Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2)

by Ann Somerville

  “Traitor! He killed my son!” That was a woman, but there were more men, it seemed to Arman, hastily trying to assess the nature of the threat while protecting himself, not entirely successfully. More rocks flew, becoming a veritable hail of missiles, and forcing them to take cover near the calash. One hit Arman on the forehead, cutting him. He tried to shelter Urso from the rain of stones, but they came from all directions. The jesigs were screaming in terror now, bucking in their traces, and it was impossible to mount the carriage while they were rocking it about. The courthouse guards had run down the stairs and were trying to keep the crowd back, but there were only ten of them, and dozens of angry rock-throwers.

  “Urso, jump in if you can, keep your...uh....” Arman grunted and staggered as another rock hit the back of his head, dazing him, and knocking him flat on his face

  “Arman!” Urso yelled, as he bent over him, trying to cover him. One of the Darshianese soldiers pulled Arman up by the arm and pushed him into the bucking calash. More rocks struck, as well as rotting fruit. Above the stench of that, Arman could smell smoke. Dazed, he lifted his head—some of the men were carrying torches. This was getting incredibly out of hand—where in hells were the Prijian soldiers?

  He staggered to his feet and grabbed the reins of the calash from the soldier still trying to control the animals. The vehicle shuddered as one of the jesigs dropped onto its hindquarters with a squeal, and only the combined efforts of Arman on the reins and the soldier holding the bridles stopped the other one bolting. Something struck the carriage wood, sending splinters flying. “Someone’s got a pissing slingshot—get us out of here, damn it! Urso, get your arse in here!”

  Urso stood from his crouch on the ground, as the soldier sheltering with him leapt into the driving seat and grabbed the reins from Arman. “Urso!” Arman held out his hand. “Get in!” Another rock hit his cheek—blood ran freely down his face now and he had a painful knot on the back of his head.

  Urso clambered onto the steps, but fell forward suddenly. “Urso!” Arman pulled him all the way into the carriage. “Move, damn you!” he yelled at the soldier in the driving seat as his companion swung quickly up beside him. “Urso!” He knelt down—there was a depression on Urso’s temple, the skin broken and starting to bleed. At least the pissing calash was moving, though the missiles continued to rain down, striking Arman’s head and back as he leaned over Urso to protect him. The soldiers used their spears and the driving whip to force their way through the crowd. Arman kept down low, below the sides of the calash. The man with the slingshot was too damn deadly. Why in hells had the embassy decided to go for an open carriage today of all days?

  Even with the injured animal, sheer panic lent wings to the feet of the jesigs and they left the crowd behind as they raced towards the embassy. A burning torch was thrown into the carriage but the second soldier was too quick in tossing it out for it to do any damage, and then they were beyond the range of the projectiles. The rioters pursued them for a minute or two and the sounds of the curses and shouts of ‘Traitor’ followed them. Arman feared they would chase them to the embassy and blockade it, but so far, they were succeeding in their escape. But where had the Prijian soldiers been? There had been a unit stationed near the courthouse in Arman’s day, and things had gone on long enough for them to arrive. If he didn’t know better, he would swear that riot had been organised with official approval. And in fact, he didn’t know better.

  Urso hadn’t moved. His breathing was ragged and his colour looked wrong. Arman could do nothing for him in the swiftly moving, rocking carriage, except to support his head and protect him from further injury. Arman’s heart was still pounding, his body having readied itself for a fight and got none. The blows he’d taken had not been slight and he was beginning to feel them, particularly the one to the back of his head, but they were a background concern to his worry about Urso. He willed the jesigs to move faster and prayed the embassy healer was a good one.

  The soldiers driving the calash bellowed at the embassy guards to open the gate and they were whisked through it and round to the front of the building. Guards and clerks came running immediately. “Get the healer! Urso’s hurt!” Arman yelled.

  He let the soldiers lift Urso carefully from the calash, but knocked away the hands reaching up to help him. He regretted that as soon as he tried to stand up and discovered just how dazed he was. He was helped down despite his objections. Urso was carried quickly into the embassy. Arman followed more slowly. Inside he found Yuko shouting orders for Urso to be taken to one of the rooms, and for ‘Ado’, whom Arman presumed was the healer. Urso had already been taken away by the time Yuko caught sight of him. “Gods! Arman, what happened?”

  “At a guess, Mekus,” he muttered, wishing he could sit, but then someone more alert than he was brought a chair and he collapsed onto it. Another someone—a healer, a medic—prodded at the bruises and cuts on his face while Yuko loomed over him. “There was a riot when we left the courthouse. Dozens of people. Urso...someone used a slingshot. More than one, I think. They were well-prepared.”

  Yuko hissed in a breath. “Because of you?”

  “Because of me, and because someone told them I would be there. Would you stop that?” he snapped as the medic poked a cut.

  “It needs to be bandaged, Arman, and you should probably lie down,” Yuko said. “You don’t look well.”

  Arman ignored the advice. “Urso?”

  “The healer’s with him. I need to send for his wife.”

  Arman realised Yuko’s tight-lipped control would not last much longer. “Go to him.”

  “Will you let Wildi check your injuries, please?” At Arman’s nod, Yuko turned to the medic and ordered him to take Arman to his own office, before he swept off in the direction in which Urso had been taken.

  Arman was helped to Yuko’s office and made to sit while his cuts were cleaned and he was checked over. The medic thought he hadn’t got a concussion, but that he would feel the head wound for a while. His shoulders and arms had sustained bruises too and one of the cuts on his face was deep enough to need a stitch. When the man was done, and Arman was left alone, he rested his head on his arms and cursed their own stupidity, but Mekus’s duplicity most of all. That had all been organised somehow by the slimy bastard, and he couldn’t help but be surprised at how brazen Mekus had been. For all the man was in high favour now, Arman found it hard to believe he thought he could get away with such a blatant attempt at murder.

  He rested like that for a while, letting his head throb, hoping Urso would be all right, and wondering what the custody suit was going to mean for him.

  The door opened behind him, and he twisted to see Yuko come in. His face spoke of bad news. “Urso just died,” he said quietly. “He never regained consciousness. His wife doesn’t know yet. She’s gone out with their daughter, so I’ve sent people looking for her.”

  And Urso had said they were expecting another child. “Oh gods. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not sorry,” Yuko said through gritted teeth. “I’m furious. Tell me exactly what happened, starting with the court case.” Arman told him, and what had happened before they left the building. Yuko’s expression, usually so genial, grew colder and colder. “I think,” he said tightly, “I need to ask the Rulers to intervene. We will not tolerate our citizens being attacked and killed for the crime of attending judicial hearings in Prijian territory.”

  “I can’t express my regret enough. It’s all my fault.”

  “No, it’s not,” Yuko snapped. “Forgive me, Arman, but this is more important than your domestic dispute, and you need feel no responsibility here.”

  There was a knock at the door, and a young man put his head around it. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Urso’s wife is here.”

  Yuko stood immediately. “I must see her. Would you mind staying here for a while? It’s probably easiest—I can have a message sent to your father that you’re safe here—and I need to discuss a few matters with yo
u before I speak to Lord Meki.”

  “Of course,” Arman murmured. “One thing—could you delay passing your report on to Darshek until I have a chance to speak to Kei directly? And Karik’s parents? I don’t want them to panic.”

  “Yes, I understand. Nothing will happen until I come back. Davi, would you see if Arman needs anything? I’ll be back at some point—I may be a while, though.”

  “Take the time you need,” Arman said, not envying him the task of telling a pregnant woman that her husband was dead from a pointless act of malice.

  Young Davi asked him if he would like to rest, or change his clothes. Arman grimaced, realising his shirt was liberally spattered with blood, and agreed to be taken to a guest bedroom so he could rinse it out and rest while Yuko did his sad duty. He lay on the bed with his arm over his eyes. He too had bad news to break, and wondered if it would be better to tell Jena himself, or let Kei tell her. Telling Kei about this wouldn’t be enjoyable either—all it would do was to convince Arman’s lover that he should have come to Utuk with him, and with Arman possibly marooned for a month, Kei might just take it into his head to come down anyway. That would be potentially disastrous.

  Gods. Poor Urso—what a terrible loss of a good man. Worth ten, even a hundred of a man like Mekus, but of course the Prij would never see it that way. Which was why their nation was shattering under the curse of an incompetent and greedy government, while Darshian had preserved civil peace for nearly two hundred years. Arman had had many discussions with the Rulers over the last sixteen years about what it would mean for Darshian if Kuprij slid into anarchy, or succumbed to the ever-present threat from the war-like tribes in the southern seas. Darshian was as ready as it could be. Arman very much doubted Kuprij was.

  He was left for long enough that he fell asleep, but when he woke, startled by someone’s presence in the room, he knew he could not have been out for more than a few minutes. It was Yuko of course. “Sorry, Arman, I know you must need to sleep off your headache, but there are things I need to do.”

  Arman sat up and pulled the borrowed robe around him. He felt thick-headed and his head still pounded unpleasantly. “I know. How is Kerti?”

  “Utterly distraught, but she’s resting and Ado will stay with her. She wants to take his body home—she says she doesn’t want these bastards to have it. Not that I blame her,” he said, passing a hand over his weary face. “But speaking of these bastards, the palace has had the nerve to send a messenger to say that you’re to remain out of sight unless required at the courthouse. That means being here or at your father’s. They say if there is another disturbance, they will arrest you to preserve public order.”

  “They what? Oh, those damn, pissing....” Arman ground his teeth. “I intend to keep a low profile, but if they arrest me on those grounds....”

  “Then Lord Peika and the others will just send a gunboat in and blast you out. I need to report this as soon as possible. If you want to speak to Kei first, can you do so now? This needs an official response, but it’s beyond my authority.”

  “Yes, I know. Gods, what overweening pieces of urs shit. He meant me to be killed, you realise.”

  Yuko nodded, his lips pressed tightly together in suppressed anger. “He certainly meant someone to be killed—and he succeeded. Urso deserved a better fate. He was a friend. A good friend.”

  “He was a friend of mine too, and I assure you, this won’t be forgotten. Let me talk to Kei—where is your mind-speaker?”

  “Let me call her.”

  Arman felt rather underdressed, but his shirt was still damp from where he’d scrubbed off the blood, so he left it drying near the washroom stove. While they waited for the mind-speaker, Yuko clarified the sequence of events as Arman had told them. Arman told him there was nothing to connect Mekus directly with the riot, only his gut instinct. “Which, unfortunately, is not proof in a court’s eyes nor her Serenity’s,” he added.

  “This will never get to a court. But that won’t stop the Rulers kicking up a stink about this.”

  Arman laid a hand on Yuko’s arm. “Is that not what Mekus wants? His son is trying to provoke another war, so I hear from my brother, to distract the population from their discontent with Kita.”

  Yuko nodded. “Yes, we know. But at the same time, our citizens must be protected.”

  “It’s only me. No one else is threatened.”

  “Yet,” Yuko said grimly as a knock came on the door and a young woman came in, looking as if she had recently been crying. “Thank you, Misi. For the moment, please don’t go through Jena in Ai-Albon for this.”

  She nodded, took Arman’s hand in hers and then concentrated. Only a short time later, Arman heard Kei’s voice in his head. “Arman? Gods, it’s so good to hear from you.”

  “Same here, but I’m afraid it’s not good news I’m bearing.”

  Kei listened in silence to the sorry tale. “Oh, gods. Poor Urso. Poor Kerti. Arman—”

  “Please don’t say it, Kei. I don’t want you anywhere near Utuk now, it’s too damn dangerous.”

  “All right, but you know damn well we never expected something like this when we discussed it.”

  “No, I know. Look, someone needs to tell Jena and Reji that there’s a delay. I’d do it myself but...well, I’m afraid I might upset them just because I’m off balance. Can you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I haven’t spoken to my lawyer yet so I really can’t tell them how hopeful the prospect of winning this is. And the other thing is that I want someone with Lord Meki when Yuko passes on his report. Ask Lord Peika or Lady Teri to make sure he doesn’t try and handle it. The Prij always get his blood boiling and we can’t take that risk.”

  “I can hardly conceal this from him. Not when you’re involved.”

  “Try to downplay as best you can?” Arman pleaded. “I can’t bear the idea of him being made ill or worse because of this, and it could get very messy.” He thought best to conceal exactly how messy it might get—there was no point in getting Kei upset over something that might not happen.

  “Please don’t provoke them,” Kei said. So his lover with his sharp mind had already worked out what might come. Sometimes Arman wished Kei was a stupid man—it was impossible to fool him.

  “I won’t. There’s too much at risk, not least Karik, of course, but also the safety of all our people here. I won’t lie to you—it’s a dangerous situation. But right now, if we’re careful, we can keep it limited to Mekus and me. We didn’t realise he would go so far and Urso paid the price for that. No one here will make that mistake again.”

  “I understand. Are you all right?”

  Arman hesitated. He hadn’t told Kei he’d been slightly injured and didn’t plan to—it would only worry him more. “I’m fine. My father and brother have been supportive.”

  “I’m glad of that. It just feels wrong not to be there.”

  “It feels wrong not to have you here. But I need you there more than ever. Gyo arrived?”

  “Yes, quite safe. Still very upset, of course, but it was right for him to come back, and now all this has happened, I’m even more glad he did. Mis took him home immediately. He’ll be fine once Karik is safe home too.”

  “Yes, of course.” No point in saying that event was by no means assured. Kei knew that too. “If it’s any consolation, you can tell Jena and Reji that I’m sure Karik is in good health. He’s probably not enjoying things much, but Mekus has no reason to harm him. Not physically.”

  “Karik’s strong,” Kei said firmly. “He won’t let Mekus crush him.”

  Privately, Arman doubted a boy of Karik’s age could stand up to that evil bastard, when Mekus could rattle even Arman with all his experience and preparation. “The very worst that can happen—and please don’t say this to them—is that he will be stuck here for two years and then he can leave of his own volition. But I won’t let it come to that, if it’s humanly possible to avoid it.”

  “You’ll succeed, Arman. I hav
e faith in you.” The rock-solid certainty in Kei’s voice was humbling—but Arman really wasn’t sure he could live up to it.

  “I’ll do my very best. Kei, Yuko needs to report to the Rulers.”

  “Yes, I know. Give me half an hour to catch Peika and Teri. Will you be at the embassy from now on?”

  “No, I’ll go back. My father would be insulted if I didn’t and I can’t blame him. Beside, Mekus will never dare incite a riot where my father lives. Gods, he has senators on all sides of his house, and Mekus’s brother still lives in that same street. The embassy is much more vulnerable—it’s best if I keep away from it as much as I can. But if you need to get me a message urgently, Yuko will pass it on. I’ll keep you informed one way or another.”

  “Do what you need to do and come home. I miss you.”

  “And I you, always. I have to go.”

  “Be safe, Arman.”

  The connection was abruptly broken, and Arman blinked. He glanced around, and found Yuko looking at him enquiringly. “He’ll do what he can to buffer the news for Lord Meki. Uh—I didn’t tell him I’d been injured. Please don’t mention it.”

  “No, I won’t, but you better hope those cuts don’t scar,” Yuko said dryly. “How long before I can speak to Lord Meki?”

  “Half an hour, but if you could contact Lord Peika instead, it would be merciful.”

  “Just how sick is Lord Meki?”

  “Very,” Arman said grimly. “Enough that just my being here could kill him because he overworks himself. Kei is watching him, but we need to be careful about this if this business is not to claim another life.”

  “Gods, we don’t want that. Perhaps you’d better be in on my briefing.”

  Arman agreed. The resultant conversation with Lord Peika and with Lady Teri joining in later, took over an hour, and Yuko still had to go back with more information. For the moment, the Rulers decided to handle things at the diplomatic level. The Prijian ambassador in Darshek would be brought in and spoken to sternly so the Rulers’ displeasure could be passed back to Utuk. Yuko would visit the palace and pass on a direct message which would hint—but only hint—that stronger action could and would be taken against the Prij if any Darshianese citizen was confined without good reason. The excitable nature of Prijian city residents would not, Yuko was to make clear, be considered ‘good reason’. Yuko was also going to demand an investigation into Urso’s death and the riot, though none of them thought it would actually achieve anything, or root out who had incited it. Arman was wearily aware how pointless this exercise would be, but still it had to be done.