An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  “A moment, Makin,” Ylir said, holding up his hand. His face remained calm, but Sume sensed a slight, unnerved edge in his tone. “This lady is my escort. She will need her own room close to where I will be staying.”

  Makin’s eyes popped open. “You’re joking. Gods in heaven, you’re not! A Jin servant near your quarters? What would the lords say?”

  “I don’t recall staying in the royal chambers the last time I was here. Indulge me, Makin. You hear from it, send them to me.” The steel edge in his voice resounded through the hall. Even Makin, who easily towered over him, must have heard it, because his shoulders suddenly sagged and he grimaced.

  “You might as well take me to the headsman’s block yourself,” Makin said, looking for all the world like he meant it. He scratched his head and glanced at Sume. This time he avoided meeting her eyes on purpose. “Follow me then. Your, er, name?”

  “Sume Kaggawa,” she said, one eye on Ylir. But if there was anything on his mind, he didn’t look like he was going to say anything. Makin nodded and waved at the veiled woman. She immediately rose from the floor, passing by Sume and touching her elbow. Sume took this to mean that her interaction with the men for the moment was over and followed her.

  Gasparian rooms were small and heady from the incense and spices they use to ward off evil spirits, or so Sume guessed after seeing the vast array of dried plants lining the windowsills. She recognized lavender and cloves, but the rest of it was strange to her—plants with clustered thorns, blood-red flowers with purple veins. As she traced her fingers over the velvet petals, she felt the maid’s eyes on her. She turned and offered a thin smile. “Is there a problem?”

  The woman’s eyes flickered and Sume got the impression that had she been a man, she wouldn’t have dared linger another second in the room. Instead, she stood by the door, hesitating. Sume stepped towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The woman flinched.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” she murmured.

  “You’re not a friend of his,” the woman said. Her words sounded harsh, from the accent.

  “Who? Ylir?” She tried not to laugh at that. “No, I suppose I’m not. I ah—” What was it that he’d said? Escort? She’d wanted to kick him in the balls for that, if it meant what she thought it did. “An associate. He had to leave his man Burg at the camps. My father was a merchant, so I know my way around accounts and such, so he figured better take me along than some drooling idiot.” She gave an exaggerated sigh, and then another smile.

  The woman’s eyes continued to stare at her through the veil. “Young woman,” she said evenly. “You should not give your trust to a man so easily. Your master, he has been here before.”

  She tried to think about the woman’s words, but that morning’s events still weighed on her, and she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. She awakened to three strange women in her room. They were carrying an elaborate yellow silk gown, cut in the Jinsein fashion, with blue flowers embroidered all over the left shoulder. Sume knew that such fabric would cost about a year’s profit from a well-off merchant. She was still thinking about that when one of the women tugged at the hem of her riding clothes, and only then did she realize that she was supposed to wear this.

  Sume opened her mouth. “No, no. I’m hardly clean enough for that.” No sooner had she spoken those words, the door opened, and another woman entered with a tub of hot water that smelled vaguely of rose petals.

  They didn’t give her a lot of room to argue. In no time, she was scrubbed, dried, and dressed. They didn’t know how to put her hair up in Jinsein fashion, so instead, they brushed and allowed it to spill behind her back like a waterfall. She was sitting there, gazing at her transformation on a mirror, when she heard the door open yet again. This time, it was Ylir. He looked back at her and was strangely silent.

  She laughed to break the awkwardness. “So, your escort, am I?”

  He coughed. “I didn’t expect—well, yes, to your question.”

  “You’re very efficient. Cook one day, riding partner the next…”

  “A merchant has to be, if he is to make profit.” He smiled now. He had trimmed his beard in the last few hours they were here. “Something’s missing.” He walked up to her, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a golden ribbon, to match her dress. “May I?”

  She nodded, the smile on her face frozen. She felt him stroke her hair before pulling it up to tie the ribbon around it. She glanced at the mirror again. He knew what he was doing. “Did a bedmate teach you this?” she asked, by way of a joke.

  He didn’t smile back. After a moment’s hesitation, he shook his head. “My mother did. She said, if I ever had daughters…”

  “Sakku forbid,” she said with a laugh. “No offense.”

  Now he grinned. “None taken. Now, are you ready?” He offered his arm to her. She took it, and together, they strode out of the room and down the main hall.

  Silence fell as they entered. Even the loudmouthed Azchai paused in the midst of a hearty speech, his mug of sour Gasparian bitter tilted and dripping over Mhagaza’s polished floor. Ylir’s gaze fell on her a moment longer than it should before he immediately turned to Mhagaza. The old lord looked confused. He had not warned him in advance.

  He smiled from the corner of his mouth and ducked around the corridor before the guards could decide that she did not belong there after all. He pushed Makin aside and appeared next to her, his stride matching hers. “I’m not expected, am I?” she asked him icily through closed teeth.

  Ylir took her hand in his and lifted it high up. Her skin felt cold. If he allowed his gaze to linger, he was convinced he would see goose bumps. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen princesses in the Kag who can’t hold a candle to you.”

  She looked like she wanted to kick his face in. “How many hours do you spend each night practicing those lines?”

  “About one or two. If I’ve been drinking, then none at all.” He led her across the great hall to Mhagaza, whose expression had turned predictably dark. There are powerful women in Gaspar, women who could enter unannounced in parties thrown by powerful lords, but none of them were Jin. He knew, without even thinking too much about it, that the wrong word or wrong step could kill them tonight.

  “My lord,” he said, dropping Sume’s hand as they neared Mhagaza’s seat. “I would like to introduce Sume alon gar Kaggawa. Her father, Goran Kaggawa, had been a member of the Seven Shadows, the group of merchants paramount to the facilitation of Jin-Sayeng trade with the Kag. Quick Goro, they called him. When I met her in Fuyyu, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have her under my employ.”

  Mhagaza leaned forward, like a hound who had just scented prey. “I’ve heard of these men,” he said. “Peasants who stood against a king! I should be bowing to you, then, little princess.” He grinned, showing off golden teeth. “Your father must have been the youngest out of them. Tell me, is there any chance of meeting him?”

  Sume overcame the shock on her face long enough to answer calmly. “He just died, sir, this winter past.” It was a good response. He had been counting on her wit to get her through this evening, and it looked like his judgements were still on the mark, after all. He smiled, and she shot him another glare from the corner of her eyes.

  “A pity!” Mhagaza lifted his hand and pointed at the band in the corner. “A moment of silence, please! Goro Kaggawa—when we were young men, unharassed by the responsibilities and obligations of state, we listened to their exploits with great eagerness. We are not big fans of the Jin-Sayeng monarchy, as you can tell, so enemies—annoyances!—of theirs are heroes to us. You must have had a lively childhood, listening to old Goro’s tales.”

  There was a queer look on Sume’s face. Ylir realized, belatedly, that he was holding his breath. He should’ve warned her, he thought. But no—that wouldn’t have worked at all. Mhagaza was just as surprised as she was, which was as it should be. He inclined his head to the grand table, long enough to hear Sume murmur, “He didn’t speak much
of those days.”

  Mhagaza slammed his enormous hands over the table. “No!” he barked, drawing laughter from the crowd around him. “I find that hard to believe! How could he not? Suged, was there not a tale of Goran and his lady? A Gasparian romance in Jin-Sayeng clothing, if there was ever one. And if you can’t tell, I’m not exactly fond of romances.”

  The man called Suged—another old lord, dressed in pale brown robes, nodded. “I remember the singers who brought that tale across the border, those long years ago. Ichi rok Sagar and his men were imprisoned in the great city of Shirrokaru for defending a Kag merchant against authorities. Only Goran Kaggawa managed to escape. Goro sought the help of a baroness, a powerful woman from the purest of Jin-Sayeng lines, but she would not even answer his letters, let alone meet with him. Her niece, a beautiful young woman, found the letters and sent word that she would help him instead.

  “Through some trickery or another, she managed to get him inside the dungeons. But the old baroness had spies dogging them, and they made it known that Goro was planning to help his friends escape. They sent two hundred guards to storm the deepest bowels of the dungeon, but when they got to Ichi rok Sagar’s cell, the captain of the guard was there. The Seven Shadows were nowhere in sight.

  “The baroness’ niece, of course, could not return to her family any longer, and joined the group back to the savage southlands, where she married Goro. A happiest of endings, if there was ever one. We weren’t told her name, but she was your mother, wasn’t she, girl?”

  Ylir glanced back at Sume and was sure that he could see her heart pounding against the fabric of her dress. This was more than she’d bargained for. But how was he to know that she was unaware of her own father’s history? He suddenly realized that she was holding her breath, as if trying to stop the tears from falling. She was succeeding, for the most part. Was used to it. He cleared his throat. “My lord,” he said. “May the lady and I be seated?”

  Mhagaza scowled at him. “You’re a lucky bastard, Ferral,” he snarled. “But of course, she must be starving. More sombre tunes this time, please!” He clapped his hands and pointed at Makin. “Are you waiting for the moon’s turning? Give the lady a cushion, and some wine! Hoshat!”

  The dancing resumed, and Ylir found himself completely and utterly ignored by the Al-ir K’an. He took a plate of boiled ham, garnished with olives and small potatoes, and joined Azchai in the corner. “I wanted to suggest you bring him chests of jewels and perfumes,” Azchai said, his arms crossed. “But a peasant girl? A Jin peasant? You’ve got nerve, Ferral, I give you that.”

  “My intentions are completely innocent,” Ylir said while he picked at the food.

  “From what I’ve heard about you, your intentions never are. But let’s forget this stunt for a moment and talk business.”

  Ylir smirked. “Business. Here? Surrounded by Mhagaza’s men?”

  “It’s as good a place as any. Unless you’re uncomfortable, Mister Ferral, in which case we can discuss recent events instead. Makin was telling me something interesting—his cousin, the general, had sent a retinue south of here a few days back and has yet to hear from them. They should have returned right around the time you arrived yesterday.”

  “Have you tried asking the Jinseins? We had no choice but to impose on their little party yesterday. That is, providing you haven’t killed them all.”

  “Knowing Mhagaza, unfortunately, we’re probably going to be treated to a display of their heads in the next few hours,” Azchai said drily. He waved over one of the servants to grab a second glass of bitter.

  In the distance, Mhagaza was still talking to Sume, laughing over something she’d said. She happened to glance back at him and he caught a note of displeasure—discomfort, even. Mhagaza had his hand on her arm. Clearly the rules of Gasparian propriety varied from lord to lord. He did notice Mhagaza’s wife talking to her maids in the distance and wondered if she felt anything at all. She seemed like she was more occupied with making sure that the wine still flowed and that meat continued to be carved in copious amounts.

  In Jin-Sayeng, Mhagaza would have been making an ass of himself, he knew. There were clear levels of caste in the Jin-Sayeng monarchy that you didn’t cross, no matter whose daughter you were. There was a reason Goran Kaggawa died in obscurity. He’d heard of the son, a certain Oji who was forced to work for the Boarshind to feed his young family. Even the Dageians wouldn’t have been so crass. The politicians might have thrown your name around to further their agendas, but you’d at least sleep on feather cushions the rest of your life. Not in Jin-Sayeng. Once a peasant, always a peasant…he was sure he’d heard a Jin say those words somewhere before.

  A servant offered him golden-coloured wine. He hadn’t been planning to drink at all, but now he saw little harm in it. Delicate flavours of apple and orange swirled on his tongue. If Sume played her cards right, her family needn’t starve anymore and she’d get the sort of recognition her name deserved. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted in the end? Comfort, security, and a legacy to pass down to one’s children not built around shame? Mhagaza was rich, powerful, and still young enough to sire half a dozen semi-prince and -princesses if he wanted to. There were worse things in life; she wouldn’t even be the first Jinsein to end up in that position and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  He watched her pretending to laugh at one of Mhagaza’s jokes and felt his throat tighten. Sing, little bird, he thought. Be his little golden bird from now on, and I will never forget how you paved the way for my freedom.

  Two days later, he returned to the site, alone and bearing legal papers signed and stamped by the K’an of Al-ir himself. The papers allowed the project to commence. Burg met him on the road. “I only just got your message,” Burg said, wringing his hands together. “Gaven’s orders override my authority. They didn’t really care to stop until you arrived. Said they were going through with this, one way or another.”

  Ylir frowned. The old man had remained irritatingly silent about the whole ordeal. He must have sent dozens of letters from Al-ir, and another five when he got to Aret-ni. The only message he got from home was from Jarche, who assured him that she had no idea where Yn Garr had got to. He read the letter twice before tearing it. Then he sat down on the small, hard bed in his room in Aina’s Breath, eyes bloodshot, not really knowing how else to proceed. Was he just supposed to sit here and wait, like some office clerk, while a Boarshind man undermined their whole business? Why send him all the way here, then? Why not piss him off back in the Kag, where he could at least have the time to take a trip to Hafod and maybe look into getting that summer home complete with buxom ladies and all?

  “These allowances are surprisingly thorough,” Burg commented, appearing by the doorway.

  Ylir distractedly glanced out of the window, letting his hand fall to his side. “Mhagaza can be surprisingly amiable when he’s motivated.”

  Burg paused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Ignore me, Burg. I’m just really tired. Listen, can you ask the men if they know any place you can get a clean—note the word clean—Gasparian woman? Price is—”

  “By Agartes’ balls, Ylir, don’t tell me you did what I think you did,” Burg suddenly gasped. “You didn’t just leave Sume in Al-ir for her health, did you?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “Damn right it’s not!” Burg fumed. “What did you do to her, by Agartes’ balls? The Lord of Al-ir couldn’t just have gone from furious to doting in less than a week without—fuck, Ylir. She’s just a girl! You—!” His face grew red. Ylir had never seen him like this before, and he stood to face him, aware that the man might strike him with his sword if he didn’t handle this properly.

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” he said. “Burg, sit down before you break into a fever or something. You’re spitting.”

  “We’re not in Dageis, Ylir! I’m not your slave, and neither was Sume! Don’t you understand that? We serve you out
of our own free will and hell, I don’t think she would have if you didn’t throw around the whole idea of dismembering her poor nephew. Dismembering him. A child! I know it was probably your idea of a joke, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did. Agartes, Ylir, I can take your eccentricities because I always thought that deep down inside you’re an honorable man, but now...”

  He blinked at that. “Now, you want to leave?”

  Burg glowered at him. “I suppose I do.”

  “I can’t stop you, Burg,” he said, sitting down again. “Like you said, you’re serving out of your own free will. That’s unfortunate, though.”

  “Yeah.” Burg swallowed, glancing down for a moment. “I’m—I’ll pack my things.”

  “For what it’s worth, I didn’t hurt her, Burg,” Ylir murmured. “Mhagaza’s taking her as a concubine. There will be a ceremony three days from now. She’ll be rich, richer than the two of us combined, with her own servants and titles for her children. You really think I’m that heartless? He’s marrying her as Goran Kaggawa’s daughter, not some bedmate he can cast aside when he gets bored.”

  Burg shook his head. “Is that why you had me look up all those details about her family, her past? You had this in mind all along?”

  “He invited me up there to kill me, Burg, and if I had refused he would have sent assassins after me anyway. Sume saved me, you, and the bulk of our operations. Hell if I could have what she’s getting...”

  “Try,” Burg growled. “Maybe there’s a Gasparian prince somewhere with strange enough desires.”

  “You’re letting your emotions get the best of you.”

  Burg ran his hands through his hair. He started to pace around the room, then seemed to think the better of it. “Did you even ask her before you settled all of this? Did she know what she was getting herself into?”