The Initiate Brother Duology (67 page)

Komawara sank lower as the man picked his way up the slope toward him. Behind the walker came others, their size amplified by the fog. Knowing that a man could look directly at him in this fog and see nothing, Komawara held himself utterly still. His mare shifted, he could almost feel her quiver. Do not move, he willed her, make no sound. Concentrating on stillness, he found himself controlling his breathing, forcing his muscles to relax.

The barbarians turned to Komawara’s right and made their way across the slope, led by the man on foot who searched out the path between the trees and rock. Sixteen armed men and they did not have the look of the hunted.

Is it possible they do not know we pursue them? And then he felt reality waver for an instant. Cold awareness. No, there were no wounded, no riderless mounts. It was impossible that they could have escaped a meeting with Komawara’s guard unscathed, of that he was certain.

The last man of the party disappeared into the fog less than a stone’s throw away and Komawara let out a long held breath. Barbarians in the Jai Lung Hills! Bandits suddenly seemed an insignificant threat—a mere annoyance.
Barbarians
in the Jai Lung Hills!

The lord waited, listening as the creak of leather and the clatter of hooves faded. Looking around at the shadowless light he wondered how long it would be until darkness fell. He thought often of his companions, twenty of his guard and half as many local men, wandering somewhere in the mist.
They were well enough armed, as one would expect of men of Seh, but they were not fully armored.

Komawara had made a careful assessment of the men who had passed into the fog—they traveled light—little armor in evidence and only short bows and swords. They would carry skinning knives also, they always did. Weapons well chosen for fighting in the hills. He wished Shuyun was with him for there was no telling what his powers of observation might have added.

Komawara took up the reins and coaxed his mount to her feet. He began to follow. The footing in the melting snow was treacherous to leather soles, but the young lord chose to walk all the same. The mare would carry him, she had heart enough for that, but he preferred to give her a chance to recover—and walking allowed him to examine at first hand the barbarians’ tracks in what appeared to be fading light.

The occasional distorted echo of horses passing came out of the fog and Komawara soon found the trail led out onto a narrow road that wound its way around the shoulder of the hill. Although this seemed vaguely familiar to him, Komawara was still not sure where he was.

Here and there hoofprints remained clear in the snow and a closer examination stopped Komawara abruptly. He’d watched the barbarians pass and not even marked that they rode
horses,
and fine ones, too. They rode horses like men of Seh—like bandits or barbarian chieftains! The horse was not adapted to life in the steppe and desert and was replaced there by the barbarian’s hardy pony.

“Barbarians,” Komawara whispered. And here he was, an advisor to the Imperial Governor, separated from his companions and lost in the hills. That would be a prize for a barbarian chieftain! If they had any idea that a man with intimate knowledge of the governor’s plans wandered the hills alone, they would be searching the very clouds for him even now.

The Komawara who advised a governor knew that he acted rashly, but the young lord who was born and raised to the ways of the north could not ignore a threat to his province. It was opportunities like this that men of Seh prayed for—poems were made of such exploits, songs sung in the Governor’s Palace and in the court of the Emperor.

The sound of falling water echoed out of the mist, how near, it was impossible to know. The barbarians’ trail suddenly broke out of the trees and ran onto a wider path between the tall pines and cedars, their shapes barely suggested in the fog.

Walking in the clouds, Komawara thought, and then he found himself stepping onto a wooden bridge over a narrow stream. A small pool formed upstream and feeding that a twisting ribbon of white, falling water appeared like mist that had acquired density and weight.

A breeze stirred his horse’s mane and began to move the surrounding fog in chaotic patterns. Out of the mist a granite wall formed above him and the smell of horses seemed to mingle with the odors of rotting vegetation and the indescribable smell of snow-melt.

The young lord brought his mount up sharp before her hooves drummed on the wooden planks. Would they make camp by the water? He backed her up five paces and dropped the reins to the ground. The faint breeze pushed holes in the mist—holes that opened like pupils for mere seconds and then swirled closed. It was like looking through a blowing curtain: a glimpse of something, then gone.

Komawara moved back to the bridge, straining to hear above the sound of falling water. The tracks of the barbarians became confused here and Komawara realized they had stopped to water horses at the pool. He crossed the bridge as silently as he could and discovered the trail leading on: there was no place to make camp.

Komawara followed the barbarians’ lead and watered his mount, drinking himself and filling his water skin. It was growing noticeably darker now and despite the breeze moving through the mist, visibility would soon be left to one’s imagination alone. There would no longer be a trail to follow. Komawara realized he would have to close the gap with his quarry or lose them in the darkness.

I have to give up this hope that my companions will overtake me, he told himself, it slows me and fosters indecision. He pressed on, leading his mount at a faster pace. The bow went back to the saddle and he kept his right hand free for his sword; at the pace he traveled now he would be upon someone in this mist before realizing it.

The young lord found himself wishing Brother Shuyun was with him, as he had been at Denji Gorge and in the desert. The Botahist monk did not seem to need his sight in the darkness and Komawara was sure this cloud would offer no greater challenge than the desert night. As well as possessing uncanny hearing, Komawara suspected that Shuyun could sense other living beings, could feel their presence. He senses chi, the young lord thought, whatever that might mean.

Despite his imminent danger Komawara found his focus slipping. He found himself wondering about the Lady Nishima and her cousin, Lady Kitsura Omawara. Since their arrival in Seh he had spoken with them only once, but he was left with a strong impression. Compared to the ladies of the capital, even the most sought after women of Seh seemed like the unaccomplished daughters of peasant farmers. Komawara feared that, having seen women of true culture and great beauty, he would have little hope of a happy life with the match he would likely make.

Another clump of falling snow brought him back to matters at hand. He could no longer see the barbarian tracks. Darkness had become complete. Bending close to the ground and feeling lightly with his hand, he discovered that the trail had not merely been hidden by darkness—it was gone.

An owl hooted somewhere in the mist. A dark-wing rattled its bill. They must have left the trail not far behind, he thought. By Botahara! the young lord found himself almost whispering, what if I have passed close to them in the mist? He whirled around and half drew his sword without intending to, convinced that barbarian warriors stalked him. Calming his heart with an effort, Komawara listened for what he feared most: the small sounds of armored men attempting to move in silence.

Waiting without the tiniest movement until his muscles ached, Komawara decided finally that the barbarians remained unaware of him. He began to retrace his steps, counting them consciously. Five paces, then stop; listen. He searched the ground as best he could, his hands beginning to ache from the cold of the wet snow and meltwater. Five paces more.

The tracks reappeared. Komawara could feel the depressions made by many hooves in the soft mud. Following them carefully, he found a path branching off down the slope into the black curling mist.

He searched about in the darkness until his hand encountered a sapling to which he tethered his horse, hoping she would not spook when he left her. As a precaution he took his saddlebags from her back and set them out of reach of her hooves, praying that he would be able to find them again. Opening one bag he found some bread that was not yet soaked and ate, crouched in the darkness and light rain. The barbarians would be forced to make a camp nearby, he thought, they are as blind as I in this darkness and fog.

He listened. The sounds of the Jai Lung Hills surrounded him: creaking trees, meltwater running into streams. An owl called again and the lord
wondered if it truly was an owl. But nothing seemed amiss; there were no sounds that rang untrue to this place nor was there an unnatural silence. The tribesmen are part of their world, even here, he thought.

Finishing his bread Komawara set off to follow the track, now crouching, now on all fours—fighting an absurd fear that he would come upon a sleeping man in the darkness, discovering too late that he had blundered into the barbarian encampment. But this was not to be. The sounds of voices came to him and then, unmistakably, the smell of smoke.

Komawara stopped again. What would he do now? If the fog lifted in the morning, he could go looking for his guard, but the barbarians might well disappear while he searched. The lord was not confident that they could track the tribesmen, especially if they did not wish to be followed. Bandits, he thought, and snorted. Bandits indeed.

He moved toward the voices. I will watch them for now, he told himself, and make decisions when I know what they will do at sunrise.

The barbarians made their camp in an opening amidst the pines, a rock outcropping on one side giving protection from prevailing winds. Even before he could see the light, he could hear the hissing of wet wood as it steamed and smoked on the fire. Komawara felt his hunger waken as the smell of cooking came to him. They poach the Emperor’s deer, he found himself thinking, and almost smiled at his reaction.

Hiding himself behind fractured rocks, the lord lowered himself to the wet ground, prepared for a long vigil but not sitting in a manner that would prevent him from rising quickly. He could see the barbarian encampment now. There were two fires burning, and men cooked at each. Crude shelters had been made of what appeared to be the roofs of the tents the wandering tribesmen called homes. Komawara knew this material—tough and, when treated with the boiled sap of the tekko root, virtually waterproof.

The men drank something which steamed in their bowls and though they were subdued, the lord realized they were all at least slightly intoxicated.

No one stood watch, not yet, not while the entire party was still awake. Later, no doubt, they would place sentries, but at this point it was clear that these were men who did not realize they were hunted.

The hunter looked on, unnoticed in the darkness; more than a little envious of the men who drank warm liquor and would soon be eating.

I must remain still, Komawara told himself, or I will quickly become the hunted. He made himself follow a simple breathing exercise that Brother
Shuyun had taught him, but his heart would not slow to a resting pace and he realized his muscles remained knotted.

A hard, cold point pushed into the back of his neck and a voice, heavy with the accent of the desert, whispered close to his ear; “Be very still, Lord. Be also quiet.”

The scene before Komawara seemed to disappear and all that remained was a dark man-shape on the periphery of his vision. The fire flared briefly and Komawara felt sweat break out on his brow. They use fire to question their captives, Komawara thought, before letting them die.

Suddenly the pressure of the knife disappeared. “Brother Shuyun sends the Kalam with message. Friend,” the voice whispered again. And then Brother Shuyun’s servant, the tribesman who had become their guide in the desert, slipped down beside the astonished lord.

Komawara let out a long breath and then found himself almost immediately hot with anger. “Why…?” He reached back, feeling for blood.

The tribesman shrugged. “You see desert man in darkness, how can you know it is the Kalam? You take your sword and I die and these,” he gestured toward the men clustered around the fire, “hear and make hunt Lord Komawara.” He shrugged, then turned his attention to the tribesmen and said nothing more for some time.

“How did you find me?”

“My guard are lost,” he said, waving a hand at the darkness. Then, pointing at the barbarians, “I find them. Find you.”

“Who?” Komawara whispered. “What do they do here?”

The Kalam seemed about to answer, but then he shook his head and Komawara could see him struggling with the language—missing his translator, Brother Shuyun.

“In desert…dragon bones….” He shook his head again, showing frustration.

“Ama-Haji?” Komawara offered.

The tribesman nodded: he seemed surprised Komawara remembered, as though the separation caused by language somehow isolated their experiences as well. “Ama-Haji, yes. Men of the Dragon.” He fell silent again, searching.

“The followers of the Khan,” Komawara said.

The young barbarian shook his head in frustration. “No, no. The men of the dragon…these men,” he said pointing. “They come to find…to look. The eyes of the dragon,” he said and pointed again.

“Ah,” Komawara heard himself say, though he was not sure he grasped what his companion meant.

They fell silent then, turning their attention back to the barbarians who had begun to eat and continued to drink. The conversation had not grown louder and though it was punctuated by occasional laughter, it was subdued laughter.

“The message,” Komawara whispered, “from Shuyun-sum?”

The Kalam nodded. “Yes.” He paused as if remembering. “A warrior…great warrior comes—Daku Kaita.”

“Jaku Katta.” Komawara corrected. “General Jaku Katta.”

“Yes,” the tribesman nodded. “General means great warrior?”

“Yes,” Komawara agreed, “very great. Is he here now? In Seh now?”

An outburst of laughter brought their attention back to the men before them.