‘You could have at least said something if that was your plan, Rojer,’ Leesha said as Abban escorted them to the caravan.
‘I hadn’t decided anything until the song was done,’ Rojer replied, ‘but even if I had, what business is it of yours who I marry? Let us not pretend you would consult me if the positions were reversed.’
Leesha gripped her skirts tightly in her fists. ‘Need I remind you that those young women tried to murder me?’
‘Ay,’ Rojer agreed. ‘Yet you’re the one that treated Amanvah when the antidote made her sick, and offered asylum to her and Sikvah both.’
‘Don’t fool yourself,’ Leesha said. ‘They’re still Inevera’s creatures.’
Rojer shrugged. ‘Perhaps. For now.’
‘You really think you can change them?’ Leesha asked.
Rojer shrugged. ‘Do you think you can change him?’ They reached the caravan, and Rojer, who had been given an opulent carriage to ride in with his wives, quickly disappeared inside.
‘Do not underestimate the son of Jessum,’ Abban said to Leesha. ‘He gained much power today.’ He gestured to a woman who stood at the head of the caravan with a ledger. ‘My First Wife, Shamavah. She will accompany you to the Hollow, and has personally chosen the kha’Sharum who will drive the carts with their wives and children. All of them, wives or husbands, are family, or work for me. They will give you no trouble.’
‘It’s not the kha’Sharum I’m worried over,’ Leesha said.
Abban nodded. ‘And you are wise in that. I have had no say over the dal’Sharum. They will report to Kaval, and though Ahmann has told the drillmaster that you are still his intended and to answer to you in all things, I expect it will be Amanvah they follow in practice.’
‘Then we’d all best hope Rojer’s confidence is justified,’ Leesha said.
‘I am saddened to see you leave, mistress,’ Abban said. ‘I will miss our conversations.’
Rojer fell into the wedding carriage with a contented sigh. It was of Rizonan make, fine wood and gilded paint with a metal suspension to take away the jolts and bumps of the road. A nobleman’s carriage, and a rich one at that.
But the Krasians had made alterations, removing the seats and covering the floor with thick colourful carpets and embroidered silk pillows. The walls and ceiling were covered in dark velvet of red and purple, and scented herbs hung from the ceiling in bronze pots punched with holes. The windows were glass, but could be cracked to let in air, as they were now, but curtained in velvet for privacy. Bronze and glass oil lamps hung from the walls, lighting and extinguishing themselves with the twist of a key.
Rojer had been in brothels less suited to lovemaking.
They don’t want me to waste any time, it seems. He couldn’t deny that he was eager for it, as well. Sikvah had lain with him already, but refused to let him spend in her until they were wed, and Amanvah was still a virgin. He would have to be gentle with her.
He took a pencil and notebook from his bag of marvels, continuing his notes on the Song of Waning. He could read well enough, and write in a cramped hand, but neither letters nor the musical symbols Arrick taught him came as naturally as fiddling.
‘Not everyone can hear a song once and play it forever,’ Arrick scolded when he had complained of the lessons, punctuating the advice with a clout to the ear. ‘You want to sell a song, you’ve got to be able to write it down.’
Rojer had hated his master in that moment, but now he was thankful for the lesson. He had already put down the tune and the meter of the lyrics. It would take time to translate the meaning fully, but they would be two weeks at best on the road to the Hollow, with nothing else to do.
Rojer smiled, stroking one of the silken pillows. Well, almost nothing.
He heard voices, and peeked through a crack in the curtains, seeing Amanvah and Sikvah approaching with a pair of white-clad dama, a strange-looking Sharum, and two other women.
Rojer immediately recognized Jardir’s son Asome and his nephew Asukaji. The warrior must be Amanvah’s bodyguard, Enkido. He wore the standard warrior blacks, but his wrists and ankles were bound in golden shackles that seemed permanently welded in place.
The women he did not recognize. Both wore black robes, but one had a veil of white like Sikvah’s. The other’s face was bare, indicating she was unmarried and unbetrothed.
Asome and Amanvah walked in front, arguing. They stopped in front of the carriage, whispering harsh words that Rojer could not understand. Asome grabbed Amanvah by the shoulders and shook her, his face a scowl. Her supposed bodyguard looked on but did nothing. It seemed doubtful any Krasian would dare strike the Deliverer’s son, much less a lowly Sharum.
Rojer felt a chill of fear. He knew Asome could kill him. He had seen dama fight – the least of them could use his head as a tackleball. But he couldn’t just watch. He ran through his mummer’s repertoire, thinking of the most fearless person he knew and putting him on like a cloak.
He kicked open the door of the carriage, startling everyone.
‘Get your hands off my wife!’ Rojer said in the low growl of the Painted Man. He flicked his good hand, and a throwing knife appeared in it.
Asukaji hissed and looked ready to leap at him, but Asome let Amanvah go and used a hand to forestall him.
‘Apologies, son of Jessum,’ Asome said, though he did not bow. His Thesan was clear, but heavily accented like Amanvah’s. ‘A disagreement among siblings, only. I meant no disrespect on your wedding day.’ The anger in his tone was barely contained. Had any man ever dared threaten him with a knife before?
‘Got a funny way of showin’ it,’ Gared said, appearing off to one side of the carriage. His huge axe was held casually in one hand, his warded machete in easy reach. Out of the corner of his eye, Rojer saw Wonda quietly appear to the other side, bow in hand. Rojer knew she could nock and fire an arrow in the blink of an eye.
Asukaji moved to interpose himself between her and Asome. There was a cold calm about him, and Rojer wondered if even Wonda could fire before the dama reached her, and if she would hit anything if she did. All around, their dal’Sharum escort was watching.
Rojer gave a shallow bow, little more than a nod, tucking his knife away in a blink and showing his empty hand. ‘You honour me, brother, by coming personally to bless our wedding day and present your sister and cousin to me.’
Amanvah gave him a warning look. Rojer knew he was walking a line taking such a familiar tone with men who would as soon kill as speak to him, but he had a handle on the scene now. The dama would not dare attack the Deliverer’s new son-in-law in public as long as he kept his words polite.
‘Indeed,’ Asome agreed, though there was nothing of agreement in his tone. His return bow was the exact depth and duration as Rojer’s. Asukaji did the same. ‘Blessings upon this day … brother.’
Asome looked at Amanvah and said a few words in Krasian, then the two dama turned on their heels and strode off to the collective relief of all.
‘What did he say?’ Rojer asked.
Amanvah hesitated, until he turned and met her eyes. ‘He said, “We will speak of this another time.”’
Rojer nodded as if it were of no import. ‘It would please me, wife, if you would introduce the rest of your escort.’
Amanvah bowed, gesturing for the other women to step forward. First was the woman with the white veil. Up close, Rojer could see she was young, perhaps no older than Sikvah.
‘My sister-in-law and cousin Ashia,’ Amanvah said, ‘firstborn daughter of Damaji Ashan and the Deliverer’s eldest sister, holy Imisandre, Jiwah Ka to my brother Asome.’
Rojer hid his surprise as the woman bowed. ‘Blessings upon your wedding day, son of Jessum. My heart is filled with joy to see my blessed cousin wed to you.’ Her tone held none of Asome’s insincerity. Quite the contrary, she looked as if she might kiss him.
He turned to the other young woman, her uncovered face showing her to be of an age with the others.
; ‘My cousin Shanvah,’ Amanvah said. ‘Firstborn daughter of kai’Sharum Shanjat, leader of the Spears of the Deliverer, and my father’s middle sister, holy Hoshvah.’
‘My blessings as well, son of Jessum.’ Shanvah’s smooth bow was so low her nose nearly touched the ground. Rojer knew trained dancers who would give anything for such strength and flexibility.
‘The four of us have trained together under Enkido in the Dama’ting Palace since we were children,’ Amanvah said, nodding to include Sikvah. ‘They have come to hold their goodbyes until the last moment, as it may be some time before we are together again.’
Enkido bowed deeply to Rojer as Amanvah indicated him.
‘Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Bridge,’ Rojer said, giving his name in the Krasian fashion as he stuck out his hand. The warrior looked at it curiously a moment, then reached out and clasped his wrist. His fingers were like bars of steel. He did not reply.
‘Enkido is a eunuch, husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘He has no spear, so he may be trusted to guard us in your absence, and no tongue to whisper our secrets.’
‘You let them cut off your tree?!’ Gared blurted in shock. All eyes turned to him, and he blushed. Enkido only looked at him mutely.
‘Enkido does not speak your heathen tongue,’ Amanvah said, ‘so he is unaware of your rudeness.’
Gared flushed even more deeply at that, fumbling his axe back into the harness on his back and bowing as he backed away. ‘Sorry ’bout that. I … ah …’ He turned and moved quickly to tend his horse.
Rojer bowed again to draw attention back to himself. ‘I am honoured to have so many of the Deliverer’s blood come to see us off. Please, do not let me interfere with your goodbyes. Take as long as you need.’
He moved away as the women began their tearful embraces, nodding to the two Cutters. ‘Thanks.’
‘Just doin’ our jobs,’ Gared said. ‘Painted Man said to keep you safe, and that’s what we aim to do.’
‘Glad we’re leavin’,’ Wonda said. ‘Sooner we’re gone the better.’
‘Honest word,’ Rojer agreed.
‘What was all that about?’ Rojer demanded of Amanvah as soon as they were alone in the carriage.
‘A matter between—’ Amanvah began.
‘Is this how we begin our marriage, my Jiwah Ka?’ Rojer cut her off. ‘With half-truths and evasions?’
Amanvah looked at him in surprise, but she quickly dropped her eyes. ‘Of course you are right, husband.’ She gave a slight shiver. ‘You and your companions are not the only ones eager to leave Everam’s Bounty.’
‘Why was your brother so angry?’ Rojer asked.
‘Asome believes I should have refused my mother when she told me to wed you,’ Amanvah said. ‘He argued with her, and it … did not go well.’
‘He doesn’t want your house allying with a greenlander?’ Rojer guessed.
Amanvah shook her head. ‘Not at all. He sees the power you command and is not blind to its uses. But Father has many dama’ting daughters whom he feels would serve. He has ever meant me as a gift for Asukaji, though it is not a brother’s right to give away his sister while their father lives.’
‘Why you?’ Rojer asked.
‘Because nothing less than his eldest full-blooded sister would do for Asome’s beloved Asukaji,’ Amanvah spat. ‘He cannot bear his lover’s children himself, so he tries to use the closest thing, as Asukaji did when he convinced Uncle Ashan to offer Ashia to my brother. Only my white robes have protected me thus far.’ She looked at him. ‘My white robes, and you.’
Rojer felt nauseous. ‘Where I come from, it’s considered … improper to marry your first cousin, unless you’re in some remote hamlet and haven’t got a choice.’
Amanvah nodded. ‘It is not favoured among my people either, but Asome is the son of the Shar’Dama Ka and Damajah. He does as he pleases. Already, Ashia has been forced to bear him a son that he and Asukaji treat as their own.’
Rojer shuddered, and breathed his relief as the carriage began to sway in its suspension, a sign they were finally moving.
‘Think on it no more, husband,’ Amanvah said, taking his right arm as Sikvah moved to his left. ‘It is our wedding day.’
12
The Hundred
333 AR Summer
28 Dawns Before Waning
Abban gasped for breath, sweating onto the fine silk sheets of the master bed in the Palace of Mirrors. The very bed where Ahmann first took Mistress Leesha, a bed yanked out from under Damaji Ichach at Abban’s suggestion. It pleased him to steal his own pleasure there, marking the silk while the leader of the Khanjin tribe laid his head in some lesser place.
Shamavah was already on her feet, pulling on her black robes. ‘Up with you, fat one. You’ve had your draining, and time is short.’
‘Water,’ Abban groaned as he sat up. Shamavah went to the silver pitcher cooling on the table. Beads of water ran down the metal as she poured a cup, much as beads of sweat ran down his skin.
‘One of these days your heart will give way, and control of your fortune pass to me,’ she taunted, quenching her own thirst before refilling the cup and bringing it to him.
Had any of his other wives dishonoured him so, Abban would have taken the cane to her himself, but for Shamavah he only smiled. His Jiwah Ka had never been the most beautiful of his wives, and her fertile years had long since waned, but she was the only one he bedded for love.
‘You already control my fortune,’ Abban said, taking the cup and draining it as she began helping him into his clothes.
‘Perhaps that is why you send me away,’ Shamavah said.
Abban reached out, taking her face in his free hand. He knew she was only teasing, but still it was too much to bear. ‘I will curse every minute we are apart.’ He winked. ‘And not just because I will need to work twice as hard without you.’
Shamavah kissed his hand. ‘Thrice.’
Abban nodded. ‘But it is for that very reason that I trust no one else to begin our dealings with the Hollow tribe. We must secure our operations and win the greenlanders over, even if it means red in the ledger at first.’
‘Nie take me first,’ Shamavah said. ‘It did not take long to buy the Hollowers’ trust, and they sold it cheaply. They do not have the stamina to hide their weakness for long.’
It was true enough. When they first set out from Deliverer’s Hollow, the Northerners all quieted whenever Abban drew near, mistrustful of any with a dusky tone to their skin. But Abban always came bearing gifts. Nothing so bold as gold or jewels – that would offend these people. But a silk pillow casually offered to one rubbing a sore backside from long days on a cart bench? A flattering word when it was needed? Exotic spices to flavour their cookpot? A few bits of common knowledge about his people?
These things the Northerners accepted freely, congratulating themselves over learning to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in his language as if it were some great deed.
And so they began talking to him, still guarded, but with increasing comfort, letting him lead a conversation about the weather into talk of harvest festivals and holidays, marriage customs and morality. The Northerners loved the sound of their own voices.
It wasn’t the information Ahmann wanted, of course. The Deliverer wanted troop sizes and positions, points of military or symbolic significance, and maps. He wanted maps most of all. The Rizonan Messengers’ Guild had burned theirs the day the Krasians attacked, and the idiot Sharum had not bothered to stop them. The maps in Duke Edon’s library were extensive for his own lands, but for those outside his borders they were a decade old. To the north, Deliverer’s Hollow was growing exponentially. Small villages were swelling with refugees, and new settlements were forming, many far away from the Messenger roads Ahmann needed to move the full strength of his forces.
‘The landscape is changing,’ Ahmann had said. ‘We cannot achieve victory without understanding that change.’
It was sound military thinking, but gul
lible though they were, the Hollowers were not such utter fools as to reveal such information. Yet while Ahmann might turn up his chin at gossip and bickering, Abban knew it for the power it was.
Great things can be found in small talk, his father Chabin used to say.
Shamavah had done much the same when the greenlanders came to the Palace of Mirrors. All Abban’s wives and daughters spoke Thesan, but on her orders they had pretended only a handful of words, turning simple interactions into such complicated pantomime that the Hollowers had quickly stopped bothering to speak to them despite their near-constant presence. They silently brought food, cleared away refuse, changed linens, and carried water, all but invisible.
After weeks on end, the greenlanders no longer bothered to hide their petty squabbling. Even when they thought they were alone, more often than not they stood near one of the palace’s many air vents, and Shamavah had women ‘cleaning’ the central shafts continually. Abban read their reports, detailing everything from privy habits to sexual encounters. Some he read with more pleasure than others.
Now the leanings of the Northerners’ hearts were open scrolls. Know a person’s desires, his father had told him, and you can charge whatever you wish to fulfil them.
Like the steps of a ladder, he had built their trust, keeping their secrets and offering sound advice. Occasionally he even seemed to suggest a course not to his master’s advantage, a tactic any child in the bazaar knew to mistrust. But the trick always seemed to work on greenlanders, the best of whom were poor hagglers.
Most delicious was when he could offer up a secret about Inevera, buying their trust even as he helped thwart the manipulations of the Damajah.
She was beginning to suspect his hand now, but it mattered little. He had made his opening moves too subtly for her to oppose him openly, using unwitting agents – including Ahmann himself. The Shar’Dama Ka might publicly heap abuse on Abban, but he tolerated none of it from others, brutally putting down even his sons and closest advisors when they tried to bully the khaffit.