Dragon and Phoenix (51 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: Dragon and Phoenix
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I’ve lived in this palace all my life and I’ve never heard of any “ghosts,”
Xiane thought.
I wonder what it was?
“Done, Phoenix Lord,” the eunuch said quietly.
Xiane turned in the chair to look at the bed. Shei-Luin still slept. He considered joining her again, but he supposed he’d best put old Guanli out of his misery. So he stood and stretched, saying, “My thanks, Murohshei.”
The eunuch bowed. “May I be of any other service, Your Majesty? Do you wish to break your fast here?”
Xiane shook his head. “No, I shall go to my chambers for that. Just give me my robe.”
When he was dressed, Xiane left the sleeping chamber with Murohshei in the lead. At once the gossip ceased as the maids fell to their knees and touched their foreheads to the floor. He passed through the group. Murohshei opened the door and bowed him out.
As he’d expected, an agitated General Guanli waited for him in the hall, surrounded by a group of officers and soldiers. Xiane caught the eye of one particular captain and was rewarded with a tiny nod. An invisible weight disappeared from his shoulders. He said gaily, “General! What are you doing here so early in the morning?”
It was, Xiane knew, almost noon.
Guanli, who no doubt had never gone back to sleep after getting the news of Yemal’s defiance, nearly choked at “early.” But he rallied and said, “Majesty, I have grave news. The Zharmatian dog Yemal has—”
“I am half Zharmatian, General,” Xiane reminded him softly.
The general turned the color of bleached silk. Stuttering apologies spilled from his lips, and his knees shook. Xiane thought the man would faint.
“Go on,” he said wearily, more from a wish to get this over with than from any sense of mercy. “What has Yemal done?”
“Broken the treaty, my lord,” Guanli managed to say. “And that means …”
Here the general paused to take a deep breath. It was well known, Xiane reflected, that Yesuin was a constant companion of his. But there was no one Guanli could dump the giving of
this
news upon.
“That means the hostage’s life is forfeit,” Guanli finished.
The hostage’s life.
Not
Yesuin’s life.
Not one trace of regret, either. And Guanli had gone to Yesuin for advice when buying horses.
How quickly one went from “person” to “thing.”
“So it is,” Xiane agreed. “Have you arrested him yet?”
“No, Phoenix Lord. For that we must have your permission.”
“We give it.” Xiane stared blandly back at Guanli’s surprise, daring him to say anything.
But Guanli was not the man to pull the tiger’s whiskers a second time—not when he’d escaped so narrowly the first. “Thank you, Phoenix Lord.” Gathering officers and soldiers alike with a glance, Guanli barked, “March!” and led them down the hall at a brisk military pace.
Xiane tagged along behind, enjoying the furtive, backward glances as they marched through the elegant halls.
It seemed no time at all before they stood before the carved and lacquered door to Yesuin’s chamber. At Guanli’s nod, a soldier tried the door. It was latched from the inside.
Xiane started in surprise. By the Phoenix, was Yesuin still here? He dared a glance at the young captain. The man looked as baffled as he.
He waited in an agony of suspense as Guanli called to Yesuin to open the door.
If Yesuin is still inside, there’s nothing I can do to help him … .
There was no answer. Xiane didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened. When they finally entered, would they find empty rooms, or the body of a suicide?
Unable to stand the suspense any longer, he snapped, “Break it down.”
Two burly soldiers rammed the door with their shoulders again and again and again. It was thick, as befitted a door in the royal quarters, and yielded reluctantly.
At last the way was clear. Before the soldiers could storm the opening, Xiane shoved past them and crossed the threshhold, ignoring the cries of “Majesty! Be careful! He may have a weapon!”
Yesuin would never hurt him, Xiane knew. Never.
 
Linden and Maurynna were sitting in the hostel’s common room, talking over a shared plate of food, when Taren entered.
“Good day, my friends, and good news,” he called to them.
“What’s that?” Linden asked, beckoning Taren to join them.
“While I was walking through the bazaar, I happened upon the official who matches up the troupes with patrons.”
Linden heard Maurynna’s breath catch. His own heart had begun beating harder. “And?” he finally said.
“We have a patron, and there’s a well-guarded merchant train that we may travel with for safety.”
That was well, Linden thought. He had no proof that bandits preyed upon travelers here in Jehanglan as they did in the northern countries, but he’d wager they did. “When do we leave, and who’s our patron?”
Taren grimaced. “Tomorrow morning. We’ll be hard put to be ready in time, but we’ve no choice.”
Linden looked at Maurynna in dismay and saw that the color had drained from her face. She reached for his hand; he caught hers. Cold fingers wrapped around his; but when she spoke, her voice betrayed none of her anxiety.
Maurynna asked, “Who is our patron?”
“I’ll go warn the others. Why don’t you finish your meal?” Taren stood up and walked away. Then, as if belatedly realizing he hadn’t answered Maurynna’s question, he said over his shoulder, “Oh, a noble I heard of during my time in Jehanglan. A Lord Jhanun.”
 
Silence greeted him. Xiane went a pace or two into the room, looking from side to side. The room was empty of any living thing, the air heavy and still. Xiane listened; he heard nothing but the breathing of the men behind him, the faint chink of armor against armor.
He sighed in relief. He’d feared to find Yesuin dangling from a beam, or crumpled on the floor with his dagger thrust into his heart. Another two steps into the chamber, and the soldiers had room enough to enter without shoving him out of their way.
They fanned out, searching the room in growing frustration. Xiane nearly laughed as one pawed through a box of clothes. The soldier mumbled curses as he pulled out robe after robe, but no hidden hostages.
Xahnu might hide there—but a grown man?
Xiane hid a smile behind his hand.
He had one bad moment when he remembered the window. Had Yesuin jumped to his death? He caught his man’s gaze and jerked his chin at the window. The officer took his meaning and looked outside.
“He didn’t get out this way,” the young captain announced to the room at large. “There’s no rope, no ladder, and no body on the ground.”
“So how
did
he get out?” Guanli roared. “Look! Look harder!” He lashed his men with his horsetail whip as if they were recalcitrant ponies.
Xiane stood, an island of calm in a whirlwind of destruction. Drawers were pulled out and emptied, boxes of clothes overturned, their contents a rainbow of silk across the floor, the bed pulled apart and swords run through the mattress.
Yesuin, he thought, I don’t know how you managed it, but well done!
It wasn’t until the soldiers were reduced to looking behind the scrolls hanging on the walls that inspiration struck. As innocently as he could, Xiane said, “The door was latched from the inside, so he couldn’t have left that way. He didn’t leave by the window, either.”
At his first word, all activity had ceased, and all eyes focused on him. Now Guanli and his men waited for the next pearl of imperial wisdom.
“Perhaps,” Xiane said slowly, rubbing his chin, “the ghosts got him.”
More than one face turned pale. “Ghosts, Phoenix Lord?” Guanli asked.
“Oh, yes,” Xiane assured him as he picked a way to the door. “Ghosts. Many people heard ghosts running through the palace last night—didn’t you know?” He looked back over his shoulder.
“No, my lord,” said Guanli, shaking his head. If he’d looked terrified when he’d inadvertently insulted Xiane, he looked doubly terrified now. Everyone knew that hungry spirits were worse than angry emperors.
“Now you do,” Xiane said, and left. As he walked back to his own quarters, he thought,
If that doesn’t throw them off your trail, cousin, I don’t know what will. I’ve done all I could. It’s up to you now. Good luck, my friend.
 
Freedom and safety lay far to the north in Nisayeh, the red land of the Tah’nehsieh. All he need do was reach it.
But now that his fellow tribesmen had broken the treaty, and roamed the lands between here and Nisayeh, getting out of the imperial palace might prove to be the easy part, Yesuin thought.
Curse Yemal! May he be eaten by demons
.
As his sturdy horse trotted along the road, fellow travelers made way for him in his guise as an imperial messenger. Yesuin made his plans.
They were simple: avoid other messengers. Avoid any army units that he could; they might have an officer who’d seen him in the capital city, or they might think he was a Zharmatian spy who’d killed a messenger and stolen the blue-and-gold uniform. Get to Rhampul, the last military outpost before Mount Kajhenral. He’d risk being recognized, but it was the last place to get a good horse; the military had the best animals after the nobles and the imperial household.
Then a last, furious ride to the mountains between Jehanglan and Nisayeh—all the while praying that his false brother was elsewhere with the warband.
One step at a time; first, Rhampul. Damn Yemal for starting this. Someday I’ll kill him as he tried to kill me.
Someday; but first, Rhampul.
“I don’t understand this,” Linden
muttered as the troupe broke camp for yet another day of hard travel. “We keep passing through village after village, but even when we stop at one for the night instead of camping, we’re never allowed to put on a show. Don’t these lords expect the entertainers to earn something on the way to their holdings?”
Lleld shrugged. “Perhaps they’re afraid it will lessen the value of the show, somehow.”
Maurynna shook her head. “That we’re not allowed to perform isn’t so odd. But I’ll tell you what is: that these merchants picked a road that goes only through unsettled land or these little villages. And when we do stop in a village, they don’t settle down for a few days to trade. We’re on the way the next morning, barely enough time for them to sell anything save what’s at the top of the mules’ packs and is easy to get at.”
“Could it be that they don’t think the villagers have enough money to buy their goods?” Otter offered. He stood by Nightsong’s head, stroking her nose as Raven saddled her.
Maurynna shook her head. “It’s not adding up, Otter. If you take a route like this one, through little villages, you pack less-expensive goods, little necessities, no luxury items—and you stop and trade. You make no money if your wares stay in a mule’s pack. I asked Tar—” She broke off and looked around, an odd expression on her face.
So did everyone else. All there was to see was what they’d seen every morning of this cursed journey, thought Linden: the merchants camping as far away from them as they could get, and the guards surrounding them all.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you hear something?”
“No.” She squirmed a little as if her back itched. “This may sound mad, but … Has anyone else had the feeling we’re being watched?”
“The guards always seem to keep more of an eye on us than the merchants,” Lleld said, “but I think that’s just because we’re ‘cursed outlanders.’ Is that what you mean?”
“No,” Maurynna said vaguely. “It’s not that. I know they watch us, but—It’s worse near water.”
“Water?” Linden asked in bafflement. This was making no sense.
“Yes, everytime we cross a stream … . Oh, forget I said anything. Here comes Taren; he’s probably coming to tell us to hurry.”
And so it proved; they quickly finished breaking camp and made ready for another long day of journeying.
 
Xiane sat with Imperial Minister Musahi in one of the smaller garden pavilions, this one a simple affair consisting of an arching frame of giant bamboo overgrown by honeysuckle. It was where he and Musahi, then his favorite tutor, had had many lessons when Xiane was younger. Both were still fond of it.
Xiane listened, resting his chin in his hand, as Musahi, sitting across the little table from him, read from various reports, boiling them down to the simple facts, and reading between the lines for what was left out.
“Tchah, tchah,” Musahi said in his dry, reedy voice as he shuffled between sheets of rice paper. “I fear Lord R’sao is up to something, Phoenix Lord. Here he requests more wagons for shipping the salt from the White Flower mine. But these figures here show that the yield is down, due to ‘unexpected cave-ins’ that are mentioned nowhere else in this report.”
Xiane sighed and plucked a honeysuckle blossom from the nearest vine. “He’s diverting it again, isn’t he?” He bit the end from the blossom and sucked the single drop of sweet nectar from the flower. Musahi had taught him that as a boy.
“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty. And this time, something will have to be done. It’s much worse than before.”
“He’s gambling again, I’ll wager. See to it, Musahi. Now—what else?”
The older man nodded as he skimmed through the various reports before him, mumbling to himself. Xiane leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the sweet scent of honeysuckle wash over him. The air was warm and heavy, and Musahi’s barely audible drone as he muttered to himself nearly put Xiane to sleep.
But he woke instantly when Musahi said, “How strange. How
very
strange,” his tone much sharper than usual.
“What is it?”
Musahi read a little further, then set that report down on the table, tapping it with one finger. “Lord Jhanun has suddenly left the capital—”
Xiane shrugged. That was nothing unusual. Jhanun traveled a great deal, most often to the Iron Temple where a nephew was a high-ranking priest. The stiff-necked prig was well-known for his militant piety.
“—and the composer of this little report says that Lord Jhanun is on his way to Rhampul, according to a groom with a loose tongue.”
That
was a surprise. “Rhampul? There’s nothing there; it’s a small military posting—”
“Led by an officer with ties to Jhanun. And the oddest thing of all is that a number of those who hold with his views—”
All the ones with their topknots done up too tightly, in Xiane’s opinion, but he said nothing.
“Have also left the capital.” Musahi glared down at the papers in his hands as if they deliberately kept secrets from him.
Xiane blew a long breath out through his lips. It was no coincidence that the most adamantly conservative Jehangli lords were all absent at once. Something was up; there was no doubt of that.
He needed to find out what. But the other side of the coin was that, with those same lords away and unable to raise objections,
he
could advance his own secret plans.
It would have to be done quickly; days of preparation would only mean that word could get to those lords quickly enough for them to turn back to the capital. It wasn’t fair to Shei-Luin, but she would have to be content with what could be arranged in only a day or two.
And the throne of Lady Riya-Akono, he thought, would make up for much.
 
*Shima! Shima!*
Shima, on his way home from delivering a message to the Vale for Zhantse, reined up his horse. The little mare, grateful for the unexpected rest, dropped her head to look for stray bits of grass. Shima closed his eyes and concentrated.
Miune-what
is it?
*I have found another like thee! Is this not wonderful?*
the mindvoice bubbled.
Are you certain?
*Oh, yes. I’m following her. She has hair much like thine, but the others! Never have I seen such people. They travel in a merchant train with many guards. *
Traveling entertainers from the north countries, no doubt, Shima thought to himself. But “many guards?” That was not usual. Some guards, yes; enough to make a merchant pack train less attractive to bandits. But what merchant would pay for “many guards?”
Miune, be careful! If the guards see you
—
*I am always careful. Thee would like their horses, I
—
Oh! The noon rest is ending and they are making ready to move on. I must go!*
The contact ended as abruptly as it began. Shima shook his head, worried.
I hope Miune knows what he’s doing. If he gets too excited and sticks his head up at just the wrong time …
Still, the thought that there was someone else like him was a comfort. Urging the mare on again, he hoped Miune brought him more news, and soon.

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