Kei's Gift (81 page)

“I do, but he can’t stand my touch. Every time I laid a hand on him last night, he cried in pain.”

Gods.
“There might be a solution for that. The academy masters will see him tomorrow and I hope they can help. I’m sorry I inadvertently delayed that meeting—things are moving very fast and I didn’t think.”

Reji’s interest was piqued immediately. “The rescue? It’s happening?”

“Yes, we depart in five days.”

“And what of Kei?”

Arman stared at him, perplexed. “He stays with you, of course. I have nothing to offer him here, and it’s possible I may even be returning to Utuk.”

“So whether he’s well or not, you’ll abandon him to his fate.”

“I’m not
abandoning
him, you damn fool. But I can’t help him either—that’s for the experts to do.”

“So you say,” Reji said with heavy irony in his tone. “Let me see him.”

Kei was still deeply asleep. Reji looked at him for a long time, before going back outside the bedroom, summoning Arman to talk with him. “I can do nothing for him today, and all our packs and clothes are still back at the inn. Let me go back there tonight. I have necessary business to conduct for our clan but I can be free by tomorrow, and return with everything he needs. Will Lord Meki let him stay at the academy once you’ve gone?”

“I’ll ensure I get an undertaking that Kei gets what he needs. Not only do I owe him a great deal, but so does his country. Lord Meki understands that.”

“I’m glad someone does,” Reji growled. “He’s been treated shabbily by people who aren’t fit to lick his boots.”

The look Reji gave him made it clear Arman was included in that number. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean him to run all the way over here. When I said I needed his help, I didn’t mean immediately.”

Reji shook his head ruefully. “Never say ‘need’ or ‘help’ to Kei unless you mean it—he always takes it very seriously. Too damn seriously, if you ask me.”

Arman nodded, agreeing completely, but finding it hard to regret that fact. “He’s a good, kind person, Reji. You’re a lucky man.”

That got him the oddest look. “So are you. Can his lordship arrange to whisk me back to the inn as fast as I was brought here?”

“I’m sure he will. Let me ask.”

Arman watched Kei’s lover leave, rather confused by the man’s reactions and the things he’d said. He’d expected the protectiveness and the anger—anything less and he’d have discreetly arranged to keep Reji well away from Kei until the healer was recovered, and possibly even after that. But what perplexed him was Reji’s presumption that Arman bore some on-going responsibility for the man. On-going
blame
he admitted readily, but when he’d been taken away from Kei two days ago, he’d honestly never thought to see Kei again, and Kei would have felt the same. So why did Reji assume differently—and why was he apparently happy enough to leave Kei with him and go off and tend to his business affairs? It wasn’t callousness—any fool could see Reji loved Kei and thought the world of him. It was more that Reji had judged Arman a fit custodian and trusted him with his most precious possession. Considering who Arman was and how he’d come to meet Kei, not to mention the reaction of just about every other Darshianese Arman had met to this point, he was a strange person to give such trust to.

He was utterly baffled, but standing here in his confusion wouldn’t advance anything, and there was still much to do. He went back to the bedroom and summoned Loti to step outside. “How long will he sleep?”

“Oh, hours, I would have thought,” Loti said confidently. “And he won’t be up to much when he does wake. I can give him some pijn for the headache and that will make him drowsy.”

“I think he might fight you on that.”

Loti grinned. “Of course he will. He’s a healer, we make dreadful patients.”

Arman had to smile at that. “I’m sure. I have things to do—please watch over him, and find Lord Meki or me if you need me. I’ll be back at supper and then I can let you go if you judge it safe.”

“Very well. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

Kei was born to worry me,
Arman nearly said, but it was hardly fair. It was as much his own intense feelings as anything Kei had done that troubled him.

He went to Lord Meki’s office and wanted to know what was happening about the siege ships. “Ah, well, since you’re free, you can see for yourself. We need to go down to the harbour—I was going down there in a few minutes to supervise anyway, so you can join me.”

“Won’t I cause a stir?”

“General, with what’s about to happen, no one will be looking at you.”

Lord Meki was enjoying himself, but after a tiresome siege of over six months duration, it was time the Darshianese got a little of their own back. Still somewhat concerned at being seen by a vengeful populace, Arman hid in the corner of the small covered carriage Lord Meki had ordered for their transport down to the water’s edge. There, at a raised viewpoint which overlooked the docks a half mile or so away, a small number of soldiers were waiting, as were Lady Jilki and Neka, a Gifted mind-speaker. “The others decided to go to the docks, Meki,” Lady Jilki said.

Lord Meki snorted. “They won’t see a thing down there. Neka, tell Reis to commence when he’s ready.”

“What are you planning exactly?” Arman asked. He’d left this business to Lord Meki and Lady Jilki, since he was more concerned about what happened when they arrived in Utuk.

“Wait, general, and watch your ships.”

Puzzled, Arman stared out to sea. He was prepared for almost anything after what he’d been shown the previous day. There was no doubt at all the siege could be broken at will—the only question was how the rather eccentric and mischievous Gifted would go about it. Since it involved water, he’d expected Meda to be in charge, but it seemed the lively Reis had won the battle to deliver the final blow. In the distance he could just see a large number of soldiers massing at the docks. “How will you stop the sailors offering resistance?”

Lady Jilki answered. “Reis can immobilise them and remove them one by one from the ships. However, if you prefer, Neka here can let you speak to them directly. That might help to calm them.”

Arman nodded, still finding it hard to conceive of the power of the mind-speakers in this country. Even the so-called minor gifted were the basis of the country-wide communication network, while people like the reticent Neka, apparently nothing but a shy country girl, could speak to other mind-speakers as far away as Fort Trejk without breaking into a sweat, and to the ungifted a hundred miles away with ease. Their only limitation was mind-speaking across the highest mountains or the deep seas—why, Neka had no idea. The truly Gifted were little interested in why their powers worked—only that they did and they could play with them. They were valuable and useful members of Darshian society...but also touchy and unpredictable. Arman expended a lot of every meeting with them using his rusty charm skills to keep them amused and content with his direction. Should they cease to be thus content, the entire plan might fail before it started.

“Look,” Lord Meki said. “Here they come.”

Arman squinted against the sun. Yes, six of the Prij’s finest warships were moving slowly...no, not slowly at all...quite rapidly in fact across the thirty or so miles of water from their position out of cannon range to the Darshek docks. The boats moved as if they were under full sail in a hurricane—but their sheets weren’t set at all, and their motion was too straight for them to be moving under the power of the wind. Arman could imagine the consternation of the sailors, finding their ships taken out of their control as if the gods themselves had them in hand. “Should I speak to them?” he murmured, still mesmerised by the strange sight.

“Wait until they get closer,” Lord Meki advised. “Reis is going to be clever, I think. One can’t argue with the man,” he said with a sigh.

The ships were now about half a mile from the shore, close enough that Arman could now see the sailors running about in panic on the deck and up the rigging. As he watched, now rather worried about the men, the ships stopped moving—at least, horizontally. They rose slowly, the great hulls of the huge ships clearing the water like a child’s boat in a pond, picked up by its owner to be taken home. The ships floated in the air as unmoving and apparently weightless as clouds. Neka turned to Arman. “Reis says you can speak to them. Just talk to me as if you’re addressing them directly and they’ll hear it.”

Arman found it rather odd to be doing this, but he turned towards the ships, and tried to imagine he was standing on a quarterdeck facing the crew. “Sailors of Kuprij, this is Sei General Arman of Her Serenity’s Army. Please don’t panic—you’re perfectly safe. You are being taken under the control of the Darshianese, but no one will be harmed if you do not resist. You will not be harmed. Stand down and wait to be boarded. I repeat....” He said the message several times and then looked at Neka. “Are they paying any attention?”

“Some are. Keep speaking while Reis brings them in—I’ll send them an image of you here so they know it’s you.”

Arman did as she bid, while Reis, unseen at the docks below them, brought the first ship towards him, still floating, her sails and cannons immobilised. “Which ship is it?” Arman demanded, and Neka told him, which allowed him to be specific in his orders to its crew.

The ship was brought to rest at the dock, and immediately boarding ladders and ropes were thrown against it. Arman kept repeating his urgent orders. He had no way of knowing if there was fighting—he couldn’t see that level of detail. There was an enormous amount of activity going on, and then finally the main gangplank was put out and secured. With a great sense of relief, he saw sailors being marched off in orderly fashion from the ship—he kept up the reassurances until Neka confirmed the ship was under control and all the sailors removed unharmed. Then Reis floated the ship away to be moored safely in the harbour out of the way.

The securing of the entire fleet took two hours, and was completed with no injuries and only a single death, that of a sailor who slipped while trying to get off his boat in a panic as it was coming into the docks. Lord Meki apologised for that and assured Arman the man would be decently buried. “Poor Reis,” Lady Jilki said.

“It’s not his fault,” Neka said quietly.

“No, but he’ll blame himself anyway. Thank you, Neka—why don’t you go to the others and make sure he doesn’t get too morose. Take my carriage, dear.”

“Thanks, Jil. ‘Bye, Meki, Arman.”

The Gifted didn’t believe in titles any more than most of their countrymen. The Rulers and their staff were rather odd in that they did. And then Arman shook his head over worrying about the use or otherwise of titles when he’d just seen several thousands of tons of Prijian shipping carried about like bean sacks, and emptied nearly as easily. He wished Kei had seen it, or Karus—it would be something Arman would remember even when he was old, blind and senile.

It was coming up to sunset. Nothing more would be achieved today. The captured ships would need to be prepared for the eight day journey to Kuprij, maps drawn up by Arman and the senior captains carefully copied and distributed, and the defence of Darshek secured, since it would be temporarily exposing itself to attack, at least theoretically. The Andonese had no love of war either, Lord Meki and the other rulers had assured him, despite their superior military power—and like the Darshianese, could have dominated or destroyed their neighbours with ease at any point, if they’d been inclined. They weren’t. Arman was about to open the eyes of the Prij to some very unwelcome truths and he hoped it would be enough for them to see sense. If not, he feared his people would spend many years fighting futile wars and at the end, be poorer and more primitive as a result.

He had asked Lord Meki yesterday why the Darshianese had let the south go so quickly. “Surprise,” Lord Meki had said with a shrug. “And to retrieve it would have cost too many lives on both sides. My predecessors made a calculated decision that less suffering was to be caused by letting your people remain than to fight bitterly to remove you. We decided to close our border and protect what we had, and hope the Prij would not harass our people too much. Were we right?”

Arman had had to confess there had been some harassing, and a good deal of imposition. But the deaths were still fewer than if there had been an all out war, so he admitted the Rulers’ decision, while rather ruthless, had probably been the wisest. “And now? Now that you’ll reveal your capability to the Prij?”

“Now,” Lady Jilki said, “now, we’ll ask for
all
our people to be set free. We won’t let our people die to achieve that—or yours, necessarily. But we might give them a damn good fright,” she’d added with a most unwomanly grin. Lady Jilki could give Kita nightmares, Arman had decided.

Lord Meki and Lady Jilki were already returning to the carriage. It was no bad thing to make such a powerful impression on over a thousand Prij sailors, who would return home with an astonishing—and cautionary—tale to tell their friends and family. If the Darshianese reputation spread by word of mouth, not a single shot might need to be fired in anger to recover the south. Yes, the Prij were in for a very big shock indeed in a few days’ time.