he owned. Every one of them screamed. The job of rolling the blankets took longer than it should. He moved like an old man. Knees on his bedroll, he tied the cords tight, then reached up to straighten his hair. There’d be no time for elaborate plaiting, but at least—

  He froze as his fingers met the cold, bare skin on the back of his neck and he remembered. We’ll have to cut your hair. Guardsmen don’t wear it long, and you must blend in with the others, his father had said only yesterday. No, the day before. In the privacy of his room his mother cut it, hands trembling only a little.

  It will grow back, darling, she whispered, taking care to cut off the full length, still in its thick braid. Little prickles of terror accompanied each slice of the shears.

  Will he have to stay shut in until it grows again? little Kanya asked, full of curiosity. Workmen and commoners never wore their hair long unless they were female. Even then, the lower classes generally wore kerchiefs to cover their heads.

  We’ll save it for him, Imarasu assured her. She chose not to point out the time it would take until his hair grew long enough to fasten the clipping securely.

  The lump of dismay in his throat refused to go down. People would know. They would presume untruths and his good character would suffer. That it might even reflect on his parents was unbearable.

  Imarasu had gently stroked her son’s shorn locks. It will grow back, she repeated. Better to live outside the vanities of society than to never live at all.

  He looks very strange.

  Be kind, Kanya. He is still your brother.

  “Are you coming?” Suwa asked, lifting the canvas and rolling it up as he went. Araki and another man worked beside him.

  Sherakai rose abruptly and ducked out of the way. The other patrol had joined them during the night and the men moved about the camp, efficiently packing gear and saddling horses. He wondered how he had slept through their arrival; how he had slept at all on the first night of such a strange journey filled with so many new things.

  “Hoy, Sapling!” an unexpected, familiar voice called out. “Catch!”

  In spite of his surprise, Sherakai kept hold of his bedroll and pack to catch a flying loaf of bread. Rough and dark, a slice in the top allowed for a stuffing of sausage, cheese, pieces of wild mushroom, and some decidedly strong-smelling onion. “Saints, what is this?” Sherakai exclaimed, holding it at a distance.

  “An extraordinary meal to break your fast. What were you expecting? Roasted quail on a bed of gently steamed greens, spiced carrots, and a glass of wine? All served on a platter of carved ivory?” Chakkan struck a dramatic pose, one hand and his nose held aloft. From a man as tough and muscular as he, it was ridiculous.

  Sherakai did not laugh. “I was expecting something… edible,” he finished, trying not to breathe the stench.

  “Let me tell you something, my friend,” Chakkan announced, hooking a brawny arm around Sherakai’s neck. His breath smelled like sausage and onions. “This is what guardsmen eat on very good days. If you don’t want it, I’ll take it and eat it with pleasure and gratitude. I will also laugh while I watch you munch away on the soggy bread and cheese left over from yesterday.”

  “It stinks.”

  Chakkan shrugged. “So starve.” He reached for the loaf, but Sherakai ducked and slipped under his friend’s arm.

  “You can buy it from me.”

  “Aye? With what currency?”

  He glanced at the surrounding busyness. Any minute, someone would give him orders. He could hardly move, let alone break camp. “You take care of my horse today.”

  Chakkan shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “And you call yourself a horseman!”

  Sherakai’s jaw slanted upward, eyes narrowing.

  “Fine, I won’t tell him how lazy you are. Hand over the bread, and when you faint by the wayside, don’t look at me. I’ll be too full to help.”

  “Full of dung.” He tossed the bread to Chakkan.

  “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Sherakai smiled suddenly. “I’m glad you’re here. They wouldn’t let me say goodbye.”

  “I know.” Chakkan sobered and glanced away. Shadows haunted the sudden silence between them, weighing it with the memory of dark days.

  “Did you ask to come?”

  He shook his head. “We’d already left on patrol when they told me. If they’d sent you away, Kai—” Grief shone in Chakkan’s eyes.

  “I would have sent for you,” Sherakai declared.

  “I would have come.” Impossible. The privileges of Sherakai’s rank did not extend to command of the guardsmen, particularly before he passed the Rites of manhood. Chakkan touched his friend’s shockingly short locks. “How could they humiliate you like this?”

  Sherakai suppressed a shiver. “To help me survive. I will survive.”

  “It’s so…” His voice fell away as he searched for words.

  “Naked?”

  “Yes.” A distressed whisper. Then the dismay turned to resolution. “It doesn’t matter to me. You are still Kai.”

  “Always.”

  Chakkan nodded, features pinched. Things were different. Again. “I’ll get your horse saddled.”

  “Sapling!” Araki’s baritone carried easily across the camp, interrupting the reunion. “Come fill these water skins and pass them out to the men!”

  Shock filled Chakkan’s expression. Sherakai gave him a little shove. “Go. It’s all right.”

  “How dare he—”

  “He has to. Just go!” Walking required unexpected effort, but Sherakai refused to let anyone see his discomfort.

  “Did you sleep well?” the guardsman asked, smiling a greeting.

  He ignored it. “My name is not Sapling.”

  “We can’t call you by your true name until we reach the city.” He looped straps over Sherakai’s shoulders.

  The knowledge didn’t make the new byname sit any easier. “Choose another name. That one is insulting.”

  “Why? A sapling is young and strong, quick and flexible. It bends with the wind when its older brothers groan and break. Can you bend?”

  Filling the water
skins would require bending he did not look forward to, though he suspected Araki meant something else altogether. He hitched the straps up and hooked his thumb beneath them to keep them in place, his chilly gaze full of disapproval. Araki drew the back of one knuckle along Sherakai’s rigid jaw, his expression musing.

  He jerked away. “Do not suppose that you can be either my father or my master.”

  “I would not, young lord,” he murmured and took a deferential step backward. He started to bow, then caught himself. “My apologies.”

  Behind him, Sherakai heard the captain ordering two of the men to ride out ahead of the rest of the group. Brushing past Araki, he hurried to carry out his orders.

  The Indimi-o per’la Tojitu were a sight to behold. A score or more milled around in the small corral hidden from view in the elbow of the tree-covered hillside. As the company came closer, everything about Sherakai changed: his posture, his expression, his tone of voice, his very thoughts. Unconsciously, he leaned toward them, all the aches, damp, the hunger forgotten.

  The Indimi-o nearest to him lifted their heads, and some of them called out greetings.

  “Will you look them over?” the captain requested of him.

  He answered with action, slipping from his fine but ordinary mount to dart between the rails.

  “It’s eerie, isn’t it?” old Suwa remarked.

  Fearless, Sherakai rubbed necks and tugged ears when the horses came to greet him. Aishe was there, demanding attention with a nose shoved beneath Sherakai’s arm. He laughed and hugged the stallion.

  Nayuri nodded. “Like his father, but easier. More natural.”

  “Do you think he can speak with them?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps. They behave as if he does.”

  They talked as if Sherakai couldn’t hear them perfectly well. “Something’s got them uneasy,” he called to the captain.

  “An uncommon skill.” Suwa acknowledged drily.

  “Can they tell you why?” Nayuri asked Sherakai.

  He slipped among animals powerful enough to crush him if he stepped wrong. He never stepped wrong. Neither did they. Alert and watchful, they moved out of the way at the merest touch, or a softly spoken word. He had them quieted within minutes.

  “Anger and fear,” he said at last, high spirits taking a downward spiral. “Something about… death.”

  “That can’t be good,” Suwa muttered.

  Nayuri signaled Beseni and one other to ride out and scout the area, then his attention returned to Sherakai. “Are any of the horses wounded?”

  “No, sir.”

  Suwa shifted in his saddle, surveying the surroundings critically. “Maybe we’d better start shifting mounts.”

  Nayuri’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I agree. The guards should have put in an appearance by now. Put three men on watch. Armed. Set the rest to changing mounts and loading supplies. Sapling, match the men to the horses as best you can. Make it quick.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t—” Sherakai started, but Nayuri cut him off with a glacial frown.

  “Now, Sapling.”

  How could he have left home, lost his brothers, and had his name taken away in such a short time?

  Suwa pointed toward the north. A single guard appeared from the shelter of the trees, a crossbow in his hands and a huge dog at his heels.

  “I see him,” Nayuri murmured.

  The older man nodded and moved off to follow orders, and soon the moment of rest turned into a hive of activity.

  Sherakai had his own orders to carry out. He opened the corral to lead the Indimi-o out, bringing the horse he recognized as Nayuri’s first. Aishe trailed him, nipping at his elbow. “Hush now, hush,” Sherakai ordered. “I’m happy to see you, too, but we have work to do.”

  “Hansa,” Nayuri greeted the guard, leather creaking as he dismounted. The hound sniffed at hooves, then turned to Sherakai. Tawny-colored with a dark mask, rain matted the dog’s silky hair to its muscular body. Its shoulders reached to Sherakai’s hip. Tasan had taken a fancy to the breed and begun raising them soon after his Second Rites. It was common for one or two to go with the patrols. Their keen sense of sight and smell were invaluable. He held his hand out to let the dog sniff him and murmured a soft greeting.

  “Sir.” A tight expression pulled at Hansa’s eyes. “Muhani did not come back when we went out to check on the Indimi-o last night. I sent the dog to find him. He’s dead and the dog scared someone off and killed another.”

  Nayuri stiffened. “You have the body?”

  He nodded. “Aye, and this.” Reaching beneath his rain-slick cloak, he handed the captain a badge. On it was a pretty white windflower with a dark center upon a field of purple.

  “Bairith Mindar. By all that’s sacred, it’s Bairith Mindar…”

  Chapter 28

  Shock rooted Sherakai in place. Bairith’s men had attacked them? “There must be some mistake,” he said, his voice thin and distant in his own ears. “He’s Ru’s husband. He wouldn’t hurt us.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Hansa said, his expression unconvinced. “But it was his lordship's man next to Muhani's body and the bloody knife that stabbed him in his hand. ”

  Nayuri frowned as he turned the badge over in his hand. “There’s no cause for Lord Chiro’s men to be here at all.”

  “Unless he’s helping keep watch after Tasan’s and Fazare’s deaths.” There had to be an explanation. Bairith was family.

  “If that was true, he’d have informed Lord Tanoshi.” Nayuri paused. “To keep accidents from happening his patrols would have to coordinate with ours.” As captain of Lord Tanoshi’s soldiers, Nayuri would have been part of that coordination. He turned his attention on the horses, still frowning. The captain closed a hand decisively over the badge. “Get back to your job. We’re moving out immediately.”

  “What if it is someone pretending to be Lord Chiro’s men?” Sherakai persisted.

  “This is not my first dance, Sapling. Tend to the horses.”

  Sherakai’s familiarity with the Indimi-o per’la Tojitu made a difficult assignment easier. Jansu Tanoshi trained a score of the Indimi-o for the use of scouts and patrols. They were unbonded and generally good-tempered, but still particular. It distressed him to see four of the sleek beauties used as pack horses, but Captain Nayuri waved off his protests and ordered him to just get the job done. It was easier to focus on the horses than the possibility that Bairith had killed two of his brothers and still had the third. The Indimi-o did not much appreciate the poor use, either. It took patience to convince them to come along willingly with their loads.

  In the meantime, Nayuri sent a man back to the keep with word of Bairith’s apparent treachery and another was assigned to stay with the horses left behind. The men replenished supplies from a cache made at the site earlier in the month. Nayuri allowed the men time enough for a quick meal, though three of them still ate as they rode. This time, Sherakai was not so quick to decline one of the awful loaves of bread. It had been a long time between dinner and the noon meal, and Chakkan's sly smirk conveyed volumes.

  The troop rode all day. Alternately walking and running allowed the Indimi-o to cover a distance impossible for lesser mounts. Twice, the men dismounted to walk alongside the horses. The hound loped alongside Hansa , tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he worked to keep pace. He’d long ago proven his worth as a scout, and if they clashed with Bairith’s men he would fight alongside his master.

  It was humiliating when, after they’d set up camp on the second night, Araki brought him a jar of salve “for the blisters.” Sherakai refused it with a terse Thank you, but no. A second later, the jar sailed through the air into Chakkan’s hands and Araki strode away whistling.

  “Don’t let pride turn you into a flamin’ idiot,” Chakkan chided, shoving the salve into Sherakai’s pocket. “Bruises and tenderness turn into blisters. Blisters swell and break. Cloth rubs them raw, and soon enough you’re bleeding. Infected. Scarred
for life! Women will run screaming. Or worse, laughing! Before that, though, you won’t be able to sit at all. Then how will we get you to Kelamara?”

  “How about with a short rest now and then? I had no idea the captain was such a hard taskmaster.” Stern, yes, and resolute, as a captain-of-the-guard ought to be. Nayuri lacked none of the necessary qualities. He had a commanding presence and a quick mind, unquestionable loyalty, and absolute obedience to his lord.

  “He’s determined,” Chakkan argued, “and driven. You should be glad.”

  “Of course I should.” Everyone seemed ready to point that out to him.

  “This is no holiday, Kai.”

  “You think I do not know this? What point is the exercise if I am half dead when it’s done?” He knew the instant he said the words that they were rash and foolish.

  Chakkan’s mouth curled in disgust. “Now you’re acting like a spoiled lordling. You’ve never done a really hard thing in your life. Maybe this exercise will make a man out of you.”

  Sherakai’s fists curled at his sides. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Chakkan worked his jaw. “When you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, let me know.” Without another word, he stalked off.

  The glare that followed him was interrupted by orders—orders!—to quit standing there like a post and tend the horses. He did not need to be told to care for the Indimi-o. It had been his intention to do so in spite of whatever plans the captain might have had. Was it his fault Araki and Chakkan had stopped him? Cold and so wet that mold probably grew in unmentionable places, Sherakai stalked off to tend to his chores.

  The first days set the pattern for the rest. The captain gave him tedious or difficult chores to do, as though he were no more than a recruit. Under the watchful eyes of strangers it was a useful ruse, but out in the wilds there was no one in sight and hadn’t been for days. Sensible men kept out of the constant downpour. Nayuri didn’t look for a barn they might shelter in, but pushed on.

  Riding, Sherakai kept trying to find new positions in which to sit. It was possible his backside would be worn off before they reached the city, even with regular applications of the salve. Finally, he lengthened his stirrups so he could trade off sitting with standing.