‘Keyoke?’ Mara’s voice said again. Cool hands brushed his brow, the fingers lightly trembling.
Then light shone, blindingly bright through half-opened eyelids, and consciousness flooded back, along with full awareness of the pain.
‘Keyoke,’ Mara said again. Her hands settled on either side of his temples, gently and insistently framing his face. ‘We are all well. Ayaki is well. Lujan speaks of a battle bravely fought in a canyon. The Minwanabi brought five hundred men to attack, and we hear your small company battled to the death defending the silk.’
The Force Commander struggled through a haze of fever and managed to focus his eyes. His mistress bent over him, her dark hair still loose from her sleeping mat, and her pretty brow furrowed with concern. He was not in the halls of the Red God but in the courtyard before the doors of the Acoma estate house. The grounds were peaceful. Shapes stirred in the surrounding mists as warriors of Lujan’s company dispersed to their barracks. A servant with a cloth hovered nearby, ready to wipe his sweating face. Keyoke drew a difficult breath. Through the fiery pain of his injuries he gathered his wits and spoke. ‘Lady Mara. There is danger. Lord Desio has breached your security.’
Mara stroked his cheek. ‘I know, Keyoke. The spy who was tortured escaped and brought us word. That’s how Lujan knew to rush his company to the mountains to your aid.’
Keyote thought back to the sounds of fighting that had broken out at last, in the hills behind the canyon. Lujan, then, had flanked Lord Desio’s army and put it to rout up the ravine.
‘How many are alive?’ Keyoke asked, his voice barely a croak.
Lujan said, ‘Six men, Force Commander, counting yourself. All seriously wounded.’
Keyoke swallowed hard. Of the hundred warriors and fifty servants, only five besides himself survived the Minwanabi trap.
‘Don’t mind that the silk has been lost,’ Mara added. ‘The cho-ja shall eventually make more.’
Keyoke fumbled a hand free of the blankets that lapped over his chest. He grasped Mara’s wrist. ‘The silk is not lost,’ he gasped clearly. ‘Not all of it.’
This brought an exclamation from Lujan and a whispering stir among the servants. Only then did Keyoke notice the presence of Jican, hovering, bright-eyed, to one side.
He forced out the necessary phrases and told where the bolts were left concealed in the rocks leading into the pass.
Mara smiled. The expression lent her face the delicate, glowing beauty that had once been her mother’s, Keyoke recalled. He also noticed the tears that glittered brightly at the corners of her eyes, which she bravely blinked to keep back. ‘No mistress could have asked so much. You have served honourably, and superbly well. Now rest. Your wounds are very grave.’
Keyoke did not ask how grave; the pain told all he needed to know. He loosened his breath in a sigh. ‘I can die now,’ he added in a whisper.
The mistress did not protest but arose and imperiously called out orders for her Force Commander to be given her finest chamber. ‘Light candles for him, and call poets, and musicians to sing him tribute. For all must know that he has fought as a hero, and given his life for the Acoma.’
Ruling Lady she might be, Keyoke thought, but her voice shook. From him, who knew her as a daughter, she could not hide her grief. ‘Do not weep for me, Lady,’ he whispered. ‘I am content.’
There was noise and a jostle of motion, and consciousness wavered. ‘Do not weep for me, Lady,’ Keyoke repeated. If she heard, he could not tell, for the darkness lapped over him once more.
Later he was aware of scented candles, and soft music, and a stillness that enveloped him like peace, except for the pain, which seemed endless. Forcing his tired eyes open, he saw that he lay on a mat in a beautifully appointed chamber, one painted with scenes of warriors displaying the virtues of arms and valour. Between the reedy notes of two vielles playing in counterpoint, he heard a poet reciting the deeds and the victories he had accomplished, which extended back into Lord Sezu’s time. Keyoke let his eyes fall closed again. He had not lied to his Lady. He was content. To die of great wounds for her honour was a just and fitting destiny for a warrior grown old in her service.
But a disturbance outside in the corridor rang over the notes of the instruments, and the poet faltered in his lines.
‘Damn it, are you just going to let him lie there until he dies?’ cried a strident, nasal voice.
The barbarian, Keyoke identified, as always challenging custom.
Lujan’s voice interjected, unaccustomedly distressed. ‘He has served honourably! What more can any of us do?’
‘Get a healer to fight for his life,’ Kevin almost shouted. ‘Or do you wait for your gods to save him?’
‘That’s impertinence!’ snapped Lujan, and there followed the sound of a hand striking flesh.