Coin of Kings (The Powers of Amur Book 2)

by J. S. Bangs

  “Was it?” Navran said.

  “The primary qualification for a king’s personal guard ought to be loyalty,” Sadja said. “And you seem to have found one who is loyal to you, personally, rather than just to the Heir.”

  “Good,” Navran said. “Make sure they’re equipped.”

  Sadja nodded. “I’ll give the orders.”

  Navran relaxed a little in his throne. His burns throbbed, more converted soldiers were coming, and his ignorance was as great as ever. Pain and pretending. But he had done something right.

  * * *

  “You have only one hundred permanent palace guards,” the tall, thin man explained to Navran with a tone of mild annoyance. Navran remembered him vaguely from the oaths of loyalty, and that only because he was the very last man, the chief of the militia, bearing the rather pompous title of the Horn of Virnas. Navran had forgotten his given name.

  Two days had passed since the soldiers had been converted and sworn their oaths en masse. It was raining outside, and the sound of the post-monsoon rain shower made a pleasant thrumming through the open windows. Dastha stood beside the throne on Navran’s left as an honor guard, and Mandhi stood on the right to see after points of ritual and political decorum. Aside from the three of them and the Horn of Virnas, the room was empty.

  The man went on, glancing from Navran to Mandhi. “The remainder of the forces, the 1,073 which Thudra mustered, were levied from surrounding villages, and that only for a few months.”

  Navran adjusted his position atop the cushion on the throne. His burns throbbed, but the pain was bearable. He was expected to ask questions, now. “They go back?”

  “Yes, they go back. And you have to pay them when their service is over.” The note of annoyance in his voice grew stronger, though the Horn was far too polite to say anything.

  “And the palace guard?”

  The Horn nodded. “They are paid every week, one copper paisha.”

  Mandhi cleared her throat. “How much do we pay the irregulars that Thudra mustered?”

  “They get one clay ghita for every day of service.”

  Navran tried to calculate the wages which were due to a thousand men who had served for several months, then abandoned the calculation when the number grew too large. “Thank you,” he squeaked.

  The Horn bowed. “Is that all, my lord and king?”

  “That’s all,” —he paused for a moment, unsure how to address the man— “my Horn.”

  The Horn of Virnas bowed again and left through the curtained door. Mandhi sighed.

  “One more,” she said. “The King’s Purse.”

  “Only one?” He did not want to seem to beg, but he could hardly stand to spend more time talking to ministers, khadir, and merchants.

  Mandhi gave him a look which might have been pity. “Are you in pain?” she asked quietly.

  He was always in pain. But he shook his head.

  “This last man is named Karanja-kha. A khadir with holdings near Virnas, appointed to be the King’s Purse by Thudra. He has not chosen to convert, and we haven’t required it of those outside the military.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That’s what I learned. The rest you can ask him.”

  Navran gestured for her to bring him in. She walked to the doorway, pulled aside the curtain, and spoke a word to someone waiting outside.

  The King’s Purse entered. He came before the throne and bowed with both knees on the ground, touching his forehead to the carpet, then crept forward to kiss Navran’s ring.

  “Ah,” Mandhi said sharply. The man looked at her, then back to Navran.

  “You weren’t converted,” Mandhi said humorlessly. “Unclean people may not touch the hand of the Heir. You should have been told.”

  “I remember, now,” the man said sheepishly, rising to his feet.

  Navran pitied him for a moment. He was a short, fat man wearing a cotton kurta with an oil stain on its front, and he had a patchy beard which should have been shaved. The ministers had been given the option of keeping their religion, but it meant no relaxation of the purity rules which bound Navran. He was unsure how it would work to have a Purse whom he could not touch, but he was nonetheless relieved to avoid having to receive another kiss.

  “What’s your name?” Navran asked.

  “Karanja-kha, my lord and king,” the man said, with a little bow of the head.

  “You handle my money?”

  The man nodded.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Karanja looked aside sheepishly. “I don’t need to trouble you with reports of finance so soon—”

  Mandhi cut him off. “Answer Navran-dar’s question. Now is exactly when you need to trouble him with reports of finance.”

  Karanja looked at Mandhi in surprise, then said, “Yes, of course. Well, I suppose I should say that—see, the treasury room has silver on hand, and we’ve covered the expenses of your reign so far—but the taxes are in shortfall, and the House—but, see, you have no House, or you would need to take on—”

  Mandhi made an annoyed noise. “Get to the point.”

  Seeming to come to himself, the man straightened and said, “I have a report which I prepared for this meeting—I forgot it momentarily—knowing that Navran-dar would inquire, though you might find my handwriting dense—I apologize, but I spend too long at the abacus and ledger, though enough—well, enough.” Wiping the sweat from his cheeks with the corner of his kurta, he reached into a pocket and pulled a palm-sized slate scratched with figures and presented it to Navran.

  Navran hesitated. Was he permitted to take it? It didn’t matter. He waved it aside and said, “I don’t read.”

  “Give it to me,” Mandhi said coolly. Karanja’s eyes grew wide, and he glanced from Navran to Mandhi, then put it into Mandhi’s hand. Mandhi glanced over it and snorted. “I can’t read this either. Don’t tell me this is the handwriting which you use to present documents to the king.”

  Karanja bowed. “But, you see, it isn’t just my writing, it’s also in merchant’s shorthand—”

  “Merchant’s shorthand?” Mandhi said, raising her voice. “You bring this to your king, and you write it in merchant’s shorthand?” She flung the slate at Karanja, who bobbled it against his chest and groped desperately to ensure that it did not fall and shatter on the marble floor.

  “Get out,” Navran said quietly. His head hurt. “Make a report later, when you’re ready.”

  “And bring something written by a proper scribe, in letters that anyone can read,” Mandhi said.

  Karanja bowed deeply and backed out of the room, muttering abject apologies, the slate shaking in his hands.

  As soon as he had gone, Mandhi sighed and said, “I shouldn’t have gotten angry. That was poor form.”

  “No matter,” Navran said. “I would have done the same, but it hurts to throw.” He would have to hear and attempt to understand the man’s report sometime. The two things the kingdom needed most were silver and bronze—money and soldiers. But he had no more energy to deal with it today. “Was he the last?”

  “The last for today,” Mandhi said.

  “Good.” Navran held his breath for a moment in preparation of standing. With a swift movement he got to his feet, endured the bolts of pain in the soles of his feet, and managed not to fall. “What’s next?”

  “Nothing, actually. I made your schedule light. You may take dinner and retire.”

  Oh, a sweet reprive. “I’ll go to my chamber. Don’t let anyone in.”

  “It won’t be me,” Mandhi said. “I’m going back to Veshta’s house tonight. Oh, one more thing: I sent for your mother.”

  “Ah.” A wave of relief passed through him. He had asked Mandhi to see about bringing his mother to the palace, but since then he had lost the thought in the storm of meetings, appointments, and agony.

  “I found four men who are familiar with the area around Jaitha. None of them knew where Idirja was—sorry, the village is too obscure—bu
t they promised they could find it. I gave them money. It may be a long while before they return.”

  “I understand,” Navran said. At least his mother wouldn’t be living in the poor hovel she had occupied in Idirja. While he was king, he couldn’t leave his mother a pauper. This was one debt that he would pay.

  “I have to go now,” Mandhi said. “Tonight at Veshta’s estate. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.” He tried to hide the disappointment on his face. The palace was piercingly lonely when Mandhi wasn’t there, even during the hours when Navran wouldn’t see her anyway. It helped to know there was someone nearby who wasn’t soldier, servant, or saghada, someone who knew him as something other than a king. But he didn’t begrudge Mandhi the time in the home she had grown up in. “Give my regards to Srithi and Veshta.”

  “I will.” She bowed and hurried out.

  Navran extended his left hand, and Dastha came forward to take it. He leaned into Dastha just enough to relieve some of the ache in his feet, and together they walked out of the throne room, through the marble colonnade, and to the lonely chamber where Navran spent his nights. Dastha left him at the door.

  “You’re on guard tonight?” Navran asked.

  “Yes, my lord,” Dastha said.

  “Good,” Navran said. He wanted to invite Dastha in, but it would look bad. Accepting Dastha’s bow, he let the heavy curtain over the arched doorway fall closed and limped to his bed and collapsed atop it.

  It was a raised bed, a novelty. Navran had never slept anywhere but on a floor mat before coming here, not even in the Ushpanditya where he was Ruyam’s prisoner. The bed bore a cotton-filled mattress covered with a sheet of silk, a kind of luxury he had never contemplated. It was a blessing to his burned limbs. He carefully stretched out atop the silk and rested his head. The pain slowly subsided. He closed his eyes.

  He wasn’t tired, though.

  The burns on his hands and legs made it agonizing to toss and turn, so he lay motionless and thought. He wanted a game of jaha, but who here would play it with him? Dastha only played sacchu, and it seemed indecorous for the king and his guard to gamble together. Could Navran even afford to gamble? Based on what Karanja had said, there was something amiss in the treasury. If the bumbling, stuttering Purse could ever give a straight answer he might find out what it was. But who would know? Mandhi didn’t know how to keep ledgers. Maybe he could call on Veshta.

  Maybe he could call on Thudra.

  He stood, wincing only a moment, went to the curtain, and called for Dastha. “There’s a jaha board in my room. Fetch it. And the stools. Then send someone to bring Thudra up from the dungeon. Meet me in the throne room.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Dastha said. “Um, can I ask what this is about?”

  “Going to play a game.”

  He limped himself to the throne room, without Dastha’s help, feeling a heady buzz at the action, at taking initiative. It was still raining, and the sun dripped toward evening, turning the sky a dim gray. Servants scattered from his hobbling form. He came to the door of the throne room, pushed the curtain aside himself, limped up the three steps to the dais, and settled on the throne.

  There. Let Thudra come to him now.

  A few moments later Dastha entered carrying the stool which held the marble jaha board, and the drawers which held the pieces.

  “Put it here,” Navran said, gesturing to an open space beside him on the dais.

  Dastha did so with a flourish, then stepped to the foot of the dais. “Jaha? Not sacchu?”

  “Sacchu only if I want to lose.”

  Dastha stifled a laugh.

  “Fetch a light. It’s getting dark.”

  Dastha called for a servant girl who lit the oil lamps hanging on chains at the corners of the room. As soon as she left, a pair of soldiers entered with Thudra bound between them.

  Navran had not seen him since Sadja had brought him into the dungeon, followed by his surrendered soldiers. It had been only a few days, but he seemed emaciated, his skin sallow and sagging, the manacles at his wrists chafing against sores. He wore a dhoti which had once been fine, but was now soiled and torn. Navran suspected they were the same clothes he had been captured in. For a moment Navran offered to change his clothes—but no, let him play in rags.

  “Unbind him,” Navran said. As soon as the manacles were undone Thudra rubbed his wrists. He examined Navran on the throne with undisguised contempt, but said nothing.

  “Come here,” Navran said and gestured to the jaha board. “You play?”

  Thudra stepped up to the dais and examined the jaha board. “Unless I’m mistaken,” he said dryly, “you took that board from my chamber.”

  “My chamber now,” Navran said. “Arrange the pieces. You make my moves for me. I’m not permitted.”

  “Not permitted?” Thudra said in a tone of bemusement as he took the pieces from the drawer and arranged them on the board. “And who doesn’t permit you?”

  “Ulaur. Play first or second?”

  “Oh, so you’re allowing me to choose?”

  “First or second?”

  “Second,” Thudra said. Having laid out the armies for both sides, he put the four towers onto the board and gestured to Navran. “Your move, Navran-dar.”

  The first game went quickly. Navran played aggressively and kept Thudra on the defense. Thudra played sluggishly at first, but as the game moved to its conclusion he managed to put up a spirited defense, drawing things out several moves longer than Navran expected before acceding to jahaparna. Navran said nothing to him other than calling out his moves.

  “Again,” Navran said as soon as the board was cleared.

  “Again,” agreed Thudra with a hint of warmth in his voice, and began setting up the pieces. The click of marble against marble was the only sound in the room. “You play well for a man raised a peasant.” He rubbed one of the peasant pieces between his thumb and forefinger. “But it doesn’t make you a king.” He slammed the peasant into its place on the board.

  “What would?” Navran asked.

  “Kill your enemies. It shows power.”

  “So I’m supposed to kill you.”

  Thudra looked at him and smirked. “Me? You could, but I imagine you’re keeping me alive because you want me as an informant. I know the kingdom better than anyone. Or else you just want me to amuse you with games of jaha. No, I was referring to the other woman, the one who incited the riot that nearly got you killed.”

  “Mandhi?” Navran laughed in honest shock. “Not an enemy. She’s bearing the next Heir.”

  “And is that Heir your son?”

  “No.”

  “A king would call that a competitor, not a successor.”

  Navran grunted and shook his head. “No one will harm Mandhi.”

  “I figured,” Thudra sneered. “The board is ready. I’ll play first this time.” He made his move, sending a peasant into a defensive position around the first tower.

  Navran moved in turn. The opening sequence played out in a typical manner, avoiding early trades, each of them taking two towers before extending toward the middle of the board.

  Navran cleared his throat. “How did you know about Mandhi?”

  “Gossip reaches even to the dungeon.”

  Navran made a note to question the guards and find out who was visiting Thudra. He moved on to his real question. “I spoke to the Purse today. Karanja-kha.”

  “Oh, that bore.” Thudra mimed the man talking, then moved a piece with a flick of his hand.

  “Not a bore today. He stuttered. Nervous. Said something about tax receipts.”

  “Karanja-kha stuttered?” Thudra pulled at his lower lip, which had grown coarse with unshaven stubble. “Was the problem with taxes or with tariffs?”

  A pang of embarrassment passed through Navran. Pain and pretending. “What’s the difference?”

  Thudra snorted. “Aren’t you glad you have me around? Your taxes are a trivial thing, the income from the lands
which you hold as khadir—oh, except that I forgot that you aren’t actually khadir of anything. Well, when I was king I was also khadir of the House of Thudra, which holds three villages north of Virnas, and my House received the taxes from those villages. But that was personal income, for myself and the upkeep of the House. The kingdom, the palace, the militia, and everything else that is part of Virnas proper, those are financed through the tariffs levied on all goods unloaded at the wharf.”

  “Tariffs, then,” Navran said. He was going to need a longer conversation with Karanja than he had thought. “But he said taxes. He had a report. Written in merchant’s shorthand—”

  Thudra burst out laughing. “Listen, Navran-dar, my lord and captor. Karanja-kha never once showed me a ledger written in merchant’s shorthand in all of my days as king. I would have expelled him on the spot if he had. He also does not stutter. If he met with you stuttering and talking of taxes which you don’t collect and showing you reports which you can’t read—”

  “I understand,” Navran said. He furrowed his brow and rested his head in his hands. If Karanja was hiding something—and there was little else he could conclude, now—then he needed another Purse. And someone to untangle whatever mess Karanja left behind.

  “It’s your move,” Thudra said.

  Navran made a cautious move attempting to reinforce his central position. Thudra responded with a series of aggressive moves on Navran’s flank, forcing Navran to retreat. For several turns a stalemate seemed to develop, until, as if from nowhere, Thudra completed an offensive maneuver on the opposite side of the board and captured the third tower.

  Navran hesitated. “A feint,” he said. “Haven’t seen that tactic.”

  “As I said, you play well for a peasant. You were probably used to winning against those types.” Thudra gestured at Dastha and smiled insolently. “But that doesn’t mean you’re actually good.”

  Navran examined the board, his hand hovering over the pieces he could not touch. His position had seemed so secure a few moves ago, and now….

  “Jahaparna,” he whispered.

  Thudra picked up the last tower and tossed it into the air. “If you’re going to play with kings, you’ll have to improve your game.”