Elephant Thief Page 4

  However, the bandit leader only nodded and sent some of his men off. Soon Hami had a pile of freshly cut grass mixed with an odd assortment of carrots, turnips and cabbages before him.

  “That should do.” The bandit leader took me by the elbow and steered me towards the fire lighting the cavern. “And now you will explain what brings you here.”

  I shook off his grip, but sat down on one of the logs placed round the fire that he indicated. A quick glance round the cave showed piles of saddlebags lying around and some freshly cut wood stacked against the far wall. Not a particularly impressive bandit’s lair.

  Farther back a pot of stew bubbled over another fire, attended by a short, grey haired man. When he saw us sit down, he brought over a couple of mugs of tea. I wrapped my hands around the battered wooden cup, my mind involuntarily going back to the last time I’d been offered tea. This strong, black beverage, generously sweetened with honey, couldn’t be more different from the delicate jasmine tea Prince Bahram served, but somehow I found the very ordinariness of the situation reassuring. It seemed to me that if they just wanted to rape me or slit my throat, surely they wouldn’t bother to offer me a drink first. But of course I didn’t exactly have a wide experience of being captured.

  Another man sat down across the fire from me and I recognised the bandit leader’s friend from earlier on. He had black hair, unusual for his people, and dark, deep-set eyes. With a nod to me he passed over my bags to the bandit leader. “Here are her things.”

  I grabbed my mug hard as the man methodically went through my belongings. However, he showed no interest in rich clothes or even my small stash of jewellery. Those he stuffed back after a cursory glance, but he lingered over my father’s Shah set, admiring the intricately carved figures. Finally he looked through all the books, separating them into two piles.

  “Here,” he said and handed me the bags with everything except the books. “We’re not thieves.”

  No? Well, he gave a pretty good impression. I didn’t want to antagonise him though, so didn’t say anything. He flicked back the feather braided into his hair, and I suddenly remembered one of the elephant boys mentioning that fashion as being popular amongst the Aneiry rebels. Not exactly a reassuring thought.

  He regarded me with the cool, pale gaze of a bird of prey. “So who are you?”

  I decided to tell the truth, or at least part of it. “I am Lady Arisha tal Ardavan, Ninth Circle.” Let them think me a valuable prisoner.

  “One of their nobles?” the dark haired man exclaimed in surprise.

  Unimpressed, his friend shrugged. “So it seems. We are of course greatly honoured.” I noticed that he spoke Sikhandi with hardly any accent, a rare thing this side of the mountains.

  “And who might you be?” I snapped.

  The dark haired man gave me small, formal bow. “Lord Taren of Meirchtraeth, at your service.” The courtesy made me blink with surprise. He too had a feather braided into hair, but it was jet black, not the mottled brown of the bandit leader’s.

  “And you?” I asked the other man.

  “You may call me Lord Rhys,” he answered curtly and with none of his friend’s courtesy. “And now that we have the introductions over, perhaps you would care to explain what you are doing in these mountains?”

  I hesitated, but perhaps they would let me go if I told them that I was on my way out of their country. “My father used to serve with the army,” I answered, “but he died a few days ago, so I decided to head home to Sikhand.”

  Lord Taren made a sympathetic noise, but Lord Rhys only nodded. “So that’s why you cut your hair. I thought you had the foolish notion of passing for a boy that way.”

  Well, it had fooled him anyway! At least at first. And where had he learnt about Sikhandi mourning customs? “I’m on my way to my grandfather at Mohsen monastery,” I continued my tale. “He’s the abbot there, an important man.” Involuntarily I wondered if I was going to find out whether my grandfather would be willing to pay ransom for me.

  However, my important kinsman didn’t seem to impress Lord Rhys. “Where did you get the elephant?” he asked.

  “He’s mine.”

  Those pale eyes regarded me unblinkingly. “Is that so?” He leant forward. “You have stirred up a hornets’ nest of trouble; there are Sikhandi soldiers looking for a stolen elephant all over the countryside.”

  “Hami belongs to me!” I protested. Then I took a deep breath. “Admittedly I had a…slight difference of opinion with the Master of Elephants.” No need to tell them how that had ended. “Look,” I said, “all I want is free passage over the mountains. I’m sure my grandfather would reward you for your help.”

  “A slight difference of opinion?” His tone mocked me. “Your Master of Elephants doesn’t seem to see it that way.” He leant back and stretched, making his joints pop. “Ah well, we already knew we were chasing a thief.”

  “I told you, Hami is mine,” I snapped.

  He took something from a pocket and threw it in my lap. “I didn’t mean the elephant.” When I stared down at the small silver coin, bearing Emperor Firooz’s mark, he added, “I meant the bread.”

  “Where did you get that?” I stuttered.

  “Where do you think?” he asked back.

  When we stared at each other, neither one willing to answer the other’s question, Lord Taren cleared his throat. “A farmer living two days down the road sought us out and showed it to us. That’s how we picked up your trail.”

  I bit my lip, thinking I would have done better being dishonest and just taking the bread.

  Lord Rhys seemed to be able to read my mind. “Be grateful. This coin is the reason why we didn’t just kill you out of hand.” His lips curled contemptuously. “A Sikhandi paying for something he takes is such a novelty that we decided to go and look for him.”

  He was the right one to talk! Another thought hit me. “Did you just take the coin?” I demanded to know. “The poor farmer was supposed to buy food with it!”

  That earned me an icy glare. “I gave him two silver crowns for it, money he can actually use.” He paused for a moment. “And promised him we’d catch his thief.”

  How dare this rebel, bandit or whatever, sit in judgement on me! “Well, I’d rather be guilty of stealing bread than of killing innocents,” I threw at him.

  A breathless silence fell. Slowly he leant forward. “Lady, I only kill the guilty.” His voice stayed mild, but his eyes bored into mine. “But that I enjoy.”

  My breath seemed to be caught painfully in my chest, but I refused to lower my gaze. He had a long scar near his hairline, faded and half covered by a strand of blond hair, and I wondered who had dealt it to him. Had he enjoyed that fight too?

  “Stew?”

  The question caught us both by surprise and we recoiled simultaneously. The grey haired man who had handed me my tea stood there with a couple of bowls of steaming liquid.

  Grateful for the interruption I accepted one, but then noticed a chunk of meat floating in the stew. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I exclaimed, “but I can’t eat this.”

  His brows drew down. “Why not? Don’t you like my cooking?”

  “Sikhandi nobles don’t eat meat,” Lord Rhys threw in to my surprise. Quite calmly he reached over with his spoon, fished out the offending piece and popped it in his mouth. “There, problem solved. Now eat.”

  Really, the man had no manners! But the stew smelled most tempting, so I squashed my scruples about any remaining meat juices mixed in with the vegetables. Living with an army had taught me that you had to be pragmatic and eat whenever the opportunity presented itself. The food was rather bland, but it felt wonderful to have something warm to eat, so for a few minutes I concentrated on nothing but filling my belly. The elderly man even brought me a second helping and a slice of bread to go with it – a strange kindness in this bandits’ camp.

  Lord Taren regarded me curiously as I wiped up the last remaining juice with the bread. “Why don’t you eat an
y meat, my lady?”

  I wondered how to explain the Eternal Wheel, the Balance of Magic, the Sacredness of Life and half a dozen other philosophical concepts to this bunch of killers, but never got the chance anyway.

  “Sikhandi nobles have no stomach for killing,” Lord Rhys threw in, “except by poison of course.”

  Words meant to provoke me, and all the more annoying for the truth in them. That butcher, the late, unlamented Prince Maziar had a lot to answer for! I took a deep breath and tried to sound conciliatory. “My lord, believe me, I have no quarrel with you. Just let me go and you need never concern yourself with me again.”

  “Anything that happens in my lands concerns me,” he replied.

  His lands? Lord Taren had claimed to come from one of the coastal provinces. Did Lord Rhys in his turn consider this particular stretch of northern wilderness his property? Ever since Prince Maziar had slaughtered the majority of the Aneiry nobility that night at Glynhir Castle, the government of the lands not in the immediate proximity of a Sikhandi garrison had become uncertain and contended.

  Lord Rhys put his bowl down and seemed to come to some kind of decision. “Very well,” he said, “you may leave.”

  “What?”

  He nodded. “You may go right now. I don’t care, one Sikhandi less in my lands is all for the better.” He looked me up and down dismissively. “You seem to be harmless.” It was not a compliment.

  “Now just a moment,” I began.

  “Rhys!” Lord Taren exclaimed. “You can’t leave a woman all on her own without any protection.”

  We both ignored him. “I can really go?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  Gathering my bags, I got up uncertainly and turned towards Hami.

  “The elephant stays,” Lord Rhys added.

  “What! I’m not going anywhere without my elephant.”

  “He’s not yours anymore,” Lord Rhys pointed out in an even voice, “he’s mine.”

  And he had accused me of stealing! “Hami is mine and always will be,” I pressed out through clenched teeth.

  “Spoils of war, my lady,” he said, his eyes glittering with some unfathomable emotion.

  The threat was clear. “You’ll never be able to control him,” I shot back.

  I had his full attention now. “And why not?”

  “Hami’s not used to any other handler. If I’m not there to calm him, he will run wild. So you see, he’s absolutely no use to you,” I concluded triumphantly.

  “Is that so?”

  “I’m the only one he obeys.”

  Lord Rhys tapped his chin in thought. “I believe you. However, you’re wrong. He’s only of no use to me if I don’t keep you.” A decisive nod. “Very well, you stay. Teach us how to handle the elephant and afterwards I’ll let you go.”

  I shut my mouth with a snap. What had my father told me more than once: the wise man considers well before arguing with a tiger. I could have kicked myself for my ill-considered words, but really, the man was unbearable in his arrogance!

  “Sit down,” he told me.

  Lord Taren looked pained at this ungallant treatment, but I noticed he didn’t disagree with his friend. “Please, my lady,” he said.

  Grudgingly I obeyed, there being no point in making a scene. At least there seemed no immediate danger of having my throat slit, a small mercy. Perhaps I could lull their suspicions and wait for a better opportunity to make my escape, when I wasn’t surrounded by a camp full of bandits.

  The only thing I had to decide first was whether to give in to temptation and have Hami trample Lord Rhys before I left.

  FOUR

  While I stared into the fire and brooded on Lord Rhys’s iniquities, his men came for orders or sat down to eat their bowl of stew. One of them even offered me a blanket, which I wrapped gratefully around me, though it smelled of horse. For the first time in days I was warm and had a full belly, and despite my best efforts I felt myself drifting off to sleep. Surely planning my escape could wait a little.

  When there was a lull in the comings and goings, Lord Taren leant forward and whispered to his friend: “Rhys, are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?”

  The earlier conversation between us had been in Sikhandi, but now they spoke Aneiry, so I pretended not to pay them any attention. Would I learn something useful? However, Lord Rhys disappointed me.

  “Raven, she speaks our language,” he said with a sharp look my way. “Remember, she understood when I told you to shoot the elephant.”

  How could he recall a detail like that when he’d been hanging upside down at the time!

  “A little,” I admitted. “My father’s servants taught me.”

  “I thought as much.” He called one of his men over. “Owl, could you come here a moment?”

  The man was clad in trousers and a jerkin with green and brown rags sewn on, an attire that would no doubt make him blend into the forest, and at his belt he wore a wicked looking curved knife. Then I lifted my face to look him in the eye and realised it was a woman! To my surprise she had the high cheekbones and slit eyes of the Khotai, the steppe dwellers to the east of us. And she too wore a feather in her hair.

  “Owl, this is Lady Arisha,” Lord Rhys said to her. “I want you to keep an eye on her at all times.”

  The woman didn’t seem particularly pleased with this assignment, but she nodded.

  He turned to me. “Perhaps I should mention that we call her Owl because she kills in the night silently and without anybody noticing. She’ll show you where to sleep.”

  Charming! A bed sounded very tempting though, so I gathered up my bags.

  “Good night,” Lord Taren bid me politely.

  Lord Rhys had obviously already dismissed me from his attention and didn’t even look up, yet when I reached for my books he caught my wrist. “Not those. They go in my library.”

  We locked gazes. “I thought you said you weren’t thieves?”

  “We’re not,” he snapped. “Most of the books I have already anyway, but I want to look through them and make sure. If there’s anything interesting, I’ll reimburse you.”

  Wonderful, another offer of reimbursement that I didn’t want! But I would rather take my turn on the Wheel than let this man have a single thing of my father’s.

  “No,” I said.

  The grip on my wrist tightened. He had the strong, sinewy hands of a swordsman, used to dealing death. “Lady, I don’t have to ask.” The implications were clear: he could take other things as well without asking.

  Around us, silence spread like ripples in a pool. Suddenly I spotted my father’s Shah set peeking out of my bag and remembered how Lord Rhys had admired it earlier on. A strange recklessness took hold of me. “I’ll play you for them.”

  “What?”

  “A game of Shah. The winner gets to keep the books.”

  Those pale eyes pinned me down like a hapless hare caught by a bird of prey. “Why should I accept your challenge?”

  “Because you’re not a thief?”

  Lord Rhys exhaled his breath with a huff. “As you wish.” He released me, his fingers leaving a white band around my wrist that faded only slowly.

  We already had a small audience around us, but now all the men without chores gathered round and somebody rolled over the sawed-off end of a log to serve as a table. After flipping open the Shah board, I set out the pieces, taking white, the colour of challenge. Lord Rhys didn’t comment, but a lively conversation about the rules started up amongst his men. To my chagrin they also began to bet on how many moves it would take him to beat me. Not a single one thought me capable of winning the match!

  As the challenger I had the first move and chose the traditional Lurking Tiger opening. A conventional choice and as expected Lord Rhys did the sensible thing and mirrored my move with his own pawn. While I carefully deployed one of my knights and a chariot in the Dancing Crane sequence, I watched him out of the corner of my eye in order to get a feeling for his style. Fa
ther had always said that you learnt as much from watching your opponent’s face as you learnt from watching his moves. Lord Rhys wore a look of concentration, yet at the same time it was as if by putting all other matters aside for the game some inner tension had loosened, making him seem younger.

  Obviously he had received a good grounding in classical Shah theory. And just as obviously he had a taste for attack, for he replied by bringing forward his own chariot. I let my fingers hover uncertainly over one of my pawns, as if taken by surprise, though I had expected nothing else. For some reason men always presumed a pretty woman to shrink from playing an aggressive game, so Father had taught me to take advantage of that fact. Father…for a moment a wave of loss threatened to overwhelm me. One of my first memories was of him showing me the different ways the Shah pieces moved, while my mother practised on the lute nearby. We had been so happy… Resolutely I pushed the memory away; sentimentality would only hamper me.

  In reply to his attack, I moved one of my pawns forward in an ineffectual defence and Lord Rhys could not resist taking the gambit. I had expected him to smirk in triumph at taking my piece, but he put it aside without any comment, his face alight with enthusiasm. Amongst his men, the odds took a further plunge in my disfavour. So far, so good. A couple more moves and he was overextended nicely, though it would not have mattered against the kind of inexperienced opponent he took me for. Time to bring my mage into play. I even managed to make it look like beginner’s luck when I took one of his chariots – Father would have been proud of me.

  A frown appeared on Lord Rhys’s forehead and fleetingly I felt sorry for having to dampen his relish for the game. However, all regret vanished when I reminded myself of his high-handed treatment of myself and Hami. I deployed my first elephant.

  The game speeded up after that. Lord Rhys threw pieces forward to bolster his crumbling position and even launched an attack on my king. An innovative move and for a long moment I hesitated how to answer it, but then I saw how my mage might counter it. It was a bloody business that cost both of us knights, an elephant, several pawns and Lord Rhys his remaining chariot, but I was left in possession of the centre. His men fell silent as I pressed my advantage, using a sequence of moves that my father had invented himself and christened The Closing Fist. Shah was no game for the faint of heart.