“How do you define love?” Sandun asked. “Don’t they have the word in your language?”
“Of course we do, silly. A man and a woman meet, in the market or a family party. They exchange glances, then words. They arrange to meet at a hidden place beside the city walls, safe from other eyes. It’s niat. They may ask their families for permission to marry. Sometimes you must ask twice, like my father did before getting the approval of my mother’s clan.”
“Ashala, how did your mother die? She must have been young.” Sandun thought this was as good an opportunity to ask as any. Ashala and her father had never told him about it.
Ashala sat up and brushed a leaf from her black hair. “It was very odd and quite sudden. First she fell down, fainted one day in the kitchen. We thought nothing of it. Two weeks later, she fell again. My father brought the doctor around to see her. The doctor said her left eyelid was partway fallen, but that was all. Mother didn’t get better in a few days. Instead, worse.” She sighed. “It seemed so fast, not more than a month. She couldn’t get out of bed without terrible headaches. Then everyone came by to see her, and with such sad faces as they left her room. My sister and I cared for her, but what was attempted did not work. Prayers, herbs—they did nothing.” She paused for a moment and then ran her fingers through her hair. “But let’s not talk about sad things.” Ashala looked up at the sky through the branches above them. “This is a lovely day, a carefree day.”
“Will you come back to Kelten with me? Someday?”
“I don’t know.” She looked up at Sandun’s face and then looked away. “If all the women leave Gipu, the city will vanish just like Koan and the other lost cities of the mountains. I do not own myself. It’s nice to be free for a while, but I need to go home—eventually. When I do, I will bring an oxload of pomegranates with me. They will call me the Lady of Rare Fruit!”
On the way back to the city, Sandun thought about Ashala’s words. She didn’t own herself, but if she didn’t, who did?
A day or two later, Sandun was eating lunch with Jori Vaina after the morning meeting. Lord Vaina had told Sandun and Valo Peli that he was going to go on tour to inspect the eastern army, fortified outside the city of Oardulos.
“Come with me, Sandun. See my gallant eastern army. General Modi, my closest living relative, commands it. A good man, trustworthy. You’ll like him.”
Sandun readily agreed, as it offered an opportunity to get out of Tokolas and see more of Serica.
Lord Vaina sat back in his chair and sipped his tea. “You may wonder why Two-Swords Tuno attacked me,” he said, referring to the leader of the Vasvar forces that had attacked Tokolas.
“You said you baited him,” Sandun replied.
“I did, yes. Two-Swords is no fool—far from it. He came expecting the gates to be flung open and chaos in the city. We fed him false information for months. My advisors are always telling me about strategies they read in books. I prefer the old tricks. If my advisors have read about an obscure strategy, what stops my enemy from reading the same books and gaining the jump on us?”
Lord Vaina, relishing his success, continued. “The story we planted was completely believable. I am just a governor; I could be replaced tomorrow by a general like Kun or even by a chief minister such as Udek. No one would think either event unusual. Now, if I were king, that would be different. It’s an act of supreme betrayal to go against the king.”
“Why haven’t you declared yourself king?”
“My advisors have suggested it. But I have my reasons. I can do more things as a simple governor. I can walk the streets at all hours; no one should get down on their knees when I pass by. I have much more freedom. Let me tell you, I saw the Iron King when I travelled to Naduva shortly after he crowned himself, when I was just the leader of ten men. There he was, outside the palace, surrounded by a hundred court officials, wearing several layers of elaborate robes, like a pearl mussel. He must sit on his throne and listen to the sound of droning advisors every day. No, that’s not for me. I am a man of action! If I have not walked to one of the city gates each day, I feel restless.
“A very wise man lives not far south from here; I asked him to come to Tokolas and advise me. He sent back a beautiful scroll with just two sentences written:
“Build the walls high and fill the granaries.
“The year of the Dragon is not too soon for the king’s reign.
“The year of the Dragon is five years off. I keep the scroll in my bedchamber.”
The visit to the eastern army, occupying strong defensive positions outside the city of Oardulos, was little more than a quick tour of inspection. Its commander, General Modi, did not look much like Lord Vaina, but they talked in the same manner and laughed often while describing their frustrations with the men under their command. Sandun thought the eastern army looked fit and well trained.
On the return trip, they went by way of Hutinin and then sailed down the Okanka River, talking for hours about diverse topics: footwear, rivercraft, the system of delivering mail, and more. Sandun, troubled by the multitude of flies at the eastern army camp, brought up the idea of glass windows, which he had never seen anywhere in Serica. “You know small vases, which are made of simple glass?”
“I’ve seen some,” Lord Vaina said lazily, relaxing under the canopy of the riverboat and drinking lemon juice mixed with water. “They are pretty enough but quite fragile compared to Serica glass.”
“In Kelten, our glassmakers flatten the glass while it is still molten and turn it into sheets.”
“Why would they do that?”
“They take the flat sheets of glass, cut them into small pieces about the size of your hand, and then set them into windows, surrounded on all sides by wood or lead. If the glass is clear enough, you can look out of the glass windows, but bugs and dust and cold air don’t come in.”
Lord Vaina thought about this for a few seconds. “That makes little sense to me. Every proper woman sweeps and washes her house every day or hires a maid to do the work for her. Cold air? That’s like a fish complaining about the river’s current! If the air is cold, you close the shutter or put on more clothing. At night, when the air is coldest, there is nothing to see, so why would you want to have glass filling your window instead of a solid wooden shutter?”
But doubt crept into Lord Vaina’s voice as he waved off a blackfly that was buzzing near his face. “I can see some good in keeping out bugs. If you could figure out a way to keep the hateful buzzing things out of rooms, that would be well. Not everyone can afford to have a servant waving the foul insects away. Still, a properly managed city has only a small number of bugs, compared to a swamp near the Mur.
“I remember one night, many years ago. I was young and just beginning to wake to my new life of utter destitution. Picture me, on the road beside the Mur, having passed a village but with no idea where the next town was. Without a single copper coin, and so awfully hungry. The night closed around me with no sign of houses, no friendly firelight to be seen. And the bugs, the biting insects! They were merciless. A terrible cloud seemed to follow me as I stumbled along, buzzing around my ears, stinging. I tell you, Sandun, after hours of this misery, I screamed out loud. I begged them to leave me alone. It became so dark with the mist from the river that I couldn’t take two steps before tripping over some hidden rut, and yet still the bugs tormented me. To continue seemed impossible; to halt was like being splashed with boiling water.” Lord Vaina’s voice had thickened as his attempted dispassion failed him.
“What did you do?” asked Sandun with concern.
“I suffered. I thought long and hard about joining my family in death. Then I remembered the pig we had when I was a child. How it covered its body in mud to avoid the biting flies. In the dark, beside the shore, I tore away rocks to find the mud beneath and covered myself. Then I went and lay beside the road with my straw hat over my face, and I slept
. The next morning, I must have been quite a sight. A man came by on a horse; he took pity on me and gave me a bit of silver and with it, some words of wisdom. ‘Young man,’ he said to me, ‘find someone who knows what they are doing and follow them.’”
Lord Vaina took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“When you have been as low as I have, even a small improvement looks like the mercy of heaven. And now enough idle talk about flat glass and biting insects. Where are the reports on weapons and supplies for the northern forces?”
Weeks passed pleasantly for Sandun and the Keltens. It was now Heptamon, called Aftalitha in old Kelten—the seventh month. The days were hot in Tokolas, and the evenings were sometimes very warm, but frequent thunderstorms dropped scattered rains that cooled the air and ameliorated the smells resulting from the hundred thousand people and more who now lived in the city.
Valo Peli’s clansmen, whom he’d summoned after the battle, arrived on the eleventh of the month, with only a day’s warning from patrols on the river. Rooms were made ready and, although Valo Peli tried to conceal it, he smiled when he heard the news, and he laughed and cracked jokes with everyone who talked to him. It took no effort to see that he was delighted that his family was joining him after a six-month separation.
His pupil, Lathe, also shared in his teacher’s enthusiasm but when asked why, he became uncharacteristically shy and reticent. Sandun and Sir Ako, after witnessing this behavior at dinner, looked knowingly at each other. Clearly a young woman was at the center of this.
When they arrived, Valo Peli introduced his wife and daughter. Arja, his wife, was very modest and soft spoken. She wore her hair wrapped around her head, covering her ears. His daughter, Alina, who looked about eighteen years old, was bright eyed and exuberant; she treated her father more informally than anyone Sandun had seen. He called her little bun and hugged her. When Valo Peli introduced his daughter to the Keltens, he was all smiles, happier than Sandun had ever seen him. Even the news that his son was commanding a company of warriors and no longer studying the texts did not dampen Valo Peli’s spirit.
As Sandun guessed, Lathe acted positively bashful around Alina. In fact, it was comical the way he fawned over the girl, picking up her bags and then setting them down, apologizing for nothing, and even stammering a bit. Sandun recognized his behavior: Lathe was in love with Alina, but apparently his feelings were not reciprocated—she treated him just like a servant.
Valo Peli’s clansmen were serious men, and after they introduced themselves to the Keltens and affirmed their loyalty to Arno Boethy, they unpacked a considerable collection of arms, mostly bladed weapons made from dark iron. As a group, the men inspected the whole building from the cellars up to the roof. One of them tossed down a rusted spearhead that he’d found wedged between the tiles and a chimney.
“I wonder how long that has been up there?” Kagne said, holding up the piece and squinting at it.
“From the rust, I’d say several years,” replied Padan.
“Doubt not that there was fighting when Lord Vaina’s soldiers took this city,” said Sir Ako. “This building is close enough to the palace that it would be worth defending. Sir Gloval was likely not the first warrior of note to die here.”
While Valo Peli contentedly listened to news from back home, Ashala and Russu organized a feast celebrating the arrival. The cook and his new assistant departed with empty buckets and returned loaded down with vegetables. Three half-strangled chickens were brought in by the local egg seller; they met their demise moments later. The egg man left with a brown sack carried over his shoulder; freshly plucked chicken feathers drifted in his wake.
Sandun surveyed the preparations and reflected that there hadn’t been such a meal at the embassy since the afternoon Lord Vaina came to eat with them. Counting back the days, he realized it had been two months earlier. Much had happened since then: the siege, the tower, knighthood. Sandun guessed that the pace of events would let up in three or four months when the days shortened.
Afternoon was drawing to a close as a fitful wind tugged at the Keltens’ bear flag hanging above the gate. The clouds that had built up over the river might drop some rain on the city before sunset, or perhaps they would content themselves with a few peals of thunder. Sandun heard a horse at the entrance and saw Scribe Renieth walk in, looking anxious.
“Opmi Sandun,” Renieth greeted him with a quick bow. “Is Opmi Basil here? This one has a favor to ask from the palace.” Looking around, he saw some of the new arrivals sitting in the shade. “This one heard Advisor Peli’s family arrived earlier. All are well?”
“Everyone survived the journey,” Sandun replied. “You should meet Valo Peli’s family now that you are here. As to your first question, I saw Basil around two hours ago. He may be out back in the garden with Olef and little Nik.”
As the two men walked past the dining room, Renieth saw the feast preparations underway. “This is unfortunate, but it cannot be helped,” Renieth said quietly to Sandun.
“How so?”
“The Lord of Kunhalvar requests Opmi Basil’s presence, and yours, at dinner this night at the palace.” Renieth looked away and then back at Sandun. “I am sorry.”
Inwardly Sandun felt annoyance, but he knew from years of experience the necessity of deferring to the beck and call of a social superior. Basil lacked such training as his years as a hunter and surveyor had made him unusually free, even by Kelten standards.
“Renieth, what is the occasion?” Sandun said. “We would both rather stay here this evening.”
The scribe nodded. “This one shall explain, and then you can try to persuade Opmi Basil.”
Upstairs in Sandun’s room, with a cup of tea in hand, Renieth laid out the situation. “Recently arrived in Tokolas, after a long journey, is a small delegation from Shila, the far eastern kingdom beyond the borders of Serica. Two of the delegates are elite warriors of that land. The Lord of Tokolas is—how to say—”
Sandun offered, “Like a boy with a new toy?”
“Just so.” Renieth tried to hide his disapproval, but Sandun could see it on his face. The tensions between the scholars and the warriors in Lord Vaina’s government were quite real and stronger than the mocking disdain that the knights in Kelten held for the civilians in the Kelten government. But in Kelten, the men with swords ruled. In Serica, it seemed the men with pens and ink had much more power.
“How did Basil and I become involved? I assure you, we know nothing about Shila.”
“His lordship asked these warriors to demonstrate their skills. In a contest of archery, his guards were matched against these two, and his guards were bested. And so my lord thought of you.”
“I understand,” Sandun said with a smile. “Lord Vaina wants to match his Keltens against these other foreign warriors. And, as Keltens never turn down a chance to show off their skill with the bow, we must come now, this instant. And I must come because Basil would be uncomfortable on his own, since he has only limited command of the language of Serica.”
Renieth looked relieved. “Your mind cuts through tall rice with just a glance. It would be best if we could leave soon, before shadows cover the archery ground.”
“I would like you to explain to Valo Peli why Basil and I are going to miss the dinner with his family while I convince Basil to come to the palace. Give me a candle’s width of time.”
Sandun found Basil out back. He was feathering an arrow while Olef nursed the baby. Sandun explained Lord Vaina’s request. He made light of the contest; Basil was equally blasé.
“Two soldiers from Shila beat Lord Vaina’s guards in a contest of archery? That does not set a high mark.” Basil left the newly fletched arrows on the table and gathered his quiver and his bow. He bent down and kissed Olef on her cheek.
“Don’t embarrass these folk from distant parts,” Olef said to Basil. “They didn’t wear out their
shoe leather coming to Tokolas to be beaten like mules by the best archer of Kelten.”
“Yet I must win; I am the best archer.”
“A knight you are. What more do you want?” Olef replied with a sparkle in her eye. “Kiss your son for luck and be off. I’ll likely be asleep when you return.”
Sandun left his bow, but he took Skathris, his magic Piksie sword. He said a few words to Ashala in the dining room as she was setting out flowers on the table. “Come back soon,” she said. “I’ll save you some soup. Cook says it’s a special delicacy of Tokolas.”
Two more horses had been brought over to the Kelten embassy, and so Renieth, Sandun, and Basil rode together to the palace. At the side gate, Sandun and Basil were greeted and escorted to the garden at the north end of the palace. Neither of them had been to the garden before, though it was talked about in flattering terms by Ite, a teahouse girl who Padan had brought around on a few occasions.
Lord Vaina met them under the sacred gate, which was painted a lustrous red with two heavily decorated beams of wood crossing between the four squared pillars. He was in a boisterous mood, his normally magnetic personality enhanced by drink and his competitive nature. He introduced the Keltens to the two Shila warriors. Standing on a low bridge and wearing a tasteful blue silk dress was Lord Vaina’s Shila wife, the Lady Eun, whom Sandun had met before. At least ten of the palace guards were standing close by, armored but not helmeted in the still summer air.
The two men from Shila were both extremely handsome; to Sandun’s eye they didn’t look like soldiers except for their height. Instead, they looked more like performers. They bowed gracefully and spoke Serice with a faint accent. In looks and manner, they gave every impression of being carefree young nobles on holiday. The two men looked so alike that if not for small differences in facial features, Sandun would have thought them to be twins. The Shilans were named Jay Kirdar and Ven Kirdar, and Lord Vaina referred to them as Rutal-lil, apparently a title for elite warriors of Shila.
The Fire Sword Page 2
