Traitors' Gate (116 page)

Anji's mother regarded him with amusement. “I? I did not stab her. The slave Sheyshi stabbed her. It is to be supposed—how else are we to explain it?—that she acted as an agent for the red hounds. Every son and grandson of Emperor Farutanihosh was under a death sentence. The boy's mother simply got in the way as she protected her child.”

“So it is to be supposed,” murmured Anji, like a spike of lightning as Tuvi rested a hand on the commander's forearm.

“It's a lie! A lie you have all agreed to tell to protect—!”

“Shai! Silence!”

Once, that tone from Anji would have silenced Shai, but no longer. “Is there to be no justice for Mai?”

But his cry rang in empty air, and
their
silence was his answer. He might as well have remained mute, for all the notice they took of him. Tohon laid a hand gently on his arm, that was all.

Anji turned away. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Where is my son?”

His mother clapped her hands. A slave slipped out from behind a curtain. “Fetch the boy.”

The Hieros's gaze paused on Tohon as she accepted from him a nod, and moved again to Anji. “As folk are saying, Commander, the eyes of the south have turned this way. The empire now knows—and cares—we exist. Because of you.”

“My apologies,” he said, and the words sounded sincere enough. “I did not seek their attention.”

“Yet you have it. I suppose if I could rid myself of you and your beautiful son and thereby end the problem, I would. But that would leave me with your Qin soldiers, and your Qin-trained militia, and enemy cohorts still at large in the north. They are still at large, are they not?”

“We have not yet marched into Herelia to take down their headquarters in Wedrewe. We have spent our efforts over the last month securing Istria and Haldia, the countryside, the
towns, and the cities. I'm particularly concerned that every farmer can plant as soon as the rains come without fear he will be vulnerable to attack out in his fields. Starvation is a significant concern across the north, and it will only get worse. If folk cannot plant now, the situation will become catastrophic. As it is, it may take years for people to rebuild. Wedrewe, and the remnants gathered in Walshow, are a danger, but they can be dealt with later.”

“I suppose they can,” murmured the Hieros. “What do you want, Commander Anji?”

He had the grace to look startled. “Why, to raise my son in peace. A peace that will shelter all the people of the Hundred.” His gaze sharpened. “Isn't it the same thing you have many times told me you want, Holy One?”

“Ah.” She sketched a series of fluid movements with her left hand, in a language that would have meant something to the wildings and to any Hundred-raised folk. “And therein lies the tale, does it not? If you die, we are left as in the tale of the Guardians. ‘Long ago, in the time of chaos, a bitter series of wars, feuds, and reprisals denuded the countryside and impoverished the lords and guildsmen and farmers and artisans of the Hundred.' This time, I fear, we cannot rely on the Guardians to establish justice.”

“The assizes must be reopened,” agreed Anji, “without the interference of demons. The roads must be safe, tolls and tithes and taxes fair. People want to eat. I could go on, but I won't. For all this, we need peace.”

A slave entered, and behind him walked Priya, carrying a plump baby whose luminous face and brilliant smile brought as much radiance into the chamber as a hundred lamps. Shai could not help himself; he began to cry.

The baby spoke up in a piercingly sweet voice: “Dada! Dada!” He reached; he yearned.

Anji strode across the chamber and engulfed the baby, showering his black hair and dusky face with butterfly kisses that made the little lad chortle as he tried to purse his tiny lips in imitation. Priya looked away, bowing her head.

The Hieros watched, sipped her tea, and set down her cup.
“So, Commander Anji, do you suppose you and your son can ever hope to live in peace? That you'll be safe from those who might wish to kill you?”

Anji glanced up, tucking the child into the curve of his left arm. “I rely on your support.”

“And you have it, because I, too, have people I wish to protect.” The Hieros's smile did not reassure, but it possessed the pinch of finality. She looked at the Qin princess and received from her a nod no less final. An agreement incubated, hatched, and thrived in that wordless exchange between two women who knew how to order the domains they ruled. “I am a weary and elderly woman. This trouble has harmed the Hundred grievously. We are not ready to fight another war while this one is not yet ended and the empire in the meantime shrugs a shoulder our way, wondering what mosk has stung its ear. Let it be stated, therefore, that we are allies.”

“Let it be said,” agreed Anji. “I have every respect for you, Holy One. I will work in concert with you and the temples. We seek the same goals.”

“I suppose we do. Now, I am finished here for today.” She rose with light grace to her feet, needing no aid, and paused by the door to look at Tohon.

“My apologies, Holy One,” Tohon said regretfully. “I'm not at leisure at this time.”

She nodded with careful neutrality, or rueful resignation. The doors slid shut behind her.

“Well, Mother,” said Anji, “now you have what you want.”

“Yes.”

“Everything except my affection. Which you will never have.”

She twitched out of the hands of a hovering slave a square of cloth so lushly embroidered with fine silver thread that it glittered. After patting her forehead, she handed it back and sat straight, tucking her feet sideways under her, her skirts heaped in ravines and ridges around her.

“I do not need your affection, Anjihosh. I only need you to survive. That is my victory. You will marry the emperor's sister to placate him. I have dulled the knives of the Hieros and
her spies and assassins, and will mock into submission those on the council who voice doubts about any aspect of your enterprise. The rest you are already on your way to accomplishing. The Hundred is a fine inheritance for your son, don't you think?”

“Why would the emperor's sister allow Mai's son to live, after she bears a son of my siring?”

“Because I will command it done that way. Let Atani be her son, Anji. Let him call her ‘Mother.' She is a biddable creature, and desperate to please. Let her bear daughters in plenty to dote on, and I will rid you of any inconvenient sons who might trouble the waters, for you and I can both see that Atani will shine brighter than any of them possibly could. There, it is settled.”

Anji was, Shai saw, on the edge of tears. He was trembling. The baby, looking worried, patted his father's mouth.

With an effort of will that seemed to actually reverberate through the room as a lute's string vibrates, the more powerful for its lack of sound, Anji reined himself in. He buried the tears. He kissed the baby's palms, first one, then the other.

He said, “It is settled.”

Tohon grunted, as though he'd been punched in the gut.

Carrying the boy, Anji turned his back on his mother and walked out of the chamber. Shai scrambled up to follow Tuvi and Tohon through the courtyard and into empty chambers furnished with nothing but the barest comforts, absent any of the wild, artful abandon with which Mai would have filled a house. Where were the taloos-wrapped rats flying kites, the first screen she had purchased in Olossi's market just because it had delighted her so? All trace of her was gone.

All except the baby.

Anji came to rest in the chamber with the three chests. He turned to Tuvi. “We'll fly at dawn to Merciful Valley,” he said. He looked at Shai. “Not you, I think.”

“Not me? Is there yet more you have to hide? Did you conspire with your mother to have Mai killed, and now fear I will speak to her ghost and she tell me the truth? Can it be true you have just told your mother that you'll marry the woman she
killed Mai to force you to marry? I don't believe you wanted Mai dead. I think you loved her, as much as you can love anything. And even so—can it be true?—you'll allow the baby to grow up thinking your new wife is his mother, as if Mai never existed?”

“Anjihosh,” said Tuvi in his hands-on-the-reins voice.

Anji had walked beyond anger. Indeed, Shai thought, he had walked beyond shame. He had walked beyond honor. He knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it; the ghost of another man, a man he might have been, faded behind him.

“It matters not,” Anji said. “It's done. It's over.”

Tohon said softly, “A man can be waylaid by demons wearing many guises. Maybe they cloak him with a lust for flesh or for gold, or with vanity or a lack of discipline or the scourge of disloyalty. Or maybe they cloak him with unchecked ambition. A good woman is a man's knife. She protects him against demons. And if he loses her, and does not honor her memory properly, I suppose he risks becoming a demon himself.”

After the silence died to something more stifling, Anji spoke. “Are you finished, Tohon?”

“I am, Commander. I've said what I felt needed saying.”

“Then you're dismissed.”

“Yes, Commander. I suppose I am. Are you coming with me, Shai?”

Anji held the baby, the last piece of Mai existing on earth. The baby who would never know who his true mother was.

“I want to see where Mai was killed,” said Shai raggedly. “That's all.”

“Very well,” said Anji. “That much I will offer you, for her sake.”

So it was done. It was over.

 

T
HE REEVE FLIGHT
, rising into the steep foothills over which towered the gods-touched mountains, left Shai speechless, not that words had ever come easily. Six reeves deposited six travelers in the valley midmorning and departed immediately, promising to return in the afternoon, as Anji requested.

Merciful Valley was aptly named. Its beauty softened grief,
if grief can be softened by anything except time. A mist of cool rain kissed the trees and sang a lullaby over the grass, herald to weather brewing within the peaks.

In addition to a contingent of Qin guards stationed in the valley, two people remained here. One Shai vaguely remembered, an impetuous and irritating young man named Keshad who ignored Shai while he attempted to ingratiate himself to Anji while casting dagger glances at Chief Tuvi, although why anyone could dislike Tuvi, Shai could not figure. Tuvi was a decent man, solid, honest, and loyal.

The other inhabitant of the valley was kinder, a young woman whose grief for Mai was a comfort to Shai. In the humble audience chamber of the two-room shelter, she offered hot bark tea to suit the chill in the air.

“The soldiers say you pray every day, Miravia,” said Anji after he had handed the baby over to her. She kissed Atani's hair and unhooked the baubles hanging from her ears so he could clutch them in his chubby little hands.

“It's our tradition, among my people. After the death of a beloved relative, we pray each day for one year.”

“To ease their passage to the other side, or to ease your own heart?” he asked between sips of steaming tea.

“Does it matter?” She wiped away tears.

Anji cast a sidelong glance at Keshad. “Miravia, I would be grateful if you would honor Mai's memory by remaining here for the entire year and praying each day. It would ease my grief, to know you watched by the place she died. I would remain here, but I'm called away. The campaign continues.”

“Of course, Commander Anjihosh!” she cried.

“Keshad, I understand your sister has returned alive to the temple. Which means you are free to go.”

“I heard,” he said, with a grimace of relief that then shaded into irritation. “And also that she is staying as a hierodule in the temple. I don't know what the old bitch said to her—” But he broke off and looked at Miravia. All at once the young man's motives unfurled to Shai's gaze as a flower under the sun. “I prefer to stay here, if I may be permitted to.”

Anji's answering smile troubled Shai. He looked exactly
like a man who has just watched his bets in a wagering game fall into place.

“I think it can be allowed for you to remain here, if Miravia has no objection.” But Anji glanced at Tuvi as Miravia blushed, and Tuvi shook his head, as if to answer for her. Anji rose. “I wish to pray at the altar and make an offering in Mai's memory. If you'll excuse me.”

“Do you want me to go up to the waterfall with you, Captain?” Miravia asked.

“No. I'll go alone.”

He did not go alone. He carried Atani, and Tuvi and two guardsmen—men who flanked Anji everywhere he went, just as Sengel and Toughid had once done—each carrying one of the small chests. Another pair of guards followed. Shai was allowed to walk behind them.

“I'll just come along with you,” said Tohon, falling into step beside Shai.

“You think he's going to kill me, too? What benefit is there in that? I'm nothing to him.”

“I'll just come along,” said Tohon, patting him on the arm. “Hush, son. Don't tire yourself out. We've got a long way to go yet.”

It was a hard, long hike for a young man recovering from such burns as he had sustained. Odd how Chief Tuvi did not labor as much, or seem as weak, although he bore ropy scars as if he'd been lashed by a fiery whip. The Qin forged ahead, while Shai, shadowed by Tohon, fell behind. Losing sight of the others, they trudged up a trail fenced in by thick walls of vegetation. The trail had been dampened by mist, but the dirt wasn't yet mud.

Into a clearing they walked. Beyond the ruins, a waterfall and pool churned as mist spattered the stones. Atani was chortling, reaching for the pool and babbling complaints when his father would not let him touch it. Distant thunder boomed in cloud-shrouded peaks. A dark shape roiled the depths. Blue fire like spikes of lightning snaked through the water and vanished as Atani laughed.