As he drank Lord Vaina’s delicious tea with the men, sitting in the late-afternoon light, Sandun was disconcerted to observe that the two Rutal-lil were wearing face paint. Only actors wore face paint in Kelten, and in Serica it was also very rare for a man other than a musician to be so decorated. He found it disconcerting that warriors would adopt the habits of mere players.
A woman who had accompanied the two men from Shila eventually appeared from around a twisting path and was introduced as Lady Miri Kirdar. She was very pretty, though her hair was put up with at least six hairpins in a fashion that Sandun thought detracted from her beauty. She seemed slightly ill at ease, and Sandun noticed she occasionally glanced at Eun and then looked away. He guessed her age as nineteen or twenty.
“It’s time for the archery competition!” Lord Vaina announced as he sprang to his feet and led all of them across the garden to a flat strip of grassland at the eastern side. At both ends of the range the butts, or target mounds, were made of dirt and covered with straw. Hanging in front of each butt was the scoring target, a small flat leather bag with small bells hanging off it. Basil examined the target curiously and smiled briefly when he slapped the leather bag with his hand and made the bells ring.
“That’s a clever idea for a target,” he commented to Sandun. “Ask Lord Vaina what the scoring is.”
Lord Vaina explained that the scoring was simple: Each arrow that pierced the target and rang the bells counted as a point. Each man would loose three arrows. The winner would receive a prize: a greenstone carved in the shape of a perching eagle and a small bag of silver cats.
The archers all made ready. The Rutal-lil each wrapped a leather bracer around their left arm and tied up their right sleeve with a silken cord. Sandun observed that their bows were compound ones, made of different layers, much like Valo Peli’s bow but even more elegant, with fine polish that glinted in the late sun. They strung their bows with ease and stood side by side, unmoving.
“Why don’t you take some practice shots?” Lord Vaina said to Basil. Basil took up the offer and fired three arrows down the range. The first two arrows missed the leather target, and the third caused a faint ringing. “That likely would not count, Opmi Basil,” Lord Vaina said. “From the sound, your arrow merely grazed the bag.”
Basil frowned, but seconds later he winked at Sandun and gave a brief smile. His arrows were taken down by an attendant at the far end, and now the competition began.
Sandun felt tension rise in the air. He wanted his friend to win. Who were these strangers from Shila to come here to Tokolas and compete with Keltens in archery? Who did they think they were? Keltens were the best archers in the Archipelago, perhaps the entire world.
In the first round, all nine arrows caused the bells to sing out as the leather disk was struck time after time. At the end, Lady Miri applauded, her face flushed with excitement. She looked at Sandun and Basil and smiled. Sandun was surprised at the Rutal-lil. For all their face paint and plucked eyebrows, these men were very good archers.
One difference in style, which was immediately apparent, was the extra time they took before making their shots. Kelten archers were trained to release shortly after drawing back the arrow, and one very popular competition involved firing as many arrows into a target as possible within a half minute. But the men from Shila would draw their bows and then hold perfectly still for several heartbeats before release. There was no denying the results; their accuracy was impressive.
When they walked down the field, the Lady Eun said she was glad that the honor of Shila had been upheld. The elder of the two Rutal-lil, Jay, responded briefly in what Sandun guessed was the language of Shila and then complimented Lord Vaina for the beauty of his garden.
“Having a little land set aside in a garden for archery makes shooting most agreeable,” said Jay.
“I have never seen the like in any of the private gardens of Sorabol,” Ven said softly.
“A good custom,” Jay said. “We can learn this and bring it home.”
Lord Vaina beamed with pleasure.
Coming closer to the target, they could see that one of the arrows had just grazed the bag. By its marking, they knew it belonged to Jay Kirdar. He said nothing as he yanked the arrow out of the earth and placed it back in his quiver.
“After this, there is one more contest,” Lord Vaina said expansively. Jay nodded and didn’t unstring his bow.
Now it was just Basil against the younger man, Ven. Arrow after arrow leapt from the archers’ bows, and the sound of shaken bells was their reward. But Basil’s third arrow made a fainter sound. “That may not have been a direct hit,” exclaimed Lord Vaina, nearly hopping up and down. “We may have a winner!”
Sure enough, one of Basil’s arrows was just touching the top of the target bag; it did not count as a hit.
“You win again,” Lord Vaina told Ven, who bowed gracefully and recited a short poem of which Sandun understood little.
Basil said quietly to Sandun, “I was thinking about Olef back home. Distracted.”
The last contest of the afternoon was shooting an apple off a tall pole. This was a very popular contest in south Kelten and in Fiodroch, where it was called “Knock Parrot.” An apple was loosely fixed to the end of a twenty-foot pole with a dab of glue, and the pole was stood up in the air about two-thirds of the way down range.
Jay Kirdar took aim, and his arrow seemed to strike the pole just below the apple, but it caromed off while the apple stayed on. Basil then drew and fired in a single motion; his arrow pierced the apple and carried it off the pole. Lord Vaina whooped in delight and proudly handed Basil a sack of silver cats and a golden apple with intricate patterns incised.
“Well done, Basil,” Sandun told him proudly. “You are the perfect guest.”
Basil smiled briefly and replied, “Knock Parrot is good training for hunting cormorants in the marshes near Opomos.”
With the contest over, the archers all shook hands and examined each other’s equipment.
Lord Vaina insisted on the Keltens staying for dinner; refusal was out of the question. Dinner was served under a pavilion in the northern end of the garden close to the wall. An older, high-ranking civil official was waiting for them, standing very still in the shadows until they arrived. Lord Vaina introduced him as Minister Momen of Rituals. Sandun knew him by sight but had rarely talked with him before. Scribe Renieth worked for the man, but Minister Momen had never come to visit the Kelten embassy.
The minister conversed with the guests from Shila in their own language for several minutes. To Sandun, the language of Shila sounded much like Serice, but he was unsure if there were any common words between the two languages.
“You have been to Shila before, Minister Momen,” Lord Vaina said.
“Yes, my lord, once, as part of an informal delegation of scholars from Naduva. I told your guests how much I enjoyed my brief stay in Birumaz.”
“Birumaz?” Lord Vaina raised an eyebrow. “I thought they were from Sorabol, the capital.”
Jay smoothly interjected, “House Kirdar is based in Birumaz, but my brother and I have spent many years in Sorabol. It is where the Rutal-lil train.”
Lord Vaina seemed satisfied, but Sandun noticed that although Lady Miri said nothing, she held her head up and gave an almost defiant look at Lady Eun. Lord Vaina’s wife simply fanned herself and did not respond.
They took seats on chairs covered with green silk. The palace kitchen was on the other side of the wall, and food was brought to the table still steaming, the meats sizzling.
Sandun asked Jay about the training demanded to become a Rutal-lil. “Every day,” he replied with a smile. “The bow, usually in the morning when the dew is still beaded on the grass. Then the spear or the sword.”
“Or the axe and mace,” added Ven.
“And later in the day, when the sun is strong and dust ri
ses, bow and lance from horseback.”
“Then dinner, poetry composition, music, and reading from the sacred texts of Eston,” continued Jay.
“And then to bed. Each day, a different routine yet the same.”
“And how old were you when you started?” Sandun asked; it seemed that the Rutal-lil of Shila were a bit like the knights of Kelten.
“Truth? I don’t remember not being in training. As small boys, we chased rabbits around the field, waving toy wooden swords at them.” Jay smiled at the happy recollection. “When we were a bit older, we were given toy bows and tiny arrows and told to hunt the roosters in the chicken yard.”
“We learned how to run fast,” said Ven. “When a rooster is flying at you, his eyes filled with rage, running is wise.”
“We were seeking more advantageous ground for latter battle,” Jay said, with mock seriousness.
“And are there many Rutal-lil in Shila?” Sandun asked.
“Not any longer.” Jay’s face became somber. “Our wars with the Kitran began the year after the last city of the Water Kingdom fell. Nearly twenty years of war followed, and the Rutal-lil lost many, till there were almost none left, like an apple orchard after harvest season. Our numbers have been built up since the armistice; where once less than fifty saluted our King Olvin, now perhaps six hundred can be assembled. But the best of us have gone on to new lives, forgetting all of what they once knew.”
“Make no mistake,” Ven said seriously, “Shila now fields a strong army, but most of the soldiers have training in but a single weapon.”
Sandun and Basil finally returned to the embassy around eight in the evening. The sun was setting in the west, and a reddish light reflected down on the two men from the banks of clouds that had built up over the Mur river valley throughout the long afternoon.
They walked into the courtyard, and the expected noise from the dining room was disturbingly absent. Inside the lofty room, it was silent and still; all the men and women were slumped over in their chairs or sprawled like rag dolls on the floor.
Dumbfounded with amazement and terror, Sandun could only stupidly croak, “What happened?” Basil rushed over to Olef, who was holding little Niksol in her arms. The baby startled awake and began to cry, but Olef did not move.
There was no sign of the kitchen staff as Sandun rushed about the table, looking at the faces of his friends. Valo Peli opened his eyes and tried to whisper some words. Sandun leaned next to the man’s face and shouted to Basil, “Valo’s trying to say something!”
Basil took the baby from his mother’s unresponsive arms and hurried into the kitchen.
In the faintest whisper, Valo Peli said, “Poisoned soup…called the Doorway…there is an antidote…old, so old…” Then his eyes closed, and he said no more.
Basil came back, half dragging one of the kitchen servants. Tears were running down the servant’s face, and he kept repeating, “I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me. The new cook! The new cook!”
Sandun checked Ashala’s neck and listened to her heart. Her breathing was slow but unlabored. Excep that she did not wake, she seemed to be simply sleeping deeply. He said, “Valo said something about a poison called ‘the Doorway.’ He said there is an antidote. We need a doctor!”
Sandun ran out of the room and back through the gate, past the startled guards. He shouted, “Poison!” at them as he ran down the street. His mind was a confusion of thoughts; he had never heard of a poison like this, but poison was not the Kelten way of dealing with one’s enemies, and no reports said it was common in Serica either.
Pacing himself, he arrived at the palace gates ten minutes later, somewhat out of breath, with sweat dripping down his face.
“Missing something important, Opmi Sandun?” said the watch commander of the palace gate guards.
“I need a physician. Poisoned soup at the embassy. I remember a doctor Haz tended to Sir Ako; is he inside the palace?”
“He is not inside.” Turning to his men, the commander gave orders. “Sergeant, take two men and find the doctor.” He pointed down the street; the doctor’s house was on the west side of the palace. “Summon the watch. I’d wager the poisoner is still in the city.” He pointed at another soldier. “Take word to the Lord of Tokolas.” Turning back to Sandun, he asked, “How many were poisoned?”
“Everyone, I think. Valo Peli’s wife and daughter just arrived this day from the Tea Hills. Seventeen, eighteen people?”
The watch commander turned to another guard. “Summon five horses. Sound the low alarm.”
Sandun was not surprised to see Lord Vaina appear at the gate at the same time as the horses were led out. The Lord of Tokolas’s expression was one of increasing concern as Sandun briefly told him what he had seen and heard from Valo Peli.
Lord Vaina sent guards to the three main gates of Tokolas, ordering them closed. He sent a messenger to Chief Minister Udek, and then he and Sandun and two palace guards mounted horses and rode to the court physician’s residence.
The doctor was just coming out from his waiting room that abutted the main road under a sign: “Haz: Court Doctor.” The doctor’s face fell when he heard Valo Peli’s words.
“You have heard of this Doorway poison?” Lord Vaina said. His river accent was thick under the strain.
“My lord, I find it hard to credit even the words of Scribe Bo…I mean, Valo Peli. The Doorway has not been seen in Serica since the early years of the Gold Kingdom. Growing the plant was forbidden by the Mighty King on pain of death. Oh, may the Great Sage save my thoughts!”
The shocked doctor sat down on one of his chairs. He seemed to be muttering under his breath; Sandun guessed he was repeating an old memorized passage from his past.
“Now I remember, yes. One moment—I need to confirm this memory, which is as thin a silk strand.” He rushed back inside the house and shortly returned with an old book. Carefully turning the leaves of the book, Doctor Haz stopped and began reading out loud. “Here: the Doorway, or more fully, the Doorway to Endless Sleep and so to the Final Sleep. Yes…yes, ah. The remedy, discovered by the unsurpassed apothecary Low, consists of a compound of white-nose wort mixed with flaxseed oil, heated slowly and then gently poured down the throat. Save me! White-nose wort?”
His wife, an unsmiling woman dressed in a very dark robe, nearly invisible in the shadows of the late evening, came out and stood beside her distraught husband.
“Wife of Haz,” the doctor said faintly, “please tell me that we have some white-nose wort?”
“Husband, your unworthy wife must tell you that we have none. But what about yellow-scale wort? Or pale false-bark?”
The doctor looked again at the book and said, “I cannot say. Maybe. Bring them. But who else would have the real thing?”
“I have not seen it in any other doctor’s house,” she replied slowly.
“What about old Hofanta?”
She sniffed disdainfully. “That quack? He is very secretive, and even I have never seen his backroom stores. It may be that he has some buried in a corner.”
“I have wasted too much time already. I must go and see the Keltens. Wife, take Modei and go inquire of Hofanta.” The wife of Haz went back into the house.
“My lord.” One of Lord Vaina’s guards spoke up in the brief silence. “I grew up in the neighborhood and know old Doctor Hofanta, and I can ride like the wind.”
“Then you will guide me, and we shall see this man together,” said Lord Vaina.
Doctor Haz stood up and spoke a few words to his servant, who went back inside the house. Then the doctor wrote down three words on a piece of paper and gave it to Lord Vaina.
“The wife of Haz is rarely mistaken about our competitors’ supplies, but this may be one of those times. I will send my servant Modei to the other physicians to ask. Perhaps one of them knows where it might be found even if they have none. No
w I must go to see to my patients.”
His wife came out and gave him two small glass bottles, which he put into a silk sack. He set off down the road, walking with his head bowed, and soon vanished into the night.
Sandun wanted to return to the embassy but told himself he would be more useful finding the antidote. By now, he had learned that when Valo Peli said something, nine times out of ten it was correct. It would be just like the man to know the name and effects of a poison that had not been used in more than five hundred years.
Or maybe Valo Peli knew it because it was a poison no longer lost to time?
As they were riding down the streets, following the guard, Sandun said to Lord Vaina, “If this Doorway poison is no longer lost, who would have found it?”
“No one in Serica, I think. Like a trout finds the baited hook, a doctor finds poison behind every malady. But who knows what now goes on inside Daka? Even a yethri can see rough waters ahead. I suspect this is another gift from Nilin Ulim.”
“Yethri?”
“A passenger on a ferryboat.”
They rode in the direction of the south gate, then turned aside from the main road. This was a disfavored part of Tokolas. The houses here were often little more than shacks with thatched roofs, each leaning against the next hovel. The twisted streets, barely wide enough for a single horse, were of packed dirt. The light from small cook fires glinted from all about, and the smell of wet coal was strong in the air and mixed with other foul odors.
The guard halted before what once had been an impressive house, now fallen into grave disrepair, paint peeling off splintered wood. A weighty but cracked sign hung above the doorway, its lettering so faded Sandun could not make it out in the fading light. Lord Vaina’s guardsman dismounted and strode up to the closed door. “Open! The Lord of Tokolas has come to see you, Doctor Hofanta. Doctor Haz said you might be able to help.”
The Fire Sword Page 3
