Hero in the Shadows (14 page)

He looked into the young man’s eyes and saw the fear there and also the pride. “I do love Sanja,” said the noble. “But the estate I spoke of belongs—belonged—to my uncle. Without it I have nothing to offer her.”

“Then I shall give it to you as a wedding gift,” Waylander said softly, knowing even as he spoke that it was to no avail.

Anger shone in the noble’s eyes. “I am of House Kilraith!”
he snapped. “I do not need your pity, peasant!” He leapt forward, the sword slashing through the air. Waylander moved in to meet him, throwing up his left arm to block the blow at the noble’s wrist and curling his right hand up and behind the sword arm, clamping onto it and dragging it back. The noble screamed, the sword dropping from his fingers as his arm snapped. Waylander pushed him away and swept up the fallen blade. The young man fell heavily and rolled to his knees. As he started to rise, he felt the cold iron point of the blade against his throat.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged.

A great sadness descended on Waylander as he looked into the frightened blue eyes. He took a deep breath. “Too late,” he said. The blade plunged home, slashing through the jugular. Blood gouted from the severed artery, and the noble fell back, his legs kicking out. Waylander let fall the sword and, turning his back, walked the last few steps to his quarters.

Another man was waiting there, sitting quietly, cross-legged on the ground. He wore a pale gray, checkered robe, and a long Chiatze blade, scabbarded, was resting in his lap. He was a small man, round-shouldered, his face thin. He looked up as Waylander approached.

“You are a hard man,” he said.

“So they say,” Waylander replied coldly. “What do you want?”

The Chiatze rose, pushing his scabbarded sword into the black sash at his waist. “Matze Chai will be returning to his home soon. It is my desire to stay in Kydor. He said you might have need of a
Rajnee
. I see now that you do not.”

“Why do you wish to stay?” asked Waylander. “Is there not employment enough within Chiatze lands?”

“There is a mystery I must solve,” the
Rajnee
told him.

Waylander shrugged. “You are welcome here as long as you wish to stay,” he said. “If you arrived with Matze Chai,
you will already have been given lodging. But I can offer no work for a swordsman.”

“That is most kind, Gray Man.” The
Rajnee
sighed. “I must, however, inform you that I am carrying a … a burden.”

At that moment, from the path behind them, came a cry of shock and surprise. Waylander turned. A stocky, bearded Chiatze ran into view carrying a long, curved sword. He was wearing a roughly made garment fashioned from wolfskin. “There’s a body!” he said, his voice shrill. “On the path. Had his throat cut!” He peered around at the surrounding vegetation. “There are assassins,” he added. “They could be anywhere. We should get inside. Call the guards!”

“This,” said the
Rajnee
, “is Yu Yu Liang, the burden of which I spoke.”

“We fought demons together,” said Yu Yu.

Waylander glanced at the
Rajnee
. “Demons?”

The man nodded. “That is part of the mystery.”

“Come inside,” said Waylander, moving past the man and opening the door to his quarters.

Moments later they were seated by the fire, the room bathed in the glow of lanterns and firelight. Yu Yu Liang sat on a rug, while the other two men occupied the only chairs in the room. “The man who owns palace should give you better rooms,” Yu Yu told Waylander. “I walk through palace. Much silver and gold and velvet and silk. Probably he is rich bastard and mean with money.”

“This man
is
the owner of the palace,” the
Rajnee
said in Chiatze.

Yu Yu glanced around the bare walls and grinned. “And I am the emperor of the world.”

“You mentioned demons,” said Waylander. Briefly and with no hint of melodrama, the
Rajnee
told him of the attack, the coming of the mist, and the strange creatures that walked within its depths. Waylander listened intently.

“The arm—tell him about the arm!” said Yu Yu.

“I cut a limb from one of the creatures. The skin was pale, white gray. When sunlight touched it, the flesh began to burn. Within a few heartbeats it had vanished entirely.”

“I have not heard of any such creatures in Kydor,” Waylander told him, “nor any attacks of the kind you describe. I do recall reading about swords of bright light. I cannot remember the tome, but it is in the north library. I will search for it tomorrow.” He looked into the
Rajnee
’s dark eyes. “What is your name, swordsman?”

“I am Kysumu.”

“I have heard of you. You are welcome in my home.”

Kysumu bowed and said nothing.

“Recently I saw such a mist as you describe,” said Waylander. “I sensed there was evil in it. We will discuss the mystery further when I have searched my library.”

Kysumu rose. Yu Yu scrambled to his feet beside him. He tugged at Kysumu’s robe. “What about assassins?” he asked.

“The dead man
was
the assassin,” said Kysumu.

“Oh.”

Kysumu sighed. He bowed again to Waylander. “I will send your guards to fetch the body.”

Waylander nodded, then walked away from the two men, entering a lantern-lit room at the rear of the building.

5

M
ATZE CHAI SLEPT
without dreams and awoke feeling refreshed and invigorated. The suite of rooms assigned to him had been decorated with sublime taste, the colors of the walls delightfully matched in pastel shades of pale lime and pink. Works of art by the most famous and sought after Chiatze artists adorned the walls, and the hand-painted silk curtains filtered the morning light, allowing Matze Chai to appreciate the beauty of the dawn without the harshness of the sun’s glare on his delicate eyes.

The furniture was exquisite, embellished with gold leaf, the bed wide and firm beneath a silken canopy. Even the pot beneath the bed, which Matze had used three times during the night, was embellished with gold. Such elegance almost made the trip worthwhile. Matze Chai rang the golden bell alongside his bed. The door opened, and a servant stepped inside, a young man employed by Matze for the last two years. He could not remember his name.

The servant offered Matze Chai a goblet of cool water, but he waved it away. The young man left the room and returned with a ceramic bowl filled with warmed, scented water. Matze Chai sat up, and the servant pulled back the covers. The old merchant relaxed as the boy helped him remove his nightshirt and hair cap, allowing his mind to wander as the servant gently sponged and dried his skin. The boy then opened a pot of sweet-smelling cream.

“Not too much,” warned Matze Chai. The servant did not answer, for Matze Chai did not allow conversation so early in the day. Instead he lightly smoothed the cream into the dry skin of Matze Chai’s shoulders and arms. After that he pulled loose the long ivory pins in Matze Chai’s hair, applied fresh oils, then skillfully combed and brushed the hair, drawing it back into a tight bun at the crown before slipping the ivory locking pins into place.

A second servant entered, bearing a tray on which sat a small silver tisane pot and a ceramic cup. Setting the tray by the bedside, the second servant moved to a large wardrobe, taking from it a heavy gown of yellow silk beautifully embroidered with gold and blue songbirds. Matze Chai stood and stretched out his arms. The servant expertly slipped the gown over the outstretched arms, moving to the rear to button the upper portion of the garment before attaching the lower section to ivory hooks at Matze Chai’s waist. Swinging the golden sash around his master’s waist, the servant tied it, then stepped back with a bow.

“I shall take my tisane on the balcony,” said Matze Chai. Instantly the first servant moved to the curtains, drawing them aside. The second gathered up a wide-brimmed hat of artfully fashioned straw.

Matze Chai stepped out onto the balcony and sat down on a curved wooden bench, leaning his back against a large embroidered cushion. The air was fresh, and Matze believed he could detect salt in it. The light, however, was bright and unpleasant, and he gestured to the man holding the hat. He ran forward and placed it on Matze’s head, angling it so that his face was in partial shadow before tying it gently under Matze’s chin.

The stone of the balcony was cold under the merchant’s feet. Glancing down, he wiggled his toes. Brief moments later one of the men knelt down and placed fur-lined slippers on his feet.

Matze Chai sipped his tisane and decided that all was well
with the world on this fine day. Waving his hand, he dismissed the servants and sat quietly in the morning sunshine. The breeze was fresh and cool, the sky a clear, cloudless blue.

He heard movement behind him, and the merest touch of irritation disturbed his tranquillity. Liu, the young captain of his guard, moved into sight and bowed deeply. He said nothing, waiting for his master’s permission to speak.

“Well?” asked Matze Chai.

“The master of the house requests an audience, lord. His servant Omri suggests that he could attend you presently.”

Matze Chai leaned back against his cushion. For all that he was a roundeye
Gajin
, Waylander had perfect manners.

“Convey to the servant that I would be honored to entertain my old friend,” he said.

Liu bowed again but did not depart immediately. Irritation once more touched Matze Chai, but he did not show it. He looked quizzically at the young soldier.

“One more matter, lord, that you should be made aware of: There was an attempt on your … old friend’s life last night. At the ball. Two men with knives attacked him.”

Matze Chai gave the briefest of nods, then waved his hand to dismiss the soldier.

Was there ever a time, he wondered, when someone was not attempting to kill Waylander? One would have thought they would have learned by now. His cup was empty, and he looked for a servant to refill it, then remembered he had dismissed them. And his golden bell was all the way across the room by the bedside. He sighed. Then, glancing around to see that he was not observed, he filled the cup himself. Matze Chai smiled. To serve oneself was quite liberating. But not civilized, he chided himself.

Even so his good mood was restored, and he waited patiently for Waylander to arrive.

A different servant ushered him in, removed the pot of tisane and the empty cup, and departed without a word. Matze
Chai rose from his chair and offered a deep bow to his client, who responded in similar fashion before seating himself.

“It is good to see you, my friend,” said Waylander. “I understand your journey was not without excitement.”

“It was, regrettably, not as dull as one would have liked,” agreed Matze Chai.

Waylander laughed. “You don’t change, Matze Chai,” he said, “and I cannot tell you what a delight that is.” The smile faded. “I apologize for asking you to make this journey, but I needed to see you.”

“You are leaving Kydor,” said Matze Chai.

“I am indeed.”

“Where to now, Ventria?”

Waylander shook his head. “Across the western ocean.”

“The ocean? But why? There is nothing there save the end of the world. It is where the stars flow into the sea. There is no land, no civilization. And even if there is land, it will be barren and empty. Your wealth would be meaningless there.”

“It is meaningless
here
, Matze Chai.”

The elderly merchant sighed. “You have never been content to be rich, Dakeyras. This, in some strange way I have yet to fathom, is why you
are
rich. You care nothing for wealth. What is it, then, that you desire?”

“I wish I could answer that,” said Waylander. “All I can say is that this life is not for me. I have no taste for it.”

“What is it that you wish me to do?”

“You already manage one-sixth of all my ventures and hold two-fifths of my wealth. I shall give you letters to all merchants with whom I have business dealings. These will inform them that from the time they receive my instructions, you will speak for me. I shall also tell them that if they do not hear from me within five years, then all my ventures and capital become yours.”