Prince of the Blood (38 page)

The man who entered was fairly nondescript, save that he looked a black-skinned version of the trueblood, even darker than General Beruck. His dress was identical—white kilt, sandals, and shaved head—but his skin shone like ebony in the sun. Most of his followers were equally dark, though a few could pass as trueblood to Erland’s inexperienced eye.

Erland looked at James, who answered,
He’s an unknown player, Erland. He seems openly loyal. His peoples were the first to be conquered by their neighbors, so they are among the oldest lines in the nation, second only to the trueblood. Aber Bukar, Lord of Armies is the true commander, but this man has a lot of influence with the army
.

Locklear nodded, as if musing to himself, but spoke to the others:
If Beruck and Butar were allied …?

James’s reply was abrupt:
Not likely. Our intelligence says if anything there’s a great deal of strain between the Inner Legion and the Dog Soldiers
.

So, if the Dog Soldiers were occupied …?
mused Erland.

Say up on the border of the Kingdom
, finished James,
Beruck and his Inner Legion would have even more powerful a voice in matters down here on the shores of the Overn Deep
.

Perhaps even enough to outweigh the Imperial Charioteers
, added Locklear.

Kafi said, “Perhaps we should begin moving downward, Prince Erland. That way we shall not have any risk of a breach of courtesy.”

Erland said, “Please. Lead on.”

A group of guards fell in around Erland and his companions, and the Prince was momentarily startled. He did not notice them approaching in the crowd. They made no cry nor did they need to. People on the ramp behind the boxes seemed to sense their approach instinctively and give way. James observed, “At this social strata, people seem to be alert to the possible approach of someone of greater rank.”

Kafi gave a shrug with a gesture of his hands down and outward, and said
“Ma’lish, ”
which Erland knew was Beni—Kafi’s native language—for, “I’m sorry,” but actually meant, “Disasters happen.” It was what the Beni-speaking people called kismet or fate, the will of the gods.

The name Lord Ravi intruded upon Erland’s awareness and he glanced back to see another colorful group of men entering. Each man in front had a shaved head, save for a scalplock down the center, combed high and kept erect by a pomade of wax. A fall of horsehair, dyed to match the wearer’s natural color and tied by a leather thong woven into the scalplock, descended down the back to the buttocks. The men wore only loincloths covered by long flaps of leather, worked with beads and gems in ornate design, and their bodies were oiled to a gloss. Their skin was sunburned, but seemed lighter than most Keshians’, with a reddish cast. Most of the men were dark haired. Then behind came younger men, who wore their hair long, tied behind in imitation of the horsehair fall, but with ringlets loose at the ears. These wore brightly colored leather armor, with wide flaring at the top, giving them an exaggerated breadth of shoulders. They also wore only loincloths, rather than trousers. All wore soft leather boots tied at midcalf.

Erland stopped his party a moment. “Kafi, who are they?”

Kafi could barely conceal his contempt. “Ashuntai horsemen, my Prince. Those in front are the great chiefs, and those behind are their noble kinsmen. Lord Ravi is Master of the Brothers of the Horse. They are an order of cavalry who are descended from the finest warriors the nation of Ashunta could field. They are among the most difficult people—” Kafi realized he almost let an opinion slip and said, “They were conquered with great difficulty, lord, and still hold strongly to their own national identity. It is only because they have been allowed to rise highly in the court they remain loyal to the Empire.”

And because their city-state is on the wrong side of the Girdle of Kesh
, added James, with a humorous feeling to his thoughts.
General Aber Bukar had to threaten their city to get them to put cavalry in the field against the rebellious Confederacy, according to our reports
.

As the group resumed their travel to the bottom of the amphitheater, Erland said, “I don’t see any women. Is there a reason for that?”

Kafi said, “The Ashuntai are a strange people. Their women”—he glanced at Gamina, as if not wishing to give offense—“their women are considered property. They are bartered and bought and sold. The Ashuntai do not count them human.” If Kafi found this distasteful, he hid it well.

Erland couldn’t resist the opportunity. “Isn’t it true that your own people give women little freedom?”

Kafi’s dark skin colored as the blood rose in his cheek. “It does appear so, Highness, as we have been taught by our forefathers. But we are also a people who have learned from our neighbors, and we no longer trade our daughters for camels. And even then our women had rights that were protected by our laws.” He glanced over his shoulder to the box where Lord Ravi’s company sat.

“But those sell their female children, and if a woman
troubles a man, he is free to do with her as he wishes, including killing her. They are taught to despise warm feelings, and that to love a woman is to be weak. Desire and lust they count necessary for breeding sons, but love is …” Kafi shrugged. “Among my own people we have a saying, ‘Even the most highborn man is but a servant in his own bedchamber.’ Many of our best rulers took counsel in the arms of their wives, to the benefit of their nation.

“But those—” Kafi glanced down. “Forgive me. I do not mean to lecture.”

“No,” said Gamina. “By all means. I find this fascinating.” To the others, she said,
He has a personal dislike for the Ashuntai that goes beyond any objection to their social customs. He hates them
.

Kafi said, “A long time ago, when I was a boy, my father served She Who Is Kesh, honors upon her line, before me. Here, I came to know one who was Lord Ravi’s son. We were boys in the palace, that is all we knew. Ravi’s son, Ranavi, was a fine boy and we used to ride together. It is an open question who are the best horsemen in the Empire, the Ashuntai or we of the Jal-Pur. They are almost without doubt the finest light cavalry in the world, but we number the best scouts and endurance riders in the Empire. We would often race our horses on the grasslands beyond the city gate, his Ashuntai pony, my desert horse. We became friends after a fashion.

“There was a girl. An Ashuntai girl who I came to know.” Keeping his face a mask, Kafi said, “I attempted to barter for her, in their fashion, but Ravi made her a prize for one of their festivals. She was won by one of their warriors and he took her to his home. It was this warrior’s third or fourth wife, I believe.” He waved his hand, as if this were a long ago, nearly forgotten incident. “They bind their women with collars of leather and lead them
on chains in public. They do not let them wear clothing, save a loincloth, even in cold weather. The fact of their being without clothing is of little importance to the trueblood, but the Empress, blessings upon her, as her mother before, finds their treatment of their women personally distasteful. Lord Ravi and the others have enough political acumen not to bring down the Empress’s disapproval, so their women are never brought to the palace. It has not always been so. The Empress’s grandfather, it is said, had a decided preference for very young Ashuntai girls. It is said that it is for the Ashuntai’s willingness to provide him with as many as he required for his … amusement, that the Brotherhood of the Horse was allowed to rise so high in the court of the Empire. It is only the fact they are not trueblood that keeps them second to the Order of Imperial Charioteers in importance in the Gallery of Lords and Masters.”

“Upon such things are the strengths of nations founded,” Locky remarked dryly.

“It is so,” replied Kafi.

They reached the bottom of the long ramp and a line of guards stood upon either side, keeping the crowds away from the staging area for those who would enter and be presented to the court. Erland’s guards were waiting for him below, wearing the full dress uniform of the Kingdom, and the badge of the Royal Krondorian Palace Guard upon their chest. Erland noted with some amusement that the Quegan delegate stood behind his men, fuming at the Kingdom of the Isles being given precedence over his own nation.

Erland returned his attention to Kafi’s story. “Ranavi sought to steal the girl for me, as a gift. It is also part of their culture that if you can successfully steal a woman from a rival—carrying her away to your own home—you may keep her. Ranavi was not quite seventeen years of age
when he attempted to steal his own sister from the man who had won her at the festival. He died in the attempt.”

Without a note of bitterness or emotion as he spoke, Kafi said, “This, you can see, is why I have some difficulty appreciating the better qualities of the Ashuntai.” Softly, he added, “Whatever they may be.”

Gamina looked at the desert man with sympathy, but said nothing.

They had been standing in place for ten minutes, waiting to move up to the entrance to the amphitheater. No one had spoken since Kafi had related the story of his friend. Locklear decided it was a good time to change the subject. “My lord Kafi, where are the delegates from the Free Cities?”

“Absent, my lord,” answered Kafi. “They would not send anyone to the Jubilee. Those people who once were Imperial Bosania still have no official dealings with the Empire.”

“Old grudges die hard,” said James.

Erland said, “I don’t understand. Queg and the Empire have had three wars in my lifetime, and there have been several border skirmishes between the Isles and Kesh. Why is it different with the Free Cities?”

As they moved into place in the procession, Kafi said, “Those who live in what you call the Free Cities were once our loyal subjects. When the first revolt of the Confederacy occurred, ages past, Kesh stripped all her garrisons north of the Jal-Pur, leaving those colonists to fend for themselves. Queg, on the other hand, had successfully revolted a decade before. Queg is a successful revolutionary nation. Your own Kingdom were always foreign, but the Free Cities are a people who were betrayed by their own rulers. They were farmers and tavern keepers, left to defend themselves.”

Erland thought about this as they moved forward a few steps in anticipation of being announced. He glanced at
the upper gallery, and saw it was quickly filling up as the last of the Lords and Masters were entering. What had been Bosania—part of which was now the Kingdom’s own duchy of Crydee, conquered by Erland’s own great, great grandfather—was a terribly harsh land, inhabited by goblins, trolls, and the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. Without soldiers, it must have been years of constant struggle just to survive. Erland could understand why those of the Free Cities could still hold a grudge against the Empire.

Then he heard his name announced and Kafi said, “Highness, it is time.”

As one, the entire company set off, only Gamina not walking in military lockstep, as they trod the flat stone floor of the amphitheater. It took a full five minutes to cross the vast base of the bowl, but at last, under the scorching sun of Kesh, the Prince of the Isles was formally presented to the Empress of Great Kesh. And not until this moment did Erland really understand what had been true since Borric’s disappearance. He, not his brother, now stood before the mightiest ruler in the world, and he someday might find her successor his deadliest enemy, for he, not Borric, would someday be King of the Isles. And not since he had been a little boy held in his mother’s arms had Erland felt so frightened.

The presentation went by in a blur. Erland hardly recalled being introduced to the formal court, and could hardly remember speaking the words he had been forced to memorize. As no one remarked or laughed, he assumed he said them properly, and he couldn’t remember what the delegations behind him had said. He now sat at the lowest level of the amphitheater, on the bench of stone set aside for the delegates who came to offer wishes of
health and prosperity to the Empress on her Seventy-fifth Jubilee. Trying to focus himself, despite his unexpected attack of fear, he said, “Kafi, why has the festival been held off this long past Banapis?”

Kafi said, “Unlike your people, we of Kesh do not count the Festival of Midsummer as the date of our birth. Here, each man who knows it, celebrates the event of his birth on the day he was born. So, as She Who Is Kesh was given to the world by the gods on the fifteenth day of Dzanin, so her birth is celebrated upon that day. It will be the last day of Jubilee.”

Erland said, “How odd. To celebrate your birthday on the actual day you were born. Why there must be dozens of little celebrations each day. I would feel cheated if I were to miss the great festival at Banapis.”

“Different customs,” Locklear remarked.

A servant, wearing the garb of the trueblood, appeared before the Prince and bowed low. He held out a scroll, sealed with a golden ribbon. Kafi, acting as the official guide and protocol officer, took the scroll. He glanced at the wax seal and said, “I suspect this is personal.”