His mother walked to the window, looking away from him.
“You have not seen me in many years, and you were young when you left,” his mother said. “You may feel that you do not know me. That you cannot trust me.”
“You are my mother.” Tin-Tsu stared at the back of his mother’s blue silk dress. “I trust you without question, even if I question you.”
“Do you remember your grandmother?” his mother asked.
“Vaguely.” Tin-Tsu found an image of a thin-faced, gray-haired woman, lingering at the edge of his mind.
“Your great-grandmother grew up a fisherman’s daughter. Through her skill with words and numbers, she ended her life the wife of a prosperous merchant. She passed on her skill with words and people to her daughter, who rose from merchant’s child to the wife of a lesser tahn. She in turn crafted a future for her daughter, for me, marrying me to the man who would one day be zhan. From a girl pulling fish from the bottom of a boat to mother zhan in three births. That is quite an accomplishment for any family.”
“I know this story, Mother. The entire dominion knows this story.” His mother’s family’s humble origins still discomfited some members of the palace court even after decades, but such skillful tier jumping led the common people to admire and love her beyond measure.
“Yes, they know all about the line of politically cunning women crafting for themselves a better casting than granted by nature and their god.” His mother sighed. “What no one knows is how much I detest such manipulations and machinations. I have never enjoyed them and never excelled at them. Quite the reverse. I remember watching in amazement as my mother turned the intentions of some tahn toward exactly the direction she wished, simply by placing the right people to say the right things at the right times. People who wished to speak, not because she gave them words to say, which she sometimes did, but because they believed in what they said. That was how she got your father to propose marriage even when better candidates for his affection lined the palace halls. Fortunately, your father proved very adept at the skills I lacked, a fact that made my mother love him even as she reproved me.”
“Why do you tell me this, Mother?” Tin-Tsu did not see the purpose in his mother’s revelations.
“Simple, my son.” His mother walked from the window to face him again. “I wish to impress upon you that when I say you must marry young Rin-Lahee, I do not do so to antagonize you or interfere in your life, or in an attempt to shape your ascendancy. I explain these things so that it will be clear that if I, who holds so little interest in courtly games and conquests between nations, tell you that you must marry this girl, then hopefully, you will realize the gravity of my words.”
“Then tell me in simpler words,” Tin-Tsu said.
“The simple words are these,” his mother replied. “We need the Daeshen northerners to fund and fight the war we southerners will lose if they do not. Rin-Lahee’s family may not assure our success in bringing this long war to an end, but they will ensure it does not end with our deaths.”
“I see.” Tin-Tsu sighed. He did see. More than he wished. He had been plucked from the comforting cold stones of the mountain altars and prayer bells to lead a nation not merely at war with its neighbor, but in many ways, at war within itself. He thought again of High Priest Toyan-Wen’s advice before leaving the temple. “It seems I will need to find a way for my old vows to expand and encompass my new ones.”
“Hmm.” His mother stepped closer to study him. “I had expected that to be more … enervating. Your father would be proud of your faith and your flexibility of nature.”
“My greatest desire was always to make him proud.” Tin-Tsu realized the deep truth of this sentiment only after it hung in the air between him and his mother.
“Really?” His mother frowned. “Is that why you did not return at his passing to the Pure Lands?”
The heat returned to Tin-Tsu’s cheeks again with twice the fire. He blinked, his mother’s question bringing back memories and emotions he had believed long since prayed into submission.
“I…” Tin-Tsu let that single syllable linger alone. He had conjured many reasons for not returning to the palace upon his father’s death. The distance involved. The time it would take. His duties at the temple. None held a shadow of truth. The source of his reticence lay sheltered from all examination, deep within his heart. That truth now leapt to his tongue even as he tried to once more hide it away.
“I could not face him even in death, for I had failed to become the man he wished of me.”
His mother’s brow curled at his words, then relaxed slowly as she stepped forward to take his hands in her own.
“He would have been proud of you, no matter what you think. He was always proud of you.”
Did his mother know why his father had sent him away, or did she believe, like all others, that he had left of his own volition to seek his vocation as a priest? He could not ask her, fearful that she did know, and that if she did not, he would need to tell her. Tin-Tsu sought to find a reply to his mother’s declaration of his father’s fidelity to his errant son. A knock at the door ended his search. A male servant poked his shaved head through the doorway.
“Your vestments have arrived, my tahn,” the servant said. “A priest is on his way with them now.”
“Send him in,” his mother told the servant. When the man had gone, she turned to Tin-Tsu. “I will leave you to your fellow priest. I’m sure you know how to dress yourself in vestments. I will see how your sister is progressing in taming that unruly tangle-wood she calls her hair.”
His mother kissed him on the cheek and departed the room, leaving him to wonder at the words he had spoken as much as those he had heard. He became so engrossed in reviewing this conversation and its implications that he barely noticed when the priest entered, bearing the vestment sash in his arms. Tin-Tsu gasped silently as he looked up, recognizing immediately the man’s face. The face he had seen so recently watching him from the palace gardens and the temple balcony.
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THE PHILOSOPHER
KADMALLIN
THE HORSE’S teeth bit into the apple, its rough tongue licking Kadmallin’s hand. He petted the side of the beast’s head and took another apple from the pocket of his trousers. As he fed the horse, he watched Sketkee sitting under a tree twenty paces away, the hood of her cloak pulled down to cover her face. She always meditated in the afternoon, saying it restored her thoughts to clarity. Kadmallin doubted her thoughts had even been “unclear”.
The pilgrims had stopped for a short rest along the road, a chance to eat a brief meal, tend to the animals, and rub their weary feet. Most of the pilgrims did these things. A few others milled about in small groups, chatting among themselves. Kadmallin watched three such men as they talked in low voices and glanced over their shoulders to where Sketkee appeared to doze at the far edge of the camp. The three men were new to the band, having joined the prior day after meeting the pilgrims at a small stone bridge fording a narrow river. Newcomers were always skittish around the female rakthor, her appearance disturbing them. Scaled skin and vertical irises did that to humans. Most humans. Kadmallin had only ever been fascinated with Sketkee.
As her armed escort and supposed protector, most would have expected him to stay at her side day and night. Kadmallin, however, found it best to identify the threats one faced, rather than assume everyone posed a threat. Standing far from his employer and friend offered those who might wish her ill to believe they had chanced upon an opportunity to take actions spoken of in low tones and small groups. No matter what transpired while with the pilgrims, he could not allow anyone to pose a danger to Sketkee. He would fight any number of men to ensure that she did not need to defend herself. He had witnessed her rakthor way of combat and never wished to see such brutality again. The pilgrims would not wish to behold it either.
The three men turned to Sketkee as though having reached an agreement among themselves. As they walked toward her, Kadmallin moved to intercept them.
“Kinnao, friends.” Kadmallin raised a hand and spoke the common Shen greeting as he walked to meet the men. They turned to him, but did not stop. The largest of them stood half a head taller than he did, and all three looked like they had seen a fight or two in a city tavern. He doubted they hailed from a small town as they claimed. The daggers they carried in their belts suggested a familiarity with weapons not found working in fields.
“I know you’re curious, friends,” Kadmallin said, smiling broadly as he moved to stand between Sketkee and the men, “but my companion is sleeping.” He raised his open hands in apparent apology. “Her kind need a great deal of rest.” In truth, her kind could go days without sleep and show little wear for it.
“Her kind?” the largest man sneered. “Her kind belong where they come from. Under rocks.”
Kadmallin sized the men up, judging in an instant their individual aggressiveness, strength, speed, and likely skill. Three men with knives posed little threat to a man in light armor with a sword. However, the pilgrims would surely turn sour if they watched him cutting down their newest members. He might be able to take them with empty-handed combat if there were only two of them, but the large one looked more than capable of tipping the balance in such a fight. He needed a different approach. What would Sketkee’s rationality suggest?
“We don’t like that thing travelin’ with us,” the shorter of the three men said, pointing in Sketkee’s direction. Kadmallin noticed the tattoo across the man’s inner forearm. A dagger with six stars. He did not know what it represented, but he suspected few farmers of the region would have the time or the interest in ornamenting their skin.
“We want it gone,” the large man said. “And we’ll get it gone if we needs to.”
“I am sorry to hear that, gentlemen.” Kadmallin lowered his arms. He saw clearly now the logical path. He only hoped he could convince the three men of its wisdom without needing to kill them.
“You’ll hear my fists aside yer head if ya don’t stand away.” The third man, hitherto silent, raised his fist in an angry gesture.
“Let us be honest, gentlemen.” Kadmallin looked each man in the eye, giving them a moment to appraise him as he had done them moments before. The large man blinked in recognition of something that escaped the other two. Kadmallin always found that true killers, men who had killed many times with great proficiency, tended to recognize one another’s natures when standing face to face.
“You three are no farmers.” Kadmallin raised his hands again in an open, explanatory gesture. It always helped to have one’s hands open and raised when facing a potential opponent if they suddenly moved to attack. “You are bandits. Probably what is left of a larger bandit group. Your fellow bandits were likely killed attacking some other pilgrim band, or unwisely provoking the ire of a militia. You lost your weapons, save your daggers, as you ran, but you three survived, and you decided to work your trade at the bridge where we met you. Thinking quickly, and realizing you three alone stood no chance of extorting a band of thirty or more, you claimed to be farmers, eager pilgrims setting off to join the first band you could find. No doubt you thought to rob people in their sleep and sneak off before dawn. Or maybe you hoped to find the weaknesses in the group and exploit them, or hold a hostage and demand ransom for your departure. Possibly take a few of the women with you to rape and kill and leave for the crows. But here is where your plan failed you. You had not expected to find an armed guard of a rakthor pilgrim. Armed men present problems. They kill people. And who among you wishes to be the one to die? Better to scare them off. Convince the rakthor woman and her guard to stay behind and join some other pilgrim band. Then you would be free to ply your trade in peace. Have I judged you aptly?”
Kadmallin looked between the men, searching their faces for signs his words had struck truth. He saw what he needed to see as their eyes glanced back toward the pilgrims and heard what he need know in their silence.
“I have a new plan for you.” Kadmallin patted a small pouch at his waist. It jingled with the weight of the coins within. “I will give you these silver coins, and you will take them and leave.”
“Why shouldn’t we just take the coins and take what else we want?” The smallest of the three took a half step forward. Kadmallin did not budge.
“The answer to that is simple.” Kadmallin smiled. “If you fail to take the coins, I will draw these swords and kill all three of you where you stand. My fellow pilgrims will be saddened by your loss, they may even ask us to leave their company, but you will be dead and I will still have my coins. It is a good plan. I have no need for these last pieces of silver as a pilgrim, and you clearly have need of them or you would not sit by bridges hoping to waylay passersby.” Kadmallin actually carried five times as much coin in gold sewn into the shirt beneath his leather and steel armor, and Sketkee’s coin pouch held twice as much again under her cloak.
The large man squinted at Kadmallin, his mouth twisting in a grimace before he held out his hand. Kadmallin untied the coin pouch from his belt and tossed it to the bandit. The large man snatched the leather pouch from the air and opened it, grunting with satisfaction as he saw its contents.
“Ya better hope ya never sees us again now ya gots no coin to buy us away.” The big man clutched the coin pouch in his hand and grinned, his teeth flashing yellow in the light.
“If we ever meet again, we will both follow a different plan, I think.” Kadmallin rested his hands on the hilts of the two swords at his waist to emphasize his words. He could only use one of the swords, but they would not know this.
The three bandits glared at him, but said nothing more as they turned and walked back down the road, headed no doubt to the small bridge in hopes of accosting some lone traveler. Kadmallin watched them go, wondering if he would indeed see them again. He did not like killing men, but he found that if he must do so, he preferred it to be men like the three bandits.
“That showed extraordinary powers of observation, logical deduction, and forward thinking.”
Kadmallin blinked, but arrested his body’s movement before he jumped. Sketkee moved with great stealth when she wished. He looked over to her.
“Must be all the time I spend with you, rubbing off on me.”
“I doubt it.” Sketkee stared after the three bandits. “I would have killed them. They will undoubtedly rob, rape, or kill others as they have done in the past.”
“You think I should have acted differently?” Kadmallin turned to Sketkee, worried he had made a mistake.
“No, not at all.” Sketkee looked at him, her scaled eyelids blinking slowly. “The logic of my actions and your actions need not be exclusive. This is why I pretended to be asleep. So I would have no excuse to kill them.”
Sketkee nodded in satisfaction at her thinking and walked back to the tree, hefting her pack upon her shoulders. Kadmallin watched her a moment before retrieving his own bag, preparing to resume the protracted walk to the coast with the pilgrim band. As long as he and Sketkee continued to agree on who needed to be killed and why, he thought, they might survive the journey.
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THE THRONE
TIN-TSU
A NAME buried beneath the reaches of memory through years of effort. A name opening the past to the present, eliminating all intervening time in a single utterance. A name indelibly linked to a face. A face altered by age but still familiar to one who had known it so well so long ago. No wonder his mother did not recognize the man as she surely passed him in the hall. She would have known that smile. A smiling face that stood, against all reason and probability, before Tin-Tsu in his dressing chamber.
“You.”
“Me.” The man smiled wider, holding forth the c
oronation vestment sash.
“How do you to come to be here?” Tin-Tsu stood frozen, unable to move and barely able to think with the memories and emotions clouding his mind. He had spent years forgetting this man even lived.
“My sect chose me to attend the coronation. To bring you the official vestments.” The man looked down at the onyx-colored sash of silk in emphasis of his words.
“Sect?” Tin-Tsu found it hard to follow the man’s words, blending as they did with the words from his past, echoing down through the years to whisper in his ears.
“The Ghan-Dju sect.” The man smiled again. “The traditional keepers of the coronation antiquities. This sash, for instance, is over six hundred years old.”
“You are a priest?” Tin-Tsu blinked, trying to order his thoughts.
“You did not know?” The man frowned and glanced away. “I always assumed.”
“No. I did not know.” Tin-Tsu had never assumed. He had striven never to think the name, nor remember the face, nor wonder where the man might be.
“Ironic that we should both become priests.” The man smiled again, amusement battling with growing discomfort across the lean, angular features of his face. “Of course, soon, only one of us will remain a priest.”
“Why are you here?” Tin-Tsu focused his mind on the question necessary to the moment.
“I told you.” The man’s smile faltered. “I bring you the vestments.”
“Why you?” Tin-Tsu lowered his voice, daring himself not to look away from the man.
“I prayed to be selected as my sect’s emissary.” The man stepped closer. “Ni-Kam-Djen answered my prayers.”
Tin-Tsu struggled to keep his feet firmly in place, uncertain if they would step backward or rush forward of their own volition.
The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1) Page 16