“First, you need something else to wear.” Luks picked at the tatters of Sheyn’s diaphanous bed gown. “This might be fine for a royal bedchamber, but you can’t walk around among warriors dressed like this. You’d be had five times before you went ten steps.”
“Don’t be vulgar.”
Luks smiled for the first time since Sheyn had clapped eyes on him. “Come with me,” he said.
At the entrance to the command tent, Luks spoke to one of the sentries. “Does the commander have a body servant?”
“No, he doesn’t, nor a cook neither. Commander Kholya doesn’t keep a household. He lives like one of his warriors.”
“He has a household now,” Luks said. “He’s taken us under his protection. Where is his tent?”
“The tent he sleeps in is just behind this one. I’ll escort you.”
Luks gave the sentry a willowy bow of gratitude. Taking Sheyn’s hand, he followed the guard. The soldier waited until Luks and Sheyn were inside the commander’s tent and then went back to his post.
Luks looked around, noting the practical wooden furnishings that were designed to collapse flat for transport in a wagon. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “For a military man’s home.”
“You’re joking. It’s a tent.”
“But the ground is covered with woven mats and there are soft cushions for sitting.” Luks walked to a low table and inspected the objects sitting on it. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’d murder a stranger for something cool and wet.”
“Here.” Luks poured water from a pitcher into a wooden cup. “Now, let me see what I can find to cover that long body of yours.”
Sheyn gulped down the water. “Is there something wrong with being tall in your land?”
“Most men prefer a daaksi whose height is less than theirs.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I have a feeling that men in your land prefer forcing their will on others.”
“It’s different in your land?” Luks asked as he opened a chest.
“Won’t you get into trouble snooping around like that?”
“The commander took me into his tent. I live here now.”
That answer didn’t satisfy Sheyn, but he let it drop and answered Luks’s question. “Yes, it’s different in my land. Violence is illegal in Dey Larone. There hasn’t been a war in the Deysian Protectorate in over a hundred years. Those who prey on those weaker than themselves are held in the greatest contempt, and the punishment for a crime of violence is so severe that there hasn’t been a murder in my lifetime.”
“No wars?” Luks said.
“Differences between rulers are settled by ambassadors instead of generals.”
“You have no warriors, no soldiers?”
Sheyn shook his head. “I remember a speech my mother made before the League of States Council on the Day of Memoriam. She spoke of how happy she was, how happy every mother was, that no sons would ever die in battle again. Most moving.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes?”
“Is a woman.”
“Of course.”
“She spoke in public… in front of men?”
“She’s Dey Larone’s chief ambassador.”
His head spinning, Luks turned to Sheyn and held up a tunic of dull red. “This might do for now,” he said, changing the subject.
“It will cover me at least,” Sheyn said. “Can you find some leggings?”
“Daaksim don’t wear—”
“No!” Sheyn barked. “I don’t want to hear the words daaksim and don’t used together ever again.”
“I’m only trying to save you a few slaps.”
“I have nothing but pity for anyone stupid enough to strike me.”
Luks handed Sheyn the tunic. “The world you came from is very different. I can’t even imagine a woman appearing in public, much less giving a speech. And if you continue to behave as you do, you’ll suffer more than slaps. Prince Kashyan has been very merciful, but—”
“You may consider me warned, so don’t feel as though you have to mention it again.” Sheyn finished stripping off the remains of the bed gown and pulled the tunic on over his head. “Maybe I will get slapped or worse, but what I won’t do is live in fear.”
Luks bit his lip as he swallowed the words that came to his mind. Coming closer, he tugged the tunic into place across Sheyn’s shoulders and wrapped a length of silky yellow cloth around Sheyn’s waist. He tied the sash in a complicated knot that resembled a flower bud and let the ends dangle to flow fetchingly when Sheyn moved. After tweaking a few folds of fabric, Luks stepped back to inspect his handiwork.
The tunic was too large, but cinched by the belt, it draped Sheyn’s narrow frame in flattering billows. It was nothing finer than medium-weight linen, and it was dyed or faded to the color of drying blood, but it was a vast improvement over the filmy rags Sheyn had been wearing.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that there’s a mirror in this tent,” Sheyn said.
“The commander may have a small one for shaving. His signal corps might have some large enough for you to see most of yourself.”
“You’re awfully knowledgeable about military matters.”
“My master was a general as well as a king. I went on many campaigns and raids with him.”
Sheyn cocked his head. “I don’t mean to be callous, but do you miss him?”
“I’m… not sure how I feel.” Luks poured himself a cup of water and took a sip. “At first, I was shocked, and then terrified, but now… I don’t know. I’m just trying to stay alive.”
“I understand.”
“We’ve both seen great changes in our lives recently, haven’t we?”
Sheyn’s lips twitched in an imminent smile. “We have that much in common, at least.”
“Then… shall we be friends?”
“Allies, at the least.”
Sheyn was taken aback when Luks embraced him, but he controlled the urge to recoil. Gingerly, he put his arms around Luks and held him for a few moments. To Sheyn’s surprise, he didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable; he felt the soothing evidence that he was not alone, and it comforted him.
“Now,” Luks said as he stepped back. “Let’s see what can be arranged for the evening meal.”
Chapter 10
“WELL, ISN’T this pleasant?” Kholya said as he and Kashyan entered his tent.
The sun was down, and the oil lamps had been lit, lending a gilt-edged glow to every surface. The low table held a number of dishes, and a delicious smell pervaded the air. Luks and Sheyn sat on cushions playing with a set of dice.
“If you say so.” Kashyan sat down on the floor and helped himself to a plate.
“How was this accomplished, Velvet?” Kholya asked as he sat down.
“One of your sentries sent a message to your quartermaster for me, and he sent someone to see to your needs, my lord,” Luks said. “They took my word that I spoke in your name, so I think news must travel quickly in your army.”
“You did well,” Kholya said. “I’m very pleased. All my favorite foods are here.” He looked over at Kashyan. “It’s not so bad having someone see to my needs.”
“I manage well enough on my own.”
Kholya looked over at Kashyan, who was devouring half a roasted rockhen. “If you say so.” He took a drink from his cup and spoke to Luks again. “Have you eaten?”
“We have, my lord, but if you wish for us to wait and eat with you next time, we will.”
“Eat when you’re hungry,” Kholya said. “I’m impressed with how quickly you’ve settled in.”
“I behave according to my training, lord,” Luks said. “But if I displease you, you must let me know.”
“How pleasant,” Kholya said. “Kasha, how can you frown at this beauty?”
“He’s a daaksi with all a daaksi’s well-known habits of treachery, deceit, and betrayal.”
“Look at this lad,” Kholya said, nodding at
Luks. “There isn’t an ounce of deceit in him.”
“It’s that innocent look that makes them so good at deception.”
“You’ve got a habit too, you know—the habit of bitterness. You let it influence everything you say and do.”
“You sound like an educated man, commander,” Sheyn said.
Kashyan and Kholya turned to stare at Sheyn in surprise.
“You shouldn’t interrupt,” Luks whispered.
“I’m giving the man a compliment,” Sheyn said.
Kholya shook his head at the foreign daaksi’s audacity, but he answered. “You’re right. I had the best tutors my father could afford, and he could afford the very best.”
“The best your country had to offer, you mean.” Sheyn pursed his lips. “At least you got a decent vocabulary out of it.”
Kholya chuckled. “Kasha, honestly, how is it you aren’t amused?”
“He’s not trying to be funny. He’s insulting you.”
“Yes, I know that. That’s why it’s amusing. Imagine… a fierce daaksi. That’s like saying—”
“A trustworthy Sumadi?” Kashyan suggested.
“Bitter to the bone.” Kholya shook his head again. “I miss the Kashyan who laughed the loudest of all at a good joke. I wish you weren’t so devoted to getting yourself killed.”
“You’re exaggerating. I don’t want to die.”
“Then why do you put yourself in such dangerous circumstances?”
“Are you going to scold me again about taking revenge on our mother’s defiler?”
“No, though I should. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll enjoy this good food and drink and then take that astonishing creature to your tent and enjoy him.”
“I was hoping he might stay here.”
“If that’s what you want, I don’t mind,” Kholya said.
“Good.” Kashyan got to his feet. “Do you want me with you when the delegation arrives?”
“If you like, but I won’t need you.”
“I’d rather remind my troops that life is hard when I’m around.”
“Why don’t you lead your Black Hawks past the command tent while the delegation is there? I’d like the Muergathim to see what well-trained cavalry looks like.”
“That will be my pleasure,” Kashyan said. “Good night.”
Kashyan had been gone for several minutes when Sheyn noticed the beginning of discomfort. He felt vaguely queasy, and his pulse was pounding in his temples. He could tell he’d soon be nauseous and his head would ache horribly.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Luks asked.
Sheyn nodded. “I feel terrible.”
“You should go with your master. While the bond is fresh, you’ll feel worse the farther you are from him.”
“I was fine when he left earlier. Explain that.”
“It’s the Goddess’s will.”
“I hate your Goddess.”
“You really shouldn’t say such things. Why don’t you go to your lord’s tent so you’ll feel better?”
“I’d rather die in excruciating pain.”
Before Luks could answer, Kashyan strode back into the tent.
“Did you forget something?” Kholya asked.
“My head feels like Raas’s thunder. Damn this daaksim nonsense.” Kashyan scowled at Sheyn. “Come with me.”
“Go,” Luks urged Sheyn. “I’ll come find you in the morning.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.”
“How do you know that?”
“If you calm down long enough to read your master’s feelings, you’ll know it too. Go now.”
Sheyn wanted to ask more questions, but he was compelled to follow when Kashyan left the tent for the second time that night. Kashyan didn’t speak as he led Sheyn to the edge of the camp and a group of tents set apart from the others. Under a line of awnings stood twenty-five horses. Sheyn recognized the blue roan charger beside the first tent.
“In there,” Kashyan said. “Try and keep your mouth shut so I can sleep.”
“Just show me where I’ll be sleeping and you won’t hear a sound out of me.”
“Here’s a blanket.” Kashyan grabbed the covering off his cot and tossed it to Sheyn. “Sleep anywhere you like as long as it’s as far from me as possible.”
“That would be my preference.” Sheyn looked around. “Do you really expect me to sleep on the ground?”
“I don’t expect anything. Sleep standing up if that suits you.”
Sheyn spread the blanket on the opposite side of the tent from Kashyan’s cot. He found two cushions stacked beside a small fire pit and placed them on the blanket. After several minutes of pillow punching and rolling from side to side, he lay still. Just as Kashyan was drifting off to sleep, Sheyn spoke.
“Do you really mean to keep me like a slave?”
“Do you think I have any more choice than you do?” Kashyan snapped. “Go to sleep, or I’ll bind your wrists and ankles and put a gag in your mouth.”
Sheyn turned his face to the wall of the tent and distracted himself by imagining the revenge he’d take on this barbarian and the others responsible for putting him here. There had to be a way back to his life as a scholar and privileged son of nobility. He didn’t see the way yet, but he was intelligent, and he’d solve this problem. It was plain to him that he was the only one who cared about his plight. Even Luks, who was sympathetic, wanted him to accept his fate. Sheyn clenched his fists and willed his tears not to fall. He was smarter than these savages, and he’d find a way home.
Sheyn didn’t notice the moment he went from brooding to sleeping, but he noticed Kashyan banging around early the next morning. “Great Leynys,” he grumbled. “Did someone let an ox in here?”
“Shut up,” Kashyan said automatically.
“Why are you making that racket?”
“I’m looking for my shield.”
Sheyn glanced around the tent. “It’s there.” He pointed. “Behind that rack thing.”
Kashyan snatched up his shield and clipped it to the back of his weapon harness. “Don’t cause trouble,” he said as he went to the opening of the tent.
“Wait! I want to go to the commander’s tent.”
“No. He’s meeting with the Muergathim this morning, and I’m showing off our cavalry. When I return, you can go.”
Sheyn told himself it was childish to pout. “I suppose I’ll go back to sleep then. There’s precious little else to do around here. You don’t have a single book, do you?”
“Shut up.” Kashyan glared at Sheyn before he left the tent. The nausea roiling in his stomach and the pounding in his head worsened with each step he took away from the daaksi. Kashyan set his jaw and kept moving.
Sheyn sat up again and went to the entrance. He lifted the flap and watched Kashyan mount his horse and ride away. “You can’t order me around like a servant,” he muttered.
He felt the onset of the sickness that had come over him last night, but he was determined not to let it affect him. After finger combing his hair and straightening his tunic, he went outside. The area around the tents was empty of people, and he had no difficulty retracing the path to the command tent.
Chapter 11
MUERGATH’S ROYAL herald arrived with an entourage of twenty soldiers and an honor guard to hold his banner of rank. Beneath the square of silk with the Muergathi bull and the feather symbol of diplomacy, the herald bowed deeply to Kholya. “I greet you in the name of King Kezlath,” he said. “I am Lord Beshar, and I hold sufficient rank to treat with a prince.”
“Thank you for coming outside the city to meet with me,” Kholya said. He gestured to the large open-sided tent that had been set up in the open square in front of the command tent. “Please come out of the sun and sit.”
“First, let me make my companions known to you, great lord,” Beshar said. “I’m escorted today by a troop of the finest warriors in Muergath. You see here twenty of the legendary Red Monks, sworn to serve the Shadow of Death.”
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The twenty scarred, bald men in red tunics lifted their swords as one and shouted, “For the greater glory of Taankh!”
“They seem very dedicated,” Kholya said.
“Indeed. Their leader is Brother Mardjan. He’s never lost a fight.”
“Very impressive.” Kholya took a closer look at the Red Monks’ leader. Could the stories about these warriors possibly be true? Legend said they took no wives because they were wed to Death. Kholya suppressed a shudder and returned to business. He feared nothing he met in the light of day with a sword in his hand, and he gave little credence to the supernatural. “What did you want to discuss?”
“King Kezlath has heard rumors concerning your brother, the Bastard.”
“Already?” Kholya grimaced. “What are these rumors?”
“A messenger came in the night from the court of Sumadin. King Yevdjen was slain in a raid on his hunting lodge. General Ognyan names Kashyan, Bastard of Savaan, as the killer.”
“If that is Ognyan’s claim, he should make it to Kashyan’s face.”
“Is that your only answer?”
“What other answer could I make? He’s my brother, and I’ve seen no proof of this accusation.”
Beshar nodded as he leaned toward Kholya. “Of course, I understand. For your ears alone, the loss of Sumadin’s king is no loss to Muergath.” He straightened up and raised his voice. “If Sumadin seeks justice of your brother, Muergath cannot provide refuge.”
“I understand. I hope these rumors won’t affect our contract.”
“No, my lord.”
At the sound of hooves, the Red Monks assumed battle stance. Kashyan rode up at the head of a troop of twenty-four, drawing everyone’s eyes. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Sheyn made his way unseen to the entrance of Kholya’s personal tent.
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