Retribution (Drakenfeld 2) (37 page)

I reached for the ring in my pocket and examined it under the light.

Until she spoke I didn’t notice that Leana was standing there watching me. ‘You are questioning its properties again, are you not?’

Her gaze was fixed on the ring and it felt like a good time to reveal the thoughts that had been haunting me. ‘Leana, in spite of forgetting to take the tisane I’ve not experienced a single seizure – not since this ring has been in my possession.’

Leana was indifferent to the notion, but she was definitely not dismissive of what I had said. ‘Your rate of healing is like nothing I have seen before. And I have seen you scarred and beaten up many times, but you take an age to get over it, and keep reminding me about it. Yet, spirits save us, you have healed in an unnatural way. This is obvious.’

‘But is it the ring, though?’ I said, holding it out. To me, it could have been a life-changer. Though I had grown used to them, to not have seizures would have been beyond relief. ‘Is it this
evum
?’

Her eyes glanced to the ring and back to mine. ‘You have not had a single seizure, so you say. Not even a small one?’

‘Not so much as a mental flicker. Not even a headache.’ The lack of suffering made me wonder if the gods had finally relinquished whatever hold they had over me. If this ring possessed properties, it seemed like a true gift from the gods. But I reminded myself that it was evidence in a case; it was not mine to own.

Leana nodded. ‘The longest I have known you go without one in your sleep is ten days or so. We may be early in our assumptions. You say you have stopped taking the apothecary’s herbs that we acquired in Tryum?’

‘I have some left, but I have not had time to make a tisane.’

‘I have told you to do so twice before I exercised.’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’

‘Is Nambu asleep still?’

‘I believe she is. I will wake her up for practice. This should be a good opportunity for training, as in the real world we do not always get to choose the time of a fight.’

Leana picked up another sword and headed into Nambu’s room.

A while later there was a disgruntled young voice, a strict, firm reply, and a half-hearted clash of swords.

‘Not good enough!’ Leana shouted.

I smiled slightly. Leana often said the same thing about me.

The Koton Games were to be held from mid-morning through to the late afternoon, once there had been ample opportunity for Sulma Tan to present her census summary to Queen Dokuz in the palace.

Since she realized that I was keen on speaking with the queen once again, Sulma Tan had asked if I would like to attend court in order to see her present her findings. Truth be told, now that the queen had left her daughter with us, I was surprised that our company had not been sought by her majesty more often. It felt like a good idea to remind her of the fact that she had asked me to help her, not to mention to give details of Nambu’s time with us, so I happily accepted the offer.

To some people, that early morning discussion might have come across as rather dull, but to me it was an opportunity to glimpse into the dynamics of Koton.

The announcements were to take place in what was laughingly referred to as the Kotonese Parliament. It was a beautifully ornate hall crafted from grey stone, marbled floors, with tall, narrow archways and large lead-framed windows, which let in a spectacular amount of morning light.

Wearing a shimmering blue gown, which appeared to change its hue as she moved, Queen Dokuz was seated on her immense throne. A modest silver crown was perched on her head, but today she seemed to suffer the weight of it. Her eunuch stood behind her chair with an air of amusement, if not complete indifference to the occasion. Around the two of them, garbed in green, blue and red robes, clerics, advisors and counsellors circled like hawks, until the queen dispersed the flock with a single outstretched arm. They soon took their positions seated on the floor around her, very much beneath her gaze.

Others were seated further away from the queen’s enclave of officials, but even this large group of a hundred or so people appeared to be anything but average. Rich silks, flamboyant hats, large gemstones – though no evum, I noted – were on display.

Sulma Tan was talking to an old man, whom she’d previously pointed out to me as the queen’s first secretary, Bren Dellears, a man who was hoping to retire very soon. He had reached the age of seventy-six summers, and desired to spend more time with his family. For a scholar he had a fine posture, and in his youth had taken to a routine of exercises to preserve himself – something he encouraged Sulma Tan to do herself. His departure meant that within the year Sulma Tan would become the first secretary. As part of her rite of passage, today she would announce the results of the five-year census to the queen and her court. She would then be questioned by anyone within the queen’s first circle on any of the details, and be expected to discuss the issues at length.

Sulma Tan stood only a few paces from the queen, ready to address only her.

The plan was that she would continue reading from pieces of parchment handed to her by Bren Dellears, moving through the themes of the nation – population facts, agriculture, industry, arts and so on. Before she began, however, the queen spotted me standing at the back of the hall and beckoned me forward.

I hastened through a gap between the seated guests and stood alongside Sulma Tan.

‘Before we go through the details,’ the queen announced, her voice resonating far down the hall, ‘I wish to know of your progress in solving the vile murders.’

‘We are getting closer with each new day,’ I said.

‘You do not seem yourself convinced,’ she replied.

‘I am, but it is a rather troubling and sophisticated case.’

‘That may be so. Everyone within this hall is frightened for their lives. How many more of our circle must die needlessly?’

‘As I say, my lady, we get closer with each day and I am confident that we will find whoever did this.’

She simply stared at me, and it was almost impossible to read her expression. It was a well-honed royal gaze, one that had been crafted to inspire fear and awe in the recipient. She then asked much more quietly, ‘Discreetly – how is the princess getting on?’

There and then I wanted to reply with a dozen other questions. Why was someone trying to kidnap her? What is it you fear? Why aren’t you telling me about Nambu? But here, in front of this audience, it was not the appropriate time.

‘She is getting on splendidly,’ I whispered. ‘We are teaching her the arts of self-defence and the investigative methods of the Sun Chamber. She has a fine inquisitive mind.’

‘Of course she has, being of the Sorghatan lineage.’

‘It goes without saying, majesty. But I wonder, could we perhaps have a moment in private – when it suits you – to speak about her. I have a few questions not fit for the ears of those outside of immediate family.’

‘You may. I will see to it you have the time.’ Her expression remained cold and unreadable. ‘You may now be seated.’

I gave a slight bow and took a few steps back, finding a spot on the floor from which to watch Sulma Tan’s presentation.

For the next hour, as the morning sun grew in intensity, and the bright light behind her gave her the appearance that she had been granted god-like powers, she spoke at length about the state of the country: from an estimate of the number of children who had died that year, to discussing a community of septuagenarians living on their own island; from the number of farms to the number of private clan castles. Ores that had been mined, building projects, major discoveries, population movements, it was one of the most comprehensive speeches I’d ever heard. Curiously she had mentioned the same discrepancies in population numbers that I had read about in the manuscript hall, though this time she had narrowed them down to younger age ranges. I wondered if this had anything to do with Lydia Marinus’ orphanage work – that she had taken young people out of the official system in some way.

I was fascinated to learn about the important tribal lineages, and how much of Kotonese society was ultimately built around a handful of large, powerful clans – the Yenui, Tahtar and the Rukrid. Many of these names mentioned I had overheard in the context of the Senate. No doubt some of these had been awarded ceremonial positions as a gesture of peace, to prevent the need for a coup. I suspected that those around me now had achieved their favour in the court because of their passivity over the years. It was no wonder everyone sat around like sycophants, delighting in the details, applauding as the tax revenues were announced, and making the appropriate noises when discussing the passing of certain well-respected members of society.

Scanning the crowd, I hoped to discern whether or not anyone appeared visibly worried about their safety. Perhaps someone might have shown nervousness or was peering over their shoulder to see if anyone might strike. But no, it was not to be.

The queen appeared neither pleased nor displeased. She merely absorbed what was revealed, and no one but she questioned Sulma Tan. Whether or not that was out of fear of interrupting the queen was anyone’s guess.

No matter what day it was, it could be guaranteed that somewhere in the Vispasian Royal Union there would be festivities taking place. Nearly always, either in a large city square or tucked away in a warren-like cave settlement, there would be various events held in honour of the gods, or in celebration of some profound moment in history.

Here on the outskirts of the city of Kuvash, there was a regular event held every thirty days in honour of Astran and Nastra, in which the finest archers, riders, sword fighters and wrestlers competed. Only now did I realize just how deeply held religious beliefs were in Koton. There were religious symbols carried on banners, depictions of the gods in horse and fish form to denote their presence on land and in the sea, and numerous priests intoned the words of their gods to the various groups who would pause to listen.

Surprisingly, the event was not held for the plentiful citizens of the city, but rather for those in the wealthier Sorghatan Prefecture. It didn’t stop huge crowds gathering along the sides of the roads, however, following the passage of the four dozen participants as if they were members of some victorious army. In Sun Chamber circles, such events were very well thought of – they were an outlet for the combative nature of people, quenching a thirst for war without any of the harsh realities of conflict. I suspected that financial aid was occasionally redirected via Sun Chamber assistance to ensure that games like this were a regular occurrence, in order that peace be maintained between nations, though I had not seen any evidence of the matter.

The combatants and the authorized spectators, all of whom were dressed in their fineries, with garlanded hair and bright dye on their faces, made their way along the road leading east from the city under the brilliant sunlight. The sharp hills shimmered in the distance and the river cut through the landscape undulating its way towards them. Grassland, grazed by thousands of animals, dominated the mile or two surrounding the city.

There was definitely an air of festivity among the gathered throng. Leana and I rode a little distance behind the queen who, to my surprise, did not opt for a carriage. She rode a resplendent black mare, without a saddle, and was dressed in relatively modest clothing for a royal – a sumptuously decorated leather breastplate fitted on top of a purple tunic. For this afternoon, Nambu would be required to ride alongside her mother, rather than be in the so-called safety of our company.

Our jubilant mass proceeded east at a leisurely pace.

The site of the games was in fact a series of large, well-kept circular green fields, bordered with tidy hedges as if these were manicured gardens rather than arenas in which people would fight. Little coloured flags marked boundaries, which became more defined as the crowds filed in. There was a central small stand constructed from stone, which could probably accommodate three or four hundred people. The blue banners of Koton, bound to several poles, snapped and rattled in the strong westerly breeze. Their colours were bold against the bright sky.

The stand paled in comparison to the massive Stadium of Lentus in Tryum, but it was a pleasant enough place for many to watch the proceedings. We were permitted into the royal enclave, while many of the others – people of good standing in the city – milled around the low hedgerows, taking their places in the small garden arenas to watch the events. We stood approximately twenty feet away from where the queen, Nambu, Sulma Tan, eunuchs, guards and various servants, looked down upon the afternoon’s unfolding events. Food was brought to many of the attendees on small silver plates. Soldiers chatted with insouciance as sword fighters began their battles, arrows thudded into targets, and wrestlers took their bizarre angular stances.

It was all very prim and proper. Polite ripples of applause filtered out across the fields as the participants began to assemble. The day only got warmer. A constant yet gentle hum of chatter echoed in the grounds. This was all very
civilized
. However, to me it was a waste of valuable time, which could be better spent on the investigation.