The Prince of Shadow (51 page)

“I see no washerman,” Ambassador Huang answered in a high, testy voice. “These two are unknown to me, although you do not contest that they are who they say they are—”

“I contest not who, but what they are, Master,” Markko pointed out the fine shading of difference between his own position and that of the ambassador.

“Yes, yes, but you have accused neither of washing laundry, I presume?”

Llesho would have volunteered that he had, in fact, washed laundry, but held his tongue. Master Markko seemed unhappy with the direction of the ambassador's discussion, which suited Llesho just fine.

“Then you can only mean Master Den,” the delegate continued. “And Master Den is well known to me as the general who led the house guards of our present emperor's father. Master Den's strategy for the defense of Shan's borders against the Harn have protected the emperor and his people lo these many years, even as the Harn prey upon our trade routes to the south.”

“You have been duped,” Master Markko insisted, “by this man, who, until Lord Chin-shi's recent demise, washed the linen for Pearl Island's stable of gladiators, of which the boy here was a member in training. Both belong, by right, to me!”

“I know nothing of the boy,” Huang agreed, though his black eyes glittered when he said it, “but I believe I am correct about Master Den. I am not likely to have forgotten my old teacher, even after so many years.”

“But . . . But . . .” Markko spluttered. “He cannot be the same man, he is too young!”

Ambassador Huang turned a bland stare on the traitor. “I am convinced that, having made a mistake in respect to the identity of one of my guests, you may have made equally serious errors about the others. By no deliberate fault of your own, of course, Master Markko. As it is, I find myself at a loss to make a judgment that will so profoundly affect so many who consider themselves under the protection of the Celestial Emperor.”

Llesho flinched at the loathing in Markko's eyes. The old ambassador seemed not at all aware of the seething hatred directed at him. “Disagreements are so tiring!” Ambassador Huang complained petulantly. “I believe I must take a nap.”

Master Den beamed complacently at the yawning delegate, looking as doltish as Huang HoLun himself. “I think we could all use a nap,” he agreed cheerfully.

Shocked at his teacher's apparent loss of sanity, Llesho nevertheless succumbed to his mentor's suggestion. Try as he might, he could not stifle the gaping yawn that almost unhinged his jaw.

Ambassador Huang's black eyes twinkled at him. The old man might not be the doddering fool that he wished to appear, but Llesho did not let himself forget the cold-eyed calculation that had greeted them. Huang played his stones with apparent carelessness, but strategy informed every move.

“We should all rest now.” The ambassador rose from his chair while pronouncing his plan. “This evening, we shall all of us return to Shan together. By sedan-post, we may arrive before midnight on the second day of travel, and then we may leave the matter in the hands of the emperor and his advisers.”

Markko accepted Master Huang's decision with a bowed head, but Llesho saw that the magician's eyes burned with frustration before he lidded them to hide his anger.

“And now, Master Den, come. See me to my bed. We have much to talk about, many lifetimes to catch up on!”

The ambassador spoke as if in jest, and Master Den laughed as he offered his arm to the old man. But Llesho could not help thinking that the joke was on the rest of them. He wondered, not for the first time, exactly who Master Den was.

Chapter Thirty

LLESHO trusted his horse not to drop him, but put no equal faith in the arms and running feet of men like himself. He had never journeyed by litter, and the thought of doing so made him uneasy. The litters were designed for the comfort and reassurance of the travelers who made use of them, but on Llesho they had the opposite effect. Polished wood suitable for the finest furniture made up the pallet base, with low rails on all sides to protect the passengers from falling out onto the road. Brightly colored silk curtains hung from a sturdy frame suspended above graceful carved posts at each corner, preserving the privacy of the travelers within. On both sides, long carrying poles extended several paces beyond the front and back of the wooden floor. Llesho figured that, with the furnishings, it had to weigh more than his horse.

A dozen bearers stood in position next to the carrying poles of each litter while the ambassador's protocol officer sorted out their company. The ambassador entered the largest and most sumptuous litter. He insisted that Master Den accompany him so that they could catch up on court gossip, which sent his protocol officer into scandalized fits of temper. As the emissary of her ladyship and her father, both of whom had rights of provincial governorship by appointment and marriage, Habiba had precedence over Master Markko, who petitioned the emperor in his own right as regent for the dead usurper, Lord Yueh. If he wished to offer his protection on the road to Llesho, however, Habiba must cede his right by protocol, and accept the lesser station afforded the pretender to the Thebin throne. Llesho would be situated last in the order of travel to signify that the emperor had not yet acknowledged Llesho's status.

Finally, all parties agreed upon the order of march: Master Markko would follow the ambassador's litter in solitary dignity, and Llesho would bring up the rear, with Habiba as his traveling companion. Imperial foot soldiers would accompany them. Like the litter bearers, they would pass off their duty to fresh soldiers waiting at the relay points. The party's own guards would come after them on horseback.

“It's not safe,” Bixei had insisted when he heard that they would be left to follow at a slower pace. They had gathered in the tent set aside for them by the ambassador.

“I can't believe you would go anywhere with Markko, let alone that you would leave your own guard behind when you did it. How do you know you can trust this Huang fellow?”

“He's the emperor's ambassador,” Kaydu reminded them, but Lling shared Bixei's fear.

“The emperor did nothing when the Harn came,” she reminded them. “For all we know, he may be in league with the raiders and wants only to see you dead!”

“My father would never let that happen!” Kaydu looked ready to strike.

Llesho stopped them with an upraised hand. “For good or ill, we are now in Shan Province, the very heart of the empire. If the emperor wishes us dead, he doesn't have to drag us all the way to the imperial city to kill us—he could have me murdered by any one of five thousand of his soldiers in this camp while I stand here talking to you. You might be able to avenge yourself on a soldier loyal to his duty before his comrades killed you all, but we'd still be dead. And the emperor would still be on his throne in his palace.”

“So we leave you in the hands of strangers and hope for the best?” Bixei asked, not believing what he heard.

“I think,” Llesho said, and paused, because he was puzzling it through as he spoke. “I think that her ladyship and Master Den—Master Jaks, too—wanted this all along, and Markko wanted us not to reach the emperor at all. I have to figure that those who want me here will keep me alive, at least until I find out why they thought it was so important.”

“I think you're right,” Kaydu agreed. “For whatever reasons, my father is determined to see you safely into the hands of the emperor. And he'll be sharing your litter. No one would dare to attack you while you are under his protection.”

“Master Markko already has.”

“We were not in the emperor's own province then,” Llesho reminded the young gladiator, “and the emperor had not turned his head in our direction. We are now on imperial time.”

Bixei muttered a grudging agreement, but added, “If you do run into trouble, we will be right behind you.”

“I know it.” Llesho gave each a handclasp to seal their friendship. They said nothing more, but accompanied him to his litter in silence, and stood by while he pushed his head past the silk curtains that swathed his litter.

There he stopped, frozen in amazement. “It will never get off the ground,” he swore. The inside of the litter was even richer than the outside! Thick down cushions covered in patterned silk lay scattered in heaps over the wooden flooring. In one corner a fat stand held a tall pipe bound about with brass and silver. Perfumed water already bubbled in its base, and the sweet grasses in its bowl sparked red before releasing fragrant smoke into the air. A basket of dainty tidbits for the road rested in the center of the litter, between two mounds of cushions for the riders.

“Of course it will.” Habiba's voice behind him reminded Llesho that they had no time for gawking. Feeling inadequate to the luxury around him, he clambered inside. Habiba followed.

“Very nice,” the witch approved, and began arranging his pillows into an impromptu nest.

Llesho did the same, and had barely settled himself before the litter began to pitch and rise. Llesho grabbed for the closest rail and held on tightly until the poles supporting the litter settled on the shoulders of the bearers. Habiba seemed untroubled by the jostling. He began to pick at the basket between them.

“Have something to eat,” he said. “Even by post relay it will be a long trip.”

Llesho considered the basket in front of him and shook his head, far too nervous to eat anything. “I'm not hungry.”

When he'd started on his journey from the pearl beds, the empire was just another obstacle between himself and his goal: a map upon which he would find his brothers widely scattered but alive. In secret he would gather them around him, and in secret they would return to Thebin and somehow take their home back from the Harn. He hadn't considered how he would do that without an army or claim to his own name, and he certainly hadn't counted on setting the great empire of Shan on its ear as he passed through it. But sitting in imperial luxury, approaching the imperial city, with allies and enemies at either hand, it was all becoming too real.

As it often did when his quest began to overwhelm him, Lleck's pearl throbbed in his mouth like a bad tooth. On his road to Thebin Llesho had acquired gifts as well as allies—gifts that were supposed to mean something to him. The pearl, the spear, the cup all gave him feelings he should have been able to identify but which remained stubbornly out of reach. His knife, though, he could understand. And he didn't like what he knew. He was a trained killer, had killed even as a child. No wonder the goddess had not come to him! He thought, perhaps, he could not succeed without Her help, and would have wept for his captive country, with only an abandoned boy to care about the misery of his people.

Habiba frowned thoughtfully at Llesho as he chewed on a bit of fruit. Perhaps he knew what desperate thoughts passed through his head, but chose instead to remark upon the more obvious cause of Llesho's distress with a conclusion that seemed to amuse him.

“Thebin has a reputation for the riches its trade routes with the West brought. Surely you were accustomed to greater luxuries than this in the palace at Kungol.” He waved a hand with a half-eaten peach in it to signify their surroundings.

“Not really.” Llesho considered the silk appointments of the litter with the eyes of his younger self. By Thebin standards, it was overdone: too much surface glamour, but the richness of the cushions did little to muffle the jolt of the runners' feet. The motion passed up through the poles and bounced the litter like a skiff in a stormy sea. Llesho realized that in spite of the luxury that cradled him, the motion was making him sick.

Talking distracted him from his growing nausea, however, so he let his mind wander back to his early home.

“Kungol lies just below the snow line,” he explained. “Just below the point on the mountains where the snow never melts. It is cool all the time, and it can sometimes snow during the night even at high summer. Thick woolen rugs hang on the walls of the palace, and in winter rugs even cover the windows, to hold in the warmth. I had a goose down comforter covered in Shan silk when I was small, but everything else in my room was wool or leather.” He shrugged. “The things that seemed most precious and rare in Thebin—wood is so scarce that we only use it for decoration and a few bits of furniture—are common to Shan. The things of their own country that Thebins value, like jade and amber, copper and bronze, we trade very little, and so they have the value of rarity in your world but lack the meaning they hold in mine. And I have heard what lowlanders think of Thebin dress—” He looked down at his own gaudy coat with a weary smile, knowing and sad. “Our cloth is too rough, our embroidery too garish, the cut of our garments barbaric.”