The Prince of Shadow (49 page)

“You will have to ask him.”

Llesho gasped with the shock of that answer, pierced through with a terrible chill. “Is that what Habiba plans? To hand me over to his enemies after expending so much effort to keep me out of Markko's hands?”

“No, boy.” Master Den softened his tone. “No one here will hand you over to anyone willingly. But the emperor may have some purpose in seeing you publicly declared, or he may wish to see you quietly, in secret. That choice Habiba can give him. If it comes to more than that, rest easy. I would put my own life between you and a danger such as Master Markko, no less than Master Jaks has done.”

Llesho didn't feel reassured by that speech. He didn't want the responsibility of Master Den's life any more than he wanted to risk his own life on Habiba's good intentions.

Master Den hadn't finished with Llesho's question, though. “As for the rest, how does an evil man turn something precious and good to his own twisted use? I don't know. Only Master Markko himself, or someone as evil as he, can answer your questions. So you must decide, either to forgo this understanding, or to confront Master Markko when the time comes, and ask him.

“I do know that you are good, that you are the beloved of the goddess, and that you have felt her touch on all your long journey.” He put up a hand to stop Llesho when he would have interrupted.

“The goddess can be a terrible mistress to one she loves. The hearts of those who rule above see into the past and the future as no man can. They see more deeply into the hearts and souls of their creatures. And their reasons—we who are only human cannot fathom their reasons. We can only trust that, harsh as their judgment may seem, their love is true, and their purpose just.”

“You mean, it will all turn out in the end? That's not enough. Too many people have died for a vague hope that our struggle has meaning, somewhere. If the goddess truly loves me, why doesn't she tell me what I am supposed to do?”

“Perhaps she has.” Den sighed again. “It will have to be enough. The Way of the Goddess is seldom simple, least so in times such as these.” He turned without another word and walked away, but his step was heavier than it had been.

Llesho followed. He thought perhaps he had hurt his old mentor, but he couldn't figure out how, or what he had done. They went first to the hospital tent, where Bixei was up and about, offering attentive care to Stipes one minute, and fretting the healers to distraction the next. When Master Den appeared, the healers were of one mind: “Take him!”

“I can't leave!” Bixei objected. “What if Stipes needs me while we are gone?”

“Go!” Stipes raised a foot and gave Bixei a not-so-gentle push on the behind. “The worst that can happen is that I bump into a post, and you have a duty.”

Bixei lingered anxiously for a minute, then joined Llesho and Master Den with an embarrassed flush creeping over his cheeks. “I didn't mean to fuss,” he confessed.

“I know.” Den smiled at him. “Where are your companions?”

“Lling and Hmishi went off to find out where Kaydu had set up our camp. We were going to bring Stipes back there to recover.”

“Stipes will have to recover among the healers for a little while longer,” Master Den informed him. “But for the moment you have a reprieve. Wait until your companions return, and fetch them to the laundry wagon. Tell them we are going calling.”

Bixei looked to Llesho for an explanation. Llesho said nothing, just made a sour face at the teacher and pointed west. “The wagons are that way.”

So Master Den wasn't the only one being difficult. Bixei sank to the canvas floor beside Stipes' pallet and added Master Den to his list of things to worry about. Llesho was already on it.

“And now to dress you.” Master Den drew Llesho away to the laundry wagon, piled on one side with trunks of cloths for repairing tents and for bandages, and on the other with chests Llesho had noticed only in passing. Master Den fussed with the chests until the four companions joined them. Bixei had found Kaydu in her human form, and had brought her along as well.

From one of the chests, Master Den drew Thebin breeches and embroidered shirts and caps.

“Where did you get this?” Lling squealed with delight as she put on the proper uniform of a past age, when the people of the high plateau had been ruthless warriors, before the goddess had come down from heaven to favor the Thebin kings. Hmishi was just as pleased with his uniform, but showed it only with a quick duck of his head to hide his smile. None of them expected an answer. Kaydu wore the uniform of her father's army. Bixei considered his companions thoughtfully, and then asked, “Do you have a uniform like Master Jaks'? I know I can never be as good as he was, but he should be represented, don't you think?”

Master Den smiled. “Yes, he should. And it would not surprise me if someday the student surpasses the teacher.” With that he brought out leathers and the beaten brass wrist guards, the match of those Master Jaks used to wear. When he added a cloak, Llesho experienced a little shiver of recognition. In his features Bixei looked more like Master Markko than he did the dead weaponsmaster. In the dress of the mercenary assassin, however, he took on the watchful carriage of the guards who had died for him when he was a child and he would have snatched the cloak away as a bad omen. But Master Den looked at Bixei with pride, and Llesho knew he had to do the same. This was the truth of Bixei, as the embroidered shirts had become the truth of Lling and Hmishi. These three existed to protect him. He could only serve them by making their sacrifices worthwhile.

 

 

While Llesho was admiring his companions, Master Den had unearthed a chest covered in leather and bound with brass. From the silk-lined interior he drew a shirt and breeches like his Thebin guards wore, but of a finer fabric. Llesho stripped off the trainee's uniform he had been given in the governor's compound at Farshore; he felt as though he were shedding a false skin with it, reclaiming Thebin with the fine woolen shirt and breeches. Next Master Den pulled out a pair of soft boots encrusted at heel and toe with gold filigree that gleamed with a polished sheen in the sunlight, and a sleeveless Thebin coat embroidered in gold-and-crimson thread crossed with blue silk. Llesho pulled on the boots and slipped his arms through the slashed openings at each side of the coat, settling the shoulders with a familiar shrug.

“Now you look like a fine young prince of the High Mountains,” Den assured him with a pleased look. The last item, a heavy leather belt, he wrapped around Llesho's waist with a satisfied nod. They were far from Thebin, however, and Llesho could think of no way that Master Den would have acquired the court dress of a prince of just Llesho's size on Pearl Island.

“Where did you get these?”

Master Den shook his head. “All in good time.” He led them back through the line of tents, Lling at the left side of the prince and Hmishi at his right, with Kaydu and Bixei following behind.

Soldiers who had paid them no notice when they had passed on their way back to the launderer's wagon now stopped their mending or their gossip as they passed. Llesho tilted his chin up, refusing to show the nerves that were twisting his gut. A suit of clothes might convince the soldiers of the line, but alone it was not likely to impress the emperor's representative. He'd have to act like a prince as well.

Llesho didn't remember much from the part of his life he'd lived in his father's court. He did know, however, that before state appearances, the Master of Protocol had always taken him aside and explained what was expected of him. And his brothers, whichever of them was home at the time, would watch him to make certain he did not shame himself or the court. Yet here he was heading into the most important appearance of his young life—based on this meeting, he might gain the help of the emperor for his cause, or find himself clapped in chains and sold again in the marketplace—and there was no protocol officer in sight.

“What is it, boy?”

Llesho took a deep breath and let it go in a long, expressive sigh. Was his terror so obvious that his teacher could read it in his face without a word spoken? He didn't know what Master Den could do, but Llesho took the question as an invitation to unburden himself of some of his fears. “I don't know what to do.” He did not add, “I don't know why you are doing this, or what Habiba—or her ladyship—hopes to gain by espousing the cause of a long deposed prince.”

Master Den clapped him on the shoulder with a snort of laughter. “You forget, Llesho, I've seen you when you feel threatened. You are more haughty at those times than the emperor himself. Even dressed in rags you carry yourself like a prince. So be the prince you are. Beyond that, speak as little as you can; let them wonder. You can manage that, can't you?”

“I. Yes.” Head up. Meet the challenge with a level gaze that judged everything and apologized for nothing. And trust no one.

It was Den's turn to sigh now. He dropped a heavy hand on Llesho's shoulder. “Your father would be proud of you.”

“Thank you, Master.” Llesho bowed his head, hiding the shine of tears in his eyes. His father was gone, and he didn't know how Master Den could have known him, or how the teacher could choose the one compliment that could bow him low with his grief while at the same time instilling a greater determination to do justice to his father and the line of Thebin kings. For Thebin, Llesho knew, he could do much.

They had reached the command tent; Habiba's guards came to attention when they announced Llesho and his party. Habiba waited for them inside the tent. The maps had been stowed, the dishes of food taken away. A simple wooden box now sat alone on the table.

“Prince Llesho. I have something that belongs to you. Her ladyship bid me return it to you, should the opportunity present itself.” Habiba stroked the wood of the box on the camp table. The witch had never called Llesho by his title before, and he did so now with no hint of a smile.

Once you bought me fresh from the arena, a shop-worn prince for small change in that marketplace,
Llesho thought, but did not say aloud. He did, however, returned the solemn bow.

Habiba opened the box. From it he drew a silver coronet, which he offered to the prince between outstretched palms.

“Where did you get that?” Llesho asked, surprised at how much it hurt to look at the slender circle of precious metal. Not quite a crown, nevertheless it signaled to any who saw it that the wearer was of royal blood. He'd worn one like it on his small head during the most solemn court occasions before the Harn had come. It was too big to have been his own as that child; it must have belonged to one of his brothers.

“Her ladyship obtained it from a Harn trader,” Habiba answered. “I did not ask her why, or question her decision to return it to one who had the right to wear it.”

She had always known, from that first day in the weapons room at Pearl Island. She had suspected even earlier, though Llesho didn't know how long he had lain in bondage while the governor of Farshore and his lady knew him for a wronged prince. He could not decide whether he was grateful that they hadn't murdered him as a gift to the conquerors, or angry because they had left him to suffer under Markko's hand for so long.

“If I may?” Habiba lifted the coronet over his head, and Llesho bowed his acceptance. Habiba lowered his hands and set the coronet on Llesho's head. The weight of it settled over Llesho like a benediction, and he felt his fate shift beneath his feet. The sensation struck with such force that it made him dizzy, and he might have fallen had Lling not reached out a hand to steady him.

“Are you all right, my prince?” she asked.

He nodded, and realized that Master Den had the right of it. He
was
a prince, and Llesho had only to be himself to prove it. He found himself whispering a prayer to the goddess, that she might find him worthy in her eyes.

“To horse, Your Highness?” Habiba urged them all. “Ambassador Huang awaits.”

“It's time,” Llesho agreed. He had much to fear from the coming meeting, but none of it would be what he expected. Whatever happened, however, he would greet it with the dignity of a prince.

PART FOUR

SHAN