Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (13 page)

Chapter 10

Arisanat wished he had never come on this journey to the desert.

He had never had any real choice in the matter. From the moment King Marsede had decided Arisanat's presence was necessary, it had been almost a foregone conclusion that Arisanat would go. He had grounds to refuse. He had enough support in the council that he could have gotten away with refusing. He would have been spared the torture of revisiting the Kreyden without his brother if he had refused. But refusal would have created a rift between Arisanat and the king.

No, it would have
revealed
the rift between Arisanat and the king.

He huffed and flopped over in his blankets, wishing violently for his comfortable down-filled bed and the soft silk sheets and fine wool blankets that he was used to. These bulky cushions they had brought with them from Tamnen City were considered the pinnacle of comfort in travel, but Arisanat could still tell he was less than a foot off the ground, where anything could crawl up into bed with him. The desert was home to vermin of all sorts, from four-legged to eight-legged to no-legged, and Arisanat was not overfond of any of them.

This had all been a colossal mistake.

Spending time near Razem was reminding him of all the pleasant times he had spent with his cousin in the past. It reminded him of a childhood spend sledding in the winter and berrying in the summer, of Longnights spent singing the fire to bed and Longdays spent dancing around the Lifetree and searching for fireflowers. It reminded him of a time when neither Razem nor Arisanat were angry men who had lost those they held most dear. Most of all, it reminded him that Razem was grieving, too.

He didn't want to feel compassion for the cousin he had vowed to kill.

With a huff, Arisanat threw back his wool blanket and rose from his cushion. He left the tent and took a deep breath of crisp night air, untainted with the smell of banked fire or men's night farts. He stared up at the sky, wishing he'd grabbed his cloak from the trunk by the foot of his cushion. It was colder here than up north at his home. The desert was only hot in the daytime. He remembered his first time visiting the desert. He'd come to the Kreyden to see Venra, about a year after Venra had left Rivarden to take command in Dinnsan.

Dinnsan was a fortified city at the eastern end of the Salishok River. It was at least three hundred years old, and peopled by a mix of Strid and Tamnese, with a handful of people from the Long Coast on the other side of the mountains. It had been held by the Tamnese for the past hundred and fifty years, but the Strid had held it for eighteen years before that. Dinnsan's civilian authorities were almost entirely of Tamnese descent, and Arisanat had been surprised by the relative peace of the city, since it was at the bleeding edge of the Strid-Tamnese Conflict.

Venra had laughed at his naïveté. "Everyone here knows they're better off with Tamnen City in control, Aris," he'd said. "We have laws that provide for the least fortunate among us. We allow no religious zealots to control our policy. We have good tools for educating children regardless of class."

"Are the Strid really as bad as that?" Arisanat had asked.

"The Strid people are at the mercy of the Strid king's whim. I had an entire clan cross the river asking for asylum because King Harkai had decided the maker god's followers were trying to wrest power. This clan, some thirty people, left because Harkai had outlawed worship of the maker god."

Arisanat snorted. "How do you outlaw worship of a god? A faithful man would never renounce his god, no matter what you threatened him with."

"But in Strid, you can now be executed for worshiping the maker god." Venra shook his head. "I wonder how many blacksmiths and carpenters they'll have left in the kingdom before Harkai comes to his senses."

"I thought the prince was the dangerous one."

Venra shrugged. "He's reckless and arrogant, not mad. Harkai is said to be afflicted with madness that comes and goes. He'll come around eventually and probably repeal half of the edicts he issued during this period. But that will be too late for too many of his people. So they come to Dinnsan." Venra grinned, dimples making him look even younger than his twenty-three years. "And I welcome them and put them to work and tax them, so King Marsede is happy about them coming here."

Arisanat laughed and they had moved on to another topic. But the conversation had stayed with him. They did have a good system of government in Tamnen. The king ruled, but he ruled by the good will of the Nine Families. If any of his policies were deemed unwise by a majority of the Nine, there would be mediation and compromise. It was a good system, but after Venra's death, Arisanat had realized its limitations.

There was no mechanism for replacing a king who had gone too far down a faulty path. Dynasties changed, of course. There had been times when a king died without issue, so the rule went to the First Family, and then the entire ranks of the Nine were shifted. Once, three hundred and twenty years ago, three of the Nine changed completely because families Four, Six, and Nine were related to the old king, but not to the head of the First Family who succeeded. That was when the Corrone family moved up to First Family instead of Second. Eighty years later the Corrone family succeeded to the throne, and they had remained there ever since.

But now, Arisanat thought, shivering in the cold night air, it was time for a change.

Behind him, he heard rustling as someone put back the tent flap. Whoever it was made an insulted noise, presumably at the chill, and there was a bit more rustling before footsteps approached Arisanat where he stood. He glanced over as the person reached him.

Razem was shrugging into a cloak. "H'lo, Aris. Can't you sleep either?" he mumbled. He sounded sleepier than his words suggested.

Arisanat shrugged.

Razem wasn't discouraged by his silence. "We'll be at Baron Arkad's estate in a week or so. At least we'll have real beds to sleep in there."

"And it'll be warmer, I hope," Arisanat said dryly.

Razem laughed. "You know, I'd forgotten just how cold the nights can be in the desert. Funny how the memory tricks you, isn't it?"

Arisanat grunted. He didn't really feel like talking. He would just as soon not have company. Somewhere in the distance, a fox yipped and another one answered it. He tilted his head back and looked up at the stars. Somehow they looked closer out here, away from the city, looming over him as if they knew his secrets.

He began counting the days. How long was it before Longday? That was the deadline he'd imposed on the Problem Solver. Both of them dead by Longday, he'd said. Had the assassin struck at Marsede yet? Perhaps the king was dead even now, the couriers searching all over for Prince Razem. When would Arisanat have news?

And Birona—he should be working to bring the city guard over to their side. It was a delicate task, but Arisanat had no doubt Birona was up to it. The man dealt primarily in war materiel, it was true, but he also helped supply the city guard. He had influence and contacts that would prove invaluable to Arisanat's plans. Guiltily, Arisanat glanced over at his cousin, who had been unusually quiet.

Razem must have seen the glance. He turned his head. "Aris, is there trouble between you and Hawk?"

That was not the question Arisanat had been expecting, though he wasn't sure what he
had
expected. He hesitated. "I don't trust him." He drew the words out, as if reluctant to say them. "He is mild and agreeable, certainly, but he has spent six years among the enemy. Who knows what changes could have been wrought in that time? And is that agreeable person he presents himself as true, or is it a ploy?"

Even in the light of the banked fire, Arisanat could see Razem's frown. "How do you mean?"

"To gain your trust," Arisanat said. "To learn our secrets. You're too trusting, Raz. By the gods, after what happened to Azmei, I'd expect more caution from you!"

As soon as the words fell from his lips, he wondered if he'd gone too far. But Razem didn't recoil. He merely stood, staring at the glowing embers. Arisanat drew a breath.

"I worry for you, cousin. Here we are in the middle of nowhere, with only a handful of guards compared to what you ought to have." He paused. "What if Hawk intends to guide our enemies here to kill you?"

Razem shook his head slowly. "I don't believe that Commander Ayowir would fight that way."

"Perhaps not, but she has the damned Deranged Duke now."

Razem pursed his lips, frowning out into the darkness. His arms were folded across his chest, and Arisanat saw his fingers tapping against his elbows. "I will take you in my confidence, Aris. But this must go no further. There is no way to prove it, for one thing. But when last I saw the duke, he all but begged my forgiveness. He knows he was—that what he did was evil. He knows he deserves damnation for it. I believe he would undo it, if he could."

"And if wishes were fishes, we'd dine well each night!" Arisanat snapped.

"Aris—"

"You're a trusting fool, Razem," he muttered. "Someday I fear that will turn on you."

There was a long silence. Sleeping gods, that had been ill said. What if Razem took that as a confession? What if—

"Well,
now
I'll be able to sleep," Razem said wryly.

Arisanat let out a long sigh of mixed relief and annoyance. "I beg your pardon, cousin. You know I do not like what we are about here. It makes me churlish."

"I had noticed." Razem's tone was mild.

"Razem—"

"Oh, let it go, you maundering lump," Razem said, and he flashed a grin at Arisanat. Arisanat's chest squeezed painfully. How could Razem still look at him with such affection? "I'll take your words under advisement and try not to be too trusting," Razem continued. "But for now, I think I could use a privy and a warm blanket."

Arisanat swallowed. "Sleep well, then."

"Good night."

Razem's footsteps faded as he returned to his tent, but Arisanat didn't move.

He was doing the right thing. Tamnen deserved a better ruler, a stronger ruler, than the Corrone family could provide. Arisanat had already proven to himself that he was capable of doing the hard things, making the difficult decisions and taking action on them. He would be able to take the war to the Strid and make them pay for all they had done.

If only it didn't involve killing one of his friends to accomplish it.

"If wishes were fishes," Arisanat reminded himself, and went back to his own tent, where he lay awake until morning.

Chapter 11

Hawk stared at the dusty village square. There couldn't be more than twenty houses in the entire village, plus a storehouse and a handful of buildings to serve as blacksmith, healer, and common hall. The village elder's house would be the closest thing to an inn. What could the prince expect to do with his entourage here? They would be lucky if the village had enough water for all the horses, let alone room to put them all. He glanced helplessly at Lord Arisanat, who was glowering at the village elder.

Hawk wasn't sure why Arisanat was blaming the elder. It was Prince Razem who was being unreasonable. Razem wanted every single person in the village called away from work to witness their arrival. Hawk couldn't exactly blame the elder for being irritated by the demand. The village had a spring and a small stream that provided enough water for a few fields of crops. Not much, certainly not enough to trade with other villages, let alone feed an army company. But enough to sustain the village. If the field workers were called in before the sun set, would they get enough planted today?

The village elder was going through all that again, his strident mishmash of Tamnese, Strid, and Kreydeni dialect doing nothing to move the obstinate Razem. Kho obviously found it astonishing that the man would speak in such a manner to his prince, but Razem hadn't even blinked when the man began his harangue, and Baron Arkad, who had counseled against the prince's order, was biting his cheeks to keep from laughing.

Arkad was obviously known to these villages between his home and Salishok; when the elder's diatribe failed to move the prince, he turned his accusatory gaze on the baron. The baron held up his hands and spoke in the same patois.

"Perhaps, Elder Miran, if we discussed this all under the shade of your roof, with some fruit juice and salt, we could come to an agreement." He glanced at Razem, then added, "The prince commanded in Salishok, but as you know, he was never at liberty to enjoy your hospitality while he was here, since his command was cut so tragically short by his sister's death."

Hawk watched the prince as Arkad spoke, growing more and more certain that Razem didn't understand much of the Strid, let alone the Kreydeni dialect. When the prince didn't react to the baron's last statement, he was sure of it. The words had an instant effect on Elder Miran, however. The man's strident tone dropped to a more normal level as he said, "Ah, blessed daughter, I had forgotten why he never visited us. The gods forgive me for my pride."

Hawk turned his gaze back to Elder Miran in time to see the man straighten and bow deeply to the prince. "Prince Razem, forgive the foolishness of an old man. Please enter my house and share fruit juice and salt with me. Then when we have rested and talked, I will show to you the bounty that is Derdan."

Hawk had to suppress a smile as Baron Arkad translated the invitation for the prince. It would be better if the prince spoke at least a little Kreydeni, but Hawk knew why he didn't. For all the vaunted value of the Kreyden District, both to the rulers of Tamnen and those of Strid, both countries thought the Kreydeni were provincial at best, or primitive at worst. Not all of them, and certainly not most of those Tamnese who ended up serving in Salishok, but enough that the official language of the Kreyden District was Tamnese and anyone who didn't speak Tamnese was held in contempt.

Prince Razem considered the baron's words for a moment, and then nodded. He dismounted, handing over the reins to a waiting soldier. Hawk waited until Arkad, Kho, and Arisanat followed suit before doing likewise. Despite three days spent largely in the prince's company, Hawk was still uncertain what his place was. Not to mention the fact that he was still regaining his footing in this country again.

He fell in step several paces behind the prince, letting the others go before him. He probably knew the customs here better than any of them, with the possible exception of Arkad, who seemed to be of the breed of nobleman who spent time getting to know the people he had power over. Hawk liked Arkad. Not only did the man respect even those who were lower than he, but he also seemed quite adept at handling the prince. Razem seemed a decent sort, but he was entirely unconscious of the privilege of his status. Kho—well, Hawk and Kho had once been very close. Since Kho's less than warm reception in Salishok, Hawk had no idea what to expect from the man. They had not spoken more than a handful of words to each other since that first day, and every time Hawk tried to approach, Kho abruptly found something else to be doing.

As soon as Hawk stepped inside the elder's house, he drew his sword and placed it next to the door. He saw that Elder Miran and Baron Arkad had done the same, but the others were staring in confusion—or, in Kho's case, consternation—at those who were disarming.

"It's customary to leave your main weapon at the door," Hawk told them in Tamnese. "As a show of good faith. Keep your dagger. It's expected you'll need that to eat."

"To eat salt?" Razem said, staring at Hawk but nevertheless drawing his sword and holding it out for Hawk to place next to Talon.

"The salt is just the important part," Hawk explained. "It'll be salted bread, usually. And sometimes meat, if the hunt has done well this week."

Arkad was smiling at him. Hawk wasn't sure what he had done that pleased the baron, but he gave him a brief smile in return. When Elder Miran gestured for them to sit, Kho and Arisanat were still lingering by the door, taking their time about drawing their swords and leaving them. When Razem realized this, he scowled at Kho.

"Go on, Kho. I hardly think Elder Miran is going to murder me in his own house, especially considering he's already placed his own sword there."

"My prince is kind to trust me," Miran said in heavily accented Tamnese. As Hawk had half expected, he spoke and understood the language perfectly. He had merely been giving himself time to take Razem's measure.

Razem bowed from his sitting position. "And the elder is kind to welcome me," he replied. "I apologize that I am not more fluent with your language. I understand some of it, but I regret that I have been unable to spend much time yet in the Kreyden District."

Miran shrugged and held out a leather flask. "Prince Razem is always welcome in the Kreyden. Share fruit juice with me, your highness, that you may properly be my guest."

"Thank you," Razem said, taking the flask and drinking from it. He offered it back to Miran, who drank and passed it to Baron Arkad. By the time the flask came around to Hawk, Kho and Arisanat had taken their places on the cushions as well.

"You already know Baron Arkad," Razem said. "Also with me are my dear cousin Arisanat Burojan, Lord of the First Family, Lord-General Emran Kho of the Tamnese Army, and Commander Hawk." He indicated each man as he introduced them.

Miran's eyes widened as he looked back at Hawk. "I knew of a Commander Hawk many years ago," he said. "Is it possible that you are he?"

"One and the same," Hawk replied. "I am fortunate to have been released from my captivity in Strid, thanks to King Marsede's generosity and Prince Razem's gracious welcome."

"Ahh. Then perhaps we will see hostilities diminish somewhat," Miran said. He brought out a loaf of bread and an ornate salt box. "Will you share salt with me, Commander Hawk?"

Hawk swallowed. Razem might not realize it, but Miran was honoring Hawk ahead of him. Would the prince take offense? He glanced over at Razem, but the prince was smiling indulgently. "By all means," he said. "We are on a progress to honor Commander Hawk for the great sacrifices he has made in the name of his kingdom. You are right to show him respect, Elder Miran."

So he did understand. Hawk took the offered hunk of bread and bit deeply, pleased by the tang of salt on his tongue. The sharing of salt was not a custom the Strid had, nor as far as he knew was it practiced outside the Kreyden. But Hawk had always enjoyed it. He nodded at Miran, who passed the bread around to the others.

"So the purpose of your visit to Derdan is to show off Commander Hawk," Miran said. "Is it that we are finally engaging in peace? Or is it that we will see a return of The Desert Hawk and a return to victory?"

Beside him, Kho stiffened. Damn. Hawk could kick himself for being so slow to understand. The prince was going to use him to drum up support for the war, wasn't he? And in so doing, he demonstrated a lack of confidence in Kho's ability to lead the war to victory. No wonder Kho was so cool with Hawk!
Though if he gave me a chance to speak, he might understand that I have no interest in returning to command over the war,
Hawk thought bitterly.

"My father wishes to ease relations with Strid," Razem said smoothly. He drank from the flask and passed it to Kho, who unbent enough to take it and drink. Hawk watched him from the corner of his eye, wondering if Kho would be willing to share it with him. He was surprised when Kho did, in fact, pass the flask to him. Hawk gave Kho an apologetic smile as he took it, but Kho turned away.

With a sigh, Hawk drank deeply and passed the flask back to Miran. "I vowed that I would return to Rivarden to see her restored," he told Miran. "Prince Razem is kind enough to see that vow made good. He accompanies me to my home city. From there we have not discussed any plans."

Miran nodded slowly. "It is good," he said finally. "I offer you all shelter in my home for this night. Your men will need to camp outside the village. We have water enough in our cisterns to provide for them and the horses, but though I would wish to throw a feast in honor of the prince's visit, our storehouses are nearly empty. We are planting now, as you have seen, and are forced to rely on hunting to feed ourselves until the harvest comes in."

Razem nodded. "As a token of my well-wishing, I have brought supplies with me to feed not only my own men, but also your village," he said. "I would not like to burden your village overmuch."

Miran smiled. "Then tonight we shall feast!" He stood. "Would Prince Razem like to see the bounty of Darden? You may view the farmers at their work and see how diligent they are."

Hawk hid a smile. Miran had learned a great deal about the prince in a short time. Razem was already standing, smiling in anticipation.

"Come!" Miran said. "I shall show you my village."

***

The village of Darden was only the first in a long line of ceremonies Hawk had to endure. Hawk managed to wear a smile through the first night of singing songs about the war and Tamnen's fighting prowess. He even let himself be persuaded by Elder Miran to tell the story of his capture, though it was not a story he was fond of. The second village had more Tamnese culture than Strid; someone there even dug out the "Lament for Rivarden" and "Hawk's Rest," which had apparently been written in a frenzy of grief before it became common knowledge that Hawk had been captured rather than killed at Rivarden.

Baron Arkad explained all this to a horrified Hawk in a low voice as the singer—a sweet-faced boy whose clear soprano hadn't broken yet—managed to look soulful and earnest while mouthing rhymes about death simultaneously being a well-earned rest and a dire horror that must be avenged.

Hawk managed to sit still through the entire six verses, though he wasn't sure he had disguised his disgust. He applauded at the right moments, attempting to look humble instead of resentful. As soon as he could, though, he stole away from the firelight, muttering about finding a privy. Once he stood up, he decided he might as well actually find one.

When he came back from that errand, he paused outside the bright ring of firelight, watching the earnest faces and wondering if they believed the songs. How could they? But he remembered when he had believed the songs about Tam and the dragons and the making of the world. There was probably some kernel of truth to even those old songs, but he had never in his life stood ten feet tall or let his eyes glow with the force of his wrath, let alone leaped over men to get to his enemy. With a sigh, he tilted his head back and stared up at the stars.

"I gather you'd never heard that one," said the kind voice of Baron Arkad.

Hawk turned. He had lost his edge. Once upon a time, he would have been aware of Arkad as he approached.

"Gods, no. And it seems a bit maudlin to enjoy your own funeral lament." Hawk rubbed the back of his neck.

Arkad chuckled. "Ah, why not? There are plenty of kings who hired theirs written before they had need of it. Precious few of us get to see how people would mourn us."

"Mourning I could accept, if the man they mourned had ever actually existed," Hawk said. "But this call to vengeance... I am not a man anyone should die to avenge. If I must die, let my death truly serve the kingdom, not spur her into more wasteful spending of lives."

"Well spoken." Arkad sighed. "I think this current task must be little to your liking."

The boy soprano switched to a Kreydeni lament for the fallen. Hawk was surprised; he hadn't expected to hear the dialect in this most Tamnese village.

"I do not object to seeing my home again, or to serving my kingdom," Hawk said slowly, choosing words he hoped wouldn't offend the baron. "But I am uncertain of what the prince truly wishes of me."

"So, I think, is he." Arkad was not looking at Hawk. "Razem still mourns his sister. She was assassinated nigh on three years ago—you heard about that?"

Hawk nodded.

"Well. They were close, and the prince blames his father, Prince Anderlin, the Strid nation—everyone, really—for her death. And himself most of all, perhaps. He tried to persuade her not to go, to persuade their father not to send her. When he came to me as commander of the Kreyden forces, he hadn't yet accepted her leaving the kingdom to marry. And then to lose her as he did—" He shook his head. "He would like nothing better than to march all the way to Lindira and slaughter Anderlin and Harkai. But King Marsede urges peace, and he has ordered Razem to make a celebration of your return."