The Eighth King (The White Umbrella Testament Book 1) Read online

  “If we may call him ‘son,’” said Lin Gyat.

  “Leave off, Envied,” said Lin Yongten. “He ran afoul of a rusted saw blade and a bout of gangrene when first he set forth as a young man to cut lumber; his form and soul are a man’s. That much I will say for him.”

  “So,” said Datang, “had it not been for the earlier revelation on the King’s parentage, this Iron Eunuch would never have formed pretensions.”

  “So one might think,” said Lin Yongten. “Yet—the Iron Eunuch is well known in the gallant fraternity, Left Hand. There may be limits to his ambition, but if so, he has not made them public. There were not many who could best him at sword or fist; his mind is quick and his tongue knows the language of men’s secret hearts. He is as kingly a man as any who never sat a throne.”

  Lin Gyat frowned. “That is no great endorsement of his kingliness.”

  Lin Yongten shrugged. “Should it be? He is not King.”

  “Well, he might be,” said Datang. Lin Gyat and Lin Yongten looked askance at her. “He might be,” she insisted. “Come, I am as loyal as any guard, Cerulean or Versicolor, but we know it happened once before. We would be fools to think it could not happen again.”

  “The Eunuch relies on that sentiment,” said Lin Yongten.

  “He relies on the sun’s light and the river’s waters,” said Datang, “but that does not quench the one or dam the other.”

  “It does not,” Lin Yongten conceded. “What does is this: The Iron Eunuch has not a drop of the Rigors in his body.”

  “How can you credit that, brother?” said Lin Gyat. “Proofs of his powers are ubiquitous—the immolation of Lin Jigmey the Jade Grenado at the Tanggang border, the slaughter of the garrison at the Many-Colored City, the counter-feint against Gyaltsen at Lungta Falls—”

  “The counter-feint proves nothing,” said Lin Yongten. “Our brothers see the Eye of Ten Thousand Apprehensions wherever their strategy fails, and it was the Anathema of Whetstones and his band of drunks who lost the ford, not Gyaltsen. As to the other cases, I will not gainsay them—but it is well known that the lamas of the Many-Colored City cannot distinguish mortal from divine voices, wherefore I hardly trust them to identify the Diamond Word; and that the Jade Grenado was a pyromaniac doomed to die in flames one way or the other, wherefore I decline to assume it was the Four Conflagration Touch that sent him early down the Road of Stars. But,” he said, a well-timed stop-thrust into Lin Gyat’s objection, “all I truly know is that the Eunuch made his bid for each of these Rigors in his training—and all the others, more than once. Not one master ever agreed to train him in so much as the rudiments. That was how sure they were of his talentlessness.”

  “Well,” said Datang, “the matter is academic in any case; we have sworn our blood and sinew to the King, and no determination of ours will influence whether or not he remains King. But I do not doubt that many made the same accusations of the man who now sits the Orchid Throne.”

  Lin Yongten’s mouth quirked. “No veteran of Goat Ridge would make those accusations, I assure you. King or no King, his talents announced themselves—we did not need a master to verify them. I cannot account for the Jade Grenado, nor the garrison of the Many-Colored City, but I know what my brothers and I saw when we were learning the bow and sword. The Iron Eunuch has accomplished much, but he will not save us from the Priestkiller Worm.”

  A bird sang from the top of the gully. Lin Yongten and Datang started toward it, but Lin Gyat said, “Hold.”

  Lin Yongten wheeled his steed in frustration. “Brother,” he said, “did we not just hear the call, ‘pee-wit pee-whit pee-whoo-whoo-whoo’?”

  “We did,” said Lin Gyat.

  “The call of the spruce grouse?”

  “The very same.”

  “As distinct from the similar call of the snow grouse, which emits an additional one to three ‘pee-wits’ and one less ‘whoo’?”

  “Your memory is without flaw, brother,” said Lin Gyat.

  “And, as the calls are superficially similar and both are familiar to a resident of the Great South Plain, did we not agree on the call of the spruce grouse, which is not found near the Hill of Faces, as the signal that we may safely advance?”

  “I am in full agreement.”

  “Then let us advance!”

  “Only—”

  “What is it, brother?”

  “The call is too good.”

  Lin Yongten’s normal equanimity appeared to have deserted him at this point; he screwed his eyes shut as if in pain and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Brother, please, for the sake of my sanity, explain to me the import and consequences of the call being ‘too good.”‘

  “The import?”

  “Yes, the meaning.”

  “And the consequences?”

  “In other words, what follows.”

  “I will explain them.”

  “Do.”

  “The meaning is but this: Netten’s imitation of a spruce grouse bears a strange resemblance to—”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, to Netten mimicking a spruce grouse.”

  “Whereas—”

  “The call we heard sounds like a true spruce grouse.”

  “An animal that does not live near the Hill of Faces.”

  “Well, I do not wish to broach the subject of consequences until you have satisfied yourself as to import—”

  “The Crescent, Envied of Snakes, I assure you I am satisfied!”

  “Very well.”

  A moment of silence elapsed.

  “You recall,” said Lin Yongten, showing some trace of degradation to his patience, “you pledged to speak of consequences—”

  “Well, there is no more to say.”

  “What?”

  “You yourself have identified the critical facts—we have heard the true cry of the spruce grouse, and not Netten’s simulacrum; yet no true spruce grouse would naturally reside here.”

  Lin Yongten nearly seemed to vibrate. “And have you no conjecture as to how these two circumstances might co-occur?”

  “None whatsoever, I assure you,” Lin Gyat said with great good cheer. “But the Ape’s Left Hand will know.”

  “What has the Ape’s Left Hand to do with it?”

  “She has gone up the side of the gully to investigate.”

  And so, indeed, Datang had, the tail of her horse just disappearing over the top as the dialogue between Lin Yongten and Lin Gyat came to a close. The Hill of Faces rose before her then, a boulder-studded hump of dirt and dead grass even more badly battle-shredded than the bottom of the gully. She could not make out the details of the boulders from her distance, but she could see them in broad strokes—each with a pair of eyes and a mouth, staring out from the hillside with a sentry’s vigilance. Here, at last, was the blood of the battle, smearing stone eyes and mouths like warpaint. Spilled by Gyaltsen and the Glib Ape, she thought, in defense of one man or another’s claim to kingship. However it ends, half the blood on this hill was spilled for the wrong man.

  And then, chilled: Or all of it.

  As Lin Gyat and Lin Yongten crested the gully, a pair of riders approached from Datang’s left. One was Netten, a compact black mass on his roan gelding, the other a woman, just barely shorter than Netten, clad in a green fighter’s jacket and trousers, riding a stallion with a tortoiseshell pattern that would have looked more at home on a cat.

  Netten and the rider reached her first. “Ape’s Left Hand, this is the Copper Rat. Rat, we are joined by Envied of Snakes and the Eager Edge, both fighters nearly as fine as this one. Friends, I have given the Rat your styles for a reason; I do not think it will be well to be free with birth names.”

  Datang frowned. “But you have no style in the gallant fraternity. What will she call you?”

  “Have no fear,” said Netten. “For me, ‘Netten’ will serve.”

  The Copper Rat made the mounted abasement to an honored foe. “I have heard of the Ape’s Left Hand,” she said.
“I grieve that we are adversaries, and I hope you will forgive me if I say that I look forward to serving the King of Uä alongside you one day.”

  “What could there be to forgive?” said Datang. “I feel the same way.”

  The Copper Rat examined Datang with a serene quarter-smile below calm, voracious eyes, as though writing down every detail of her shape and motion for some none too innocent posterity. But, when the Rat broke the stare, she gave a small nod as though acknowledging an equal.

  “Copper Rat,” said Lin Gyat, and Datang found herself tensing up—preparing for whatever ill-considered torrent of lasciviousness might have wended its mazy way from the abdomen, which is the seat of sexual energy, through the sewage-bedecked labyrinth of his intestines and the acidic marsh of his stomach and out into the world. But he said only, “Do you do an uncannily accurate imitation of a spruce grouse?”

  The Copper Rat smiled and made a bird call. To Datang, it was indistinguishable from the one Netten had made before, but Lin Gyat merely smiled and thanked the Rat. The five set off to traverse the Great South Plain.

  They had not been on the road for long when Lin Gyat spotted a cavalry unit in Uä’n colors coming from the direction of the Wind Horse Gate. There was some discussion of what their purposes might be, but it soon became clear that the cavalry were not pursuing the five riders; rather, they were headed toward a tower just below the tree line in the eastern foothills. “Ah,” said the Copper Rat. “This is a real sortie, then.”

  “Are there sorties that are less than real?” said Datang.

  “Oh, yes,” said the Rat. “Gyaltsen periodically sends out small forces to take trifling targets—farmsteads, fisheries, shrines. When the Pretender wishes to take them back, Gyaltsen gives them up without contest at a rate of perhaps two to one. There is little observable reason to what he gives up and what he fights to keep, but he never gives up a tower.” She shrugged. “Which is no flaw in his tactics. Farms, fisheries, and shrines all have various uses, some more important and some less. But every tower has one virtue. A range of vision on a plain is worth more than bullets.”

  “He wishes to fragment the Pretender’s forces,” Datang said.

  “Exhaust, rather,” said the Copper Rat. “And confuse, and erode. All these engagements are taxing on logistics and give men the opportunity to desert into the wilderness. And there are few grimmer tasks than taking back a tower from entrenched defenders.”

  “Well, that cuts both ways,” said Lin Yongten.

  Netten, who had been watching the cavalry, smiled. “But not with equal sharpness, at least when Gyaltsen is on offense. Watch.”

  The force was approaching the tower, the defenders bristling from the parapets and windows, their bows made ready. At some unseen signal, a fusillade of arrows arced toward the attacking cavalry. The head rider made some motion, and the arrows were whisked away like dandelion seeds at the puff of a child’s breath.

  The Copper Rat nodded in grudging admiration. “I have heard that gale-raising sword can halt a head-sized rock in midair and send it back up to kill whoever dropped it, if Gyaltsen’s timing is good.”

  “Oh, easily,” said Netten. ‘The Cerulean Sword could knock the tower over if it were asked. The question is whether it could be stopped from doing the same to the Orchid Palace after that. The more of its power is unlimbered, the harder it is to rein it in, and woe betide both armies if its wielder is killed.”

  The cavalry had reached the base of the tower, and the cauldron tipped over on the parapets. The plummeting streak of smoking gold suddenly arced upward, splattering the stone. From two tiny windows fell two tiny men. The doors at the base of the tower staved inward as though kicked by an immense, invisible horse.

  “There is not much for it now,” said the Copper Rat. “Gyaltsen will lead the charge up the stairs, and every gust of wind he sends will flatten his opponents before him. It will not take much in such a small space. I do not think he will lose a man on this attack.”

  “You do not seem chagrined by the realization,” said Datang.

  The Copper Rat shrugged. “Gyaltsen cannot be at every battle, and every time he gambles with his life, he wagers the Orchid Throne’s best tactical mind and its most potent weapon. When the bill comes due, the Cerulean Sword will mourn, perhaps for months, before it accepts another’s hand—and if he dies in the field, that hand is as likely to be the Pretender’s as the King’s.”

  “Bah,” said Lin Gyat. “Gyaltsen is indomitable.”

  “His skin is no better armor than any other man’s,” said the Copper Rat. “He lives by the grace of breath and blood like any other man. A gambling career ends in ruin or retirement; his is no different.”

  “So you say,” said Lin Gyat, “and yet he persists in not being killed.”

  “Your horse has done the same,” said the Rat. “Some are luckier than others; no one is indomitable. Ask your Regent.”

  “He is not dead either,” said Netten.

  “No,” said the Copper Rat, “although I have heard he plans to leave Rassha. Where in Uä would such a man go?”

  “There is no corner of Uä too lowly for a King, much less a Regent,” said Netten.

  “A lowly place, then.” The Copper Rat glanced at Lin Gyat. “Degyen is a lowly place, if you will forgive my bluntness. Perhaps the Regent will pay your family a visit?”

  “As to that,” said Lin Gyat, “I have no family of which to speak. I grew up ward of a slave-renter and spent my youth hewing stone with convicts, heretics, and other orphans.”

  “Ah,” said the Rat. “So even if the august Regent did pay a visit to Degyen, you would never return there to hear of it.”

  “I do not imagine so,” said Lin Gyat.

  “Enough,” said Netten. “The Copper Rat is plumbing you for information, Envied of Snakes. It would be best to keep your own counsel regarding places you would or would not go.”

  “Do you know,” said Lin Gyat, “it had never occurred to me to do so. But I can see that such uncontrolled woolgathering could cause me to reveal to the Copper Rat that we ride for—”

  Here it should be understood that, although Lin Gyat did not pause in his speech, Netten’s eyes widened, Datang winced as though about to come under the rusty knife of a drunken battlefield surgeon, and Lin Yongten’s forehead hit the heel of his hand with an audible slap.

  “—Shrastaka.”

  Datang and Lin Gyat froze in their postures. Netten, with great presence of mind, glowered. The Copper Rat assumed an expression that can only be described as preening, if the reader will stoop to countenance the image of a preening rat. Lin Gyat maintained utter equanimity.

  “I assure you,” the Rat said after a moment, “it is of no concern to the Iron Eunuch where you go. The Glib Ape has assured him that you can pose no military threat, and the Glib Ape’s assurances are written in the stars. Concerning military matters, in any case.” Here she threw Datang a curious look. “Come, let us be off. I do not fear your errand, but I have errands of my own to pursue.”

  She wheeled her horse away from the distant tower, where all the attackers had gone inside, leaving only a score or so of horses tethered in the yard. Lin Yongten and Lin Gyat moved to follow her, the former managing a quick clap to the latter’s shoulder before pulling away. Netten trotted his mount over to Datang.

  “Envied of Snakes is not as dull as he seems, is he?” said Netten.

  “He is not much sharper either, or else that trick would have cut no ice,” said Datang. “But I grant it, it was a clever deflection, much as an ape with a writing brush will occasionally emit a sequence of strokes resembling a word.”

  “He hankers after your esteem, you know.”

  “‘Esteem’—that is a novel euphemism.”

  “Come, it is godly to show compassion. He grew up in the mines of Degyen. Many wondrous things are buried in the earth, but the language of the finer sentiments is not among them.”

  “Well, whatever language he
has gouged from the mines, it mislikes my ears,” said Datang. “As to compassion, the man is the size of a bull snow-ape with hands faster than lightning. A god may have the luxury of compassion for such a creature, and I do not stint to recognize the honor of fighting beside him, but, Netten, I have nothing but fear for his lusts.” It was a strange thing to speak aloud the sentiments she had so long borne in silence. She looked into Netten’s eyes. “Does he speak to you on matters of the heart?”

  “No, he keeps his counsel,” said Netten. “I merely infer.”

  Datang agonized for a moment over the words she was about to say—for she hankered after Netten’s esteem as much as he claimed Lin Gyat hankered after her own, and she did not wish to punish a well-meant request. But for those very reasons, she could hear no more of such talk from him. “Reserve your inference in future,” she said, with a calculated frost. “Envied of Snakes must be his own advocate henceforth.”

  “Well,” Netten said politely, “but his self-advocacy has been ineffective.”

  “The Colors, Netten, that is a voluble insight!” said Datang. “Will you not think two moments on the implications?”

  Netten stiffened on his horse. Datang’s heart sank. “As you wish, Ape’s Left Hand, I shall think two moments on them, and then two times two moments, for certainty, and then two times two times two for penance.”

  “I did not ask penance of you,” said Datang, “nor do I thrill to hear you pledge it. But you will do what you must.”

  Netten wheeled around to follow the other three riders. Datang turned her eyes back to the tower before following suit. A tiny dot burst from one of the windows as she watched, tracing an arc that terminated impossibly far from the tower, then bounced sickeningly and slid a long way before it stopped. She nearly heard the trace of a moan on the wind, though whether it was from the fallen man or the Cerulean Sword, it was naturally impossible to say. She thought of the cerulean brassard in her pack and fought a moment’s urge to dig it out and trample it underfoot. But cerulean is my color, she told herself. I have flung men to their deaths too, and I too trade in blood.