Path of Honor

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Soka pressed himself deeper into the hedge. Four days. Aare had to have known how hard it would be to get to Metyein. Without money, without food, without a weapon. Soka’s hand dropped to the scarred sword he wore belted on his hip. Illegal. And not only for a hostage to the court, but for any citizen. No one save soldiers and ahalad-kaaslane were permitted to go armed in the city anymore. But after the weapon’s former owner had thought to rob him, Soka had simply taken it.

  Not far now. He’d been forced in the wrong direction, carried by the riots. It had taken him four days to work his way back. He’d crossed six bureaus, and the Vare manor lay only two streets away in yet another precinct. The soldiers passed and Soka scurried across the boulevard. The sun had fallen past the walls, and he was nothing more than shadow inside shadow. He easily avoided the patrols. Harder were the barriers with soldiers checking licenses for each person crossing precinct lines. Still these were not impossible. But on the doorstep of the palace and noble district, the soldiers were no longer slovenly, and there were more of them. Soka ducked into an alley.

  There was one way through, and that was possible only with the proper documentation. He now had to wait for his opportunity and take it. It came more quickly than he hoped, shortly after moonrise. The courier trotted quickly along, a satchel over his chest. Soka slid his sword free. He waited until the courier was opposite the alley opening and then leaped out. The flat of his sword crashed into the back of the man’s head, dropping him like a stone. Soka sheathed his sword and grabbed the limp man’s legs, dragging him into the alley. It was a matter of moments to switch clothing.

  He approached the checkpoint at a trot, pulling up the hood of the cloak to hide his telltale ruined eye. “Message for the Lord Marshal,” he announced, opening his cloak to show his satchel and uniform. The guards gave him a cursory glance and waved him through. No one impeded couriers. Interfering guards paid the price for late messages. Soka sped up, forcing himself to run, though his legs screamed and his lungs spasmed. Turning onto the avenue containing the Lord Marshal’s residence, he saw the Lord Marshal’s gilded coach rattling away. He smiled and flung himself toward the gates, pounding against the wood with his fist. The spy panel snapped back.

  “Message for Basham Arceres,” he declared breathlessly. The panel slid shut, and he heard the bars on the pedestrian door slide back. The guard motioned him inside, pointing up the drive toward the house.

  “Can’t leave m’post,” he mumbled. “Go to the front. Butler will let you in.”

  Soka almost groaned, but he knew that a courier would be expected to run the remaining distance, and so he did, up the long driveway and scrolling steps to the portico. He hammered the knocker, panting heavily and pulling his hood closely around his face. The butler guided him to a salon and left him, pointedly staring at his dirt-stained clothing and then at the furniture. Metyein smiled sourly. He was in no mood to sit anyhow. He poured himself a glass of red wine sitting on the sideboard. He gulped it down and poured another, just as the door opened.

  “Basham Arceres,” the butler announced. Soka didn’t turn, hearing the doors close behind him.

  “Making a bit free, aren’t you?” came Metyein’s sardonic drawl. Soka closed his eyes. The moment had come at last. He drank the rest of the wine and turned around.

  “You’ve never complained before.”

  The two men stared at one another.

  “By the Lady . . .” Metyein leaped across the room, grasping Soka by the shoulders. “What in the three hells happened to you? Where have you been? Demonballs, I thought you were dead!” And then he pulled Soka against him, hugging him tightly and pounding his back. Soka closed his eyes. Until this moment he hadn’t been quite sure that Metyein had survived, that it hadn’t all been one of Aare’s cruel jokes.

  At last he pushed away. “Peace, Metyein. I cannot take too much manhandling.”

  Instantly Metyein let him go, remorse darkening his expression. “I have looked for you, my friend. Every day. But there was never even a clue. Pelodra vanished, the horses gone, everything.”

  “Ah well, I can explain that,” Soka said. “And you have healed well?” He scanned Metyein, but there was no sign that he’d ever been hurt. Metyein grinned.

  “Seems we both have a tale to tell. But not here. Let us find somewhere more comfortable.”

  Two hours later, Soka and Metyein sat in the latter’s rooms. Soka wore a suit of fresh clothing, though it hung loosely on his too-thin frame. His feet were bare, and his long hair wet from a hot bath. He wore a blue silk scarf tied rakishly across his ruined eye. The remains of a hearty meal sat before them.

  “I have been patient, you must agree. But now you must tell me what happened to you,” Metyein declared, pushing away from the table and retreating to the fire. He motioned for Soka to join him, pouring them each a glass of port.

  Soka stood, his feet apart, hands laced together, forefingers pressed to his lips. Here it was. The precipice. He thought of Kedriles and jeered at himself. He’d already decided. Standing in front of Aare, he’d made his choice. The dice were thrown. Now was no time to falter. He dropped his hands.

  “You know you are my only friend? Brother of my heart. I have never understood why you should have taken to me so. I dare say no one else did either.”

  “I have good taste,” Metyein replied.

  “I think your taste is questionable,” Soka said with a crooked grin. “But your friendship is the one thing I value. I don’t think even you know how much. It is the only thing for which I would willingly give my life. It is the only thing for which I would give more than my life. I would suffer for it.” He said it matter of factly and did not allow Metyein a chance to respond.

  “Pelodra was in the employ of Aare, and directly after we left you in the Gardens, he turned me over to our Verit.”

  “Regent,” Metyein corrected reflexively, his eyes wide.

  “Ah, yes. He did tell me that before letting me go.”

  “He let you go? Just . . . let you go? Just like that?”

  “For a price. He does nothing for free. But let me go back to the beginning. It seems the ambush was intended to capture you and use you against your father. But thanks to your annoying heroics, he ended up with me instead. Pelodra, I understand, has fallen on sharp times.” His lips pulled into the semblance of a grin. “Aare brought me to the accomodations he keeps beneath his residence for people he holds in low esteem. There I was healed. Four days ago, on the day of his Regency ceremony, he came to me. He offered me a chance at freedom if I would use you to spy on your father. He demonstrated both the touch of his favor and disfavor. In the end I agreed. And thus I was freed.”

  Metyein stared at him, head shaking stupidly.

  “You agreed to spy. You do realize that telling me that makes your mission difficult.”

  Now Soka’s grin turned feral. “Doesn’t it? Still it was the only way out that didn’t involve a coffin, and Aare found it less difficult to believe I would betray you than he would ever have believed that I could no more betray you than I could cure the plague.”

  Metyein dropped down onto a chair. “I’ll see him dead.”

  “One day. But it’s the meantime I worry about.”

  “And you should. I’ve had some adventures of my own since the ambush.”

  At Soka’s questioning look, Metyein shook his head. “Think whether you really want to know. Our friendship has already put you in grave danger. I could still get you out of the city. You could do as everyone believes. You could run to your father.”

  “Aare would come after me sooner or later. And I’m not running from the likes of him. I owe him.”

  “Be sure, Soka. Once I tell you, you’re in it with me.”

  “I’m in it with you already. I told you. You are my heart’s brother.”

  Metyein gripped Soka’s hand. “I have missed you.” He refilled their glasses. “My tale also begins with the ambush. Seems that last arrow caused a fata
l wound.”

  Soka’s brows lifted. “Yet you sit here, hale as ever.”

  “Have you heard of Reisiltark?” And Metyein plunged into his story, leaving nothing out. Afterwards it was Soka’s turn to stare glazedly.

  “If Aare catches you . . .” He thought again of Kedriles and shuddered.

  “I told my father tonight, I have a duty to the Lady. I never felt it before. Father is right. I was petty and sulking. But Reisiltark is Kodu Riik’s only hope. The Iisand is . . . gone. There’s nothing left of him. Aare will be Iisand, sooner or later. And when he is, he will wipe out the ahalad-kaaslane. He believes the sorcerers are his pets, but they have come for their own purposes, and they smell blood. They merely wait until we are helpless and then will take us at their leisure. And if they don’t, the wizards will. Kodu Riik will become a magical battleground. I have to do this. I have to help her.”

  “Because you owe her your life?”

  “I do owe her my life. But that isn’t why. It’s because she’s the Lady’s chosen. And she’s all that stands between us and our enemies.”

  Metyein sat for a moment and then jumped to his feet. “I have to go. I’m late for a meeting. I know this is a lot for you. It’s more than I can ask of you. I’ll still get you out of Koduteel to safety. You don’t have to be a part of this.”

  Soka grinned, one of his familiar flashing grins. “I don’t think so. You see, I don’t know your Reisiltark, and I have no real cause to be loyal to Kodu Riik. But I do owe Aare, and I mean to pay him in full.” He stood, stretching, wincing as his muscles protested. “You need someone to look after you. Otherwise you’ll be all work and no play. Very dull, Metyein. When was the last time you had yourself a woman?”

  Metyein rolled his eyes, chuckling as he slapped Soka on the back. “You are impossible. But let’s find you some boots. I’ve got some people for you to meet.”

  Chapter 36

  “You are late.” Juhrnus slid through the panel in Kebonsat’s study followed closely by Yohuac, Metyein, and Soka. Kebonsat waited opposite his desk, feet propped on the corner, a sheaf of papers on his lap. Outside the window a streak of blue glowed above the incoming fog. Juhrnus yawned. It had been a long night, first with Karina and then with a pair of edgy ahalad-kaaslane he’d recruited to help. The soldiers still allowed the ahalad-kaaslane to travel freely in the city, but more than once he’d found himself followed or delayed by a round of questions. Worst of all, he hadn’t spoken to Kedisan-Mutira in two days, and the separation was starting to wear.

  “Did you have somewhere else to be?”

  Kebonsat looked edgy. His face was pulled into an austere mask. For such a man, inaction was the worst kind of torture.

  Kebonsat tossed the papers onto the desk. “I have many other places to be.”

  “Then we will be brief.”

  Kebonsat glared at him. “Sharmuta.”

  Juhrnus grinned, lifting his brows. “I didn’t think a man of your blue bloodlines knew such language.”

  “Just at the moment it may be the only language I know.” Kebonsat scanned the gathered faces. “What news?”

  “Nothing good.” Juhrnus perched on the edge of the desk. He lifted Esper down from his shoulders and set him on the chestnut wood. “Seems the Regent decided he would see his father and would not be denied, never mind the old man’s wishes. Went to his apartments and forced the doors. Found things quite empty, as of course he would.”

  “And what conclusion did your wise Regent draw?”

  “That’s what’s making us nervous. He made his invasion last night and has been closeted behind closed doors since. The guards stationed outside the doors were taken for questioning, and those hidden in the inner passage came to me in a panic. They could not find Sodur and”—he paused, looking at each man in turn—“they said Sodur hadn’t been for a visit since the night he showed us the Iisand. The night of the Regency ceremony. That must have been when they left Koduteel.” He shook his head. “I wish I knew what he was thinking.”

  “Maybe he was afraid of what would happen when the news came out,” Kebonsat suggested.

  “But how did Sodur get him out?” Metyein shuddered. “That beast wasn’t going to go tamely.”

  “The prison was near the harbor cavern. Likely they went by boat, though I can’t imagine how Sodur kept it from killing him,” Kebonsat said.

  “The good news is that with the Iisand gone, the Regent isn’t yet going to find out his father’s turned nokula,” Juhrnus said. “The bad news is that the explanation he comes up with for why his father is missing is likely to be very unpleasant. And it brings him a whole lot closer to the throne.”

  “Lucky for Aare,” Soka said sardonically. Juhrnus frowned at him. Metyein’s friend was thin, almost emaciated. He burned inside with fever intensity and his blue eye glittered. The eye patch over his left eye was the same brilliant azure of his remaining eye, and it was embroidered with a map pattern. He rarely seemed to stop moving and nearly crackled with energy. Juhrnus remembered him from before his disappearance: a swaggering blade with a cutting mouth and a penchant for loose women. But he’d become something else now. Metyein trusted him with his life, with all their lives, but Juhrnus wondered. It was said the Regent’s torturers could make a man do anything, be anything. Any man that survived their ministrations belonged body and soul to the Regent.

  “Those guards are going to tell everything they know,” Soka said into the silence.

  “They know we were there with Sodur. Except you, Kebonsat,” Juhrnus said.

  “This is the excuse he’s been waiting for. He’ll tear the Temple apart hunting the ahalad-kaaslane. He’ll say they were working with Sodur and Reisiltark, that they’ve kidnapped the Iisand. Or killed him,” Metyein said.

  “I agree,” said Kebonsat. “It isn’t safe to be ahalad-kaaslane in Koduteel anymore. You have to leave.”

  “We can’t just run—the people here still need us. The ahalad-kaaslane aren’t supposed to cower in hiding.” Juhrnus stood, his jaw jutting angrily.

  “And what good will you be dead? There’s much that can be done outside these walls that cannot be done within. You need an army. You have the means. You have food and supplies coming in from ships runnning the blockade. You’ve got wagons, horses, and more than enough people in the Fringes alone. How long do you think your Regent is going to wait before eradicating them like so much vermin? You can save them. Or at least give them a chance. The plague may kill them, but Aare is a sure bet. What else—?”

  Suddenly Yohuac let out a groaning wail and clutched his head between his hands. He flung his head against the wall with a terrible crack! and then slid down the wall to the floor, his eyes rolled up in his head, his legs and arms twitching.

  Juhrnus scrambled to his side.

  “What is it? What’s happening to him?” Metyein demanded over his shoulder.

  Spittle ran over Yohuac’s chin, and he wrenched at his hair. Juhrnus grabbed his arms and wrestled his hands to his sides.

  “Yohuac! What’s wrong?”

  The other man’s head turned from side to side, his mouth opened wide as if he were screaming, but all that came out was a gurgle.

  “Is it magic? The sorcerers? Did they attack him?” asked Kebonsat, coming to kneel on the other side of the stricken man.

  “I don’t know.”

  Yohuac went rigid and his body arched up off the floor, his weight supported by only his head and heels. Then he collapsed like a discarded rag. His breath came thick and harsh between his lips, and when Juhrnus shook him, he did not move.

  The other three men stared at him.

  Juhrnus began to panic. Was it magic? Were the sorcerers behind this? Kedisan-Mutira? He knew he shouldn’t . . . couldn’t . . . trust her. She had plans of her own. Still everything in him wanted to believe her.

  ~Can you tell?

  ~It is and it is not. Esper’s answer was slow in coming.

  ~What does that mean? He sensed d
eep and uneasy concentration from Esper.

  ~I feel magic. Akin to Baku. But Baku would not do this.

  Esper didn’t sound all that certain.

  ~Not on purpose. Not to his ahalad-kaaslane, Juhrnus agreed. What’s wrong?

  ~They are not.

  ~They are not what?

  ~They are not ahalad-kaaslane.

  “What?” Juhrnus demanded aloud, jerking to his feet. The sisalik dipped his nose, abashed.

  ~They are not ahalad-kaaslane, he repeated.

  ~Of course they are, Juhrnus said very slowly.

  ~No. Yohuac does not accept the bond.

  ~But Reisil said—

  ~Baku may speak to anyone he chooses. He speaks to Reisiltark.

  “He can what?” Juhrnus said, his voice turning hard. He bit his tongue, feeling a black hole opening up in his chest. More lies. More deceit.

  “What’s going on?” Kebonsat asked with concern.

  Juhrnus drew a breath. “Seems Yohuac isn’t really ahalad-kaaslane. Seems Baku can talk to Reisil and anyone else he pleases. It’s all been a masquerade.”

  Kebonsat nodded. “Yes.”

  Juhrnus drew back. He clenched his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaws jumping. “You know this?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know but she didn’t see fit to tell me?”

  Kebonsat shook his head. “We thought it too dangerous. People needed to believe Yohuac was ahalad-kaaslane or he would have been at the mercy of the Verit or the Lord Marshal.” He glanced at Metyein. “I’m sorry.”

  “My father hates Reisiltark and distrusts anything she touches. No need to apologize.”

  Kebonsat turned back to Juhrnus. “There’s more.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe to tell me?” he returned bitterly.

  Kebonsat stared back at him, and Juhrnus shifted uneasily. The look said, Grow up, boy. There is no time for bellyaching over hurt feelings. There isn’t time, and too much is at stake.

  Juhrnus took a tight rein on himself, rolling his shoulders to ease the muscles. “Tell me.”