The King's Horse (Shioni of Sheba Book 2) (3 page)

“W
hat’s the matter
now?
”
Princess Annakiya lowered her bow and threw Shioni a quizzical glance. “I’ve asked you the same question three times. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were deliberately ignoring me.”

“My stomach’s misbehaving.” Shioni rubbed the offending spot. That dream of Kalcha, two nights before, was still bothering her. Was it childish fears–or a dire warning? She just could not shake off the memory of those hyenas... and oddly, her side still ached.

Stupid mangy pus-licking four-footed turds!

Annakiya adjusted the headscarf she was using to keep her raven-black hair out of her face while she practised her archery, and shrugged a shoulder in the direction of their six-warrior escort. “If you need to find a bush,
please pick one a reasonable distance away where I can neither see nor hear your efforts.”

“I’m supposed to
stick closer than your shadow.”

“I’ve got those six in case my personal bodyguard lets me down,” Annakiya shot back. “Besides, the Wasabi are nowhere near the castle. We’ve three hundred Elites–”

“Anni, I just don’t feel right. I’m as nervous as a mouse spending the night in an eagle’s nest.”

Their surroundings were as calm
as calm could be. Shioni’s eyes jumped to the khaki bushes and tall tan elephant grasses surrounding the grassy meadow on the far side of the river above the castle, and although there was nothing to see, her edginess simply would not abate. The warriors had scouted the location beforehand, she reminded herself. She had seen no spoor, heard no alarmed animal calls, detected nothing unusual during their ride from the castle to the base of the cliff… and yet.

And yet she was probably being
ridiculous!

The Princess loosed an arrow in the direction of the target they had chosen–
a dead tree–and hissed as it dipped into the ground a few paces short.

“Bowstring to your ear, how many times–”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake go feed it to a hyena!” Annakiya mopped her forehead with her sleeve. Her light brown skin was glistening in the afternoon heat. “You have a real warrior’s bow, I get this pretty thing apparently fit for a Princess but in reality useful for nothing but firewood. Give me your bow.”

Shioni hesitated. “I don’t think you have the strength, Anni.”

“The Princess of the Realm of Sheba therefore issues a royal decree that her worthless slave, who is merely able to pin magical pythons
right
through the eye
in
the heat of a battle
during
the dead of night, shall lend her royal personage the said bow… um, forthwith!”

“If you put it like that, Your Majesty,” said Shioni, laughing. Walking over to her pony, Star, she unclipped her recurve bow from its leather strap and pressed the weapon into Annakiya’s outstretched hand.
She was annoyed with herself for displaying her irritation so clearly. But the Princess had turned it into a joke. What a friend!

Annakiya nocked an arrow to the string and tested the draw. She was a fair archer and knew what she was doing with a bow. But as
Shioni had suspected, her friend managed a three-quarters draw before complaining, “Great leaping zebras, Shioni! That just kills my shoulder!”

“Here, let me help.” Shioni set her
index and second fingers to the string and pulled.

“Ouch! What–!”
Tzoing!
The arrow shot off to the left of their target and dived into the bushes. “Now see what you–”

They both froze as an agonised
howl resounded from the bushes! A man leaped to his feet, clutching his shoulder… a man with a face painted like a hyena–a Wasabi warrior!

For what seemed to Shioni like a long time, but was probably only a second or two, everyone looked at everyone else and nobody moved. Then she saw painted faces popping out of the grasses, from behind a boulder and beneath a bush. One was drawing his bow. He took aim at the Princess.

The Sheban warriors behind them shouted, drawing their weapons. Shioni’s heart pounded her eardrums, but her mind seemed to dive into the space between each heartbeat. Annakiya’s nearby gasp morphed into a strangely elongated groan. Her eyes leaped to minute details. A tiny puff of dust rose off the Wasabi warrior’s index finger as he released his arrow. The warrior’s mouth screwed up in an everlastingly slow snarl. The arrow seemed to gather speed as it shot across the thirty or so paces separating them. She knew its trajectory was destined to impact the precise centre of Annakiya’s forehead.

She saw her own hand leap up and swat the arrow aside, mid-air.
Huh?

The Wasabi warrior
could not believe his eyes. His snarl became limp. Shioni yanked the Princess down. She shoved her friend face-first into the dirt. A snippet of General Getu’s last lecture reverberated through her mind, delivered during an exercise in which the Elite warriors had been trying to raid each other’s ‘camps’ which were defended by archers. Shioni had been in the blue group. ‘Down!’ the General had roared. ‘Are you giraffes or warriors?’

Apparently, in a fight involving archers, being a giraffe was not the way to go!

Shioni yanked her recurve bow out of Annakiya’s nerveless fingers and, raiding the quiver strapped to the Princess’ back, draped herself bodily over her friend as she took aim. To her credit, Annakiya neither wriggled nor protested, but lay as still as a rat mesmerised by a cobra.

“Sheba! For Sheba!” cried the warriors, leaping past her with their
shields held high and swords to the ready. Their lion’s-mane headdresses shook as they ran, lightly but fiercely, fanning out across the grassy space to engage the enemy.

Her first shot narrowly missed the Wasabi archer, but her second pinned him
in the flesh of his right side. After that, the warriors closed with each other and she could not shoot for fear of injuring their own. One of the Sheban guards planted himself directly in front of her–doing the manly thing of protecting the women, she thought with an inward snort of annoyance. But she knew her duty.

Holding
an arrow ready on the string, Shioni levered herself out of the dust. “Back, Annakiya,” she hissed. “Behind me.”

“Where did they come from?”

“That’s a question our warriors will ask,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the battle, not even for a breath. “To the ponies, now. Quick! Keep low!”

There! A yellow-painted face hiding in the grass! Shioni brought her bow around smoothly, trying not to rush the shot, just as she had been drilled–oh, a thousand times. To her mild surprise, her arrow flew true and the face jerked back out of sight. Take that, Wasabi scum!

Yip! Yip!
One of Kalcha’s hyenas–no, two! Two small hyenas were leading the retreat, already out of bowshot. Shioni rubbed away the chill on her neck. Thankfully it had not been the big ones, the ones who had attacked her in her dream…

Shioni
helped Annakiya mount Star, and then mounted up behind her, so as to protect the Princess’ back–again, following the wisdom of her teachers. How many times had she not grumbled, at least privately, when for the hundredth time her instructor had drilled her in a particular move or scenario? Tomorrow she would thank them all, she resolved. Tomorrow she would shut her mouth and do exactly as she was told without a word to the contrary!

“Go, Star!”

Peering over her shoulder as they departed the skirmish at a gallop, Shioni saw to her satisfaction that the Sheban Elites appeared to be prevailing. Three of them were herding a gaggle of Wasabi warriors up against the cliff. They would not last long. One Sheban warrior was down, clasping his stomach with both arms. Another was pursuing a fleeing Wasabi. He would be run down. Perhaps the Elite would try to capture him so that he could be tortured for information.

However, even as she watched, the Wasabi warrior whirled and threw himself upon the pursuing warrior’s blade. He would not be captured.

Shioni snapped her head back to the fore, scanning the trail down to the ford. She was in no mood for any more surprises. How long had those Wasabi dogs been lying low, watching, biding their time before… well, before the would-be ambushers had been ambushed by Annakiya’s stray arrow? How had they slipped through the Sheban patrols? She examined her hand. Only the edge of her palm had prevented them from snatching the Princess’ life.

She was unhurt. Annakiya was ruffled but unhurt too.
And Star was making good progress, still fleet of hoof for an old pony, as she pressed across the ford in a shower of spray.

Castle Asmat had a warm, ruddy tone to its stone façade. However,
as Star rattled down the path toward the gate, Shioni was surprised to see it had become almost invisible beneath scaffolding so teeming with male slaves working in just their ragged shorts, that it resembled a busy wasps’ nest covered in brown wasps. General Getu was sparing no man to ensure that the renovation work would be completed on time, she thought. Once he received word of a Wasabi sneak attack just across the river… pity those poor men! The whip would be cracked without mercy.

As they approached the gates of Castle Asmat, Shioni raised her voice and yelled for the guard.
Shortly, Princess Annakiya made her report in a commendably calm voice to Captain Dabir, who was rather less calm about issuing his orders.

She might have dealt with the Wasabi, but Shioni completely missed Mama Nomuula descending upon her like a mother elephant
bent on saving its calf from a marauding pack of hyenas. Annakiya could not stop snorting and chortling as Mama tucked Shioni beneath one huge arm and carried her off to General Getu’s room. Dignity? What dignity?

And a slave was allowed how much dignity, exactly? She was dumped in a heap in the doorway while Mama first checked the Princess. “Annakiya, my poor dove!” fussed Mama, brushing down her clothes. “What happened?”

“She
enjoyed
pushing me into the dirt!” Mama glared at Shioni as the Princess whined. “She jumped on top of me and mashed my teeth in the sand!”

So the precious Princess was getting all of the attention and sympathy and the slave-girl was getting
none? Shioni had kept silent throughout Annakiya’s report to the General and Mama Nomuula, but now she
had
to say… what? She did not know whether to feel jealous, furious, or just downright mutinous.

“Oh, getting
your nose rubbed in the dirt from time to time is good for a Princess,” growled Getu.

Three open mouths turned his way.

“Shioni was following her training, just as I would expect.”

“You’s a stone-hearted old spear waver!”
Mama accused him.

“Oh, really?”
Getu looked pleased with himself, Shioni thought. “I’m proud of the girl. What a bodyguard! Princess out of harm’s way, swats an arrow mid-air, makes the escape with the Princess unharmed!” He nodded at Shioni. “You need to teach me that trick. Never say this warrior’s too old to learn new tricks!”

“What trick
s?” Mama, Annakiya and Shioni chorused together.

“The one where you swat flying arrows like mosquitoes.
The bald-faced lie in the midst of an otherwise compelling tale.”

Shioni opened and closed her mouth, speechless. Mama Nomuula and the General were regarding each other as though two opposing thunderheads were lining up to do battle with thunder, lightning and hail.

But Princess Annakiya, pale of cheek, said quietly, “My Lord, I hope you are not accusing a Princess of Sheba of lying? I am no child. I know what I saw. Be that as it may, why don’t you corroborate my story with your Elite warriors?”

“Oh, I intend to,” he growled.

“And after that I will await your apology.”

Rising, Princess Annakiya swept out of the room without a further word. Great scabby hyenas, thought Shioni. Just when she thought a matter was
straightforward! Annakiya standing up to the General? Getu suggesting the Princess needed her nose rubbed in the dirt? There were undercurrents in that room she needed to understand.

Shioni rubbed the edge of her hand, just beside the knuckle of her little
finger, where a neat little bruise was already developing. Were her reactions really that quick? Was it the warrior training? Or were more sinister forces at work?

She hurried after her friend. The least she could do after that would be to clean the
dirt off her face!

A
Day later, the
castle had been transformed. Although the courtyard appeared festive, decked out in red, green and yellow ribbons, the occasion was sombre. The sky had clouded over during the course of the morning as if in response to the general mood.

It was the feast
day of Saint Gabriel, the archangel. Gabriel, the chief priest had told them, was a mighty protector of Sheba in the heavenly realms. His stirring tale of the archangel wading into battle against demons and dragons, with his fiery sword and the strength of the Almighty in his right arm, had kept all the children rapt.

But at
Prince Bekele’s request the priests had also set aside the major portion of the feast day to offer up prayers for the King’s recovery. So a usually merry day was turned into a solemn, stately affair–and the children were left to fidget.

A dozen
priests had set up court beneath the baobab tree in the north-eastern corner, which was one of the few shady spots in the courtyard. Even now, with the sun hiding shyly behind the clouds, they and many of the onlookers had their umbrellas up. People thought the sun would burn their skins and make them sick.

The C
hief Priest, as always, was draped in glorious crimson, gold and green brocaded robes, and he had his own servant to hold a magnificent–and very heavy–umbrella aloft for him while he read from an ancient, illuminated manuscript, or chanted the prayers. He was holding a staff in his left hand which was topped with an exquisitely-worked golden cross that had to be worth a King’s ransom and more. The more junior fellow-priests flanking him right and left were holding prayer staffs, golden censers for the burning of incense, and smaller but still superb gold and silver hand crosses of intricate and varied designs.

Shioni was aware that the priests would usually process upon rugs especially laid out before them by teams of sweating slaves. But today, the slaves and the carpets were absent. Instead, the slaves had been instructed to strew the priestly stage with fresh grass, giving off a fresh, clean scent, to symbolise God’s good provision for the Sheban people.

Everyone who could afford it, was clothed in beautiful white cotton–the women in flowing white dresses gathered at the waist, and long, hand-woven headscarves, embroidered with patterns on the edges to reflect the town or village they were from. The men went barefoot, with brilliant white shirts, white trousers, and thick white
gabi
cloths draped over their shoulders.

Shioni
loved all the white. It made for a striking scene, especially during the dancing. And she enjoyed the prayers and the responsive chants from the congregation, echo building upon echo, wave upon wave of sound bouncing around the courtyard. Annakiya had loaned her a simple white dress for the day. It was plain, but the finest she had ever worn. She felt rather good, and a trifle guilty, about some of the jealous looks she had attracted from the other young slaves.

She
tried to ease her numb knees without drawing attention to herself. Annakiya and the few nobles and people of importance left at the castle had seats, and the warriors were leaning patiently on their shoulder-high sticks, used for walking or for fighting depending on the occasion. Ginab villages’ leaders had travelled up to the castle for the occasion, and were favoured with seats alongside the nobles, who had vocally disapproved of being seated beside commoners. But she had to kneel on the bare stone; stone swept at great length by the slave-girls in preparation for this day; stone which seemed to perversely become harder as the hours dragged by.

From the third to the tenth hour!
Shioni schooled her expression into a semblance of calm. Prayers, chants, incense burning, kissing the holy cross, blessing the people, more prayers, blessing the King, declaring the King’s mighty deeds, dancing, sprinkling of holy water, preaching… even God had to be bored to tears by now, surely? Did God ever cry? She wasn’t sure she could have asked the priests that sort of question. Maybe she would ask Mama later, after they broke the fast, and feasted. She licked her lips discreetly. Yum!

Her
restless eyes drifted over to General Getu. He was sitting in a comfortable leather chair, with his broken leg stretched out on a cushioned stool. Talaku hulked beside his father, and she thought she could detect some resemblance, especially in the eyes and nose. The man’s gigantic stature made his perch on a three-legged stool look silly–but she had no doubt that if jests were made, heads would quickly be cracked together. Unlike the father, the son had the temper of a wounded lion.

Perhaps his temper would be
improved if he didn’t always have to bend through doorways, or sit uncomfortably on a normal seat, or eat stew with one of Mama’s serving spoons? He couldn’t even sleep in a normal bed, he was too tall and too heavy. Many of the warriors had wives or girlfriends, but he didn’t. Some of the women said they were frightened of him. Had they seen him at the river, those women would have bolted like startled rabbits!

Talaku’s
brow beetled. Shioni realised she had been staring. Blood rushed to her face, making her feel hot and faint all at once. The giant leaned over and whispered something to General Getu, whose gaze darted to her and away several times.

Shioni’s heart dropped as though weighted with iron.
She wasn’t in trouble again, was she? Surely not! Why then did the General look so grim? What had Talaku said? Her mind raced back over the past hours and days, trying to pin down what she could possibly have done this time. She lowered her gaze, but when she glanced up again, they were both still watching her.

The General lifted his chin and
indicated his quarters.

His message was as clear as a mountain
stream. Shioni let her head dip in acceptance. Whatever General Getu wanted, his word was law and she had no choice. Well, no choice that wouldn’t make a bad situation much, much worse. She would see him later.

Finally, the huge
kebero
drum, which quite dwarfed the tiny man beating it with the heel of his hand, began to boom, and the congregation rose to its feet. The priests thumped their prayer staffs on the ground to keep time as flutes wailed and sistra jingled. The drummer moved towards the centre of the throng, picking up the beat, while the congregation encircled him eagerly, swaying in response to the rising music.

Shioni struggled to her feet.
Her legs had gone to sleep. And oddly, her side was hurting where she had been kicked in her dream.

Clapping and singing, leaping, dancing and sweating, the celebrants surrounded the drummer
in a frenzy of movement and colour. Groups of women broke into ecstatic ululations of praise, their high-pitched cries mingling with the incredible din. Their eyes rolled back until only the whites showed, which always made her feel unnerved. Annakiya was somewhere in the middle of the group, dancing. She was a natural dancer–quite unlike Shioni’s style, which had once been described by Hakim Isoke as a ‘monkey’s dinner-dance’. She had not danced in public ever since.

Knowing she would be needed in the kitchens, Shioni slipped away through the crowd.