Kei's Gift (60 page)

“Thank you. Tiko’s with the wainwright, I’m not sure what he wants you to do.”

“Be right here, healer. No one’s getting in or out without our say so.”

Kei looked at the man-mountain in front of him. Arman would be quite safe with Neki on duty. Tiko had chosen his tallest, strongest men to be the three to travel with them for this next part of the journey. It would make moving Arman about much easier, for certain.

Arman had persuaded Neki to help him sit up again. “How do you feel?” Kei asked, going to him and sitting on the stool.

“Better. Gods, I didn’t realise how tired I was until I could sleep in a real bed again.” He lay back against the pillows with a groan. “I’m not looking forward to getting back into a wagon.”

“Good, because you don’t have to.”

Kei quickly explained to Arman’s obvious puzzlement. “But this contraption—can it cope with the roads here?”

“So Ruik says. We can only see.”

“Hmmm, he’d be better off using springs like the calashes do. Maybe I could talk to him—”

“Maybe you can talk to him
tomorrow
,” Kei said firmly. “But first you eat. I’ve been neglecting you in that way, for which I apologise.”

Again Arman looked puzzled. “We eat what everyone else eats.”

“Yes, but it’s poor fuel for a sick man and I’ve been neglecting you in that way. So now you’ll eat properly and rest properly, and have a chance to bathe every three days or so.”

Arman smiled. “Almost heaven then.”

“By comparison, yes.” Kei looked more critically at Arman, noting his colour was better, but that he still looked tired and in pain. “Do you hurt enough to need pijn?”

“No. I do feel better, truly. Stop fussing, healer.”

Kei raised an eyebrow at the lordly tone. “It’s my job, general. But now, food.”

Arman’s appetite was also better, and although his mood was still somewhat sad, there wasn’t the deadening depression of before. Getting the court over with had done him some good, given him a little peace. Or perhaps it was simply the gesture of the village towards Loke—Kei could only guess, and wouldn’t ask. Arman’s peace was a fragile thing, and not for poking.

As Kei cleared up, Arman spoke. “I’ll confess one thing to you. I’m going out of my skull with boredom. I don’t suppose they have any books written in Prijian lying about?”

“I think that’s highly unlikely. I don’t know what makes me so sure, but I suspect that’s the case.”

Arman gave him a wry look for his sarcasm. “Then perhaps I should start keeping a journal. ‘My life among the Darshianese.’”

“You could, and if you want, I’ll make sure you have a book to write in. But....” He wondered if Arman would still be interested. He came to sit down next to Arman again. “I still have the medical text in my pack—I haven’t looked at it since we were on the boat with one thing and another, but, if you wanted to work on that?”

Arman’s forehead wrinkled in surprise. “That was just something to keep you occupied and stop Mekus being suspicious of you. Surely you have far better things to do now.”

“Not right this minute, and as we’ll now have more leisure to fill between here and Darshek, it will do as well as any other. I mentioned it to Tiko once, and he thought such a thing would be useful for his men. If we offer it to the Prij too, maybe....”

“Maybe?” Arman gave him one of his piercing looks.

“Maybe they’ll forgive you...you know, for helping us.” Kei looked at him earnestly. “I don’t want you punished as a traitor.”

“Ah, my dear, innocent Kei. A medical book, however useful, won’t stop them stretching my neck.”

Horrified at the idea, Kei’s hand clutched at his own neck in sympathy. “Doesn’t it bother you? To be branded a traitor?”

“Yes, of course it does. But I am already a traitor by our law, so it’s too late. I won’t betray my own personal standards, but to the Prij, I’m lost.”

“But....” Kei took his hand. Arman wasn’t as calm as he sounded. This subject caused him a good deal of sorrow. “If the Rulers were to cover it up somehow, what happened here, any help you gave them...?”

“And my men? Would you kill them or keep them prisoner forever?”

“Can’t we explain to them? Aren’t they loyal enough to you?”

“Not that loyal. It works this way, you see. You in Darshian are first loyal to your clan, and your village, which I take it are the same concept in many ways. Correct?” Kei nodded, not sure where Arman was going with this. “Then you owe loyalty to the rest of your fellow Darshianese because of family ties, friendship and because they are the same race. Only then, after all that, do you owe any allegiance to the Rulers because they are chosen by you through your clan heads, and serve you, not the other way around. Am I right?”

“I guess.” Kei hadn’t really thought about it before like this.

“But the Prij see it the other way around. To them, the gods select the sovereign, who
is
the Prij spirit embodied. We of the Prij serve the sovereign as a living expression of the gods’ favour, and our loyalties to any other official, or even to each other, are because we all exist to serve and protect our nation, represented by the sovereign who is considered omniscient and infallible. This means my men are loyal to me because I serve Her Serenity—the second I stop doing that, they have no obligation to me at all, and I become an enemy of all Prij.”

Kei stared at him, aghast at this screwed up view of the world. “But...you have no such blind loyalty. Why?”

“Ah.” Arman smiled a little wryly. “That theory’s fine for the common folk. We in the nobility know the sovereign is just one of us and put in place by intermarriage and politics, and that Her Serenity’s power depends on the allegiances and ties she has with the elite. We consider ourselves as blessed by the gods as she is. Or, rather, I used to.” He expression darkened. “I’m not saying any senator would attempt to depose the sovereign, but each family is manoeuvring hard for one of their sons to be Her Serenity’s husband, and to produce the next sovereign. There’s also the fact that many sovereigns die childless, and thus there is a lot of bargaining over wills and so forth. It’s just the same as breeding jesigs—except jesigs don’t tend to invade other people’s territory and take hostages.”

“You sound so bitter. Did we do this? Have you changed so much?”

More than you can imagine, dear healer.
“Yes and no. I never thought much of Kita’s intellect or her as a person, although she’s a strong sovereign. I used to believe the gods supported the Prij, and we could do no wrong because we had their blessing. Any small misfortunes came about because it was somehow part of their immense plan for our race. Although my life hasn’t been the happiest, I never blamed the gods for that—until Loke died.”

Almost without willing it, Kei lifted his hand so he could stroke his fingers through Arman’s messy hair in comfort. “We don’t believe the gods direct any human activity, only the spirit world. We believe they reside alongside us, but that we are responsible for our own actions, and that all things happen in this world for a logical, testable reason. I don’t believe Loke died because of the will of the gods, because our gods have no such power.”

Arman gripped his wrist painfully, but not in anger. “Then either the gods I’ve believed in all my life are a lie, or they have no care for their creations. In either event, I care no longer what they bless. Kuprij has no more right to rule than Darshian. I won’t help Darshian overtake my people—but my people will no longer have my help to dominate the Darshianese.”

“What will you do?” Kei murmured, not fighting Arman’s grip, but still continuing his soothing touch. “What of Karus?”

He felt Arman’s pain at his question. “I don’t know. I would spare him the sight of me being strangled in the civic square, and if that means never seeing him again, so be it. It’ll hurt me, but this is the consequence of my own past decisions and actions.” He shrugged. “As for the rest of it—do you think Darshek can use a treacherous former Prijian general?”

“The Rulers will be grateful, Arman. We know this is hard for you.” Kei freed his wrist from Arman’s grasp so he could slide his arm around his shoulders. “You will be honoured as a peacemaker. There is hardly a more favoured description in our culture.”

“Then that’s something,” Arman said calmly, but Kei sensed he already regretted his lost life, such as it was. Kei wasn’t sure if the Rulers could offer him a better one, or if it would ever make up for losing his position, his home and his family, or of knowing his name would be one to be spat upon for generations. Kei made a vow to himself to do all he could to ensure the Rulers fully appreciated the sacrifice Arman was about to make—and to do all he could to make sure that sacrifice was not in vain.

~~~~~~~~

Amazing how two nights’ rest had made such a difference to his well-being. Even though the first was troubled, and the court had been a severe strain, simply not being jolted around in endless darkness had lifted Arman’s mood. He was growing soft, he thought wryly, even as he relished the comfort of Rei’s borrowed bed. His guts were much less painful, and his leg had left off the interminable ache that drove him to distraction some days, to the point where he had to bite his tongue not to beg Kei to drug him into insensibility just to get through the journey.

That was only part of it, though. Kei’s constant companionship, and the fact Kei himself was less strained because of that companionship, made his enforced rest much more pleasant, as did the renewed work on the medical guide. As it had been before, it was an excuse for a cultural education, a way of trying to understand the differences in thinking between the two people, to learn the language and the lettering, and something to distract Kei—and Arman—from what awaited them, albeit in very different directions. If the captain’s plan worked, Kei would be back in his village for two nights within a week or so. That would surely test his resolve to go all the way to Darshek, and his control over himself. Kei’s moods were so markedly affected by the degree of contact he had with Arman, he was surprised no one had noted it. Or perhaps they
had
—which would explain the suspicious looks Arman got from time to time from Tiko, although the man’s overall hostility towards him was much reduced.

Tiko was understandably gleeful at being able to bring Arman with his possible solution to the hostage situation to the Rulers. Despite Arman’s repeated warnings he probably couldn’t do what they hoped he could, the Darshianese captain had an irrepressible air of hopefulness about him. Arman wasn’t looking forward to their reaction when he explained the difficulties. They were putting rather too much faith in whatever dark secret it was they were hiding from him—if this secret was that astonishing, they wouldn’t need him.

All he could do was force himself to concentrate on the present, and in the present he was more comfortable and more entertained than he had been in three weeks. After lunch on his second day in the village, Tiko came in to see them. “Right, gentlemen. General, do you feel up to testing your new carriage?”

Kei glanced at him. “Up to you. Do you feel up to being bounced a little?”

“A little—yes. I want to see this vehicle.”

“Good, then let’s take you over,” Tiko said, clapping his hands together. His cheerfulness annoyed Arman nearly as much as his perpetual sourness had before. The captain poked his head out the door and signalled to his men who came and waited for his order. “We’ve arranged for the more hostile of your friends to be kept away, general, but I’m afraid everyone else wants to see this new cart in action too. I think there might be an element of wanting to see a Prijian general fall on his arse too.”

Kei’s hackles went up immediately—his protectiveness was so endearing. “Drop him and you’ll answer to me. He can’t bear that even as a joke, do you hear?”

Tiko grinned ruefully as he shook his head at a lad of half his age telling him off. None of Arman’s captains would have been so unconcerned. “You need to relax more, my lad. Just because people want to see it, doesn’t mean we’ll provide it.”

He signalled to his soldiers who moved to pick up the strange chair that Arman had been moved about in before. Kei fussed around Arman and got a cloak around him and a boot on his good leg. “The second you are in too much pain, I need to know, understand?”

Arman grabbed his chin and made Kei look at him. “Will. You. Stop! I’m not an infant, you know.”

“Oh, and here I was thinking the Prij were born over six feet tall with golden beards. My mistake,” he said, his eyes crinkling up a little in amusement. “Now. Carefully.”

Arman was speedily placed in the chair and his leg carefully supported, before the chair was raised on poles like a litter, and the soldiers took him from the house.

There were people everywhere—in doorways, and at windows, some actually in the street itself. Unlike the first time he’d seen these villagers this way, there wasn’t the same suppressed anger, the same eerie, rather threatening silence. There was in fact a lot of ordinary noise, people speculating openly about his appearance and the way he was being carried. Arman was used to this from his frequent participation in public displays in Utuk, but his cheeks still burned a little from embarrassment. He really hoped they wouldn’t drop him, on his arse or anything else.