Fezerir wasn’t inclined to chat. He had the air of someone with some authority in his tribe, and since he was easily forty, possibly older, he might be an elder, Romi supposed. He wondered if Fezerir had really been hunting alone, and if they were being observed even now.
He had his answer as they saw the smoke from cooking fires and the low roofs of habitation, at first invisible against the landscape, but once Romi spotted the first one, they were easy to detect. It was clearly a semi-permanent settlement, and though there were one or two tents, the rest of the huts were made of reeds and felt, their low conical roofs encrusted with thick snow. This, Wepizi had said, was intentional as it helped keep the heat in—odd to use snow to stay warm, but Romi had no reason to doubt his friend’s word.
Men and women, all with weapons of some kind, stood ready for them. Romi was careful to keep an amiable smile on his face, though he was still muffled up in hood and scarf. Fezerir indicated that Wepizi should dismount and follow him. “Wait here,” he ordered Romi and the others.
As soon as Fezerir and Wepizi disappeared into one of the larger huts, silent, staring tribal people surrounded the others. “Hello,” Romi ventured, pulling his hood away so their watchers could see his face and his expression.
There was no reaction, but then, a moment later, there was a collective gasp and fingers were pointed behind him. Romi turned—Karik had followed his lead, and his bright hair and beard had got everyone’s attention. “He’s harmless, I promise,” he said loudly, glad that Karik had the sense to paste a wide, slightly vacuous smile on his face. “My name is Romi, and I am from Darshian.”
There was no lessening in the suspicion, and weapons remained pointed or aimed at them for the entire time it took for Wepizi and Fezerir to emerge from the hut, along with an elderly couple, dressed liked the rest of the village in thick furs, though their heads were bare. Like the other tribesmen, the newcomers were taken aback to see Karik, and there was a hasty discussion which Romi couldn’t hear. Fortunately, Wepizi had discussed this situation with Karik, and Karik was, at least so far, sticking strictly to instructions—keeping quiet, looking pleasant, and waiting to be told to do so before he moved.
Wepizi signalled for them all to dismount, and so they did, with deep formal bows which were rather less deeply returned by the elderly couple. Wepizi introduced the three of them, but it was Karik whose presence required explanation. “Karik, tell the headman about yourself, please.”
Karik bowed again. “Certainly. I am Karik from Ai-Albon. I was born in Utuk, but raised in Darshian since I was a tiny baby. I am trained as a healer, and study medicinal plants and the anatomy of all creatures. I am honoured to be in your presence and in your land.”
“Healer?” This was the elderly woman.
“Yes, my lady.” There was a titter from behind Romi at the courtly term. “Though I am poorly skilled compared with my friend, Netu.”
“Is that hair real?”
Karik turned to the woman who’d asked and smiled. “Would you like to feel it?” He pulled his braid out of his coat and let it dangle.
The woman was quite young, and holding an infant. As she approached, Karik held out the tail of the braid to the child, who seized it eagerly and gave it a hearty tug. “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” he said with a comical wince, which made several of the other women laugh. “Such a strong baby. A fine child.”
That won him a smile, and at his urging, the mother of the baby touched the length of his braid. “Soft!” she said in amazement.
“Hair like a girl,” one of the men said scornfully.
“Yes, only prettier,” Karik said, grinning.
There was more laughter as Romi and Netu revealed their own braids, and Wepizi made a scornful comment about the trouble of grooming them. Romi responded with his usual teasing, noting the tension in the tribesmen had decreased quite considerably—Karik was now capably holding the child who had tugged his hair, and talking to its mother in a low voice.
The headman and woman watched this for several minutes, and then he gestured sharply, turning on his heel and clearly expecting to be followed. Fezerir spoke. “You, come with us.”
“You” seemed to be all their group, not just Romi. Karik handed the child back but left his braid exposed. Several men took their beasts away after they were permitted to remove the supplies and hides they had brought as a gift to their hosts. Other tribesmen directed the four of them to the large hut into which Fezerir had gone earlier.
It wasn’t a home, as Romi had thought, but some kind of communal meeting room, and after they were invited to sit on thick doig hides, a number of tribesmen and women filed in after them and also took their seat, although at some distance. In the centre of the hut a metal box held an open fire, its smoke rising through the central aperture in the roof, just as it did in their own tent.
“Tell me, man of Darshian, why you have brought the enemy to our land?”
Romi didn’t dare look at Karik as he answered the headman. “Karik is not our enemy, sir. He was raised in Darshian. But the Prij are not our enemy either.”
“I remember when the council asked the tribes to send fit healthy men to help build the great sea defences. That was because of the Prij. I remember the war that the Prij waged against your people and when you asked for our help. Why do you bring the enemy to our land?” There was a general nodding and muttered agreement.
“Captain, may I?”
Romi turned and nodded at Karik. “Yes, you’re the best one to explain it.”
“Sir, I am not your enemy. I am as Darshianese as Romi or Netu. My father is Reji of Ai-Albon, my mother is Jena of Ai-Albon. My uncle is Kei of Ai-Albon.” The headman continued to listen without giving anything away. “But my other uncle is Lord Arman of Ai-Albon, once of Utuk, a Prij but also a Ruler of Darshek. I was born in Kuprij, raised in Darshian and I journey now to Andon to learn of your healing plants, and to bring your healers medicines and useful things from my uncle Kei. Uncle Kei is the most famous healer in Darshian, and humbly asks for your help.”
The headman grunted and consulted his wife in a whisper. It was she who answered. “My name is Hedcuzi. I am the tribe’s healer. What gifts do you bring?”
Karik signalled to Netu, who opened the pack prepared for this. Karik held up a small pot. “This is a salve to help prevent infection. There isn’t much here but I have the recipe written in your language so you can make more. You should be able to find the ingredients or I can suggest alternatives.” He handed over the pot and recipe. She sniffed at it carefully, and he extended his hand so she could apply it to his skin. “It’s good over shallow wounds which have been dirty, once you have cleaned them. But we have teas and powders to give when the infection is more systemic.”
“We have such things,” she said with a sniff. “If someone falls sick, we give them fidweki to drink.”
“Fidweki? Is that a plant?”
“Dried leaves of the fidweki plant, ground with powdered lism.” He looked puzzled. “The green plant that grows on the bark of trees.”
“Oh, lichen, yes. And can you use it when the person is very sick, or do you give it before they become so ill?”
“Both, but it is better if you do not wait.”
“We have something like this too—we’ve brought you oivi mould extract which you give in small pellets, mixed with dough or bread.” He pantomimed the action. “We’re looking for as many different cures as we can, because not all illnesses are susceptible to the same drugs.”
She held another whispered conversation with her husband, then rose. “I will speak with you in my hut. You two,” pointing to Romi and Wepizi, “stay.”
“Yes, Hedcuzi.”
A younger woman rose and took the headwoman’s arm. Karik and Netu followed her at a respectful distance out of the hut. Her husband gave Romi a hard glare. “If you bring harm to my people, I will kill you myself.”
“I would expect no less of you, sir.”
“My name
is Lozinke.”
“I am Romi of Temshek, an officer of the army of South Darshian.”
“Hmmm. So you bring the enemy and a foreign army, Wepizi.”
“The Darshianese are our friends, Lozinke, and Romi’s not here in a military capacity. The Darshianese use their army to help with scientific expeditions and many other tasks—Romi and his men have spent several weeks training for this, and have been carefully chosen. I believe their work serves the benevolent god and his children well. Their purpose is entirely peaceful, and I would not be with them if it wasn’t. “
“It was Master Kei’s idea,” Romi said. “Karik is one of the people he’s sent all over Darshian looking for new cures for illness, and whatever knowledge they get, they share. They have people from all over Periter at the academy in Darshek, learning, training, teaching.”
“Like the academy in Visiqe?” Lozinke asked Wepizi.
“Much bigger, and they run an infirmary, a research garden—your entire settlement would fit three times over into the gardens behind the building alone.” That drew some astonished muttering from the listeners, and Wepizi grinned. “They’ve discovered some wonderful things there, and have worked closely with our academy and learned people in Kuprij. They have no boundaries—a sick man is a sick man, those who would teach, can. They don’t care what colour his skin or his hair.”
“They can afford that luxury,” Lozinke said darkly. “Why do you need so many men to collect plants?”
“We’re also making maps and collecting rocks. Your council is just as anxious to have this survey made as we are,” Romi said. “There aren’t teams who can do this easily in your army, and they were glad when the Darshek academy made the offer. There is no military purpose.”
“Maps can be used in war.”
“Maps can be used for many things, Lozinke, as can minerals and drugs. The Darshianese have never been your enemy.”
“No, but you make friends with those who have been.” He glanced towards the doorway—he was clearly still worried about Karik’s presence on the team. “I don’t understand how a Prij comes to call himself Darshianese. I’ve never heard of one being Andonese, or any Andonese being raised in Darshian.”
“It’s a complicated story, to do with the war so I understand it. It’s certainly unique in Darshian, but Karik has never lived in Kuprij and doesn’t think of himself as Prijian,” Romi explained, though he knew this wasn’t strictly true. “The decision was taken when he was only a few weeks old—I’ve met people who were there at the time and have verified that. I assure you he’s been thoroughly tamed.”
Lozinke gave him a brief smile at that. “You Darshianese come with your own leashes, so it’s easy to tame you. Now, explain your route to me.”
As Romi and Wepizi began to describe how they planned to cover the territory east of Visiqe, tea sweetened with tree sap was served, and handfuls of nuts and dried berries placed before them. Later, as the discussions drifted onto more general topics, soup was served and at that point Romi realised they had been there for hours. Still no sign of Karik, but he’d heard no bloodcurdling yells so he had to assume things were going well.
It was the middle of the afternoon before Hedcuzi, Karik and Netu returned to the hut, and judging by their expressions, it had been a pleasant experience for all. Lozinke rose to speak to his wife, and then turned to Romi. “My wife says she would like to speak again to your people and learn more of your work. You may return tomorrow.”
Romi and Wepizi rose. “Thank you. Have you any objections if the rest of our team explore further east while we’re occupied?”
“No. I will send guides tomorrow to help your work.”
Romi bowed. “Thank you, once again.”
Lozinke grunted in acknowledgement. His wife bowed to Karik and Netu who bowed back. “Tomorrow, we will look for the plants I told you about,” she said.
“Thank you, Hedcuzi. I’ll bring my sketches and notes,” Karik said.
The headwoman nodded, and then it was clear it was time for them all to leave.
The atmosphere was definitely friendlier on their departure. Karik was again surrounded by people wanting to touch his hair, but the beasts also excited much comment—Romi and Wepizi spent a little time letting people get up into the saddles, and led the children for short rides, promising to give them more turns the following day. Fezerir, who had turned out to be Lozinke’s son, watched it all with a faint smile, clearly approving. It had been a very good beginning.
As they rode back, Wepizi expressed the same opinion, and Romi thought it was rather amusing to see Karik’s flush of pleasure at Wepizi’s direct praise. “No doubt at all, my friend, you handled that like a master. You’ve won them over almost single-handedly.”
“Netu was there too,” Karik murmured.
“Netu wasn’t seen as an enemy, and you had the biggest hurdle to cross,” Romi interjected. “Wepizi’s right. You did very well indeed, and did Darshian proud.”
It was even more amusing watching Karik’s emotions warring between delight at the honest praise and annoyance that it came from someone he disliked. Romi didn’t care. He knew how much of their success they owed to Karik, and he believed in praise where it was deserved. Karik could do what he liked with it, and from the slight smile he had on his face as they rode back to camp, he wasn’t entirely displeased at Romi’s words.
It was near dark as they arrived back at the camp, and Taz and Sibu were already on watch as Romi and the others handed over their animals. Karik disappeared inside the tent while Romi spoke to his people, but rather to his surprise, came out not long after with Soza in tow. It looked like Soza wanted to continue his earlier complaint against Romi, but Karik drew him away to the far side of the tent to speak to him first.
Romi watched them talking as he carried out his own conversation. Karik was all smiles and hand waving, obviously eager to share his enthusiasm and pleasure in their success with his lover. But then his happy expression melted away, to be replaced by a flush of embarrassment and apology as Soza ranted and raved at him.
You bastard. You miserable, selfish, stupid bastard. Even though he didn’t like Karik, it was so unfair that Soza wasn’t interested in what Karik had achieved, and was only concerned with his own petty wounded pride, slapping Karik’s excitement down out of pure petulance. Wepizi was right—Soza was a poor lover for Karik. Arrogant, Karik might be, but at least he could back up his arrogance. Romi had yet to see the slightest indication that Soza’s self-satisfaction was justified in the least.
He just knew Soza would challenge him, and so he could maintain a bored expression as the pompous fool marched over to him, Karik a little way behind him, looking miserable.
“I shall be in charge of the scientific discussions in that village tomorrow,” Soza announced, interrupting Romi’s conversation without the least apology.
Romi turned to look at him. “Will you now.”
“Yes, I damn well will. It’s outrageous you made that high-handed decision this morning without the least consultation. Scientific decisions are my responsibility, not yours.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really.”
He stood there, hands on hips, clearly waiting for Romi to capitulate. “Right. Well, since you put things so nicely, this is how it’s going to be. Not only will you not be entering that settlement tomorrow, you will not be entering any settlement. I don’t want you coming into contact with any tribesman whatsoever.”
“What?” He was so angry, Romi honestly thought he might have a heart attack on the spot. “You have no right—”
“Yes, actually, I do. One, the decision isn’t about science, it’s about diplomacy and that is my responsibility. Two, unless you’re going to tell me Karik’s incompetent to carry out the kind of discussion he managed so capably today, there’s not the slightest need for your presence, and if collecting is to go on while we’re visiting settlements, then you can supervise that. Three, you’re an arrogant ba
stard and turning you down is a pleasure all on its own.” Romi heard the distinct sound of laughter being choked down from behind him, and he had to wonder what Wepizi made of this display.
Soza was incandescent. “You...I shall report you! I won’t stand for this!”
“Go right ahead and report me. As for not standing for it, too bad. If you don’t like it, you can leave—but while you’re with us, you’re subject to my authority. I’ve judged you unfit to deal with the tribal people based on weeks of observations of your interactions with this team. You can argue all you want, but I’m not changing my mind. And if you don’t agree with it, that’s too bad too. Now go inside and stop wasting my time.”
Soza’s face was now so red, Romi really did think he was on the verge of dropping dead. “Karik, are you going to let him get away with this? Are you going to stand there and let him put you ahead of me?”
What a shitty thing to do. Romi wondered which way Karik would jump, not that he would change his mind—but it might mean the mission was over almost before it started. Better that than to have Soza and his lousy manners start a war—Romi had been of that opinion before he’d met the tribal people and now he had, he was even more convinced that sending Soza into a settlement would be about as productive as throwing an explosive at them, and probably even more offensive.
“Soza, why don’t you sleep on it, let things—”
“Tell me! Are you going to support this decision?”
Karik’s face, even in the flickering light of the fire, was pink with obvious embarrassment. “The captain has ultimate authority. Whether I agree is irrelevant.”
“But do you agree with it or not?”
Drop it, you pissing fool. Can’t you see he doesn’t want to answer?
“I...think it won’t cause too much harm. We do need someone to supervise the collecting—”
“But this is outrageous! How can you let him speak to me this way?”
“Soza, I don’t have any influence on the captain’s thoughts, as you know. As you said, you can make a report, and so can I, but all that matters is that we carry out the task.” Karik gave Romi a cold look. “Personal feelings can’t come into it, nor likes or dislikes.”
Staying Power (Darshian Tales #3) Page 20