Kei's Gift (36 page)

He had no answer to the dilemma, however much he searched his heart. He’d had no choice that day, even if Kei wouldn’t ever believe him. He had begun investigations into what exactly had happened at Vinri, but any response would take many weeks to arrive, and it wouldn’t bring the dead back to life. It wouldn’t change the fact the executions had been at best pointless and at worst, purely vindictive and cruel, carried out in the most vicious way. He couldn’t fix that either, but it meant the images in Kei’s mind, his memories, were as painful as could have been designed. Arman even wondered if killing Mekus the same way would help at all—and it was a measure of his desperation that he could seriously consider murdering a senator—but he knew it wouldn’t. The answer was not more death and cruelty, any more than another death had eased Arman’s heart when Loke had died.

Loke...now, he would have known how to fix this. He would know instinctively how to gain Kei’s trust again, and how to heal that damaged heart. But Arman was not Loke, and didn’t have a solution.

The military situation refused to change at all. If anything, the siege was draining Kuprij more than Darshek, and there had been discreetly angry exchanges in the senate over the policy. No direct criticism of Kita, of course, but the senators were beginning to lose faith in the project. What they would decide to do if they dropped the siege, Arman didn’t know—he wasn’t privy to that level of discussion, at least, not yet. No, they would tell him when they wanted some more innocent Darshianese murdered and not before.

The Solstice came and went. Karus stayed in good health, but Arman felt guilty for wishing Kei and Jena would still be here for the festival. His wish had been granted in a way he’d never wanted, the gods perhaps punishing him for his loss of faith, which was nearly as effective as punishing a woman for losing her virginity outside marriage. Once lost, never recovered, no matter what the retribution. The gods had no more claim on Arman’s heart. They had broken their covenant with him too many times.

He had insisted to Senator Mekus he wanted an opportunity to question the replacement hostages from Vinri when they arrived, which they did two days after the Solstice. He had them taken to the blue reception hall and then extracted their unofficial leader for a private audience in his office. The man was sullen, with none of the air of pleasant cooperation Arman had come to associate with the first group of hostages, but Arman wouldn’t hold that against him. The man had good cause.

“I want you to tell me how the soldier died last month—why he was killed by your people.”

“He wasn’t
killed
, my lord,” the man said, making no attempt to hide his anger. “He was surprised by the husband of the woman he was raping, and he was injured in the fight that followed. He killed the husband first, slashed the woman with his sword, and died from his injuries which he inflicted himself—he slipped in the blood and cracked his skull. Our man wasn’t even armed.”

“Do you have any proof of this?”

“Ask anyone, my lord. He attacked the woman in her own home, and any number of us saw the end of the fight. If you believe our kind, that is,” he added with a sneer.

This would explain the lack of detail, if true
. He questioned the man further, and then carefully interrogated each of the other nine hostages separately and without allowing them a chance to confer. The story was the same in each case, with only the slight differences that came from different vantage points. This fact, the impression of honest anger, and his previous suspicions, were enough to make him believe this new version of events.

He felt utterly sick with fury and shame at the deception, and the unjustness and pointlessness of the hostage deaths. If the men responsible had been in Utuk, he’d have taken great pleasure in venting his rage and punishing them for their betrayal of their duty. Frustrated by the distance and slow communication, he had few options, but he exercised them all. He asked for a meeting with Her Serenity that very day to bring the matter to her attention—she granted the audience, with Mekus in attendance. That suited Arman perfectly. He laid out the information he received and carefully detailed why he believed the story to be true, but he was surprised at the lack of reaction on both the part of his sovereign and the senator at the gruesome story.

“We really don’t know what you want us to do, Arman,” Kita said, sounding less than enthralled. “The people are dead, we can’t bring them back to life.”

“Your highness, you can send the new arrivals home, or offer to compensate them. It’s a simple matter of justice. Even an apology—”

Mekus snorted. “General, don’t be ridiculous. We’re waging a war against these people. We don’t offer apologies or compensation to the enemy.”

“Senator, with respect, the hostages and the villages are not the enemy, they’re now Her Serenity’s subjects, to which the law of the Prij applies.”

“Then they shouldn’t have killed one of our soldiers, should they?”

“They—”

Kita held up her hand. “Enough. We don’t wish to engage in this unseemly discussion any further. Arman, the senator is correct—we’re at war, and in wars, people die. When the peace is restored, then perhaps.... We shall do something as a gesture, perhaps erect a statue to improve their town square. The sovereign of the Prij does not explain her actions to anyone, or apologise.” She rose, and they stood too. “That is all. Good day, senator, general.”

Arman bowed, seething with anger. There was warfare and there was simple murder. He knew which had occurred a month earlier.

Outside the private chambers, Mekus regarded him with undisguised scorn. “Was there something else, general?”

“Yes, senator, there was another matter. I’ve been hearing reports of attacks against hostages, and mistreatment in the houses in which they’re being kept. I believe one woman may even be pregnant.”

“I don’t believe I’m responsible for that, general.”

“I don’t mean to imply you are, senator. But it concerns me such mistreatment may bear bitter fruit in the future when Darshian is entirely under our control.”

Mekus gave him a scornful look. “You sound as if a handful of disgruntled farmers are your only concern these days. Are you not occupied with enough affairs?”

“Yes, senator, I am. But I have a care to the military implications.”

Mekus snorted, flicking his hand dismissively. “There are none. Don’t be a fool. As for mistreatment, I heard your own servant might have a complaint in that direction, so I suggest you don’t put your hand in that thurl’s nest for your own peace of mind. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Arman bowed. “No, senator. That’s quite enough.”

Mekus looked if he was going to say something about the ambiguous meaning of his response, but then he gathered his robes about him and stalked off. Arman clenched his fist and punched the wall, right in the middle of a mosaic depicting a victory of Lord Quek over the demon Squiluk. This was wrong. This was such rank injustice, it made his blood boil. But at the same time, there was nothing more he could do—the sovereign and Mekus were right, in that as the ruling nation, they had no obligation to do a damn thing. There had to be an answer....

~~~~~~~~

Kei dozed restlessly on his pallet, the same way he spent most of the days now in Arman’s absence. Arman didn’t expect him to do anything or go anywhere, which meant Kei at least got a little relief from the effect of other people. He was wasting his life in dreams and in his thoughts, but in his present condition, he had no future to plan for anyway.

A knock on the door startled him, and for a moment, he thought about ignoring it and hiding until the visitor had gone, but then word might get back to Arman’s wife he was being rude if he did that, and the idea of an interview with her to explain himself make him shiver. So, hesitantly, he opened the door, and found Peri there with a soldier. Instinctively, he took a step back—had they come to arrest him? The soldier didn’t notice his fear.

“Sei General Arman requests you to come to the palace,” he said, as Peri watched bug-eyed in the background. “I’m to take you by calash.” He took a piece of paper from his sleeve. “He’s given me a note for you.”

Kei took the paper and unfolded it. In carefully lettered Darshianese, it read, “Don’t be afraid, it’s safe. Arman.” It bore Arman’s personal stamp.

He folded it and placed it in the breast of his shirt. “All right.” He collected his cloak because it was cold even in the house, and wondered what Arman could want after weeks of virtually ignoring him. Despite the note, he shook a little in fear, his mind replaying the events of four weeks ago, and imagining that, at any moment, he would be dragged away to see more of his fellows killed. Or killed himself, although he no longer feared that. Death would be a release he would welcome now.

The soldier with him didn’t send out any particularly hostile emotions, but his mild disdain for Kei was salt in a raw wound, as were the curiosity and contempt of the people who walked past them as he was led through the palace. He wanted to get away from them, but all he could do was wrap his cloak more tightly about him and hope this would all be over soon.

He was taken to Arman’s office, where the general was waiting for him. “Kei, thank you for coming. Please have a seat.” Arman was perfectly civil, even gracious, even though there was a soldier watching the exchange. Why? Arman didn’t explain, but he snapped an order at the soldier, who saluted him and left.

Arman turned to him. “Is there something you would like, Kei? Drink? Food?”

“No, my lord. Why am I here?”

“To act as a witness. It won’t bring you pain, I promise.” Arman’s voice was gentle, as if he was trying to soothe him. Kei didn’t know why he bothered. Did he think Kei would forget what he’d done, for the sake of a few sweet words?

The soldier returned with a Darshianese man Kei had never met before. “Leave us,” Arman said to the soldier. “Gyu, please take a seat. This is Kei, of Ai-Albon. Gyu is from Ai-Vinri.”

The new hostages. Was Arman rubbing Kei’s nose in this mess, to make him learn manners? The stranger looked at him curiously and with suspicion. Kei even felt some contempt from him, and he shrank further into his cloak.

“Gyu, I wanted Kei to witness what I’m about to say, so the fact of it will not be denied later.” Arman turned to him. “I’ve investigated the death of the soldier at Ai-Vinri, and I’ve discovered there has been a terrible mistake and injustice. The soldier who died, died as a result of his own crimes, and before he did, took the life of a villager and attacked another. The sergeant in charge of the unit there has been concealing the facts from us and covering up his own complicity.”

“They died...for nothing?” Kei asked uncertainly, afraid of angering Arman, but unable to believe this horror could be made even worse.

Arman nodded, frowning. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I had my suspicions...I tried to urge a delay, but the order had been given before I could influence the decision. Gyu, please accept my personal regret for that.” Gyu just shrugged, unimpressed. Kei wondered if he had any idea of the magnitude of Arman’s gesture. Probably not. “Now...given the situation between our peoples, it’s not possible, Gyu, to return you to your homes at this time, although you can have my solemn word I believe you should be.”

“No, my lord. We’re your prisoners, after all.”

No softening up this man easily.
Kei’s chest became tight with worry. Where was Arman going with this? Despite himself, he leaned forward in anticipation and anxiety.

“That’s not really the point. I’ve...made representations about the need to have you compensated in some way, and while it’s not possible now, I also swear to you that when the war is over, if I have to pay for it myself, I will see to it some reparations are made. I know it won’t bring your people back, but it might help their families.”

Gyu stared, clearly puzzled. “Yes, my lord.”

“However, there is something I
can
do now which is entirely in my remit, and that is to discipline the soldiers responsible for concealing this matter. I’ve already given orders they are to be removed, stripped of their rank and uniforms and brought back to Utuk in irons.”

Kei jerked in shock—the Prij would humiliate their own people on behalf of the Darshianese?

“I’ve also given orders that reports of deaths among quartered soldiers need to be countersigned by an officer at a different station, of two ranks above the senior person at the place where the death occurred. This should prevent such falsifying in the future. I appreciate that treating this as a disciplinary matter may trivialise it in your eyes, but I assure you, it won’t be seen that way. I can at least stop other hostages being killed for a lie. I can’t offer my country’s apologies, Gyu, but you can have mine for the failure in discipline and honour of my troops.”

Kei was frozen in his chair. He’d seen the arrogance of the Prijian elite. Apologies didn’t trip lightly from their tongues, and though Arman wasn’t typical, to hear him say such things in public.... Even Gyu was astounded. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

“I hope you and your people, and the rest of the hostages will be returning home soon. I wish you hadn’t been brought here in this manner, but I also hope you’ll endure with the same grace as your fellows from Darshian have done. When the war is over, you’ll be sent back with all speed, I promise.”