Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 5

  “We’re long-lived,” Arman murmured. “So everyone tells me.”

  “Better be,” Kei said sternly. “Because I’m counting on it.” He tugged Arman’s braid. “Now, get on with your job. My hair is serious business, I’ve told you that before.”

  “Yes, sir, Master Kei. How could I forget my position so?”

  Bearing Fruit: 3

  They stayed for three weeks, and Kei would have gladly stayed a month longer, so useful and enjoyable had the mission turned out to be. The opening of the new academy would be one of the fondest memories of his life. The building wasn’t new, but had been greatly extended, with one of Utuk’s finest architects commissioned to design a place of grace, of grandeur and of welcome. A piously respectful place as well, with statues of the Prijian gods prominently positioned outside the building, but Kei understood that too sent the message that the deities would bless the endeavours within it.

  The ceremony itself was a showpiece of Prijian culture, with a long but enjoyable display of singing and classical dance, and speeches from the new Masters and the sovereign. There was also a long blessing with the regrettable sacrifice of a black lemul, but it seemed to be the expected thing, and there was no doubt that having the favour of the priests would stand the academy in good stead.

  Kei was the main guest of honour, slightly to his surprise, and fêted like he was royalty, which embarrassed him no end. He ended up giving the inaugural lecture in a huge and exquisitely decorated auditorium, to an audience of over a thousand, people squeezing into every available space, even sitting on the floor—men and women alike, and from all classes since it was declared open to all. His decision to speak in carefully rehearsed Prijian was greeted with enthusiastic applause.

  The topic of his speech had been left entirely up to him, so he’d decided to talk about why he’d become a healer and why he felt healers had such an important role in society. He spoke of the quest for knowledge which drove him, which had driven his parents—of the patients they could save now, that in his youth might have died, and of the patients they lost now but would, he knew, be saved in the future by the discoveries made by people in the audience in front of him. He told them of how even the simplest observations could lead to important discoveries, and that the finest instruments a scientist owned were their eyes and their mind.

  “And never forget this, all of you who hear me today,” he said, concluding his speech. “A healer heals the injured and the sick. We do not kill. We do not heal only those whose colour suits us best, or whose politics. We don’t ask, can this patient pay us? We don’t draw out suffering to increase our fee. We only heal, by the grace of all those healers and researchers and teachers before us, and our own humanity and skill. Sometimes we can only offer a peaceful death, but in that we heal too, because we give the family and friends ease from their fear and their sorrow, knowing their loved one passed safely and with kindness. But in everything we do, everything we try, everything we say to our patients and their kin—let this be the guiding principle. We heal. We do not harm. May your gods guide your hand and your hearts, my friends.”

  The applause went on for nearly ten minutes, and Kei, well used as he was to public speaking and lecturing, was reduced to tongue-tied pleasure by the response. Disrespectful man that he was, Arman said it was the quietest Kei had been in twenty years.

  He was invited to give three further lectures which he gladly agreed to, and the personnel he’d brought with him were fully occupied advising everyone from teachers to librarians. Some agreed to remain and continue that advice, and Kei promised to send further assistance as soon as he got back to Darshek. The academy was headed for a brilliant future, and with the patronage of the crown and many of the nobility, it would be a great success.

  That it was intended to reach out to all levels of society had not gone unnoticed by the Prij or the Darshianese. In one of several private meetings he, Arman and Lord Peika had with the sovereign, Nivuman was frank about the fact that he wanted to raise the intellectual attainments of his entire population. He wanted health to improve, literacy to improve, and the quality of industry to rise. In this, he had the support of a surprising number of the aristocracy, who were sick of a society which so singularly failed to reach its potential.

  “We must move slowly, as I am sure Sei Arman appreciates,” the sovereign said. “But I have been reading your own histories, Master Kei. Your society also began slowly in such reforms, and from an even lower base than we do. I know I will die long before I achieve my aims—but I will die, I trust, knowing they are well on their way to being achieved. Peace and prosperity are the safeguards of my legacy, as they have been of your country’s.”

  “Then, your highness, I hope the peace that exists now, will continue until long after you and I are both dead, because I have seen enough of war,” Kei said.

  “We all have,” Arman agreed.

  The sovereign gave him a long look for that remark. “I have watched your career closely for many years, Sei Arman. I saw you rise through the ranks, become a general, and everywhere I went, there were whispers about you, about how you would become Lord Commander, and maybe even sovereign.”

  “Me?” Arman looked genuinely startled, something Kei hadn’t seen in a while. “I never had the least ambition....”

  “Nor I,” Nivuman said dryly. “Nor any thought of my brother dying and I inheriting his position and my father’s estate, but yet I did. Just as you had no idea all those years ago of ruling north Darshian, and yet now you do. After you left, there were many pitying words said about your poor father, your poor brother, and the shame they had to bear. Not so much pity now, I fancy.”

  “If I may be frank, your highness?” Nivuman nodded gracefully to indicate that he could. “Why did you bring me here? You could have brought the southern Rulers here instead.”

  Kei leaned forward, listening intently, as did Lord Peika. He doubted any Darshianese in the entire history of their country had ever been privileged to hear the thoughts of the Prijian sovereign in quite this detail or honesty before. The sovereign took his time answering. “You probably thought I was trying to annoy someone.”

  “The thought crossed my mind, yes.”

  “You’d be wrong, however, just as you’d be wrong to think I invited your fellow Darshianese here to irritate people. I don’t do things to annoy people, Sei Arman. I do things to make them think. Much, I fancy, Master Kei, as you do when you’re teaching your students, yes?”

  The man’s gaze, as ever, was disconcertingly direct. “Yes, your highness. So what lesson were you hoping your people would learn?”

  “I want them to learn that there is beauty in the ordinary things, Master Kei, and that a country can increase the lustre of its reputation as much through peace as through war. I want to give them the thrill of discovery and achievement in ways that mean other people don’t have to die, and to show that it only increases the honour of Kuprij that one of its own people now rules in Darshek. I want them to stop feeling ashamed. For twenty years, I’ve had it shoved down my neck that we lost the war and our honour, and that General Arman had the reward of a filthy traitor by losing his nation and his home. I have never seen Sei Arman as a failure or a traitor. An unfashionable view, I grant you, but not without its adherents,” he added with a slight smile. “To regain our pride as a nation, we have to embrace our past. Make no mistake, my friends. I mean to make this country a dominant force once more. But we’ll do it with our minds and our discoveries, not our swords. You broke us of the habit of war twenty-three years ago, gentlemen. I will have my people sucking at the teat of knowledge instead.”

  And may your gods, if they exist, guide you well, your highness, Kei thought, feeling rather as if he’d been present at the birth of something wonderful. Time would tell. He hoped this unusual man would achieve even a small amount of what he dreamed, for he had big dreams, and a nation needed people with such breadth of vision.

  There was much to do, and sadly
limited time to do it in. Lord Peika and Arman engaged in a busy round of negotiations and discussions, while Kei and his staff worked hard to bed the new academy in. Jera spent a lot of time with them, but also visited the palace several times to show the sovereign and his friends his powers. Their soldiers strove to strengthen further the good relations that had been built up with their Prijian counterparts, and everyone did their best to foster goodwill and understanding, being met by equally determined efforts to do the same from the other side.

  Though they were all kept ferociously busy, there was still time for family, for friends, often at the same time, as Arman’s father graciously threw his house open for Arman to play host to whomever he chose. In practice, that meant personal friends from the embassy and the resident Darshianese population, but also more than a few of Arman’s fellow aristocrats. For the first time, Kei was introduced formally to the people who had been Arman’s friends in his childhood, or friends of his father, and while there was any amount of curiosity, and perhaps a little prurient interest in exactly what they did together in private, there was no hostility. The war was truly over, at last.

  There had been far worse scandals since Arman’s defection, of course, and since one of Arman’s fiercest critics and denigrators had himself proved to be an unspeakable and undeniable traitor, it was now acceptable to admit that of the two, Arman had been the more noble. No one had a kind word for the now departed Senator Mekus or his wife. A good many senior families had lost position and status as a result of their misguided support for the pair, but even that had been handled in a way which had been calculated to heal the wounds of a broken society. No one was hanged or eviscerated, though a death sentence had inevitably been passed upon Mekus and Mayl—a sentence they’d escaped when they had fled Utuk for the Welensi Islands—and a diplomatic retirement from office was all that had been urged upon the most blatant of their supporters.

  Mekus’s granddaughter, theoretically in line for the throne, had been settled quietly on one of the smaller Prijian islands, where she would live in security and luxury, but have no claim upon the position of sovereign—something the girl herself had readily agreed to, so Kei was told. Even the senator who had been implicated in Mekus’ escape had only been stripped of his rank and told to go back to his estate to contemplate his crime—a severe punishment by some lights, but Kei didn’t need Arman to tell him that under the former sovereign, the man would have suffered far worse. The more capable and less culpable offenders were now being cautiously welcomed back into government, though they were far from being trusted. Kei had to admire the way a mild, widowed scholar and farmer had managed a dangerous state revolt, and come out of it not particularly hated by most, and admired by many. Arman had once said that Kuprij had had a long line of strong but stupid leaders. It was more than time to try something new.

  Every day was full, and every day brought new and unexpected delights from a people and a country Kei had feared for so long. But finally, the day of the departure was fixed and at hand. The sorrow of parting was tempered a little by the decision of Tijus’s son to come with them as they travelled back through Darshian, to see something of the country and to spend some weeks with them in Darshek. There was talk of Kei and Arman coming back the following year to see how the academy was progressing, and of a visit by Tijus and his family too. What remained unspoken, though, was the fact that Senator Armis would never travel to Darshek again—the sea journey was simply too much for him now. If Arman did not return to Utuk, it was certain this was the last time he would see him.

  Kei gave the two men as much time together as he could, taking the opportunity to spend time with Mari and talking to her about the two schools she now ran, and the two young men she proposed for scholarships. They’d had three of Mari’s students in Darshek before, but the opening of the new academy had meant there were opportunities now right here in Utuk. She’d wanted his advice about what was the best thing to do in the short term, and on their last morning before leaving, they spent an hour or so in her lovely garden, talking about the future of the school. Kei became so engrossed in their discussion he was quite startled by Arman’s voice.

  “Ah, this is where you are. No one seemed to know.”

  “We were hiding from you, dear,” Mari said, smiling at him. “Are you and Armis done?”

  Arman seemed rather subdued, his emotions tangled and sad. Before Kei could get up, Arman said, “Mari, Father would like to speak to Kei before Tijus and the others arrive.”

  “Certainly. Kei, you should go. In the library, Arman?”

  Arman nodded as Kei got to his feet. He looked into Arman’s eyes for a clue, but found none. “Are you all right?”

  “No. But I will be. Go on, he dislikes being kept waiting.”

  Kei gave him a quick kiss, and brushed his hand, before going into the house, now familiar to him as his own. He knocked politely on the library door and was gruffly ordered to enter. The senator was sitting behind a large but practical desk which, like the rest of the room, was clearly that of a man for whom this was a place of work as well as contemplation. The room itself was large, dark-timbered and lined on all walls from floor to ceiling with books, all showing signs of long use, and not merely for show. It had, Arman said, once been his favourite retreat, and Kei wondered if it was a simple love of reading which had drawn the lonely boy here, or whether he had hoped, in some small way, to connect with a distant and grieving father through their shared interest in learning.

  “Sit down, my boy. Let me order you some tea.”

  Kei thanked him, and waited until the bell was rung and the order given to the manservant. He knew Armis well enough by now that it would irritate him to be reminded that he had sent for Kei for a reason. Armis didn’t forget things like that.

  Once alone, the senator folded his hands upon his cane and stared at Kei with intense blue eyes—not really like his son’s in colour, but the manner and expression were identical. “You’ve made a conquest of this city, haven’t you, Master Kei?”

  “Hardly, sir, but I’ve been warmly received.”

  “Quite a contrast, don’t you think? Coming here as a hostage the first time, and in triumph the second?”

  Kei didn’t remind the man this wasn’t the first time he’d come in triumph—he took his point. “A welcome contrast, yes, sir.” He waited for Armis to get to the point, for this surely wasn’t it.

  Their tea arrived and was served, and still the senator didn’t say what was on his mind. There was something, for sure. He was uncomfortable and embarrassed—and sad, as his son had been. Kei decided to break the silence. “Sir...did you and Arman talk?”

  “About what, Kei?”

  “Well, about his departure.”

  The sharp gaze became even more intense. “You mean, surely, about my mortality. Come, come, you’re a healer. You’re more aware of the frailty of the human body than most people.”

  “I prefer to concentrate on the person as they are while alive, sir. The only consolation I have over the death of my parents is that we never wasted a moment of our time together in regrets. Every memory I have of my time with them is filled with joy.”

  “Unlike those of my son or myself, you would say.”

  Kei looked at him, responding to the pain he could feel rather than the sternness he could see. “Did you talk to him, sir?”

  The senator harrumphed and picked up his teacup in large-knuckled hands. He was adept at hiding the fact of his advanced age behind his frightening intellect and wits, but now he simply look old and frail and sad. “My son...can’t bring himself to say goodbye to me. I can’t bring myself to say farewell to him either. But yet I must. I need your help, young man, though it pains me greatly to admit it.”

  “To do what, sir?”

  Armis thrust out his chin, and set down his cup. “To tell him...to tell him to go live his damn life and stop feeling so damn guilty. It wasn’t only his fault we didn’t speak for all those years, and it’s too
late to do a thing about it. He needs to get on with his life. When I’m gone, it won’t matter to me what happened back then.”

  “Sir...Armis...I don’t think that’s what he needs to hear from you at all. I don’t think it’s really what you want to say to him either.”

  “So you won’t help. I should have had more sense than to ask. My apologies for imposing.” He stared past Kei’s left shoulder and made it plain he very much regretted starting the conversation at all.

  Kei sighed. Two good men, so very alike in some ways, and both stubborn as all hells. “Your son misses you, Armis. He misses the years he could have spent at your side, and in your company. There’s no way he could not regret that, because it meant so much to him. If your final words to him are merely to dismiss his pain, you’ll only to add to it. Is that really the last memory you want to give him? Don’t you have anything more...paternal...to say?”

  Armis cleared his throat, and still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No idea what to say. The man knows I’m fond of him. He surely knows I’m proud of him. Damn it, look at what he’s achieved, look at what he’s doing now. He knows I approve of that.”

  Kei shook his head slightly. “Sir...when your wife passed away, did you have a chance to say goodbye?”

  That earned him a quelling look. “Is this any of your business?”

  “Did you?”

  “It...took some time. There was never any hope, the physicians all said so...all I could do was watch.”

  “Sir...Armis...what did you say to her?” More jaw clenching, and it was clear he wouldn’t answer. “I’m sorry to have caused you pain, sir,” Kei said. “But perhaps...the words you need are in your heart already.” He stood. “Shall I leave you alone now?”

  “Yes...no, wait, Kei. There are things I need to say to you too.”