71 - First impressions of Arko

Next morning in a freshening late spring dawn, we set off to Arko, all of us wearing the peace-sigil around our necks.

Where the road crosses the border and turns to poured stone, and the eagle of Arko on an open gate faces the pass under the stone circle, we found my Arkan escort in their scarlet armor waiting. They were truly an honor guard, all wearing the same breastplates and mantles of, All-spirit help us, purple, their horses all the great pure white Arkan strain. The eagle standard they carried was gold-leafed. I put approval on my face, taking it as homage. When the formal greetings were done, I heard one Arkan who was looking at me whisper to another, who snickered; but I was above noticing.

The leader, who looked about thirty-five, gave his name as Ethras Innen, Aitzas; that and the length of his hair, which hung in a braid down to his waist, told me he was of the noble caste; the rest, whose blond braids fell no lower than their hearts, were solas, warriors. All had chins shaven as smooth as boys, as if there were a regulation. No wonder Arkans so love uniformity, I thought, looking into that row of blue eyes; they are born with it.

Though no one wore a helmet, they all had on their gauntlets; when they didn’t, as we learned camping with them that night, they wore gloves, even around the cook-fire, and even so would hide their hands behind shields or under mantles.

Thinking Lakans were shy about their bodies, I’d known nothing. We never saw a single Arkan bathe, though they did every day; they’d creep off one at a time, not even letting each other see, as if being clean were a crime. Once, just to see what would happen, I invited Ethras to swim in a lake with me. He informed me that in Arko, decent people do not swim, having baths. Interesting to know, if one ever fought with one near deep water.

Every day at noon, a bell tolls in every village in the empire. When my escort heard it they would pull up their horses as one, dismount, bow their heads and toucn their gauntleted hands to their hands, palms up and cupped.

They would chant a prayer together, and stand for a time in silence; then Ethras would bark a command, they’d mount up, and we’d go on. “Noon observance,” was all he said, when I asked, not hiding my fascination; I knew next to nothing of Arkan religion. But since it seemed to make him uneasy, I left off.

He spoke Enchian in the stiff, pinched Aitzas accent, and styled me “Amaesti,” apparently unable to say semanakraseye if his life depended on it. He was too solemn a person, too, his eyes expressionless whatever they looked at, and making him laugh was impossible. I noticed the rest stood off, from him and four or five others of similar manner.

A year later, I would know the signs, as I knew my own face in the mirror. But I’d hardly met Arkans yet.

On the fifth day, we rode through the town of Roskat. This was only a recently civilized province, Ethras told me, and there were still bandits at large; yet we should be safe, being too many and well-equipped for them to take on. I knew history from my side; by civilized province, I knew, he meant conquered nation, by bandits, rebels. There is much Yeoli blood in Roskat, and they have always considered themselves our kin in spirit; seventy years ago when they fell it was in spite of our aid, and I suspected it might be a bone of contention with Kurkas that we still harbored their “bandits,” at times, though we did our best to do it on the sly.

The town of Roskat had the miserable look of a spirited people yoked; anyone with dark hair had a long face, and shackle and whip-scars were common. In the town square, three naked Roskati corpses hung on poles, their severed heads laid at their feet, and no one near looking shocked, as if it were common. Whether the people feared for me or envied my freedom when their eyes caught mine, I could not tell.

Half a day past the town, we rounded a corner to find the road blocked by twenty Roskati warriors on horseback. They wore headbands and arm-ribbons of green and gold, the colours of free Roskat. That and their weapons proved them rebels, for Arkan law forbade Roskati to bear arms; but their spears were all up and swords scabbarded. Their leader, a stocky dark-blond man who looked a careworn forty, began speaking as soon as we reined in our horses, calling in Yeoli, “Semanakraseye! Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e! Hear me!” while his eyes ran over us searching. He found the demarchic shirt, and his eyes fixed on me.

Ethras’s voice, closer to me, drowned him out. He spoke Arkan, in an imperious and threatening tone; again I wished I’d learned the language. “Excuse me,” I said in Enchian when he paused. “It is me he addresses, Escort Captain. They’ve offered us no threat, but only want to speak; even if he is a bandit, where I come from the accused are permitted their say. I will hear, and judge. There’s no danger; they’re half our number.”

“They’re not to be heard, but chased down and beheaded!” he snapped.

“Very well,” I said, “I’ll listen, then you can send for someone to chase them down and behead them, since your assignment is escorting me.” At a loss for words, he stared at me, his face more impassive, if that was possible, than ever.

“I’m Fourth Chevenga,” I said to the Roskati, in Yeoli again. “Who are you, and what do you wish to tell me?”

“My name is Mirko of Roskat.” The First General First of the rebels; while we never openly sent him letters, I had dealt with him indirectly. The Arkans all stiffened even stiffer than they usual were at the name. He pitched his voice for all of us to hear.

“Your people have always been friends to mine, semanakraseye. Let us be friends to you then, and warn you: Kurkas”—he spat in the dirt beside his horse— “will betray you the moment he sees advantage. He has us, a hundred times.”

“Whatever the cutthroat says,” Ethras said icily, “he lies. They undermine peace everywhere. He seeks to embarrass you, Amaesti.”

I drew the certificate from my pouch, read it all out and held it up for all to see. “You mean to say, Mirko, that this means nothing?”

He spat again. “Forgive my rudeness, semanakraseye, but what means an oath, to a snake? He plans to betray you. It’s bad form to stop you this way, I know, and would be bad form for you to turn around; but I fear for your life. If they object—they are half our number.”

“Amaesti, listening will do nothing to recommend you to the Imperator, nor aid the cause of peace,” Ethras said, his voice cold as snow.

I looked at him hard. “Are you threatening me, Escort Captain? If their words are wind, why do you fear my hearing them?” He drew his head back and high, raising the nose, in a way I had come to know as Arkan; then looked away, his blue eyes seeming settled. Mirko’s were more honest.

“If the Imperator does not mean to betray you, semanakraseye,” he said, “why does he send born and bred assassins to escort you? You don’t know the signs of the Mahid, the Imperator’s black dogs, but we do. We’ve suffered their work long enough. There are several among them; the commander is one. Have you noticed, they never smile?”

“Cheng,” said Mana, behind me. “I don’t like—” Then his voice was lost, in my own. Whatever Ethras was, he had hands like lightning; his dagger was out and would have been in my back in the flash of a thought, except for weapon-sense. I think, as several other people afterwards suggested, that he did know Yeoli, and understood all we said.

In the memory, my shout of “Chen!” seemed to last an eternity, going on and on like the squeal of an ungreased cartwheel. His act had been a signal, too; all the other Arkans had picked a Yeoli, and done the same. I heard their massed death-cries through mine.