The Seascape Tattoo (17 page)

“How came you to our kingdom?” she asked, plump brown fingers folded.

Neoloth winced a bit, waiting for a faux pas.

“My man and I enjoy travel.”

“But why Shrike? Have you been here before?”

Aros's teeth tore a chunk of meat that might have choked a lion. “I had of course heard of the mighty kingdom of Shrike, but never visited. Of late, I've had … dreams.” He seemed to speak the last words reluctantly.

“What manner of dreams?”

“Of the fighting men of Shrike,” he said. “I had heard that the general is the finest swordsman in the world, and skill at arms is something I appreciate.”

“You thought to join our fighting forces?” she asked.

He nodded. “If the situation seems appropriate.”

“What of your past? You are … Aztec?”

He nodded. “As you are, I believe, my lady.”

She drew herself up. “Yes. I am. I was a princess of Azteca, won in battle and trade by my husband, a prince of Shrike.”

Aros bowed while seated, an oddly formal gesture. “I pray he won your heart as well as your hand.”

She smiled. “Yes,” she said. “He did. Where are your people?”

The Aztec lowered his eyes. When he spoke, Neoloth was surprised by the pain in his voice. “In truth, I do not know. My first memories are of the desert people who raised me.”

“And … did they tell you how you came among them?”

“I know that much. I was a slave. They purchased me from a merchant.”

“And he?”

Aros shook his head. “He went his way.”

She looked at his belt buckle. “Where did you get that buckle?”

He looked down. “From a gold coin. I think the merchant gave it to me.”

“The man who sold you left you a gold coin?”

He shrugged. “I do not understand either. I had the sense that he sold me not for profit, but because he could not take care of me and wished me to have a good home. The story was that he haggled for my price … but then after he collected the money, gave me this gold coin to wear as a necklace.”

“May I see it?” Jade asked.

Aros seemed a bit nonplussed, but in a good humor took it off. “When beautiful, titled ladies ask me to disrobe, it is rarely in public.”

Neoloth winced. Was the fool making a pass at his own mother?

Jade was instantly embarrassed, flushed. “No, you don't understand.”

She examined the belt buckle. “It is a popular fashion,” she said, “to make jewelry out of coins. Nothing unique here. But … a long time ago, I gave a coin to someone.”

“A coin like this one?”

“Much like,” she replied.

She looked at his shirted chest, the spot where the tattoo would be, and Neoloth sensed that she was goosing up her courage to ask him about it … or ask him to show it, when there was a disturbance in the front of the tavern.

They turned around, and several bulky sword-wielding soldiers entered the tavern, flanking a man larger and more impressive than any of them.

“I seek my wife!” General Silith roared.

“Here, husband.”

He kissed the top of her head, then scanned the table with open curiosity. “Well, there are many places to celebrate in our capital, but I didn't expect to find you here!”

“I didn't mean to worry you. I was just speaking to this young man here.”

The general eyed Aros. “And who might you be?”

“My name is Kasha. I am of the Southern Desert people.”

“That,” Silith said, “is odd. I might have mistaken you for Azteca.”

“I think it likely that such blood runs in my veins,” he averred.

Silith humphed. “How came this young man to your attention, Jade?”

She stuttered a moment. “I … it had been a long time since I saw someone who seemed of my people, my husband. I hoped to speak words with him.”

Silith turned back to Aros. He seemed barely to notice Neoloth existed at all. “And do you speak the language?”

“A bit, yes,” Aros said. “But I don't remember where I learned it.”

“Interesting. Is this your bondsman?”

“Yes,” Aros said dismissively. “Washelisk has served me since my comrades and I spared his life.”

“In war?”

“There are small wars everywhere,” Aros said, smiling, one fighting man to another.

The general smiled back. “Yes. A merchant's life would be wasted on a man such as you. What brings you to Shrike?”

“I had heard that a good sword could find a home here.”

“A home for a sword … with a bondsman.” The general's eyes widened. “You see yourself as an officer.”

“I have commanded men. I seek nothing more than a chance to prove my worth.”

The general's smile hardened. “Do you now?”

Neoloth watched as Silith examined Aros boot to brow, that smile holding. And Aros seemed as sanguine. These two actually liked each other.

Was that a good or a bad thing?

“Well, then,” Silith said. “Come to the barracks tomorrow morning, if you wish a test of your mettle. Prepare for bruises.”

He stood. “Jade,” he said. “Our carriage awaits.”

They could now hear a clattering noise in the street. “Well. It has been good to speak to you, young man. I hope you will accept my husband's invitation.”

“I would be honored,” Aros said.

She turned away, took her husband's arm. Aros and Neoloth followed them out.

*   *   *

A wheeled conveyance half again the size of a carriage pulled up in the street outside. Steam drifted from its chimney. No horses pulled it, although a coachman drove.

The clientele goggled at the sight.

Aros and Neoloth watched, Aros stupified.

“What … is this vehicle?” Neoloth asked. “I've not seen its like.”

“We have many wonders in Shrike,” the general said. “Presently we shall share them with the world. You may wish to be a part of that gift.”

His carriage pulled out and drove down the cobbled road. Other carriages, more standard with their horses, moved out of the way.

The general waited until they were down the road a piece and then turned to his wife. “And the real story here?”

She gave a secretive smile. “Perhaps,” she said, “I have become an adventuress in my declining years.”

The general held her hand warmly. “My heart is yours to hold, or break, as you wish.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Give me my little secret,” she said. “Just for the night, a fantasy. But tomorrow, if Aros appears, make … swimming one of his tests.”

Silith's eyebrows arched. “Why?”

“I wish to see him swim,” she said, and from the set of her lips, he knew he would get no more from her.

“I will never understand women.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You should never try. Just … love us,” she said.

*   *   *

Aros and Neoloth were walking back to their lodgings.

“Well,” Aros said. “That was neatly done, I think. Or at least well begun.”

“Well begun is half done. Your comment about disrobing. Have you no sense of decency? The woman is your own mother? I don't know the customs where you—”

Aros glared at him.

“Do not. I had a reason for doing it, and that reason is what you just said.”

Neoloth matched Aros's long stride, thinking.

“That anyone attempting to defraud the general, to impersonate his son, would not be stupid enough, tasteless enough, to make such an insinuating comment.”

“Dawn comes late.”

“I'm beginning to wonder whether I am dealing with a genius or a moron.”

“Let me know when you've decided.”

 

NINETEEN

Exercises

As the sunlight streamed in through the window, Neoloth awakened and dressed, determined to try his hand at a spell.

“The red robes were using magic,” he muttered. “Perhaps there is mana in this place…”

He deployed a geomantic tool over a parchment map of Shrike. He gestured, he whispered, and … nothing. Dead sheepskin.

“Damnation.”

He reluctantly took his talisman and leeched a bit of magic from it and then returned to the map. This time, he got indications, especially in the forbidden black forest … and the royal tower that abutted it.

He was not entirely displeased. “There is something,” he said. “But the more important question is … how did the red robes do their magic? There is none in the ground here. Do they all have talismans? And if they do, how do they charge them?”

The Aztec was still sleeping. Let him sleep. He hated to admit it, but so far Aros was performing well. “You will have your own test today. Sleep well.”

The streets were still dark as Neoloth slipped out of the inn. It was early morning, and the sun had yet to touch the flagstones and cobbles. A few early risers were already up and about. Bakers, road sweepers, a butcher.

Neoloth walked lanes narrow and broad seeking a sense of the capital, mapping the streets in his head.

A few servants lurked outside a morning pub near the outer gate of the palace. “G'morning to ye.”

“G'morning. Oh, it's a good day to come, I think.”

“I thought,” Neoloth said, “that any tavern that serves the castle folks would be likely to have the very best.”

The servant grinned. “And … ye thought right. Looking for a bit of breakfast?”

“That's just the thing.”

“And your master be?”

He gritted his teeth. “My lord Kasha will be testing for the guard this day.”

Another servant who had been eavesdropping suddenly perked up. “Really? Now, that be invitation only. He does that, and you're rolling in clover. I'd better buy you a cup today—and hope that you'll be rich enough to buy me breakfast tomorrow.”

They were joined by a few others.

Neoloth was warming into his role. “My master fights for pleasure, not gold. We have plenty of coin. What say I buy drinks all around while we eat, and you tell me about the good people hereabouts … and maybe the lovely ladies, hey?”

*   *   *

The tavern teemed with serving wenches, cleaning folks, grooms, and the like filling their guts with porridge or, if lucky, a slice of last night's boar, still roasting over low coals.

“Tavern keeper!” Neoloth yelled. “Bring us a haunch to share with my friends.”

The others clapped him on the back, in the manner of men everywhere who are offered a free meal. “It's a fine and generous man you are, sir Washelisk. I'm sure you and your master will do well here.”

“What kind of people do well here?”

“Those with skills,” one said.

“Those who know how to keep their noses clean and their mouths shut,” another offered.

“Meaning?” Neoloth asked, trying not to seem too interested.

“Well … since the Thousand came. The Red Ones. We learn not to ask too many questions,” the servant said, and seemed astonished at his own daring.

“Well … you let me know if I'm asking too many, but my master intends to rise here and wants to know all he can about where the power lies.”

A buxom wench had pillowed her bosom against his arm. If her breath had not been a miasma of stale beer, the implied offer might have been tempting. “That's a sound idea.”

“So…,” Neoloth went on. “The queen died three years ago.”

“Tragic it was,” she said. “But she'd fallen from her horse and broken her back. No one could save her, but the Red Nun kept her alive longer than anyone would have believed.”

“Aye,” another servant said. “And that was after the court doctors had given up. Probably that was the toehold that got them where they are today.”

“Next to the true power,” Neoloth said provocatively. “The king, hey?”

They looked at each other, as if nervous about speaking. “That … would be one way to look at it, yes.”

There was a bit of reluctance to go further, and Neoloth smiled and withdrew.

*   *   *

On the flat dirt field at the front of the barracks, three dozen soldiers were engaged in various exercises and skill drills: throwing, lifting, jumping, grappling. A handful of stragglers … and Aros … stood separate from them, watching with the awareness that they might soon be asked to participate in the bruising games.

The general rode up and addressed a beefy NCO who had registered the newcomers.

“Good morning, Sergeant Fflogs.”

The sergeant saluted sharply. “Morning, General. Congratulations on the wife's recent success.”

The general smiled. “Becoming something of a tradition, isn't it?”

“That it is.”

“What do you think of the recruits?” General Silith asked.

“The usual sad lot…” The sergeant frowned. “I noticed the Aztec. He's an odd one. He said he was invited? That true, sir?”

“It is,” the general said.

“Explains why your lordship's out this morning. A relative?”

“Why do you say that?” the general asked.

Sergeant Fflogs scratched his head. “Well … he favors your lady wife a bit, that's all. Don't mind my saying, sir.”

The general looked at Aros again. His wife, Jade, came up riding behind him.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” she said.

“Morning, ma'am.”

The sergeant looked at Jade and then at Aros and hid a bit of a smile. “What's on the agenda today, sir?”

“Let's give them a chance to strut. See what they can do.”

“You heard the man!” the sergeant bawled. “Padded swords. Let's see what you're made of!”

The men were given padded swords and paired off. “This is not a blind brawl. You will listen to me. Here are the strokes: One! Two! Three…” As he counted them off, blocks and strikes were paired with blows and parries from complementary angles.