Queen of Springtime (21 page)

Then anger, unfocused and wild, directed at the universe in general rather than at any specific target, welled up in him and swept the fear away. In a loud voice he called to his aide in the hall, “Get me my brother Eluthayn.”

The young guardsman came in wearing a cheerful, jaunty expression, but it faded the moment he saw the look on his older brother’s face.

Coldly Curabayn Bangkea said, “You moron, is it true you tried to rape the chieftain’s daughter?”

“Rape? What are you talking about, man?”

“She was just in here, talking about your
interfering
with her. Making
overtures
to her. She was furious with me, you simpering little bastard. I tried to calm her, and perhaps I did. But maybe not. By the time she’s done with this, she might bring me down as well as you. What in the name of Nakhaba did you try to do, anyway? Grab her rump? Stroke her breasts?”

“I made an innocent little suggestion, brother. Well, not so innocent, perhaps, but playful. There she was, just about naked, the way she goes around all the time, you know, getting ready to go upstairs to that boy who came from the hjjks, and I said something to the effect that I wouldn’t mind being shut up in a room with her myself for a little while. That was all.”

“That was all?”

“I swear to you by our mother. Just a little come-on, you understand, nothing serious—though I’d have become serious in a moment, let me tell you, if she’d gone for the bait. You never can tell, with these highborns. But instead she went crazy. She began to rant and scream. She spat at me, Curabayn.”

“Spat?”

“In my face, right here. A good healthy wad of it it was, too, that left me feeling filthy for hours. You’d think I’d offended her to the depths of her soul, the way she was raging. To spit at me like I was an animal, or worse than an animal, brother! Who does she think she is?”

“She’s the daughter of the chieftain, in fact. And of the chronicler,” said Curabayn Bangkea heavily.

“I don’t care whose daughter she is. She’s just a spread-legged slut like all the rest of them, brother.”

“Careful. It’s risky to slander the highborn, Eluthayn.”

“What slander? Is she such a model of virtue? She and that boy in Mueri House, they couple like rutting xlendis. The two of them go at it for hours at a time, brother!”

Curabayn Bangkea rose from his seat, grunting in surprise. “What’s that? What are you saying?”

“Only the truth. That day she spat at me, I went upstairs and listened at the door, to see if she had any right being so high and mighty. And I could hear them thumping around. On the floor, they were, like animals. I’m sure of it. And there was no mistaking the sounds they were making. I’ve heard it since, other times. You think Hresh would be amused, knowing she’s coupling with
him?
Or the chieftain, if she knew?”

His brother’s words went through Curabayn Bangkea like a spear. The situation was transformed completely by this. Coupling with Kundalimon, was she? Was that what those cozy little visits were all about? He and Eluthayn were safe, then. Why shouldn’t the captain of the guards, or even his stupid younger brother, also be able to offer himself for a little coupling to the highborn Nialli Apuilana, if she was willing to roll on the floor with something out of the hjjk Nest, who could speak only in clicks and clatters?

He said severely, “Are you absolutely certain of this?”

“On our mother’s soul, I am.”

“All right. All right. This is going to be very helpful, what you’ve just told me.” Curabayn Bangkea dropped back into his chair and sat utterly still for a moment, letting the tension of the morning ease away from him. At length he said, “You understand I’ll have to transfer you to guard duty somewhere else, to pacify her. You don’t care a spider’s ass about that, naturally. And if you happen to see her in the streets, for Yissou’s sake be humble and full of respect. Bow to her, make holy signs to her, get down and kiss her toes, if necessary. No, not that. Don’t kiss her anywhere. But show respect. You’ve mortally offended her, and she has power over us that has to be taken into account.” Curabayn Bangkea grinned. “But I think I have some power over her now, too. Thanks to you, you lecherous idiot.”

“Will you explain yourself, brother?”

“No. Just get yourself out of here. And be careful hereafter when you’re around highborn women. Remember who and what you are.”

“She had no call spitting in my face, brother,” Eluthayn said sullenly.

“I know that. But she’s highborn, and she thinks differently about such things.” He waved his hands in his brother’s face. “Go, now, Eluthayn. Go.”

The landscape changed again and again as Thu-Kimnibol continued northward toward the City of Yissou. Now the caravan moved through broad plains open to the sea-breezes out of the west, and the air was moist and salty and blue-green beards of scalemoss shrouded every bush; and now the route traversed wide flat silent arid valleys walled off from the sea by stark bare mountain ridges, and the skulls of unknown beasts lay bleaching on the sandy ground; and now the travelers passed into forested highlands, where jagged leafless trees with pale spiral trunks clung to tortuous outcroppings of black earth, and strange howlings and whistlings came floating down from the even higher country that lay to the east.

He was struck by a deep awareness of the hugeness of the world, of the greatness and heaviness of the immense globe across whose face he was moving.

It seemed to him that every hand’s-breadth of it that he covered was entering into him, becoming part of him: that he was engulfing it, devouring it, incorporating it within himself for all time to come. And it made him all the more eager to go onward, on and on and on across the face of it. He knew himself to be different in this way from those of the People who were old enough to have been born in the tribal cocoon, who still harbored some urge, he suspected, to crawl back into a small, warm safe place and close the hatch behind them. Not him. Not him. More deeply, perhaps than ever before, he understood his brother Hresh’s hunger to know, to discover, to experience.

Thu-Kimnibol had been through here once before: when he was eighteen, going southward then, in his flight from Yissou to the City of Dawinno. But he remembered very few details of that earlier journey. He had ridden all the way with his head down and his eyes veiled by anger and bitter sorrow, driving his xlendi at full gallop. That grim and fretful ride survived in his memory now, two decades and some years later, only as a hard encapsulated knot, still capable of giving pain when prodded, like the memory of some terrible loss, or of a mortal illness successfully weathered at great inner cost. He touched it no more often than he had to.

They were past the halfway point now, in territory subject to Salaman. Mostly his mood was dark these days. The turning point had come at that Great World ruin, summoning memories of Naarinta as it did, and bleak thoughts of the remote past. Now the bygone days of his own life had begun to press heavily on him: lost opportunities, false paths taken, the beloved mate snatched away.

He did what he could to conceal his state of mind. But as the caravan was descending from the hills into a fertile plain cut by a host of swift streams and rivers Simthala Honginda said abruptly, “Is it the thought of seeing Salaman again that troubles you so much, prince?”

Thu-Kimnibol looked up, startled. Was he that transparent?

“Why do you say that?”

“You and he were bitter enemies once. Everyone knows that.”

“We were never friends, I suppose. And for a time things were bad between us. But that was long ago.”

“You still hate him, I think.”

“I’ve scarcely given him a thought in fifteen years. Salaman’s ancient history to me.”

“Yes. Yes, of course he must be.” Then, delicately: “But the closer we get to Yissou, the deeper you drift into gloom.”

“Gloom?” Thu-Kimnibol forced a laugh. “You think I’ve turned gloomy, Simthala Honginda?”

“A blind man could see it.”

“Well, if I am, it has nothing to do with Salaman. I’ve suffered a great loss lately. Or have you forgotten?”

Simthala Honginda seemed abashed. “Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me, prince. The lady Naarinta, may the gods give her rest!” He made the sign of Mueri the consoler.

Thu-Kimnibol said, after a time, “It’ll be strange, I suppose, seeing Salaman again after so long. But there’ll be no problems. However angry we may have been at each other once, what does it matter now? What matters is the hjjks. And we think alike on that subject, Salaman and I. From the beginning we were destined to fight side by side against them, and soon we will. The alliance that we’ll form is the thing that counts. Why would he want to dig up grievances decades old? Why would I?”

He turned again to the window, and let the conversation lapse into silence. After a time he reached out and signaled to Esperasagiot to halt the caravan. The xlendis would want watering here; and it was a good place to stop for the evening meal, besides.

The land before them was green and rich. A maze of streams, reflecting the late afternoon light, gleamed like channels of molten silver. Good productive country, this. With a little drainage work it could probably support a city the size of Dawinno. Thu-Kimnibol wondered why Salaman hadn’t yet occupied this district and put it under cultivation. It wasn’t that far south of Yissou.

How like Salaman it was, he thought in contempt, to let this rich land lie fallow. To turn inward this way, pulling back from expansion and holing up behind his preposterous wall.

Simthala Honginda’s right, he told himself. You do still hate him, don’t you?

No. No,
hate
was too strong a term. But despite all he had said to Simthala Honginda he suspected that the old resentments still were simmering somewhere within him.

The conventional notion in Dawinno was that he had tried to challenge Salaman somehow for the throne of Yissou. But that notion was wrong. Thu-Kimnibol had realized very early that he would never rule the city his father had founded in his father’s place. He had been much too young, when Harruel had died in the battle with the hjjks, to take the kingship for himself. Salaman had been the only possible candidate then. And once he had tasted such power, it wasn’t likely that out of the goodness of his heart he’d relinquish it when Thu-Kimnibol came of age. Everyone understood that. Thu-Kimnibol was willing from the start to recognize Salaman as king. All he wanted in return was a little respect, as was due him as the son of the city’s first king: the proper precedence, a decent dwelling, a high seat by Salaman’s side at the feasts of state.

Which Salaman had given him, for a time. Until the king in his middle years began to change, until he started to grow fretful and unquiet of soul, a new dark Salaman, harsh and suspicious.

It was then, only then, that Salaman had decided Thu-Kimnibol was scheming against him. Thu-Kimnibol had offered him no cause for thinking that. Perhaps some enemy of his had whispered fabrications in the king’s ear. Whatever the reason, things quickly had begun going sour. Thu-Kimnibol hadn’t minded Salaman’s favoring his son Chham at his expense: that was only to be expected. But then the second son was placed above him at the royal table, and the third; and when Thu-Kimnibol asked to have one of the king’s daughters as his mate he was refused; and after that came other slights. He was a king’s son. He deserved better of Salaman. The last straw had been a minor point of precedence, so minor that Thu-Kimnibol could no longer remember what it was. They fell to shouting over it; Thu-Kimnibol threatened the king with his fist; he came close to striking him. He knew he was finished, then, in the city of Yissou. That night he left, and he had never been back.

To Simthala Honginda he said, “Look there, Dumanka’s been hunting up something for our dinner.”

The quartermaster had left his wagon. Down below, on the bank of a stream just south of the route, he had speared some animal and was casting for a second one.

Thu-Kimnibol was glad of the distraction. His conversation with Simthala Honginda had been an oppressive one, stirring up difficult old days, and impaling him in contradictions. He saw now that although he could put aside his quarrel with Salaman, forgiving and forgetting were harder, however he pretended otherwise.

Cupping his hand to his mouth, he called out, “What are you after there, Dumanka?”

“Caviandis, prince!” The quartermaster, a brawny, irreverent man of Koshmar ancestry who wore a battered and dented Beng-style helmet slung casually across his shoulders, had killed a second one, now. Proudly he held the pair of purple-and-yellow bodies up, one in each hand. They dangled limply, plump little arms lolling, trickles of crimson blood dripping through their sleek fur. “Fresh meat, for a change!”

At Thu-Kimnibol’s side Pelithhrouk, a young highborn officer who was a protégé of Simthala Honginda, said, “Is it right for us to kill them, do you think, prince?”

“Why not? They’re only animals. Meat, that’s all they are.”

“We were only animals once,” Pelithhrouk said.

Thu-Kimnibol rounded on him in amazement. “What are you saying? That we’re no better than caviandis?”

“Not at all,” said Pelithhrouk. “I mean that caviandis may be more than we think they are.”

“This is bold talk,” said Simthala Honginda uneasily. “I don’t much like it.”

“Have you ever looked at a caviandi closely?” Pelithhrouk said, with a kind of desperate rash insistence. “I have. Their eyes have light in them. Their hands are as human as ours. I think if we touched the mind of one with second sight, we’d be surprised how much intelligence we’d find there.”

Simthala Honginda snorted. “I’m with Thu-Kimnibol. They’re only animals.”

But Pelithhrouk was in too deep to retreat. “
Intelligent
animals, though! Waiting only for a touch, to be brought up to the next level, is what I think. Instead of hunting and eating them, we ought to be treating them with respect—teaching them to speak, maybe even to read and write if they’re capable of it.”

“Your mind is gone,” said Simthala Honginda. “This is some madness you must have caught from Hresh.” Turning to Thu-Kimnibol and looking up at him in dismay, as though such wild talk from one to whom he had been a mentor was a keen embarrassment to him, which probably it was, he said, “Until this morning I thought this young man was one of our finest officers. But now I see—”