Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1) (33 page)

Bodies pressed her from all sides-Cooper in his Thilosian finery to her
left, her Esurhite serving girl, Peri, smashed up against her right, Philip’s dog
pressed against the back of one of her legs, and the youth himself constantly
stepping on the heel of the other. Their Esurhite retainer, Eber, followed at Cooper’s flank, and all around them, close and hot and stinking of old sweat
and stale onions, were strangers.

Robed and hooded, hatted and turbaned, laden with the bags and bundles
and slingsacks that marked them visitors, they laughed and jabbered, pontificated and proclaimed, excitement billowing around them. Apprehension
fueled the milieu as much as anticipation, for the great spectacle slated to
unfold in Old Xorofin’s famous amphitheater tomorrow afternoon would
surely change all their lives. If the rumored uprising did occur, some might be
dead or maimed or imprisoned. And Carissa …

Carissa would be changed as well, though perhaps sooner than tomorrow.
The anxiety twisted again, harder, almost taking her breath away. After two
years of mishap, delay, and frustration she was about to get her first glimpse
of the most famous champion in present day Esurh, the man they called the
White Pretender. The man she hoped was her brother Abramm.

She still hardly dared believe it would happen in light of all the mindnumbingly bad luck she’d endured. But surely nothing could go wrong now.
They’d arrived in plenty of time. There would be no more sinking boats, no
pirate attacks, no unexpected, superstitious detours. With only two small
bags, they offered little reason to be stopped, and Old Xorofin’s great
Val’Orda opened its public seating on a first-come, first-served basis, so tickets could not be sold out in advance. Finally, the route from the warriors’
compound to the amphitheater was well-known and access to it was unrestricted. If all else failed, she could see him there.

Truly, she had no reason to fear another frustrating failure now.

Unless …

She glanced aside at Cooper, who was scowling at something up ahead.
The brilliant oranges and greens of his Thilosian merchant disguise set off his
swarthy skin, and the gray, spiked goatee and mustache of current Thilosian
fashion gave him a sophisticated aura, enhanced by the gold gleaming at his
neck and ear. It was undeniably true, as Philip had pointed out to her on the
foredeck last night, that Cooper had taken to his part well. True, also, that he
was in complete control of this expedition, despite his apparent deference to
Carissa. For the first nine months he’d been the only one who’d known the
language, and with women forbidden to speak to any man not their husband
or blood relative, he alone made the contacts, cut the deals, and saw to the
travel arrangements. It wouldn’t have taken much to-

No! She faced forward again. That was a horrid accusation, and she would
not indulge it. Cooper was an honorable man; he’d die for his honor. He’d
die for her. She was a wretch to think for even a moment that he might
betray her.

Philip was just tired and frustrated-as were they all-and searching for a
way to explain their failures that did not discredit his god. Moreover, he’d
clashed with Cooper from day one, so it wasn’t surprising he blamed the
older man.

Beside her that older man now grunted with displeasure. “They’re changing shifts, as I feared. The new fellows’ll likely be itching for a search.”

“Well, we have nothing for them to search.”

“So long as you keep your head down and your mouth closed, masim.”
Masim-beloved. Their travel papers called her wife, a designation neither of
them welcomed but which was clearly safest for her. A daughter was more
likely to be seized for an officer’s pleasure than a wife. But a wife had less
freedom.

His dark eyes flicked to Peri, who was clutching Carissa’s arm, and his
mouth tightened. The girl had been with her a year, hired to bolster the credibility of their disguise. Cooper had not wanted her to bring Peri today. “If
they seize her,” he’d warned, “I’ll not resist them.” She’d accepted that because
she knew if she’d relented and commanded Peri to stay, he’d have been at her
to remain on the boat, too, while he went alone to seek out the truth. She’d
agreed to a similar arrangement in Vorta months ago. She wasn’t doing it
again.

The line moved erratically, and sure enough, the four new guards soon
found someone to harass, while everyone else had to watch and wait. Like
their counterparts in other areas of Esurhite bureaucracy, they delighted in
these small flauntings of power, twitting all the world while they carried out
their petty little procedures.

Carissa dropped back onto her aching heels, scratching the staffid bites
again and thinking how much she hated this place, how tired she was of being
ordered around, of being at everyone’s mercy, of being afraid all the time.
Afraid of being discovered, afraid her friends would suffer for her decisions,
and most of all, afraid it would be for nothing.

She hugged her arms and refused to go down that road again. She was
here. She would see it through.

Ahead, the guards had gone through all the bags and sacks and, having
pulled off some hapless woman’s veil, now conferred among themselves.
After a moment, one of them led her into the tunnel, and not even the men
she was with protested.

The line started moving again, and before long Carissa and her companions were shuffling up to face the soldiers. The guards’ uniforms were fancier
than she was used to seeing-trimmed with gold braid and piping-and huge
purple flags emblazoned with black moons flanked the tunnel opening, proclaiming Old Xorofin’s status as the administrative heart of Beltha’adi’s
empire, but beyond that, there was nothing to distinguish it from any other
Esurhite city she’d encountered in this wretched land. Dark, dirty, and stinking, right down to the familiar stench of rotting flesh now wafting out of the
tunnel. Esurhite jurisprudence demanded public display of its sentences; thus
at every city’s main gates there stood a grisly promenade of impaled miscreants, some still alive and moaning, others long dead, but all reminding visitor
and native alike of the severity of Esurhite judgment.

A wave of aversion flooded her. For a moment she thought she absolutely
could not walk through another one of those gauntlets of death. She was
certain if she tried she’d go insane with the horror of it. She drew a deep,
shaky breath and horror transmuted into anger. What was the matter with
these people that they couldn’t bury their dead? That they had to decorate
their cities with rotting corpses? They were all mad. Mad!

Cooper handed their travel papers to the sour-faced officer and submitted
to the pat down initiated by the officer’s subordinate. Philip and Eber were
also searched for hidden weapons, but the women were left alone. Their two
small bags were pawed through and cast aside, and just when Carissa was sure
they’d passed muster, the officer in charge asked about Newbold. Something
about trailing hounds and Beltha’adi.

Cooper replied calmly, in flawless Tahg, having absorbed the language as
thoroughly as he’d absorbed his trader’s role. The animal was an old friend,
past breeding age, he said. If the Great One wished to have him, he would
gladly give him up, although he had much finer, more vigorous animals at
home in his kennel that the Supreme Commander might find more to his
liking.

The guard scowled at the dog, and the dog ignored him, his droopy brown
eyes as dull looking as ever. With his aged white face, Newbold certainly did not appear a creature befitting a Supreme Commander. But with these men,
one never knew. Most of them were so desperate for advancement they’d
seize upon anything with the least bit of promise.

Beside her, Philip stood stiffly, as tall as Carissa herself now, though he
hadn’t yet lost the leggy look of adolescence. He’d proved himself a promising
swordsman of late, hardly unexpected for the son of Master Larrick, and if
he’d had a sword, Carissa did not doubt he’d be on the verge of unsheathing
it. Cooper had warned him this might happen, made him agree not to protest
if they took the dog. But now, in the face of it, she was not sure he would
comply.

Fortunately it did not come to that. With a grunt, the officer thrust the
yellowed papers into Cooper’s hands and motioned them into the stinking
tunnel as he turned to his next victims.

By the time they reached the inn Cooper had been instructed to seek,
Carissa’s mood had darkened from anxious, impatient discontent to a fullblown foulness that had her snapping and spitting at everyone. When Peri
tried to help her remove the veil and headcloth, she slapped the girl away
and yanked them off herself, angrily tossing them in a heap on the ancient,
filthy carpet, despite the likelihood a staffid-or a rat-would find its way
into their folds. And when the girl brought her the food they had sent upfish stew heavily laced with onions-she shoved the bowl away with such
force it hit Peri’s arm and tipped over, spewing its noxious contents across the
table. That set off an eruption of vitriol that ended with the girl cringing and
weeping in the corner.

Which only triggered another flare of annoyance and a stern order to be
silent. Peri complied as best she could, and in the ensuing quiet Carissa’s
anger turned to a self-loathing so bitter she nearly wept herself.

“Forgive me,” she said finally. “You deserved none of that. I don’t know
what’s wrong with me.”

It’s this city, she thought. Dark and cramped and stinking. Swags of onions
everywhere you look, sewage in the streets, the guards and the mist and the people
always afraid and suspicious. And those horrid statues of Khrell! Squat, uglyfaced little men with fires burning in their bellies, they sat on every corner.
She hated them with a passion that was truly irrational. As if they symbolized
all she detested about this land.

Peri ventured from the corner and timidly cleaned up the mess, then took the bowl away, returning with a fresh portion of stew, a piece of dark bread,
and a cup of the vile Esurhite kassik. With most of the water unfit to drink,
the bitter, mildly alcoholic poor-man’s brew was their only alternative.
Carissa loathed it. But she drank it.

Cooper strode in a few minutes later, his face tight and angry.

“What now?” she asked as he dropped onto the grimy, musty pillows
across from her.

“The boy. He’s gone off to find his brother. Probably be picked up before
the night’s half over.” He pulled the corba of stiff green felt from his head and
threw it on the table before him. But if that’s what he wants, so be it. It’s
no concern of ours now.”

Peri set his food before him, and he picked up the bread, pulled off a
hunk, and dipped it into the stew. Only when the bowl was half empty did
he speak again. “Seers say the rains’ll come early this year. Maybe as soon as
three weeks.”

Kinlock had been wrong about there never being any wind here. For two
or three weeks in late spring, land and sea alike were lashed by a furious, nearcontinuous succession of storms. Violent winds and pounding rain blew off
roofs, knocked over trees, and turned dry wadis into angry, churning rivers
that flooded the lowlands and stopped all travel for the duration.

She tore off a piece of bread but couldn’t bring herself to dip it in the oily
stew. “We’ll be gone by then.”

“Will we?” He regarded her from beneath gray-sprinkled brows, his face
eerily underlit by the oil lamp on the table.

She ate her bread and said nothing.

“They say some kind of sickness broke out in the Sorite sector a couple
days ago.”

“Probably onion poisoning.”

He cocked a brow.

She gestured at the swags on the walls. “They live with them, breathe
them, eat them. It can’t be good.”

“They’re saying it’s plague.”

“Hmm.” She ate another piece of bread, grimaced as she chased it down
with kassik. “So what have you learned about him? Will he be on display
tonight?”

“The innkeeper’s sent someone to find out.” He fell silent, concentrating on his eating, and she felt his disapproval, radiating from him alongside the
heat from the lamp between them.

Finally his bowl and plate were empty. When Peri came to take them
away, Carissa sent her mostly full bowl, as well. As the door closed behind
her, Cooper spoke. “We shouldn’t be here, milady. Whether he wins or loses
tomorrow, there’s sure to be an uprising. They’ll close the gates if that happens. Start in with the searches.”

“Then we’ll just have to see him tonight, before it all starts.”

He blew out a breath of frustration. “Lass, the White Pretender is not
your brother. He-“

“We don’t know that. If-“

“We do?” he roared, coming up off the pillows to glare over the table at
her. She stared at him, shocked.

After a moment he sagged back. “You do,” he added softly.

Suddenly she was shaking, her stomach pulled into a hard knot. Suddenly
she saw the fear that had fueled her tantrum earlier-the cold, keening terror
that Cooper was right.

Game authorities claimed the White Pretender was a real Kiriathan
prince, but Game authorities were renowned for bending the truth if it served
a monetary-or political-purpose. Many believed they were doing so now.
Why else was the Pretender always costumed, wigged, and painted whenever
he was in public? Why else was he always whisked away so swiftly to a private cell after the contests? Rumor said the man was blond and blue-eyed,
but no one Cooper had spoken with had ever seen him uncostumed.

“The Pretender’s a born warrior, lass,” Cooper said gently. “How can he
be Abramm? You of all people know what your brother was, why he took
those vows. He was a gentle boy-sensitive and smart-but he was not
strong.”

“Yes he was. He was? Remember the time we tried to run away to sea?
And everything went wrong and I broke my arm and he rowed me all the
way back from Bertran’s Isle in that storm? He saved my life that night.”