Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Read online

  Darshian Tales:IV

  Bearing Fruit

  including the prequel

  Home Ground

  Ann Somerville

  This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental

  Bearing Fruit Copyright © 2006 by Ann Somerville

  Home Ground Copyright © 2006 by Ann Somerville

  Cover art copyright © 2104 by P L Nunn. Cover Typography by Kiri Moth.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For more information please visit my website at http://annsomerville.net

  Smashwords Edition 1, January 2011

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Ann Somerville

  Contents

  Bearing Fruit

  Bearing Fruit: 1

  Bearing Fruit: 2

  Bearing Fruit: 3

  Bearing Fruit: 4

  Bearing Fruit: 5

  Bearing Fruit: 6

  Bearing Fruit: 7

  Bearing Fruit: 8

  Bearing Fruit: 9

  Bearing Fruit: 10

  Bearing Fruit: 11

  Bearing Fruit: 12

  Bearing Fruit: 13

  Bearing Fruit: 14

  Bearing Fruit: 15

  Bearing Fruit: 16

  Bearing Fruit: 17

  Home Ground

  Home Ground: 1

  Home Ground: 2

  Home Ground: 3

  Home Ground: 4

  Home Ground: 5

  Home Ground: 6

  Home Ground: 7

  Home Ground: 8

  Home Ground: 9

  Home Ground: 10

  Home Ground: 11

  Home Ground: 12

  Home Ground: 13

  Home Ground: 14

  Home Ground: 15

  Home Ground: 16

  Home Ground: 17

  Home Ground: 18

  Home Ground: 19

  Home Ground: 20

  Home Ground: 21

  Home Ground: 22

  Home Ground: 23

  Home Ground: 24

  Home Ground: 25

  Home Ground: 26

  Home Ground: 27

  Home Ground: 28

  Home Ground: 29

  Home Ground: 30

  Home Ground: 31

  Home Ground: 32

  Home Ground: 33

  Bearing Fruit: 1

  Kei’s office door opened and closed behind him. “Hello, Arman.” But then he stopped with a frown, used over twenty years’ experience to quickly dissect his lover’s mood, and finally turned. “What’s happened?”

  Arman’s stern, handsome face betrayed nothing of the turbulent emotions Kei sensed within him. “Nothing bad, I assure you.”

  “Then why are you...?” Excited, worried...sad.... “Has someone been hurt?”

  Arman shook his head as he came over to kiss Kei on the forehead. “No, nothing like that. It’s just...a rather surprising letter was delivered this afternoon. By the Prijian ambassador. In person.” Kei raised an eyebrow at this surprising news—Tir Kamus was a genial and enlightened fellow, but like most Prij of his class, very aware of his dignity. Delivering mail to the Darshianese Rulers would normally be well beneath him. “Tell you about it while we have a swim?”

  Kei agreed—the warmer weather always lured him outside, and he’d been stuck in his office the whole day. Sometimes he wondered how he’d ever let Lord Meki talk him into taking this job, though most of the time he loved it and the people around him. But when the sun was hot and a delicious salty breeze blew in from the harbour...and he could see Arman naked....

  “You have the most disgusting thoughts, Master Healer,” Arman said, slapping his bottom gently.

  “Hey! Become Gifted, have you?”

  Arman only grinned at him, taking his hand to tug him towards the door. “After all these years, my love, I can tell when your thoughts become unfit for small children. Come on, there’s a lot to tell you.”

  They weren’t the only people taking the late spring air, or indeed, heading towards the swimming beach. They had Lord Peika to thank for the fact that the water was far cleaner than it might be. As a father and a water lover, he’d personally seen to the rigorous application of laws concerning the dumping of waste from ships and dwellings into the ocean. Not only was it safe to swim in Darshek harbour, it was also safe to eat the fish caught from it. The same was not true in Urshek or Utuk or Garok, sad to say, so Arman’s brother had reported to them. As Kei looked forward to his favourite recreation—second favourite, he amended scrupulously, squeezing Arman’s hand in silent apology—he sent good wishes in the Ruler’s general direction. Swimming made the hot weather in this city so much more bearable.

  “So, come on. What’s in this famous letter?”

  “An invitation from the Sovereign of Kuprij to the most illustrious Rulers of Darshek, to visit Utuk. There was also,” Arman continued, ignoring Kei’s startled surprise, “another request which I have to pass on to the Master of the academy. Which is you, of course.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, dear. What request? I swear, I’ve delivered babies that came out with greater speed than this news.” Kei narrowed his eyes. “You’re teasing me. You’ll pay for this, you bastard.”

  “I look forward to my punishment,” Arman said with the serenity of someone who’d faced all Kei’s threats and survived. “My hesitation is because...well, damn it—they want you to come and open the new academy down there. And they want me to go with you as part of the official delegation. Me—by name. Sei General Lord Arman himself, as the letter called me.”

  Kei blinked as he tried to process all this information. “Me? In Utuk? You?” Arman was apparently completely serious, cautiously watching Kei to see his reaction. “Why? Why me, and more importantly, why you? Is this a trick?”

  Arman sighed. “It’s the obvious assumption, of course. Except...there’s nothing to gain from it, because harming either of us would be an outright act of war. Nothing indicates that his Serenity wants that—quite the contrary. They’ve been putting considerable efforts into strengthening ties with us. Kamus says that the sovereign asked for me because of my ‘symbolic power’. Now, I know Nivuman is not unaware of my history or of what happened last time I was there, and I very much doubt he wants more riots—so I have to assume he knows the risks and believes the benefits outweigh them.”

  Kei was still trying to absorb the astonishing idea of Arman actually being invited back to a country which had soundly rejected him twenty-three years before, and where his mere presence less than seven years ago had provoked angry riots. “He’s making a statement,” he said slowly. “A big statement. He wants you to poke some people in the eye.”

  “Yes. That would be my guess. But I do have great symbolic power, in fact, if his aim is as stated, to foster close relations between the two countries. It’s a clever idea—we all agreed on t
hat when we met this afternoon. No one’s really sure what to do, though.”

  Arman walked on again, and Kei fell into step beside him. Stripped of his Ruler’s robes, and wearing the most ordinary of civilian clothes, Arman looked no more significant—though infinitely more handsome, Kei insisted to himself—than any other Prij walking along the harbour path. Darshek now had a sizeable foreign population, and one heard Prijian being spoken almost as often as Darshianese. The Prij who stayed were the adaptable ones, the tolerant ones. The kind who strengthened their new home, and brought new skills to it.

  And Arman was surely the most adaptable, tolerant and strengthening Prij of all. A very potent symbol indeed, for all his harmless demeanour as they strolled along, anonymously as they both preferred. A Prij from the very highest strata of a highly stratified society, once holding its second highest military rank, and an intimate of the former Ruler. And then condemned by his own people as a traitor for bringing peace, for ending a pointless war with a country which then offered him a home and a lover, rising to become that country’s ruler, and one of its most lauded citizens. To most Prij, he was still a traitor—but it seemed the virtues which made Arman so highly valued in Darshian were also not without merit to His Serenity, Nivuman, sovereign of Kuprij. “Will you go? I felt your excitement...and sadness...your father,” Kei said, suddenly realising the implications. “You want to go before....”

  “Before he dies, yes. You can say that, Kei. Everyone dies, and my father is in his seventy-second year. A long life for one of us and you know it.”

  Kei briefly rested his head on Arman’s shoulder. “His loss would be no less painful for coming after a long life. Seeing you arrive in triumph, welcomed...would be a wonderful thing for your family.”

  “If it’s not some kind of a trap. Nivuman knows you’re a former hostage. He knows your role in the ending of the war, he knows you’re gifted...the military man in me can’t help but think we would be giving the Prij two valuable personnel whose loss would affect this nation badly, though I say it myself.”

  “Your loss would affect this nation badly,” Kei insisted, looking deep in Arman’s intensely blue eyes. “Then refuse politely. It’s not like you have to go.”

  “No. Quite.”

  As they walked along, the sun beating strongly down on them, Arman was silent until at last they reached their destination. The beach was crowded with families and friends, and it was a bit of a struggle to find a place to undress and leave their clothes. As a Ruler, Arman could have commanded any amount of space for himself. Arman would have rather forgone swimming for all time than thus abuse his position. Instead, they excused themselves as they squeezed in between two family groups, and quickly shed their clothes, leaving them in a tidy pile for their return.

  The water’s edge also teemed with people—children splashing, parents helping their youngsters learn to swim—so that he and Arman had to strike out to deeper water before they had room for a proper workout. Kei was a great advocate of swimming as an exercise, especially, as he had to ruefully admit, for men and women of his age, and Arman had taken his advice very seriously. As soon as the evenings were long enough and warm enough, he would come down here as often as possible and swim for an hour or more. His enthusiasm for this activity and his other pursuits, meant that, unlike Lord Peika or Lord Jiv, whose waistlines had slowly spread along with their dignity over the years, Arman was as trim and nearly as fighting fit as he’d been when Kei had first met him. Not at all bad for forty-eight, Kei had to admit, admiring the way Arman’s powerful arms sliced through the water as he splashed his way across the harbour. Kei followed him, and though he was pretty fighting fit himself, he really had to work to keep up with his lover. He realised that Arman had a specific destination in mind—he was heading to the other end of the beach, a good quarter-mile away, and which was far less crowded.

  They shook themselves dry as they reached the land. Kei helped Arman squeeze the water from his heavy braid, while Arman returned the favour. “It’s the one time I really regret all this damn hair,” Arman muttered as he held the dripping thing piled on his head.

  “You say that nearly every time,” Kei reminded him, though after they found a suitable place to sit on the sand, he did try to squeeze it a little more to show willing. Arman’s braid was so thick, that was the problem—it held water like a sponge.

  Finally he gave up trying to fight the hairy mass, and instead leaned against his lover, signalling rather clearly that he would very much appreciate another kiss, thank you. Arman got the message, and gifted Kei with a long, slow caress that would lead to activities probably not particularly befitting the dignity of either of their offices, nor polite in a public setting like this unless they were both sensible. Kei hated being sensible, but one had to think of one’s fellow citizens, he thought, sighing as he reluctantly sat up and indicated that they’d better stop. Arman took his hand and began a gentle massage, an affectionate habit that Kei had come to adore over all these years. “You still want to go, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I don’t know why, really—except for Father. But it’s not like I haven’t accepted some time ago that each time he visits might be the last time I see him. Sooner or later, it will be the last time, and I’m not moving back to Utuk just to sit and wait for him to die. He’d consider me a fool, and rightly.”

  “And it’d be a mistake to spend so much time thinking of how much you’ll miss them when they go, while they’re still here and vigorous. Mari hasn’t indicated he’s unwell, has she?”

  “No, not at all. Just the arthritis, as always. It’s only his age that gives me concern.” Arman stared out to sea, his aristocratic features in profile, his mouth turned down. Kei sensed his sadness once again. It wasn’t so much that Arman couldn’t face his father dying at the natural end of a long and busy life, but that he and his parent had wasted so much of that long life in a stupid estrangement. Arman always felt he’d cheated himself and his father—it was a regret that could really never have an answer.

  “We could just go, you and I, as private citizens. Slip in and out—it’s not like you’re that well known personally anymore, and since Mekus has gone, no one will be fomenting trouble against you.”

  “No, they probably wouldn’t. But if I’m going to go, why not go in style and have it serve Darshian, and not merely my own satisfaction? You don’t have to come with...ouch!” Arman gave him a wounded look, as he tugged his braid away from Kei’s hand. “What was that for?”

  “That was for being a pissing idiot, my beloved. You are not going away to a foreign land again without me. I thought we settled that once and for all.” He glared fiercely at his lover until Arman sighed, then kissed him in apology. “Hmpf, I should hope so too. It’s bad enough that in a few months or so, Karik and Romi will be off to Andon again, and I’ll have that to worry about.”

  “Then I won’t go. It’s not important. It’s not like I would have planned to go if this invitation hadn’t come.”

  Kei looked critically at him. “You would have planned it, except for me. It’s not your own safety, is it? It’s mine.”

  Arman lifted his hand and kissed it carefully. “You don’t belong in Utuk. I don’t belong in Utuk, but there’s Father and Tijus and Mari and the children.... But they know my life is here. I won’t subject you to a dangerous sea journey and a possibly hostile reception for their sake. Oh, stop that,” he said crossly, as Kei tugged his braid again. “Now what did I say?”

  “No one’s been lost on the Darshek-Urshek journey in fifty years, so it’s hardly dangerous. And why would they be hostile to me? Everyone loves me,” he said with fake sweetness, then dodged the mock slap. “Well, they do.”

  “Some of us do, assuredly, though the gods alone know why sometimes. You forget that a small but prominent group of senators hold you personally responsible for my defection.”

  “A small and out of favour group, you mean. I bet Nivuman wants to use me to poke them in the eye. Th
ey don’t scare me,” he declared stoutly. “And I do want to see this new academy. It’s such a wonderful project, you know that. My main reservation is the length of time it’ll take to do this—we spent all that time at New Year in the village, and I still want to go there for end of summer. When’s the opening?”

  Arman shrugged. “At our convenience, actually. Kamus was being incredibly accommodating—we can come when we want, stay as long as we want, bring whoever we want with us. Including, he was careful to point out, any of our Gifted friends.”

  Kei looked at him in renewed amazement. “That is accommodating. Nivuman is really Prijian, isn’t he? He seems too sensible sometimes.”

  “I’ll ignore the racial slur because it’s true. Yes, he’s one of mine, but brighter than most, and he owes nothing to Kita or Mekus. He’s worth cultivating—and worth supporting. Showing him to have the backing of the Darshianese—and our Gifted friends—won’t do him any harm in some quarters. The others will hate him whatever he does. My brother says Nivuman has his eyes on the future. Darshian could do with more leaders like him in charge of Kuprij.”

  “Yes, we could.” Kei tried to examine his feelings honestly on the subject of returning to a city which had given him a good deal of sorrow—but also the magnificent and beloved man beside him. “I really would like to do this,” he said thoughtfully. “In some ways, though, I could wish for a longer journey, not a shorter one, come back through the dry regions so I could meet my people, see how things are for them on the ground. The south is sadly neglected compared to the three most northern villages.” Arman gave him a sharp look. “What?”

  “I wonder if you’ve suddenly developed the gift of mind-speaking, that’s all. Because the Rulers were just talking about this very idea—that if I and anyone else were to go, we could turn it into a proper cross-country procession, bringing the Rulers to the people. It seems incredible that something like this hasn’t been done before.”

  “How long do you envisage?” Kei felt his own excitement rising, however much he tried to temper it with caution. The Prij couldn’t be trusted, not as a nation. Everyone knew it—even Arman knew it. To be involved in a political game, however peripherally, could be highly dangerous—as Mekus and his family and hangers-on had found to their cost five years before.