“No. Oh, certainly, I’ll spend warriors like water to protect Den Oroshtai; I’ve sacrificed my two eldest sons in the endless wars for the good of the realm, and never have regretted the action, just the necessity. True, I’ll marry off both of my daughters to cement a tentative peace pact with lords of the Aragimlyth mountains whose forces haven’t been in the south in almost two hundred years. Yes, I’ll demand that peasants grow grain, and that cobblers make shoes, and that quarrymen quarry stone. And perhaps someday I’ll treat you as a gambling piece, to be pushed to the center of the table over an important wager.” His lips were almost white.
“But I will not do so idly, and I will not do so for the pleasure of it, and I will not do so because the power is mine, and not because it pleases or displeases a young idiot with a talent that both Den Oroshtai and the realm can use.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll do it, if I must, because it’s necessary for the good of Den Oroshtai and the realm, and only for that.” He shook his head. “But that’s too much for a bourgeois to understand, eh? Very well.” He raised his voice. “Dun Lidjun, to my side, if you please.”
I would have expected gravel to be flying through the air as Dun Lidjun ran up the path blurringly fast, but nothing of the sort happened. One moment, Toshtai and I were alone, the next Dun Lidjun had blurred into sharp motionlessness beside the fat lord, one scabbarded sword tucked diagonally through his sash, another in his hands.
“You called, Lord,” he said.
“That is Minch’s sword, as I instructed?”
“Yes, Lord,” he said, balancing it on his fists. “Nobody questioned when I removed it from his possessions on your behalf. Deren der Drumud ought to have taken charge of it, but the revelations about his master have him far too off-balance.”
“As they should. A fine blade, so I’m told.”
“Yes, lord. A particularly nice Old Lithburn, worthy of yourself.”
“Full payment for risking his life to ruin my son’s wedding; enough that honor would have compelled Minch to spend his life if need be, eh?”
“Easily worthy of it, Lord.”
Members of our beloved ruling class have this thing about swords. Me, I don’t understand it.
Toshtai nodded. “Then remove that Eisenlith from your waist, and replace it with this one, which is suitable for you.”
“But, Lord, this is even nicer than your own Greater Frosuffold—”
Toshtai raised an eyebrow. “You would argue with me, old friend?”
“No, Lord.” The old man did as he was told, slipping the late Minch’s sword into his belt with great care. If it was possible, he stood a little straighter.
“Now, present that sharp Eisenlith blade to Lord Kami, the Historical Master Dan’Shir.”
My pantaloons were secured at the top by a drawstring; all I could do was hold the scabbard in my hands.
“Remain here; a servitor will shortly arrive with a noble’s robes, including a proper sash for your fine sword.” Toshtai’s expression could have been a shallow smile, but perhaps not. “I had thought, perhaps, to elevate you someday in thanks for good service, rather than as a way to require you to see things as they are. I had thought, someday, to surprise you, after one of your sportive requests to be made a noble, by granting that request.” He sighed. “But so-be-it. Now is the time, and timing is everything, Lord Kami Dan’Shir.” He started to turn away. “One more thing.”
“Yes, Lord?”
“If I ever again hear that the phrase ‘our beloved ruling class’ has passed your lips, I’ll have Dun Lidjun slit your noble body from crotch to sternum.”
The two of them walked away, leaving me with an unpacked juggling sack and the sword.
Chapter 19
Two final courtesy calls, an uneaten bowl of soup, and other uncertainties.
The door was open, and Tebol was with Narantir high in the wizard’s tower. Something purple and murky was bubbling in a bubblelike vessel suspended over an alcohol lamp, sending wisps of steam into a coil of glass. I would have asked about it, but I saw something swimming in the vessel, and decided first that I didn’t really want to know, and then that I really didn’t want to know.
“Tebol, Narantir, you’re going to have difficulty crediting what has—”
“Ah.” Tebol stopped me with a nod. “Lord Kami Dan’Shir, the word has passed all over the keep of your well-earned promotion,” he said, while Narantir simply raised a mug and then tilted it back.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he said. “For your brilliant work in exposing Minch’s suicide. Nicely, nicely done, Lord Kami Dan’Shir.”
I felt uncomfortable in a noble’s robes, the sword through my sash constantly bumping into things. I also felt uncomfortable at the idea that I was in theory able to use this thing, and could be expected to do so to defend the lives of Lord Toshtai and his family. It might be interesting to see how quickly I could be run through, but it’s not the sort of experiment I really want to participate in.
It wasn’t the only thing I had to feel uncomfortable about, but so-be-it.
“I’m officially here for a courtesy call before we leave for Den Oroshtai in the morning,” I said. “Besides, I really did want to thank you for your help and consideration. Some wizards don’t think magic counts unless it hurts me.”
Tebol chuckled. “I wonder who the young lord thinks he speaks of, Narantir.”
I slid the sword out of my sash and thumped down into a chair.
Both Tebol and Narantir were on their feet, Narantir grunting with the effort.
“What does the young lord think that he’s doing?” Narantir asked.
“It’s called sitting down,” I said.
“No, you certainly may not,” the wizard said with a sniff. “It’s not proper. It’s one thing for us to sit around and drink with a bourgeois historical master; but nobles don’t associate so informally with the likes of us.”
But, I wanted to say, the only good time I had on this trip was sitting around with the two of you, getting drunk and playing at being owls. I would have even settled for just the drinking and the chatting.
I would have said it, but I didn’t. Not because it was somehow not the way a noble was supposed to behave, but because the two of them wouldn’t have cared.
I rose and bowed. “As you will, Narantir and Tebol.” No, if they were going to be overly formal, so could I. “As you will, Nailed Weasel and Rainy Sunrise, both users of magic.”
One last courtesy call. It was important to make them in the proper order; timing is, as my father used to say, everything.
It is amazingly easy for a member of our beloved ruling class, even a newly made one, to arrange for the loan of a horse and of a pair of warriors to accompany and guide him, although perhaps I should have picked a horse with less spirit. It was all I could do to keep on this one’s back as he insisted on cantering most of the way, threatening to flatten my buttocks and bounce my poor scrotum chest-high.
We found Penkil Ner Condigan’s house a short but painful ride away from the keep, part of a cluster of houses between a deep stream and the dark forest. I should have remembered the way from when I had come to see JenNa, a lifetime before.
I dismissed the warriors. ‘The horse knows the way back; I’ll be fine.“
It’s sometimes hard to tell who ranks who among the nobility, but surely a noble Historical Master Dan’Shir would outrank warriors on duty at the stables, particularly if he acts as though he does.
“Then we bid you a good evening, Lord,” one said, wheeling his horse about.
Penkil Ner Condigan stood, filling in the doorway of his house. More of a shack, really. His long head nodded on its thin neck. “Good evening, Lord Kami Dan’Shir,” he said, his deep bass voice a distant rumble. “Enter and be welcome.”
“I’m just here on a courtesy call, Penkil Ner Condigan,” I said. He was alone in the small, neat hut. Tools and a hiltless skinning knife were spread out over the sole table that stood
in the center of the hut, under lamplight. “I hope LonDee is well?” I asked.
“She is still at work in the keep. Our worktimes do not always overlap.” A kettle burbled gently in the fireplace. “Still, she has left me soup; may I offer you some, Lord?”
“Please,” I said. “Just a small amount.” There was no sense either in provoking Penkil Ner Condigan by refusing his hospitality or in wasting any of the soup. I had no intention of letting food or drink pass my lips in his home.
“Just as well she’s not here,” I said. “Your wife, that is.”
“Oh?” From the desperate look in his eyes, I began to wish I hadn’t dismissed the warriors.
I raised a hand. “Because she might not understand that I mean what I say, that all is well, and that I’d no more disturb things as they are than I would try to replace Large Egda at the base of a pyramid.”
His face was blank. “I’m sure I don’t understand.”
I sat down. “Just as well you don’t. Like I don’t understand how easy it would be for somebody who works in the kitchens below to signal out the window when Lord Minch was calling for an evening snack.
“Like I don’t understand how it would be possible for somebody in the tree in the courtyard then to fire an arrow through the screen and into Lord Minch.
“Like I don’t understand how Minch’s attempt to embarrass Arefai made the idea of doing so with an arrow with three golden bands delightful to somebody with a reason to hate not only Minch, but all of our beloved ruling class.”
His hand didn’t shake as he ladled me out a generous bowl full of soup. “Since you don’t understand all this, perhaps you wouldn’t understand the reason.”
“Reason? To hate our beloved ruling class?” I laughed. “For a man who lost his daughter—a lovely girl, I remember—to a passing lord who thought he honored her by making her his concubine? What ever happened to JenNa, Penkil Ner Condigan?”
“He could have raised her and taken her as wife. Or he could have seen that she was properly taken care of when he tired of her. But he didn’t.” He looked me in the eye. “She lives with a peasant in Merth’s Bridge, as his woman. My daughter works the fields, Kami Khuzud,” he said. “He did it. And you knew?”
“I guessed, which was close enough.” I laughed, but it sounded hollow. “The servitor in the hall with the domed tray told me that Minch had called for some food. The tension when we first met—the last thing a man with murder on his mind wants to meet is a discoverer-of-truths, eh? The killer had fired from outside, he had to have a way to locate Minch specifically—what better way than to watch for a signal from the kitchens below, then fire at the spot where you knew Minch had to be, eh? You were almost too late, Penkil Ner Condigan; he had turned away from the speaking tube, and was preparing to walk away. Another moment and you would have missed him.”
He ignored the taunt. “Why didn’t you expose me, then?”
I shrugged. “When I could take this sense of honor that our beloved ruling class claims to own and wrap it about Minch’s neck? When I could by implication bring Demick in on it and raise my status at no cost?” Now that was worth a laugh. “Getting the blame off Arefai was guaranteed to earn me Demick’s enmity; I might as well accuse him of having put Minch up to suicide, since he clearly put him up to the whole confrontation with Arefai in the first place.”
Toshtai had worked that out.
But even Toshtai hadn’t looked through the delusion of honor, part of the myth of themselves that the nobility wrapped themselves in. Minch? Honor? How could a man who stole another’s arrows to force a false accusation have any sense of honor, much less so strong a one that he would kill himself to fulfill a promise?
But they all would rather admire the dead for his honor and resolution than think of what a worm he was when alive.
“You haven’t had your soup.” Penkil Ner Condigan seemed eager, whether out of hospitality or because of some poison I didn’t know, and didn’t much care. I wasn’t going to have the soup, after all. I forced a chuckle.
“Nor will I; you may trust me not to risk that. As you can trust that I’ll leave the… substance of this courtesy call between you and me, Penkil Ner Condigan.”
“Then why?”
I didn’t really have an answer for him. Perhaps it was because I wanted to repay him for the discomfort he used to ladle out when I came to call on JenNa. Perhaps it was because Penkil Ner Condigan had always looked down on me that just once I wanted him to see me as a noble, to fear me. Perhaps it was because I am a dan’shir, and there is something of a revealer of truth in the discoverer-of-truth.
Or, perhaps, I just couldn’t stand the thought of somebody thinking that he could fool me.
I felt his eyes on my back as I walked out the door, climbed onto the unsteady back of the horse, and rode away.
Part Three
Den Oroshtai
Chapter 20
A journey’s end. A greeting, a request for simplicity, and nothing more.
I found her at the very head of the hour of the snake, moments after sunset, that magical time when the indirect light of the fading sun turns the white stones of the east garden all red and golden, the colors fading moment by moment as the evening comes on.
She was in the east garden, perched on the edge of a white stone bench under a spreading saltblossom tree. The tree was just shy of the bloom: in two, perhaps three, days, broad red flowers the size of dinner plates would spread their pink-veined leaves, long pistils and stamens exuding a soft scent that would make this part of the garden smell like a sunspattered beach of the Inner Sea.
But now the long buds, red as TaNai’s lips, hung just out of reach, promising what they would not yet give. Which is fine with me. Not yet, after all, is not a refusal, but just a postponement. There are things worth waiting for.
As usual, she was dressed in well-made cotton robes, these striped diagonally in a muted yellow and a rich black that went well with her glossy black hair. Lord Toshtai is not stingy with his retainers; she could have afforded cheap silk, but preferred good cotton.
She had been looking away from me, but when I cleared my throat, she turned.
She rose and bowed her head. “Lord Kami Dan’Shir,” she said, lifting her eyes to meet mine. “Your fame precedes you.”
Some things I can count on: TaNai’s eyes will always be warm and brown in my memory, as they were that moment when they rested on mine. Tonight her creamy complexion was untouched by any hint of whitening, not even along her elegant gracious nose, or at the cheekbones, one caressed by a strand of hair that had escaped the knot at the back of her head. I liked her that way.
“TaNai, please. Kami Dan’Shir, or just Kami.” I spread my hands. “Please.”
Her smile neither promised nor conceded anything. “As you wish, of course.”
I’d had a speech prepared, something modeled on Arefai’s hunting speech, something about how I had gone off and proved myself, and hoped that I had earned my present station in her eyes, but in my mind the words sounded too rehearsed, too practiced, too much the product of artifice, not feeling.
“It’s good to see you,” I said. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you.”
That sounded much better than Well, I would have missed you a lot if I hadn’t been busy trying to keep my head on my shoulders. It sounded much, much better than And if Arefai’s wife-to-be, now his wife, hadn’t been busy in satisfying slightly less basic needs. As I may have mentioned, a dan’shir is a discoverer-of-truth, and only a revealer of truth when advisable.
Besides, it was true.
She smiled, as though she had seen through me. “It’s been too quiet without you. You tend to bring excitement along with you. I guess that comes from growing up with an acrobatic troupe, yes?”
I nodded. “There is that.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment, and I didn’t know what words would break it.
She tilted her head to one side. “Kami Dan’Shi
r, why are you here? What do you want?”
“What do I want?” I had to laugh. I couldn’t remember anybody asking me that before.
There are harder questions to answer.
“I want everything, TaNai,” I said. She smiled at that. “I want to sit in a hot bath and soak all ache from my road-tired bones and muscles, instead of the too-quick washing I allowed myself so that I’d be fit company this evening. And I want a fine bow and arrows, and an appropriate set of leathers, and to learn how to use them well, because I’ve apparently developed something of a reputation as an archer, and I may as well grow into it. I don’t want to have to learn how to use this sword, but I want to resign myself to it, as Dun Lidjun himself has promised me lessons, and I have neither the heart to deny the old man that nor the courage to confront him.
“And I want to stretch out on the soft grasses at a particular spot outside the keep, over by the south wall, a flat spot of sweet-smelling grass edged by an ancient and untrustworthy retaining wall, where the night is alive with smells of mint and must and the distant tamo of owls, and I want to think about many things, about just how honest Lord Toshtai has been with me, how much of a friend Arefai will be, and how great a danger Edelfaule might be.
“I want to figure out just where I belong and what being a dan’shir means—not what it means to Lord Toshtai, not what it means for D’Shai, but what it means to me. And I very much want to figure out who Kami Dan’Shir is, because that seems to keep changing.
“But right now, just at this very moment, what I most want is to hold a lovely woman in my arms, one who wants to be with me just for me, one who wants some things to be complicated enough to be interesting but this thing between us to be simple and direct right now because this is a time for simplicity, and timing…”
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