The Archer's Heart (6 page)

“I know,” Darvad interrupted. “It is unfair.”

The list went on. Darvad politely read along with Keshan, but Tarek knew him well enough to see he only half-listened.

Keshan opened another scroll. “And these are the laws regarding the Jegora.”

Darvad held out his hands. “Wait a moment, Keshan.” Darvad shook his head and chuckled. “While I fully support your agenda, I think we need to take things one step at a time. Let us work with improving the legal status of the Suya and Chaya before we start working on the untouchables, shall we?”

Druv laughed. Even Iyestar seemed momentarily embarrassed by his brother’s enthusiasm. But Keshan frowned.

“The Jegora have it worst of all,” Keshan said. “If they injure any other caste, they are sentenced to death. They face execution anytime a member of another caste feels he’s been defiled by one of them. That can take as little as letting their shadow fall on another caste member.”

“Look,” Darvad interrupted. “I know their lives are terrible. And I hope to rectify that, I truly do.” He nodded. “I will help you, Keshan. But before I make additional promises, I need to know now—where does your allegiance lie?”

Keshan looked surprised by the question. “With you, of course.”

Darvad stared intently. “You have been keeping company with Jandu Paran.”

“I like Jandu,” Keshan admitted. “But I do not agree with his brother’s politics, and I do not support Yudar’s claim to the throne. It is you I support, Darvad.”

“Then you have my support in return,” Darvad said. “However, announcing my intentions to enact such drastic changes as the ones you are suggesting before I have the crown would be political suicide. Mazar wouldn’t even consider giving me the throne. But I promise to address these issues the moment I become king.” Darvad patted Keshan’s shoulder.

The conversation drifted, and Tarek found himself wearying of the company. His days always followed this course, his desperate desire to see Darvad, and then his realization that he would have to spend hours listening to idle chatter he had no interest in. What he really wanted was more time with Darvad alone.

He wished he could get Darvad to focus on something other than the throne and his competition with Yudar. It bordered on obsession.

Darvad put his hand back on Tarek’s shoulder. “After breakfast, I want you all to join me in the dancing hall. I’ve commanded a dance troupe to do a show for us in private.” Darvad winked. “These are the most beautiful women you will ever see!”

Tarek feigned enthusiasm. As the men left, Tarek made an excuse to Darvad, saying he needed to return to the townhouse for Dragewan business.

Darvad’s smile vanished. “What? But I want you to be there. Nothing is as fun without you.” He smiled brightly, and honestly, and Tarek could feel Darvad’s smile warming him to his bones. At moments, like this one, when the true Darvad would shine through the veil of ambition, and stun him with beauty, Tarek could do nothing but concede.

 “All right. I’m sure that the business back home can wait.”

Darvad hugged him, and Tarek felt, once more, at peace.

 Chapter 6

“Beware.”

 Jandu called out the formal warning to his opponent and pulled back his bowstring. He focused on the orchid motif of his master’s shield.

Suddenly, Master Mazar dodged to the left. Jandu held his bowstring taut, following his master’s erratic movements.

Mazar whispered a sharta.

Jandu heard the dark sound of magic words, the sensation like ice down his spine. As Jandu processed the words, he quickly recalled the counter-curse needed to stop the weapon. But Jandu finished too late. Mazar released his sharta with a last hiss of breath and the ground beneath Jandu’s feet gave way. Jandu fell, sinking up to his waist as the ground parted like water under his weight. Dust exploded in a cloud and he choked.

“Damn it.” Jandu dropped his bow to drag himself free of the dry soil, coughing and batting his hand through the air to dispel the dirt. The weight of the soil pressed against him, and it took a great deal of effort to extract himself.

Mazar approached his star pupil, grinning. “Too slow, Jandu.”

 “My apologies, Master.”

“Would you like some help?” Mazar asked.

“No, I’m good.” Jandu groaned as he wriggled his hips and then his legs free. His white shirt and dark blue trousers were coated in a layer of dust.

Mazar patted Jandu’s shoulder, causing another cloud of dust to explode from Jandu’s shirt. “You have to be faster.”

“I know. Let me try again.”

Mazar studied his pupil for a moment, and then nodded. “All right. Same positions.”

Mazar was thin, his muscles sinewy, and his wrinkled skin and grey beard showed his years. He kept his white hair short, and so his large ears protruded significantly, displaying the divot where the tip of his left ear had been clipped by an arrow. An impressive scar sliced across his chin.

But despite his ragged appearance, Mazar still moved with grace. His unrivaled dedication to the study of combat, especially shartas, allowed him to wield magical weapons better than anyone in Marhavad.

All of Mazar’s experience made him more than just Jandu’s hero. He was Jandu’s father figure, the man who had taught Jandu everything he knew about archery.

“Beware!” Master Mazar called from across the practice field. The sun blazed directly overhead, and Jandu wiped sweat from his eyes.

Jandu readied his stance and took aim at his master. “Beware!” he called back.

As Mazar moved, Jandu followed him with his readied arrow. And then came the words of the sharta, shivering through his consciousness like a sinister whisper. The shartas were not of this world, and as they became real words, living words, a split rifted the sky and the Yashva world poured through.

“Adarami andaraya epizanash ashubana darha mandria bedru mandria…”
The words shivered down Jandu’s spine. He kept his eyes trained on his master as he uttered the counter-curse quickly, needing to speak the words before his master finished the sentence.

“Mandria bedru mandria darja ashubana epizanash adaraya adarami…”
Jandu spoke the sharta backwards, speeding up towards the end, reversing the damage. He finished speaking at the same time as Mazar, and when Mazar uttered the final
“Chedu!”
to fire the weapon, nothing happened.

Jandu released his arrow, and shot the center of Mazar’s shield.

“Well done!” cried Mazar, approaching his student once more. Jandu unstrung his bow proudly. He spat blood on the ground. Uttering shartas always made his mouth bleed. He noticed that Mazar did not share this problem.

“How come I bleed when I use shartas and you don’t?” Jandu asked.

“Using magical weapons takes its toll uniquely on different bodies,” Mazar said. He sounded out of breath, and plopped to the dusty earth below Jandu. He stretched out, looking drawn. “For me, it merely exhausts. I feel like I have just run up a mountainside. Just count yourself lucky that you don’t piss blood like Baram.”

Jandu sat beside his master and stared out across the empty practice field. It had once been a large citrus grove but now, the soil torn and scarred by shartas, only weeds thrived.

Jandu leaned back on his elbows, content to sit in silence with his master for a moment. The two of them rarely found time to train together anymore. “Yudar is losing his supporters in the east,” Mazar said suddenly. “The lords of Bandari and Penemar are turning toward Darvad.”

Jandu kicked at a clump of dirt but said nothing.

“At last night’s dice game, I heard Darvad promise the lord of Bandari substantial tax benefits if he became king,” Mazar said.

“What did my brother say?” Jandu asked.

“Yudar wasn’t there.”

Jandu raised his eyebrows. “My brother missed a dice game?”

Mazar laughed. “I know. I think it must have been the first time he has missed an opportunity to play dice in ten years. That Suraya has surely worked a spell upon him.”

Jandu snorted and laid back down. He thought it impossible to distract Yudar from gambling. This marriage was really turning out to be good for him.

“It’s a shame he missed that particular game, however,” Mazar continued. “A lot of discussion took place between the lords in attendance.”

“I’ll tell him.” Why was it so hard for everyone to recognize the fact that he did not want to discuss politics all day? “But I’d rather not talk about it right now.”

At this, Mazar sat upright and glared at him. “Don’t be so childish, Jandu. You cannot pretend as though it does not matter. This is the most important decision since the formation of Marhavad!”

Jandu cast his eyes downward. “Yes, Master.”

“What makes it even more difficult is that both Yudar and Darvad know the Pezarisharta!”

“I know the Pezarisharta too,” Jandu commented, but Mazar continued regardless.

“Anyone who has the power of the Pezarisharta can destroy the world. The entire world, Jandu. This is no idle power. Whoever I choose as king must be the kind of man who will take that responsibility seriously.”

“I know, I know.” Jandu had been drilled, day in and day out, for nearly a year in order to learn the ultimate weapon. Just reciting it took ages, and each word had to be uttered perfectly, in precise order to complete the sharta.

The Pezarisharta set fire to every living creature. It burned earth, sky and water alike.

“I can’t speak for Darvad,” Jandu said, “but I know Yudar does not even think about the Pezarisharta anymore. He once told me he purposefully tried to forget it. He doesn’t believe any man should have such power.”

“He is right.”

“And yet you taught it to all of us.”

“It is your birth right, as princes.” Mazar stared blankly out at the dusty field.

Jandu studied his teacher. Although Mazar moved swiftly and dangerously for a man his age, the years as Regent of Marhavad had changed him, added lines to his dry face, creased his brow. Jandu’s father had thrust so much responsibility on the man, trusting  Mazar with both the education of his sons, and maintaining his kingdom.

“Are you thirsty?” Jandu suddenly asked. “Would you like me to fetch you something to drink?”

Mazar turned to gaze at Jandu fondly. “Jandu, if I need something to drink, I’ll ask one of the servants. You do not have to fetch for me.”

“I know.” Jandu blushed. “But you are my teacher. It is my duty to respect you.”

“You are very good at fulfilling your duty, Jandu. It is one of the traits I most admire in you.”

“I thought you most admired my modesty.”

Mazar shook his head and Jandu laughed.

“Come on, let us practice once more,” Mazar said, standing. “This time, I want you to initiate a sharta. Remember to concentrate. Do not lose your focus, or I will out-speak you.”

Jandu stood as well. “Which should I use?” He did not like practicing such weapons on his master. Most were fatal.

“You choose,” Mazar said. “Just remember, the more powerful the sharta, the more it will take from your body. Choose wisely.” And without another word, Mazar sprinted out of sight, dashing into the nearby citrus grove.

Jandu quickly restrung his bow and chased after his master. He caught a glimpse of Mazar’s silver armor ahead, and charged towards him.

As soon as Jandu was within range, he began uttering the Alazsharta, the words cutting his tongue as he spoke them. He could feel, rather than hear, Mazar’s counter-curse forming. As Jandu ran and spoke, he pulled an arrow from his quiver.

“Chedu!”
Jandu spat with the last word onto his arrow. The arrow brightened in his hand, and then returned to its former state. It buzzed in his hand, vibrating with power. He aimed and loosed the arrow at Mazar’s shield.

The arrow struck Mazar’s shield, but the sharta did not follow through. Alazsharta supposedly put the victim to sleep. And yet Mazar stood tall and proud, panting heavily but definitely conscious.

“How did you do that?” Jandu asked. He spit more blood from his mouth.

Mazar gasped in a deep breath and then answered. “I don’t know.” He frowned. “I did not finish the counter-curse in time.”

“I did.”

Jandu swung around to face the intruder. He relaxed immediately upon seeing Keshan.

“Hello.” Keshan walked up to both of them, smiling. Despite having just uttered a counter-curse, Keshan looked calm, not even a bead of sweat upon his brow.        

“Greetings, Adaru,” Mazar said, bringing his hands together in the sign of peace.

“And to you, Regent.” Keshan bent low and took the dust from Mazar’s feet. When he stood, he looked sheepish. “I apologize for intruding upon your training, but whenever I feel a sharta forming I habitually dissipate it. Sorry.”

Jandu hid his surprise behind a smile. “I didn’t realize you were so fast.”

Keshan shrugged.

“It is a healthy habit to cultivate,” Mazar said. “And I am impressed. You were far out of range to be able to work so efficiently.”

“I can feel them more than most.” Keshan turned to Jandu. “I was looking for you, actually. I have the evening free, and wanted to see if you cared to join me for the temple acrobatic performance this evening.”

Pride flooded Jandu, and he almost stumbled over his words in his enthusiasm. “I would love to.” He turned nervously to his master. “Assuming it is all right with you, Master?”

Mazar nodded. “I’m too old to exercise much longer anyway. You boys go ahead.” He patted Jandu’s shoulder. “Besides, I have duties of my own to attend to. But I always appreciate a respite, Jandu. Ask me to practice whenever you feel the need.”

“Thank you, Master.” Jandu bowed low. He then turned to Keshan and the two of them made their way back towards the gates of the palace.

The excitement of spending time with Keshan still had not faded. Jandu frequently sought him out, but it seemed that Keshan appealed to far more men than just himself. The second Keshan walked into any room, dozens of people gathered around him, vying for his attention. Keshan always appeared excited to see Jandu, but was also easily led away by other lords, leaving Jandu feeling uncomfortably jealous.

To make matters worse, the flirtatious, intimate way that Keshan spoke with Jandu seemed to be the way Keshan spoke with everyone. Just when Jandu thought he was growing closer to his cousin, he would watch Keshan slide up to charm a young woman, or another Triya warrior, his smile sly and infectious.

Jandu had to come to terms with the fact that he was no one special in Keshan’s world. If anything, he was an outsider who did not share his views or have a part in his mission. Often Jandu had to wait for Keshan’s attention and some days it seemed like Keshan had no time for him at all. The thought disturbed Jandu deeply.

Because whenever the two of them were together, Jandu was filled with a hungry need for more. He had never been so confused and fascinated by anyone. They sat around and made jokes, or talked about nothing, and yet it seemed like the most important discourse in the history of the world. Jandu loved everything about being with his cousin. Keshan had a wonderful, if slightly raunchy, sense of humor, and never hesitated to argue with Jandu, which lesser lords refused to do out of respect for Jandu’s lineage. Jandu could be himself around Keshan, and it was rare to find such friends in the palace, especially now.

“I thought most of the performers left last week,” Jandu said, walking casually beside Keshan.

“A few acts still linger in town. Mostly because they haven’t earned enough money to get back to where they came from.”

Jandu scratched his arm, and as he did so, he caught a whiff of his armpit and scowled. “God, I need a bath. I better clean up before I show my face in public.”

 “I like the way you smell,” Keshan said with a wink.

Jandu swallowed his words, choking on what should have been a clever reply. He flustered so easily around Keshan.

“But I can wait while you wash and change,” Keshan said. “Besides, I’ve never seen your rooms. I’m curious.”

“They aren’t impressive,” Jandu said.

Keshan reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Jandu’s ear. The touch startled Jandu, but Keshan just smiled. “You look pretty disheveled.”

“I did just come crawling out of a dirt pit, thanks to Mazar’s sharta.” Jandu hoped his blush wasn’t obvious. Keshan always surprised him this way, touching him in a confident, familiar manner that left Jandu weak in the knees.

“I felt that one too.”

“How could you?”

“I’m half-Yashva.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jandu nodded to the guards as they passed through the gates of the outer palace wall.

Keshan gave Jandu a surprised glance. “Do you even know what a sharta is?”

“Of course I do,” Jandu said. “It’s a magical weapon.”

“But what it is? What it is really?” Keshan shook his head. “Triya. All they care about is the destruction. They don’t care that every time they fire their shartas, they are pulling Yashvas into this world and transforming them.”

Jandu frowned. “Transforming a Yashva?”

“A sharta is a spell which opens a door between the Yashva and human worlds, and then summons one particular Yashva into the human world. Every Yashva has a unique shartic nature, which is how they manifest themselves on earth. So when you use a sharta, you are pulling some Yashva from their life in their own world and transforming them into tools.”