Page 13 of Fate of the Argosi

‘Matter of fact, yes.’

He snorted. Quadlopo’s head jerked up like Chedran had just called his sister a bad word. Maybe he had. He was certainly about to. ‘You lying, treacherous bi—’

I let the brush fall to the ground, turned on my heel, brought one hand high and the other low. ‘You want to dance with me, Chedran? Because you finish that word and I’m taking you for a spin.’

Oh, that look in your eyes, I thought, watching him.You want a scrap so bad you can’t taste nothing else. But it’s not because of what I did last night, is it, Chedran? It’s something you’ve been carrying since before we met but won’t say out loud. So what’s eating you, brother?

His fists were clenched, but he kept them by his sides. ‘As I understand it, the Way of Water demands an equitable exchange to restore balance and avoid conflict. Take nothing more valuable than that which you leave behind, yes?’

‘It’s more of a suggestion, but yeah.’

He jabbed a finger towards my chest that would’ve soon been broken had it reached its destination. ‘And the two red gemstones I saw you leave with the note? Rubies?’

I knelt down to pick up Quadlopo’s brush. ‘Garnets. More valuable in these parts. Sacred too, when sewn into the palms of silk wedding gloves. The trade lord has two sons getting hitched next month.’

Chedran took this as some kind of confession. In gratitude, he spouted his next accusations quietly so as to make sure Arissa, hair still soaking from the luxury of washing it in a stream so narrow it barely deserved the name, grinning like she’d just remembered something funny, didn’t hear as she walked back towards us with her bronze stallion’s muzzle looming protectively over her shoulder. ‘You knew the trader’s sons were getting married because you’d already made an arrangement for the purchase of the stallions from their father. Everything else, this ruse you seem to believe constitutes some sort of gift for your friend, was a lie.’

‘I made a deal for two of the horse lord’s best horses,’ I admitted. ‘Two garnets worth more than emeralds in exchange for a pair of Berabesq bronzes. Figured Arissa would need one, and a spare would be wise in case Quadlopo needed a rest now and then.’ My perennially offended horse replied with an angry snort thatdefinitelyinvolved calling me a bad name. ‘Say, Chedran, you happen to know what the Berabesq noblemen call a contract signed with a foreigner of low birth? Because I’m pretty sure it’s the same as their word for toilet paper.’

‘Then why would yo—’ He caught himself, having finally figured it out. ‘You suspected the horse trader wouldn’t keep his word, and thus planned to steal that which he’d already agreed to sell you.’

‘Suspicion ain’t the Argosi way. A little judicious spying on the other hand, well, sometimes that’s just the cost of doing business. Ten minutes after we’d signed our contract, I overheard the trade lord order his clerks to have me arrested as a horse thief when I returned –afterhaving his guards confiscate the garnets from me and hide them away before the authorities arrived.’ I stuffed the brush back in Quadlopo’s saddlebag. ‘Can’t seem to cut a square deal in this danged country no matter how hard I try.’

‘So the mission was genuine? Wedidneed to steal those horses?’

That gave me a chuckle. ‘Chedran, you saw all those guards chasing us.’ I bundled up my unruly curls underneath my hat. ‘That one cavalry gal must’ve chopped an inch off my hair with that whip sword of hers. You think I’d risk all our lives just to make Arissa feel important?’

I did not like the smile that came to Chedran’s face. ‘Then you won’t mind if I inform yourfriendof the whole truth regarding last night? Shouldn’t honesty be a requisite of the Way of Water?’

I knew it wouldn’t matter what answer I gave him. Whether because he believed Arissa deserved the whole truth or from simple spite, he was going to tell her about the deal I’d made and the gems I’d left behind. I couldn’t let that happen, not the way he’d go about it.

Arissa rejoined us, breathless and jubilant, like someone who’d finally raced up that last set of stairs out of Soul’s Grave. That night, by the fire after our celebratory feast, I knocked her right back down.

She did me the kindness of pretending to understand.

Chedran, though, he knew what he’d made me do. His scowl made it plain that his callousness brought him no pleasure. He sat there on the other side of the fire, self-loathing etched on to his cheeks redder than those coppery tattoos across his chest and shoulders. There was something defiant hidden beneath his despondency though. Something my arta precis couldn’t pierce.

I painted a card of him that night, stared at it long after he’d wandered off to sleep by himself. The Argosi create such cards to make sense of the world, and I needed to make sense of Chedran. But despite all those subtle shadings and angry brushstrokes, the precise rendering of his tattoos and the more violent abstract lines I used to depict his eyes and mouth, his true self remained obscured.

There was one secret I uncovered in the face staring back at me from the card in my hand: Chedran would rather be proven a villain than let me believe myself a hero.

When I stuffed the card into my discordance deck, it was with the certainty that this was one of those mysteries you can ponder for years without solving. But twenty-three days later, when we arrived at the safe house on the border where twelve runaway Mahdek teenagers awaited their saviour, I found out why Chedran hated me so bad.

Part 2

The Tower of Thorns

There is joy to be found in the repayment of a debt, is there not, teysan? A lightening of the spirit that strengthens the resolve to uphold one’s word. How tempting, then, to dance along this path, paying off one disharmony card after another, your heart swelling with pride at the knowledge that each small sacrifice made along the way enhances your sense of righteousness.

Beware, however, the trap being laid out for you by your own cards: when you walk the path of restitution blindly, you grant others the power to play upon your guilt, luring you step by step down a road of their choosing . . .

9

The Tribe

We finally caught up with the twelve Mahdek runaways right where Chedran had sent them after he’d figured out the law was on his tail. No sane person submits themselves to a Berabesq court on a charge of child murder just to keep the authorities from discovering that the alleged victims are alive and well. Boundless courage and unbridled determination aren’t the sole province of storybook heroes, it seems.

‘Stupid fools,’ he muttered as we stalked towards a long-abandoned miners’ camp a mile north of the border into Darome. ‘I’ll be surprised if any of them are still alive.’

---