Hawk wasn't sure why Arisanat was blaming the elder. It was Prince Razem who was being unreasonable. Razem wanted every single person in the village called away from work to witness their arrival. Hawk couldn't exactly blame the elder for being irritated by the demand. The village had a spring and a small stream that provided enough water for a few fields of crops. Not much, certainly not enough to trade with other villages, let alone feed an army company. But enough to sustain the village. If the field workers were called in before the sun set, would they get enough planted today?
The village elder was going through all that again, his strident mishmash of Tamnese, Strid, and Kreydeni dialect doing nothing to move the obstinate Razem. Kho obviously found it astonishing that the man would speak in such a manner to his prince, but Razem hadn't even blinked when the man began his harangue, and Baron Arkad, who had counseled against the prince's order, was biting his cheeks to keep from laughing.
Arkad was obviously known to these villages between his home and Salishok; when the elder's diatribe failed to move the prince, he turned his accusatory gaze on the baron. The baron held up his hands and spoke in the same patois.
"Perhaps, Elder Miran, if we discussed this all under the shade of your roof, with some fruit juice and salt, we could come to an agreement." He glanced at Razem, then added, "The prince commanded in Salishok, but as you know, he was never at liberty to enjoy your hospitality while he was here, since his command was cut so tragically short by his sister's death."
Hawk watched the prince as Arkad spoke, growing more and more certain that Razem didn't understand much of the Strid, let alone the Kreydeni dialect. When the prince didn't react to the baron's last statement, he was sure of it. The words had an instant effect on Elder Miran, however. The man's strident tone dropped to a more normal level as he said, "Ah, blessed daughter, I had forgotten why he never visited us. The gods forgive me for my pride."
Hawk turned his gaze back to Elder Miran in time to see the man straighten and bow deeply to the prince. "Prince Razem, forgive the foolishness of an old man. Please enter my house and share fruit juice and salt with me. Then when we have rested and talked, I will show to you the bounty that is Derdan."
Hawk had to suppress a smile as Baron Arkad translated the invitation for the prince. It would be better if the prince spoke at least a little Kreydeni, but Hawk knew why he didn't. For all the vaunted value of the Kreyden District, both to the rulers of Tamnen and those of Strid, both countries thought the Kreydeni were provincial at best, or primitive at worst. Not all of them, and certainly not most of those Tamnese who ended up serving in Salishok, but enough that the official language of the Kreyden District was Tamnese and anyone who didn't speak Tamnese was held in contempt.
Prince Razem considered the baron's words for a moment, and then nodded. He dismounted, handing over the reins to a waiting soldier. Hawk waited until Arkad, Kho, and Arisanat followed suit before doing likewise. Despite three days spent largely in the prince's company, Hawk was still uncertain what his place was. Not to mention the fact that he was still regaining his footing in this country again.
He fell in step several paces behind the prince, letting the others go before him. He probably knew the customs here better than any of them, with the possible exception of Arkad, who seemed to be of the breed of nobleman who spent time getting to know the people he had power over. Hawk liked Arkad. Not only did the man respect even those who were lower than he, but he also seemed quite adept at handling the prince. Razem seemed a decent sort, but he was entirely unconscious of the privilege of his status. Kho—well, Hawk and Kho had once been very close. Since Kho's less than warm reception in Salishok, Hawk had no idea what to expect from the man. They had not spoken more than a handful of words to each other since that first day, and every time Hawk tried to approach, Kho abruptly found something else to be doing.
As soon as Hawk stepped inside the elder's house, he drew his sword and placed it next to the door. He saw that Elder Miran and Baron Arkad had done the same, but the others were staring in confusion—or, in Kho's case, consternation—at those who were disarming.
"It's customary to leave your main weapon at the door," Hawk told them in Tamnese. "As a show of good faith. Keep your dagger. It's expected you'll need that to eat."
"To eat salt?" Razem said, staring at Hawk but nevertheless drawing his sword and holding it out for Hawk to place next to Talon.
"The salt is just the important part," Hawk explained. "It'll be salted bread, usually. And sometimes meat, if the hunt has done well this week."
Arkad was smiling at him. Hawk wasn't sure what he had done that pleased the baron, but he gave him a brief smile in return. When Elder Miran gestured for them to sit, Kho and Arisanat were still lingering by the door, taking their time about drawing their swords and leaving them. When Razem realized this, he scowled at Kho.
"Go on, Kho. I hardly think Elder Miran is going to murder me in his own house, especially considering he's already placed his own sword there."
"My prince is kind to trust me," Miran said in heavily accented Tamnese. As Hawk had half expected, he spoke and understood the language perfectly. He had merely been giving himself time to take Razem's measure.
Razem bowed from his sitting position. "And the elder is kind to welcome me," he replied. "I apologize that I am not more fluent with your language. I understand some of it, but I regret that I have been unable to spend much time yet in the Kreyden District."
Miran shrugged and held out a leather flask. "Prince Razem is always welcome in the Kreyden. Share fruit juice with me, your highness, that you may properly be my guest."
"Thank you," Razem said, taking the flask and drinking from it. He offered it back to Miran, who drank and passed it to Baron Arkad. By the time the flask came around to Hawk, Kho and Arisanat had taken their places on the cushions as well.
"You already know Baron Arkad," Razem said. "Also with me are my dear cousin Arisanat Burojan, Lord of the First Family, Lord-General Emran Kho of the Tamnese Army, and Commander Hawk." He indicated each man as he introduced them.
Miran's eyes widened as he looked back at Hawk. "I knew of a Commander Hawk many years ago," he said. "Is it possible that you are he?"
"One and the same," Hawk replied. "I am fortunate to have been released from my captivity in Strid, thanks to King Marsede's generosity and Prince Razem's gracious welcome."
"Ahh. Then perhaps we will see hostilities diminish somewhat," Miran said. He brought out a loaf of bread and an ornate salt box. "Will you share salt with me, Commander Hawk?"
Hawk swallowed. Razem might not realize it, but Miran was honoring Hawk ahead of him. Would the prince take offense? He glanced over at Razem, but the prince was smiling indulgently. "By all means," he said. "We are on a progress to honor Commander Hawk for the great sacrifices he has made in the name of his kingdom. You are right to show him respect, Elder Miran."
So he did understand. Hawk took the offered hunk of bread and bit deeply, pleased by the tang of salt on his tongue. The sharing of salt was not a custom the Strid had, nor as far as he knew was it practiced outside the Kreyden. But Hawk had always enjoyed it. He nodded at Miran, who passed the bread around to the others.
"So the purpose of your visit to Derdan is to show off Commander Hawk," Miran said. "Is it that we are finally engaging in peace? Or is it that we will see a return of The Desert Hawk and a return to victory?"
Beside him, Kho stiffened. Damn. Hawk could kick himself for being so slow to understand. The prince was going to use him to drum up support for the war, wasn't he? And in so doing, he demonstrated a lack of confidence in Kho's ability to lead the war to victory. No wonder Kho was so cool with Hawk! Though if he gave me a chance to speak, he might understand that I have no interest in returning to command over the war, Hawk thought bitterly.
"My father wishes to ease relations with Strid," Razem said smoothly. He drank from the flask and passed it to Kho, who unbent enough to take it and dri
nk. Hawk watched him from the corner of his eye, wondering if Kho would be willing to share it with him. He was surprised when Kho did, in fact, pass the flask to him. Hawk gave Kho an apologetic smile as he took it, but Kho turned away.
With a sigh, Hawk drank deeply and passed the flask back to Miran. "I vowed that I would return to Rivarden to see her restored," he told Miran. "Prince Razem is kind enough to see that vow made good. He accompanies me to my home city. From there we have not discussed any plans."
Miran nodded slowly. "It is good," he said finally. "I offer you all shelter in my home for this night. Your men will need to camp outside the village. We have water enough in our cisterns to provide for them and the horses, but though I would wish to throw a feast in honor of the prince's visit, our storehouses are nearly empty. We are planting now, as you have seen, and are forced to rely on hunting to feed ourselves until the harvest comes in."
Razem nodded. "As a token of my well-wishing, I have brought supplies with me to feed not only my own men, but also your village," he said. "I would not like to burden your village overmuch."
Miran smiled. "Then tonight we shall feast!" He stood. "Would Prince Razem like to see the bounty of Darden? You may view the farmers at their work and see how diligent they are."
Hawk hid a smile. Miran had learned a great deal about the prince in a short time. Razem was already standing, smiling in anticipation.
"Come!" Miran said. "I shall show you my village."
***
The village of Darden was only the first in a long line of ceremonies Hawk had to endure. Hawk managed to wear a smile through the first night of singing songs about the war and Tamnen's fighting prowess. He even let himself be persuaded by Elder Miran to tell the story of his capture, though it was not a story he was fond of. The second village had more Tamnese culture than Strid; someone there even dug out the "Lament for Rivarden" and "Hawk's Rest," which had apparently been written in a frenzy of grief before it became common knowledge that Hawk had been captured rather than killed at Rivarden.
Baron Arkad explained all this to a horrified Hawk in a low voice as the singer—a sweet-faced boy whose clear soprano hadn't broken yet—managed to look soulful and earnest while mouthing rhymes about death simultaneously being a well-earned rest and a dire horror that must be avenged.
Hawk managed to sit still through the entire six verses, though he wasn't sure he had disguised his disgust. He applauded at the right moments, attempting to look humble instead of resentful. As soon as he could, though, he stole away from the firelight, muttering about finding a privy. Once he stood up, he decided he might as well actually find one.
When he came back from that errand, he paused outside the bright ring of firelight, watching the earnest faces and wondering if they believed the songs. How could they? But he remembered when he had believed the songs about Tam and the dragons and the making of the world. There was probably some kernel of truth to even those old songs, but he had never in his life stood ten feet tall or let his eyes glow with the force of his wrath, let alone leaped over men to get to his enemy. With a sigh, he tilted his head back and stared up at the stars.
"I gather you'd never heard that one," said the kind voice of Baron Arkad.
Hawk turned. He had lost his edge. Once upon a time, he would have been aware of Arkad as he approached.
"Gods, no. And it seems a bit maudlin to enjoy your own funeral lament." Hawk rubbed the back of his neck.
Arkad chuckled. "Ah, why not? There are plenty of kings who hired theirs written before they had need of it. Precious few of us get to see how people would mourn us."
"Mourning I could accept, if the man they mourned had ever actually existed," Hawk said. "But this call to vengeance... I am not a man anyone should die to avenge. If I must die, let my death truly serve the kingdom, not spur her into more wasteful spending of lives."
"Well spoken." Arkad sighed. "I think this current task must be little to your liking."
The boy soprano switched to a Kreydeni lament for the fallen. Hawk was surprised; he hadn't expected to hear the dialect in this most Tamnese village.
"I do not object to seeing my home again, or to serving my kingdom," Hawk said slowly, choosing words he hoped wouldn't offend the baron. "But I am uncertain of what the prince truly wishes of me."
"So, I think, is he." Arkad was not looking at Hawk. "Razem still mourns his sister. She was assassinated nigh on three years ago—you heard about that?"
Hawk nodded.
"Well. They were close, and the prince blames his father, Prince Anderlin, the Strid nation—everyone, really—for her death. And himself most of all, perhaps. He tried to persuade her not to go, to persuade their father not to send her. When he came to me as commander of the Kreyden forces, he hadn't yet accepted her leaving the kingdom to marry. And then to lose her as he did—" He shook his head. "He would like nothing better than to march all the way to Lindira and slaughter Anderlin and Harkai. But King Marsede urges peace, and he has ordered Razem to make a celebration of your return."
Hawk glanced over at the baron. The singing was loud enough that their conversation was private, though they could be interrupted at any moment. Arkad's expression, though, was troubled without being furtive; he must not care who might overhear them.
"I wonder if the prince misunderstood his father's intent," Hawk ventured. It wasn't exactly a criticism. Hopefully Arkad would understand.
"Just as likely," Arkad agreed. "Grief does not clarify one's thoughts."
Hawk's heart sank. If Razem had willfully misinterpreted his father's orders, that made Hawk's position more difficult. Arkad had made him aware of the king's will, but Hawk could not disobey the prince's orders.
Wonderful, he thought dismally. So it is to be like this all the way to Rivarden. And once they reached Rivarden, what then? Razem had not asked Hawk why he vowed to return, nor had Hawk volunteered the reason. Would the prince understand that Hawk felt his duty lay there?
"Don't look so glum, lad," Arkad said. "Razem is a smart man. He'll learn from you, if you're willing to teach."
"Given anyone else, perhaps I could." Hawk rubbed a hand over his jaw. "But if he is still so angry over his sister's death three years later, I am not sure. And he is in the position of giving me orders."
"As he was when I served him," Arkad pointed out. "Though," he added reluctantly, "that was before Azmei's death."
Hawk folded his arms across his chest, suddenly aware of the chill of the evening around them. They were climbing the season into summer, but this far from the fire, his thin shirt and light cloak were not enough to warm him. Or perhaps that was just his frame of mind.
"How many more villages do we have?" he asked. "Hedron and Issla and Milbarton..." He cast his mind back to the years he had spent riding between Rivarden and Salishok. "Haess."
"And Undra and Herew," Arkad finished. "Though as Milbarton is my village, I can do somewhat to lighten the burden there. I can pass the word that the singers will have a throat complaint this week—a nasty cough, perhaps."
"Have mercy," Hawk said, grinning faintly. "The prince might order the soldiers to take up the slack, and that would punish us all the more."
Chapter 12
The party on the main floor of Perslyn House was in full swing. The first course of dinner was being served, and Azmei had already seen that the alcohol was flowing freely. She had observed long enough that she knew the Patriarch was in attendance and that he was not indulging. She hadn't expected him to drink much. After all, a drunkard wouldn't last long in charge of the Perslyn Family.
Everything was in place. Finally Azmei was ready to exact justice—which was yet more proof that she was a poor disciple of the god of peace. It was not in her religious code to mete out justice. That dictate came from her blood.
I am still a princess of Tamnen, she reminded herself. I cannot let stand any threat to my father's rule. And once this mission is over...
She didn't finish the th
ought. She still wasn't prepared to think beyond the Patriarch's death.
Instead, she drew her dagger and let herself into the darkened bedroom. A single lamp burned in a globe hanging over the bed. Azmei glanced at the level of the oil and filed it in her memory.
Time to check the room for the Patriarch's safeguards, to locate every trap and remove every weapon. He should notice nothing amiss, but he would have no escape. She began at the right of the door and made a methodical sweep of the room. From behind the wardrobe she withdrew a longsword, while from underneath the wardrobe she removed a loaded crossbow. She removed the bolt, tucking it into her belt next to a dagger sheath. The curtains around one bedpost hid a long knife. The pillow covered a sheathed dagger. She was surprised to see no obvious weapons inside the small writing desk, until she realized what looked like bottled inks were likely poisons instead. Smiling grimly, she swept them, along with the dagger and knife, into the leather sack she had brought with her.
A large urn near the window hid a stiletto and a pouch of throwing stars. Azmei tucked those into her sack as well. She completed her circuit of the room, checked the level of oil in the lamp again; she'd been here approximately half an hour. She should have time for another search. This time she did a quick grid search, which turned up another stiletto strapped to the bottom of the bed, but nothing else. That had taken another twenty minutes at least. Time for her to remove the weapons and take up her post.
She carried the leather sack to the window and the rope she had left in place before entering the house. The top end was tied to a chimney protruding from the roof. She threaded the bottom end of the rope through specially sewn loops at the top of the sack and tied it up high enough that the sack wouldn't show through the window. That would keep the weapons out of the way until she was ready to leave. As she checked the knot a final time, an odd shadow on the wall caught her eyes. She squinted and slid her hand up to touch it.
Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) Page 12