46 - How Could You? How Could You?

The Lainz/Milar Honour post was on this side of the border, a garrison of three warriors allowed by the treaty at the river and all of them off living in their own houses, with their own wives, in this tiny village. 

The post itself was half ruined, a Milar-style house with the hearth in the middle, the sleeping loft above. The loft above had holes in the floor one could drop a pony through. Raghnall sat on a bench he’d just brushed the dust from, looking down at the packet Dukir had just handed him.

“Amir, these orders make no sense.” Raghnall looked up, taking in the nasty little living space that was the Post of Honour. “We are to look for whom? And you had these orders from…” he threw up his hands. “I don’t want to know. I don’t need to know. These are my orders from the Immutable and if he wants me to close up the Honour post and go hunting a winged glass dog, who am I to argue?

Dukir stood at rest, his helmet perfectly tucked under his arm. “Naser, yeh kin never tell what a shinin’ one wants. Gold veil, gold tongue… We obey.”

“Asses the lot of us,” Raghnall said quietly. “It will put me further away from Lainz itself.”

“Ay, Naser. But this boy we’m to find? If the most Shinin’ One wants him, you’d cover yarself w’ glory bringin’ him back.”

Shaidan looked around at the half ruined post that had not had a Lainz in it for a number of years, then down at the passes and orders and safe-conducts and introduction letters that had been in the sealed order packet. “He certainly seems to want this boy badly enough to give me an envoy’s support. Normally they would have sent someone with the rank of ‘Nomarc’ at the least.

Nomarc in all but name, young man. Dukir thought. Let us see how you get along with the Milari.

“We’ve got some daylight to travel by, Amir. We may as well cross the border. Do you speak Milar at all? I know only enough to order butter for my tea, or a beer.”

“Ay, Naser. If you are willing I can teach you a bit more than that.” I can teach you enough to negotiate in the language, sonny.

“Yes, if you would. I never dreamed I’d be crossing this border peacefully.”

“’t world works mysterious, like, it do indeed,” Dukir said and turned, brushing the cobweb aside to go back out to his bird, standing aside to let Shaidan precede him. Like all Amir it was his job to say yes Naser, no Naser and immediately Naser while making sure that the young office didn’t get eaten by his own moas. 

It looked like the young man had the possibility to shape up nicely into a Nomarc, but Dukir would keep his own council on that till he got back to the city, to talk to Diryish, hopefully with the Imperial Heir in tow. Then Shaidan could take his glory and the Amir Isfahsalar could vanish safely back into the ranks.

**

In Milar, on the almost dark mountainside above the capitol, two men’s voices echoed, calling. “Kyyyyyyyruuusss! Kyrus?”

“Kyyyyyyyyruuuuuuusss!”

Kyrus ran almost straight into his father’s gravestone, caught the top edge with one hand. The force of his grab whirled him around behind it, clinging to the back, peering over the top of it. “Stinking lousy mandery! Cursed Dees! EnLightened! EnLightened! No. No. It’s impossible.”

He shivered in the warm spring. The gravestone was still warm from the sun and he clung to it. He could hear the two men’s voices calling behind him. “Kyyyyyyruuuuus!”

How can a raised ghost call me? How can it move away from where it died? How can it seem so real? I didn’t think any Milar would do such a thing. Even having mandery. How could he? How could he? The betrayal he felt, that Ilax would raise his father’s ghost was ashes and sand, bitter in his mouth.

Ilax ran from the ancestor stones, his steps slowing as he saw Kyrus clinging to the gravestone. “Kyrus! I found him!”

“You’re talking to that thing pretending to be my father’s spirit?” Kyrus spat from the grave. “You’ve called him up from the dead? How could you? How could you? Wasn’t it enough that you killed him? Chopped his head off with your own hand? You have to defile him more?” Kyrus was on his feet by now, hurling his words at Ilax’s impassive face.  "You Milar worship your own ancestors and you have the nerve to do this to one of MINE?"

The fetch came up behind Ilax but it didn’t make Kyrus stop, seeing that face.  He’d known for all his life he would only see it in his dreams, or sandsick dreams.

“I liked you! I liked you being my Zon! Have you hated me all this time? Hated him so much? The rumour was you loved him, that if your people had let you, you would have done that weird inamor marriage thing! How could you! How could you! This is the worst thing you could have done!”

The thing behind Ilax spoke up, though it shouldn’t have been able to. “Ilax… you know how I was worried it was not going to go well? This really, really is not going well.”

“You think?” Ilax said quietly.

“Kyrus,” the image of his father said, directly to him. “I never died. He didn’t kill me."