The Soldier's Lotus

by Adonis Devereux

  “And who are these Chamri?” asked Kamen. He looked over her shoulder at the scroll, and she breathed in his sandal-wood scent.

  “They are a powerful Zenji clan,” said Saerileth. “They have, in the past few years, moved from powerful to most powerful. They are the only clan left with the ancient pearl-diving skill. Until thirteen years ago, there was one other clan with this skill, one that possessed it in even greater amounts. But that clan was wiped out.”

  “And what does this have to do with Ulen?” asked the general.

  “You learned all this from the scroll?” Kamen laid his hand on Saerileth’s wrist.

  “No, not from the scroll. I have some little knowledge of the Zenji political situation.” She pulled away from Kamen’s clasp. “The scroll is the record of Ulen’s trade with the Chamri clan. They have sold pearls to him, and to him alone, for thirteen years.”

  “How can you tell that they sold the pearls to Ulen only?” asked Kamen.

  “I know the general number of pearls the Zenji take annually. In the numbers that Ulen’s records show, they can have been trading with no one else.”

  “Is there anything you do not know?” General Lomenin did not seem to want a reply.

  “And what is the result? The meaning?” Kamen took the scroll from her and handed her another.

  The Chamri owe their position to Ulen. They owe their wealth to him. He gave it to them by slaughtering my clan. “The Chamri must owe Ulen much. They will fight for him. He has made them great with their trade.” Saerileth opened the scroll Kamen had handed her.

  “You are sure they will fight for him?” asked the general.

  “Yes.” Saerileth read over the second scroll. “And these are more of the same. More records, but more recent.”

  “I brought all three scrolls I could not read.” Kamen handed her the third.

  “He has mercenaries from the Dimadan,” said Saerileth, looking over the further accounts.

  “Then he must not trust his soldiers entirely.” Kamen nodded.

  “That is good news.” General Lomenin poured out three mugs of beer.

  “Excellent news.” Saerileth looked up, and she saw her own joy reflected in Kamen’s eyes. Her vengeance was glowing in her mind. The leader of the Chamri clan. He would die by her hand. She and Darien would live in peace.

  “Do we know if he plans to issue forth from the city? To meet us in the field before the walls of Arinport?” General Lomenin unrolled the battle-map once more.

  “There is nothing to show in these scrolls,” said Saerileth, and it was difficult to answer. She had met the Chamri clan leader once. His name was Talex Chamri, the third of that name, and he was forty-seven years old. And he was her enemy. He was also likely in Arinport right now.

  “He said that they weren’t planning to go out to war. He said that they would wait for the ‘Vadal invaders’ to grow tired of waiting pointlessly by the gates.”

  “He does not trust his men even to meet us in battle?” Saerileth forced herself to speak. Talex Chamri is my foe; his death is mine.

  “He has given out that King Jahen is dead, that the only scion left of the line of the Sunjaa king is himself.” Kamen turned apologetically to the general. “We are a people of words, of law, and our royal line has continued unbroken since the dawn of writing. Ulen has taken up residence in the royal palace, for he is unanimously acclaimed king.”

  “So if Captain Darien can break through the guard around the port, then—”

  “When.” Darien’s name broke through the fog of blood that filled Saerileth’s mind. “Not if, sir. When. My Master shall succeed.”

  “And now I must take the scrolls back again.” Kamen rolled them up. “If Ulen doesn’t know they’ve been taken, then he won’t know that we know his plans.”

  “These scrolls,” said Saerileth, “tell us nothing of his plans. They tell us of his past, of how he obtained the money to pull off this coup, but only your words tell of the plans. Do not go back, Lord Itenu.”

  Kamen stared at her, and Saerileth felt the weight of his gaze as a burning brand on her skin. She forced her breath into evenness, lest pity for Kamen touch her.

  Then the name of Talex Chamri swept away everything but Darien. She wanted to present Darien with the proof of her vengeance, and then they would couple. She would no longer have any duty to her lost clan, and she would make a new clan with Darien.

  “If you will excuse me, General, Lord Itenu.” Saerileth left her beer untouched as well. She nodded to them both and retired to the tent she had shared with Darien. Once there, she traced in the dirt of the floor the boar of the Kesandrahn house. The boar sigil, the sign of her lost clan. She would show it to Darien, and he would kiss her.

  ****

  “Lotus?”

  Saerileth stirred. She had slept, though not well, and she was rested enough. Three days. Three days since Darien had gone, and she slept badly still. She recognized the voice of the general’s page. “I await the general’s pleasure.” She rose, shaking out her hair.

  “The general needs you at once.”

  Saerileth heard the urgency in the boy’s voice, and she pulled her pallav up over her face. “Take me to him.”

  “Please, Lotus.” The general was not sitting, and his face was grey. “Lord Itenu did not listen to you, Lotus. He returned to Arinport.”

  Saerileth closed her eyes. She had been avoiding Kamen, avoiding any place where he might have been, for Darien’s sake. “When did he go?”

  “The night that he returned.”

  Abrexa’s chain! Saerileth spoke quietly. “He expected to return before now then, sir?”

  “Yes, Lotus. What should I tell the captain when he returns?”

  “You shan’t have to tell him anything,” said Saerileth. “For I shall fetch back Lord Itenu.”

  “You can’t!” The general reached out toward her, but Saerileth ducked beneath his arm and popped up behind him. Her breath was in his ear.

  “I can. And I shall not let my Master return to find his first mate lost.”

  “I think I might change my mind about getting a Lotus of my own.” The general chuckled as Saerileth stepped away from him. “They’re dangerous.”

  “Very.” Saerileth smiled. “But we are also strong allies.” And better concubines. I love you, Darien, and for your sake, I will bring you Kamen Itenu.

  ****

  Slipping through the streets of Arinport brought back to Saerileth her happy days there. The realization that she had spent more time with Darien wandering the desert than she had spent with him in his house struck her like a blow. She kept to the shadows. The city was just as busy, just as full of life, as it had been when Darien had brought her here. She did not, of course, make her way directly to the royal palace. She needed to see the best way to get Kamen back out of the city. She could not know if Kamen would be able to walk when she got to him. She sighed. Kamen was, though not nearly Darien’s size, far larger than she. She would need a horse.

  Or a boat.

  She turned toward the side of the city where Darien’s house had stood. His garden had looked over the sea. She had seen a small skiff there, and if it still were there, she could use it to get Kamen out into the sea. She would not go through the harbor proper; she would cling to the coast and get up to the beach. She needed only to get Kamen within sight of the Vadal army, and then she could get him out, give him to Darien.

  The skiff was there, but when she saw it, Saerileth could not even think of it. Instead she saw the black ashes of Darien’s house as a scar on the face of Arinport. Ulen had wronged Darien, and she would rejoice to see Darien take his vengeance on the one who had flogged him.

  Saerileth traced a boar in the ashes. The Kesandrahn boar would rise from the ashes Ulen had made and gore the Chamri leader to death.

  When Saerileth reached the royal palace, it was ablaze with light. With an army at his gates, Ulen feasted his nobles. This could only mean that he needed their g
ood-will. She smiled. This would make her task easier. She had been in the royal palace twice, and that was more than enough for a Lotus. She knew its corridors, knew its halls. It would not take her long.

  It took her even less time than she had expected. Saerileth kept to the shadows, and she had thought to have to pass around the festival, to search through the whole palace – but she had learned the sound of Kamen’s voice. She could make it out over the sounds of the music, over the sounds of the feasting, over the sounds of the singing.

  Kamen was screaming, screaming in agony.

  She was able to hide in the shadows of the palace, for they were many; and the dungeons were the darkest of all.

  She paused outside the door from whence the sounds issued. The cries there were so loud that Saerileth had difficulty in making out the number of others in the room. She heard, too, the weakening of Kamen’s cries. The time was too short. She could not wait further.

  Saerileth pushed open the door and tumbled into the room. She had judged Kamen’s location by his screams, and she assumed that there would be at least two others, one on either side of him. There might be a third, probably by the door.

  There was a third. Saerileth would have to save the third for last. She could not afford to leave the torturers alone even a moment longer. The two torturers had blades, short and bloody ones, but the guard on the door had a sword.

  Saerileth tumbled behind the torturer whose blade was still in Kamen’s flesh. Her fingers flew quickly, and the Katipo Form held him motionless. She grasped the blade from his hands, pulling it from Kamen’s skin. He would have scars to match Darien’s.

  She lifted the blade in one smooth motion, ending her arc in the fleshy underpart of the jaw of the other torturer.

  The sword-wielding guard charged her then, but his cries were not so loud as Kamen’s had been. She did not fear discovery. She had, she judged, ten minutes before the paralyzed one came out of it. That would be plenty of time.

  The sword danced in front of her face, and Saerileth ducked beneath it. Low was easier when she was smaller than her foe – and she was usually smaller. She still had a dagger, too, and that was more than she needed. She tumbled backward, and she felt Kamen’s bloody flesh brushing against her thighs. Then the dagger flew from her hand as though it had a will of its own. It buried itself in the eye of her foe. Saerileth darted over to snap the neck of her paralyzed enemy, and then she was back at Kamen’s side.

  “Lord Itenu.” She spoke low and urgently into his ear. “Can you hear me?”

  A short groan was the only reply.

  Saerileth looked over his ravaged flesh as she unfastened the manacles that held his arms and legs. The cuts on his chest and back were deep, but the torturers had been skillful. None of the cuts individually was life-threatening, and though the overall blood loss and shock had nearly killed him, with care, he would live. She pulled gently on his arm, trying to lift him. She was a skilled martial artist, but her strength, though great for her size, was not enough to carry Kamen for very long. They would do better if she could get him to shuffle along and lean on her.

  “Lord Itenu.” She reached into her pallav and pulled out two pungent herbs. She poured a small amount of each into her palm and spat on the mixture. Using her saliva, she made a paste, which she then rubbed on Kamen’s upper lip, just below his nostrils.

  “Lord Itenu,” she said again. This time, with the aid of the smelling salts on his lip, Kamen managed to open his eyes.

  “Saerileth?”

  “I’ve come to take you back to meet my master.” She tugged on his arm again. “But you will have to help me. I need you to walk a bit.”

  “Why?” Kamen’s eyes still held the delirium of pain-induced shock.

  “I can’t carry you the whole way.” Saerileth avoided answering the question she knew he meant.

  Still groaning, Kamen struggled to sit. “You’re an angel. You saved me – and Darien wasn’t even there. You could’ve let me die.”

  “Don’t speak.” Saerileth helped him to his feet, and he leaned heavily on her shoulders. She could feel his blood dripping down her skin.

  For a long while Kamen obeyed, and when he did not speak even when Saerileth had to leave him propped against the wall to dispatch three guards, she hoped that he would be silent until they returned to the Vadal camp.

  Her hopes crashed around her as, so soon as the palace was well behind them, Kamen said, “I love Darien, but you – you’re too—”

  “Do not say anything, Lord Itenu.” Saerileth judged it would take them an hour to reach the skiff, as Kamen’s speed was excruciatingly slow. She hoped that the herbs she would have to give him to keep him on his feet so long would not overtax his weakened system. And they were leaving a trail of blood.

  “But, Saerileth—”

  “I am a Lotus, Lord Itenu.” Saerileth removed her pallav and, with as much gentleness as if he had been little King Jahen, she wrapped the silk around his torn flesh. “That should absorb enough blood to keep us from being tracked by it.”

  “Saerileth—”

  She stopped still and fixed Kamen’s dark and glowing eyes with her own. “I saved you because my Master loves you, because he considers you his brother. I do not love you, Lord Itenu, and you really must not love me. My Master has spoiled you for any other man. Do not let me spoil you for women.”

  “Thank you, Lotus.”

  “We have far to go, Lord Itenu.” And Saerileth led him through the darkness of Arinport and thought of Darien’s pleasure in knowing Kamen still lived. It would, she thought, almost equal her pleasure when Talex Chamri, her true enemy, died.

  Chapter Eighteen

  From the quarterdeck, Darien could see a black outline of a horse in the center of a white flag flying from the main mast of the largest Zenji ship blocking Arinport’s harbor. He looked over the rest of the ships with his spyglass, not surprised to see them all flying the same flag. It was one of the Zenji clans, but Darien did not know which. The captain collapsed the spyglass by slamming it against the palm of his hand. He handed it to Ruben as he turned to appraise his own force. Twenty ships floated behind him – twenty, the best of the Sunjaa navy. He would sink every last Zenji ship that dared bar his way into the city.

  Darien took in a deep lungful of salty sea-air. “Man the ballistae!”

  “Man the ballistae,” Ruben said without pause, his voice a perfect echo of his captain’s.

  “Ready pitch and flame,” Darien said. “Prepare the catapults.”

  Ruben cried out the orders. As the men sprang to work, climbing ropes and masts, scurrying this way and that, Darien caught a glint of light out of the corner of his eye. The other ships were signaling with hand-held mirrors. Ruben’s expression of expectation silently asked for an answer to his unasked question.

  “Tell them,” Darien said. “We’re going to attack.”

  Ruben smiled. “The Zenji are about to get the lesson that every other civilization seems to already know.”

  “What’s that?” Darien kept his eyes fixed on the distant Zenji fleet.

  “Don’t get into a sea-war with the Sunjaa.”

  Darien’s heart raced in anticipation of battle, his senses keen to the excitement of his men, all seasoned warriors who had seen a decade of sailing. “Make haste, boys,” he called out across the main deck of Mirsa’s Crown. We got unwanted company.”

  The men sent up a communal war-cry, and Darien took in another lungful of that crisp, clean air he loved so much. It was going to be a glorious battle. All was set in order, and that familiar quiet before a battle fell over the Crown. Darien would give the order to turn the prow toward the harbor, and they would sail straight for Arinport. Once they were within striking distance, he would turn the ship and fire. The other ships would come in behind him at staggered angles along parallel lines so as to avoid hitting their countrymen. This is how Darien had taken Fihdal ports in the occasional skirmishes. And this was how he would wrench Ar
inport from the clutches of a brutish usurper.

  “Come about,” Darien said, “and take us in.”

  The deck rose under Darien’s feet as the ship turned, but the captain bent his knees and leaned into the shifting motion. Ruben flashed the signal to the trailing ships, and they signaled back their acknowledgement. Arinport’s captivity would soon be ended, and the Zenji fleet would find itself in the dark depths of the sea. Darien donned his leather helmet and fastened its strap under his chin. He thought of Saerileth and wished she could see what glories he would win for his people.

  Darien took the spyglass again. He wanted to see his enemies’ movements and preparations. He had never fought Zenji before, and he did not know what to expect. What he saw confused him, for the Zenji sailors did nothing but stand on the decks of their ships and stare out to sea at the approaching Sunjaa fleet. Darien tilted the spyglass up slightly, and then he saw it: the horse flag was gone. Only a plain white one flew in its place.

  Darien handed the spyglass to Ruben. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  Ruben took the glass but did not immediately look, instead giving Darien a questioning glance. Darien nodded toward the city.

  Ruben looked and laughed. “Those pale bastards surrendered? Without a shot fired?”

  Darien took the spyglass and looked again, wanting to confirm that the Zenji indeed wished to capitulate. “Why would Ulen put a Zenji fleet in Arinport’s harbor if they aren’t prepared to fight?”

  Ruben shrugged and thumbed over his shoulder. “They’re prepared to scare off a single Sunjaa ship, maybe. But a united Sunjaa fleet? I think these Zenji are smarter than we give them credit for.”

  They were Saerileth’s people, a race that had given the world the Red Lotuses. The Zenji must be a sensible people, so they must have known they could not defeat the Sunjaa navy. Why send your ships to the bottom of the sea when you can just go home? Darien gave the order for the fleet to stand down.