Sovereign's Gladiator (12 page)

“You will not go armed to the Shepherdess,” Xan said.

“I will shave with it,” said Devon, his palm out in attitude not to be refused.

The hair on Devon’s face was very fine and slow to grow. There were only wisps of it on his chin and along his jaw. It made him look a little bit wicked.

Xan gave him the sharp-edged blade. Devon carefully shaved off his fine whiskers. Without them, he looked like a young god.

Clean-faced again, Devon tossed the blade aside on the creek’s bank and rinsed off. His skin roughened all over from the cold.

Xan opened his cloak for Devon, rising out of the water, and enfolded him in it. Xan warmed him in his arms.

Xan murmured against his wet hair, “I thought you ran.”

“No,” Devon spoke into Xan’s chest.

Xan took Devon’s wide shoulders and held him at arm’s length, a naked beauty. Xan looked into his dark eyes, and told him, “You should run.”

“No,” Devon said with an almost smile. The dripping tips of his hair brushed his shoulders with the shaking of his head. “I came to see the Shepherdess.”

Devon turned to pick up his native clothes. He’d already shaken out the dust from them.

Xan walked at Devon’s side into the village.

Whispers bounced off all the stone walls, with covert pointing fingers at Devon.
He has the Beast’s mark
, said the whispers.

The voices did not sound of hatred. The sound was closer to pity. The villagers’ fear was for him, not of him.

The village smithy came out of his forge and offered to burn the mark off for Devon. The old man held a brand with a glowing end.

Devon thanked him for the thought and asked to be taken to the Shepherdess.

Runes were carved into the stone walls of the small house where the Shepherdess resided. The inside was warm with the presence of many men.

The Shepherdess sat ensconced in cushions on a low dais at the far wall. She wore shawls of a fine lamb’s wool and many necklaces and bracelets. Feathers and bright beads were braided into her iron-gray hair.

Xan was trying to put together the proper Kiriciki words to tell her who Devon was, but Devon was already hailing her in a language Xan didn’t know.

And to his utter shock, the Shepherdess answered him in the same unintelligible tongue. She motioned Devon, not Xan, to take a seat on the cushion before her.

Devon sat cross-legged on the cushion before the Shepherdess.

Xan and all the Kiriciki tribesmen in the chamber stared in blatant open-mouth gawks as the Sovereign and the Shepherdess conversed in a language almost none of them knew.

“How do you know these words, stranger?” the Shepherdess asked Devon.

“This is the language of our ancients,” Devon said.

“Ours too,” the old woman said.

“We have the same ancients,” Devon told the Shepherdess of the Kiriciki tribe. “We are kin. Your people and mine.”

“The Raenthe do not speak the tongue,” the Shepherdess said.

“Our holy men do,” Devon told her.

“Are you a holy man?” the Shepherdess asked.

“I am the owner of a red litter.”

One of the Shepherdess’ attendants, who apparently did know the ancient tongue, gave a start. He hissed a translation to his fellow tribesmen who picked up their bows and arrows and made warding signs.

The Shepherdess interpreted their flurry of hill speech for Devon. “They say you cannot die. They say they shot you in your red litter. You should be dead.”

“I can die as well as the next man,” Devon told her. “Not what I came here to do.”

“A child says you are painted.” The Shepherdess reached around her own back to indicate where Devon was tattooed. She was more limber than she looked. “Here.”

“I have a tattoo,” Devon acknowledged. “What does the child say about it?”

“He says you wear the mark of the Beast,” the Shepherdess said.

“I
am
the Beast,” said Devon. “I am your Sovereign.”

Sovereign
was a Raenthe word but everyone here understood that one.

A murderous shuffling stirred around him, a gripping of weapons, scowls of fear and anger, but no one was moving to make an actual strike against Devon—because he was
here
and the Shepherdess was talking with him. The Kiriciki were not going to kill him while she was listening to him.

“We have seen your power,” the Shepherdess told Devon, disapproving.

“Something has gone wrong out here. This is not my will. Terrible things have been done in my name,” Devon admitted. “There will be an answer for that,
ma hahn
. Know this—you have
not
seen my power.”

He asked for all her complaints. They were many and horrible. She told him of the men they called snatchers who came from the Harpy’s Rook and stole away men from all the desert tribes and took them off into the Belly of the Beast from where they never returned.

“Harpy’s Rook,” Devon echoed. “Would that be a fortress carved into the foot of a mountain in the east?”

“You know it is,” the Shepherdess said.

She told him she had seen the Raenthe overlords kill their own men. “The green ones kill their blue ones out in the desert and scatter our weapons upon the dead. Then more blue ones come out and burn our villages.”

Devon bowed his head, swallowing down bile. He struggled not to get sick.

“We assumed Raenthe knew this. You did this.”

I did this.

Devon lifted his pale face, his eyes flaring. “Raenthe knows
now
. Raenthe is angry.” Devon brought his breathing under control. “Tell me,
ma hahn
, who attacked me in the Witch’s Cleft?”

“
I
did that,” said the Shepherdess, sitting straight up, her shoulders set proud. “That was done on my command. Was I not just?”

“I understand it now,” Devon said. “But how did you know I was coming?”

“A messenger came to us. He warned me that the Beast was coming. Said he,
Kill the Beast inside the red litter and the Raenthe will withdraw from the wild lands.
”

Devon leaned forward over his crossed legs and touched the floor between them. “Where did this messenger come from?”

The Shepherdess’ papery eyelids closed. “I do not know. But he knew things. He foretold your coming.” She opened her eyes. “His name was Marcus.”

Chapter Seven

An alarm went up from outside. Xan moved to the window.

A man burst in to the Shepherdess’ house, made a quick reverence to the Shepherdess, and spoke hurriedly.

Xan translated the words for Devon. “He says soldiers are coming. The Beast’s henchmen are here.” And Xan added words of his own, “An armed column approaches. Yours.”

Devon looked to the Shepherdess, his face blank, stunned. His own soldiers were coming. He told the Shepherdess, horrified, “
Ma hahn.
They don’t know I’m here. They don’t know what they’re doing!”

The Kiriciki in the room picked up their clubs and spears, bows and arrows all around. Devon didn’t know their tongue, but it was a good bet they were saying, “Kill the Beast!”

Devon demanded, “Xan, are the soldiers wearing blue or green?”

“Blue,” Xan answered from the window.

Devon seized the Shepherdess’ hand. Her attendants gasped. They might have killed him right there, but apparently did not want to spray the Beast’s blood on the Shepherdess. Devon looked her in the eyes, his head lower than hers, beseeching, “Those are my men. I can stop them. They will listen to me. Let me go to them.”

“
Ma hahn!
” All her men were pleading, most likely begging to be allowed to slay him.

The Shepherdess’ withered lids closed and opened. Her free hand covered Devon’s hand. Her skin was cool and papery. She told her followers what must have been, “Believe him.” And then to Devon, she said in the high speech, “Go.”

Devon ran outside. Armed men spilled out after him, not pursuing him. On the Shepherdess’ command, they were ready to serve him. Devon said, “Xan, tell them I need a horse.”

Devon rode down the slope and galloped across the plain to meet the approaching column of Raenthe blue. Xan rode at Devon’s flank.

As the distance closed, faces came into focus. Devon leapt down from his horse in a cavalryman’s dismount. He motioned Xan to stay behind and Devon strode forward alone, his arms spread wide to meet the armed troop.

A husky woman’s voice sounded at a shout from the front line, “Halt in the name of the Sovereign!”

“In my own name, I shall not!”

Whites of many eyes flared in the front ranks. The burly young woman, Rodriga, swore up the dead. The front line put up their arms and saluted, fists to their chests, with audible thumps. Word went rumbling back through the ranks in an astonished wave.

The Sovereign was here.

Rodriga advanced out of the front line to meet Devon. Her eyes moved up and down, taking in his crude clothing. With an ironic twist to her mouth, Rodriga said, “
Ma dahn.
Governor Kani sent us here to avenge your death.”

Devon spoke loud enough for the back of the column to hear. “I am
not
dead. And
that
is not the enemy.” He motioned back at the village on the heights. “You will take orders from me now.”

The troops roared their acknowledgment, angry happiness in their voices.

Devon asked for a Raenthe tunic.

“We have nothing fit for a Sovereign,” Rodriga said, apologetic.

“A soldier’s uniform is good enough for anyone.”

Devon changed out of his desert garb into infantry blue right there. “I need a runner,” he told Rodriga. “Fastest you’ve got to take a message to Marcus.”

Behind him, Xan blurted out, thunderstruck, “
Marcus?
The traitor?”

Devon turned to look at Xan, his brows lifted as if to ask who was calling whom a traitor.

Rodriga gasped. “Marcus is a traitor?”

“No,” Devon told her. And again to Xan, “
No, he is not!
”

Xan pressed, “The Shepherdess just said—”

Devon shouted over him, “A man told the Kiriciki to hit my litter.
Marcus knows I don’t ride in the litter.
Marcus would have told the Kiriciki to look for a gold crown and a black horse. Marcus didn’t tell the Shepherdess anything.”

Xan vibrated in mortal insult. His voice rumbled in low indignation. “The Shepherdess did not lie.” Even surrounded by Raenthe and guilty of treason, with Xan’s moments on this world down to heartbeats, he kept his pride and loyalty to his people.

“No,” said Devon quietly. “The Shepherdess did not lie.”

Now Xan was confused. Only one or the other could be true. Either Marcus had told the Shepherdess to hit Devon or the Shepherdess lied.

“There
is
a traitor,” Devon said in a whisper for only Xan to hear. “
Besides
you!”

Xan started, “The Shepherdess said—”

Devon lifted his hand, a sharp signal to silence. Devon would not hear Marcus’ name spoken again as traitor. Devon said, “The Shepherdess
gave the name she was told
. That does not make it true. She did not lie. She was lied
to
.”

The whole world shifted. Stunned by this third possibility he had not seen, Xan asked, “Do you know who has done all this?”

“I believe we both do.”

“I believe you’re right,” Xan breathed.

Devon said, “But I need to be absolutely certain before I start killing people. Rodriga!”

Rodriga snapped to attention. “
Ma dahn!
”

“Wait here. Rest the men. Xan, with me.”

Devon collected his horse and set off back up to the village. Xan fell in behind him before he could even think about disobeying Devon’s orders. Devon’s vision was as keen as an eagle’s. Xan had underestimated him. Again.

Devon rushed back to the Shepherdess. She came out of her building to meet him so he did not need to challenge her attendants for an audience.

Devon gave her a quick bow. He asked, “
Ma hahn.
The man who gave you the name of Marcus—did he bear a mark here?” Devon indicated the back of his own left hand. “And was the mark in the form of a disk with a serpent within?”

“Aye, to the first.” The Shepherdess touched the back of her own left hand. “And aye to the second.” She made a circle with her fingers. She closed her eyes. “He wore green.”

Devon’s lips drew back from his white teeth in wolfish wrath, fury in his eyes. He could not even talk.

Xan gazed at Devon strangely, almost in a trance. Devon had cut through the blinding smoke and veils.

Devon caught Xan’s stare and demanded, impatient, “
What?
”

Xan shook his head, not knowing what to say.

A sudden belief in angels is all.

If Xan was to die for his treachery, at least he could die knowing that he had brought the avenger of his people here. He only regretted that he hadn’t recognized Devon for what he was from the first. Xan regretted the wasted hate and resentment.

He couldn’t even tell Devon,
I adore you
.

Xan would serve the Sovereign now for as long as Xan lived, however short a time that might be.

Devon turned to the Shepherdess. “Evil things have been done with my power. I feel a hundred daggers in my gut. I know feeling bad brings no one back to life.
I will set this right.
”

And he asked if she had any fighting men who would join his troop.

Devon descended to the Raenthe column, this time with a contingent of armed mountain tribesmen behind him.

Rodriga hissed, “
Ma dahn!
Those savages attacked us!”

“They did,” said Devon. “Because of a lie.” And he shouted to all his soldiers, “Other than in the Witch’s Cleft, have any of you ever been attacked by barbarians?”

“At the citadel!” several said, hotly, as if wondering how the Sovereign could have forgot that so soon.

“You
saw
them?” Devon asked.

“Yes!” said several.

“Alive?” Devon asked.

The soldiers looked to one another. Come to think of it, no. Not one of them had actually fought or killed a rebel. But someone must have done. They heard a lot of fighting.