The Initiate Brother Duology (66 page)

The old man seemed to slump a little as though this rebuttal had taken all the energy of his ancient spirit.

“I fear I have tired you, Prefect. Please excuse me if I have destroyed your harmony.” The chi quan master bowed. He rocked slowly back on his heels, a look of concern registering on his face. I’m sorry, old man, Sotura thought, but I cannot allow your fears to stop what must be done. There is more at stake than your comfortable position. May Botahara forgive me.

*   *   *

Lady Nishima sat before a low table looking at the design for a robe which her servants would embroider. Only moments before, as was often the case, she had a melody in her mind, a folk tune that a talented court composer had
borrowed to create a composition for the Imperial Sonsa troupe. But her visitor had disturbed her harmony and the music faded away as though the musicians in her mind traveled off into the distance.

“It is of no consequence to me, cousin,” Lady Nishima said, trying to keep her voice even. “Jaku Katta could arrive at my door and I would not interrupt my painting.”

The mere mention of Jaku’s name brought back memories she would rather have left undisturbed. She feared she colored with embarrassment, perhaps even shame, at the thought of what had happened between her and Jaku when they last met.
I went to his rooms,
she whispered to herself.

Lady Kitsura Omawara nodded in response. “I did not mean to suggest that you would be…pleased by the news, cousin, I am merely the messenger.” She smiled the smile that disarmed the coldest hearts.

“I did not mean to be abrupt, Kitsu-sum. Please excuse me. I am thankful for your consideration in this matter.” She tried a smile in return. Kitsura had not intended to cause her discomfort, after all; Kitsura was entirely unaware of what had happened between Jaku and herself. Deciding it would be best to change the subject, Nishima observed, “You seem to be very well informed, Lady Kitsura. Does Lord Shonto have this information? Or does he rely upon you?”

“I’m quite certain your esteemed father has all the information that I possess, ten times over.” She looked down at her hands folded in her lap and began to turn a delicate gold ring until the design had gone full circle. When Kitsura did not look Nishima in the eye, it was a sign that she had been engaging in certain activities that she believed her cousin disapproved of. “I simply wish to keep us both informed. I have befriended certain members of your father’s staff and often act as a confidante to them. After all, whom could they talk to who would be more concerned for their lord’s welfare, except perhaps the Lady Nishima?”

“I am not entirely convinced that their lord would view these breaches of security quite so benignly.” Nishima said this with feigned disapproval while she fought the feelings of confusion that set her heart whirling. Despite all efforts, she was afraid that these feelings must show on her face. She tried to cover this with words. “However, it is important to know as much as we can.”

“I agree entirely, cousin. So much is hidden and yet everything that is important to us is in danger of being lost.” She moved to the next ring, turning
it a little more urgently. “Do you think it’s possible that Lord Shonto could be wrong? Could the Emperor’s general really be in disfavor at court?”

Nishima took a last look at the design and began to clean her brush. This would not be a brief interruption. “I do not know Lord Shonto’s source of information at court, Kitsu-sum, so I cannot judge. But my father has an uncanny ability to weigh information on the scale of truth. It is worth noting that he does not speak of Jaku’s present situation in absolute terms.”

“This is what worries me, cousin. If Lord Shonto is right, then Jaku Katta’s fall from favor and banishment are but a ploy to place the Guard Commander within our circle of trust. But if Jaku has truly fallen, and one with so many ambitions could certainly do so, then Lord Shonto cannot hope to win the Emperor’s support to battle the barbarians through Jaku. This situation is of great concern. It is as you have said; so much depends on so little knowledge.”

“If Jaku Katta engineered the attempt on my father at Denji Gorge without the Emperor’s approval, as Lord Shonto suspects, then it is possible that our handsome general is not in favor.” Nishima pushed her table aside. “It is all very confusing. Being sent north to restore order to the canal is hardly a sign of disfavor.”

“Being sent to Seh as its governor would not seem to indicate disfavor either, Nishi-sum.” Kitsura held her ring up to the light, examining it carefully. “It is as Brother Shuyun says; at the gii board an opponent’s design does not need to be strong if you are unable to see it.”

“I did not realize you discussed gii with Brother Shuyun,” Nishima said, her tone registering something close to disapproval.

“Shuyun-sum has been kind enough to instruct me in the intricacies of the board…and to discuss matters of the spirit, also.”

The two women fell silent. A distant thunder rumbled, like a far-off dragon. Rain beat on the gravel border of the garden outside.

“Nishima-sum?” Kitsura said quietly. “We must be absolutely certain of Jaku Katta’s situation at court.”

Lady Nishima nodded. Yes, she thought, and I must know what this man expects of me. She remembered the last thing she had said to Jaku the night she had gone to his quarters—they would speak in Seh. Now she did not know what they would say.

“I think I know how this can be done,” Kitsura said quietly, “though I fear you will not approve.”

*   *   *

Sister Yasuko held the paper up and blew gently on the ink, careful not to spread it. The dampness of the evening invaded her rooms and she huddled close to the charcoal burner and her single lamp. She blew again, careful not to spoil the fine brush work.

“There,” she whispered and held the paper up to the lamp. It was a letter to her superior, Prioress Saeja.

T
HE ERRATIC SPATTER of snow-melt on the undergrowth seemed to grow progressively louder. Lord Komawara tugged at the reins and moved his mare another twenty paces into the mist, stopped, and listened for the hundredth time.

Deep in the mist that had hung for days in the Jai Lung Hills it was impossible to determine the origin of sounds. They echoed and distorted and seemed to emanate from everywhere at once.

Komawara turned in a complete circle, a motion almost as slow as Brother Shuyun practicing his meditations of movement. Nothing…only the suggestion of mysterious forms: to his right a twisted, pointing limb perhaps belonging to an ancient pine; behind him, an outcropping of rock suggesting the face of a disapproving Mountain God.

Shifting the horse-bow to his right hand Komawara worked the fingers, cramped from holding a notched arrow for far too long. He returned the bow to the ready position and moved forward ten paces more, listening.

Years had passed since Komawara had last hunted the Jai Lung Hills—in
company with his father then, when the old man still had strength to ride. Much had changed, more than he ever expected.

There were bandits in the hills now. Holdings had seen their gates battered down in the night and only armed parties would chance the roads.

The lord stopped again, listening as Shuyun had taught when they traveled in the desert. Armor bit into Komawara’s shoulder blade where the leather shirt had worn through, his left hand cramped again, his boots oozed when he walked, and his horse favored her right forefoot. If that was not enough, he was also hopelessly separated from his companions and had only the vaguest notion of where he was. A soft drizzle fell, slowly soaking into the lacings of his light armor. He listened.

Snow, heavy with rain, slipped from a tree branch and fell in a sodden pile at the lord’s feet, causing his horse to shy. That, Komawara realized, was a true indication of the turmoil of his spirit—his mare had sensed it, had caught it in fact. Every few seconds the same soft thudding could be heard somewhere out in the fog.

He moved forward, then paused, straining to hear. Was that the sound of a horse, far off? The creaking of a tree distorted by the distance, by the imagination?

Komawara tried to stretch the tension out of his back and shoulders. In a fog there could be more to fear than brigands: his own men he trusted, but the local men who had joined the hunt for bandits suffered in a silence of poorly hidden fear. Men quickly lost their inner calm in fog such as this. It was as Shuyun had said, robbed of sight, every sound became a threat—even a falling lump of snow would be in danger from an arrow quickly loosed. The arrow from an ally ended more lives in battle than men would speak of.

Ten paces forward. Stop. Listen.

And then, among all the thousand imagined sounds, unmistakably, the thud of hooves on stone. His own mount pricked up her ears. Komawara jigged at the bit and pulled her nose up to his cheek.

“Shh,” he whispered as though she understood. Three paces put them among a stand of long-needled pines. The lord pulled the reins over the mare’s head and made her lie down, saddle and bags still in place. Automatically testing his sword in its scabbard, he crouched down, intent on becoming part of his surroundings.

Horses moving, the scrape of loose rock shifting, the creaking of leather.
Komawara drew the arrow back by half. A horse stumbled and a man’s voice could be heard making comforting sounds, but the words were not clear.

Where? Komawara turned his head from side to side, certain at first that the sound came from uphill, then equally sure its source was to his right.

He listened for a voice he might know. Be still, he told himself, let them pass, they would be easy to track in this snow. They’ll make camp at dusk and it will be easy to find out who they are. But even as he gave himself this advice, he saw a movement in the mist not twenty paces away. A dark form in the blinding white. Moving toward him? Away? He tried to catch any hint of color, a familiar silhouette. A man on foot, walking slowly. Komawara almost stood for a better view, so surprised was he by the sight: dark beard on a face tanned to leather by relentless wind and sun, a vest of doeskin over light mail.
A barbarian!
A barbarian warrior leading a horse through the Jai Lung Hills.