The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (84 page)

John paused a long time before answering, as though his answer was a summary of all that had happened that evening. "I can see why you are friends. He fascinates me. I'm glad to have met him, and I wish that I could talk with him more. I suppose, though, that once you reach the governor's palace, you'll be unable able to leave."
"Peter won't be able to," I said, "but I'll certainly slip out and see you when I can."
"Then come to the market and ask for John the trader. My house lies nearby, and anyone can direct you to it."
He stopped as Lord Carle appeared suddenly at the foot of the short flight of steps leading to our tower. Peter and Lord Dean were following a short distance behind, deep in conversation with one another. Lord Carle said, "Lord Dean has managed to convince your master that the quickest way to bring war to this land would be for an Emorian lord to deliver himself into the hands of the Jackal. I imagine that if your master had had his way, he would be charging up the road toward Valouse right now, waving his sword and acting as vanguard to the army that was nowhere behind him."
Lord Carle paused, and for a moment his eyes slid between me and my dark-skinned blood brother. Then he said coolly, "But since you are, as you have so often told us, a loyal Emorian, perhaps you yourself planned to be your master's army. You would of course have to act like any other Emorian soldier, imprisoning and killing and raping the Koretians. Well, perhaps not raping; I doubt somehow that lovemaking was in your plans for the future."
"Lord Carle." It was Peter, who had carefully placed himself so that his back was to John and me. I could guess that this was because his face had grown cold in the manner of the Chara in judgment, if only from the manner in which Lord Carle turned pale. The council lord turned stiffly to face the Chara. Though he kept from bowing to the man who was now supposed to be a fellow lord, his gaze fell to the ground. Peter said with quiet hardness, "I would like to speak to you privately, if I may."
Lord Carle said nothing, but nodded and walked away. Peter's face returned to normal and he began to follow, but he hesitated and looked up to where John and I stood. John had turned his back on the proceedings, and his eyes were fixed once more on the town.
Peter stepped lightly up the steps, came over to where I stood, and spoke gently to me, as though John were not at my side. "Andrew, he is angry about Valouse, that is all. Don't let this spark your own anger. The last thing that I need on this trip is for you and Lord Carle to cut each other's throats."
I said in a dull voice, "I've tired of fighting him in any case. He has won every battle we have waged since the very first one – as he so kindly reminded me just now. You needn't fear that I'll cut his or any other man's throat on this trip."
Peter began to speak, looked back at where Lord Carle and Lord Dean were disappearing down the roof stairs, and nodded to me, then left.
I turned back to the view. After a minute, John said, "At least there's no breeze tonight. If the winds were up, half this land might burn, but I think that Valouse's moat will be able to contain the flames."
He would not ask me, I knew. Nor was he likely to guess, for only a few outward clues might have revealed my secret shame. My boyish appearance he had already dismissed as unimportant. I had no beard, but I had solved that problem by living in a land of beardless men. The differences to my body were either hidden under my tunic or could pass as normal; tall men with long limbs are common enough to cause no question. As for my voice, I had long since trained myself to speak in the man's voice that would never come to me by nature.
Speaking in that voice now, in a detached manner, I said, "Lord Carle was my first master. He is a man with a strong belief in discipline and order, and when I originally came to Emor, I had no interest in following Emorian laws or adopting Emorian ways of behavior. And so, since I disobeyed Lord Carle's first command, he had me gelded."
There followed one sound – John's breath swiftly rushing in – and one gesture – his hand curling into a fist. It was, for John, as though he had lifted his dagger and given a shout of rage. He did not look my way but said, with an edge to his voice as sharp as a blade, "The Emorians did that to you?"
"Lord Carle had it done to me. Peter would never have done it."
John was silent a long time before saying, "Perhaps. But your master strikes me as a man who is as interested in laws and discipline as any other Emorian. And the soldiers who are down there in Valouse tonight are no more bloodthirsty than any Koretians. They are simply following the customs of Emor, which say that they must maintain discipline at any price."
I said softly, "You won't tell anyone of this?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John looking my way. "You know that I won't. But it's as honorable as any other war wound. You ought not to be ashamed."
"I'm not," I said, "except when I see the look in the face of a woman who has just discovered what I am."
Many minutes passed before John spoke again. Finally he sighed. "Andrew, I must go to Valouse tonight. The fighting will be over before I arrive, but if he has survived, my trader friend will need my help, as others may."
I said, "I suppose that the best that you can do for them is pray to the gods. The gods listen to you in a way that they don't listen to the rest of us."
"I wish that that were true," said John, "but I have been praying for peace for a long time now, and it seems further away than ever."
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Next morning, as we passed through the city gates, we met John again.
I had lingered at the gates as the rest of the party rode forward, because from this vantage point I could see down into the rest of the city. Most of the city was unfamiliar – the fire had cleansed the capital of its past. The houses I had played amidst had been replaced by an Emorian army camp; the streets were in a new pattern, as though a spider had rewoven its web during the night. My eyes sought one of the few remaining landmarks of my childhood: Council Hill, still covered on its slopes with trees, but now capped by a miniature version of the building that was my home. Another palace, another place of imprisonment for Peter.
Something to the side of me caught my eye. It was John, sitting on a traders' mule and gazing upon the city with a strange, tender look. Dark circles smudged the skin under his eyes, and his face was solemn.
He looked over at me and said, "I saw you ahead on the road. I thought I would catch up." He had changed from his priestly robe into the dark tunic that traders wear, but unlike most Koretian men, he bore no weapon. To the left side of his chest, pinned over his heart, was one of the tiny, wooden god-masks that Koretians wear for protection. The mask was black on black clothing, hard to see even at close range, and I leaned over with curiosity to discover which god John had chosen to place himself under the care of. It took me a moment to realize that John was wearing a mask that no Koretian ever wore: the mask of the Unknowable God.
He reached upward at that moment with his dagger-hand to sweep his hair out of his eyes. His fingers were curled slightly inwards. I caught a flickering sight of his palm: it was black and rugged.
The sharp intake of my breath caught John's attention away from the city. He followed my gaze and said, "That happened years ago. I burnt myself on a fire that I built for a god."
I said slowly, "A sacrificial fire?"
John looked back at me steadily, his silence his only answer. I said, "You must have needed a great deal of help from the god in order to make such a sacrifice."
"It was for a friend of mine. An Emorian soldier had stabbed him, and he was in danger of dying."
I remained without words a while, thinking that it was just like John to fight the Emorians, not with weapons, but by sacrificing his own flesh. Then I asked, "Did you reach Valouse?"
"Brendon, my trader friend, was halfway to the city when I met him. We came back together and took a room for the night along the way. Brendon needed the rest. He travelled on to the city this morning, but I rode up to the priests' house to see whether you had left yet." John kicked his mule forward. Ahead of us, Peter looked back to see where I was before he turned back to continue his conversation with Lord Carle.
I asked, "Did Brendon tell you how things were in Valouse?"
John made no immediate reply. We had wound our way down onto a broad avenue that cut through the trading district – must have been cut through in actual fact, I realized, looking at the haphazard arrangement of the houses around us. As John swiftly turned his mule out of the path of a division of soldiers, I saw that the Chara had stopped his horse and was speaking to the leader of the soldiers. We continued to ride forward slowly as John said, "It was very bad in Valouse. Brendon lost his home; he was lucky to keep his life. He said that the soldiers were not taking prisoners."
John said nothing more, for Peter had wheeled his horse around and come over to us. The Chara nodded his greeting to John before saying to me, "I've just talked to Lord Alan's subcommander. He says that the governor went to Torrid Springs in Central Koretia last week to enjoy the waters, but that he is expected back this morning." Peter sighed and added, "The governor has a long ceremony planned for our arrival. It will take most of the day, I expect. He has invited our servants, but it will be a formal occasion." His hand rested lightly on his dagger hilt as he awaited my reply.
"Then I will be able to escape the torture," I said. "I will find some other way to entertain myself, no doubt."
"I thought, if John had the time, that you might spend the day with him," Peter said, and looked with a questioning expression at my blood brother.
John replied, "I would certainly like to spend time with Andrew, though I may have business to do later this morning. It is kind of you to allow him the time free."
"Well," said Peter, turning his horse forward, "of course we Emorians usually keep our servants chained in a dungeon, but we do allow them out on occasion. I will let the governor's palace guards know that you are expected, Andrew. Return whenever you are ready." Without looking our way again, he spurred his horse forward.
John followed him with his eyes, and then turned his mule off the avenue onto a side street. As I followed him through the dark, narrow alley, he asked, "Why won't you be attending the governor's ceremony?"
"Only free-men are allowed at Emorian ceremonies," I said, "and I don't have a weapon to show that I'm a free-man."
"Couldn't you borrow one from Lord Peter?" John asked. The street grew more narrow and began to be crowded with children playing in the dirt. John slipped smoothly from his mule and began guiding it carefully through the games; I followed suit. My nose was beginning to recognize the smells of my native land: wild-berries set out on windows to dry, blackroot nuts being roasted, and the green scent of leaves from the saplings that always seemed to take root in the roads.
After several minutes, I said, "I had a dagger once. I tried to kill Lord Carle with it when he was unarmed. After that, I decided it would be better not to carry a weapon."
I kept my eyes on the road, dim beneath my feet. The dry dust rose up in protest at each step I took. When I finally looked over at John, he was smiling.
"You've changed," he said. "You always wanted to be dagger-mounted when we were young, and that worried me. Some people like to fight, and some people fight because they have to, but it always seemed to me that fighting was to you like drink is to a weak man. Put a weapon in your hand, and you wouldn't be able to keep yourself from using it, no matter who was your victim. That could be good in the right circumstances, but dangerous in the wrong ones. I'm glad that you've acquired the vision to know yourself so well."
He stopped at a lean-to attached to a house. Pulling the door open, he led his mule into a tiny stall that another mule already occupied. With some difficulty, I managed to squeeze my horse inside as well. John had started to unload his pack from his mule when a voice said, "When are you going to build a new stable, John, so that you can welcome your guests in a manner befitting your station in life?"
A brown-bearded man stood in the doorway. His clothes were tattered and covered with soot, and a red stain was making its way through the cloth that bound his right arm, yet he smiled affably at us.
"I didn't expect to have two guests at once," replied John, knotting his mule's rein around a post. "Did you find the soldiers' supply-keeper?"
"Yes, and he has an extra room, so there's no need for you to crowd me into your house." The man stepped forward into the dark stable and said to me, "You must be a friend of John's."
"This is my blood brother Andrew," said John. "I didn't have time to mention him to you last night."
"You had no time to mention anything to me, for I was too busy telling you of my adventures." The man scanned me quickly, obviously trying to ascertain my land loyalty, and then gave me the free-man's greeting. "Are you the blood brother who disappeared into Emor so many years ago? John has mentioned you before."
"And I venture to guess that you are Brendon," I said, returning the greeting. "I was sorry to hear about your home."
"Ah, well," said Brendon, scratching his forehead beneath the ragged brim of his hat. "Possessions are a curse to a trader in any case. I've always wanted to be able to travel from town to town without having to worry that the Jackal's thieves have set up their lair in my house during my absence."
"The governor will no doubt be sure that the Jackal was in Valouse last night," said John.
"If the Jackal had been in Valouse, he would be dead now," said Brendon tersely. "The tales say that the Jackal barely managed to escape the flames when the capital was burned fifteen years ago, and on that occasion he was unable to stop the carnage. I imagine that the god knew better than to come to a town where he could do no good. Even the Jackal can't solve all of this land's problems. Trade has become very bad. . . . Speaking of bad trades, your supply-keeper friend has managed to convince me to trade a bale of cloth for five of his wife's dinners. Can you advise me on how to escape from this deal?"
John looked at me apologetically. "Thus goes the life of a trader – I am no sooner home than I must talk business. Andrew, I don't want you to fall asleep listening to my advice on the price of linen cloth versus the value of wool cloth. Let me settle you inside, and then Brendon and I will go off and have a drink in a tavern for a short while. You look as though you could use strong sustenance, Brendon." He guided us outside, shut the stable door, and opened the door to his home.