Ever since the nighttime climb up the karst when he didn’t have a glowing orb, Sandun had kept one of the Kelten orbs in his money pouch. Now he brought it out and showed it to Rogge and Evet. The two Serice merchants admired the mysterious glowing sphere, and Rogge pronounced his complete satisfaction with the item as a trade good. It was very fine: small, lightweight, and valuable. Sandun assured him that quality Serica-glass items could be exchanged in Kelten for the glowing orbs.
“Ah, seeing this sphere of light almost makes me want to go on the journey myself,” Rogge exclaimed. “But the trip is too long and too rough for these old bones. You Keltens nearly flew across the Tiralas. Looking at your map and your daily logs, I can scarcely believe you traveled so fast. But then, you are not merchants, and you carried almost nothing. Evet and I will have to spend long nights planning a trip that will be fast enough to get across before the snows fall, and profitable enough. I think it can be done, but it is more like adventuring than trading.”
“Food is my biggest concern,” said Evet. Pointing at the Valley of the Giants on the map, he asked, “Will the Junithoy trade for food? They are a little beyond the midway point. If we could be assured of resupply, the difficulty of crossing the Tiralas would be cut in half.”
“More than half,” Rogge said.
“I don’t know,” Sandun replied thoughtfully. “They have walled themselves off with such determination. We believe they left Kelten a thousand years ago, when our ancestors first settled the land. They helped us on our journey, but was that only a once-in-a-lifetime act?”
Sandun thought of Ruthal of Gatetown and his stated desire to travel back with them to Kelten. Would he want to go with Wiyat and a caravan of Serice merchants? Maybe, but maybe not. “I heard from Lord Vaina that Serice merchants trade with the Junithoy in the south, so you may know more about their ways than I.”
Rogge shook his head. “I don’t trade with the Junithoy. Only a small number of Serice merchants are allowed, and they themselves have become a secretive group; unsurprising as the few goods they exchange yield immense profits. If those traders knew we were going to be trading with the Junithoy in the north, I would not sleep easily for the rest of my life for fear of an accidental death. Stick with what you can count on, Evet, and plan for the worst. If Master Sandun were making the journey, perhaps he could convince the Junithoy to change their ways.”
Sandun brought up the fact that all five of their Piksie rams had survived the trip to Tokolas. At Valo Peli’s suggestion, the Keltens had leased them to the Ministry of Rituals for their unusual wool, but they could be redeemed at any time and used for the trip back.
“That is a comfort,” Rogge said approvingly. “Beyond any question, no other beasts of burden are as suited for the Tiralas as those wooly rams.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Speaking of your companions, I hear tell that Valo Peli is more than he seems.”
“Such speculation is good for no one, Trader Rogge,” replied Sandun with a pained expression.
“Surely you can tell me something of him, friend to friend?”
“When you return, there may be more to say,” Sandun said evasively. “For the time being, it would be best to forget you spent even a few days in his company.”
Rogge looked disappointed, but Sandun thought it unwise to spread any additional news about Valo Peli’s background. Two assassination attempts were more than enough.
The two merchants thanked the Keltens and told them they would be back in Tokolas in the first month of the next year.
“If you neeed to send word, my family—clan Iso—lives in Lenaterkes,” Rogge explained. “It’s a small town, about two hundred tik east of here, on the other side of the Mur. Any messenger who reaches Lenaterkes will find us. Evet should be ready to head to Gipu as soon as the passes are open. With Eston’s blessing, the caravan will arrive in Kelten before the snows come again—a little more than a year from today!” Rogge exuded confidence in his nephew’s ability to lead a caravan across the Tiralas.
As the three Keltens walked back to the embassy, Sir Ako said, “Much can transpire in a year.”
Sandun said nothing but wiped the sweat from his face with a small cloth he kept in his pocket.
Two weeks passed. Sandun was sleeping again, but he felt disconnected from the world. He tried to care, and he practiced with his fellow knights often, though not daily. He started teaching Wiyat for an hour at a time, after his meetings with Lord Vaina’s council. Occasionally Sir Ako stayed to listen to what he said. Day followed night, but nothing felt right, not the food he ate nor the wine he drank. He got up every morning, but he didn’t know why; it was as though he were no longer in his body or, as the old expression went, “the world was out of joint.”
At the council meetings, the news was bad: Vasvar was expanding its control of land north and south on the west side of the river; the Iron King’s army was outside Ourdolos once again on the attack, grinding away at the eastern army in a war of attrition; the Kitran army was fighting with the Red Swords on the outskirts of Kemeklos while reports of raiders burning and looting came from Kunhalvar’s northern borders. Refugees crossed over the Mur every day, arriving at Tokolas and straining the city’s supplies of housing and food.
When Master Donath had arrived in Tokolas, he had immediately sworn an oath of loyalty to Lord Vaina. Two weeks later, Master Donath had a private meeting with Valo Peli. The meeting went well, and both men bowed deeply to each other. Master Donath then extemporized a poem to commemorate the occasion, which was immediately written down by Donath’s scribes and passed around to Tokolas scribes with an excitement Sandun could not understand. At the next day’s council meeting, Lord Vaina asked for comment on appointing Master Donath to rule the city of Hutinin.
No one objected, though Sandun wondered how the bookish scholar would handle the complex local politics of Hutinin with its many wealthy families all trying to climb to the top while pushing the others down. Hutinin needed a more competent ruler than the bland and unctuous mechant who Lord Vaina had appointed three years ago. Could Master Donath corral the powerful families that jostled over timber cutting contracts and sabotaged each other’s sawmills? Sandun hoped so. As the Keltens said: you can’t fool an honest man.
An auspicious day for Master Donath’s departure was found, with the result that two days later the men from the Great Sage Temple left Tokolas. Scribe Vellen was expected to return within a year, when things in Hutinin were settled, as he had been offered the job of tutoring Lord Vaina’s eldest son.
Lord Vaina often galloped off on one of his lightning tours of inspection, and the council simply met without him.
Valo Peli was busy with lopor production. Sir Ako was training his knights. Kagne was rarely around the embassy. Everyone was busy, it seemed, except Sandun. He didn’t consider why this might be the case. Instead, in the afternoons, he took long walks through Tokolas, often stopping in at the Temple of Sho’Ash. His prayers sounded hollow in his mind, mere rote recitation of sounds, just as they were for the old priest who ran the temple but who could not read the holy book and had to rely on his fading memory of the prayers and liturgies.
The temple of Sho’Ash was becoming more active as the priest’s son, under the tutelage of Padan, was learning how to read the holy book. He was also able explain the teachings of Sho’Ash to Serice visitors. He proudly told Sandun that they were getting new converts every week. This made Sandun happy in a small way, like seeing a solitary star shine through an otherwise overcast night sky.
One afternoon, a messenger boy found Sandun at the temple of Sho’Ash. A summons to the palace, urgent, as always. Sandun had seen Lord Vaina earlier in the day at the council meeting. The news was even worse than usual. Reliable reports were that the Red Prophet was dead and Kemeklos was surrounded, besieged by a horde of the Kitran Empire’s soldiers under Nilin Ulim. At the council meeting, Sandun had no insight in
to the situation and thus no reason to speak. So he remained silent, but inwardly he cursed Nilin’s name with every malediction he could think of.
At the palace grounds, Sandun was brought to the small room adjoining the council room where they often had tea together. Lord Vaina was there, reading a document. The teapot was empty, but a small, white ball was sitting uneaten on a plate. A faint fragrance of tea and another, unfamiliar scent lingered in the air.
“Have the last sticky rice ball,” Lord Vaina said. “More tea is coming. I’ll finish this report shortly.”
Sandun could see from the words at the top of the paper that Lord Vaina was reading a report from the eastern army. Sandun watched a small fly as it circled around the alcove before finally disappearing through the narrow gap in the curtains into the council chamber. He felt no desire to talk, but it was pleasant to sit there and just watch as time slipped past. Lord Vaina wrote a few lines at the bottom of the paper in his blue governor’s ink and set it aside.
“I have a problem,” Lord Vaina said in his most sincere tone of voice, “and I think you can help me.”
Sandun roused himself from his reverie. He wanted to be interested in Lord Vaina’s problems, but wasn’t that a beautiful pattern on the small table? “How can I help, Lord Vaina?”
“You remember Lady Miri, that woman from Shila, the one with the two Rutal-lil guarding her?”
Of course Sandun remembered her. The events of that evening haunted him every day. Lost in his reminiscences, he did not respond.
Lord Vaina continued as though Sandun had replied. “My diplomatic advisors tell me that she comes from an important house in Shila called the Kirdar. They were strongly committed to fighting the Kitran, and they have been waging their own war for years while pushing King Olvin of Shila to declare war on the empire.”
Almost despite himself, Sandun started to gain interest. He knew nothing of internal conflict in Shila, but the more people fighting the Kitran, the better. “Good, I hope they succeed.”
“My advisors think it would be unwise for me to take her into my circle of flowers due to internal politics in Shila right now.” Lord Vaina leaned forward conspiratorially. “And my Shila wife, Eun, has let me know that she would be detached, like an anchor uprooted from the river’s bed, if I added the girl to my pond. She said they are from rival houses, and it would not lead to harmonious relations.”
Sandun shrugged. “How can I help with that? Why not send her home?”
“I could, but she came more than five thousand tik to get here.” Lord Vaina said this with some admiration. “And there is no sense offending House Kirdar when there is another alternative ready at hand, another fishing pole in the boat.”
“Another fishing pole, my lord?”
Lord Vaina looked at Sandun with concern. Sandun realized he was missing something obvious and tried to wake his mind up.
“I want you to marry her.”
The words echoed around in Sandun’s mind for what seemed like ages. He heard the Serice word for marriage and the word for you, and the word which meant to act in the future. He looked around. Was there someone else Lord Vaina was talking to? But the guards were at the door, not paying attention to the conversation.
In five heartbeats, the full import of what Lord Vaina was saying fell upon him, like a flagstone dropped into a reflecting pool.
“I can’t marry anyone now.” Sandun said this with no heat, just as a statement of fact. “Ashala is dead and I…I don’t know what I feel.”
“Sandun, trust me.” Lord Vaina leaned close over the small table and looked Sandun in the eye. “The best way to get over this loss is with a new woman. Yes, it is sad: people die. It happens all the time. People you love are suddenly struck down by merciless fate, and yet we must keep going. I know. Everyone in my family, everyone I ever loved—taken from me when I was fourteen years old.”
Lord Vaina stood up and paced the floor. “Put your feet on the deck and face the waves, Sandun. When the wind blows against the boatmen, they don’t turn around and head for shore. No! They go on. Because there are people that need to cross the river, there are men and women and children on the other side who need to cross over to our side. They are depending on you to carry them.”
Lord Vaina came close and took Sandun’s face in his hands, staring deeply into his eyes. “I need you to help me cross the river. We are at war, as you well know. Today we learned the Red Prophet is assuredly dead, and Kemeklos is encircled by Nilin Ulim’s army. A new legion out of Naduva is advancing south of Oardulos. Vasvar is expanding its reach and building dozens of new ships. The Kitran Empire’s raiders are harrying my northern border every day. I don’t have time for you to get better in a year. I need you now. Not tomorrow, not next month. This marriage is for everyone’s benefit. Yours, hers, mine. Everyone is better off.”
Sandun shook his head. “I can’t. You are asking too much. I don’t know her.”
“Bah! Don’t act so squeamish. Men and women get married in Serica all the time without having met before the wedding day. You’ve seen her! She is young, attractive, from a noble family. You are a man, respected and admired. What more is required? A perfect match!”
Lord Vaina’s deep-set eyes were dark and mesmerizing. “There is one more thing, the most important reason,” Lord Vaina told Sandun. “I had a dream last night, a vision so clear when I woke. You were standing between two dragons, and an eagle flew away across a lake, calling out in despair. I have been pondering the meaning of the dream all morning, and then it came to me. The two dragons are the two Rutal-lil, and the eagle is Nilin, fleeing back to the north. You must marry their cousin, and then the Rutal-lil will follow you north, and we will be victorious over the Kitran army. Heaven sent me this vision, and I need you to fulfill it.”
The force of Lord Vaina’s personality bore down on Sandun like the current of the Mur; you could swim against it for a time, but it was useless. In the end, the river would win.
“At least have tea with the girl,” Lord Vaina said when it was evident Sandun was wavering. “She came all this way; you can at least have tea with her. You haven’t spent two minutes talking to her. You will like her, and you will want to marry her. Trust me!”
Sandun nodded. After all, who could refuse such a simple request? What harm was there in having tea?
“All right, Lord Vaina, I will be honored to have tea with the girl…what was her name? Miri?”
“Yes, Lady Miri of House Kirdar. Wait right here; she is nearby.”
Lord Vaina, followed by his silent guards, left Sandun in the alcove. Sandun stood up and tried to clear his mind. This was such an unexpected turn of events. He was still grappling with the idea when the Lady Miri floated into the room.
She was so beautiful it became hard for Sandun to breathe. Perhaps he was so emotionally wrought that he could neither think nor judge, but just seeing her coming towards him made his heart ache. Her dress, like the formal attire occasionally worn by Lady Tuomi, was of a pale rose, like the early dawn in the sky, with hints of blue at the edges. Her skin was smooth and unblemished as though she had never spent a day outside, and her face…it was as though she had been painted by Angelosia, the master painter of Akia. Her hair was down, like a shimmering wave of dark water, and she smelled of sandalwood.
“We meet again, and I greet you. You have not forgotten my name already?” There was a hint of a smile on her lips. “I am Miri, of House Kirdar. I come from the kingdom of Shila.”
“Lady Miri, I have not forgotten. My days have been filled with woe since we last met, but I have not forgotten.”
“In my land, we have a saying that in a time of sudden loss, a man may forget much, even forget who he is.”
Sandun thought about her words for a few seconds. Had he forgotten himself? He had known many people who had died. He was eighteen when his father had died, and he had fo
rged on. His mother had died, and he had gone to the funeral, but he had not fallen to pieces. People died, their souls were entrusted to Sho’Ash, and the living went on with their lives.
Sandun looked at Miri. She sat in the chair, her long dark hair coursing down her shoulders. He drew a long breath in and then let it out slowly.
“I know little about Shila. For us in Kelten, Shila is nearly lost on our maps. Some claim it is but a province of Serica, while scholars argue that, like Budin, it has always been independent.”
Miri held herself very still and then spoke tentatively. “I myself know only small pieces of Shila’s long history, though I was born and raised in one of the ancient capitals. Such learning is for the men; we women are taught other things.” She looked down and then back at Sandun. “My cousins, Jay and Ven, can tell you as much as you could wish to know about Shila’s many wars. Would you like some tea?”
Sandun was a bit thirsty and agreed, using very formal language. A servant, who had been waiting outside, brought in a tea tray and set it down, taking away the teacup that Lord Vaina had used.
Miri poured the tea with deft, precise movements. Sandun was fascinated, as though he were watching a sculptor cutting away clay to reveal an unexpected face. She put a little tea into the cups, and then she tossed the tea out again with a flick of her wrist onto a piece of cloth. Then a new thread of tea was decanted into the cups, slowly filling each one.
With two hands she offered one Serica-glass cup to Sandun. He noticed her fingernails were painted an unusual orange color, different from the red that Russu typically wore. He took the teacup from her. The aroma from the tea drifted to his face. It smelled of rain and wet earth. She took her own cup and lifted it to her face; she closed her eyes and drew the scent of the tea into her nostrils. She took a sip, as did Sandun.
“This is wonderful tea, but I think it tastes different from the tea Lord Vaina obtains from the Tea Hills,” he said.
The Fire Sword Page 12
