A novel by Meredith Skye
The sun was up before Risser bothered to rouse himself out of bed. His head hurt a little from drinking the night before, but it wasn't too bad--compared to sometimes.
Risser threw off his blankets and forced himself into the cold morning air. Winter hadn't fully come yet; despite the chill, Risser decided it wasn't too cold for a bath. He'd picked this spot for the nearby pond because the one thing he hated about camping was the lack of opportunities for a good bath. He pulled the cloak around his shoulders, got some clean clothes, and headed up the hill for the pond.
He felt no need to rush this morning and so walked at a leisurely pace, needing the time to think now that he was sober again. Without Jesh, there was no point in going to Talleighdoran except to admit his failure. He cursed himself lightly for letting Jesh go. He'd heard him packing up last night and sneaking out of the camp, but he hadn't stopped him.
At least Jesh would live. Risser's conscience felt relieved at the thought, and he felt almost cheerful this morning.
At the pond, Risser stripped and plunged in, shivering. Involuntarily, he cried out at the cold and hurried to wash off with a small bar of soap. He could only stand a few minutes before climbing out of the water.
As he dried off and dressed, he tried to imagine the excuse he might give the Bishop and the other lords. He was drunk, and the boy slipped away from him. What could he do? They would be angry, but his honor would be safe. He could ask for their help in hunting Jesh down. But then, he worried, they might succeed. But--not if he took his time getting there. He was wounded--he couldn't travel fast. They would see that.
Vigorously, he toweled off his hair and then combed it. Where would Jesh go, though, and how would he fare? Not very well, he thought, with a twinge of guilt. He may even die, but at least it won't be at my hand, Risser thought. Jesh had a fighting chance, anyway.
On the way back to his tent, Risser heard a rustling sound behind some bushes. He froze. Had the assassin tracked him? Carefully, he set down his armload of stuff, glad he had dressed back at the pond. Stupid to have left his sword and gun back in the tent, but at least he had a knife. He drew that and moved forward cautiously.
For a moment, Risser felt a slight sense of panic at being alone. Even though he was doing much better, he was still wounded, and he doubted he could carry all the supplies, especially if he suffered any more wounds. He'd have to abandon most of his things and travel light. He regretted the loss of Jesh; letting him go had been rash.
The man behind the bushes took no notice of his approach and did not attempt to stay quiet. Perhaps Risser could take him easily without any further harm to himself.
Risser sprang on the unsuspecting man and got his knife on his throat, ready to slit it if need be. The man dropped an armload of wood and struggled against Risser wildly.
"Help!" the man shouted. Instantly, Risser recognized the voice--it was Jesh.
"Oh, it's you," said Risser and let him go. Jesh whirled to face him while stumbling back a few paces. "What are you doing?" Risser demanded, annoyed as well as a little confused.
Jesh stared at him. "Getting firewood."
The wood lay scattered on the ground, attesting to the truth of it, but Risser was sure Jesh had left last night—or had he only imagined it? Had the boy come back? He cursed under his breath. "Are you deaf? I said I was going to kill you!" Yet here was Jesh, going about his chores as though nothing had happened.
"I heard you," said Jesh. He knelt down and began picking up the scattered wood.
"I thought you'd run off," said Risser.
Jesh looked up at him, not denying it. "Where would I go?"
"Anywhere!" Risser wished him desperately.
"I'd be a runaway--what honor is there in that? Then, the Council of Lords would never listen to me. I'd be nothing but a fugitive. I wouldn't be able to keep my promise to Lord Demminsantlan. I wouldn't be able to do anything."
The Council of Lords. Didn't this boy ever give up? Did he have no sense at all? "You'd be alive," Risser pointed out.
"I gave up everything I had to come back here. You were all the hope I had. I chose...poorly." At this, Jesh looked him in the eye, and Risser felt his stomach tighten. He had tricked Jesh into swearing fealty to him for his own purposes. It had been deceitful, and Jesh knew it. "I suppose I'll have to pay the price for that mistake," said Jesh.
Risser quieted his conscience. Jesh knew Risser despised him, yet he took this chance. It was Jesh's fault for being a fool. "You'd come with me to Talleighdoran knowing that I plan to kill you?" Risser scoffed, somewhat incredulous.
Jesh thought a moment, then nodded. "At least I could die with honor."
Honor. At this, Risser felt a renewal of guilt. Jesh was right; running away would leave him no future. Risser's own servant valued honor more than he did, and it shamed him.
Jesh rose with his armload of wood. "Shall I start a fire?" asked Jesh, attempting cheerfulness.
Damn him. Why did he have to be so trusting? So honorable? Secretly, it comforted Risser that Jesh had stayed because Risser knew he needed help, but that reliance on someone he planned to betray annoyed him all the more. To accept Jesh's help now felt despicable, but Risser had few choices. "No, strike the camp. We'll move out at once."
* * * * *
Jesh found the day was tiring. The hike wasn't too bad, but Risser's silence wore on Jesh. Risser met every attempted conversation with coldness and hardly said two words to him all day.
For lunch, they ate bread and cheese again because Risser didn't want to spend time cooking. He also still insisted on carrying a bag--as though to prove that he could get by without Jesh.
The young lord refused to let Jesh check his wound. "I'm fine. I'll check it myself."
Desperately, Jesh wanted to speak to Risser and reason with him and kept looking for an opportunity to make his case. Perhaps Risser knew this because he kept apart from Jesh and ignored him. Perhaps familiarity with the victim made the act too difficult. Finally, Jesh stopped trying to start a conversation and just did his job as efficiently as possible. It gave him something to do. He tried not to think about their destination--Talleighdoran.
As they walked, Jesh wondered what he would do if Risser couldn't be swayed. Would Jesh really let the young lord kill him? By the law, Risser was within his rights. Jesh was thrall to him, and Risser had judged him to have broken his oath with the House of Hasson. This was something there was no appeal on, the matter of trust between a sworn lord and his servant. Honor required that Jesh submit to such a judgment. It was the law.
The fact that Risser had deceived Jesh into making the oath and actually meant him harm might redeem some of Jesh's honor—If he broke his oath now and left.
Involuntarily, Jesh touched the wristband that was his link to Grayan and the Prenth.
If Risser killed Jesh, there was no telling what the Prenth might do. Grayan hovering over them, waiting for a call for help from Jesh, made him nervous. Jesh was still a citizen of Prent. They could use that as an excuse to take action against Kinthaldith somehow. Or it might prove their point that Kinthaldith was barbaric and needed their leadership. Jesh had no desire to give Grayan an excuse to invade Kinthaldith.
The day was cooler, and Jesh feared it would soon turn cold again. Finally, they camped on a little ridge overlooking the valley for the night.
Risser insisted on putting up his own tent and bedroll, so Jesh let him. Instead, he busied himself cooking dinner. When the food was ready, he called Risser, who came and ate it without a word. Jesh nearly objected when Lord Risser left half of it uneaten but said nothing.
Then, Risser searched through his pack, found an open bottle of wine, and climbed up some rocks overlooking the valley, a short distance from camp.
Jesh sat alone at the fire and ate his dinner.
"Jesh," called Risser, a bit drunk. "Bring me another bottle of wine and a cup."
Jesh got up and found another bottle of wine from Risser's pack. He disapproved of Risser's drinking, but it wasn't up to Jesh. He found a cup and the wine and took them both up to Risser.
Risser just glared at him. "Well, pour it."
Jesh opened the bottle, filled the cup with wine, and held both out for the demanding prince. Risser took only the bottle. "That's for you," Risser said, with a small gesture for Jesh to sit.
Surprised, Jesh sat down. He only stared at the glass, unsure whether he wanted to drink it.
Risser took a long drink from the bottle. He looked over at Jesh and laughed a little, then looked away. "You know, I almost let that wolf kill you. I watched it attack you and then waited. I thought it might be a more fitting death." He stopped speaking and stared out at the horizon.
Jesh thought back to the scars that still hadn't healed and took a gulp of the wine; he felt he would need it. "What changed your mind?" asked Jesh.
Risser looked over at Jesh again and grinned. "I knew Lady Tireth would be angry. After all, she had granted you a stay of execution. And you had no oath to me."
Jesh nodded. "I see. And now you can kill me with impunity?"
"Yes." Risser took another long drink from his bottle. He laughed, then became suddenly serious. "I have thought it over, you know. It is best that you die." He turned and looked Jesh in earnest. "Your presence here complicates everything." He looked away. "I won't be blamed for bringing the Prenth to Kinthaldith."
"Kill me," said Jesh, "and you may do just that."
Risser looked at him sharply.
"I am still a citizen of Prent. Though technically I'm subject to Kinthaldan law while here, the Prenth may disregard that and make an issue of it if I'm killed."
"And do what?"
"There's a great deal of public sentiment in my favor on Prent. They could use my death as an excuse to invade Kinthaldith on a 'temporary' basis. But once here, they'd find ways to prolong their stay and strengthen their position until territorial rule was granted. They might lie and cheat if they had to."
At this, Risser took another long drink.
"So, you mustn't kill me," Jesh pleaded. "For your own sakes."
"I have no choice," said Risser. "I gave my solemn word of honor to Bishop Raithenevor that I'd deliver you to him by solstice." Risser looked Jesh in the eye with a mixture of determination and annoyance. "Ever since my father began dealing with the Prenth, the House of Hasson has been shunned as Heretics. Our reputation is ruined. I've done what I can to repair it, and now I have a chance to obtain a Pardon from the Order."
"And that's worth my life?" asked Jesh.
Risser looked up at him. "Yes."
Jesh felt suddenly cold.
"Most of the southern Houses belong to the Order. Now Terrisheld is waging war on Grunnvelt, and I think they could win. After that, they'll attack us. We're old enemies. But as long as I harbor you, the Hasson will be Heretic, and we'll get no help from the other Houses. I need this alliance."
"There must be another way," said Jesh. He went to drink and realized his cup was empty. Risser saw it and poured him another glass from the bottle.
"You're cursed, Jesh," said Risser, and he laughed. "Everyone believes it. You've been tainted by the Stranger's magic. Did you know that farmers blame you when their crops go bad? And when their cows get sick? Merchants blame you for poor trading, and lords blame you for love affairs that have gone wrong. They blame you and my father. Lord Demmin the Lunatic. Lord Demmin the Heretic."
Jesh stared at him and took another drink.
"The gods are angry, you see," said Risser, looking over at Jesh again with a half-smile.
Old legends forbade the Lords of Kinthaldith from contacting Strangers. There were curses involved, but Jesh didn't know them since he was only a servant.
"So, you'll sacrifice me to the gods, and then they'll be appeased?" asked Jesh.
"Yes," said Risser. Both of them took a drink. They sat there in silence for a moment, looking out over the moonlit valley.
"You don't really believe that rubbish, do you?" asked Jesh.
"Of course I do," said Risser. "I'm no Heretic!" But Jesh wondered if it wasn't more that he didn't want his friends to consider him a Heretic. Maybe there were other reasons.
Finally, Risser looked over at Jesh. "Funny, I always wanted someone to swear fealty to me. Did you know you're the only one to do it?"
"No," admitted Jesh.
Risser laughed. "No one else is stupid enough. Only you. The others are all holding back to see whether Lady Tireth will name me or not. It's crazy," said Risser, "but I almost know how my father felt about you. You're so...so damn trustworthy. No wonder he confided in you. Even in that, you're better than I am. You're better than I am at everything... except sword fighting. Everyone knows it, too. Lady Tireth, Lujen, Lord Eshlar. My own father didn't think I was fit to run the Hasson either," Risser said bitterly. "Even he preferred you to me."
"That's not true," said Jesh.
"Isn't it?" Risser looked thoughtful awhile. "To tell the truth, I was glad he was gone--at first. I thought it served him right for leaving me and going off to an alien planet. My crazy father--chasing after some Sky Dream." He took another drink. "Did you know that I begged him to take me to Prent with him?" Risser asked, now earnest.
Jesh stared at him, trying to imagine it. He had no idea. He thought Risser despised the Prenth. Risser laughed at Jesh's expression.
"Yes, I wanted to see the wonders of Prent. I wanted to see their magic, but my father wouldn't take me. He took you instead--and now he's dead." He glared at Jesh as though it was his fault. "I was his son. It should have been me on that spaceship. I should have been by his side when he died. It should have been me in college on Prent. I'm a Lord of Kinthaldith."
So, all these years, Risser had been jealous of Jesh. He never imagined it. He finished the wine in his cup thoughtfully. "But, if you had gone with him instead of me, then you would be the Infidel."
Risser glared at Jesh without answering, got up, and headed toward his tent with the half-finished bottle in hand.
Watching him go, Jesh stood up. "Lord Risser," he called, again using the familiar. He realized his error, but he was drunk--they both were.
Risser turned around and looked at him.
"Your father wasn't a lunatic. He wasn't wrong."
For a long moment, Risser stared at Jesh, then he turned and went into the tent, taking the wine bottle with him.
* * * * *
In the morning, Risser woke Jesh. "Up," he said. Jesh climbed out of his bedroll. Risser already had a fire going, and Jesh hurried out there to get warm.
"Here's breakfast," said Risser; he handed Jesh a bowl of mush. Surprised to see the Heir up so early, Jesh accepted the bowl from him. With all that Risser had drunk the night before, he expected him to sleep till noon, not be up with the sun. The mush tasted quite good, much better than when Jesh cooked it.
Risser sat sipping a cup of tea. "A change of plans," he said. "We're going to Farhoven."
Jesh looked up at him, hopeful. "Instead of Talleighdoran?"
Risser hesitated and met his eyes. "I don't know. I have an assassin to track down, and we still need to find out about those guns. Once we've done that, I'll see."
Jesh nodded, suspecting that the prince had never intended to investigate the guns at all--it was all an excuse to get Jesh away from the Hasson. Jesh said nothing of this to Risser but felt a glimmer of hope.
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