by Laurence Yep
The prince seemed surprised. “But it’s more logical to leave me. Why risk your lives on my account?”
“Why not?” Sulu shrugged.
“Spoken like a true cavalier.” The prince clapped his palms lightly together in the Angiran fashion.
Mr. Spock frowned as if he disliked being associated with Sulu’s romantic streak. “Our orders were to escort you safely home. Since the palace now belongs to another tenant, we must then see you to your clan’s province.”
“Mr. Spock, I think you’re capable of rationalizing anything.” The prince wagged a finger at him.
Urmi pointed a warning finger at him. “If you think you can work some sort of mischief here, you’re wrong. I won’t let you put your puppet on the throne.”
Mr. Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “Whether the prince leaves or stays, he will make that decision on his own.”
[106] The prince lowered his head. “But just who am I then?”
“That is something Only you can discover,” Mr. Spock said quietly.
The prince gave a soft laugh. “It’s the old eternal question, isn’t it? Though I am neither melancholy nor Danish.” Sulu thought he was simply staring at the ground, so he was surprised to see that the prince seemed to be studying his own faint shadow. Suddenly he raised his fingers above his head so that the silhouette of a crown appeared there. “The Shadow Lord has become the Shadow Emperor.”
Lord Bhima woke upon his bed. He tried to rise, but his hands and feet were bound, and then he remembered Rahu. The young lord had been carrying on a casual conversation, it seemed, with several others about a hundred meters from the prince’s room. He had walked up to Rahu, a line of poetry running through his head. It had been composed by a young courtier some five hundred years ago, who had been forced to commit suicide for some minor breach of etiquette. “Beware the hidden edge to a smile,” he had written.
Lord Bhima had approached the group warily, as he would a nest of flame vipers. “Lord Rahu.” He’d nodded his head slightly. “If I might speak with you.”
“Yes, of course.” Rahu had inclined his head slightly to the others. “If you’ll forgive me, gentlemen,” he said. But in actual fact, it had been he who was dismissing the others.
Lord Bhima had waited until the others were some ten meters away. In the intricate forms of politeness [107] within the Angiran court, it Was assumed they would pretend they had not heard—even if they had. “You are not to behave again in such a discourteous way to our guests.”
“You puzzle me, Lord Bhima.” Lord Rahu had folded his arms across his chest. “I have often heard you complain about the contamination from offworld.”
“That has to do with ideas, not with people,” Lord Bhima had corrected him.
“That is your mind speaking, not your heart.” Lord Rahu had studied him. “I know you—perhaps better than you do yourself. Your sense of duty prevents you from doing what you really want: to restore this world back to the old ways.”
Lord Bhima had hooked a thumb through his sash-end. “I speak of virtues, you speak of privileges. In either case, we both must serve the throne.”
Rahu’s nostrils had widened slightly. “And if one were to choose between this world and the throne?”
“Events must not be allowed to come to that,” Lord Bhima had warned him.
“And should we simply roll over on our backs while a treacherous emperor lets these offworlders take over our world?” Rahu had drawn himself up. “I had expected more of you, swordmaster.”
Rahu had touched upon Lord Bhima’s own secret fears. Nonetheless, Lord Bhima had reminded himself of the Warrior’s Code, by which he had tried to live all these years. “I will fight any attempted takeover by them, but,” he had added, “in the proper way.”
“You are too much the gentleman.” Rahu had frowned. “Critical times call for critical measures.”
“If it cannot be done properly,” Lord Bhima had said, “then it should not be done at all. Now if you’ll [108] excuse me, Lord Rahu, I must prepare for the welcoming ceremony.”
He should have taken several steps away from Rahu so that he was out of arm’s reach before he turned his back on the ambitious lord. But he’d been preoccupied by the enigma of the prince and his visitors. He’d realized his mistake when he heard Rahu draw the dagger. He had tried to turn, but he was already preparing himself for the stab of the blade. So he had been rather surprised when it was a heavy pommel instead that smashed down against the base of his head.
He pulled and tugged at his bindings now, but the leather thongs cut into his wrists and ankles. So then he tried to wriggle his arms and legs slowly to get some slack. In the distance, he could hear screams and shouts. At first, he told himself that the commotion was probably nothing—only some of the sillier of the servants who panicked at the slightest excuse. But as he listened more closely to the shouts, he could detect the note of fear in them, and the outrage. And he knew with a terrible certainty that something worse was going on.
He managed to sit up. Yes, he was in his room, surrounded by all his familiar things, and so it seemed impossible for the terror to be happening outside. He glanced around the room for something with an edge, but all his weapons were locked away in the fencing hall. For once, he regretted being so dutiful. He glanced at the polished bronze surface of a mirror. His tastes were inclined to simpler lines rather than the intricate gold frame, but it had been a gift from the emperor after Prince Vikram had beaten Rahu so decisively in that match long ago.
[109] Lord Bhima struggled to his knees. Part of the frame had a slight edge to it. Perhaps he could make use of that to free himself. It took him a long time to make it over to the mirror, even longer to knock the mirror down by lying on his back and using his feet to kick it from the wall. And then it took a while to grasp the mirror in his hands so he could begin to saw the thongs against the edge.
There was not nearly so much noise as before, but just when he thought things were settling down, he would hear a solitary scream. What madness had Rahu created?
He couldn’t know that until he was outside the room, and he couldn’t do that until he was free. He almost had the bonds cut when he heard the footsteps. Hastily he crawled back toward the foot of his bed. There was no time to hide the mirror.
The door was flung open and a young sinha officer stepped into the room. Lord Bhima could have wept to see the blood staining the officer’s cape and forearm. Worse, his sandaled legs seemed to be covered in red up to his knees, as if he had waded through blood. In his hand was a sword—though that was forbidden even to a sinha warrior.
Rahu followed a second later. His pelt and limbs were also bloodied and there was an odd, sad air to him. “I am sorry you were inconvenienced, Lord Bhima.”
Lord Bhima tested the thongs. It felt as if they would break now with one quick tug—if necessary. “You look like a butcher,” he said accusingly to Rahu.
“Yes, one might call me that.” Rahu sheathed his own sword. “But I did it for the sake of Angira.”
[110] Lord Bhima scowled. “The foulest deeds often carry the fairest reasons.”
“So be it.” Rahu stared down at his bloody hands as if they belonged to someone else. As a child, he had always been so fastidious about keeping clean. He looked suddenly at Lord Bhima. “I have been willing to risk everything today—including my reputation.”
“What did you do?” Lord Bhima demanded sternly—as if Rahu were once again one of his pupils.
And like a small boy, Rahu lowered his head slightly. “We attacked the emperor and his family while they were still taking their places in the assembly room.”
Lord Bhima sucked in his breath. “You slaughtered them.”
“It was a battle,” Rahu said sharply. The distinction seemed to be important to him. “They fought well even though they were bare-handed. But,” he added almost apologetically, “I suspect our losses would have been heavier if you had been there.”
&n
bsp; “Why spare me, though?” Lord Bhima shook his head, trying to clear the tears away from his eyes. “Did you come to gloat?”
Rahu came forward impulsively. “I cannot ask you to condone what I’ve just done, because I know you wouldn’t. But I would ask that you be pragmatic. Our goals are the same as yours, after all. We seek to preserve our world’s honor and heritage.”
“What honor is left now?” Lord Bhima demanded.
“Our heritage then—and our identity as Angirans,” Rahu argued. “Or would you have the best of our youth travel offworld and become aliens to us? And would you allow our world to slide into anarchy? You know the reports as well as I do. The peasants are [111] ready to revolt. This world needs a strong hand to guide it back to sanity.”
“My oath is to the emperor,” Lord Bhima insisted stubbornly.
Lord Rahu swallowed anxiously. “And there is none now. The line is extinguished.”
Lord Bhima’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You were that thorough?”
“You trained me to finish a task once it was begun.” Biting his lip, Rahu stood over Lord Bhima. “So be our conscience now, Lord Bhima. You can guide and temper the Restoration.”
And Lord Bhima’s own doubts and uncertainties with the dead emperor now filled his mind. He had been forced to stand by and watch in anguish as the emperor had slowly and methodically ruined their world. In his madness to modernize Angira, the emperor had ruined many noble families and alienated the peasants. Worse, he had poisoned their world with all of his modern factories and mines.
He had hoped that Prince Vikram might be able to heal their world’s wounds, and so he had been disappointed when Prince Vikram had sided with the offworlders. He seemed likely only to increase the destruction of their world. And so, though he despised Rahu for what the ambitious young noble had done, he decided that Rahu was right in this much: Modernization could not be allowed to continue. So their goals were similar.
And suddenly Lord Bhima found himself toying with the idea that he might be able to stop some of Rahu’s zealous excesses. Perhaps he might even heal some of their poor world’s wounds. And wasn’t one man’s [112] honor less important than the salvation of their world? The Warrior’s Code had always emphasized that the interests of society came before those of an individual.
“And if I refuse to join you?” Lord Bhima asked cautiously.
Rahu licked his lips nervously like someone about to take a last, desperate throw of the dice. “I will set you free in a place of your own choosing and you will then be able to travel where you like for an entire day before my sinha begin to hunt you.”
Lord Bhima realized he was flirting with his own death. “And if I choose Kotah?”
Rahu drew closer in his eagerness to convert Lord Bhima. “You would be taken to the border.” He nodded his head slightly. “You see, I understand the way your mind works, swordmaster. You must be given a real choice, or you will never choose to help me.”
Lord Bhima considered the matter. His own death would not bring back the emperor. Nor did he care to defend a cause which only brought harm to their world. Besides, going to Kotah would only prolong the slaughter. In fact, Rahu, left unchecked, might plunge this entire world into a blood bath. He knew his former pupil well enough. But where did honor truly lie in this affair? All his life, he had drawn strength and guidance from the Warrior’s Code; but either alternative seemed equally dishonorable. And suddenly he felt weak and lost like an abandoned child.
“Considering what has just happened, I would need more than your oath if I were to join you,” Lord Bhima said bitterly.
“And what if I placed the imperial seal and all of the imperial symbols in your hands? I could do nothing without your approval.” Rahu could not help smiling [113] slyly. He had known his quarry and what bait would attract him.
Lord Bhima studied him. “And why should you care what I think, Rahu?”
“Because I value your opinion”—Rahu shrugged—“and because I am not a fool. Your presence would enhance any regime.”
“I rather think both our reputations will be dragged down.” With a sudden sideways pull of his arms. Bhima broke the thongs that bound them. At the same time, he swept his legs outward, catching Rahu from behind so that Rahu tumbled into his lap.
With his left hand, Bhima caught Rahu’s wrist so that the sword point was held away. But Bhima’s right hand closed around Rahu’s throat. The sinha lieutenant raced from his position by the door with his sword raised over his head.
“Don’t,” Bhima growled. His hands tightened around Rahu’s neck. “I can crush his throat easily.”
Rahu made strangling noises and waved the tip of his sword at the lieutenant, as if to warn him to stay away. When the young officer had stepped back, Bhima looked down at Rahu.
“I’ve done this to show you that I do, indeed, have a choice in the matter. And I will always have one. I won’t allow myself to be used by you and then be discarded like so much old rubbish. Do you understand me?” He could feel Rahu struggling to nod his head despite the hand constricting his throat. “I will help you, Rahu, because I would end the suffering in our world.” He released Rahu and the young lord rolled away, lying on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping.
With one hand around his neck, Rahu lifted his [114] sword. Lord Bhima calmly swung his legs around, holding his ankles apart as best he could and then waited for a sword stroke. One way or another, he would have Rahu’s answer. He was almost disappointed that Rahu did not deliver a death blow but, instead, brought the point down with precision so that it cut through the thongs. He had always dismissed such displays of swordsmanship at tournaments as so much showmanship, but he had to admit that it sometimes had its uses.
“Then it’s a bargain,” Lord Rahu rasped.
“Lord, Lord,” a sinha burst wildly into the room at that moment. “Prince Vikram barricaded himself within the Old Chapel, and when we finally broke in, he was gone. There must be some hidden passageway out of there.”
Rahu tried to say something, but could not for a moment. He had to cough several times before he could find his voice once again. “Well, find the entrance.”
The messenger spread his arms. “Lord, we’ve searched all over for it, but we haven’t discovered it yet.”
“If he’s gone into the lower levels, he may not live for very long.” Lord Bhima threw the severed ropes away.
“I, for one, refuse to trust to ghost stories to do my work for me.” Rahu rounded on his heel apprehensively. “Lord Bhima, will you keep your bargain with me? Or will you maintain a hollow loyalty to that other family? I will abide by the terms of my original offer and give you free passage.”
Lord Bhima began to rub the circulation back into [115] his numb ankles. If it had been any other son of the emperor but Vikram, he might have reconsidered things. But as it was, he had little heart to defend some idiot who was half an offworlder already. “No.” He sighed, feeling suddenly very old and tired. “I’ll help you, Rahu.”
Lord Rahu seemed pleasantly surprised by his answer. “Lord Bhima, I will head to the river with my army. We will probably catch the prince there. But I want you to locate the secret passageway in the Old Chapel.” He nodded to the lieutenant. “Round up a dozen men and assist Lord Bhima.”
Lord Bhima was looking down at his own soropa. The blood from Rahu had already stained his own clothes. It was, he thought to himself, one of the hazards of dealing with a murderer. And though he told himself that he had made the right decision, he could not shake off a strange sense of doom. “And what will you do with him?”
“I will do whatever is necessary to save this world,” Lord Rahu said quietly.
“No.” Lord Bhima shook his head firmly. “That poor fool can’t harm you. Lock him away in the palace someplace, but don’t add his death to your crimes.”
“Pity has little place in the Restoration,” Rahu warned.
“I will salvage this one small bit of honor,” Lo
rd Bhima insisted.
Rahu mulled that over and then he raised his shoulders and let them drop. “I had been looking forward to the news of his death. But I’m willing to forgo that pleasure if I can gain your support. If you can capture him alive, then do so.”
[116] Lord Bhima nodded his head to Rahu. He owed him that much now. “Thank you, Lord.” He should have felt lighter of heart after having struck that bargain for the prince; and yet he felt only more uneasy—like some simpleton in a tale who’s only fooled himself when he thinks he’s gotten the better of a deal with a demon.
Chapter Five
It was hot within the gulch as they walked along with weapons in hand. And the smoke rolled down from the palace walls, hanging in the gulch so that they coughed as they hiked along the rocky floor. About a half kilometer on, they halted abruptly. Eight bodies lay smashed on the floor of the gulch and one lay half within the stream, its blood rising in plumes that flowed downstream, turning the water red.
Urmi craned her neck back to look at the high palace walls hanging on the very lip of the gulch. “They must have thrown them from the top of the battlements. Or maybe they just decided to jump.”
The prince gave a shudder. “Their features are too crushed to be recognizable, but from their expensive soropas, I’d say they were nobles.”
Urmi stared at the corpses. “Well, at least their deaths were quick enough.”
Skirting around the bodies, they made their way for [118] another kilometer along the gulch until it finally widened into a rocky valley about a kilometer wide. And the prince followed the stream until he could point to the southern end of the valley. “The same emperor who built the chapel also founded a monastery. In ancient days it was filled with saints. But like many other virtues nowadays, holiness seems to be in short supply.”
“How do you know?” Urmi demanded. “You’ve been gone for ten years.”
“I doubt if Angira could have changed that much,” the prince said dryly.