David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

A black rat scurried across the room and the guard jumped, then kicked at it, missing wildly. The creature vanished into a hole by the far corner of the wall. 'Bastard rats!' hissed the guard, embarrassed that he had allowed himself to be startled in front of the prisoner. 'You obviously like 'em. Good! You'll be living with them soon enough. Have 'em running all over you then, biting your skin, leaving their little fleas to suck your blood in the dark.'

Chorin-Tsu ignored him.

Garen-Tsen's arrival was sudden, the door whispering open. In the lantern light the Minister's face glowed with a sickly yellow sheen, and his eyes seemed unnaturally bright. Chorin-Tsu offered no greeting. Nor, as should have been Chiatze custom in the presence of a Minister, did he rise and bow. Instead he sat, his expression calm and impassive.

Dismissing the guard, the Minister sat down opposite the little Chiatze embalmer. 'My apologies for the inhospitable surroundings,' said Garen-Tsen, speaking in Chiatze. 'It was necessary for your safety. You did wonderfully well with the Queen. Her beauty has never been so radiant.'

'I thank you, Garen-Tsen,' answered Chorin-Tsu coolly. 'But why am I here? You promised I would be freed.'

'As indeed you will be, countryman. But first let us talk. Tell me of your interest in Nadir legends.'

Chorin-Tsu stared at the slender Minister, holding his gaze. It was all a game now, with only one ending. I am to die, he thought. He're, in this cold, miserable place. He wanted to scream his hatred at the monster before him, to rage and show defiance. The strength of feeling surprised him, going against all Chiatze teaching, but not a trace of his inner turmoil showed upon his face as he sat very still, his expression serene. 'All legends have a basis in fact, Garen-Tsen. I am a student of history and it pleases me to study.'

'Of course. But your studies have been focused in recent years, have they not? You have spent hundreds of hours in the Great Library, studying scrolls concerning Oshikai Demon-bane and the Legend of the Stone Wolf. Why is that?'

'I am indeed gratified by your interest — though puzzled as to why a man of your status and responsibilities should concern himself with what is, after all, no more than a hobby?' countered Chorin-Tsu.

'The movements and interests of all foreign nationals are scrutinized. But my interest goes beyond such mundane matters. You are a scholar, and your work deserves a wider audience. I would be honoured to hear your views on the Stone Wolf. But since time is pressing, perhaps it would be best if you merely outlined your findings concerning the Eyes of Alchazzar.'

Chorin-Tsu gave an almost imperceptible bow of his head. 'Perhaps it would be better to postpone this conversation until we are both sitting in more comfortable apartments.'

The Minister leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his long chin. When he spoke his voice was cold. 'Spiriting you away will be both costly and dangerous, countryman. How much is your life worth?'

Chorin-Tsu was surprised. The question was vulgar, and considerably beneath any high-born Chiatze. 'Far less than you would think, but far more than I can afford,' he replied.

'I think you will find that the price is well within your reach, Master Embalmer. Two jewels, to be precise,' said Garen-Tsen. 'The Eyes of Alchazzar. It is my belief that you have located their hiding-place. Am I wrong?'

Chorin-Tsu remained silent. He had known for many years that death would be his only reward, and had believed himself prepared for it. But now, in this cold, damp place his heart began to beat in panic. He wanted to live! Looking up, he met the reptilian gaze of his countryman. Keeping his voice steady, he said, 'Let us, for the sake of argument, assume that you are correct. In what way would sharing this information prove of benefit to this humble embalmer?'

'Benefit? You will be free. You have the sacred word of a Chiatze nobleman — is that not enough?'

Chorin-Tsu took a deep breath and summoned the last of his courage. 'The word of a Chiatze nobleman is indeed sacred. And in the presence of such a man I would not hesitate to surrender my knowledge. Perhaps you should send for him, so that we may conclude our conversation.'

Garen-Tsen's colour deepened. 'You have made the most unfortunate error, for now you will have to make the acquaintance of the Royal Torturer. Is this what you truly desire, Chorin-Tsu? He will make you speak; you will scream and babble, weep and beg. Why put yourself through such agony?'

Chorin-Tsu considered the question carefully. All his long life he had cherished Chiatze teaching, most especially the laws governing the subjugation of self to the rigours of an iron etiquette. This alone was the foundation of Chiatze culture. Yet here he sat seeking an answer to a question no true Chiatze would dream of asking. It was obnoxious and invasive — indeed the kind of question only a barbarian would utter. He looked deeply into Garen-Tsen's eyes. The man was waiting for an answer. Chorin-Tsu sighed and, for the first time in his life, spoke like a barbarian.

'To thwart you, you lying dog,' he said.

The ride had been long and dry, the sun beating down on the open steppes, the strength-sapping heat leaving both riders and ponies near to exhaustion. The rock pool was high in the hills, beneath an overhang of shale and slate. Few knew of its existence, and once Talisman had found the dried bones of a traveller who had died of thirst less than fifty feet from it. The pool was no more than twenty feet long and only twelve wide. But it was very deep, and the water winter-cold. After tending to the ponies and hobbling them, Talisman threw off his jerkin and tugged his shirt over his head. Dust and sand scraped against the skin of his arms and his shoulders. Kicking off his boots he loosed his belt, stepped out of his leggings and walked naked to the pool's edge. The sun beat down upon his skin, and he could feel the heat of the rock beneath his feet. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself out over the sparkling water in an ungainly dive that sent up a glittering spray. He surfaced and swept his sleek black hair back from his face.

Zhusai sat, fully clothed, by the poolside. Her long, black hair was soaked with sweat, her face streaked with dust, and her pale green silk tunic — a garment of bright, expensive beauty back in Gulgothir — was now travel-stained and dirt-streaked.

'Do you swim, Zhusai?' he asked her. She shook her head. 'Would you like me to teach you?'

'That is most kind of you, Talisman. Perhaps on another occasion.'

Talisman swam to the poolside and levered himself to the rock beside her. Kneeling, she leaned over the edge, cupping her hands to the water and dabbing her fingers to her brow and cheeks. In the two days they had been together Zhusai had not initiated a conversation. If Talisman spoke she would respond, with typical Chiatze politeness and courtesy. Replacing her wide straw hat to her head, she sat in the stifling heat without complaint, her eyes averted from him.

'It is not difficult to swim,' he said. 'There is no danger, Zhusai, for I shall be in the pool with you, supporting you. Also it is wondrously cool.'

Bowing her head, she closed her eyes. 'I thank you, Lord Talisman. You are indeed a considerate companion. The sun is very hot. Perhaps you should dress now — or your skin will burn.'

'No, I think I will swim again,' he told her, jumping into the pool. His understanding of the Chiatze people was limited to their methods of warfare, which were apparently ritualistic. According to Gothir reports many campaigns were conducted and won without bloodshed, armies manoeuvring across battlefields until one side or the other conceded the advantage. It helped not at all with his understanding of Zhusai. Rolling to his back, Talisman floated on the cool surface. Her good manners, he realized, were becoming hard to tolerate. He smiled, and swam to the pool's edge, hooking his arm to the warm stone.