by John Marco
Jahan grabbed his shoulder. ‘Stop.’
Lukien turned to face Jahan. ‘I’m too harsh. Is that what you want to say?’
‘She’s just a girl, Lukien. She is trying.’
Past Jahan, Lukien could see Lahkali brooding, staring down at the ground where her katath lay.
‘It’s not enough,’ he said. ‘She has to fight a rass, Jahan, and I don’t know what that means.’
‘What? Lukien, I don’t understand.’
Lukien pulled Jahan closer, turning him around so that Lahkali could not hear. He said, ‘I’m her teacher, right?’
Jahan nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m to teach her how to kill a rass, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t you see? That’s the problem, Jahan. I have no idea how to kill a rass.’
The home of fencing master Niharn lay along a quiet, twisting avenue, more than a mile from the palace of the Eminence. On a street lined with many such houses, Niharn’s home was neither plain nor grand. With little open space to divide it from the other homes, it rose up three stories high, a structure of clay and stone that shone a peculiar orange in the heat of the day. Long ago the home had been white-washed, but the sun had bleached away the wash so that the brick shone through easily. Over the door hung a limestone lintel. The door itself had been made of wood, a strange wood of black that had been lacquered so many times that Lukien could see his reflection in it.
Because he was a man of rank in the city’s military, Niharn had servants to cook his meals, look after his large brood of children, and to greet visitors who came to his home. Lukien only needed to knock once to bring one of the servants running. This time, as last, an old man named Tagna answered the door. Lukien recognized him at once.
‘Hello again,’ he said sheepishly.
Old Tagna did not smile. He simply nodded. ‘Greetings.’
‘Is your master at home?’ Lukien asked.
‘He is,’ replied Tagna, and the magic of Lukien’s amulet translated his words. The servant glanced down at the gift Lukien had brought along, a bottle of a kind of wine Niharn had mentioned a fondness for last time they’d met. Lukien had found the liquor in a marketplace not far from Niharn’s house. He’d been shocked by the cost of it.
‘Will you tell him I’m here, Tagna? I’d like to speak to him.’
Tagna stepped aside so that Lukien could enter the home. Typical of the architecture he’d seen in Torlis, the first floor of the house had been given over to rooms for receiving guests and conducting Niharn’s military business. A number of comfortable looking chairs had been arranged near the room’s hearth, but the hearth itself was cold. Laticed windows let sunlight into the room. The walls were appointed with military things, like an old katath and some worn-out ribbons, perhaps accommodations the fencing master had earned. As Lukien entered the room, a young girl seated near the hearth stood. She smiled at the visitor.
‘Lukien,’ she said. ‘You’re back.’
Her name was Shalra, and she was Niharn’s youngest daughter. A precocious girl, she was five years old and loved to say Lukien’s name.
‘Hello Shalra,’ said Lukien. ‘I’m here to see your father again.’
‘He’s upstairs,’ said the girl. ‘With mother.’
‘Oh,’ said Lukien sheepishly. He looked at Tagna. ‘I could come back. .’
‘I will tell the master you’re here,’ said the servant. ‘Sit.’
Tagna disappeared into another room. Soon after, Lukien heard him ascend the unseen staircase. He looked at young Shalra and grinned.
‘I didn’t think I’d see you again,’ he said.
Shalra jumped out of the chair which was too big for her anyway and came to stand before Lukien. ‘My father said you’d be back.’
‘Did he?’
‘He said you would need his help.’
‘You’re father’s very smart,’ said Lukien sourly.
The girl looked at the bottle in his hand. ‘What’s that?’
‘A gift for your father. It’s vaf.’
Shalra made a face. ‘Vaf? My mother says that tastes like-’
‘Shalra!’
The girl froze at her father’s voice. In the threshold between rooms stood Niharn, scowling at his daughter.
‘What were you going to say, child?’ he asked with a tone of false threat.
‘Nothing,’ said Shalra. Her little grin quickly defused her father’s ire.
‘Go and play with your sisters. Let your father talk to his guest.’
Shalra excused herself, saying a polite good-bye to Lukien before leaving the room. Niharn watched her go. A hint of fatherly pride glinted in his eyes. Tagna entered the room again, waiting for his master’s orders. Lukien heard other voices in the adjoining chambers, but no one entered to disturb them. When Niharn turned back to Lukien, a trace of smugness crossed his dark face.
‘Welcome, Lukien,’ he said. ‘You found your way back here.’
‘Yes.’ Lukien handed him the bottle of vaf. ‘This is for you.’
Impressed, Niharn’s eyebrows went up. ‘You brought this from Toors in the market near here, yes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Toors is a thief but he finds the best vaf. Expensive. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Niharn handed the bottle off to Tagna. The air charged with awkwardness. Niharn gestured to the chairs, all of them upholstered with colourful silk.
‘Sit,’ he offered. ‘I sometimes take guests out to the garden, but it’s too hot today.’
‘I remember,’ said Lukien, taking a seat. ‘Thank you.’
Niharn took a chair opposite him, leaning back and steepling his fingers. He smiled at Lukien. ‘Aliz Nok has made the katath for the Eminence. I have seen her practicing with it. How has that been for her, the katath?’
‘Very good, Master Niharn. You were right about Aliz Nok. The weapon he made for Lahkali is peerless.’
‘He’s the best,’ said Niharn. ‘And she is happy with it? It is the right weight for her?’
‘Yes,’ Lukien replied. When he had first come to Niharn for help, they had argued over the heft of the weapon. They had argued over just about everything. Still, Niharn had offered his advice.
‘I am glad,’ said Niharn. ‘The Eminence has been doing her best for you. I have seen the change in her. She speaks of you often, Lukien.’ The master laughed. ‘You are all she speaks about in court! It is good that she has someone like you to train her. A foreigner. I see now that her own people were not enough.’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that.’
‘You did say that.’
‘No, not precisely, Master Niharn. .’
‘Let’s not argue.’ Niharn at last waved Tagna away, not so much as offering Lukien a drink. ‘The Eminence is doing well. That’s all that matters.’ He looked expectantly at Lukien. ‘So. .?’
‘So, you want to know why I’ve come back.’
‘That would be nice, yes.’
‘Because I need your advice, Master Niharn.’
The admission made the warrior’s face light up. ‘Oh? Tell me, please.’
‘Enough, please. I know I offended you. I never meant to. You helped me find a man that could make a katath for Lahkali. Now I need your help again.’
Niharn grew serious. ‘I am listening.’
Staring at Niharn made Lukien feel small. He had rebuffed the master’s offers of help, replacing him as Lahkali’s teacher. For Niharn, the insult had been great. Still, Lukien found himself liking the smug man. Despite Niharn’s feelings of betrayal, he was loyal to Lahkali and willing to help.
‘There’s a problem with her training,’ Lukien began. ‘Not with her, mind you. She’s a fine student. If you had given her the chance you would have learned that, I think.’
‘Really? You say that even though you know what she is up against? You’re not even one of us, Lukien. You can’t even speak our tongue without that. . thing
around your neck.’
‘All right,’ said Lukien. He held up his hand. ‘All right. Let me start again.’
‘No, Lukien, let me start,’ said Niharn. ‘You tell me that you mean no offense to me, yet every time you open your mouth you offend me. I am a fencing master! Do you know what that means?’
Lukien grimaced. ‘I have to admit that I don’t.’
‘It means that I have trained the greatest fighters in Torlis. The best men in our armies have come to me to learn the katath. I know what a person can do. And I know what the Eminence cannot do. She cannot fight the Great Rass and win.’
‘So she’s wasting her time?’
‘And she’s wasting your time. You should go back to wherever you came from, Lukien. Ah, but you can’t, can you? Because you’re looking for the Sword of Angels.’ Niharn leaned forward curiously. ‘How is that going for you, Lukien?’
‘It’s not,’ Lukien admitted.
‘No? Have you not found out anything useful?’
‘You know I haven’t, Niharn.’
Niharn sat back again. ‘You think that if you help the Eminence defeat the Great Rass that she will tell you where the sword is hidden.’
Lukien shook his head. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘I don’t think I am. But I will tell you this, my friend, from my heart — Lahkali cannot beat the Great Rass, because she does not have the gift of her blood. No one can kill the rass if they can’t control it.’
It was the same tired argument Niharn — and everyone — had made before. Lukien could only ignore it.
‘I believe in her,’ he said. ‘So does Karoshin.’
‘Karoshin!’ Niharn laughed. ‘That old man believes because he must, because he loves Lahkali like a daughter and can’t see anything through his blindness. Karoshin does not train warriors, Lukien. He believes because he knows no better. But you are a warrior like me. Tell me the truth — do you truly believe? I see fear in your eyes.’
‘I’m afraid for her, yes,’ Lukien admitted. ‘But she has to try. You know she has to.’
Niharn looked circumspect. ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘Touching on this other matter of the sword — you have not been looking for it?’
The question made Lukien shift. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know where to look, Niharn. I have thought and thought, but where to start? Only Lahkali knows where the sword is hidden.’
‘And she will never tell you.’ A trace of sympathy passed over Niharn’s face. ‘You have all this magic, Lukien. So much power. You are a mystery to all the people in court! But this sword is a curse to you. Why must you find it? Why not just go home?’
Lukien grinned. ‘You would like that, I know. But I have business here. I’ll go when I’m ready, Niharn.’
‘All right, then, business.’ Niharn opened his hands. ‘So? Why are you here?’
‘I need your help.’
‘Again?’ Niharn looked pleased. ‘Continue.’
‘Have you ever fought a rass?’
‘Why would I do that? The rass are-’
‘Revered. Yes, I know. But not where I come from. Where I come from men have fought the rass. Is there no one in Torlis who has ever fought one?’
Niharn shook his head. ‘No one.’
‘Then how do you train for it?’ Lukien asked, frustrated. ‘How can anyone fight a rass?’
‘You forget — it is the gift of the blood! No one fights the rass, not the way you have been thinking, Lukien. The Red Eminence controls the rass, brings it to him.’ Niharn smirked. ‘Or her. That is the only way.’
‘That can’t be the only way,’ said Lukien. ‘I can’t accept that. I need to learn. I need to find the way.’
Niharn looked intrigued. ‘How?’
‘I need transport,’ said Lukien. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘To Amchan.’
33
From the deck of the feruka, the forest of Amchan seemed primeval, an endless soup of tangled vines and steaming, dew-dropped trees. Shadowed by the mountains that towered like overlords in the distance, the arms of the river surrounded Amchan, holding it tightly and squeezing up the trees until they touched the grey sky. Lukien watched through his one good eye as a flock of dark birds winged over the forest, calling to the creatures far below. A million angry insects answered, filling the land with their buzzing.
It had taken Niharn’s feruka most of the morning to reach Amchan. The vessel skidded to a stop along its flat keel, resting in the mud of the riverbank. A dozen burly sailors waited on deck with long poles, ready to free the feruka from the mud once Lukien and Jahan had departed. The captain of the vessel, a long-trusted friend of Niharn, stood nearby, stone-faced, not rushing his passengers off his boat. He had said very little throughout the journey, staying close to Niharn and following the old Fencing Master’s orders. Niharn did his best to keep his friend informed, but it was a secret mission after all, and Lukien trusted that Niharn had mostly kept his mouth shut.
A sprinkle of rain touched Lukien’s nose. He studied the sky and the gathering clouds. He had not counted on rain, but it made no difference. He only had a day before Lahkali would miss him, perhaps two, but soon after that she would wonder why he and Jahan had left the palace. He had not spoken much to Lahkali since training her in the woods near the palace, and because she still resented him she had not sought him out, preferring to be by herself while she sorted out her troubles. Lukien thought about Lahkali as he gazed out over Amchan, and suddenly he was melancholy again. She had worked so hard to please him.
But realities were hard, and so were the challenges she faced. Like it or not, she was the Red Eminence, and that meant killing the Great Rass. Now, the time had come for her teacher to learn how — if possible — such a thing could be done.
Next to Lukien, Jahan stood silently watching the forbidding forest, his tail of hair swaying gently to the lapping waves. He had come willingly on the journey because Lukien had requested it, and because he knew far more about rass than Lukien could ever hope to know. Like Lukien, Jahan had come prepared for the trek, carrying a long, curved sword called a culther to cut through the vines and tree limbs. The blade dangled from Jahan’s belt, naked, while over his shoulder was slung a pack of food and supplies. His face was stoic while he awaited Lukien’s orders.
Around Lukien’s neck, the Eye of God gave its quiet assurance. Lukien fingered the amulet, wondering if at last its power might be challenged. He had been at the door of death before, but the amulet and its mighty spirit had snatched him back to life. In a way, he hated Amaraz for that.
‘Give us a day,’ said Lukien finally, speaking softly to Niharn. ‘If we are not back by the morning, leave without us.’
‘If you’re not back by the morning, you’ll be dead,’ said Niharn without a trace of humour. The old master took measure of Lukien. ‘And if that happens, I will explain to the Eminence what has become of you.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Lukien. He smiled faintly. ‘Thank you for what you’ve done for me, Niharn.’
Niharn shrugged. ‘I have helped to kill you. That is all.’
‘Then I’ll be out of your way at last,’ Lukien joked.
‘Yes.’
An unspoken understanding passed between them. Despite their differences, Niharn was an honest man, so loyal to Lahkali that he had risked his reputation to bring Lukien to Amchan. It would not go easily for him when he returned to Torlis but it was necessary, and Niharn seemed to understand that now.
‘How will you find a rass to slay, Lukien?’
Lukien gestured toward Jahan. ‘Him.’
Jahan nodded. ‘I will find a rass, do not worry.’
He spoke with such confidence that Niharn asked no more of him. Instead he reached out for the katath Lukien held in his hand, pinging the blade with his fingernail. The weapon was one of Niharn’s own, given to Lukien by the fencing master.
‘Take care of her and she won’t fail you,’ said Niharn.
Then he added with a grin, ‘You should have let me give you some lessons.’
Lukien laughed to break the tension. He turned to Jahan. ‘Ready?’
‘I have been ready.’
Lukien turned to Niharn and said good-bye, then watched as the captain’s men dropped a gang plank from the deck into the muddy bank. The long wooden walkway hit the earth with an unpleasant sound. Anxious to leave the feruka, Jahan was the first down the plank, bouncing across the ungainly strip with all his gear unbalancing him. He moved like a cat, though, and jumped down into the mud with a smile on his face. Lukien followed with equal success, using the long katath to balance himself. When both men were safely ashore, Lukien turned one more time to Niharn and the sailors.
‘We will see you by morning!’ he called to them confidently.
Then, with katath in hand, he trudged up the river bank toward the waiting unknown of Amchan. The wall of trees and rocky hills cast its dark shadow at his feet. Behind him, the noise of the river disappeared amidst the insistent chirping of birds and cries of hidden wildlife. Jahan took a deep breath, smiling at the sweetness of the air. Amchan was very unlike his village, yet he seemed at home. He spared no look for the men aboard the feruka, quickly stepping toward the trees.
‘This way, Lukien.’
Unsure where he was going, Lukien let Jahan guide him, and soon the two were engulfed in the trees, leaving behind the river and the safety of the barge. Jahan had his culther up at once, using its sharp edge to whack away the vines that hung thickly from the gnarled trees. A heavy wetness hung in the air, clinging instantly to their clothes and forming streams of perspiration on Lukien’s forehead. The stinging water blinded him as he followed Jahan through the forest, using the katath like a walking stick. The ground beneath him gave way easily, a soft, loamy soil that soundlessly absorbed his movements. Staring up into the knitted canopy of leaves, he saw a family of hairy, monkey-like creatures leap from limb to limb. As they moved a shower of raindrops fell from the trees.
‘Jahan?’ he asked softly. ‘What are we looking for?’
Jahan slowed a little, letting Lukien catch up. He looked back the way they had come with a look of satisfaction. ‘We can’t see or hear the others. Good.’