Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  “Lord Kalyano sends an additional warning. He believes that Taisto knows you are yet alive, because he has some of his own men still scouring the kingdom for you. Lord Kalyano never believed that you were murdered. He was able to see the body Taisto produced before it was burned in the royal funeral. He urges you to take every precaution. He believes Taisto is much more dangerous to you than Vidar, but warns you not to trust either of them.”

  Hakan nodded. “That does not surprise me. Does Commander Jalo expect an answer immediately?”

  “He desires confirmation that he should buy the grain. He believes he can use some of his men to deliver it without causing any suspicion. The suvari will stand by you to whatever end.” He bowed his head again, and I wanted to smile at his overzealous formality.

  “Aye then. Stay another four days until we receive word from Tafari, and then Hayato will have his answer.”

  The young officer hesitated but spoke again. “Commander Jalo also sends more troubling news. He has spoken with a friend in the kedani, Sverre Usoa, out of Stonehaven. Usoa made discreet inquiries on your behalf, since Commander Jalo told him that neither you nor the prince know much about Ryuu Taisto. It was difficult going, but he did find out two very interesting facts. Sir, you were the only survivor of the battle that retired you in the campaign against the Tarvil. One survivor, out of some forty two experienced warriors, a group that would normally not have been sent out all together but split up to lend your expertise and courage to younger, less seasoned squads.”

  I nodded, wondering exactly what Usoa thought he had discovered. I could relive it in my mind if I wanted to, and I had a thousand times over. The sudden cries of agony, the courage of our men, the brilliant sun that mocked our tragedy.

  Desta continued quietly. “With much effort, Usoa found that the orders for that foray came from Ryuu Taisto, who was then serving as deputy division commander out of Blackburn. There is no record that the division commander gave the orders for your patrols to be combined in that advance, nor that he approved it.”

  I frowned. Normally the division commander would have been involved in such an irregular decision. I hadn’t questioned it at the time, because I wasn’t commanding that patrol. Who had been? I couldn’t remember his name, he wasn’t someone I’d worked with before, but surely he would have noticed an irregularity in the orders.

  “Who was the division commander?” I couldn’t remember.

  “Britlin Goroa. He died not long after, but I don’t know how. Usoa believes that Taisto betrayed your group to the Tarvil in order to eliminate some of the most experienced soldiers who might oppose him and in order to gain credibility with the Rikutans by proving his influence. He believes that Taisto has been in the pay of the Rikutans for some years. Taisto has money that is unexplained by his pay from the king’s purse.” Desta bowed again.

  I felt sick. Surely not. Surely an officer of the king’s kedani would not betray his own men to the barbarians. I took a deep breath. That was the past. What mattered was the present. If the king Ashmu Tafari was false, what would be the result of my visit to his brother? How much had that cost Hakan?

  I leaned back to think, though Desta almost seemed to expect an outburst of hot anger. Despite what people seem to expect, anger is rarely my first reaction to anything. Neither my nature nor my training encourages a foolish temper. I admit I felt a deep, cold fury at the utter futility of Yuudai’s death, fury at the traitor who might have sacrificed him and other good men for his own gain, but that was hardly something I would hold against the young messenger. “Thank you for your message. Eat and rest now. Hakan will send his answer when we hear from Tafari.”

  He nodded and backed away, bowed more deeply to me than he should have, and strode off down the hall in search of Twilling.

  Perplexing indeed.

  Hakan stared at the table. “I thought you judged Tafari was honest?”

  “Aye. At least the brother is; I cannot speak for the king. But Zuzay Tafari seemed to have a good opinion of his brother. I would be surprised if he was aware of such treachery.”

  Perhaps Tafari was not the culprit after all. The king Hakan Emyr had been a foolish king in some ways, but he wasn’t false, he didn’t send spies to corrupt the Rikutan army or send good men to their deaths for no purpose. He might have been stupid but he wasn’t vicious. Yet men under him had been vicious and underhanded. Perhaps it was the same with Tafari.

  I spoke slowly. “I wouldn’t judge him false yet. Just as Taisto’s misdeeds only mean that your father was unaware, not that he was corrupt, so too someone else under Tafari may be acting against his wishes and unknown to him.”

  Hakan nodded as though he wanted to believe me. “I suppose it is possible.”

  But it was also possible I was too optimistic, too trusting. How could I know what the king Hakan Emyr had done? He’d sent spies to gather information. He’d made many mistakes, only some of which I could have seen. I had served him without reservation, and he was hardly a model of a perfect king.

  Tafari could be playing both sides of the conflict. He would need to be on good terms with whoever emerged as the ruler in Erdem. A man may be a good king and not entirely a good man, just as a good man can be a bad king. I wanted to believe that Hakan would be both a good man and a good king, and he was giving me reasons for confidence. But I hadn’t met Tafari, and though I held onto my hope, I had to admit to myself that it was rather tenuous.

  16

  The fourteenth day I woke before dawn, nearly twitching with impatience to hear Tafari’s answer. I was hopeful, but the stakes were very high. Hakan was even more nervous than I was, or at least not as practiced at hiding it. He paced back and forth in the dining room of Twilling’s inn like a caged wolf. He looked painfully young and green, every line of his bearing taut with fear of failure.

  Isamu rode in not long after noon, and I knew the answer before we were close enough to speak, for I could see the smile on his face. Hakan hung back, as I had advised him; I didn’t think it wise for him to appear too eager.

  Isamu and I bowed to each other, knowing that we were both glad of the news. He came into Twilling’s inn to speak more privately, and Hakan received his bow with royal grace and noble composure. This, too, pleased me. I was glad Isamu could report back that despite Hakan’s youth and inexperience, he was well-versed in the courtesy proper to a monarch.

  Desta stood behind us as I had asked him to, lending at least a small air of formality to the meeting. I wanted Isamu to be honored appropriately as an official emissary, though there were only we two warriors and Hakan to do so. Diplomacy, like any conversation, is a dance of competing and cooperative interests, forces pulling two nations both together and apart, hidden agendas and open requests, demands and incentives, personal emotion and cool logic. Courtesy is both a measure of the respect one accords to another and a measure of one’s own character.

  Isamu bowed. “His Royal Highness the king Ashmu Tafari sends his respectful greetings to the prince Hakan Ithel. He wishes to open negotiations with you as soon as possible, and gratefully accepts your offer of grain, to be delivered as discussed.”

  Gratefully. A good sign there. A king does not want to seem too grateful, for gratitude implies need. It was well spoken, conveying appropriate appreciation while preserving Tafari’s dignity.

  “He has ordered that all raids across your borders cease at once while the negotiations begin. Of course, the borders will remain well guarded, but he trusts that your men will respect the peace that both our nations desire.” Isamu kept his eyes on Hakan’s face.

  Hakan nodded beside me. “They will once they receive their orders.”

  He and Isamu spoke courteously and seriously to each other, refining the specifics of how the negotiations were to begin. Despite his earlier nerves, he was proud and noble, supremely confident. Regal.

  Isamu was greatly impressed by Hakan’s royal bearing and generosity, and when he left he bowed with consummate grace
toward a king, not just a boy who might one day have a throne. We saw him off with respect and he promised to take Hakan’s answer to Tafari with all due haste.

  When we entered Twilling’s inn again, Hakan dropped into a chair and put his head on the table. He remained still a moment, eyes closed, and then raised his head to look at me. “Do you think it went well?”

  “Aye, it did.” I smiled. In truth, I was proud of him. He called for Twilling to bring us ale, though it was not yet time for dinner, and glanced at his hands ruefully. Pale slender hands, despite the hours training in the sunlight, they shook almost violently.

  “Are you ill?”

  He shook his head. “No. They do this sometimes when I’m very nervous. Always have.”

  A man can’t help some things, and I could not fault him for it. I’ve seen my own hands shake against my will after I’ve been wounded or in the presence of a beautiful woman. “You did well to hide it.”

  He shrugged. “I’d rather not have him know I almost vomited from nerves. It wouldn’t exactly make me seem more regal, would it?”

  I had expected to send Desta back with the answer to Hayato immediately, but Hakan insisted that we buy the grain and deliver it ourselves. I told him that a king delegates responsibility and that Hayato was quite capable of navigating a marketplace. He responded that he was not yet king, and he wished to personally see the fulfillment of the promises I had made on his behalf and that he had then confirmed to Isamu. I didn’t argue too strongly. While learning to delegate is essential for a king, so too is taking responsibility for his word.

  We left Desta in Senlik with instructions that he should receive any messages from Tafari on the prince’s behalf and immediately convey them to Vettea, where we were planning to meet Hayato. Our travel southwest was much faster than our travel northeast had been because Hakan bought two very good horses from Thosin to speed our way. Despite his difficulty with the sword, he was a more than competent horseman, and we reached Vettea in only two days.

  Hakan had never been in a market before, and Vettea’s was far from Erdem’s best. Nonetheless, he stared about him with wide eyes. Across the small square there was a Senga trader sitting atop his cart, and I nudged Hakan to be sure he saw the man.

  “What’s the mark on his face?” he whispered.

  The mark was a series of darkened dots that arced around the Senga’s left eye and down across his cheek, with a sharp upward angle to his ear. “It’s a tribal marking. He’s a Sesmerinal Senga, from the eastern desert. He’s probably selling spices.” I edged my way through the crowd to see if I was right. If so, he’d have evreok, which is a bit like cinnamon but with a sweeter tang.

  “How did he do it?” Hakan was still staring.

  I kept my voice low and spoke almost into his ear. “Small cuts with a knife, then ash or charcoal to darken the scars.”

  He grimaced. “That’s horrible.”

  I smiled. “Don’t let him hear you say that. They’re very proud. It’s a family marking, like bearing his father’s name.”

  The Senga did have evreok, so I spent my next to last bronze hawk on a tiny bag. We used our borrowed money to buy all the grain we would need and carts to carry it. We also hired drivers, which was a bit more difficult since we needed ten men and mounts for them once the carts were delivered, but finally we had made all the arrangements necessary. Hayato had a small group of suvari to escort us on our way, some thirty men who bowed respectfully every time they saw me. Apparently my reputation had very much preceded me, although no one outside Hayato’s group knew that my face matched the name of Kemen Sendoa.

  I spent a pleasant morning listening to gossip and rumors about my prowess as we argued over the prices of grain, carts, and mules to pull them. I was unsure whether it was better to betray my identity and argue that the battle had not been the lone hero Kemen Sendoa against the entire Rikutan army, or whether it was better to remain simply an unknown retired soldier. Which was more modest, more proper for a warrior’s denial of ego?

  Of course, Hayato knew this dilemma, and he knew how I hate to be stared at. So it was a joke when he called out to me from halfway across the square with an impish laughter in his eyes. The entire crowd turned to stare at me, and suddenly everyone was talking to me and at me. They wanted to buy me ale and dinner, clap me on the shoulder, and hear of the skirmish in detail. I cursed Hayato inside, though I did manage to smile with some degree of courtesy at the crowd.

  Hakan had laughed with Hayato when the crowd first recognized me, but later that night over dinner, he questioned me more closely. Hayato was eating with his men, giving them instructions, and Hakan and I were eating in a quiet corner of a small inn. With some effort I had managed to escape the stares earlier. Though the innkeeper bobbed his head respectfully every time he brought us food, we were otherwise able to eat in obscurity, which pleased me greatly. The food wasn’t as good as Lira Twilling’s, but the ale was better and there was a bit of music. I liked it, but Hakan winced when they hit the high notes, so I suppose the musicians were not especially good.

  “Were you really angry at Hayato this afternoon?”

  I shrugged. Anger over something so trivial does not become a warrior. There had been no affront intended. “Aye, a bit. I suppose I shouldn’t have been though.”

  Hakan studied me, and I wondered what he saw. Sometimes I thought I understood him, for he was a boy and often quite transparent, but other times he utterly surprised me. “You really don’t like the recognition then, do you?

  “Every man likes a bit of recognition. But I don’t like being stared at and made much of. It wasn’t like they said, some great glorious battle.” My emotion surprised even me; I’m used to being cool and logical. Emotion is dangerous, though pleasant and even beneficial sometimes, because it is unpredictable.

  “They glorify battle because they have never seen it. Watching a man die isn’t a game. It isn’t a nice story you tell over dinner.”

  You can smell a man’s fear. You can taste your own fear. The air hums with the tension between two men. A sword cleaves through air and cloth and skin and flesh and sometimes bone, and you can feel the grinding crunch when a bone breaks beneath your blade. A man can die of infection days after a wound that looks trivial, a lingering painful death of fever and rotting flesh. Death is a bitter smell, but the rot that sometimes precedes it is sickeningly sweet. A man might cry for his mother, a brother, a friend, when he dies.

  No man with a thinking mind is unafraid of battle. Courage faces that fear, but only foolishness pretends that it is glorious.

  We left early the next morning. Some of the people of the town watched us, and I hoped that Vidar and Taisto would not hear of our departure, though we had not given any information about our intended destination or purpose, and certainly not anything to indicate that the prince Hakan Ithel was in our little party. But if they knew I was there, surely they could guess Hakan wasn’t far away.

  The carts had some difficulty in the muddy roads at first, but as we made further progress the old roads were better drained and less used. We covered some nine leagues each day, camping just off the road. I pushed the group a little because the going would be slower once we reached the hills. The suvari sang as we rode, and sometimes I raised my voice with them, though my voice is hardly admirable. There is something stirring about battle songs, sung lustily on beautiful spring days, when the wind carries the scent of freshly plowed earth and green growing things.

  Hakan smiled and laughed more than he had since I had known him. He must have felt the eternal hope of spring as well. He learned the songs we sang, and the suvari welcomed him as one of their own. His voice delighted Hayato, who was much more inclined toward music than I.

  Once we reached the hills our progress slowed considerably. The roads fell out of repair as we moved farther from Stonehaven, and sometimes a cart would get a wheel stuck or even broken. One of the mules developed a limp which got progressively worse. Though the driver
removed the stone that caused it, the animal did not improve. We sold it and bought another at the next town, but it delayed us a little.

  With no little effort and several very early starts, we reached the meeting place early on the appointed day. The mountain range narrows considerably there, and the Lobar Road Pass is the widest and, at least in the past, was the most traveled route between Stonehaven and Enkotan, the Rikutan capital. Roughly halfway between our two kingdoms there is a small plateau nestled between the mountains. It has often been a meeting place for traders, and it would serve us well now.

  The Rikutans were not yet there, so our group settled around several small fires, cooking lunch and warming ourselves against the mountain chill. We waited only a short while before the Rikutan party arrived, led by Zuzay Tafari himself.

  He waved a greeting and his men waited in formation while he rode forward to speak with Hakan and me. Hakan’s first words, after a regally courteous greeting, were an invitation for Tafari’s men to eat lunch with our men. I could see the pleasure in Tafari’s acceptance of this courtesy, for it promised an ongoing cooperation. In minutes the men were mingling with cautious, friendly smiles.

  Hakan generously offered the mules that pulled the wagons as a gift, though it had not been part of the original offer, which was only the grain and the wagons that carried it. I thought even at the time that it was an intelligent and perceptive gesture because it showed him as confident in his coming rule, generous because he could afford to be generous. Tafari and Hakan spoke quietly about the negotiations, initial expectations, desires, what each country was willing to extend in trust. Hakan carried himself very well, gracious and confident in every word. The interlude did not last long, but Tafari bowed with respect and pleasure when he and Hakan parted.