Heir of Iron (The Powers of Amur Book 1) (10 page)

And just as she had pictured it, she bent over the palanquin, parted the silk curtains, and put her hand at Taleg’s nostrils to feel for his breath.

He lived.

Hands grabbed her shoulders. Bhargasa was there. A bald middle-aged man shouted orders to the soldiers and the servants, and they raised the palanquin again and disappeared deeper into the estate. Mandhi rose to follow, but a servant girl tugged at her hand.

“That is the surgeon,” the girl said. “He will take care of your guard.”

“Oh,” Mandhi said. The curtain fell closed behind them, cutting off the palanquin from sight. She stood mutely, unable to comprehend anything other than walking down the road and waiting for Taleg to die.

“Come with me, please, lady. Your room is prepared.” The girl pulled her ahead. Then there was a jumble of servant girls and water and oil applied to her feet, a small room of white stone, and then she lay against a pillow and slept.

She awoke in a room with stone walls and a tall narrow window cut in the far wall. A bowl of clean water rested near the foot of the bed, and a new sari was folded on the table beneath the window. Her muscles creaked and complained as she rose, but the splash of water against her face was worth it.

She stripped off the dust and sweat-stained sari that she had worn on the road and performed a full ablution. This was not an Uluriya household, she was not obliged to cleanse—but by the stars it felt good. When she was done she wrapped herself in the new sari and leaned against windowsill.

The window looked out from a height of two or three storeys over the city of Davrakhanda. From this height, it appeared as a mosaic of white stone walls and baked clay paths, perched on a series of terraces that descended like stairs from the inland to the sea. A massive temple with walls painted in yellow and green designs sprawled near the docks, the sunlight glinting off its gold dome to rival the glitter of waves in the sea. The harbor beyond the wharves was protected on two sides by a crook of white rock, and a stone seawall with a narrow exit covered the third side, protecting a blue thumbnail of water. The harbor was crowded with fishing scows and trade junks. For a moment she let the salty breeze ruffle her hair and admired the afternoon light, breathing deeply and trying not to think of what came next. But her fingers tightened on the sill, and she turned away.

Time to find Taleg. To see if her hopes in Sadja’s surgeon had been betrayed.

A man in blue silken salwar kameez was passing in the hallway when she parted her curtain. He started in surprise. “Are you Mandhi?”

The servants must all have heard her name. She nodded and said, “Do you know where Taleg is? My companion, a large Kaleksha. He came in early this morning.”

The man nodded, attempting to hide a smile. “Follow me.”

They passed a series of apartments similar to her own, broad windows breaking into the hallway at intervals. “Have you been to Davrakhanda before?” the servant asked.

“Once,” Mandhi said. One of her father’s errands had brought her here, carrying a missive to the saghada of the city. It had been years ago, and she didn’t remember it well.

“You see the Ashtyavarunda there,” the servant said, gesturing to the gold-domed temple which dominated the waterfront. “Will you visit it? All who sail from Davrakhanda do.”

She considered her answer. Uluriya were few in Davrakhanda, but not unknown, and perhaps the man didn’t know what she was. There was no point taking offense. “I am not going to sail,” she said simply.

“Perhaps the shrine to Khaldi, then. That one isn’t a great temple, but those of us who live in Davrakhanda love it the more.”

“Khaldi?” Mandhi pursed her lips. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name.”

“Eh? Perhaps she’s not as well known outside the city.”

They exited onto a stone-paved courtyard where the other servants bowed and gave them a wide berth. The servant led her alongside the stone crenellation overlooking the harbor and pointed as they walked. “The shrine is the little black crack in the east cliff.” His voice took on the sing-song cadence of telling a familiar story. “In the days of Rajunda there was an order of thikratta here, and a woman named Khaldi sought to gain entrance in order to learn the secrets of the Powers. But the order allowed only men, and the lama would not admit her. So she disguised herself as a man, joined the thikratta, and soon exceeded all of the others in her feats of fasting, her mastery of the elements, and her clarity of farsight. When she was very old, she began to grow transparent, and she became as light as a gull’s feather. Then she called together the other members of the order and revealed herself to them as a woman. While they watched her amazed, she rose and walked across the surface of the water to the east, until she could no longer be seen in the light of the waves. And then the thikratta of the order declared that Khaldi had ascended and become one of the Powers, and they made a shrine to her which is worshipped to this day.”

They had crossed the courtyard and entered another set of white stone halls carpeted in red and green. The servant looked from the corner of his eye, as if to gauge Mandhi’s reaction.

“An interesting story,” Mandhi said truthfully, though she doubted its veracity. “Do the dhorsha service the shrine?”

“Oh, no,” the servant said, “and there are no more thikratta here in Davrakhanda. But the people leave shells and feathers for Khaldi at her shrine, and the women write prayers on palm leaves and tie them with a knot of white thread and throw them into the water.”

“I thought that Ashti was the Power of Davrakhanda.”

“Ashti
is
the Power of the city,” the man said with a sly grin. “You’ll find other surprises in this city. In any case, we’ve arrived.”

They passed through an arched stone doorway and entered into the infirmary. The first chamber smelled of alkaline salts and vinegar and was crowded with jars of unguents and bundles of herbs. Just beyond it was a dim room with six bed-rolls against its walls, only one of which was occupied by a great gray shadow.
Taleg.

She forgot the servant. In a breath she was at his side, raised his hand to her lips, and kissed it. He slept, but his lips were moist, and his breathing regular. He was alive.

“A close thing,” a voice from the entrance to the infirmary said. The bald middle-aged man she had seen that morning was there, wiping his hands on the edge of his kurta. “In another hour or so, it would probably have been too late. But I got him to keep down vinegar and sugar water, and once he wasn’t going to die of thirst, I could treat the wound.”

He bowed deeply to the servant standing behind Mandhi then walked up to the bedroll. He pulled away the gauze at Taleg’s side to reveal a dozen maggots writhing in the wound. Mandhi recoiled with a shriek.

“Not what you think, dear lady,” the surgeon said. “They eat the rot, and then I take them out. Once they’re done I can stitch it shut properly, but not beforehand. Tomorrow night, perhaps.”

Mandhi put her hand on her chest to calm the pounding of her heart. “When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“When he’s ready. Tonight, maybe. Tomorrow morning.”

“Send someone for me when he does.”

The surgeon glanced from Mandhi to the servant then nodded. “Whatever you’d like.” He reapplied the gauze and left.

Mandhi rested her hand on Taleg’s chest. The mantra of thanksgiving floated to her lips.

“He is more than your companion,” the servant said.

“He is my husband,” Mandhi answered. For a moment, she considered if she should hide this. She was here as a representative of her father, after all, and implicitly of all the Uluriya. But Bhargasa already knew, and the story would spread by rumor if she didn’t admit to it herself.

“Not what I expected. But very little has been as I expected.”

Mandhi turned to him, taking in again the blue silk in which he was dressed and his rigid, comfortable Cane posture, the posture used for military attention. “Forgive me, but who are you?”

The man laughed. “My name is Sadja-dar. I believe you received my invitation.”

Mandhi gasped. She snapped to her feet and bowed deeply, her cheeks burning in humiliation. “Forgive me, Sadja-dar. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t apologize. I realized that you didn’t know me as soon as we met outside your apartment and thought better than to tell you. How was your chamber?”

“Flawless. Your servants treated me kindly and provided me everything I needed last night.”

“Good. In preparation for your arrival, I also had the room cleansed according to your customs. I called upon one of your saghada to purify the kitchen as well, and to oversee the cooks for the duration of your stay. So you may eat and drink here without compunction.”

“Sadja-dar, that is…. You far exceed my expectations for your hospitality.”

Sadja smiled slightly. “I wish you to be comfortable. And what about him? Your…. Your
husband
? He too is Uluriya?”

“Yes. And our marriage is legal under our customs. It was blessed by a saghada.”

“I didn’t think that your cult had reached Kalignas.”

“He came here as a young man and converted.”

Sadja raised his eyebrows. “Your story gets stranger at every turn. I foresaw that three would come to me: you, Navran, and this Kaleksha. I didn’t imagine that the third was your husband.”

Her lips stiffened. “Most people don’t.”

“Ah.” He studied her for a long time. He had large, swift-moving eyes that seemed to look for something in her like a hawk seeking a mouse in the grass. “Interesting. We have a lot to discuss, beginning with the reason that Navran is not here and ending with the Emperor of Amur. This is not the time. I hope you understand why I examine you, though. I need to understand who you are before I confide in you.”

Mandhi crossed her arms. “Do I get to understand who
you
are, my lord and king?”

His expression didn’t change, but he inclined his head a little to her. “The time for that conversation isn’t now, either.” He turned to leave. “I’ll send food up to your room. You can eat at your leisure.”

“Thank you again.”

He nodded and marched from the room.

Mandhi collapsed into sleep early in the afternoon and slept until morning. A bowl of warm rice and baked lentils waited for her when she awoke, and she ate, washed, and went to visit Taleg again. Color had returned to his face, but he didn’t wake, and Mandhi didn’t try to rouse him. When she returned to her chamber a servant—an
actual
servant, rather than the king unrecognized—brought her a message from Sadja: she was to dine with the king of Davrakhanda that evening.

Dinner was held on the roof of the castle, in the open air with the smell of the sea breeze mingling with the odors of butter, roasted fish, and chilies. Sadja sat at the head of the table with a stern expression and his back as stiff as a sugar cane stalk, dispassionately observing his staff serve Mandhi and himself. When the plates were arranged, he held out a hand to her.

“The food was purified in the kitchens according to your laws, but I am told that you bless it at the table as well.”

Mandhi blushed. Normally this wouldn’t happen in front of strangers, especially not important ones—but Sadja had gone to so much trouble to accommodate her. She traced a pentacle over the food and said, “No unclean thing will touch my lips, nor will I utter any unclean word. Depart, impurity.” She added
I bow my head to Ulaur
at the end, then folded her hands in her lap and looked to Sadja.

He appeared bemused. A spark of anger jumped up in her—did he ask her to observe the customs of the Uluriya before him for his amusement? But the amusement on his face melted off a moment later, and Mandhi regained her composure. Whatever Sadja’s purpose in inviting them to Davrakhanda, she couldn’t well represent her people if her passions ran away with her. As her father taught her:
Equanimity wins both battles and negotiations
.

Sadja broke off a piece of fish and began to eat. “There are not many of your kind in my city,” he said after chewing, “but there are enough. Most of them live in a neighborhood by the wharves, the Merchant’s Crescent. Have you been there?”

She swallowed. “I’ve only been here once before, and we visited the Uluriya quarter. It’s the only place in the city where we could stay. Under normal circumstances, I mean.”

“You should take some time to walk the city. I will provide you an escort if you’d like. It isn’t
just
royal pride that makes me say that Davrakhanda is the most beautiful city in Amur.”

“The view from my chamber window is very beautiful,” she admitted. “The ocean…. I have seldom had the luck to travel near the ocean. Taleg did, when he was younger. He first came to Amur through Davrakhanda, in fact.”

“Most of the Kaleksha in Amur do, alas,” Sadja noted dryly.

“Alas?”

“The people of Kalignas have a reputation for being—” he paused a moment to chew, then said delicately “–unruly.”

“Taleg isn’t that sort,” Mandhi said with a frown.

“Most of them aren’t Uluriya, either,” Sadja said. “Excuse my curiosity, but how did that happen?”

Mandhi took a drink of rice beer and smiled. “Good fortune? He was hired on an Uluriya trade ship from Davrakhanda as a young man, his second or third voyage. Half the crew were Kaleksha, and half were Uluriya. There was some sort of disagreement in the crew—I don’t know the details precisely, some broken taboo—and the Kaleksha wanted to throw Taleg overboard. The captain, Adjan, stepped in and saved him, and kept Taleg in his protection for the rest of the voyage. When they reached land Taleg begged to stay with Adjan, but instead Adjan sent Taleg to his brother, Veshta. My father and I live in Veshta’s household, and when Taleg arrived my father saw the use for a loyal Kaleksha bodyguard. So long as he was willing to convert to the worship of Ulaur, which, fortunately, he was.”

“A conversion of necessity, then.”

“It might have been necessity, but Taleg has never flagged in devotion since then. Having his life saved by an Uluriya stranger had that effect on him.”

Sadja broke off another piece of fish and chewed it slowly, examining Mandhi again with that piercing, hawk-like stare. It made Mandhi slightly uncomfortable, but she straightened her back and returned the gaze. Better not to seem intimidated.

Sadja smiled and said, “And the two of you? How did you come to marry him?”

She blushed a little but made no attempt to hide it. At this point in the conversation it was better to seem slightly nervous and girlish than to project too much strength. “Well, you know. My father sent Taleg and I traveling a lot once I got a little older—he is very old and could no longer travel much for his health. You can imagine how things proceeded from there.”

“I can imagine,” he said in a tone of amusement.

“And you?” Mandhi smiled coyly at him. “The seat beside you is empty. I gather that you have no wife.”

“I have none,” Sadja confirmed. “The right spouse has not yet appeared.”