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

  “Lin Gyat jiao Envied of Snakes,” said the Duke. “I welcome you to my parlor, and I am glad you share my point of view on the King’s Lama. Have you lost a wager with a calligrapher, or perhaps won one?”

  “My comrade woke up thus after an eventful night,” said Netten smoothly. “It is more common, of course, for such indiscretions to culminate in more modest decoration, but Envied of Snakes is incapable of taking any action less than… outsized.”

  “So say the women of Degyen,” said Lin Gyat, dropping his weight on the divan next to Datang; she felt the legs part slightly from the frame. He picked up a small dish of cubed meat from a passing servant, and began eating from it.

  “And in what context, Envied of Snakes,” said the Duke, “have you learnt of the political nature of the King’s Lama?”

  Datang looked instinctively to Netten for intervention, but the wild-haired freeman seemed content to let the giant speak. Datang interjected before he could. “Envied of Snakes, the Eager Edge, and I all served in the Cerulean Guard. The Versicolor was an ongoing demonstration of the Lama’s worldly preoccupations. Why should a priest have a police force?”

  “The Lotus,” said Lin Gyat, “an excellent question. For my part, I wondered why a priest should wish to conceal the Garden’s invasion of Therku from the King.”

  “The Garden’s invasion of Therku?” said the Duke, with a display of mild interest. “What a troubling thing. Speak more on this, if you please.”

  “We know little more,” said Netten. “A Gardener force has claimed a large share of Therku, including the King’s ancestral village of Naga-gyo. How far they might have penetrated by now, and the scope of their intentions, we can only guess.”

  “Come, Regent,” said the Duke. “This is a matter of some relevance to Imja, and you cannot have spent twenty years on the throne without developing more insight than that.”

  Datang could not quite see Netten’s struggle, but she knew him well enough to imagine it. The side of him that was a fighter balked at giving Imja an advantage, even one that might save its people’s lives and even the kingdom; the side of him that was, or had been, a King yearned to share anything that would protect the people he still saw as his subjects. The King won at last. “We saw the Gardeners in Therku some three weeks ago,” said Netten. “We have been riding hard on the post ever since. The provincial garrison has surely been overwhelmed. I do not believe the Gardener force is yet strong enough to threaten Gyachun or Shrastaka, much less the Great South Plain, but their foothold in Therku is surely strong now and will strengthen. Any troops you can spare to harden the borders of Gyachun and Shrastaka, you must send around the mountains as soon as you can.”

  “No doubt a useful maneuver,” said the Duke. “Yet I think the Duke of Degyen might resent my trespass on his territory. His family has not sat the seat long enough to feel secure in it; he is forever jumping at my shadow. Should I provoke him and then make myself vulnerable to his counterstroke?”

  “The Duke of Degyen will swallow his pride,” said Netten. “By the time your troops begin to move, he will have heard of the invasion. No doubt he will be sending troops to assist himself. Better they fight up north than on his borders.”

  “Ah,” said the Duke. “But I fear he is looking for a pretext, you see. What better time to make a bid for Imja than when he has just seen the back of a great moiety of my troops?”

  Lin Gyat snorted, filling the air with flecks of meat. “The army of Degyen would be lucky to succeed in a bid for an orphanage.”

  “You should have more respect for your countrymen, good monk.” The Duke smiled tightly.

  “Are all men of Uä not my countrymen?” asked Lin Gyat.

  “Of course,” said the Duke.

  “We agree, then; and it is well, you see, for otherwise I should not find my countryman’s compliment to my homeland’s strength of arms compensation for his slight on its honor.”

  “Admirably reasoned,” Lin Yongten whispered to Datang from the corner of his mouth, “but I fear the expression may have been garbled.”

  The Duke appeared to suffer from no such infelicity of understanding. “Think of it as a compliment. One does not retain a province for a thousand years without developing an appreciation for the timely act of opportunism. In any case, I can think of a way to allay my concerns.”

  “What is that?” asked Netten.

  “Why, simply this: I cannot imagine that even the blood-mad hosts of Degyen would dare attack a realm under the protection of the Gracious Regent.”

  Netten grimaced slightly. “You flatter me too much, Duke. I will not deny some small skill in martial science, but hardly enough to protect a border the size of yours from more than a tiny detachment. And even that I could not do from the comforts of the ducal estate.”

  “Ah, but Netten—your arm may not reach from Dzangbo to Degyen, but your merit has a thousand arms, all nearly as long as the Deity’s. Degyen could not move against you; for, as your sizable colleague has so eloquently expressed it, all Uä’ns are countrymen, and you are loved no less in Degyen than you were in Rassha. Any Uä’n army that moved against you would shiver apart from moral and social forces too strong for the most charismatic general, the most potent orator, to overcome.” The Duke made a show of contemplation. “Yes, I think that would allay my concerns. Stay a while. Hold a tutorial for my seminarians, bolster their morale.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Practice the Reflecting Pool Mind, if you think you will require it. Several of my monks are accounted lesser masters.”

  “My husband has achieved the first level of mastery already,” said Mother-of-Daughters.

  The Duke’s eyes went flat and cold at that. He seemed prepared to indulge Lin Gyat as a buffoon, and protocol demanded he treat Netten as a near-equal, but to be corrected by a woman who should know better… “Ah,” drawled the Duke, “Queen Pema flays me! I apologize, Regent, if I understated your ability.”

  “It is nothing,” said Netten, flashing a gaze to Mother-of-Daughters as though to reinforce the point. “In any case, my skill is sufficiently imperfect that it would not harm me to train with equals rather than superiors—and, of course, some lesser masters are less than others, and when it comes to the Reflecting Pool Mind, I am the least of all.”

  “Nicely put,” the Duke said. “But was it said as an abstract matter, or as grounds of a decision?”

  “The latter, naturally,” said Netten. “The seductions of your seminary grow each time I think on them, and if I am not convinced to share your worry on Degyen, well, the remedy you propose is agreeable enough. I shall ache for my companions, but they cannot fail to prosper regardless of my company.”

  Datang’s eyes widened, and she had to stop her lips from skinning back. She felt a light touch from a hard hand on her bicep; Lin Yongten smiled tightly.

  “I shudder to think of imposing such a burden on your spirits,” said the Duke. “Why not remain with your fighting monk here? He will find profitable instruction in the seminary, and perhaps encourage a certain stiffening of the clerical spine.” This drew another laugh from Lin Gyat, with the attendant dusting of atomized meat. “Your other companions are welcome too, of course, but I fear you will wish to remand the Lady Pema to some location more accommodating to an expecting mother. Even daughters deserve some consideration.”

  “Naturally,” said Netten.

  Mother-of-Daughters’ eyes flashed. “Are not little Dukes born in these halls?”

  “From time to time, Lady,” said the Duke, “but the blood of Imja thrives in cold basalt. It is the nature of the male line, now, as bred-in as colors on a cat. A lady of Rassha expects superior amenities.”

  “Was not your wife a lady of Rassha?”

  “My first and second both,” the Duke said. “I married into Imja when I grew weary of widowerhood, but it seems not to have helped matters.”

  “In any case,” said Mother-of-Daughters, “I am barely five months in. How long do you plan to hol
d my husband?”

  “Until the danger is past, I should imagine,” said the Duke. “Who knows when that will be, with the Third Blight not yet come?”

  Something about that made Netten smile. “I suspect the matter will be settled before my child’s birth,” he said. “Or at least postponed.”

  “Postponed?” said the Duke. “What a chore. But what it shall be, it shall be. When will you send your wife and your companions on the road?”

  “As close to first light as can be managed,” said Netten, “my wife’s condition being what it is. Her adequate rest and nourishment are the paramount considerations.”

  “They may have an escort to any point on the border they prefer,” said the Duke. “Save the Bat Mountains; my soldiers have bad luck there. But that is no suitable destination for an expecting mother in any case.”

  “Of course not,” said Netten. “To Degyen, I think, until the Great South Plain is clear of pretenders. The Winter Palace needs a sharp eye on it in any case; we have not occupied it in a half-decade.”

  “What,” said Lin Gyat through a mouthful of melon, “am I to be separated from the Ape’s Left Hand?”

  The Duke stared in polite incomprehension. “I sincerely hope this exotic epithet applies to one of your colleagues, and not the Queen.”

  “Oh, assuredly,” said Lin Gyat. “I require sons.”

  “I did not believe the Regent when he denied that you were a fighting monk,” said the Duke, “but the claim’s plausibility begins to grow. Why, then, do you insist on wearing monk’s clothes?”

  “A penance,” said Netten. “He once destroyed a statue of the Deity Who Waits. He is now enjoined to wear only vestments until he has helped sixteen supplicants repair injuries as great as or greater than the one he inflicted.”

  The Duke looked incisively at Lin Gyat. “You allow the Regent to say much for you.”

  “He does natter on,” said Lin Gyat.

  “Will you consent to be separated from the object of what I can only presume is your affection?” said the Duke. “As I have said, I think my seminary would benefit from your unique experience. It is not often one finds a Green Morning brother willing to carry out a penance exacted by the clerisy.”

  “I know the solution,” said Lin Gyat. “I shall impregnate the Left Hand post-haste, so as to begin the inception of my brood of sons. We may be married when we are reunited.”

  No one quite knew what to say to that. At last the Duke clapped his hands to his thighs. “It is decided. Regent, if I may be so bold, please allow me to escort the Lady Pema back to her chambers. She is beginning to tire, I think, and as I shall be deprived of her presence soon, I should very much like to keep her company for every minute I can.”

  “No course could be more proper,” said Netten.

  “But, please, stay and nourish yourselves if you wish. And, by all means, feel free to confer with the Giant of the Grass, or with any of my house-wizards—they take great interest in the more refined expressions of the Rigors and would enjoy comparing notes on the theory of rlung.”

  “A topic of great interest to me,” said Netten, “in light of the adaptations in the flow of rlung required to turn the Crane’s Migration Step into the Bamboo Step. We shall discourse at length, I think.”

  They paused for a moment, two trim warriors with long hair and mild, mild faces. Datang thought the very room might commence to crackle with hate-lightning—especially when Mother-of-Daughters took the Duke’s arm, and the mildness of Netten’s expression grew so profound, it could barely be looked upon. But the Lady and the Duke left, and the walls did not burst, nor yet did the ceiling crumble; and, after a few moments, Datang let out a breath that she did not realize she had been holding. Lin Yongten did the same.

  “Ape’s Left Hand,” said Netten, “do you remember the farewells with which we were ushered from the House of Ogyal, these weeks ago?”

  Datang looked at him, perplexed, for a moment. “They were cordial enough, I suppose. Why do you ask?” she added, unwilling to give the impression of engaging in coded speech—and, moreover, genuinely curious about the answer.

  “Ah, no reason. Well, or, only this—does it not astonish you, that rural hospitality can so closely measure up to ducal? I do not believe this entire feast,” and here he made an expansive gesture, encompassing the door in which the Giant of the Grass loomed as well as the corners of the parlor in which the two visible house-wizards stood mute, “is much superior to the reception we had there.”

  Lin Yongten was watching Netten with some intensity. “I was not with you at the House of Ogyal,” he said, “but I trust your discernment.”

  Datang nodded with some hesitation. “I, too, find the portions…” She cast about for a word. “Digestible.”

  “For my part, I do not believe there was as much quality victualing in the entire village of Naga-gyo, if not the entire province of Therku, as there is in this parlor,” said Lin Gyat. “Were it not for my procreative duties, I would eat myself stuporous.”

  Datang, Lin Yongten, and Netten shared a look. Lin Yongten shrugged minutely.

  The Giant of the Grass emitted a noticeable chuckle. “You know, Regent, that I will not stint to communicate these slanders to the Duke. What is it you hope to gain from them?”

  “I do not conduct small talk with thought of gain,” said Netten, “though I would be well pleased to cultivate a reputation for candor.”

  Lin Gyat leaned over to Datang, who nearly recoiled at the presence of his lips near her ear. “Left Hand, I am now speaking to Netten. I would like a signal to know whether I can speak to him freely, for I have misgivings about the state of the Duke’s seminary. I trust the Ten Thousand Apprehensions will carry this message to him. Now I will describe the manipulations I wish to perform on your quoint.”

  The huge fighter was quick, but Datang was too close for him to dodge; her fist drew a thread of blood from his lip. He shrugged. “As you wish,” he said out loud. “Only I believe a modicum of lubricity will palliate certain aspects of the son-making process.” Lin Gyat shot a questioning gaze at Netten, who issued a minute shrug.

  It was at that point, questioning the efficacy of the Ten Thousand Apprehensions, that Datang noticed a subtle but distinct pall about the chamber. She looked to the house-wizards and the Giant of the Grass; they were not obviously discomfited. But now that she noticed it, she could not ignore it; the flow of rlung had become sluggish in her limbs. She rose, nearly stumbling with the stiffness of sitting still too long (uncompensated by the rejuvenating influence of free-flowing rlung) and collected a plate, then began sampling the cooling dishes. “Forgive my rudeness,” she said, “but I find myself hungry, and this may be our last chance for refreshment in some hours.”

  “An excellent point.” Netten rose smoothly to join her.

  “While you witter,” said the Giant of the Grass, “Envied of Snakes takes the offensive.” Indeed, the huge rifleman was devouring canapés in a fashion well befitting the ophidian metonymy he so lustily applied to himself—which is to say, he swallowed them whole, like a python. “Come, I tire of this chatter. Fall to or else we may consider the evening ended.”

  “Giant,” said Datang, “there is nothing to mistrust. Our intentions are as plain to you as to a master of the Eye of Ten Thousand Apprehensions.”

  As soon as she mentioned the Eye, Netten’s eyes widened; too late, she remembered his hint about the Giant’s talents in the other Rigors. Datang could practically feel the woman try to summon rlung to fuel the Eye of Ten Thousand Apprehensions; she could practically feel her fail. The calculations swirled behind the Giant’s eyes: Four boxers, one unquestionably her superior in skill, another twice her size with hands like snakes, set against two house-wizards with no magic and herself without her most potent talents. The Giant met Datang’s gaze, the pull of duty overwhelming the prospect of a death that would spawn a thousand poems. She turned to run.

  Netten might have been fast enough; Lin Gy
at was faster. His arms coiled around the Giant of the Grass, and the power of his launch sent them both hurtling into the basalt wall. Datang nearly expected the foundations to shake; but not even the might of Lin Gyat’s thews was enough for that.

  She turned to the house-wizards. The first was on the floor, face frozen in a mask of horror, a shard of ceramic sunk deep into his eye. Lin Yongten had the other’s throat in one hand, his groin in the other, his back pressed up against the wall. There was blood on the house-wizard’s neck around Lin Yongten’s fingertips; she saw the wizard’s robe begin to spot between his legs as well. Lin Yongten’s face, never expressive, was now as neutral as a statue, but the tendons of his neck and wrists were taut as harpstrings.

  Lin Gyat had the Giant of the Grass still crushed in his embrace and was walking her into the parlor that Lin Yongten had drenched in wizard-blood. The Giant’s struggles ceased as Lin Yongten dropped the now-limp corpse of the second house-wizard and wiped the blood from his hands on a tablecloth. He looked with irritation at the Giant of the Grass. “Come, Envied of Snakes, break her and have done; the hour for romance is past. You may sate your lusts at the next barn we come across.”

  “Recover yourself, Eager Edge,” Netten said in a voice like a whipstroke.

  The admonition seemed to rattle Lin Yongten—literally, he gave a shudder as his bones seemed to reposition themselves slightly beneath his flesh. “Of course. Envied of Snakes, Giant of the Grass, I apologize.” He abased himself to both, swiftly but sincerely, then turned to Netten. “But it is not clear to me that we can leave her alive.”

  “Your lust for death blunts your resourcefulness,” said Netten, the coldness not gone from his voice. “Envied, wrap her in a tablecloth. I will gag her while you do. Then you three will go. To Pongyo Gorge, if you must, but I suggest Degyen, as far south as you can. With luck, to the River. The northern territories there are accustomed to travelers from Uä; I do not think they will turn you away.”

  “What about you?” said Lin Gyat.