Kyric continued. “It was because of him that we rescued all those Silasese. I think he was ready to try it alone had we not gone with him, and I feel that he is owed.
“A man with so great a spirit counts for many. And he’s the last of the royal Onakai,” Kyric said, taking a breath and lowering his voice. “Without him, the Onakai will never be a people again. When this is over, they will need men like him to help rebuild their nation.”
Aiyan would not soften. “You make a good argument, but this isn’t a debate. I will not attempt to rescue Mahai. It wouldn’t be like Solstice Day — they would be ready.”
Kyric looked at him accusingly. “You could do it if you wanted. You could do it without any help if you wanted, couldn’t you?”
“I must prepare myself for the final battle,” Aiyan said icily, “and so should you.”
“Mahai should be the one to lead them in the final battle.”
Aiyan took a deep breath. “Some refugees came in by canoe last night from Lurta, a seaside village not too far from Mantua. They told us that the enemy had not spread out and occupied any villages after seizing the town. That tells me Soth Garo plans to strike here as soon as possible. Once his army is on the move, perhaps something could be done for Mahai. Witaan and some of his hunters could sail down the coast and infiltrate Mantua, assuming that Mahai was so hurt they had to leave him behind.”
Infiltrate. Yes. The plan broke in Kyric’s mind like a thunderstorm. Yes, it would work — he felt it deeply as a weird knowing.
“I have to talk to Caleem,” he said, turning his head so that Aiyan wouldn’t see the look on his face. He headed for the door.
“Yes, that’s good. We need to keep an eye on him for a few more days and make sure he will be alright.”
Kyric quickstepped down the street, heading for King Tonah’s house. The last of the Manutu stragglers were just now arriving. So many Tialuccans had come to Tiah that they overflowed onto the flatlands east of town. With the Silasese and Manutu refugees, a separate town of tents and awnings had sprung up there, turning the fields into a sea of flattened grass and muddy pathways. He didn’t know where the Bantuan would camp, but the sorcerer Birjen had arrived that morning to announce that a force of dog warriors followed only a day behind him.
Tonah had wanted to parade Caleem in front of the combined nations as proof that Soth Garo’s power could be defeated, but Aiyan suggested that he wait and reveal him right before the battle, when a surge in morale would be most needed. And it would be best that Soth Garo continued to believe that Caleem was his. Tonah was unsure, but agreed to keep him hidden and the news of his return quiet.
Kyric inquired at the door and was admitted at once. He found Caleem in one of the inner courtyards, mutilating a wooden post with a short, heavy spear.
“What is it?” Caleem said.
“Would you like to go do something very dangerous?”
“Certainly not. When do we leave?”
Kyric smiled grimly. “Hear me out before you volunteer.”
As he explained his plan, Caleem grew more subdued. By the end, his eyes had a furtive glaze to them.
Kyric spread his hands as he finished. “You’re the one who gave me the idea.”
“You know,” Caleem said, “that if either of us loses our nerve, we are both dead.”
“Do you think I’ll lose my nerve?”
“I was thinking it could be me.”
The sun beat down from its apex as they entered the harbor at Lurta. The village was deserted, the empty beach littered with all manner of goods that had been left behind in the rush to escape. As they hiked the winding road above the village, Kyric looked back toward the ocean, watching as a tiny triangle on the horizon grew larger. At least they made it back.
“That’s Calico,” he said, pointing it out to Caleem. “Looks like she’s on course for Tiah and making good time. I don’t see any other boats. Maybe Ubtarune’s mission didn’t go well.”
Caleem shrugged. “If it had gone badly, they never would have returned.”
“So it’s possible that the Gavdi warriors could still be coming?”
“It is hard to say. Look, you don’t understand. I will explain it to you later.”
A few miles down the road, they came to another abandoned village at the edge of the forest. The doors to the houses swung lazily in the afternoon breeze, and a spotted cat lounging against a shed glared at them for disturbing its nap. They entered the woodlands, the road narrowing to a trail, and the clouds began to gather for the daily rains.
“Shouldn’t we put a white handkerchief on a stick, or something like that?” Kyric said. “I wouldn’t want their scouts to shoot us down before we can tell them our story.”
Caleem shook his head. “Standing orders are to take prisoners if possible. You can guess why.”
“Each one is a potential convert.”
“Yes. And also, I know the watchword. There will be no problems until we get to Mantua.”
The rains had come and gone, and the shadows had grown long before they saw anyone. Kyric first noticed bowmen in trees to each side of the trail, then three Hariji stepped out from behind the trees in front of them. A few more stepped out behind them.
Last came the death guard, a musket tucked under one arm, a ring of human bones across his shoulders like a mantle of office. Caleem knew him by the name of Borsar, and told him that he was bringing an important convert to Lord Frostheart. Borsar was suspicious of Kyric and insisted that he escort them himself. He walked behind them and kept the musket leveled.
Most of the army was bivouacked in the town, hunters coming and going from every house, or sitting in circles, sharpening their spears and grinding berries for face paint. Apparently there had been a monkey hunt. Monkey carcasses were being dressed and turned on spits at a score of open fire pits, all by happy Manutu women. He even gave his blood to those captured as servants.
The stink of rotting flesh grew stronger as they went deeper into the town. Piles of fresh bones lay at the foot of the central tree, and dozens of whole corpses hung from the catwalks. Kyric had heard that over a hundred Manutu died in the attack, and from what he could see around him, more than that had been captured.
Borsar led them to a large round house with an archway covered by a flap. Caleem called it the great lodge of the Manutu.
“Wait here,” Borsar said, ducking inside. Streams of incense leaked out from behind the flap.
Kyric glanced at Caleem. He was staring at the ground and taking short shallow breathes.
“Are you alright?”
Caleem shook his head. “No, I’m not. What if he can look into my eyes and tell that his blood is not a part of me? Borsar didn’t believe us. What if Soth Garo has me tortured for the truth? What if he gives you his blood and — ”
“Steady. He may not question you at all. Remember who you are.”
The flap flew up and Borsar stepped out. “Our lord will see you at once,” he said with a malicious grin.
The lodge lay dim and smoky, the only light coming from narrow slits near the ceiling. The age-stained rafters were works of art, intricately carved with all the plants and animals of the forest. Several Hariji chiefs squatted to each side along with the senior death guards. Soth Garo himself sat at the far end of the room in a chair of crude timbers lashed together with rope, probably the only chair in all of Mokkala. A bearskin cloak hung from his shoulders, his greatsword lay across his knees, and on his head, like a crown, rested a circlet of yellow human teeth. An aura of mist surrounded him.
He beckoned them to come closer. As they did, Kyric could feel a power, a vibration from the spirit plane that was not born of anything human. Soth Garo’s gaze was locked on him. Speaking to Kleon Morae hadn’t been half so hard as this. Caleem knelt before the makeshift throne and Kyric followed his lead.
“Prince Caleem,” Soth Garo said. Even though he spoke softly, his voice filled the lodge. “From where have you come?”
<
br /> “I have been in my father’s house, as you instructed.”
“Does anyone know you are here?”
“No, my lord.”
“Did anyone see you leave Tiah?”
Caleem began to shake. “No.”
“You must return before you are missed.” He stood and looked down on them. “It was foolish for you to come here. I am disappointed that you took such a risk. I told you to stay close to your father that you might keep the way clear when my skin comes for him.”
“I am very sorry, my lord,” Caleem managed to say as his voice cracked. “I thought this man would serve you well.”
Good, thought Kyric, Caleem’s fear will work for us. Soth Garo would take it for genuine guilt.
He fixed his gaze on Kyric. “So you wish to join my forces?”
“I . . . I want to be on the winning side.”
Soth Garo took a step toward him. “Has Prince Caleem explained the initiation? Are you prepared to take my blood?”
This close to him, Kyric felt the enormity of his physical power. He bulged with layer after layer of thick muscle. He stood tall as Mahai, only twice as solid. Aiyan had mentioned crossing swords with him, but hadn’t said anything about his frightening strength or the way he moved like a fencer. How did Aiyan manage to stand against him even for a moment?
Kyric had to force himself to speak. “Yes, my lord”
“I read subterfuge in your heart,” Soth Garo said. “Let us learn the truth of it.”
He drew a stiletto from his belt and punctured the vein in his wrist. The white flesh was already darkened and scarred from many such wounds. He held it out for Kyric to take. The black blood didn’t flow freely; it eased out in frozen drops.
Kyric took one in his mouth and let it melt. It wasn’t like the captain’s blood. It was bitter. He closed his eyes, suddenly afraid that he had been wrong about the water of the fountain.
He raised his head and smiled at the white warrior, terrified that his heart would break open and that he would suddenly love him. Then he would betray Caleem and Aiyan and Lerica and everyone. He waited. And he heard the song of the fountain.
“That is better,” Soth Garo said. “Now, why have you come to me?”
Kyric had taken the black blood and it had done nothing. And Soth Garo didn’t know. He hadn’t been able to tell with Caleem, and he couldn’t tell now. He couldn’t conceive of it not working.
Kyric saw that he mustn’t hesitate now. He knew one thing about lies from watching Aiyan: the best ones had a lot of truth in them.
“I’m tired of Aiyan always telling me what to do and what not to do. He doesn’t think I can do anything on my own, and he won’t listen to my ideas. And he thinks that he is so smart. That he’s never wrong. I don’t even want to be a Knight of the Flaming Blade. I only went with him because I wanted to learn how to fight like he does, and then he drags me halfway around the world to this place. And he refuses to let me trade for any spice to take back — it’s like money growing on trees and he won’t have any of it. What an idiot.”
Soth Garo nodded to Caleem. “Go home as quickly as you can. The army marches tomorrow. Three nights from now my skin will walk. Be ready to take your place as King of the Tialucca and leader of your father’s alliance. Leave me now.”
“Yes, my lord,” Caleem said, backing away. He turned and nearly ran. Kyric heard the scrape of the flap, and then he was alone with Soth Garo and his death guards.
Deep twilight had enveloped Mantua by the time Kyric came out of the lodge. He leaned against a tree for a moment, shaking worse than Caleem had done, trying to take long breaths.
Soth Garo had questioned him about everything: the forces gathering at Tiah, the mood of the Mokkalans, King Tonah’s court, the ship that had brought them to the Spice Islands — and here Kyric risked a small lie. He said that Calico’s captain would flee with his spice at the first sign of trouble. But mostly, Soth Garo asked him about Aiyan and how they met, and Kyric’s own upbringing as well.
This was where Kyric began to sweat. He told Soth Garo about his vagabond mother, how they moved from town to town as she moved from man to man. He made it sound like that had gone on into his teens. He said nothing about the rune convent.
He went ahead and told the truth about meeting Aiyan as he was pursued through the forest near Aeva, and about letting him out of jail, but he certainly couldn’t mention the captain, so he said that they went their separate ways until Aiyan found him at the games and used him to gain entrance to the royal reception. He told Soth Garo that he didn’t see Aiyan again until he recruited him for this voyage. Then Soth Garo interrogated him about what weird talents Aiyan possessed and how much of that had he learned from him. Kyric told him that he had learned very little. That wasn’t a lie.
In the end, Soth Garo said, “I cannot send you back to him. He will have missed you by now, and they have a keen intuition about this sort of intrigue. You will have to remain as one of my personal guard. We will see you properly groomed in the morning. Once we engage the enemy, stay close to me. I have long-term plans for you, my son. I have the strong feeling that the grandmaster will want to meet you.”
And then Kyric had been dismissed. No orders, no instructions — just ‘that is all for now.’ Of course. This is what makes is so easy for him. His minions acted in his best interest at all times, and he allowed them the initiative to do so. His personal guard acted as staff and company commanders without having to be told, organizing and instructing the Mokkalans, who responded with the best their hearts could muster. Kyric supposed that Soth Garo had dismissed him assuming he would go do something useful.
How could the Tialuccans and the others stand against that kind of fanaticism? How could troops like that ever be broken? Aiyan had to kill him. He had to kill him, and that was all.
But Aiyan had been quiet and a little distant since Kyric had returned, since he fought Soth Garo and his demon skin. Now Kyric knew why. He must have barely escaped with his life. When Aiyan last said that he would kill Soth Garo, he hadn’t been lying, but Kyric now saw that he could believe that without yet knowing how to do it.
He had to find Mahai. As night fell and torches were lighted, he wandered the town, unobtrusively peeking into windows and doors. He found a tent packed with the most badly wounded, those missing limbs or near death, but Mahai wasn’t among them. Everyone looked at him, surprised to see a Northerner, but the stares weren’t unfriendly, and no one asked him why he was there.
He looked for a place they might keep prisoners, perhaps an enclosure like they had used with the Silasese, but he didn’t see anything like that. At last he found a Manutu woman who spoke Baskillian. “Do you know where I can find Prince Mahai?” he said to her.
“The Onakai all sleep together in a longhouse where the tanners lived. He could be there.” She told him how to find it.
He kept an eye out for things he might need as he made his way to the longhouse. He noticed a Silasese oil lantern hanging unattended from a tree limb and took it as he passed. Near the longhouse, he spied a two-wheel hand cart. That could prove useful if Mahai was very hurt.
When he got to the longhouse and peered in, he found that it was empty except for a huge form on a sleeping mat. Kyric picked his way past baskets and jars and wads of bedding. He knelt over the sleeping man and held the lantern close. It was Mahai.
Some kind of poultice had been strapped to his forehead, and a bloody bandage lay wrapped around his upper torso. He seemed to be breathing easily, and Kyric touched his face. His flesh was cool and dry.
“Well, my friend,” Kyric said quietly, “I see it took more than a bullet to the head to bring you down.”
“Is it him?” called a hushed voice from the doorway.
Kyric wheeled, his sword suddenly naked in his hand. “Caleem? What are you doing here? I thought you had gone.”
“So did Soth Garo,” Caleem said. “As long as I can avoid him and his lieutenants no one will be w
iser.”
Kyric nodded. “Thanks for waiting.”
They went back for the cart. All the roads and trails would be watched, but they could figure that out once they got Mahai away from this place. His roommates could return at any minute.
They dragged him outside by his sleeping mat and managed to lift him enough to roll him into the cart. They used the mat to cover him. The wheels whined and wobbled as Kyric pushed it down an unlighted lane, following Caleem toward the edge of town. Mahai mumbled in the Onakai tongue as they went.
When they stopped behind a big tree and tried to shush him, Mahai’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled thinly at Kyric. “You kinnat be herrre,” he said in slurred Baskillian, falling unconscious again at once.
Something about this seemed terribly familiar. “They’ve given him black spice,” Kyric said. “Probably to make sure he didn’t just walk away if he came-to unexpectedly.” He felt for Mahai’s spice pouch on his belt, remembering the special salt, but they had taken that from him.
“How do we get out of here unnoticed?” he said.
“I did some scouting while you were inside the lodge. There is a game trail that circles around the sentry post where we were stopped. The moon is nearly full — we’ll be able to find the way without a lantern.”
Kyric looked up. Yes, it was only two nights until Riankatta. Now when did I start thinking in those terms?
They followed the darkest streets to the edge of town. Every house in Mantua was occupied and they couldn’t avoid being seen, but no one seemed to think anything of two men and a cart. Taking a last look to see if anyone was watching, they headed down the trail to Lurta.
The cart lasted until they turned onto the game path that Caleem had found. With a final squeak, one of the wheels came off and rolled away into the brush.
“We’ll have to carry him,” Kyric said.
They found that if they stood him up with one of them under each arm, Mahai could stumble and slide along with them, but the way was narrow and they had to go slowly to remain quiet. Kyric didn’t know how close they were to the main trail, but just when he figured they were passing the sentry post, Mahai began babbling in Onakai.
Black Spice (Book 3) Page 11