Kei's Gift (22 page)

“Empty the bath, then you sleep in that corner,” the man said, revulsion pouring off him. “Keep out of my way.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He began to scoop the water out, but the general curtly informed him he should use the taps at the bottom of the bath for that. He set the things to flowing, standing uncomfortably under the intense blue gaze of his master. As he bent to turn the tap off, he heard the general say in a low voice. “I hate you Darshianese, just be clear on that point.”

He straightened and turned. “Yes, my lord. Can I ask why?”

He was sure he was about to be hit, such was the anger he felt coming off the man. “You killed my friend. Wantonly murdered a non-combatant.”

“Where, my lord?”

“At Darbin. A cowardly attack on my supply train.”

Ah, that incident.
“Your...friend? Your servant?”

“My
page
. Loke.” The general stared with such powerful loathing in his eyes, Kei almost expected his clothes to be set on fire. “Died in agony from a hole in his gut put there by a bomb thrown by your filthy kinsmen.”

Kei nodded sympathetically. “Stomach wounds are very difficult to treat—”

He found himself slammed against the wall, the general’s breath hot in his face. “Are you
mocking
me?”

“N-no, no, my lord. Of course not.”

“No one can treat gut wounds. It’s impossible, my medics told me.”

The tight grip the man had on his shirt was strangling him. “It’s not impossible,” he said, trying to stay calm. “Just difficult.”

“Liar!” A little spittle hit Kei’s face. “Liars and murderers, everyone of you!”

“I am a healer, my lord, not a murderer. I don’t believe in killing.”

Close up, Sei Arman’s eyes were even more astonishingly blue and intimidating. “You make me sick. You’ve been forced on me, but you are not wanted, do you hear? You killed that which I loved, and if I could, I would have you all slaughtered without thought. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.” Kei swallowed, trying not to throw up. “But I didn’t kill your friend.”

“I don’t care. Your kind stinks, you offend me. I have to have you serve me, but nothing will make me like it, or accept you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”
How many times is this man going to say the same thing? And what in hells does he want me to say?
“Shall I empty your bath, my lord?”

With a growl he was set free and the general stalked back to his desk. “Hurry up. Don’t trip and break your foolish neck or I’ll have to replace you with another of your degenerate kind.”

“No, my lord.”

Kei left with the bucket of cold water, his heart sinking. He had been right—this man’s hatred was likely to crush him, crush them all. How could he hope to survive months with someone like this? “Hurry up, you pampered bastards,” he muttered to the absent Rulers of Darshek. “Or there’ll be no one here to rescue.”

~~~~~~~~

He slept like the dead, and for once, dreamlessly. When he woke, he found the general already at his desk. The slight noise Kei made moving about drew his attention to him. “Go and get my breakfast,” he was ordered. The general didn’t even glance at Kei as he spoke.

Good morning to you too, Sei General Arman,
Kei thought as he moved on stiff legs to the kitchens. He had to ask for the man’s food in broken Prijian, which the cook pretended for quite a long time she couldn’t understand, even though there were precious few reasons why he would be standing there asking for anything, and then took the tray back to the general’s room. It was accepted without a word of thanks, the food on it eaten quickly, and then Kei was ordered to take it away.

“My lord, what shall I do today?”

“Whatever you’re told. I won’t return until after supper. Don’t cause trouble for my wife’s staff or you shall suffer for it.”

“No, my lord.”

Wonderful—a whole day at the mercy of Mykis.
He took the tray back, wondering how he should ask for his own food. No one seemed willing to help him, even though they were perfectly able to tell him how to clean the dishes and oh, yes, do the others while you’re there, boy.

He worked under the direction of the cook for at least two hours. By then he was very hungry indeed, so he dared to ask her, “Food, for me?”

She grinned and indicated he had to wait until lunch—another four hours. He couldn’t argue with her—didn’t have the words, and even if he did, she wouldn’t listen anyway.

He was put to scrubbing floors, and hauling buckets of water in and out of the taproom, taking out scraps, cleaning pots and the enormous spit oven. All the while, he had to try and ignore the hunger pangs until he was finally given some bread and cheese and barely enough time to eat. He had only just gulped the last bite down when Mykis came and looked at him in disgust. “Gods, you’re filthy. I told you, we run a clean house here.”

“My lord—”

He yelped as Mykis’s cane struck his arm. “Do
not
speak until you are spoken to!” Kei shook his head and rubbed his arm. Mykis pulled him up by his collar. “Go and wash immediately. I will not allow slovenliness in this household.”

His other clothes were almost certainly still wet, but he could only nod and say, “Yes, sir.” Anything else would earn him a beating, and a rebellion might end up with him being killed. He couldn’t let himself that happen if only because it would mean death for the others from Ai-Albon. He could only grit his teeth, and do what he had to do to get through this.

~~~~~~~~

Arman sent a polite message of thanks to Kita and damned her to the pits of all six hells in his heart for her interference. His mood was not improved when he called on Blikus and found his next employment was to take charge of the troops on Kuprij—more meddling from Her Serenity. “She thinks you should spend more time with your wife at this time,” Blikus told him dryly, his expression telling Arman what he thought of such sentimentality. Arman could hardly tell him how little joy the prospect gave him either.

He should have expected it though. With Ritus in southern Darshian and Jozo in the north, there was a gap in the command structure. Arman was the natural person to fill it, but he intensely disliked the
reasoning
for the decision. He never wanted his personal life discussed, and he didn’t want his career directed by broody women. He also resented that Kita thought it appropriate to interfere so directly in his domestic arrangements. He desperately needed a friendly ear to bend on the topic and so he went in search of the only one now left to him. Of course, he couldn’t even walk there on his own any more—the dignity of his new position required a permanent escort of soldiers, where once he only had them at his home. He wouldn’t even be allowed to walk off his bad tempers in privacy any more.

Karus was the first person genuinely relieved to see him back safely. “Arman, come in, come in, welcome home. Such a successful campaign you’ve had. This will do you a lot of good in the long run.”

Arman held his arm and made Karus stop. “Pei...Loke died.”

Karus peered into his eyes, and nodded slowly as if he had confirmed something. “My dear boy. I’m so sorry.” He patted Arman’s hand, his expression solemn. “Though it may not comfort you yet, the gods have him in their care, I’m sure.”

Arman had ceased to be sure of any such thing, but he bowed his head respectfully. “And how are you, Karus-pei?”

“Well, very well. Come and talk to me in the garden. I’ll have cool drinks brought to us.”

Arman noted Karus moved more slowly than he had before Arman left on the campaign, and a sudden fear seized him that he would lose the only friend left to him. If Karus died, he would truly be alone. The idea made him feel physically ill, but he clenched his fists and said nothing of his fears. They would only upset Karus if he gave expression to them.

Instead he admired the last of the autumn flowers and the tree colours in the shade of a tido palm as Karus asked him about the campaign and how Loke had died. Unfortunate it was just as Arman was describing the attack in Darbin that their refreshments were brought. He glared at the woman who brought the drinks. “I wasn’t aware,” he said with bare politeness, “you were to have a hostage billeted with you.”

“Oh, yes, when they asked who was willing, I offered immediately. The state is paying for all the costs, and I wanted to practice my Darshianese. Arman, this is Jena.”

The woman, whom he vaguely remembered seeing on the journey south, bowed to him. “My lord,” she said politely.

“Pardon me, Pei,” Arman said in Prijian, “but I am not exactly enamoured of the race right now.”

“Because of Loke? I suppose you might hold a grudge there.” Karus tapped the tray and told the woman in Darshianese to leave it and go. When they were alone again, he leaned forward. “Arman, what you described doesn’t sound like any more than a youth carried away with patriotism. I doubt it means the race is evil to a man.”

“You didn’t see it, Pei,” Arman said coldly. “They have no honour, and no sense of familial love or loyalty at all.”

“You surprise me with this observation. But since it upsets you, let’s speak of other things.”

Karus turned the talk to the latest reports from Andon, and let Arman recover his temper. Lunch and the afternoon passed more peacefully, and fortunately, the Darshianese woman didn’t appear again. Karus was a balm on his soul, and over dinner, he could speak a little more openly of Loke’s loss and his feelings concerning it.

“Was it wrong, Pei? He wanted to go, but I could have forbidden it. I
should
have forbidden it.”

He stared at his wine glass, seeing Loke’s pain-glazed eyes in the dark liquid. Karus, when he spoke, was kind. “If you were to ask Loke, even knowing what happened, I know he would still have gone. You were that boy’s world. His sorrow would be that you’re alone now, but never that he died in your arms. A sweeter death, even with the pain, he would not have wished for.”

“It is irrational for me to grieve thus, I know.”

Karus tapped his hand gently. “No. Never say that. Your grief is deep because your loss is great. Loke was a gift from the gods, who have taken him back to their bosom. Come, I haven’t paid my respects. Come with me, my friend, while I do so.”

Standing in front of the garden shrine, with Karus at his side praying piously, the tears Arman had held in check ever since Loke’s body had been cremated, coursed freely down his cheeks. The darkness hid them so he doubted Karus knew he wept. The gods would know, but he wondered if they cared at all. He wished he knew Loke was truly safe with them, and longed for the childhood surety of his faith. To question it was to lose the foundation of his entire life. He was adrift in his sorrow, and only time would tell if he would drown or swim.

Kei lost track of the days. He wasn’t sure if he’d been in the house of Sei Arman for two weeks, or longer. Counting time by meals was pointless—he never knew if he would eat or not. Most often not. He washed more often than he ate, in fact, changing his clothes sometimes three times a day in a futile attempt to stay as clean as Mykis insisted. He had been given two sets of Prijian clothing—odd with all the ties instead of laces but comfortable enough to wear—but the effort of keeping them washed and himself clean, while carrying out the many tasks requiring his attention and his alone, was a losing battle. Every night he went to sleep with fresh welts on his back or his arms from new beatings, and the disgusted complaints of Mykis in his ears.

He wished the general would spend more time at his home, because, though the man was unfailingly rude and curt with him, he never struck him or touched him at all. Kei was sick of being manhandled, hit, shoved and plain abused, and he longed to be in a position to use Mykis’s cane to carry out an internal examination on the bastard. Unfortunately, the general avoided his house, and Kei usually only saw him in the late evening and at breakfast for the briefest period of time. For the rest of the day, he was left to the tender mercies of the other servants.

Nothing he did pleased them, no matter how hard he tried. They didn’t
want
him to please them, because that would rob them of their fun. So would him learning the language, which no one bothered to try and teach him. He picked up a few words here and there, but he had undoubtedly learned more Prijian from the soldiers on the march than he ever would in Sei Arman’s kitchens.

He had no knowledge of where the other Darshianese were being kept and under what conditions, and he feared they were being treated at least as badly as he was, or worse. He was deathly afraid someone like Urki would actually lash out, or that Peit would, and then they would be punished for rebelling. He hoped wherever they were, they were doing as he was, and trying to keep their heads down. As he never left the house, he had no chance of finding out, and Mykis would turn into a tuktuk bird and fly away before he told Kei news of anything, let alone the other hostages.