by J. S. Bangs
Lushatha chuckled. “I’m too old to be unmarried, Sadja-dar, and at my age I’m not to be too choosy with any marriage, least of all the daughter of the Emperor. One doesn’t look at a gift like this too closely.”
Sadja grinned. “You’re certainly correct about that. And how did you happen upon this gift? I admit, I was surprised when I heard of it, having been unfamiliar with your name before I learned of the wedding.”
“Kaugali is not a minor town,” Lushatha said with a hint of defensiveness. “And among the majakhadir in Majasravi, I was one of the staunchest allies of Jandurma-daridarya, whom we remember with fear and trembling. Before his senility, of course, and before that thikratta appeared as the Emperor’s Hand.” Lushatha scowled and made the mark to ward away evil over the side of the boat.
“Ah,” Sadja said. “Forgive my youth, then. I barely remember the years before Ruyam’s appearance.”
“Forgiven,” Lushatha said. “My father was nearly the same age as the deceased Emperor, and they were friends after a fashion. When Ruyam appeared I left the city rather than submit to his madness. And so Praudhu-daridarya, whose name we say with fear and trembling, wisely thought to reward me and my lineage.”
The river’s shores were busy with the masses of Majasravi, a panoply in blue, orange, brown, and yellow saris, white dhotis tied high above the knees, faces of glistening brown skin that teemed in the streets and on the banks of churned mud. Women bringing laundry in baskets slung against their hips, girls with jars of water on their heads, dhorsha performing their morning ablutions, boys cursing their goats and whacking at them with sticks.
And the Majavaru Lurchatiya was laid out before them in its full splendor. The walls of the temple complex rose above the bank, decorated in high relief with images of the Powers, demons, human figures, and animals. It was painted in bright pastels and chipped plaster, marred along its lower margin by mud. The top of the wall was a forest of leaf-shaped crenellations, beyond which rose the conical domes of the outer temples, their crowns sculpted with thousands of divine forms. And in the center, the vast mountain of the great central shrine where the Emperor worshipped, a pyramid of carved and painted stone with the golden form of Am at its peak and bronze spear-points along its base, wreathed with the smoke of the sacrifices and the incense of a hundred censers.
“Majestic,” Lushatha said, looking over the temple complex. “Do you often go?”
“Whenever I come to Majasravi I visit,” Sadja said, “but I haven’t had the opportunity on this trip. I shall make time before I leave.”
“Basadi-dar and I will receive the blessing of the chief dhorsha of the temple for our wedding,” Lushatha said, sounding wistful. “I hadn’t thought that honor was one which would descend to me.”
“It sounds like your lineage earned it with your devotion to the Emperor,” Sadja said, smiling. He had a certain amount of genuine compassion for Lushatha. Sadja had worried that the man would be a serious player in the Emperor’s game in Majasravi, but by all appearances the man was guileless and harmless. The only reason he had gotten Basadi at all was his single-minded devotion to the Emperor. Single-minded devotion was a quality that Praudhu would want to reward, one that Sadja could even admire. But not one that Sadja had to fear.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Lushatha said abruptly, “have you given thought to marrying?”
“A little,” Sadja said. He cackled inwardly. “As a king, the number of suitable mates for me is limited.”
Lushatha nodded gravely. “I myself was merely busy, distracted by other pleasures and other concerns. I sometimes regret not taking up my duty earlier, but it was fortunate in a way that I waited. I would not have been able to make this alliance with the House of Kupshira if I were already married.”
“Sometimes it is prudent to wait,” Sadja said, putting great emphasis on how impressed he was with Lushatha’s wisdom. “But I don’t think I’ll wait as long as you.”
“I’ll inquire around for any significant majakhadir in Majasravi who have daughters of the appropriate age,” Lushatha said. “Unless you object….”
“Inquire all you want. There are prospects back in Davrakhanda, as well, but a tie which brings me closer to Majasravi,” he said with a hint of irony, “would be greatly desired.”
The oarsman held them in place before the walls of the Majavaru Lurchatiya. As the morning haze cleared, the stony bulk of the Dhigvaditya and the adjacent gracile towers of the Ushpanditya came into view beyond the temple. Sadja watched the shapes of the Ushpanditya become clear as the day brightened, and his belly grew warm with determination. They watched in silence for a long while.
“Shall we go back?” Sadja said abruptly. “I don’t want to keep you waiting too much. I do appreciate your willingness to meet me for a morning boat trip.”
“We should,” Lushatha said regretfully. “My days are well-filled with visitors, especially now that the wedding has been announced. As much as I would like to spend all day enjoying the Saru river, I don’t think I can allow it.”
Sadja gestured to the oarsman, who turned them around and slowly began to paddle them toward the dock at Lushatha’s estate. Sadja kept Lushatha’s mind occupied with inane questions about the families who occupied the estates they passed. All of them were local khadir or the majakhadir of small cities like Kaugali. Some of the names Sadja knew from his own alliance-building in Majasravi, and a few Sadja noted for possible future relevance.
When they finally bumped against the dock at Lushatha’s estate, Lushatha said quickly, “Wait here. I promised you a gift; now let me bring you something.” He started smartly up the stairs to the estate.
Sadja stepped off of the boat to steady himself on the dock. He only waited a few minutes until Lushatha returned bearing a strip of glittering fabric in his hand. When he reached Sadja, he bowed and presented it to Sadja with both hands.
It was a sash stitched with alternating designs of a ram and a palm-leaf in gold thread, with a large image of Am Gaudakhatta atop a heap of rice stitched in threads of purple and white.
“The emblems of the city of Kaugali,” Lushatha said proudly. “These are made by the skilled craftsmen of my estate and blessed by the dhorsha of the temple. Only the members of my household may acquire them, but I may give them away.”
“A fine gift,” Sadja said. “Nearly unique. I’ll treasure it.” He bowed to Lushatha, then folded it carefully around his hand.
They took leave of each other with terrible slowness, then, finally, Sadja was able to get back into his boat and indicate to the oarsman that they should return to the River Palace.
He played his fingers along the thread of the sash as they rowed and admired the quality of the stitching and the silk. It was a good gift. Perhaps not perfect for Sadja’s purposes, but more than good enough.
* * *
The torches in the garden of the River Palace were snuffed out, except for one which burned at the end of the dock, providing a point of light to which the oarsman could row. Sadja sat on a carpet at the top of the stairs and watched the boat approach, the lamp hanging on its prow providing the only clue to its whereabouts. The moon was just past full, shining like a silver coin on a sheet of black silk, reflected in gentle ripples on the surface of the water. Sadja looked up and found the constellation of the Serpent, and in its breast the tiny red point of the newborn star.
The star seemed to have grown brighter in the last months. Or perhaps he had become better at spotting it. A little chill of premonition passed through him when he looked at it. The Empire of Amur was not long to live.
So why was he fighting so hard to gain it?
Perhaps, he thought, because he was willing to dismember it to save it. Praudhu imagined that he was still the Emperor of all Amur, but Sadja had given up on the pretensions to rule the south. He had worked to put Navran on the throne in Virnas and eliminate Ruyam; now Virnas was independent for all practical purposes, and once Sadja was Emperor he planned
to make that independence official. And he could hardly hope to keep far-off Patakshar if Virnas had been let loose.
So the Empire would be lessened, two of the old seven kingdoms cast back into liberty. But the rest of it might survive.
Of course, he had to acquire the Ushpanditya first.
The boat bumped against the dock, the twin flames of the torch and the boat’s lamp mingling their light. The oarsman tied the boat to the cleats on the dock—not Sadja’s red boat which he had taken to Lushatha, he didn’t dare send something so recognizable on this errand—and from the boat stepped a man in a plain white dhoti, shirtless, but with a cloth wound around his head and falling over his face, like a farm laborer keeping the sun out of his eyes. The man glanced up the stairs at Sadja, who sat on the ground with a lamp next to him, and started up.
He bowed when he reached the edge of the carpet. “Sadja-dar,” he said. He pulled off the head covering, exposing his face, and said, “I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.”
“Chadram,” Sadja said. “Please, sit. I have nothing to offer you, but our meeting should be short.”
Chadram looked at the blanket with suspicion, as if sitting on it might poison him, then settled himself down gingerly. “I’m not sure we should be meeting at all. It’s dangerous enough for me to leave the Dhigvaditya. It’s especially dangerous for me to be meeting with you.”
“Oh?” Sadja said. “And why is that? I’m no threat to the Emperor.”
“Last time I saw you, you swore we wouldn’t speak until I disarmed in your presence.”
“And I see you’re not carrying a weapon,” Sadja said with a smirk. “So my prophecy was true.”
“That is not what you meant.”
“Alas, you’re right,” Sadja said with a creaky groan. “But I reiterate. I’m no threat to the Emperor. I am, indeed, so devoted to his safety that I warned him to be vigilant against threats within the Ushpanditya and the Dhigvaditya.”
“You,” Chadram hissed. “You’re the one who started this nightmare.”
“Nightmare?”
“Praudhu is consumed with paranoia,” Chadram said, his voice hoarse and weary. “For fourteen days I have been examining the members of the Red Men with the Emperor’s Lotus and that sycophantic Vadya. Any failure to show total loyalty to the Emperor, even the slightest, and he demands an execution. I have killed more good men in the past ten days than were claimed by any battle in my lifetime.” He looked at Sadja with his eyes burning with fury. “And you started it.”
“I did not tell Praudhu-daridarya, whose name we say with fear and trembling, to purge the Dhigvaditya. I told him to be vigilant. If he has consumed himself, then that’s his own doing.”
“A convenient excuse.”
“Let me offer another. I want to divert his attention outside the walls.”
“To where?”
Sadja removed the sash he had received from Lushatha from the silk bag in which he had kept it. He extended it to Chadram. “You should bring this into the Dhigvaditya.”
Chadram didn’t touch it. “What is that?”
“A personal item of a majakhadir here in the city. You don’t need to know who. The Emperor will recognize it, if he sees it. You should ensure that he sees it.”
“And why should I do that? How should I hide it?”
“You said many men were being purged. And you want the Emperor’s attention to go elsewhere. Then place this somewhere in the Dhigvaditya, and let the Emperor’s fears follow it back to its source.”
Chadram looked at the sash as if Sadja offered him a cobra. “I will not,” he said at last.
Sadja frowned. “Why not?”
“The Dhigvaditya is dangerous enough right now without me attempting to stir up trouble elsewhere. To much danger to myself. And I won’t condemn other men to death.”
A noise of annoyance sounded in Sadja’s throat. “You put it among the things of a man who would be condemned anyway. You get Praudhu-daridarya’s attention to leave the Dhigvaditya, and there are no more deaths.”
“And the man who owns this? Innocent of wrongdoing, I assume.”
Sadja folded the sash and put it back into the pouch. “I don’t see why you would bother yourself with him. Another petty majakhadir in a city that brims with them. You should hear him prattle about his little town and the precious blessings their temple gives to his lineage.”
“Innocent,” Chadram repeated. “And then if I get caught—”
“Don’t get caught.”
“I don’t intend to,” Chadram said, “because I don’t intend to take the sash.”
Sadja was quiet for a moment. His stomach bubbled with anger, but there was no advantage in showing it. He asked calmly, “Do you know what you’re giving up?”
Chadram raised an eyebrow. “Your gratitude when you become Emperor?”
“Don’t underestimate that value.”
“I am already the Emperor’s Spear, the commander-in-chief of the Red Men. I don’t think there’s anything you could offer that would tempt me.”
Sadja folded his hands and drummed his fingers together. “If you don’t value the Emperor’s favor, you might want to avoid his wrath.”
“And that I will do quite well by not colluding with those who lust for the Ushpanditya,” Chadram said. He rose to his feet. “I know not to buy a sickly lamb. Goodbye, Sadja-dar.”
He descended the steps back toward the boat, picking up the cloth which had covered his head along the way. A gesture to the oarsman and they pushed away with Chadram arranging the cloth to cover his face again.
Sadja’s tongue burned with anger. With a groan of fury he grabbed the sash in both hands and tensed his muscles to tear and throw it in the river—
But he stopped. Took a deep breath. Remembered his thikratta discipline, submerged the passions of the blood, and reached for the inner stillness. Anger would get him nowhere. He needed to clear his mind, to think, to meditate, to peer ahead with farsight and see what other opportunities might present themselves.
Basadi, he reminded himself. The princess remained in play. If Lushatha could not be corrupted, then perhaps Basadi could.
Navran
The salt administration was smaller than he expected. He had allowed Josi and her appointees to handle the details of procuring and preparing a yard, so this was his first time visiting the site.
The building was small, a single room with the pentacle over its door and windows, and the curtain that was its door was a sheet of blue with a white pentacle painted on it to indicate an office of the King and Heir. The room held a locked chest of coin, some slates and ledgers, and a carpet where the clerk sat and did his work. The whole rest of it was a walled yard behind the building, where casks of salt were stacked on raised bamboo scaffolds.
“Why the scaffolds?” Navran asked Peshdana, the Uluriya merchant who had been appointed to oversee the salt administration at Veshta’s recommendation.
“To keep the salt dry,” Peshdana said. “We keep the salt off the ground with these scaffolds to keep the casks from getting soaked and ruining the salt.”
“And how do you keep the rain off of them?”
“Well,” Peshdana said with a small bow of embarrassment, “we don’t know yet. I would like to build a proper roof or have a canopy to cover them. But we still have some months before the rains return. We’ll finish something before then.”
“Ah,” Navran said. He glanced back toward the office. Someone was yelling.
Dastha walked a pace behind Navran. He turned toward the sound and said, “I’ll go see what the problem is.”
“We’ll all go,” Navran said.
Someone was in the office swearing loudly and scuffling with the hapless clerk. The clerk sat atop the coin chest, looking nervously at the stick the other man held and swung wildly.
“Thirty years!” the man said. “I’ve been selling salt here for thirty years and never did anyone change the price on me. Never for my f
ather or grandfather—”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” the clerk said, ducking to avoid another wild swing of the man’s club.
“What is this about?” Peshdana asked.
“Your payment!” the man howled. “You cut the price that you pay us. I can’t bring salt from Sadhura at that price—”
“That’s not true,” Peshdana said. “I consulted with several merchants and examined the cost of getting salt from the flats at Sadhura to here. I know exactly how much you can take.”
“Goat piss,” the man said. “I talked to the other men on the dock. None of us are selling unless you put the price back to what it was.”
Peshdana folded his arms. “Who else will you sell the salt to?”
“Who approved the price change?” Navran asked quietly.
“Josi did,” Peshdana said.
“Ah,” Navran said. “I haven’t seen her. Hadn’t heard.”
“And who are you?” the irate salt merchant said, swinging his club around and tapping Navran on the chest.
Dastha lunged forward and knocked the man’s club to the ground, pulling his sword from its hilt a breath later. The salt merchant staggered back with his eyes wide, seeing Dastha’s weapon for the first time.
“He is Navran-dar, King of Virnas and Heir of Manjur,” Dastha said. “And you’ll pay your respect.”
The merchant was taken aback for a moment, gaping at Navran and groping with his hands as if reaching for the club that he had dropped. Then his eyes grew dark and he said, “You’re the one making this trouble. You wanted to buy all the salt so you could give sinecures to your fellow cultists.”
Dastha tapped the man with the flat of his sword. “Speak respectfully.”
“Perhaps I should talk to the other merchants,” Peshdana said softly. “You and I could go together.” He glanced at Navran. “But I should also confer with Josi, my king.”