‘Not poisoned, is it?’ the Par’chin asked, taking the cup.
It was a fair question. One of the delicate porcelain bottles in Abban’s set was indeed poisoned, a drug Abban took the antidote to daily. Still, he put a hurt look on his face. ‘You wound me, my friend! Why would I wish to harm you?’
The Par’chin shrugged. ‘Been in the bazaar long enough to get caught up. Word is you and Jardir are suddenly pillow friends again. Makes me wonder if you always were, and your public bickering was just a Jongleur’s show. Makes me wonder if you tricked me into retrieving the spear so your friend could steal it.’
‘I warned you,’ Abban said. ‘You cannot claim I did not, Par’chin. Did I not say to you that I would deal in no Sunian artefacts? Warned you what my people would do if you so much as profaned the holy city with your footsteps, much less stole its treasures?’
‘Yet you gave me the map,’ Arlen said.
‘You asked for it, Par’chin,’ Abban pointed out. ‘To be honest, I thought the holy city was a myth, and that you would never find it. But I owed you a debt, and I paid it.’
He paused. ‘Now that I think of it, Par’chin, it is you who have not paid. “A mule load of Bahavan pottery” you promised. Is this why you have come? To pay your debt to me at last?’
The Par’chin laughed, and Abban was struck with how much he had missed the sound. They clicked cups and drank, Abban immediately refilling them for another round. They took their time about it, quietly enjoying each other’s presence after so long. It was not until they tasted cinnamon that they moved to business.
‘Why are you here, Par’chin?’ Abban said. ‘You must know Ahmann will kill you if he finds you, and his senses are sharp.’
The Par’chin waved dismissively. ‘I will be long gone before he can catch my scent.’ He met Abban’s eyes. ‘Will you tell him of this meeting?’
Abban shrugged. ‘I do not see the profit in keeping silent, and I will not lie to my master.’
The Par’chin nodded. ‘Nor would I ask you to. In truth, I want you to give him a message from me.’ From inside his robes, he pulled a small, rolled paper, tied with a simple string. When Abban took the paper, he smiled. ‘I saved you the trouble of breaking the seal and forging a new one. Jardir will know my script.’
Abban chuckled, untying the string. The Par’chin’s handwriting was as florid and beautiful as ever, but the contents of the letter made his stomach sink. He looked at his true friend and shook his head.
‘You do not understand what he has become, Par’chin,’ he said. ‘You are no match for him. This one time I beg you. Run far and never return. Run, and I swear by Everam’s beard I will say nothing of this meeting to Ahmann.’
But the Par’chin only smiled. ‘He couldn’t kill me in the Maze, and then I was only a pale shadow of what I am now. You’d best start looking for a new master.’
‘That pleases me no more than the thought of him killing you,’ Abban said. ‘Is there no other way?’
The son of Jeph shook his head. ‘Ala is too small for us two.’
31
333 AR Autumn
‘Shar’Dama Ka, the khaffit is here to speak with you.’
Jardir nodded, dismissing the guard as Abban limped into his map room. The khaffit wove unsteadily towards one of the soft chairs. He stumbled, but managed to guide his fall into the seat. He gave a sigh of relief.
Jardir’s nose knew the cause even before he could look into his friend’s aura. ‘Nie’s black heart, you dare come before me drunk on couzi?’
Abban looked at him flatly. ‘The Par’chin is alive, Ahmann.’
The words, and the truth he could see behind them, cut off all other thoughts. Jardir shook his head slowly, turning away while he embraced his feelings.
‘I had suspected,’ he admitted. ‘Months ago when we first heard of this “Painted Man”.’
Abban nodded. ‘We all did.’
‘But I told myself it was ridiculous. We left him for dead in the dunes.’ He looked back at Abban. ‘How did he survive? Did he shelter in one of the khaffit villages?’
‘I did not ask,’ Abban said. ‘What does it matter? It was inevera.’
Jardir conceded the point with a wave. ‘What did he want?’
Abban produced a simple roll of parchment, tied with rough cord. ‘He asked me to give you this.’
Jardir took the paper, slipping off the string and reading quickly.
Greetings, Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji, in this year of our Creator, 333 AR-
I testify before Everam that you, my ajin’pal, have broken faith and robbed me on the sacred ground of the Maze, in the night when all men are brothers.
In accordance with Evejan law, I demand you meet me in Domin Sharum, an hour before dusk on the autumnal equinox, when Everam and Nie are in balance.
As the aggrieved, the location will be a place of my choosing. You will be given its location one week in advance, and allowed to arrive first, ensuring there is no trap. We will each bring seven witnesses, no more and no less, to honour the seven pillars of Heaven. We will settle our differences as men, and let Everam judge.
The alternative is for our men to meet in the field, shedding red blood in the day instead of black ichor at night. I hope you will see there is no honour in this.
I await your response,
Arlen asu Jeph am’Bales am’Brook
Jardir shook his head. Domin Sharum. Literally it meant ‘two warriors’, referring to trial by single combat as prescribed in the Evejah, based on the rules agreed upon by Kaji and his treacherous half brother before they fought to the death.
‘Autumnal equinox,’ Abban said. ‘One month to the day before we invade Lakton. It’s as if he knew.’
Jardir smiled wanly. ‘My ajin’pal is no fool, and knows our traditions well. But though he speaks of Everam and Heaven, he does not believe their truth in his heart.’ He shook his head. ‘The “aggrieved”, he calls himself. As if taking back what he stole from my ancestor’s grave was common robbery.’
The question had gnawed at him for years. ‘Was it?’
Abban shrugged. ‘Who can say? I’ve done worse to men; even lied to the Par’chin for my own profit. But for all that, I was fond of him. He was very true. When I was around him, I felt …’
‘How?’ Jardir asked. They had both known the man well, but in very different ways.
‘Like I once did around you, when we were boys in sharaj,’ Abban said. ‘That he would stand in an instant between me and any harm, as he did when you called us before the Spear Throne so many years ago. He made me feel safe.’
Jardir nodded. The way they had known him was not so different after all. ‘And now?’
Abban’s aura became unreadable and he sighed, taking a small clay bottle from his vest and pulling the stopper.
‘Do not …’ Jardir began.
Abban cut him off with a roll of his eyes. ‘The blood of thousands pools at your feet, Ahmann. Are you truly about to lecture me about drinking couzi like I’m a drunken Sharum in the Maze?’
Jardir frowned, but he did not protest further as Abban took a thoughtful pull, his eyes distant. The khaffit looked back at him, holding the bottle out. ‘Drink with me, Ahmann. Just this once. These are things best discussed with lips of cinnamon.’