He lay again and stared into the dark. “Why me?” he whispered at the ceiling. But it, like Kei himself, had no helpful answer to give him.
~~~~~~~~
Arman usually prided himself on presenting a reasonably calm facade to the world regardless of his true feelings, but this morning he was in a mood so foul he really didn’t give a damn who knew about it. Kei had not returned the night before, but the captain had, and had informed him with a suspiciously large amount of satisfaction that one of the Darshianese soldiers, not Kei, would be keeping watch over him that evening. The oaf had managed to bang Arman’s cot three times before he settled down, causing Arman rather a lot of pain though he had disdained to complain to the man about it. And then the bastard had spent the entire night snoring like a pen full of farting urs beasts, which meant on those numerous occasions when Arman woke from the cold, the bad dreams or the raw ache in his side, he had to listen to this disgusting sound and not actually kill the person producing it. He was tired, sore and most decidedly not in a mood to be snapped at by anyone today, even Kei.
That didn’t stop him snapping at the healer himself when he finally turned up some time after dawn. “Had a pleasant evening, did we?” he said with heavy sarcasm as Kei climbed into the wagon with fresh bandages in his hand, looking clean, groomed and collected.
Kei only glanced at him as he pulled the blankets back and pushed Arman’s shirt up. “I don’t know if you did, but I didn’t, particularly,” he said in a quiet voice, untying the old bandages and poking at Arman’s side.
Arman pushed his hand away. “Stop that, it damn well hurts. Anyway, you said I could get up when we arrived in this godsforsaken village, so why am I still lying here?”
“Perhaps, my lord, because I was more worried about your pace of healing than some theoretical deadline.” Kei put the clean bandage on, scowling at the injury. “You can get up tonight, possibly. If you’re in this much pain, perhaps I shouldn’t let you.” He picked up the old bandages. “I’ll fetch the pijn.”
“I don’t want it,” Arman said, feeling perverse today.
“Very well—since I wasn’t able to supplement our supply, if you want to be a stubborn fool, that suits me fine.”
He turned to go but Arman, belatedly realising there was something badly wrong here, grabbed the end of his overshirt. “Wait...what happened?”
Kei turned and looked down at him. “My people object to my caring for you. They call you the Butcher of Ai-Darbin. Does that make you proud, general?”
“Does it make you think less of me, their disapproval? I thought you were stronger than that. I thought you had these amazing ethics that would not alter no matter what any man thought.”
“Did you, my lord?” Kei murmured, reaching down and extracting his shirt from Arman’s grip. “Perhaps I don’t find them so admirable after all. If you change your mind about the pijn, let me know when we stop. I’ll be riding outside today. I find the wagon unpleasant.”
Arman stared after him in shock. Was that just a response to his own sour temper, or had someone managed to convince Kei that treating him really was the wrong thing to do? Arman wouldn’t have believed Kei would change his mind on that score even under torture—but he’d been removed from the clan which was the heart and soul of every Darshianese, the centre of their existence and the rock on which it was based, for a very long time. Perhaps he
would
change his ethical stance, if it meant he would gain acceptance by his own people again.
Arman hadn’t expected this at all. He’d believed Kei to be the most morally solid, high-minded person he had ever met, with the possible exception of Karus. But yet again, the gods proved they liked to mock their subjects by cutting away the surety of the lives, and Kei was more evidence that Arman had lost the favour of the gods forever. The only consolation was that knowing they would choose such a tool, confirmed their favour held no value for Arman whatsoever.
~~~~~~~~
Kei only spoke to him twice more that day, both times only to ask if he wanted the painkillers. Arman’s food was brought by one of the soldiers who also helped him piss, much to his mortification. When they stopped for the evening, he realised he needed to do more than piss, and sent the message. That brought Kei and four soldiers to the wagon. “This is a perfect chance for you to test your fitness,” Kei said coldly. “Bring his cot outside.”
Once more he and his bed were lifted bodily from the wagon. As he was removed, he saw two other men go in—perhaps to effect some rearrangements while he was gone, though no one explained.
“Right, general, we’ve arranged a latrine for the men with broken legs over there. Let’s see if you can manage that.” Arman wanted to snap at Kei he’d rather be called ‘you bastard’ than ‘general’ in that tone of voice, but he wasn’t in a position of strength here, so he just gritted his teeth and let himself be carefully raised to his feet.
Oh.
Gods
. That really, really, urs pissing
hurt
. “I can’t,” he panted, humiliated at his weakness.
“Just wait a moment, see if it improves.”
Careful, healer, that sounded almost like concern
. Kei let him stand there for a minute or so—the pain did ease a little, so he nodded. “All right. I need a shit. Let’s do this.”
It wasn’t far, but it could have been ten miles away for the effort it cost him. They had made a little privacy with a screen, and there was a pole to sit on for those like him who could not crouch. It took him an agonisingly long time to produce anything, but no one urged him to hurry. With relief he finished, and even managed to clean himself, before calling for help. Kei ordered the soldiers to help him up. He thought he’d be taken back to the wagon, but instead, he was brought to the fireside, placed on a stool high enough to let him sit without bending, and then Kei washed his face and hands for him. He and Kei were the only people at this fire—the Darshianese soldiers were eating around campfires a hundred yards away near the wagons, and beyond them, what he assumed were his own men.
“We’re going to see if we can rig a bath tent,” Kei explained as he cleaned Arman with surprising consideration—surprising, at least, after the way he’d behaved that day. “But that will have to wait until we get some things from Ai-Vinri. If they’ll let us have them,” he added bitterly.
Arman caught his wrist. “Tell me what happened. Look, I apologise for my rudeness this morning. I was out of sorts.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he said, his voice flat and apparently holding no sarcasm at all. “I told you—my people have a problem with providing comfort to one such as you who had murdered one of their own. I can hardly argue the injustice of that, nor do I have anything to argue with, general. You killed, you took prisoners, you and your kind have wrought misery on this land for twenty years.”
“You knew all that yesterday, but you weren’t so cold to me. What’s changed your mind? Don’t tell me a few bigoted idiots had such an effect on you. I know you. We’ve spent months living closer than I do with my wife. I know your
heart,
man.”
Kei stepped away from him. “Do you, my lord? How astonishingly perceptive of you.”
“Kei—please don’t do this to us. I thought we had reached some kind of truce. You know my reasons for what I have done, what I refuse to do.”
Kei looked at him with cold eyes. “Yes, I do, general. In four weeks or less, I’ll be out of your life for good. So don’t trouble yourself any longer about my opinion. You’ll have much more important people to convince of your good intentions when you get to Darshek.”
“Your opinion matters less than your well-being,” Arman said angrily. “Damn it, I’m worried about you—these mood changes are so unlike you.”
“Yes, once they were, but no longer. Your men have asked permission to see you, so I’ll have them come over with your meal. If you feel distressed or in too much pain, then tell them to tell me. You’ll be taken back to the wagon in half an hour or so. I don’t want you to overdo it.”
“What difference does it make?” Arman snapped. “You wish I was dead anyway.”
“No...I don’t,” Kei said, eyes lowered. “I simply wish I’d never met you.” He turned on his heel and walked away.
For the sake of his men, Arman forced himself to appear hale and in good spirits. They were touchingly pleased to see him out of the wagon, and since it was the first time they’d had to question him about their future, he found it difficult to eat and talk at the same time. He decided talking was more important, although he had little comfort to offer. He could offer them no answers, no theories about how long before they were to return to Kuprij, if at all, and all he could tell them was that he felt they would not be harmed by the Darshianese. He asked if any of them had any complaints—other than one or two of them not much caring for the food, all said they’d been well treated.
He found it agonising to continue sitting upright, but he couldn’t just cut these men off—he represented some kind of security, the only voice they had with the authorities. Only when Kei came back and peremptorily ordered them all to return to their wagons, and the Darshianese soldiers had assisted them back there, could he put his hand over his side and let forth some oaths Karus would never have heard, even from his tuktuk.
“If you won’t take some responsibility for your own health, I refuse to have any conscience if you fall ill again,” Kei said crossly. “And you’ve not eaten—this is more important now than even sleep.”
“My men are more important than either,” he snapped, gasping at the pain pounding through him.
“If you won’t take the pijn, then at least try to stop tensing up,” Kei snapped back.
“If you were less changeable than a pregnant woman, then I might not have so many things to be tense about!” Arman shouted. “Gods, I’d prefer no physicking at all to this concern, hate, concern, hate—when are you going to grow up?”
Kei narrowed his eyes. “When the Prij let me have the peace and quiet to do so, I suspect. Tiko?” The captain came strolling over, picking his teeth. “Our guest needs to be returned to the wagon. Apparently I make him sick. Do endeavour to make him feel better served than I seem to be able to.”
“As you wish, Kei. Right, let’s get you up.” Tiko called for three of his men. Kei wandered off into the darkness, apparently unconcerned with Arman’s fate any longer.
Arman endured the transfer back into the wagon. “What in all hells did those bastards in Rutej do to Kei?” he demanded of the captain the instant he was inside.
“Not a thing, general. In fact he was treated with a lot more kindness than I imagine he received at your hands. Kei’s just realising that being friendly with you is not going to do him a lot of good in the future, and I’m damn glad he is, for his sake.” Tiko leaned down, right into Arman’s face. “I don’t know what you did to him, you bastard, but I swear to you, if I ever have proof you harmed him as I suspect you did, you won’t live long enough to reach Darshek. I’ve a son his age, and no one that young should look so old or so burdened. You took his life away from him, and I’ll damn well see you pay for that.”
“I did nothing to him. I’ve only ever wanted to help him,” Arman said, aware of how ridiculous that sounded, but wanting to say it anyway.
“If that’s true, which I truly doubt, help him by leaving him alone. He doesn’t need you, general, or any of the Prij. He needs to go home and be healed. I don’t know what your relationship was, but you keep your hands off him, and your thoughts off him, and don’t make any more demands of him. Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite,” Arman said stiffly. He thought about asking for the painkiller, but wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction. “There is one more thing,” he said as the captain turned to leave. “I understand you want some equipment from the people at Vinri to help my men feel more comfortable. I don’t want them to suffer unduly because of what happened to the Vinri hostages—and there’s an injustice there which needs righting. Will you arrange for me to speak to their clan head?”
“I’ll consider the request. Right now, I’m not inclined to grant it—I think you’d do more harm than good.”
“Then ask Kei to speak to him,” Arman said urgently. “He can give witness.”
“I’m not going to ask Kei for anything from you that doesn’t directly concern your physical wellbeing, general. Now lie down and shut up, or I’ll have you gagged. I’m sick of the sound of your damn voice.”
The man left and pulled the covers down again, leaving Arman in chilly, musty darkness, and in confusion. What had happened that had changed Kei so quickly? This wasn’t just the disapproval of his people. Arman wasn’t in the strongest position to find out. Still—that wouldn’t stop him, if it took him the next four weeks to discover it.
Considering Kei spent the next four days assiduously ignoring him, and refusing to answer all questions Arman put to him, Arman was nothing less than astonished when, as he was taking his nightly period of freedom, Kei actually agreed to support Arman’s request to meet with the clan head of Vinri village. Tiko obviously wasn’t pleased as Kei spoke to him, but finally he stalked over to Arman, Kei behind him. “If I agree to this, you will have to deal with the consequences, general. If you whip up more hostility so we can’t even get food supplies, it will be your men on short rations.”