Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  “Neime...not you too...please...you swore an oath.”

  Neime stared at him with eyes brimming with tears. “I swore an oath, and I’ve renewed it daily. I swore to serve you, and I also swore to make you happy. I’ve failed, so I should go.”

  “You can’t—I need you...Neime, you can’t! Please,” he whispered. “I can’t...go on without your help. Do you want me to beg?”

  Neime shook his head. “No. But I can’t bear to see you become a heartless, cruel, selfish bastard either. I’ve made excuse after excuse for you—but I can’t do that anymore. You have to find your own path to redemption now. You’re beyond my ability to help anymore.”

  Neime turned, and, panicked, Juimei struggled to his feet. “No! Neime, please—don’t...don’t do this to me...please, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, just don’t go....” He grabbed his cane and limped around the desk. His stupid foot caught on the carpet and he stumbled—instantly Neime was there to catch him, put him upright, as he had done for nearly five years with utter, perfect loyalty.

  Juimei clutched his shirt in his hands and stared into his friend’s eyes, begging him not to go. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he whispered. “Just don’t abandon me. I’ll try, I’ll truly try.”

  Neime put his hands around Juimei’s. “It’s not that you don’t try, it’s that your efforts are going in the wrong direction. I hoped and prayed you’d come out of this on your own...but I don’t think you know how to anymore. But I don’t know what to do either, except this.” He squeezed Juimei’s hands gently. “This time, you have to find different answers.”

  “I could apologise.”

  “Yes, you could.”

  “Will you fetch him back then?”

  “No, I won’t. You offended, you do the running. You don’t need two good legs for this.”

  Juimei smiled a little, but his heart still stuttered with fear. “You won’t leave?”

  “If you fix this, no. I can’t stay if you won’t, Jui. To facilitate those who would do harm is a sin as great as doing the harm yourself.”

  “I still need your help. I’ll always need your help.”

  But that upset Neime again. “My prince—if that’s true, then I really have failed. All I’ve wanted for you since you were hurt was for you to stand on your own two feet again, and be the man you were—happy, brave, independent. If all I’ve done is make you into someone who can’t survive on his own, then I’ve done you more harm than good.”

  He felt suddenly cold, chilled to his very core, like it was winter in this room and in his heart. “I’m the failure then.”

  Neime shook his head, his expression kind. “No. You’ve stumbled. I caught you. Try again. That’s how you taught yourself to walk—now teach yourself how to live again too. But live as a man, not an animal. Don’t be like him.”

  Juimei closed his eyes, knowing which ‘him’ Neime meant, unable to stop the memories flooding back. Neime had been right to compare him to Mikinze—Miki had been cruel, and his tongue had never hesitated to flay without conscience. The last time Juimei had seen him, he’d received a torrent of scorn and disdain for his weakness, for his failure as a potential mate, that had left him suicidal. And yet, even knowing what that felt like, he had carelessly dished out the same kind of thing to someone who had not done him an ounce of harm, nor intended any. “I don’t want to be like this,” he murmured.

  “Then stop.”

  “So simple?”

  He opened his eyes. Neime was still smiling kindly, though a little sadly. “Simple, yes. No one said anything about ‘easy’. You were never one to give up because it was hard, though.”

  “I try not to. What should I do to mend it?”

  “First? Read those reports again, and this time, try not to be such a bastard about it.”

  He laughed, as much in relief as at the rudeness—he had been afraid he would never be teased again. “You are a most insolent page, Neime.”

  “Only when you need it, my prince. Now go and sit down before you fall down, and let’s begin on this.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  It took Wepizi several hours, and, finally, a silent vigil up on the city walls, keeping watch alongside his soldiers, before he could recover some calmness of spirit, and put Prince Juimei’s stupidity into perspective. Of course it wasn’t personal—the man had never met Lema, and didn’t know him, so it was just mindless spite. No, it was Wepizi’s own weakness that allowed him to be so hurt and offended by the words of a fool, to contemplate actions which would shame both him and Lema’s memory, even if he had not the slightest intention of ever offering violence to anyone, let alone a prince and a governor.

  Ah, Lema, my own wounds are still too raw for complete rationality. You would pet me and tell me I was being silly, and make me laugh. I wish you were here now, my beloved. He stared up at the moon, seeing her face instead. Sometimes, it seems only yesterday you were by my side. How can it be four years ago already?

  The silent sky had no answer for him—it never did. Finally he sighed, stretched cramped muscles as he stood, and nodded to the soldiers standing watch close by him. The men probably thought he was a little touched, and perhaps he was, tonight at least.

  He returned to his quarters, and opened his diary. He had kept one sporadically all his adult life, but after Lema’s death, he had begun to address the entries to her, at first to express his grief and longing, and then as a way to keep her in his life, to keep her memory and the friendship they’d always had, a part of him. Even though nothing could replace talking to her in the flesh, he often found that writing down his thoughts as if she could read them, allowed him to imagine what she would say, what she would advise, the comfort she would give. He spent a little time trying to collect himself, to describe as plainly and fairly as he could, what had happened that afternoon, and why he had reacted so. But tonight, he gained no sense of peace from the exercise, and finally had to admit defeat, closing the book and kissing the cover to apologise to Lema for cutting off the conversation—so to speak.

  As he combed out his moustache as he always did before bed, he wondered again why the prince had this odd animus against it. The only real answer was that the accident which had crippled him, had addled his sense and his manners. And for that, not even Lema’s wisdom had an answer.

  “Sephiz, I need your help as always. Grant me patience—and please protect my moustache, benevolent god.” He chuckled, the first smile in hours. Maybe he should make it a little suit of armour or something—to save it from predatory princelings.

  He slept soundly and woke in a better mood, feeling he had been rather foolish to overreact so. He had far more important things to deal with. Since his highness refused to sanction any deviation from the original plan, then that was what he would have to go with—but he might still be able to accommodate a little of the elders’ wishes, and Karik’s, without going against his brief. He needed the architect again, and after breakfast, he had another meeting with her and their chief engineer, who agreed to give the matter some thought.

  They went up together onto the town wall to survey the site. Only a few days had passed but already the place had turned into a hive of organised activity. Wepizi had put his and his troops’ travel time to good use and had the men sorted into teams and the basic approach half-decided by the time they’d arrived in town. That forward thinking had paid off. Now the air rang with the sound of hammers striking metal, stone and hardwood, and dull thudding as crowbars broke up the earth prior to digging trenches and postholes for laying the foundations. From further back, away from the labouring men and where equipment was being assembled, came the grinding of mortar mixers and crane mechanisms, and shouted commands as other teams worked on their tasks.

  Choking dust and smoke rose from every quarter, and Wepizi followed the chief engineer’s example, pressing an arm over his mouth and nose. Down below amidst the boards and beams, many of his people worked with kerchiefs tied over their faces. The conditions
looked hellish, but the workers seemed happy enough, shouting and laughing while they worked. Along the city wall, bricks, prepared elsewhere in the town, were piled into neat rows, ready for use. Timber too, was assembled and dressed, and the rasp of a dozen wood saws made it impossible to hold a conversation in that part of the site.

  Wepizi didn’t need to linger, fortunately, and once they’d made their brief inspection, they descended, and walked out across the site over to the southern side, open to the farmland beyond. His experts seemed pleased with things so far. Not being an engineer himself, he had to trust the expertise of the people he’d brought with him from Tsikiugui, but Engineer Foinoiz was highly qualified—he had studied both at Darshek and at the Visiqe academy, and had rebuilt the city walls at Pinheine after a flood and landslide had devastated the north-eastern town. Wepizi’s job was coordination, planning, liaison—all the really clever stuff, he had to leave to more learned professionals.

  “Tezrei? The governor is here and wants to see you.”

  The groi who’d rushed up with the announcement was out of breath, and he looked as surprised as Wepizi felt. “Here? You mean, at the site?”

  The groi pointed across the trenches, and there indeed was a small doig-trap standing on the track they had laid from the road out to the site. “Yes, sir. He wants to see you now, sir.”

  “And without an appointment either,” Wepizi murmured. “Very good, groi. I’ll see to it.” The groi bowed and returned to his duties while Wepizi wondered what had prompted this unprecedented excursion.

  Sephiz, keep me calm and preserve my manners, he prayed as he walked without haste over to the vehicle, and bowed. “Your highness, you wished to see me?” The prince looked very ill at ease, and Neime, beside him, was biting his lip. “Your highness?”

  “I...wished to see the site for myself. As you suggested, tezrei. I wish to be shown around.”

  “Very well. You’ll need to walk, your highness—the ground is not suitable for this vehicle.”

  The prince stiffened, and Wepizi thought the impromptu visit was about to come to a premature end, but then the man nodded. “Neime?”

  Neime climbed out quickly, and then, in a way which suggested long practice, helped the prince awkwardly down from the trap, making it clear Wepizi’s assistance wasn’t needed or welcome. Once on the ground, the prince seemed even more uneasy, and then looked past Wepizi’s shoulder. “What are you staring at, girl?”

  Wepizi turned, and found a young soldier behind him. “What is it, soldier?”

  “Sir,” she said, looking slightly nervously at the prince, “Engineer Foinoiz says there’s a problem with the proposed line of the first wall.”

  “Stop staring at me, soldier!”

  “I’m not, your highness.”

  Wepizi ignored the prince’s temper. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly, soldier.”

  She bowed and scurried off, no doubt relieved to be away from the prince’s hard glare. Wepizi noted Neime’s hand on his prince’s arm, which looked as if he was trying to calm his master down, but decided it was better not to mention the paranoid utterances.

  “Your highness? I need to look at this—do you want to come along, or would you prefer to wait?”

  The prince clenched his jaw. “Carry on, tezrei.”

  It became clear that walking was a slow business for the prince, at least over this rough ground, and Neime had to constantly support him, though Wepizi was once again politely nudged out of the way. As they made their tortuous progress, the prince found offence at every juncture, and muttered under his breath, Neime making low comments in response. Wepizi thought it was politic to ignore all this too, but wondered even more what the man thought he was doing. With a bit of warning, they could have made this easier for him, laid planking down to flatten the path, and if he hadn’t still been smarting from the previous day, he might have pointed this out to his highness. But with a lamentable lack of charity, he decided that the prince could damn well discover for himself the truth of what he would have advised. It wasn’t like he would have listened to him anyway.

  Polite bows were met with terse acknowledgements from the governor. “Just carry on, tezrei. I have no wish to interfere with your work.”

  “As you command, your highness.” Wepizi turned his back on the man, and asked Foinoiz what the problem was. It turned out there was a difficulty with the substrate that their initial survey had missed, a vein of hard rock they could not penetrate easily, which meant the alignment of the wall would have to be changed, or the design would. Both had implications for the rest of the development, as the engineer carefully explained.

  “Why can’t it simply be moved?”

  Wepizi turned. “Your highness?”

  “The building. This rock vein—how extensive is it?”

  Foinoiz answered. “I will need to make further investigations, your highness. They are usually not extensive though.”

  “Then move the building. Reverse the plans—what implications does that have?”

  The engineer’s eyebrows lifted but then he turned to Wepizi. “That would be the simplest solution—if the vein doesn’t extend too far. I would need to check my calculations.”

  “Do what you need to, keep me informed.” Foinoiz bowed and left.

  Wepizi turned to his companions—the prince was giving him a hard look. Wepizi inclined his head. “Very helpful, your highness.”

  “I’m surprised you needed that assistance, Tezrei.” But as Neime narrowed his eyes, he added with a cough, “Though doubtless you might have thought of it on your own.”

  “Doubtless,” Wepizi said politely. “Shall we continue?”

  He really hadn’t planned on spending two hours this morning ushering a prince around their worksite, and it was far from being the most pleasant or productive time he’d ever experienced. The prince was so clearly uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally, that a dozen times Wepizi bit back the very obvious suggestion that they do this some other day, or at least, that they cut this short. He bit it back because there was a determined look in his highness’s eye that warned him he would attract more nasty comments if he expressed what was on his mind.

  There were no more suggestions or comments, though the prince listened to Wepizi’s explanations and occasional conversations with his subordinates with intense concentration, his expression an almost constant scowl, changing to a glare only if he fancied someone was staring at him.

  Of course they’re staring, Wepizi thought in exasperation. You’re a strange civilian on a military site, and it’s their job to know who’s wandering around their territory. Did this man know nothing at all about the army?

  At last, Wepizi felt he had done his duty, and suggested they had achieved as much as would be profitable on this tour, and led them back to the doig-trap. “I trust that was informative, your highness.”

  “Very. You were right—it makes it much clearer.” Wepizi acknowledged that with a slight bow. “Uh...Tezrei, I....” He glanced at Neime, who nodded. “Tezrei, I should not have made that remark about your wife. It was uncalled for.”

  Wepizi only bowed again. “Your highness,” he said neutrally.

  “Uh...was it a recent bereavement?”

  Wepizi straightened and gave the prince a cold look. As if he would give the man another chance to smear Lema’s name. “I regret I do not wish to speak of this, your highness.”

  “But—”

  “I regret that I do not wish—”

  The prince pursed his lips. “Yes, you said. Neime, I’m going. Help me up.”

  Wepizi didn’t offer to help, and watched impassively as Neime helped the prince back into the trap, then climbed into the driving seat. Neime gave him a brief pleading glance, but he stared stolidly straight ahead, only bowing in the correct manner as the trap was driven away.

  He heard a low whistle from behind him. “Benevolent god, what was all that about?”

  Wepizi turned and made himself smile at
Lep Tovoi. “No idea. Come on—I need some drizu, and I need to tell you about a plan change we might be making.”

  What had that all been about?

  ~~~~~~~~

  “That was a complete and utter waste of time,” Juimei muttered, his cheeks still burning from embarrassment at being dismissed in that manner—and by a damn soldier, no less! “He obviously despises me.”

  “You weren’t exactly being your most charming self, your highness,” Neime said calmly.

  “I apologised—what more did he want?”

  “Technically...you didn’t actually apologise. But I’ll allow that it might be taken as one,” his page said, smiling a little.

  “Well, I’ve done all I need to. I’ve looked at his bloody site, and I’ve expressed my bloody regrets. What more is there for me to do? My leg hurts now, and so does my head.” He sounded petulant, but his head did hurt. He was exhausted after walking all that distance and for so long. He’d have called it to a halt much earlier, but he was damned if he would give people the satisfaction of seeing his weakness. “So rude—staring at me like that.”

  “Mere curiosity, your highness—harmless. You are a prince, after all—people always want to see you.”

  He glared at Neime, who seemed to be wilfully missing the point. “I know the difference between curiosity and pity.”

  “I sometimes wonder if you do, your highness.”

  “Stupid waste of time,” he muttered, and stared carefully at nothing for the rest of the journey. Neime helped him out of the trap and into the building, giving a quiet order to the servant who came to meet them to have the residential healer sent along. “I don’t need the healer.”

  “You need a massage, and I want your leg checked. It shouldn’t be hurting that much.”

  “You fuss too much.”

  “Yes, your highness,” he said calmly.

  Juimei had to endure an examination, and then a deep massage, which he reluctantly admitted did help the cramping in his leg and the pain in his head. The healer advised him to lie down until lunch. “I have work to do, you know,” Juimei grumbled as Neime returned from showing the healer out. “All morning I’ve wasted on that. They don’t need me, I was right.”