Dragon and Phoenix (50 page)
Read Dragon and Phoenix Online
Authors: Joanne Bertin
“He one of yours, then?” the interpreter asked.
“Yes,” Lleld said grimly in Assantikkan. Her childlike face was bleak. “Or rather, one of Dorilissa’s. His name was Revien.”
“What he doing wandering Jedjieh?” the captain demanded through the interpreter. “Only foreign quarter allowed, all else forbidden to outlanders.”
“I don’t know,” Lleld replied shortly.
The captain had enough Assantikkan to understand that. Linden could see more angry questions burning in the man’s eyes. Questions that for some reason the man did not let slip past lips pressed in a hard line like the slash of a knife.
“He—he didn’t like the food at the inn,” Dorilissa hurried to say. “So he .. He must have gotten lost; he left us while it was still light out.”
The clerk relayed this to the obviously disbelieving captain. Linden bent over the body, listening with half his attention to the discussion between Dorilissa, the interpreter, and the captain as they all spoke in the worst Assantikkan he’d ever heard. Lleld joined him at Revien’s side.
Revien’s eyes were still open, staring into eternity; Linden shut them and studied the expression on the dead face. Death had blurred the lines there but not yet erased them.
<> Linden said in an undertone, speaking arolan. He knelt on the mat by the body.
<> she replied as softly, joining him on the floor. «Was it his heart, do you think?»
«Perhaps, though I don’t think so. He’s the right age for it, but he seemed healthy enough. I’ll wager it was robbery. > >
He drew back the canvas sheet that covered the body, exposing Revien’s naked torso to the waist. No, no stab wounds in the chest. Not that he’d expected it; a robber would strike from behind. Well and well; he would soon see.
Wondering if Revien had tried to save himself from the water, Linden drew
each hand in turn from under the sheeting. But the skin was not scraped and torn as it would be from clutching at the rough stone the bridges were made of. So Revien was either dead or unconscious when he went into the water.
each hand in turn from under the sheeting. But the skin was not scraped and torn as it would be from clutching at the rough stone the bridges were made of. So Revien was either dead or unconscious when he went into the water.
Linden noticed a thin sliver of something under one grubby nail.
Dried grass? From where in these city streets?
Dried grass? From where in these city streets?
He gently rolled the body onto its right side so that he could see the back. Nothing amiss there, either. He frowned, perplexed.
Did the robber use a club, then?
Did the robber use a club, then?
His gaze traveled up to the head. Through the clumps of thin brown hair he could see that no blow had been struck. He fingered one of the caked strands of hair; a vile-smelling green powder came off on his hand.
Of course; scum from the canal, dried now.
He wiped his hand on the matting.
He wiped his hand on the matting.
Then something caught his eye. He looked a little more closely and let the body down again, sick with an ancient memory.
All this drew the attention of the captain. He gestured Dorilissa to sit on one of the boxes, then crossed the room. The merchant’s clerk lagged behind. It was plain the sight of the dead man repelled him.
“Bah,” the captain said to him in their own language. “Do you think a body will hurt you, chicken-hearted one?”
“There may be a ghost,” the clerk insisted. “How do I know what the spirits of these foreign dogs might do? I would not have it follow me. Besides, he looks like the belly of a fish. They all do, save the Assantikkan back at the hostel.” He rubbed his own honey-colored skin. “And the little female has hair like a demon. Maybe she is one.”
The captain shook his head in disgust. “Ask the yellow-haired barbarian what he does.”
It was hard to hold his tongue, Linden found, and pretend ignorance—especially of the insults. Then, too, the time taken in the translations was annoying—all the more so since it was poorly done. But he forced himself to wait while the clerk—stubbornly ensconced as far away from Revien’s body as he could get—translated the captain’s question with painful slowness.
“Looking for wounds,” Linden said slowly in Assantikkan. “I thought perhaps he’d been robbed.” He waited patiently through the translation.
To the interpreter, the captain said, “There are no wounds. He was found in the canal; he drowned. Perhaps he was drunk and fell off the bridge. It happens frequently. Tell them the man’s clothes and pouch are in that basket over there.”
Linden started to rise, intending to examine Revien’s belongings; a sharp jab in the ribs stopped him. Lleld blinked innocently at him and he nodded, realizing what he’d almost done. He swallowed hard, feeling a little sick; he’d have to play the game better than this.
When the translation finally came, Lleld passed it on to Dorilissa. “Do you want to see his things?”
Wiping her eyes, Dorilissa shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I mean, I do, but I can’t. Could … would you—”
“Yes,” Lleld said gently, and went to the basket. She tugged the lid off and pawed through the contents. Her hand came up holding Revien’s belt pouch. She shook it and was answered with the clinking of coins.
«He was right; it wasn’t robbery,» she said in
arolan
. She opened the pouch and rummaged in it, then held up a carved stone for all to see.
arolan
. She opened the pouch and rummaged in it, then held up a carved stone for all to see.
“That’s a luck amulet,” one of the other guards said. “A cheap one; it’s for gambling and love. They’re sold in the eastern end of the market, where all the trinket dealers are.”
“Then he was far from the stalls of the food sellers,” the captain replied idly, smiling in amusement as the interpreter translated. To the guard he said, “Looking for a whore with the money he won, you think?”
The guard grinned, showing crooked teeth. “Maybe it was too much for his heart.”
The clerk didn’t bother translating.
Linden frowned. Then why … He made a decision.
“The man must have been drunk,” Linden said to the interpreter. “Why else fall off the bridge?” He drew the canvas sheet up once more. From the corner of his eye he saw Lleld about to protest. He willed her to say nothing, wishing again for mindspeech.
Somehow it worked. Also speaking in Assantikkan, Lleld said, “Likely. Now what happens?”
Once this was translated, the captain smiled.with grim amusement and said, “Now you’ll come with me and answer questions.”
“What happened? Who was it?” Maurynna demanded the moment Lleld and Otter were back in Otter’s room at the inn. “Why were you gone so long?”
“Give us a moment to catch our breath, love,” Linden said as he sank wearily onto the edge of the bed; Lleld did the same beside him. “We spent too damn long answering questions for that blasted captain of the guard. That’s why we’re so late.” He stretched his long legs out with a groan. The little room where the guard had taken them for questioning had been too small for him to extend his legs without kicking someone—as he had been tempted to a few times. Still, in the end the guards had seemed satisfied and let them go.
Yet beneath it all he’d felt questions the captain had wanted to ask, and didn’t, like a water snake swimming below the surface of a pond.
Otter took the chair facing them, Raven on the floor at his feet. Maurynna sat cross-legged on the woven grass matting near the bed.
Linden was glad to see the bard feeling well enough to get up. But that still left one of their band unaccounted for. “Where’s Taren?”
“Back to bed,” Raven answered. “That soaking he got last night didn’t do his shaking sickness any good.”
Linden nodded absently. Something tugged at his mind; something that hadn’t seemed quite right … .
Otter said, “It was Revien, wasn’t it?” and drove the thought from Linden’s mind.
“Yes. How did you know?” Lleld asked.
“Because Willisen returned not long after you left. And since we were keeping watch at the window, we saw Dorilissa’s face as the lot of you came up the street. What happened to him? Robbery turned to murder?”
“No; he wasn’t robbed. The captain thinks he was drunk,” Lleld said, “and fell off the bridge and drowned. I wonder if it could have been his heart.”
“He was murdered,” Linden said shortly.
“What!” the others exclaimed. A confused babble followed.
When it died down, Lleld demanded, “What do you mean? I examined Revien’s body the same as you. There were no wounds, and the money was still in his belt pouch. Do you think he was poisoned?”
Linden rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease his tense muscles. It had been hard during the questioning not to betray what he knew. He wasn’t surprised the guards hadn’t seen the evidence; it would have been easy for truehuman eyes to miss in the poor light.
He sighed. “There was a tiny triangular tear in the skin at the base of the skull below the left ear. I looked a little more closely; it was a small hole, hard to see, but notable because of its shape. If his hair hadn’t been hanging in clumps as it was, I wouldn’t have noticed it.
“But I saw something like it once before, long ago. When we—the Wolfkin, that is; Bram and Rani’s mercenary band—were hired by Prince Khirin of Kelneth, there was a traitor in his camp. Some of our people died mysteriously—by poison or magic, we thought at first. It was our herbalist, Tiglin, who discovered the truth.”
He frowned at the floor, lost in his thoughts for a moment, remembering the first death. Tall, grizzled Stoat, a warrior to his calloused fingertips. Stoat, who’d taken pity on a sixteen-year-old boy fool enough to run away from home in the dead of winter, and taught that same young idiot what he needed to know to survive in a mercenary camp and in a war. Even now be could hear Channa’s heartbroken wail when she found her husband’s body that grey morning. It still haunted him down the centuries.
Linden shook himself back into the present. “It’s done with something like a long awl, something pointed and narrow. A sharp thrust here”—he touched
the base of his skull—“drives it up into the brain. Death is instantaneous. And all there is to give it away is a tiny puncture wound that can barely be seen. How Tiglin ever guessed …”
the base of his skull—“drives it up into the brain. Death is instantaneous. And all there is to give it away is a tiny puncture wound that can barely be seen. How Tiglin ever guessed …”
“That’s no soldier’s trick,” Otter said. His lip curled in disgust. “That’s a thief or—”
“An assassin,” Lleld finished. “Revien wasn’t robbed, so it wasn’t a thief. But why would an assassin seek him out?”
“Worse yet,” Jekkanadar said, “who would hire one? And was it meant for Revien or one of us?”
“If so,” said Maurynna, “then which of us is next?”
Yesuin woke as a hand
clamped over his mouth and a weight fell on his chest, pinning him to his bed. He struggled, but it was no use; his unconscious habit of wrapping the bed silks around himself like a cocoon meant he could neither strike nor kick. Panic seized him.
clamped over his mouth and a weight fell on his chest, pinning him to his bed. He struggled, but it was no use; his unconscious habit of wrapping the bed silks around himself like a cocoon meant he could neither strike nor kick. Panic seized him.
He felt lips move against his ear. After a moment, he understood the words they whispered: “I come from the emperor! This is the time you said your farewells against.”
Yesuin went limp to show his visitor that he’d heard. At once the hand was gone from his mouth, and the weight pinning him disappeared. Shaking, he sat up, pushing the silks away with a whispered oath.
The room was dark; he saw Xiane’s messenger as only a deeper blackness moving through the shadows. Looking out of the window, he found he could still see stars. He picked out the one called Bright Princess; she was halfway between zenith and setting. It was still some time before dawn, then.
A tiny light flared in the room. Yesuin threw up a hand to shield his eyes. When they were used to the sudden glow, he looked once more. A man stood watching him, a little lamp in his hand.
Yesuin recognized him at once. “You’re the one who brought the emperor the message that day!”
The young officer nodded. “Yes. Since his Imperial Majesty promoted me, I’ve enjoyed nothing but good fortune. I would do anything for him. But you must hurry. On my way here, I heard some of the senior officers making plans for your arrest. All that’s holding them back is the fear of disturbing the emperor so late at night—they know your rooms are near his. Still, I’m afraid they may not be far behind me.”
He bent and picked up a bundle from the floor by his feet, then tossed it onto the bed beside Yesuin. It landed heavily. “The dress of an imperial messenger,” the officer explained as Yesuin clawed the bundle open, “along with passes for the outposts, tokens for horses, money for supplies once you reach the border towns—everything you need. There’s a horse waiting for you in a secret place.”
He described the place; Yesuin knew it. More than once Xiane had sent a private messenger off from there. And there was a way there from the tunnels … .
Now that his first fright was over, Yesuin was strangely calm. It surprised him. He pulled on the sturdy breeches and short robe, then the thick felt-and-leather boots with steady hands. “Does Xiane know?”
“He does. The day he gave me this commission, he gave me permission to approach him day or night the instant a message came that your brother had broken the treaty.”
The officer’s hand slipped into his sleeve and came out once more. Before it went back into hiding, Yesuin caught a glimpse of a token that few were ever given.
Almost done. He jammed the felt cap low over his forehead. At last he stood up and slipped the strap of the message pouch that completed his disguise over his head so that it went diagonally across his chest. The pouch was heavy against his hip; Xiane had been generous.
As he always has been.
“I’m ready,” he said at last. A thought came to him. “You said that there were officers planning to arrest me.”
“Just so. The messenger went first to General Guanli. He’s the one who’s so afraid to disturb the emperor.” The look of disgust on his face told Yesuin who had been responsible for the appearance of this man in the garden that day.
“If they come for me, can you distract them, send them off on a fool’s chase?”
Let him say “yes” … .
Let him say “yes” … .
The officer nodded. “Easily. Tell ’em some eunuch said you were off with this female slave or that lady’s maid—it would work. Guanli doesn’t want to set foot in this part of the palace if he can help it. But how will you—”
“I have a way,” Yesuin broke in. It was stupid what he planned—pure idiocy—but he had to try. “Go. Lead them astray.”
The officer nodded. He went to the door, but paused. “I will. Go as quickly as you can. And go with the emperor’s blessing; he said to tell you he loved you like a brother.”
Yesuin’s throat grew tight. “Tell him I wish he was, for he was better to me than my brother ever was, and I loved him as I never loved Yemal. Tell him I wish we were sitting at a campfire, telling each other lies about the hunt.”
The next moment Yesuin was alone. He locked the door, then ran across the room to the hidden door to the tunnels. As he slipped through and latched it behind him, he suddenly realized he’d never asked the officer his name, so that he could burn incense to the man’s ancestors. With practiced fingers, he lit the small lamp he kept just inside the tunnel, dropping the flint and steel in his pouch. It would be useful later.
It was just as well, he realized, that he didn’t know the man’s name.
That way I can’t name him if I’m captured and tortured.
That way I can’t name him if I’m captured and tortured.
As he might well be if he went through with his foolish plan. But even as he argued with himself to go straight to where the horse was tied, his feet led him down the tunnels to the quarters of the First Concubine.
For once he didn’t care about moving quietly. He ran like a man chased by demons.
So it had come at last. He’d known it would, but that didn’t ease the pain. He was about to lose the closest thing to a true brother he’d ever had, his only friend, and it hurt.
Xiane paced his sleeping chamber. The slapping of his bare feet was the only sound. For once he was alone; his eunuchs, having seen the token carried by the hooded messenger, had retreated to their own beds. This was no business of theirs.
If only he could say farewell … . It was best not to go; he might change his mind and beg Yesuin to stay. And Yesuin would. He would stay to be the emperor’s only friend until the day a swift dagger between his ribs ended his life.
No—he had said his farewells already, sent a final message with the captain. It would have to do.
The night air was cool against his bare skin. Xiane raked his fingers through his long black hair, freed for the night from the topknot every Jehangli man wore in public.
If only, if only, if only …
It came to him that he now understood how the tiger in its cage in his private zoo felt. Back and forth, back and forth it would pace, just as he paced now, snarling and lashing out at the bars that imprisoned him, as Xiane wished he could do. But there was nothing to strike out against.
But he could not stay here alone. Not this night. As he passed the bed, he caught up the robe he’d thrown off when he went to sleep earlier. Shrugging it on, he threw open the door of his sleeping chamber and strode through the outer rooms, a bevy of surprised, sleepy, and half-dressed eunuchs staggering from their beds and running to catch up as he walked swiftly down the hall.
Besides, Xiane thought, old Guanli the Chicken-hearted could not arrest Yesuin until officially informing him of the breaking of the treaty. And Guanli would
never
dare roust him from where he went now. Never.
never
dare roust him from where he went now. Never.
Xiane smiled broadly at the thought.
The startled trilling of her maids’ voices woke Shei-Luin from a deep sleep. She sat up, listening, her heart pounding.
Who could it be at this hour? Is something amiss with the boys?
But there were no wails of grief as there would have been had ill befallen her children. Instead there was silence. The door to her sleeping chamber opened, and Murohshei entered, a lamp in his hand. He wore the expression of a man who didn’t believe what he’d just seen. Without a word, he set about lighting the lamps in her room.
When she opened her mouth to demand an explanation, he shook his head violently at her.
The answer appeared in the doorway. Xiane! She hissed under her breath. How dare he—
She blinked. Xiane’s hair was loose, hanging over his shoulders and down his back. Shei-Luin sat up straighter, feeling as bewildered as her eunuch looked.
The emperor of Jehanglan had walked the halls of his palace with his hair loose like some Tah’nehsieh barbarian? What was happening? And his expression … Shei-Luin had never seen Xiane look sad before.
“What is it?” she asked. “The children—”
“Are well,” Xiane finished heavily. To Murohshei, he said only, “Out.”
Murohshei lingered barely long enough to bow. When they were alone, Shei-Luin got out of bed. Xiane, she saw, didn’t even notice she was naked as she walked past. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
Confusion warred with concern. As she pulled on a light robe, she asked, “What’s wrong, my lord?”
Xiane took a deep breath before answering, “I came to tell you because I know you and Yesuin were friends as children. Oduin must be dead. Yemal has broken the treaty.”
And that meant—Her knees turned weak. Somehow she made it back to the bed. She sank down next to Xiane, unable to say a word. Her heart pounded, and roared in her ears.
“Yemal broke the treaty,” he said, almost to himself, “and so I lose my only friend.”
Shei-Luin swayed as the world turned grey around her. Somehow she kept from fainting. “Yesuin?” she whispered. “Yesuin is dead?”
Xiane looked up at her in surprise. “Of course not!” he said, exasperated. “Didn’t I just say he was my friend? Do you think I would let my friend—my only true friend—die for another’s actions?”
She said faintly, “Then Yesuin—”
“Is on his way to the border, disguised as an imperial messenger. I arranged it all when I first got word that Oduin was ill.”
Relief flooded her. She drew a long, trembling breath. “You arranged his escape? Even for you, my lord, that’s a risky thing. There are those lords who will be furious at being cheated of ‘revenge’ for Yemal’s actions.”
And Xiane had chosen to defy them for the sake of a powerless, expendable hostage. No—for the sake of his friend.
By the Phoenix, she’d never thought she could ever respect Xiane, or anything he did. She’d been wrong—very wrong.
On a sudden impulse, she leaned forward and cupped his face in her hands. As his eyes widened in surprise, she kissed him—and meant it.
Nor did she mind when he reached for her. She knew that he wanted—needed—comforting. This night he would have it ungrudgingly.
At last—the tunnel that led to the First Concubine’s sleeping chamber! Yesuin slowed to a walk, breathing through his mouth to make as little noise as possible.
But what was this? There was light streaming through the little peepholes in the wall. Surely Shei-Luin was asleep by now?
But if she were awake, perhaps he could get her attention … . He pressed one eye against the nearest peephole.
Shei-Luin was awake. So was Xiane. They sat side by side on the edge of her bed, talking intently, but too far away for him to hear what they said. Both wore only light robes against the night chill.
Suddenly Shei-Luin leaned forward and, catching Xiane’s face between her hands, kissed him.
Yesuin turned away, empty inside. He had seen the look on her face; the kiss was no sham.
Once more he broke into a run, heedless of who might hear. He knew what he must do.
Shei-Luin opened her eyes to darkness, wondering what had awakened her. A deep sigh from the other side of the bed, and she knew. She propped herself up on one elbow and turned to where she knew Xiane lay, although she couldn’t see him.
“Did I wake you, Precious Flower?” he asked.
“It’s nothing, my lord. Can’t you sleep? What is it?”
Another sigh. “I keep dreaming about Yesuin and waking up, wondering how he’s faring.” A silence, then, “Have you ever lost a friend, Shei-Luin?”
Unexpected tears stung her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered huskily. “The only woman besides my sister that I named friend. Tsiaa, my maid.”
She felt him shift in the darkness. “Tsiaa? Isn’t that the one who—Oh, Shei, I’m sorry. I never knew.”
And with that an arm reached out for her, wrapped around her, and drew her close so that her head rested on Xiane’s shoulder. He stroked her hair as she cried, for Tsiaa or Yesuin or for herself, she didn’t know.
When the tears had ended, she didn’t move away.
What has happened to Xiane?
she wondered as he continued stroking her hair. The answer came to her a moment later.
What has happened to Xiane?
she wondered as he continued stroking her hair. The answer came to her a moment later.
He’s growing up at last.
Late the next morning, as Murohshei combed his hair and pulled it up into a decent topknot, Xiane listened idly to the soft chatter of Shei-Luin’s maids in the next room.
One was insisting that the palace was haunted. “Two of Lady Mienya’s maids heard someone running through the palace late last night, and so did Lord Siachun’s footmen. And many others heard as well, even some lords and ladies, I heard. But when anyone peered out into the halls to see who it might be, there was no one there!”
An excited murmuring broke out among the others. “Ghosts!” they told each other. “What else but ghosts?”
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