The Prince of Shadow (48 page)

“Master Jaks?” Llesho froze, paralyzed by his own conflicting feelings. It had all been a mistake. Jaks was alive.

The blue lips struggled to shape a word, and Llesho bent low to hear what Master Jaks wanted to say to him.

“What . . . have . . . you . . . done?” the voice, so near death, whispered.

Looking into those clouded eyes, Llesho saw agony, not only for the wound that once again bled freely, staining the pure white sheet, but for something only those eyes could see, that now was lost.

“I don't know.” Llesho fell to his knees, lay his head upon the heaving breast, and wept. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” he cried.

“I . . . can't . . . stay . . . here . . . !” Master Jaks' tortured whisper cut Llesho to the heart. He had not meant to cause his teacher pain, only to demand recognition of his own anguish. But it was too late, to late for any of it. And he realized how selfish his desire to hold his teacher in this world past the time appointed for him was.

“I know,” he said. He opened his fist, lay his outstretched fingers on the wound in Master Jaks' chest, but already the bleeding had slowed, cooled. When he looked up, the eyes were fixed again, and he realized Master Jaks had stopped breathing.

“Tell the goddess for me that I love her still,” Llesho asked of his departed teacher. “But I do not understand what any of this was meant to teach me.” Gently he closed the staring eyes.

“Llesho?” Master Den had returned, and now he dropped a heavy hand on Llesho's shoulder.

“He's dead,” Llesho said.

It seemed a pointless statement, but Master Den looked from the body, soiled with fresh blood, to the princeling with tear tracks marking the battle stains on his face, and gave a deep and mournful sigh.

“Yes, he is. Bixei is awake, however, and demanding food and an accounting of what followed his own fall. The rest of you will survive this time as well: Markko's poison was not strong enough to kill in the open air of battle.”

“He will fix that the next time,” Llesho said, allowing Den to push his thoughts to surviving. “Mar kko never makes the same mistake twice.”

“If it
was
a mistake. He wants you alive.”

Llesho remembered the image of himself, a captive in a cage, that had come to him on the battlefield, and he shuddered.

“Is any of that blood yours?” Den asked.

Llesho shook his head. “I wasn't injured at all.”

“That is a matter for debate,” Master Den observed. “But it appears you will live. At least, you will if I let you get some sleep. Kaydu is waiting for you outside. Clean yourself up and let her take you to your tent. Eat. Rest. Visit with your friends if you must, but leave tomorrow to Habiba and the new day. It will get better.”

Llesho wasn't sure if the last was true, but he found Kaydu waiting for him as Master Den had said. He ate what she handed him, though he didn't notice what it was. When she took him down the row of red tents and opened the flap into the one assigned to him, he followed her in and fell on his camp bed without complaint. Then he pretended to sleep so that he wouldn't have to talk while she kept guard.

Gradually the campfires faltered, until he could no longer see the peak of his own tent above him. He was surprised to find that his mind did not replay the day's battle in the darkness. In fact, while they would not let him sleep, neither did his thoughts circle endlessly on the memory of his losses. His mind was quite, quite blank, and he felt grateful for the emptiness until the sun grayed the corners of his tent.

 

 

In the morning, Jaks was gone, buried secretly somewhere on the field of battle. Llesho could not make out one freshly turned grave among so many in the churned ground. Kaydu, still at his side, said nothing; Llesho did not guess at what she saw on the bloody field. Or under it.

“If his friends can't find him, neither will his enemies,” Master Den explained. “And they won't be able to desecrate his body if they can't find it.”

Llesho shrugged. Once the spirit abandoned it, the body meant nothing. A soldier deserved freedom at death: not dirt in his face, but the high mountains overlooking Kungol, where his bones might be picked by the birds and his spirit might begin its journey that much closer to heaven. He would have taken Jaks to the passes in the West, but Thebin and her mountains were a thousand li away. Lowlanders had different customs anyway. So he accepted Master Den's assurance that all had been done as Master Jaks would have wanted, and followed him to the command tent. Habiba waited for him inside.

“Good morning.” Habiba gestured to a folding seat open for Llesho at his right hand. He addressed the teacher with an ironic smile. “The yarrow sticks are in the air, Master Den. Have you come to see how they fall?”

Master Den eased himself into a solidly built chair that seemed designed for his personal use, a luxury Llesho had never seen his teacher indulge in. “The Changes can only reflect what rests within us already,” he reminded their host, offering the words with his own subdued challenge.

Kaydu frowned at Master Den and wrapped her arms around her father's neck as if she would protect him from the washerman's barbed tongue.

Habiba patted her arm. “We'll keep it civilized, I promise,” he said. She hesitated, but took her father's frown as dismissal and joined the watchful guards who stood at the entrance to the tent.

When they had all settled in their places, Habiba returned his attention to Llesho.

“Have something to eat.” He gestured at the low camp table in front of him, where a map lay, held in place at one end by a bowl of plums and figs, and at the other by a plate of biscuits. Llesho did as he was directed, accepting a biscuit.

“We are here—” Habiba waited for Llesho to settle himself, and went on, “—at the border where Thousand Lakes Province meets the frontier of Shan Province.” He drew an imaginary line with his finger on the Thousand Lakes side of the border. “Scouts report a large force of imperial guards await us on the Shan side of this line.”

“You sound worried about that.” Llesho took a bite of his biscuit to cover his surprise and gain himself a moment to think. “Would the Emperor direct General Shou and his provincial guard to help us, and then send his imperial forces against us the next morning?”

“If he wanted Markko and her ladyship both off the board,” Habiba conceded with a curious smile. “In his capacity as provincial governor of Shan Province, the emperor might assist us to defeat the greater threat. Calling upon his power as Emperor, he might choose to send his imperial troops against the survivor while he was weakened from battle.”

“But we aren't preparing for battle,” Llesho noted. The whole of Habiba's forces seemed to be catching their breath, tending to their wounded and their dead, collecting undamaged arrows from the field of battle, and otherwise healing the injuries to men and equipment inflicted in Markko's recent attack.

“Of course not,” Habiba acknowledged. “Her ladyship and the governor of Thousand Lakes Province remain the loyal servants of his supreme excellency, the Celestial Emperor of Shan and Its Provinces.”

Llesho detected irony in Habiba's representation of his master's position, but couldn't figure out what was behind it. Not treason. Habiba did not act like a man engaged in a desperate conspiracy; rather, he looked like he had a secret that brought him some reassurance.

“I have sent an emissary to the commander of the Emperor's force,” Habiba went on, “begging his protection for our small band, which comes to petition for the safety of Thousand Lakes Province.”

Master Den nodded solemnly, a gesture that belied his ironic answer: “A message that has the advantage of being true on the face of it. Markko has already murdered three lords in his bid for control of all the eastern provinces, and has attacked our party on the very border of Shan Province itself.”

“The emperor already knows this, of course,” Habiba agreed. “His spies have been busy on all sides of the border. But he also knows that Markko has left the consolidation of his conquests to pursue a boy who has declared himself a missing prince of the mysterious kingdom of the West.”

“I have done no such thing,” Llesho objected.

“Others have done it for you,” Den said. “And now, his imperial highness will have his look at you, and determine for himself whether he will risk his empire to acknowledge the claim.”

Habiba agreed. “With the Harn harrying his borders on the west, and Markko gobbling up the provinces to the east, and both declared enemies of this newly discovered prince, I don't think he can afford to help directly. He may, however, conclude that a boy who still lives in spite of such powerful enemies is not to be tampered with. So you will ride at the front today, and in attire suited for a traveling prince.”

“I have the clothes I stand up in, and not much else,” Llesho pointed out to him.

“We had hoped to rescue you with less trouble,” Habiba admitted, “but we left Thousand Lakes Province with this part of the plan in place. Master Den has, in his supply wagon, the necessary garments for an audience with a provincial representative to the emperor.”

“We can fix you up, no problem there,” Den agreed.

Llesho was beginning to feel like a puppet, and he wondered if it was safe to let Habiba pull his strings. Without Habiba, of course, he'd be dead now, or in Markko's hands, but Llesho still didn't trust the man or his motives. Oh, he was sure that Habiba served her ladyship honorably and well. From the first, however, Llesho had wondered why her ladyship took such an interest in him.

As Habiba himself had just pointed out, allies could quickly become enemies when one didn't understand the politics that bound one to the other. Llesho was on the point of asking Habiba directly what her ladyship wanted of him when Kaydu joined them, followed by a stranger in the uniform of an imperial messenger.

The messenger shook out her hair and gave a short bow to Habiba, then a deeper bow to Master Den. Of Llesho she gave no formal recognition at all, although he noticed that she examined him minutely out of the corner of her eye.

“Lord Habiba,” she said, “in the name of the Celestial Emperor, Ambassador Huang HoLun invites you to a parley to discuss matters of great import to you both. Will you attend upon him for tea?”

“I am, as ever, the humble servant of his divinity, the emperor. Please tell Ambassador Huang that I shall attend upon him within the hour. And I bring gifts from the West.” Habiba tilted his chin in Llesho's direction.

Betrayal. Habiba's words struck like a bolt of lightning and Llesho clung to his calm. Habiba couldn't mean what he seemed to say. As a slave Llesho figured he was fairly useless; he had some training as a gladiator, a bit more as a soldier, and some experience as a decent pearl diver, for which there was little call in the inland capital. The Harn had sold him once, but they might be inclined to cut off his head if the emperor returned him to them. He figured that her ladyship hadn't put her witch to all the trouble of getting him this far alive if she intended to hand Llesho over to assassins, though. Much easier to whack off his head at Farshore and send it off in a box. Less likely to attract the attention of Master Markko that way as well. He was pretty sure, however, that Master Den wouldn't let anything happen to him so early in whatever game of nations the powers about him played.

As if thinking his name could conjure his attention, Master Den chose that moment to speak. “Please convey my respect to your master. Tell him for me that he chooses his envoy well.” He smiled at the girl. And she smiled back.

Oh. Den knew this girl. Liked her. And she knew him. Llesho had never fooled himself into thinking he was the only student Master Den had ever mentored, but he'd thought the others had been men like Stipes, fighting on the side where he found himself. The girl bowed and departed, leaving Llesho to wonder whether Master Den would defend old loyalties or new ones.

“It is time,” Habiba said, “to put the pieces in play. Llesho will ride in the place of honor, at my side. That will give Ambassador Huang pause. And Master Den—”

“I need no guard, of honor or otherwise,” Den cut him off. “Huang HoLun knows that I am a simple man, and he will expect nothing more.”

“Then we will overset his expectations. I want Kaydu where I can see her as well, and any of the young prince's guard who are well enough to ride. We depart at noon.”

“As you say.” Master Den made much of pulling himself out of his chair, grunting and huffing in a way that alarmed Llesho. So when he called, “Give me your arm,” Llesho came willingly to offer his support.

When they were out of the command tent, however, Den straightened up, and he set a finger to his lips, warning Llesho to silence. Llesho watched the shifting tensions in Den's face, trying to read some explanation for his strange behavior, but Den signaled, “Wait.”

Suddenly, two crows flew from the command tent: the witch and his daughter. As birds, the two wheeled in a great arc across the sky, then turned in the direction the messenger had gone and quickly disappeared.

When the two were well and truly out of sight, Master Den urged Llesho forward. As they walked between the rows of low red tents, Den let him ask his questions. To Llesho's own surprise, they did not start with Habiba.

“What am I?”

“You are Llesho, seventh prince of Thebin. Beloved of the goddess,” Master Den answered as if he were reading from a scroll. It wasn't what Llesho wanted to hear.

“That's nothing but titles, of no interest to anyone outside of Thebin, and of little concern to most Thebins either. I want to know why Markko wants me so badly. He's not interested in Thebin or the route to the West; he wants
me,
the way he would want a particularly poisonous root. Why?”