Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  “Of course not.” Ginsaka’s exasperation did not prevent him from handing Sherakai a shirt and his boots. “If you are going to act as jansu for the—”

  “Save the lecture and tell me what I need to know.”

  “Easily done if you quit interrupting me,” Ginsaka ground out.

  Bending to don his boots hid the color in his face. “Please forgive me.” No wonder the suchedai disliked him so. The man detested impetuous speech and reckless behavior, and Sherakai perfectly illustrated both. The man didn’t answer right away. Sherakai straightened to see the effort of self-restraint in Ginsaka’s face. It fairly blazed in his aura. “Sorry,” he murmured.

  The suchedai held out Sherakai's belt and knife, then started for the door, leaving him to follow. “The rain has turned into a severe storm. A flash flood has turned the stream by the east barn into a river full of mud and debris. Trees are down, the fence broken, the paddock ruined.”

  “The horses? How many injured?” Fear for them spurred him to run, but he needed to hear Ginsaka’s report. The man wasted no time, but hastened down the hallway at a speed Sherakai had never suspected he’d possess.

  “I do not know. If the trees near the south barn—and the grove on the east as well—have blown down, you can expect similar destruction elsewhere. We’ve reports of broken roofs and windows, fires, and homes flooded. Buildings have collapsed. The lower bridge will likely be out.”

  How could so much wreckage have happened just since he’d gone to bed for the night? “What do you want me to do?”

  “You are the acting jansu, Master Sherakai. Lead us.” Ginsaka yanked open the door to the gathering hall and kept walking. The cold, wet, smoke-scented air beyond stopped Sherakai dead in his tracks.

  Lead us…

  The double doors at the other end were propped open to the storm. Wind hurtled through them, but few people occupied the great chamber. All but one of the lanterns had guttered out. Papers and leaves blew haphazardly across the floor. A side door banged against its frame.

  The mess in the gathering hall put Ginsaka’s report into sudden, harsh perspective. Where to start? What would his father do? “Ginsaka!” he called, trotting after the man. “Where is Captain Nayuri?”

  Impatient, Ginsaka waved a hand toward the open door. Of course he had not been out himself. His meticulous attire remained as dry and clean as if he had just donned it. The wind did not dare tug his hair loose from its tight braid.

  “And my mother?”

  The other man slowed a fraction. “In her sitting room, I believe. If you will excuse me, I have chaos in the low halls to tend to.”

  Damage to the kitchens and storerooms could be catastrophic. On the verge of asking the details, Sherakai changed his mind. “Thank you, Suchedai Ginsaka. And good luck.”

  “Luck has little to do with success.” He inclined his head the barest fraction. “May the gods be with you.”

  Chastised, Sherakai set his jaw and spun away—straight into Chakkan. His friend’s size and instinctive grab kept them both from staggering backward. Sherakai pushed himself away from the wet embrace. Relief swept through him. “Where’s Nayuri?”

  “At the south barn. I’ve got horses from there, but I need your help getting them in the stables. They’re mad with fear and some of them are hurt.”

  Grabbing Chakkan’s elbow, he trotted out the door. The rain and wind hit so hard they stole his breath. He turned his head aside, leaning toward Chakkan. “Are there any dead?” he shouted. Within moments, the rain soaked through his clothes.

  “Three, maybe four,” his friend hollered back. Fist wound in Sherakai’s shirt, he half pushed, half led him across the courtyard to the horse yard. The wooden enclosure that kept the animals inside shook as the horses pushed against it. Sharp cracks punctuated their frightened whinnies as they tried to kick the barrier down.

  They plunged into impenetrable darkness when they ducked into a door to the connecting storeroom. Light gleaming around the cracks of a door on the other side of the room gave him a direction, but he banged his shins several times as he stumbled through. Behind him, Chakkan swore.

  The stables were in an uproar. Frightened horses acted out, which didn’t surprise him, but there were more people than animals in the aisles. They shouted and pushed at each other while the stable hands bellowed in an effort to impose order. A steady, cracking thud warned of a horse determined to kick its stall door down.

  Sherakai gripped the front of Chakkan’s shirt and pulled him close. “Get a lantern,” he ordered, pointing back the way they’d come, “and get these people out of here. Pull them out, shove them, I don’t care which. Get them up to the gathering hall.”

  With a swift nod, Chakkan hurried to comply.

  Sherakai grabbed the first person he could reach and shoved him into the storeroom. “Go up to the hall!”

  “My house is gone!” someone cried. “I don’t know where my husband is!”

  “Up to the hall!”

  “Have you seen Mokoho?”

  “No, sorry, go up to the hall.”

  “I’m staying right here until it’s safe!” A small man with his arm in a bandage and a belligerent glare on his face braced himself.

  “It isn’t safe for you here. We’re bringing the horses in and there’s no telling what they’ll do in their fear. People may get badly hurt.”

  “You’re choosing animals over men?” he accused. The stream of people jostled the small man along but he grabbed hold of one of the stall doors with his good arm and held on.

  “Not at all.” Sherakai steadied a woman as she staggered into him and nearly dropped the child she carried. She twisted in his arms and called out. A tiny boy pushed himself between two adults and caught at her outstretched hand.

  “Take it easy!” he cried when the adults surged forward. Like frightened sheep, he thought, straight-arming the closest man to stop his heedless rush. He hoped the fellow wasn’t so scared he’d hit back. “Easy!” He loaded his Voice with authority, but did not expect the violent energy that coursed through him and into the crowded corridor. Animals and people alike cried out in fear and confusion.

  It scared him but at least it gave him some space. “Stop. Everyone just stop.”

  Chapter 21

  Tanoshi, a few among the throng whispered. Sherakai. He’s a boy… Still the master’s son…

  “Look, there’s room for you in the gathering hall, but if you push and shove, people will get hurt. I want all the men against this wall, the women and children against the other.” He gestured and they shuffled into place.

  “The suchedai said to find other shelter and save the hall for the wounded,” a woman piped up.

  “We will make room.” Surely they couldn’t all have lost their homes… Brow furrowing, he bit the inside of his cheek, then pointed to two of the men. “Help the wounded. Take them to the hall and put them on one side, everyone else on the other. My mother will help get you all settled.”

  Chakkan helped people through, and the stable hands firmly urged them on from the back of the group. He wasn’t certain they’d have listened otherwise. “Anyone my age and older stay.”

  His words inspired a chorus of questions and protests, but he waited until the injured and the mothers with children had made their way out. Nearly a score remained.

  “It’s a little wet out there.” He smiled and got a few chuckles in return. “I’ve just come from the keep. The suchedai tells me the south barn’s been hard hit. Has anyone been there?”

  A cautious hand went up and Sherakai nodded encouragement. “I brought some of the horses from there.” The man scratched his brow. “Couple of them are down. Men, too. One of the walls collapsed on ‘em. When the trees went, the creek turned aside. Ran straight at the barn and hit the far corner.”

  Uncertainty and fear settled like stone in the pit of Sherakai’s belly. “And the rest of you? Why have you come here?”

  “My house is gone—”

>   “Shelter.”

  “I’m looking for my brother.”

  “Helped my daughter and her young un’s get here. They lost their roof. Dunno where her man is.”

  “Our houses are kindling compared to yours, where else would we go?”

  He held his hand up to check an upsurge of emotion. “I am here to help, but I can’t do it on my own. Daruke, is it?” he asked of the man who’d first spoken. The fellow’s face creased in surprise, but he bobbed his head. “Will you help get the horses in? Then take whatever men the grooms can spare and go to the south barn. Round up the rest of the horses. Bring me a solid report.”

  Daruke hesitated long enough to look Sherakai up and down, then gave a curt nod. “Aye, sir.” He made his way out without a backward look. Freed to tend to their own work, the stable hands had already disappeared. One of the big double doors leading to the yard stood open, braced with a timber. Wind gusted through along with the milling horses.

  Sherakai gestured to the man who’d been helping his daughter and grandchildren. “I’d like you to take four others with you and go back to the village. Get the injured up to the gathering hall. Get everyone else into decent shelter—in the village, if it’s possible. Send someone with a report when you’ve finished that, then organize a party and get to work securing what you can and putting the rest back together.”

  “While it’s storming?”

  “Unless you want the village to be blown or washed away, yes. Batten down, shore up, reroute, cobble together—whatever and whoever it takes.”

  “Yessir.” He didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded and made for the door.

  Chakkan’s voice came right behind Sherakai, pitched low. “Half the roof’s just come off the blacksmith’s shop.”

  “Better a roof than a head, I suppose,” he muttered.

  Chakkan fell into step beside him as they left the shelter of stable and storeroom. He had to lean close to be heard. “You sound just like your father!”

  Sherakai gave him a startled, disbelieving glance.

  “Don’t let it go to your head. We’ve got work to do.” He screwed up his face against the pouring rain.

  “Right. We’ll go around,” he shouted, making a circling motion with one hand to indicate everything inside the curtain wall. He couldn’t even see that far. “Put these folks to work. Then we’re going to the barn.”

  “Absolutely not. You don’t leave the walls.”

  “The horses—”

  “Will have to get by without you. You’ve already done everything you can, sending men out there. You do not pass those gates, Sherakai dan Tameko.”

  “Who’s in charge here?”

  “You, except for that bit.”

  With a shrieking of wood and wind, a section of roof from the gatehouse flew free. The weight bore it downward. With a shout, Chakkan shoved Sherakai out of its path. It exploded when it struck. Wood and tiles scattered everywhere. A broken beam hit Sherakai’s shoulder and unbalanced him. A shard of tile two hands wide struck his head and finished the job, sending him to his knees. Another, smaller scrap cut right through his shirt to slice the skin over his ribs. He covered his head and waited for it to stop raining roof. Waited, too, for his vision to clear and the dizziness to pass. The noise muffled a single strangled sob of pain and fear. He had never seen such an awful storm; it was idiotic to be out in it. Torn between the urge to huddle against a wall and run for safety, he was not prepared for Chakkan to haul him roughly to his feet.

  He pushed Sherakai’s hair out of the way to examine the blood seeping down his face with the rain. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  It must have been bad to draw his attention in the dim light. Saints knew it hurt like demons. “Three. Thanks.”

  “If I let you get flattened, who’d lead me into danger and disgrace?” Cuts marked his cheek and neck.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I know. I’m fine.”

  A powerful gust flipped a remaining piece of roof end over end, scattering men just getting to their feet again. Beams and tiles, branches, leaves, a broken wagon, a shattered barrel, stray clothing, and the flapping corpses of several chickens littered the surrounding space.

  “We’ve got to get inside!”

  Chakkan gripped Sherakai’s arm just above his elbow, hard enough to bruise him. He tried to pull away. The look of angry disbelief on his friend’s face stopped him.

  “You’re quitting?” Chakkan asked. “You’re choosing now to play it safe? You stinking coward!”

  “I’m not! We’ll be killed out here!”

  “And what about them?” he shouted, pointing blindly with his free hand.

  Battered men and women struggled to preserve the keep and their livelihoods while the wind howled down the mountain, fighting them every step of the way. Thunder crashed so loud and so near that he nearly jumped out of his skin. Lightning threw the yard into harsh relief, and the smell of smoke merged with scent of rain and mud. It promised ruin.

  He couldn’t do this.

  One hand pressed against the cut on his head to ease the throb. He must do this. This was where he stepped into Tasan’s boots or failed his father utterly. The thought of the disappointment in Tameko’s eyes was more difficult to face than any storm. “All right,” he said.

  A man in soldier’s gear ran up to them. Beseni grinned from beneath an oiled canvas hood. “Had to clobber him to get him to behave, did you?” he asked Chakkan.

  “No, the roof did it for me,” he growled.

  “That was a little extreme, don’t you think?”

  “Whatever it takes.” Chakkan shoved Sherakai away and stalked off to help pull a beam to the side of the yard.

  “What happened?” Beseni asked.

  “I got hit.” On the head, in the heart—did it make a difference which or how hard? “Let’s keep the yard clear!” Sherakai called out to his scattered helpers.

  Beseni caught him before he could turn away. Hard fingers gripped the youth’s chin and tilted his face toward the unsteady light gleaming from lanterns at the gates. “You all right?”

  “Yes,” he replied, his voice clipped. He stepped back, pressing his hand over the scrape. A lump bulged beneath it. “How are the captain and the others doing?” Sherakai asked,

  “He’s fine. Got one man with broken ribs—don’t know if he’ll make it. Another with a broken leg. Three horses hurt when the wall and the roof caved in. Got another drowned.”

  “Only one?” He wouldn’t ask which it was, holding grief at bay. It could be so much worse than one…

  “Don’t know, lad. That’s just the report from the south barn. I’ve heard nothing about the rest of the place.”

  The lack of better information did nothing to raise his spirits, and licking his lips did nothing to disperse the water coursing over his face. “Did Nayuri send you here to keep an eye on me?”

  “That, and to help.” He squeezed Sherakai’s shoulder, offering support and understanding. “It’s a floodin’ good night to try to get to you. Me and Chakkan and Araki are going to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  He nodded, shivered, then dragged his sopping arm across his sopping face, for all the good it did. Could he drown standing up? And would the soldiers be able to protect him from another roof? He squeezed his eyes shut on the dream memory of Tasan’s head tumbling out of the box and across the dais. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. “Thank you.”

  “What do we do now, boss?”

  He let out a snorting laugh and bent to heft a broken tile. “Pick up the pieces. Literally.”

  “Where you lead, I will follow. Except out the gates. And I have orders to drag you back, kicking and screaming if necessary.” His good-humored smile didn’t keep the reminder from stinging.

  “I’m not a child.”

  He shrugged and thumbed over his shoulder. The wind tugged at his hood, but the ties kept it snugly fastened in place. “You want to get back to wor
k here or take a bit of a break? Looks like you’ve earned it.”

  Not according to Chakkan or his conscience. “I think we can probably find enough here to keep us busy for awhile.”

  It wasn’t difficult. He put his little group to work here, listened to Beseni and lanky Araki’s advice there. Someone brought him a dry shirt, a thick jerkin, and an oiled jacket with a proper hood. Araki insisted on bandaging Sherakai’s head to try to stop the bleeding, pointing out that he now had a hood to keep it dry. Beseni said funny but unkind things about Ginsaka for sending Sherakai out in the weather unprepared while he remained warm and dry inside. When dawn finally came, and the storm began to abate, Nayuri found him. Aside from being as wet and muddy as everyone else, he looked as indomitable as always. Sharp eyes took in Sherakai’s scrapes, bruises, and exhausted features, then he nodded.

  “The village elder is requesting an audience.”

  “Now?”

  “Shall I tell her you’ll speak with her another time?”

  The ability to shred someone to pieces with one innocent question was a talent he needed to learn. “No,” he sighed, propping his shovel against the nearest wall and wiping his muddy hands on his muddy pants. “Where will I find her?”

  “I’ll take you.” He started toward the gates and Sherakai fell into step beside him. “When you’re finished there, you’ll need to decide what to do with the injured horses.”

  His throat tightened. “I’ll need to see them.”

  “Of course.” Nayuri nodded.

  All of their destinations lay beyond the gates. Sherakai cast a glance over his shoulder to find Araki and Chakkan a few paces behind. Beseni loped to catch them. He didn’t know whether to feel safe or imprisoned. “And after that?” he asked, certain the number of things he still needed to do was directly proportional to how badly he wanted a hot drink and a warm bed.

  “I’m sure that will depend on the situation in the village.”