Path of Honor Read online

  ~You’ve been saying that for weeks. Tonight we’ll have a fire at the Temple, a warm bed and plenty to eat. And tomorrow we’ll have more of the same. No more traveling for awhile.

  ~Good. Esper’s tail twitched again, and Juhrnus chuckled.

  They turned north inside the city, Juhrnus resisting the urge to push his tired mount faster. The cobbled streets were treacherously slick. He gave the mare her head, allowing her to pick her way, glancing up at the sober lines of the banking and merchant buildings of the passing brown district. Few people were about this late in the afternoon. A group of four men walked hurriedly down the middle of the street ahead, talking rapidly and waving their hands emphatically. They bustled inside a forbidding edifice, gargoyles snarling from above the lintel. A carriage rolled down the street in the opposite direction, drawn by matching gray hacks. Juhrnus didn’t recognize the crest emblazoned on the door, but he admired the high-stepping horses as they trotted past with their silver bells jingling. Woodsmoke twined with the smell of the sea, overlaid with the lighter smells of cooking meat. Juhrnus drew an appreciative breath.

  A vendor closing up his cart caught sight of the travel-worn ahalad-kaaslane. “Bright evening. Come far?”

  “Lately from Kallas.”

  “Through Karnane or past Mysane Kosk?”

  Juhrnus rubbed a gloved hand over his beard, frowning. “Mysane Kosk.”

  The other man nodded his silvered head, taking two sticks of roasted pork from his cart and passing them up to Juhrnus, who took them with a thankful grin. “Bad as they say?”

  “Like nothing I’ve seen.”

  The other man nodded again, absently stroking the decorative green stitching adorning the collar of his cloak. “Was a pretty city once. Brother’s wife’s family was there. Glass-makers. Haven’t heard from them since . . .” He paused. “Seen any of those nokulas? The plague?”

  Juhrnus swallowed and wiped his mouth. “Saw where they’d been. Bad way to die.”

  “They say they’re coming here.”

  Juhrnus shrugged a shoulder, taking another bite. “Most nokulas seem to stay up in the western mountains. Not that many down low. Not yet anyway.”

  “They’ll come, though, won’t they?” The vendor didn’t seem to need an answer, looking up at the sky and shaking the snow from his head. “Won’t keep you. Appreciate the news.” He staggered forward as his mule shoved against his back. He muttered and cuffed the beast lightly on the neck. The mule brayed a protest. “Winter’s going to be long and hard. Don’t think you won’t end up on the pointy end of a stick,” he said in the tone of a threat oft made.

  Juhrnus thanked the vendor again and continued on. The Lady’s Temple sat inside the brown district, a stone’s throw from the road separating brown from orange, where the nobility played. Across that road expensive dining rooms, luxurious hotels, posh theaters and music halls abounded, as well as gambling dens, drug parlors and elite brothels that catered to every whim.

  The Lady’s Temple was an ancient four-story building made of polished green stone ranging from shades of early spring green to brilliant sea moss to shadowy evergreen darkness. Two sweeping wings circled around a spacious courtyard, large enough to fit a dozen merchant caravans with room left over for a herd of a hundred cattle. It was roofed over by a lattice of vines looped around spreading tree limbs. In the warm months, it was a shady glen of cool comfort and retreat. Now the lattice was bare, and leaf litter collected in fountains, in piles against the walls, in ice-scummed pools and in thick blankets beneath the trees.

  Nothing moved in the courtyard as Juhrnus rode in, his beard thick with snow. He crossed to the archway leading into the mews, where he found a crew of the orphan stable boys dicing in an empty stall. The stable master was at dinner, and the boys started guiltily when he poked his head over the door. He didn’t recognize any of them.

  “Sir!” one of them said, scrambling to his feet.

  Juhrnus held up his hand. “None of that. See to my mare. She needs a hot mash and a good rubdown. Don’t stint her or I’ll be having a word with your master.”

  They swarmed out of the stall, watching as he pulled his cloak aside and lifted Esper to his shoulders before removing his saddlebags.

  “Where’d you come in from?” one of the boys dared.

  “West.”

  There was an audible gasp and Juhrnus couldn’t help but grin. A dangerous trip, riding through the western mountains. The boys were suitably impressed by the journey.

  “Did you see Mysane Kosk?” one asked breathlessly.

  Juhrnus felt his face harden. “Hurry up the mare. Don’t want her getting stiff or colicky. And don’t forget—a hot mash and plenty of straw in her stall.”

  With that he returned to the expansive courtyard, turning left from the archway and up the cloistered walk to the main entrance. He pushed open the doors and was greeted by a cacaphony. A swarm of orphan girls was rallying in a nearby classroom, singing loudly off-key, much to the annoyance of their long-suffering teacher. A group of both boys and girls slid raucously down banisters and played a boisterous game of tag in the sprawling foyer.

  Juhrnus entered quietly, adroitly avoiding the careening bodies as he proceeded up the stairs, aware that a certain silence targeted him as the children first noticed him, evaluated him and then carelessly returned to their play. Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned first into the large common room, the corners of his mouth turning up at Esper’s grunt of pleasure. Heat permeated the room from the two enormous hearths on either side of it. A horde of chairs, couches and tables filled the space, illuminated by the fires and a host of oil lamps and wall sconces. A few human ahalad-kaaslane snored in chairs. Brilliant disks of shining green, amber and red peered at Juhrnus as the animal ahalad-kaaslane blinked sleepily from their own beds on laps and couches.

  On the other side of the heavy doors blocking the far end of the commons came the muted sounds of laughter, clinking dishes and rumbling discussions. More important were the mouthwatering smells of fresh-brewed kohv, roasted meats, yeasty breads and spiced vegetables. Juhrnus’s stomach growled, and he sped across the room.

  There was a hush, and then he was surrounded by welcoming voices and thumping backslaps.

  “Juhrnus! We’d thought you’d fallen into a swamp!”

  “Should have known you’d arrive in time for dinner. Your timing is always perfect.”

  “Did you run into anyone? Meriis? Olvaane?”

  Other names were volleyed at him, and Juhrnus nodded or shook his head at each, finding himself pushed to one of the long tables, his saddlebags taken from his hands, his cloak whipped away. He sat down before a trencher piled high with roasted potatoes, thick roast pork, gravy, baked apples and fried onions. A mug of ale sloshed down in front of him followed by a basket of crusty rosemary bread and a crock of honey butter. Juhrnus helped Esper onto the table and set to with gusto as Esper began his own feast of greenhouse-grown lettuces. Later Juhrnus would grab a couple of fat mice or a rat from the rodent cages to fill the sisalik properly.

  He talked around his food, answering questions, finding no entry to ask any of his own. Yes, he’d seen signs of the nokulas. No, he hadn’t seen any himself. Yes, he’d seen where the plague had hit, but long before his arrival. Yes, the drought had made for a bad harvest in the Karnane Valley. No, the people didn’t seem to blame the ahalad-kaaslane, feeding, housing and clothing him as usual. Yes, there were bandits prowling everywhere. No, he hadn’t been attacked. He was ahalad-kaaslane, after all. Untouchable. The questions went on, skipping from town to town, topic to topic. He answered as best he could, beginning to feel the weight of his long ride as the food and ale filled him warmly.

  “Where’s Reisiltark? And Sodur?” he asked when the din around him lulled. His question was met with a peculiar silence.

  “Sodur spends a lot of time in the palace these days. Trying to keep a cork on the court, specially the young Verit Aare. The Verit and the Lord Mar
shal are snapping at each other like dogs over a bone. Won’t be long before they dig in for a real fight. Sodur’ll want to know you’re back, though. We’ll send someone.” This was from a short, thin man—Vesil was his name. His ahalad-kaaslane was a red squirrel.

  The conversation soon picked up again, this time centered on the Iisand and his strange withdrawal from the court after his wife’s death.

  “Man of feeling. He’ll be back. Wait and see. He still sees Sodur, and that’s something. He’s still loyal to the ahalad-kaaslane.”

  “Not like that whelp of his. Had his way we’d all be thrown to the sharks. Iisand better come to his senses soon or the young Verit will have his throne.”

  “Lord Marshal isn’t much better. Have you seen the way he looks at us? Like ants in his sugar. The eyebrow, the sneer. You know what I’m saying. He’s more cautious about showing it is all. The court takes its cue from them. If it weren’t for that ganyik Upsakes. . . .”

  “If the Mesilasema could have been saved, you mean. The Iisand wouldn’t have buried himself alive and left his nobles to run amok.”

  Juhrnus frowned, rubbing a hand over his bulging belly. “What happened to the Mesilasema?”

  “You don’t know?” It was Vesil again. “When did you go on circuit?”

  “Over a year ago. At the harvest.”

  Vesil’s expression had turned dark, and a shiver ran down Juhrnus’s spine. “Happened less than a month after that. The Mesilasema died in childbirth. No one could save her.”

  But there was a peculiar twist to Vesil’s voice, a twitch in his jaw, a flick of eyes. Something he wasn’t saying. Fear clutched Juhrnus’s throat, and Esper lifted his head, gouging his heavy talons into the tabletop.

  “Didn’t Reisiltark try to help?”

  Vesil’s shrug said nothing.

  “Where is she?”

  The other man stroked his squirrel and then pushed away from the table. “Couldn’t say. I’d best be going.”

  Juhrnus glanced at the others gathered at the table, but they too had begun to mutter about work and business and rose from the table with sudden alacrity. He watched them go and scowled.

  ~Sorry Esper. We’re going to have to go out again.

  It was late when he returned, empty-handed and more than a little disturbed. He knew the meaning of the green stitching on the vendor’s cloak now. And the lack of interest among his fellow ahalad-kaaslane for Reisil. Only it wasn’t lack of interest. It was suspicion.

  He built a fire in his room and stripped, stretching out on the bed, his jaw knotting. No one knew where to find her. She certainly wasn’t staying in the Temple, and the ahalad-kaaslane he asked answered with only shrugs and blank stares. Reisil’s green-wearing supporters were of no help either. Many had seen her recently, but none could—or would—say where to find her. Clearly they wanted to protect her. Juhrnus didn’t much care for the way they looked at him—wary and hard, as if he wanted to hurt her. He’d had about as much luck finding Sodur.

  He yawned. Tomorrow. A bath in the morning, and then he’d find them.

  ~Warm enough? he asked Esper, who was curled against his side.

  His question was met with drowsy contentment, and Juhrnus pulled the bedclothes over himself and fell into a heavy sleep.

  Juhrnus found Reisil just before noon the next day. He ambled into the stableyard of a cloth merchant. Tirpalema was cousin to Veritsema, mayor of Kallas where both Reisil and Juhrnus had grown up. After searching unsuccessfully, he’d finally remembered when she’d first come to Koduteel, Tirpalema had agreed to stable Indigo. In return, she’d made a point of checking the health of his animals regularly, a fact that brought Juhrnus down to the pink district against the chance she’d be there. He’d been gone so long, he didn’t know her usual haunts—not that she’d had much time to develop any before he left. He’d asked again in the Temple, but the blank stares and shrugs were only repeated.

  The stableyard gate was pulled invitingly wide. A sign showing bolts of colorful cloth and a spool of thread and needle swung from the crossbar. He saw Reisil within fastening bulging saddlebags onto Indigo’s saddle, her green cloak vibrant against the snow.

  “Leaving town just when I get here? Could make a man worry about his welcome,” he said, sauntering close. She started and spun around. A smile bloomed on her lips, and she ran across the yard, throwing her arms around him.

  “Juhrnus! When did you get back?”

  He returned the embrace. “Yesterday evening. Thought I’d see you at the Temple.”

  She stiffened and pulled away, her hood falling back. She continued to smile, but lines of strain bracketed her lips as if the expression was difficult to maintain. Her pale skin wrapped her skull tautly. Feathers of silky black hair escaped her braid, doing little to soften the angles of her face. They lent her face a severe quality emphasized by the dark circles around her eyes. The golden ivy that was a blessing from the Lady ran over her left cheek and down into her collar and glittered stark and garish against her pallid skin. Beneath his hands her body felt gaunt—bones and wire.

  “You look like skraa,” he said. “Don’t you eat, little sister?” The diminutive had made her cringe growing up, a way to pretend kindness while insulting her. Now her grin grew more natural.

  “Not as much as you do, little brother.” She poked his stomach. “You look fat enough, though someone might mistake you for a bear wandering into Koduteel.”

  Juhrnus rubbed his beard. “Good for the trail. Keeps the wind and snow from peeling away my face. Besides, Esper likes it.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Curled up by a roaring fire. Where I should be. But you’re going somewhere,” he said, gesturing at her loaded gelding.

  “Not far.”

  “Oh?” He lifted his brows and she flushed.

  “I’m tired of sleeping in a stall. The straw is itchy. And Tirpalema is too kind to tell me he’s tired of feeding me. So I’ve found a new place to stay.”

  “What about the Temple?”

  Her look was sharp and hard as a jade knife. “No.”

  “What’s going on?” Juhrnus demanded. “Tell me. I’ve had enough evasions from everyone else.”

  Reisil looked away, chewing her upper lip. Then she gave a little shake of her head and looked back at him. “The nobles and the ahalad-kaaslane have come to believe that I’m a threat—like Upsakes. I’ve been able to use my power only sporadically and have had no luck curing the plague. They think I’m doing it on purpose. That I’m just letting people die for some plan of my own.”

  “That’s . . .” He searched for adequate words. “That’s stupid! How did they get such a skraa-for-brains idea? How could they believe it?”

  Reisil grinned, bitterness coiling through her voice. “I wish I could tell you.” Juhrnus hooked his thumbs on his belt. She obviously wasn’t telling him all of it. But she wasn’t ready to talk, and he knew better than to try to force her.

  “Where’s Saljane?” he asked, following after her as she returned to Indigo and tightened his cinch.

  “Hunting. She doesn’t much care for the city.” Again there was a sense of something she wasn’t saying, and Juhrnus clenched his jaw. Reisil had never been one to talk about herself or depend on anyone else. Abandoned by her parents at birth and raised on the charity of Kallas, she’d always been too aware of being a nuisance, an added expense. She was always afraid of making herself more of a burden. As a boy, he’d hated her obsequiousness, her selfeffacement. For a long time he thought it was sucking up. Then he figured out it was stiff-necked pride and shame. Nothing he did made her stop—though in the way of boys, he’d not been kind. He winced. That didn’t begin to cover what a ganyik he’d been. He couldn’t seem to stop attacking her, as if sooner or later she’d have to defend herself and quit sulking around. Not then, and not later, not until he’d almost lost Esper.

  He shied away from the memory. He’d never forget Esper’s limp, broken body; he’d never f
orget the way Reisil had nearly sacrificed herself and Saljane to save Esper. Unthinkingly he reached out and touched his bond with Esper. The sleeping sisalik radiated contentment. Juhrnus smiled. He owed Reisil everything.

  The last straw for Reisil was discovering that Kaval was a traitor—finding him in that room, Ceriba battered and raped. Juhrnus didn’t know if Reisil would ever trust anyone with her feelings again. He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe Sodur knew something.

  “I thought I’d go looking for Sodur later. We could all have dinner and I could tell you about my circuit.”

  For a bare moment Reisil’s hands froze in the middle of untying Indigo. Then she tugged the reins free and guided the horse out the gate. “Not tonight.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  She strode quickly down the street in the direction of the Sea Gate, Indigo clopping behind. Juhrnus swung along beside her. “I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t tell me he agrees with those skraa-headed imbeciles.”

  “No. He definitely doesn’t agree with them.” Her voice was grim.

  Juhrnus scowled, tired of the puzzle. “Then what?”

  “Ask him.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  She shook her head, her face white as alabaster, her jaw jutting. “Let’s just say I was a fool. Again.”

  Jurhnus ground his teeth. “Could you be more specific?”

  She pulled up short. “I could. But there are some things that I’d just as soon stay buried in the dark where no one can find them. You want to know any more, you ask Sodur.”

  She glared at him until he nodded and they set off again.

  They passed out of the pink district with its fancy shops into the green trader district and then out the walls through the Sea Gate. The pink district had made a great many repairs since the Patversemese siege years before, but the walls and streets of the green district still showed the damage caused by trebuchet and ballista fire, as well the scorch marks from barrages of burning oil. There were great fissures in the cobbles of the streets and cracks in many of the buildings yet standing. Even the snow could not mask the decay and ruin. It grew worse the farther east they went. In the poorer quarters beyond the Sea Gate, whole blocks were decimated. The palace had funded many rebuilding projects, but the gray, white and red districts composing the southeastern quadrant of the city had not yet seen much help. Juhrnus eyed the passing destruction, hoping that Reisil’s destination was among these ruins.