Elephant Thief Read online

  Elephant Thief

  Lia Patterson

  Published by Lia Patterson at Smashwords

  Copyright 2017 by Lia Patterson. All rights reserved.

  Cover Design: Copyright Yvonne Less, www.art4artists.com.au

  Cover Images: Copyright Ninja SS/Shutterstock.com, camilabo/Depositphotos.com, Kalcutta/Depositphotos.com, MrCat.com.ua/Depositphotos.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents in this novel are either the products of the imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, to events, businesses, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.liapatterson.com

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  Other books by Lia Patterson

  Thank you

  About the author

  Author’s Note

  For those of you who have read my novel Bride to the Sun, this story is set in the same universe, but some three hundred years before Shay and Medyr’s time. One of Medyr’s ancestors will play a small role in the narrative though.

  ONE

  In the presence of the mighty, keep your mouth shut, my father had once told me in one of his more sober moments. Excellent advice that might have saved me a lot of trouble, but of course I didn’t heed it.

  Although the audience had started none too badly really, with Prince Bahram offering polite words of condolence on my father’s death. When I bowed and murmured my thanks, he motioned to one of his concubines to pour me a cup of tea. The thick canvas of his tent muted the constant noise of the army camp around us, and silken draperies on the wall created the illusion of a secluded space sheltering us from the world outside.

  Prince Bahram leant back on his cushions and took a draft from the water pipe resting beside him, making it gurgle loudly. “A good man, Lord Ardavan. I will miss our weekly Shah matches.”

  Involuntarily I wondered if he knew that my father had deliberately let him win every now and again. Probably not – Father had been good at that sort of thing. “You’re very kind,” I answered, bowing again. My black hair that I had cut short as a sign of mourning fell in my eyes, and I brushed it back impatiently.

  Shrewd, dark eyes regarded me. “You asked to see me, Lady Arisha?”

  I hesitated. By all accounts Prince Bahram was more honourable than most of the previous commanders of the Victorious Fifth. We might even have won, if we’d had him from the beginning instead of his predecessor, that butcher Maziar. An Earth mage and true imperial prince, Bahram had somehow fallen out of favour with his brother the emperor and been sent north to this graveyard of men’s reputations. Yet he had not done too badly, had even instituted the unprecedented policy of actually paying the Aneiry villagers for what the army took from them. Sadly, it was too little too late and Prince Bahram was no match for his adversary.

  To gain time I sipped my tea, inhaling the delicate scent of jasmine rising from the steaming liquid. Hopefully I would not drop the tiny cup of costly porcelain. “My lord, I feel that lacking a father’s protection, I ought to return to my family in Sikhand,” I said. Surely an innocuous enough response to his question.

  He nodded, stroking the mighty paunch gained from imperial banquets. “Very proper. Whereabouts does your family live?”

  “My grandfather is the abbot of Mohsen monastery. I thought to go there first.”

  That caught his attention and he leant forward. “Your grandfather is Mohsen’s abbot? I seem to recollect he’s from an old lineage of Wood mages. A Fourth Circle family, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Prince Bahram drummed fingers encrusted with rings of precious stones against the mouthpiece of his water pipe and took another deep draft. “I see. The connection is on your mother’s side, I suppose?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Poor Mother had been disowned by her family for marrying below her, but I saw no need to enlighten Prince Bahram about that fact. If he thought me well-connected, I might just have a chance to pull this scheme off. And once we were across the border, there was no need to go begging to my mother’s haughty relatives.

  One of the prince’s slaves, probably captured in an army raid, knelt by my side and offered me a plate of sugared dates. Even after a year of living north of the mountains, her flaxen hair and freckled complexion still seemed strange to eyes used to black hair and ivory skin. How different these people were from us – why had that madman Prince Maziar ever thought we could conquer them! But I turned my attention back to Bahram, who was contemplating a plate of candied rose petals with a look of abstraction.

  “With your permission, my lord,” I said, trying to sound casual, “I thought that Hami and I could join one of the patrols escorting your couriers south.” I held my breath.

  Prince Bahram looked up abruptly. “Ah, I’m afraid there might be a small problem.” He snapped his fingers. “Ask Lord Sattar to attend upon me,” he commanded. One of the slaves went scurrying off.

  My heart fell. So my ruse hadn’t worked – Sattar must have talked to the prince beforehand. I sat up straighter. This fight wasn’t over yet!

  Silence descended while we waited for the slave to run her errand. Outside, one of the elephants rumbled loudly, the noise even penetrating the thick canvas. Old Makan – I identified him by extending my senses – wanting his dinner. A moment later two others answered him. Probably the elephant boys were dawdling over their tasks as usual. However, that was no longer my responsibility.

  The entrance of the tent swished open and Sattar entered. After a profuse bow to the prince, the Fire mage raked his eyes over me, his gaze sharpening when he noticed my unusual apparel. I had dug out an extravagant triple layer court robe my father had bought me when serving the governor of Roshni province, and the smooth green silk pooled around me.

  “Lady Arisha, you look lovelier than ever,” he said, a suave smile on his face.

  Under the cover of the wide sleeves I balled my hands into fists, trying hard not to show my dislike of the man. Most women would probably consider his regular features and glossy black hair attractive, but I’d seen him carousing with Father too often to have any illusions about the kind of man he was. Even so, being one of the few mages to serve in the army, he had considerable influence with the prince, who had named him the new Master of Elephants.

  I incli
ned my head. “Lord Sattar.”

  He took that as an invitation to settle on the cushions too close to me, his scarlet robe overlapping my green. A subtle reminder that Fire burned Wood?

  “Lady Arisha has asked for an escort to return to Sikhand,” Prince Bahram informed him.

  “That would be a grievous loss to us,” Sattar said.

  “You are too kind,” I pressed out, disliking the man more than ever. “However, I feel I cannot stay in the camp without my father’s protection.” Very proper sentiments for a gently-bred lady and difficult for them to gainsay.

  Prince Bahram popped a candied rose petal in his mouth. “There is the question of what to do with her father’s elephant.”

  “My mother’s,” I put in. Although Hami had truly been mine from the moment of my birth. And I his.

  The prince waved my objection away. “Whatever.”

  “Hami is a prime male,” Sattar threw in. “One of our strongest tuskers. I fear we cannot do without him.”

  Well, they would have to! I wouldn’t stand by and see him butchered in a senseless war. But before I could frame a polite objection, the prince leant forward again.

  “Lady Arisha, your father was devoted to our campaign. Surely he wouldn’t have wanted to weaken the Victorious Fifth in any way.”

  I suppressed a bitter snort. Lately Father had only been devoted to his next wine skin. “My lord, Hami is all I have left. Please, we have served you well…” I let my voice peter out: an appeal to his honour.

  Only honour was in short supply this side of the mountains.

  Visibly torn, the prince hesitated. “I would of course offer you suitable compensation.”

  Blood money! I opened my mouth to protest, when Sattar forestalled me.

  “Perhaps there is a solution.” He paused a moment to make sure he had our attention. “As you know, I have always considered Lord Ardavan a dear friend. In fact the last time I saw him, he commended his daughter to my protection.”

  Only with difficulty did I hold back a sharp rejoinder. If anything Sattar had seemed to enjoy watching my father making a fool of himself in his cups.

  “A solution?” Prince Bahram prompted.

  Sattar stroked his moustache. “As Lady Arisha very properly pointed out, our camp is no fitting place for an orphaned gentlewoman on her own. However, I am willing to offer her the shelter and protection of my name…as my wife.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You must be joking!”

  Sattar stiffened and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Arisha, I’m warning you–”

  “Please!” the prince intervened.

  Hastily gathering my wits about me, I bowed to him. “My apologies, my lord. This very…flattering…offer took me by surprise. However, I could not possibly accept it without consulting my grandfather first.” I did my best to look like a helpless female unable to decide anything without the assistance of her menfolk.

  Prince Bahram appeared mollified by this explanation, but Sattar knew me better than that and still regarded me through narrowed eyes. “Think well before you refuse me,” he said, the threat in his voice clear. But when Prince Bahram frowned at his words, he suddenly changed tack. “Lady Arisha, please forgive a suitor’s understandable ardour.” The suave smile was back. “I only ask you to consider the mutual benefits that would accrue from such a match.”

  That I would get to keep Hami? And Sattar would acquire a competent manager for the elephant camp, for he knew who had really run it, though my father might have had nominal charge of it. Not to forget a body to warm his bed at night? Well, he could wait a long time for that!

  “I’d rather take my chances with the Eagle’s men than marry you!” I snapped.

  The prince choked on his water pipe. I appealed directly to him. “My lord, what difference does a single elephant make?” They were only staving off the inevitable and everybody knew it.

  “The elephant corps is a highly trained fighting force,” Sattar protested. “To remove one of the animals–”

  “Oh nonsense! You’ve gathered a motley collection of elephants from logging camps and call that a fighting force?”

  His face red with anger, Sattar started to rise. “You dare!”

  To my surprise, Prince Bahram waved him to sit down again. “She has a point.” He turned to me. “But what would you have us do?”

  “Retreat to Sikhand.” The words were out of my mouth before I could truly consider them. I swallowed hard at the sudden silence that followed. “Forgive me, my lord,” I added, “but as Rastam tal Nasar said: only the general who knows when not to fight will emerge victorious.” He had also written something to the point that you had to know where to fight, but I thought better of pointing out that we had no business invading a country that owed us no allegiance.

  Prince Bahram raised an eyebrow. He probably had not had many women quote from On Warfare at him, yet seemed to take it in his stride. “Retreat is not victory,” he pointed out gently.

  I had to admit the truth of that, but at least we would all still be alive. “Could you offer the Aneiry a treaty?”

  “Oh, really!” Sattar burst out. “What does a girl know of matters of state?”

  The prince sighed. “Yes, unfortunately things aren’t that simple,” he said, not unkindly. “You have to leave these matters to those who have more experience.” He rose from his cushions, indicating that the audience was over. “Lady Arisha, I will speak to you again tomorrow. Why don’t you use the time to consider all your options?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  I bowed to him, reminded of another saying: to a prince, losing face is worse than losing ten thousand men.

  * * *

  I slipped out of the tent while Sattar was still taking a wordy farewell from the prince and hurried down one of the lanes dividing the camp into regular quarters, a plan based on the far away capital of Arrashar that most of us had never seen.

  Where to now? By habit I turned towards the healing tents, but stopped. There was nothing there for me anymore. Father had finally found his peace after three weeks of fever, agonising coughing and slow deterioration. I wiped sudden moisture from my eyes. In truth he had left me long ago, that day in the pouring summer rains twelve years ago when my mother had died. I hoped that they would be reunited on the Wheel; he had waited long enough.

  More slowly I took the path along the horse pickets that would lead me to our tent – or rather Sattar’s now, for it went with the position of Master of Elephants. Some of the horses whickered a greeting when I went by, so I stopped to pat necks and stroke noses. They looked scruffy with their winter coat shedding in irregular patches and ribs sticking out from lack of proper fodder.

  “Poor things,” I murmured. At least the fresh spring grass was already pushing through, yet how many would survive the conflict ahead?

  The tent stood empty and forlorn when I reached it. I had freed my father’s two slaves upon his death and they had decided to return to their native village somewhere up in the mountains. Already the tent had that stuffy, uninhabited smell.

  I did not pause long, for I had no wish to meet Sattar again. He was not a man who took a refusal gracefully! So I only nipped inside quickly to pick up my mother’s lute in its felt travelling case and my two bags of belongings. Not that I had a lot. Most of the space in the bags was taken up by my father’s books. On top I had placed his prize possession, a folding Shah board with the figures carved from the tusks of one of his former elephants. Before I shouldered them, I looked down at my few possessions: all that I owned fitted into two bags. Well, apart from a few score hundredweights of elephant! Which I would never give up, I vowed again.

  With little regret I left my old home behind. It had never much felt like one anyway, for I had always known that sooner or later Father would decide he wasn’t appreciated enough, quarrel with the prince and move on. From childhood, I had learnt not to get attached to places, since we never stayed any length of time. The longest had bee
n four years spent working for the governor of Roshni. We’d had a nice house, and I had enjoyed going to temple school, but of course it hadn’t lasted. Still, Hami hadn’t liked getting all decked out in tinsel and paint to carry the governor round and preferred the logging camps in the forest.

  I turned a corner, and up ahead the picketing line of the elephants came into view. By long habit I checked the spacing, though I would have heard had anything been amiss. But only the low rumbles and contented grumbling of elephants having their evening meal filled the air. The familiar scent of hay wafted over, overlaying the more pungent smell of elephant dung. Some of the boys were busy carting it away, just as with a loud plopping sound one of the elephants produced more.

  Emad, the smallest of the boys, groaned loudly. “We’ve only just cleared Makan’s pen! I swear he’s doing it deliberately.”

  I grinned. “Shovelling elephant dung is good for you, it builds up muscle.” I knew that Emad’s secret ambition was to become a soldier one day. Though I hoped not for a long time yet.

  I stroked old Makan’s trunk, afterwards passing on to the next animal, checking for dull eyes or cracked skin. But all were well and greeted me with pleasure after my absence spent looking after Father. My heart grew heavy at the thought of having to leave them and the boys in Sattar’s charge. Yet what choice did I have?

  Suddenly loud trumpeting rent the air. Hami! He flapped his ears excitedly, his trunk snaking out to me. I rushed over. Warm, moist breath whistled over me and I dropped my bags to hug whatever bits of him I could grab. As I touched his leathery skin, I extended all my senses, reaching out for his firm protection, the sheer reassuring solidity of him. Gently he touched me on the head with his trunk, huffing a question.

  Suddenly the tears I had held back so long overflowed my eyes. “Oh, Hami,” I whispered, “Father is dead.”

  He stood patiently while I buried my head against his trunk and sobbed out my grief and desolation. When I finally wiped my face on my sleeve and looked up at him, his beautiful amber eyes regarded me gravely. How much did he understand, I wondered. He had certainly grieved at his own mother’s death.