Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1

by Daniel J. Rothery

  Sayri was trembling.

  Win Wal closed the door loudly. “Deliver your message. No one dare listen my house,” he said almost proudly.

  She had been holding her breath, and inhaled quickly, twice. She closed her eyes and tried to swallow, but her throat was dry as dust. He was staring at her. “I—” she began, but words failed her. She touched her forehead with her outstretched fingers; it was wet. She could hear a high-pitched whine in her ears. “Master Win Wal, my—that is, Arad is, um,” she tried, her voice rising and beginning to break; “um, Master W-Win Wal . . .” Her hands were going numb, and her legs were buzzing, and she kept inhaling, but couldn’t seem to let the air out.

  “Arad?” Win Wal asked, his voice surprised.

  Then the buzzing reached her chest and the numbness was in her head, and everything was echoing around her.

  She felt like she was dreaming. Words were bouncing through her head, but they didn’t make sense. The voices danced down to her, as if she was lying at the bottom of a well. Then her head was buzzing crazily, like an arm that had been slept on, and she found herself staring up at two brown faces. She didn’t know where she was.

  The buzzing went away, and she could feel her body again. She had a slight headache. One face, an old woman’s with thick cheeks, smiled a toothy grin displaying yellow teeth, and looked at the other; Win Wal. The woman said something to him in a language Sayri had never heard.

  Then she turned back to Sayri. “You better now, girl?” Her accent was the same as Win Wal’s; rounded, as though the tongue was too busy doing something else to give its full attention to speaking.

  “Yes, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened to me,” she mumbled. She was lying on the yellow lounge, she discovered; she tried to rise.

  Win Wal rested his hand on her stomach. He placed it there very lightly; she barely felt its presence, but couldn’t get up. “Stay rest more,” he said quietly. “You overexcite self. Stand up quick, overexcite again. Must be good message,” he added, grinning fiendishly. His yellow teeth almost looked as though they were filed into points. “Ooji eager to hear, also.” He motioned at the old woman with a twist of his head. She nudged him with her shoulder.

  Sayri shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, bringing a hand to her forehead. “I lied. There was no message,” she admitted.

  Her statement drew no reaction. “You say Arad name before you . . . lie down for rest,” Win Wal pointed out. “Why?”

  “He sent me to you. He said—” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and released it. “He said I’d be safe with you. He is—we are—” Her throat tightened up, and her eyes began to water.

  “Ah,” said Win Wal and Ooji together.

  Ooji took her hands, and helped her to a seated position. Win Wal was right; if she’d tried to rise, she would have collapsed like a newborn calf. The two were huddling protectively before her now; she felt silly, as though they were catering to a child.

  “Arad come some time before from Yalcinae,” Win Wal said. “How you get here?”

  “I—I came alone,” Sayri replied. Sounds simple when you say it.

  “Alone? So far way?” Ooji’s eyes lit open wide, her mouth forming a perfect “O”. Then the corners of her mouth turned down, her eyes moistened over, and she seized Sayri’s head and held it to her breast. Sayri felt silly and tried to free herself. Then suddenly she felt so very safe, as though she was in her mother’s arms. She stopped struggling and in a flash, she started to cry.

  When the tears stopped, Ooji was sitting beside her with an arm on her back, and Win Wal had put himself into one of the green chairs opposite them, across the table. He sat perfectly erect, and was nodding slowly.

  “I hear Arad come back with father, but I not allowed to see him. Lock in room. At least not cage,” he added, shrugging.

  “I’ve come to free him,” Sayri blurted out. “Can you help me?”

  Win Wal exploded with laughter; a ratty, sharp rasp as though he were coughing.

  Ooji scowled at him, stroking Sayri’s leg. “Don’t laugh, nasty old man,” she said. “Girl serious.”

  Win Wal frowned at his partner, then looked back at Sayri and sighed. “I try free him since he come here, no luck so far. His father really mad, this time.”

  Sayri didn’t know what to say. She just stared at him. If Win Wal couldn’t help, how could she possibly do anything? She felt her eyes watering again, and gripped her teeth together. Not a victim.

  The brown-skinned old man took a deep breath, then sighed, looking at her thoughtfully. “You okay, girl,” he said, his voice rumbling, suddenly much deeper. “You stay Win Wal and Ooji. We figure out.” He nodded once.

  “She not stay here,” Ooji said. “If Sherzi know she his girl, bad for her.”

  “But—I just got here,” Sayri cried. “Where would I go? I can’t just—I don’t—”

  “Shhh, girl. You always so exciting?” Ooji pursed her lips and shook her head sadly. “So much worry for young girl. Should be free life.” She nodded emphatically in agreement with herself.

  “I—” Sayri started, but Win Wal interrupted her.

  “We house in town, out by wall.” He motioned at the nearest wall with his hand.

  “By the wall?” Sayri asked, dumbfounded.

  “Big rock wall,” Ooji said, motioning in the same direction. “I take you there, it safer.”

  “Oh, the ridge!” Sayri exclaimed.

  “Well, Ooji take you there, Win Wal said. “I make training today, come later.” He stood up, patted her on the head like a trained sprinter. “You okay now, girl?”

  “My name is Sayri,” she said shyly. Then she thought to herself, No, that isn’t the way.

  She stood, and turned to face both of them. “I am Sayri of Davoy and Vollori, of the Lower Valley. That is in the Lords’ Lands. You are Win Wal and Ooji, whom the man I love calls his true mother and father in this world. It is a great honour to meet you both, and I thank you for your gracious welcome, and I bid you peaceful day, and I offer service to you in any manner you should require.” She curtseyed deeply then, lowering her eyes before two people who were so important in Arad’s life—and consequently in her own as well.

  “Oh, my,” said Ooji, clapping her hands to her cheeks.

  “Well, that something,” said Win Wal, shaking his head slowly.

  27 ARAD

  Arad had not seen his father since the day of their meeting in the war room. He had been left to sit on his pallet and wonder—to be sure, he had the freedom to wander the inner courtyard at will with an escort, but he had no where to go, and nothing to do. A tenday passed, then another. He began to wonder if this was his father’s way of breaking him; torture through boredom.

  He had tried reading from the books of strategy and tactics on his bookshelf. He knew them all well, though, and the words only stirred up memories from his time on the barracks, memories best left alone.

  He sank into depression.

  When Sayri found her way to Win Wal—if Sayri found her way to Win Wal—he wouldn’t know it. His master’s home was out in the town, and she would never be foolish enough to enter the garrison. He would have to wait for Win Wal to seek him out with news of her arrival.

  But why hadn’t he done so already? Surely Win Wal knew he had been brought home—he shuddered as he heard himself think of the place as home—but he had received no word. Was his father forbidding his master from visiting or sending word? Or had something happened to his old teacher? Worse—had something happened to Sayri?

  The thoughts clouded his mind.

  Arad opened the door. The soldier outside turned immediately to him.

  “You wish to go somewhere, exec?” he asked, snapping erect.

  “I wish to know if Master Win Wal is still instructor at the garrison,” Arad replied.

  “I’m not permitted to discuss that, exec,” the man answered, frowning.

  “Hmm,” Arad said. What’s the point of
that?

  “Something else then, exec?”

  Arad tapped his teeth together in thought.

  “Exec?” The soldier shifted nervously; he had probably been instructed to keep Arad in his quarters unless being escorted to an approved destination, but didn’t much like the idea of having to forcibly do so.

  “Please inform Commander-General Sherzi that I am prepared to re-enter active duty,” he said suddenly.

  “Exec?” The man was stunned; clearly he hadn’t been warned to expect that.

  “You heard me, soldier. I will dress for duty every morning henceforth at dawn, and you will be prepared to escort me to the training grounds for duty as a hand-arms combat instructor. Assuming, of course,” he added casually, as though it was a given, “the Commander-General approves.”

  “Yes, exec,” the man agreed slowly. “Ah, but I cannot leave my post . . . “

  Since the first tenday, only a single guard had been assigned to Arad; apparently his father no longer considered him a flight risk, or at least not much of one.

  “When you are relieved, soldier.”

  “Yes, exec.”

  Arad turned back into his room, closing the door. He wasn’t sure if his plan played into his father’s hands or away from them, but he couldn’t remain in his quarters any longer. Besides, if he was out in the compound most of the day, his chances of spotting anyone he knew to ask for information—or better yet, of spotting Win Wal or Ooji—rose exponentially.

  He selected a book from the shelf that outlined hand-to-hand group tactics, and sat down on his pallet to read.

  ・

  The recruit was young; he had probably seen fewer than eighteen summers. He held his wastad wooden training sword with both hands in front of him as he had been taught; Arad found the newest round of soldiers-in-training to be adequately disciplined, but poorly skilled. The tip of the blade was too low, pointed at Arad’s waist instead of his eyes; he took a step to the right and slapped his wastad down on the middle of the boy’s sword, and it dropped from his grip.

  “Two reasons for pointing your weapon at the enemy’s eyes,” he said loudly and clearly, so every one of the thirty men surrounding him could hear. They listened attentively; though none of these men had seen him before, his reputation as a champion had continued to drift through the garrison in his absence. Apparently his father had decided that labeling him as a traitor would only soil his own aura, and if there was one thing Arad could count on, it was his father’s need for respect among the men.

  A small point, he occasionally pondered, but one that he might one day use to his advantage. It was, after all, a weakness.

  “One,” Arad went on, motioning for the young recruit to pick up his weapon. “He can’t easily judge the length of your sword, and thereby know your reach. Two,” he added immediately, allowing his eyes to pan around his group of students—though actually, he was scanning the compound nearby for any sign of Win Wal and Ooji. As yet, he didn’t even know if they were still at the garrison. “Any attack on your weapon will be deflected down to the guard. Remember, your enemy’s weakest attack is straight down your blade, where it is easily deflected past your body—assuming you watch his shoulders, as we discussed yesterday,” he reminded. Nearby heads bobbed in confirmation, including the soldier who had lost his weapon, who did not appear at all embarrassed as he picked it up. It was, after all, the Commander-General’s heroic son who had disarmed him; more an honour than a failing. Arad had no doubt it would be well discussed over cups of watered wine once the recruits were off-duty.

  Arad paused in his instruction as he realized that many of his students were not paying attention; they were looking out across a courtyard. Following their gaze, a commotion caught his eye; a large group of soldiers, perhaps two dozen in number, had clustered in front of the barracks where Win Wal’s apartments were, and a smaller group was approaching them in a haphazard gang. They were a good distance away, nearly at the edge of the garrison, but shouts and laughter were echoing throughout the compound; he could also hear battle whistles being sounded, though there didn’t look to be any maneuvers being practiced. For a moment, Arad thought a fight was about to break out, then Win Wal’s door opened, and a white-clad form emerged.

  Win Wal! Arad’s heart leapt. The old master’s profile was undeniable even at a distance. For a desperate moment he considered running across the compound to meet him. A quick glance showed him that his ever-present personal guard was looking that way as well. If he ran, the guard probably wouldn’t catch him, and regardless Arad had no doubt he could swiftly disable the man.

  His heart pounded in his throat as he considered his options.

  If I get there, I can speak to Win Wal, he thought. But after that, I’m back under arrest in my quarters. Even Win Wal won’t challenge my father directly if I break arrest.

  As he watched, the throng of soldiers began to disperse.

  Now is not the time. He knew Win Wal was here, now, and he could seek out the old master. His greatest edge in accomplishing that was to show his father that he wasn’t going to make trouble.

  “Focus, men!” he commanded, tearing his eyes from Win Wal. At his final glance, the last soldiers at his master’s doorstep were moving off.

  With his students’ attention back on him, Arad continued his instruction. Back in his room, he would carefully consider this new information, and work more concertedly on a plan to meet Win Wal.

  ・・

  His father looked tired. Arad couldn’t imagine why; the Commander-General could define his own schedule, and had little responsibility at the garrison other than inspections and officer’s briefings, leaving plenty of time for pouring over his maps.

  Yet as the same immaculately-groomed Precept escorted Arad to his audience, the old man sighed as he came out from behind the war room table, and squeezed his eyes open and shut several times as though he was lacking in sleep.

  Considering that it was late morning, Arad wondered what was keeping him up. Were things not going quite according to his plans?

  He hoped not.

  “It pleases these eyes to see you in uniform,” his father said.

  Arad didn’t answer, but involuntarily straightened. It was difficult for a military man to not feel proud when in uniform. It wasn’t pride in oneself or one’s nation, but rather in the men with whom he served, and Arad had served alongside many men he greatly respected—Win Wal among them. There was no shame in appreciating his father’s words.

  “Prior to your departure, you had held the rank of Bannerman for some time,” his father observed. He was clean-shaven and the oil in his hair was glistening black in the morning light; he might not have slept well, but he, like his precept, had not missed his dawn grooming.

  Arad nodded without thinking, then training forced him to respond. “Yes, exec,” he said quietly.

  A trace of a smile flashed across Sherzi’s face, then vanished. He paced across in front of Arad, stroking his chin and considering the floor in front of him as he did. After two passes, he spun on a heel and gazed speculatively at Arad.

  “Our last conversation did not go well,” he commented.

  “No, exec,” Arad agreed.

  “Bordering on insubordination, even.”

  He’s baiting you. Don’t give him an excuse to put you under arrest in your quarters again, he cautioned himself, his jaw taught.

  ‘That’s true, exec,” he said carefully. There was no surrender in agreeing that he had been rude—though if anything, in that conversation he had held back what he truly had wished to say.

  His father was waiting, as if listening to Arad’s thoughts. More likely, he was wondering if he would get a more revealing response from his son.

  After a long, silent moment, his father turned away and strode back behind the table. For while he examined the maps before him, sliding them around as if looking for something.

  When he stopped, he straightened, apparently having come to a decision.r />
  “You’ve had every right to hate me,” he said, astounding Arad. “Every right. But it doesn’t matter if an officer hates his superior; the key to success in the corps is respect. Your actions the last few tendays,” he continued, “demonstrate that though you may hate me, you clearly hold adequate respect for me as your commander.”

  If only you knew, Arad thought bitterly. He hated his father—as a father—but he also he had no respect whatsoever for him as a man.

  He liked where the conversation was going, though; his plan to regain his father’s respect, and thereby his own freedom, seemed to be progressing well.

  “The men hold you in high esteem as well. You are a good leader,” the Commander-General added, somewhat grudgingly, as if he preferred it otherwise. Perhaps he wanted the soldiers to hate his son as much as they hated him. Perhaps he was jealous.

  Arad didn’t care. He only wanted just enough leash that he could find Win Wal, find Sayri, and leave this place forever.

  “I am granting you a promotion to Precept,” his father said suddenly.

  Arad’s eyes went wide. He frowned and blinked several times before he regained his composure. A promotion? Apparently his guise had worked better than he expected. He had to concentrate to hide the smile that threatened to curl his lips.

  “Furthermore, as you have shown appropriate respect for the Somrian army and have demonstrated diligence to your duties, you shall be excused from your detention and once again be released to your own recognizance immediately upon your return. Well done, soldier,” he added, the slightest trace of pride in his voice.

  Yes.

  He was free, finally. On his first day off-duty, he would seek out Win Wal and ask about Sayri. She might well be waiting for him at his master’s home in the town outside the garrison!