The Bastard’s Pearl

by Connie Bailey

“Maybe what?”

  “You must know it’s every warrior’s dream to earn enough glory to deserve a daaksi.”

  “I’ve heard anyone with enough wealth can buy one.”

  “Those aren’t true daaksim.”

  “You sound like a man with a strong opinion. May I hear it?”

  Dasha’s cheeks flushed red. “It’s foolishness. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

  “Please tell me.”

  “How can I say no to you?” Dasha ducked his head. “Even though you’ll think me foolish.” He sighed. “I always loved hearing stories of the dawn time about the daaksim and their lords. I think it would be a fine thing to have a companion at my side in battle and in bed.”

  “Couldn’t you choose one of your comrades?”

  “I could if any of them roused me, but none do. Some of the other men share blankets, but I don’t want a warrior like myself. I want….” Dasha smiled sheepishly.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want someone like you. I’m just the fifth son of a minor king, but I have royal blood. If I win honor enough, someday a daaksi might come to me. He’ll be beautiful as a new sword, brave, wise, and sweet. And I will love him and protect him for all my life.”

  “You remind me of the Bastard,” Sheyn said, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “Ah, Pearl! Don’t cry.” Dasha stopped in his tracks, left helpless by the look of utter sorrow on Sheyn’s face.

  Sheyn wiped the wetness away with his gloved hand. Sternly, he tamped down his grief and focused on his goal. “Why are you stopping?” he said. “We have work to do.”

  “Yes, Pearl,” Dasha said as though the daaksi was an officer.

  On the far side of the horse pasture, small tents were arranged in neat rows under the shade of a grove of nut trees. Black Hawks in various versions of the cavalry uniform sat or stood about in small groups. There was no laughter, no raised voices, and none seemed inclined to do anything but mourn their lost leader.

  Until Sheyn entered their midst.

  It didn’t take long for a crowd to gather, and after word went around, all the Black Hawks assembled. Under the weight of so many stares, Sheyn lifted his chin and reminded himself of who he was. He was Rosheyn Lir, a prince of House Merisolle, and he was Pearl, beloved of Kashyan, the Bastard of Savaan. He needn’t lower his head before anyone. As for the physical danger he might be in, he counted on respect for his lost lord to keep him safe.

  “What’s this about, Dasha lad?” asked a soldier with wolf-brindled hair.

  “Pearl wanted a word with you,” Dasha said. “Will you hear him?”

  A few older men muttered about the unseemliness of a daaksi addressing warriors, but the majority were prepared to listen. They stood silently watching Sheyn and waiting for him to speak. Sheyn took his time, letting the silence draw out, letting them look their fill before he spoke.

  “You all know me,” Sheyn said and waited for a round of comments to die down. “I did not come to Kandaar intending to stay. I’m kept here by a force I don’t understand, a force you call magic. I found little to like here until fate brought the Bastard to me. I didn’t want to love him, but in spite of all our differences, I loved him more than my freedom.”

  Sheyn waited again while the Hawks cheered their captain. “I know you loved him well, and he often told me that he commanded the best men in Kandaar.” He paused. “Are you as angry as I am that he was taken away?”

  Such a roar went up that several of the warhorses answered with ringing neighs.

  Sheyn unsheathed his saber. “I have such a rage in me as will only be quenched by the blood of Taankh’s Servants. I’m going to the Red Temple to get vengeance for my lord. Any who wish to come with me are welcome.”

  Another roar filled the air, and the Black Hawks strode away to arm themselves. Not one man brought up the question of mutiny.

  “Dasha.”

  “Yes, Pearl?”

  “I need a horse. Saddle Karkaran for me.”

  Dasha bowed and left to do Sheyn’s bidding.

  KHOLYA HEARD the guard’s challenge and looked up from the pile of dispatches he was trying to read. He needed distraction from his grief, but he couldn’t concentrate. An interruption was welcome just now. “What is it?” he called out.

  A messenger hesitated in the doorway of the guest tent. “I’m sorry, Commander, but your daaksi—”

  “What?” Kholya got to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “He asks you to come to him, my lord. He says it’s urgent and he couldn’t entrust the news to anyone but you.”

  Kholya cursed under his breath. “Return to your duty,” he said as he left the tent.

  “Thank the Lady you came,” Luks said when Kholya arrived. “Pearl is gone.”

  Kholya looked around as though he might spot Sheyn behind a mound of pillows. “How long has he been missing?”

  “I woke a few minutes ago and he wasn’t here.”

  “What did he take with him?”

  Luks looked around wildly, noting what items were missing. “He’s probably wearing a green tunic.”

  “I don’t need a description. That hair of his stands out a bit.”

  “I found this.” Luks held up several strands of long, moon-colored hair. “He cut his hair. Why would he do that?”

  “Perhaps it’s a sign of mourning in his land. Did he take a pack?”

  “No.” Luks paused. “His saber is gone, though.”

  “If he didn’t take a pack, he probably hasn’t gone far. Taking the sword—”

  They heard the sound of running feet, and someone shouted for the commander.

  “In here!” Kholya called out, and a courier ran into the room.

  “Commander.” The man bowed briefly. “The Black Hawks have left camp and are riding to Taar Muergan.”

  “Is that all?” Kholya asked.

  “My lord?” The man gave Kholya a puzzled look.

  “Fire isn’t raining from the sky?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “You’re certain you don’t have any other disasters to report?”

  “No, my lord. I mean yes, my lord.”

  “Go back to your post and tell your superior officer that I’m on my way.”

  The courier saluted and left at a trot.

  “Well,” Kholya said. “Do I look for Pearl or go after the Black Hawks?”

  “I don’t think you need to choose,” Luks said.

  “I fear you’re right, and I should go.” Kholya put a hand on Luks’s cheek. “So soft,” he said. “I wish I could lie down in your arms and let you ease my sore heart, but I have to go see why the Hawks have gone off without orders.”

  “Come back as soon as you can,” Luks said. He took Kholya’s hand, turned it over, and left a kiss on his palm.

  Kholya closed his hand around the kiss. “As soon as I can,” he said.

  KHOLYA RODE into Taar Muergan and found Djulyan at the palace. He borrowed a troop of Djulyan’s royal guards and led them to the Red Temple. Several streets away from the square, they knew something was wrong. People were fleeing the area like birds before a storm.

  “What’s happening?” Kholya called out.

  “They’re burning the Temple,” someone in the crowd yelled.

  “Make way!” Kholya shouted as he urged his horse through the mass of people.

  Wailing of Taankh’s wrath, the Muergathim parted for Kholya and the guards and closed in again behind them. It was like swimming in quicksand, but at last they reached the great square. The statue of Taankh lay on its side with the body of a Red Monk crushed beneath it. Smoke and the smell of black powder hung in the air. From the red-lit doorway of the Temple poured priests, acolytes, and novices, some with their clothing on fire.

  “Get down,” Kholya shouted at the fleeing Servants. “All of you. Get down on the ground.” He ordered the guards to herd the priests together and put out the flames. It took several minutes, but the Servants r
ecovered from their panic and helped tend their burned brethren. Kholya left them and entered the temple.

  With his sword in his hand, Kholya hurried down the curved corridors, hoping he remembered the route to the Gate Chamber. In every room he passed, the furniture had been piled in the center and set alight. At every step his boots crunched on the clay shards of smashed votive statues of the God of Death. Now and then, he came upon the body of a Servant bearing multiple wounds. When he reached the Gate Chamber, he found a Black Hawk guarding the door. “Out of the way,” Kholya ordered.

  “I’m sorry, Commander. I can’t let you in.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dasha, my lord.”

  “You know me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Then stand aside.”

  “I have orders not to let anyone in.”

  “Orders from who?”

  “From Pearl, my lord.”

  “You’d better be joking, lad, and if you aren’t, I’ll beat you myself.” Kholya took a step, and Dasha raised his sword.

  “Please don’t, Commander,” Dasha said. “We’re doing this to honor the Bastard.” He paused. “The captain, that is. Prince Kashyan.”

  “What exactly are you doing?”

  “We’re destroying this place.”

  “Then I have no quarrel with you. Let me speak to Pearl.”

  “Let him come,” Sheyn called out. “It’s useless, after all.”

  Dasha stood aside, and Kholya brushed past him into the ruined chamber. Sheyn stood before what remained of the altar. The great slab of stone had been reduced to gravel and dust.

  “Did you do that?” Kholya asked.

  Sheyn nodded. “Yes, and I’ve been standing here ever since asking myself why this power wouldn’t come to me when I needed it to save Kashyan.”

  “I don’t know. I’m just a soldier,” Kholya said, and silence fell for several long moments. Twice he started to speak, and then he reached out and put a hand on the raggedly cut hair that framed Sheyn’s face.

  Through the contact of flesh on flesh, Sheyn felt Kholya’s grief. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I know you loved him too.”

  “I’ll always love him.”

  Kholya stroked Sheyn’s hair. “Are you done here?”

  “I hoped to find a way to him, a way to bring him back, but…. I’m not strong enough or smart enough.”

  Kholya had never seen anything sadder than the droop of Pearl’s proud head. “Come with me,” he said, as he’d said earlier. “Let me take you out of here. Velvet is worried sick.”

  Sheyn squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. “I don’t want to cause him pain. Now that I know what true pain is, I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “Except the Servants of Taankh.”

  “Yes. I intend to rid Kandaar of every trace of their slime.”

  “By yourself?” Kholya asked as they left the chamber.

  Sheyn glanced at Dasha, who fell in behind him. “No. Not alone.”

  “I can’t have you inciting my soldiers to mutiny.”

  “That doesn’t concern me. The only thing in my mind is the destruction of the Red Temple.”

  Kholya brooded on his thoughts as they traveled to the camp outside the city walls. He brought Sheyn to his tent and watched as Luks greeted him like a lost child returned. Dasha stood just outside the entrance until Kholya called him in.

  “We have to talk about this,” Kholya said to Sheyn. “I know, though you’re a daaksi, you feel a need to avenge Kashyan. But what happened today cannot be allowed to happen again.”

  “It will happen again,” Sheyn said. “It will happen as many times as there are temples dedicated to the worship of Taankh. I will fill them with black powder and blast them to dust.”

  “I can’t let you defy my authority by stealing my soldiers.”

  “What are you talking about?” Luks asked as he set cups of khai in front of Sheyn and Kholya. “Dasha, would you like a cup?”

  The corporal shook his head and went back to watching the entrance.

  “Pearl and the Black Hawks went into Taar Muergan and attacked the Red Temple,” Kholya said.

  “No!” Luks sat and took Sheyn’s hand. “This isn’t true, is it?”

  “Why do you say it as though it’s beyond belief?” Sheyn asked.

  “Daaksim don’t…. But you’re not an ordinary daaksi, are you?”

  “An ordinary daaksi,” Sheyn repeated. “I think I’ll do away with those as well.”

  Luks gasped.

  “Would it be so wrong?” Sheyn asked. “Why should one more boy be enslaved like this?”

  “You’re right,” Luks said. “If daaksim were the beings the Goddess intended, it would be a glorious thing, but as it is….”

  “I should make finding Yozif a priority,” Sheyn said. “If he has his freedom, he’ll keep making daaksim for whoever can pay him.”

  “I think your cause is a noble one,” Kholya said. “I agree with your goals, but I really can’t let you destroy discipline in my army.”

  Dasha cleared his throat.

  “You have something to say?” Kholya asked.

  “You could solve the problem easily, my lord,” Dasha said. “All you need do is make Pearl an officer.” He looked around at the shocked faces. “I know it’s never been done, and it will take time for some to get used to it, but if Pearl was an officer—”

  “A daaksi warrior?” Kholya interrupted. “Who will accept this?”

  “The Black Hawks already do, Commander,” Dasha said. “You should have seen him when he came to us and told us he was going to avenge the captain. Flames burned in his eyes and a light surrounded him. I fell to my knees and pledged myself to his service.”

  “You’ve already taken an oath,” Kholya reminded Dasha. “To me.”

  “I know, my lord, but I couldn’t help it. When Pearl took my hand, his light went into me and my heart was his. My comrades all say the same.”

  Kholya shook his head. “Well, I can’t execute my finest cavalry troop for treason.” He sighed. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I see no other way unless I put Pearl in chains. Dasha, see if a uniform can be found to fit Master Long Legs. And don’t forget to salute him. He’s a captain now.”

  As Dasha left, Sheyn looked at Kholya with suspicion. “What sort of trick is this?”

  “I wish it were.” Kholya took a drink of his khai. “But I think giving you a rank will cause less trouble than you enthralling my men.”

  Luks looked a bit shaken as he offered more refreshments.

  Sheyn squeezed his friend’s hand. “It’s a giddy feeling when things change quickly.”

  “I feel a bit queasy.” Luks took several deep breaths. “A daaksi warrior. Are all the old legends going to come to life?”

  “Great Raas, I hope not,” Kholya said. “I’ll go now to arrange a ceremony of passage for Kashyan. It won’t be the first time we’ve had a pyre without a body, and the men will want to pay their respects. I’ll send an escort for you at sunset.”

  “I need sleep,” Sheyn said as soon as Kholya left.

  “I’m surprised you have the energy to speak.” Luks put a pillow under Sheyn’s head. “I’ll wake you when it’s time for the fire.”

  “Thank you.” Sheyn reached out to stroke Luks’s arm. A tear trickled down his cheek and made a dark spot on the pillow.

  Luks lay down with Sheyn and held him until a messenger arrived to call them to the ceremony.

  THE SUN had set and torches had been placed around the empty platform draped with the Savaani royal flag. The vagrant wind pulled the flames into streamers of yellow silk, illuminating the wood piled at the foot of the bier. The Black Hawks stood in a single line as an honor guard, each man holding his sword aloft in tribute to their fallen leader. When Sheyn appeared, the troop dipped their weapons once in a somber salute to their captain’s bereaved daaksi.

&n
bsp; Kholya nodded to Sheyn and Luks as they took places behind him. Now that their eyes were no longer blinded by the torches, they could see the vast crowd surrounding them. It looked as though the entire Horde and all of the high king’s guests had come to say farewell to a hero.

  Taking a step forward, Kholya unsheathed his sword and began to speak. “I am not here tonight as a prince, or as your commander. I’m here as a brother. You all knew Kashyan, some better than others, but even if you never met him, you knew of him. He was already a legend while he lived. Now he’s taken his place among the great heroes. Tonight he drinks with Lahar, first king of Kandaar, and with General Uerman, who repelled the invading armies of Teijal Warmaster. And he can hold his head proudly, for his glory is equal to theirs. How many heroes can boast that they fought a God?”

  Kholya paused for a few moments, and there was not a sound other than the wind in the trees and the popping of the flames. Unable to find words, he pulled one of the torches from the ground and approached the pyre. Kholya threw the torch, and the Black Hawks raised their voices in a dirge as old as legend, singing to their captain’s memory as the oil-soaked kindling caught fire. They sang until the flames reached the empty bier and then stood their posts in silence to guard the fire until it went out. Kholya turned away and found High King Djulyan watching him.

  “May we speak?” Djulyan asked.

  “Of course, sire.” Kholya wrenched himself up from the pit of his grief. “How can I serve you?”

  “I’d wait if I could, but—”

  “Please speak your mind.”

  “Kezlath will be executed in the morning. As he has no heir, it falls to me to make the same decision I made for Sumadin.”

  “What did you decide for Sumadin?”

  “Sumadin’s queen will stand regent for Djenosh until he’s ready to rule. When that time comes, I’ll stand with him against any who oppose his rule.”

  “Yevdjen had an heir, Kezlath does not.”

  “Indeed.” Djulyan put a hand on Kholya’s shoulder. “I know this is a hard time for you, but I need you, so bear up.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “I’ve decided to put you on Muergath’s throne.”

  “Sire?”