Kei's Gift (74 page)

“There’s more people in Darshek plain than in the whole of the rest of north Darshian,” Tiko said. “There’s a good ten thousand in the city, and as many again in the farms around the place. She’s a fertile place, and a pretty one. When I retire, if I don’t go back to our family farm, I think I’ll buy a little one here and grow fruit to support me in my old age. Let the sun do all the hard work,” he said winking at Kei, and Kei wondered which ‘sun’ he meant.

From where they looked out, the sea glittered like a jewel. Kei could see the great cannons poised on the twin cliffs bracketing the harbour. “There are the Prijian ships,” Arman murmured. “Just out of range.”

Kei looked where he pointed—and yes, he could just make out five or so vessels moored just past the mouth of the harbour. “The poor bastards must surely want to go home by now,” he muttered.

“I’m sure they do—but this is a good sign, you realise. If the siege is still being maintained, then the senate haven’t convinced Her Serenity to give up the campaign. Which means the hostages still have a value to her, I hope. I’d been rather afraid if she’d heard nothing from me in all this time, she might have decided to shut things down. We still need to hurry though. The senate were pressing her to end the war even before I left.”

“Well, then, general, I guess we’ll see how fast you work, if at all,” Tiko said. “We’ve still got some travel ahead of us, so let’s move.”

Kei expected they would take Arman all the way to the Ruler’s House in the centre of Darshek, at least half a day’s ride from the base of the range. He was therefore shocked to be met shortly after they’d completed their descent, by a squad of twenty soldiers on beasts, led by one of the Rulers himself, a short, slim man in his forties whom Kei dimly remembered from his previous stay in the capital. Kei’s group pulled up and Tiko snapped off the smartest salute Kei had ever seen him make. “Lord Meki, I’m Captain Tiko, at your lordship’s service.”

Lord Meki nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I’m here to collect our prize and take him into Darshek. General Arman? I hear you speak our language fluently.”

“Yes, my lord, and I’ve had a few weeks to improve.”

Lord Meki smiled at the comment. “Good. Tiko, if you and your men would remove any personal effects from this cart, we’ll use it to transport the general.” The Ruler turned to Kei. “You would be...?”

Kei swallowed nervously—he hadn’t expected to have to talk to one of the Rulers. “Kei of Ai-Albon, my lord. Healer. I’ve been in charge of the general’s health since Fort Trejk.”

“Ah, yes. And the general’s condition?”

Neki was replaced as driver on the cart, and the other two soldiers took their packs and bedrolls out of the back. Arman wore a blank expression as if this was nothing whatsoever to do with him. “Very good, my lord. He’s still recovering from a broken leg, but in the last day, he’s begun to walk without the crutches. I can travel on with you and see to his care.”

Meki dismissed that idea with a wave of his elegant hand. “No need, lad, we have healers like jombekers have fleas in the House. You can return home to your village with a clear conscience, and our thanks.”

Tiko interrupted. “Begging your lordship’s pardon, young Kei is going to stay to meet a friend here—but he’s without funds.”

“Naturally he is. Where will you meet your friend, Kei?”

“At the Inn of the White Hisk, my lord. At least, that’s where he usually stays.”

“Then, Tiko, arrange a line of credit at the inn for the lad for as long as he needs it while he’s here, and draw him a purse of coins from the paymaster—you’ll know better what he needs.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Kei said, feeling rather dazed. “My lord—where will the general be staying?”

“That depends on various factors—more than that, I can’t say. We have to get moving if he’s to be at the House before sunset. Thank you all for your service—Tiko, your colonel will pass your report to me, I trust.”

“Yes, my lord. He’ll have it by tomorrow.”

“Excellent. Then all is settled. Good day, gentlemen.”

Meki turned his beast and galloped away. The head of the squad cried out a command and the beast pulling Arman’s cart was whipped into a trot. “Arman!” Kei shouted.

Arman twisted and waved, said something Kei couldn’t hear. Within minutes he was out of sight past a clump of trees.

Kei felt like his heart had been yanked out of his chest and untidily stuffed back in.

“Close your mouth, boy, it makes you look half-witted.”

He turned around. “But...it was so sudden. I thought I’d get to say goodbye at least.”

Tiko looked at him kindly. “I know—but Lord Meki doesn’t waste time on fancy courtesy. He gets straight to the point, doesn’t wait around for people. It’s better this way. The general will be all right, provided he doesn’t mess them about.”

Kei still stared in the direction in which Arman had been taken.
Goodbye, Arman. Good luck.

And then he turned his beast, and himself, towards his own destiny, and the Inn of the White Hisk.

Arman hoped Kei’s shocked face was not to be his last memory of his friend, but at this very moment, he would have no say in who he would see or when. The transition from passenger to prisoner had been abrupt, and while he hadn’t exactly expected to be welcomed like a long-lost heir, the coldly efficient manner in which he was transferred and taken charge of, reminded him more of the Prij than the Darshianese he’d encountered thus far.

Apart from the brief exchange at the handover, this Lord Meki, who had not even had the courtesy to introduce himself properly, had not said a single word to him, partly because of the smart pace they set along the paved road, passing fields and small prosperous looking hamlets, tidy farmhouses and barns. This area of Darshian was rather like the south, only lacking all of the influence the Prij had brought to bear—no temples, no sign anywhere of war or violence, and the style of the houses was quite different from those in the south, or even those of the dry regions. It was noticeably warmer here too, and more humid—the heavy cloak felt uncomfortable and for the first time in weeks, he cast it aside to ride in shirtsleeves under the sun.

After three hours, they stopped to change animals at what was clearly an army post—he was offered food and drink and the briefest stop to relieve himself. Lord Meki remained at a distance from him, and Arman was kept under the strictest guard the entire time, which he could have found flattering, and certainly thought amusing. Although he had graduated the day before to the walking stick Kei had made for him, he could still only limp slowly on his weakened leg. A three-year-old could outrun him with ease. However, the Darshianese were taking no chances.

Not long after they resumed their journey, the fields gradually gave way to more and more houses, workshops and even markets, the population density slowly increasing, and their speed now considerably slowed by the other traffic—carts, wagon, people, beasts—on the road. Even with the soldiers shouting for everyone to get out of their way, loaded wagons and beasts took time to move. Arman wished he had kept the shawl he had previously used for warmth, to cover his distinctive hair and features, but he refused to hide now, exposing himself to the astonished stares of the people on the streets and in the carts. Some of it was curiosity perhaps at seeing a Ruler—Arman had no idea how much contact the ordinary citizen had with the elite—but most of it was clearly directed at him.

Lord Meki now seemed anxious to move everyone along, and the officer in charge of the soldiers shouted constant orders for his men to keep tight formation with Arman’s cart and to keep moving forward. Perhaps they were worried someone would assassinate him. He couldn’t detect any obvious hostility in the curious onlookers, but it only took one person with a grudge and a bomb, as he knew only too well—and so apparently, did Lord Meki.

Eventually they reached what appeared to be the centre of Darshek. It was a spacious city, with gardens and trees everywhere, looking far less formal than Utuk. While Utuk was all tall marble columns and granite majesty, Darshek was made of sandstone, wood and bricks, the buildings lower set and wider at their base than their Prijian counterparts. There wasn’t the urgent crowding into the desirable areas that was such a feature of Utuk. The houses of the wealthy had gardens without fences in front of them—something no prosperous Prijian would dream of omitting—letting any passer-by look, or indeed, stroll straight into them.

The most prominent building was a very large, long residence, slightly taller than any he’d seen, set well back from what appeared to be the equivalent of Utuk’s civic square, with gracious, well-planned gardens at its front side. He was taken up a wide drive to this building, so this was probably the Rulers’ House that Kei and Tiko had mentioned—the administrative centre of Darshek as well as home to its eight elected Rulers. Compared to the sovereign’s palace, it was a very modest affair, but by Darshianese standards, it was imposing.

Arman was taken to the rear of the building where there were stables and more soldiers apparently permanently stationed. He was unloaded from the cart, and taken, with the guard of soldiers still tightly positioned around him, inside the building. Then down a long corridor to a bright, cheerfully ornamented room that appeared to be an office for someone of high rank—Lord Meki himself, apparently. The Ruler beckoned Arman to sit and dismissed his soldiers, asking one of them to bring them some refreshment before seating himself behind the large desk. Books covered one wall from floor to ceiling and on another were a series of beautifully drawn maps. Arman itched to look more closely at them.

Lord Meki steepled his hands and looked appraisingly at him. “My apologies, general, for the unseemly haste of our journey. I was anxious to get you here before rumours flew around too much.”

“I understand, my lord. You told Kei that where I would be kept would depend on certain factors. Do I need to guess what those might be?”

Lord Meki laughed a little. “No, I suspect your guess would be accurate. From the reports I’ve had of you, you’re a straight-talking man. I’ve been told of your conditions, which I believe are the return of your men to Kuplik, and that any rescue must involve as little loss of civilian life as possible. Have I been informed correctly?”

“Yes, my lord, you have.” Arman couldn’t help envying their mysterious and apparently very efficient communications system. “Were you also told I can hold out very little hope of success, however much cooperation I give you?”

“Yes, that was made clear to me also. However, we can only try to form a plan which achieves all our aims, and if you’re prepared to give us all the information we need, I believe we may be able to do this.”

“Are you not concerned I might lead you into a trap, my lord? Were I in your position, I’d be very suspicious of a traitor.”

Lord Meki only smiled. “What makes you think I’m not suspicious? However, I’ve noted something from the reports we’ve had, and even now—you’ve made not a single request on your own behalf in exchange for cooperation. Now, one might suppose that could be because you fear us and our retribution, but from what I can see, you’re not exactly quaking in your boots. Do you see yourself as a traitor?”

However much he tried to get used to the word being applied to himself, Arman always experienced an unpleasant queasiness when it happened—all his life he’d been taught blasphemy and treachery were the vilest, most heinous crimes imaginable. The former charge held no fears for him any more, but he’d never expected to be guilty of the latter. “If you mean, would I be seen as one in Kuprij, yes, I am. But I don’t mean to betray my country to the enemy, and if you expect me to hand it over to you, you can consider any offer of cooperation void. I merely want to right the wrong committed by my people against yours, by my own hand against your people as well.”

Lord Meki nodded. “Yes, I had reports of what happened at Ai-Darbin. That caused a great deal of consternation and speculation here, I can tell you. But this is why I’m prepared to consider your advice as honest, general. I’m inclined to believe that if you intended to deceive us, you would have taken a different route. However, don’t imagine we have no way of verifying what you say, or that we will
not
exact retribution if you attempt to mislead us.”

“I understand, my lord.”

There was a knock at the door, and when Lord Meki told them to enter, a servant entered with a tray of food and drink, setting it on the desk and withdrawing. “Please, do eat—it’s been a long day.”

Arman permitted himself some of the cold fruit juice because he was thirsty, but left the small pastries untouched. “So how do we proceed, my lord?”

“Hmmm. It seems to me we have a slight stand off. In order for you to make plans which have a hope of succeeding, you’ll need to be given details of our military capacity which puts you in a very privileged position. General, once you have that information, you cannot return to Kuprij—not, at least, while we are in a state of hostility with your people, even if the hostages are returned. You do understand?”

Arman bowed his head. “Yes, I’ve accepted that since Darbin. It’s too late now, if my men go home.”

Lord Meki gave him a piercing look. “And if they don’t? Because we could possibly allow you and the other soldiers to return if the hostages could somehow be rescued without your involvement being known.”