Many years of training served Kysumu well, for he calmly put aside all thoughts of Yu Yu and honed his concentration. Once established he released it in a blaze of emptiness, holding only to the image of a blue flower, bright and ethereal against a backdrop of endless black space, unlit by stars. Slowly - so slowly - he began mentally to recite the Mantra of the Rajnee. Thirteen words, set in a child's rhyme.
Ocean and star,
Each am I
Broken my wings
And yet I fly.
With each repeated verse Kysumu grew calmer, his mind expanding, feeling the blood flowing through his veins, the tension easing from his body. One hour of this every day and Kysumu had little need of sleep.
Yet tonight something was disturbing his trance. It was not the sleeping Yu Yu, or even the growing cold. Kysumu was hardened to extremes of cold or heat. He struggled to hold the trance, but it receded from him. He became aware of the scabbarded sword in his lap. It seemed to be vibrating gently under his fingers.
Kysumu's dark eyes flicked open. He glanced about the camp. The night had turned very cold and a mist was seeping through the trees. One of the horses whinnied in fear. Kysumu took a deep breath, then glanced down at his sword. The oval bronze fistguard was glowing. The Rajnee placed his slender hand over the leather-wrapped hilt and drew the sword from its black-lacquered scabbard. The blade was shining with a bright blue light so powerful that it hurt the eyes to gaze upon it. Rising to his feet the swordsman saw that Yu Yu Liang's stolen sword was also shining.
Suddenly a sentry screamed. Kysumu threw aside his scabbard and ran across the camp, cutting round the back of the supply wagon. No one was there. But the mist was rising now and Kysumu heard a crunching noise from within it. Dropping into a crouch, he examined the ground. Something wet touched his fingers. By the brilliant light of the sword he saw that it was blood.
'Awake!' he shouted. 'Awake!'
Something moved beyond the mist. Kysumu had the merest glimpse of a colossal white figure. Then it disappeared. The mist rolled over his legs. Icy cold touched his skin. Instinctively Kysumu leapt back. His sword slashed down. As it touched the mist, blue lightning rippled through the air, crackling and hissing. A deep, angry growl sounded from close by. Kysumu jumped forward, plunging his sword into the mist. Once more blue lightning sparked, and thunder boomed over the camp.
Another guard yelled from somewhere to the left. Kysumu glanced back to see Yu Yu Liang hacking and slashing at the mist, lightning blazing from his sword. The guard was on the ground, close to the edge of the trees. Something white was wrapped around his foot, dragging him from the camp. Kysumu sprinted across the clearing. The guard was screaming at the top of his voice. As Kysumu reached him he saw what appeared to be the tail of a great white worm looped around the man's ankle. He hacked at it, cutting deeply into the albino flesh. Yu Yu Liang appeared alongside him. With a high-pitched cry he slammed his blade into the worm. It released the guard, who scrabbled back to the relative safety of the camp. The worm slid back into the mist.
Yu Yu bellowed a battle cry and gave chase. Kysumu's left hand snaked out, grabbing the collar of Yu Yu's wolfskin jerkin, yanking him back. Yu Yu's legs shot into the air and he landed heavily.
'Stay with me,' said Kysumu calmly.
'You could have just asked me!' grumbled Yu Yu, rubbing furiously at his bruised backside.
Kysumu backed away to the centre of the camp. The guards and bearers had all gathered here, and were gazing fearfully at the mist, and listening in silent horror to the strange sounds, clicking and tapping just out of vision.
The mist swirled up. Kysumu cut his sword into it. Blue lightning flashed once more, and weird howls of pain could be heard from within the fog.
Yu Yu appeared alongside him. 'What is this?' asked Yu Yu, swinging his sword.
Kysumu ignored him. Two of the horses screamed and went down. 'Stay here! Keep the mist back,' said Kysumu, turning and running across the clearing. The mist parted before him. Something moved to his left. Kysumu dived to his right, rolling and coming to his feet in one smooth motion. A long taloned arm slashed down towards his face. Kysumu swayed back, and sent the glittering sword straight through the limb. There was a howl of agony, and - for a heartbeat only - Kysumu saw a ghastly face, with huge protruding red eyes and wickedly curved fangs. Then it was gone, back into the mist.
The sky began to lighten, the mist flowing back towards the trees.
Within moments the sun shone above the mountains, and the clearing was calm. Two of the horses were dead, their bellies ripped open. Of the missing sentry there was no sign.
As sunlight bathed the scene Kysumu's sword ceased to shine, fading back to silver steel.
On the ground at his feet the taloned arm continued to writhe. Then, as sunlight touched it, the skin blistered and turned black, peeling away from grey bone. Smoke rose from it, the stench filling the air.
Kysumu walked back across the clearing. Yu Yu Liang joined him.
'Whatever they were,' said Yu Yu happily, 'they were no match for two Rajnee.'
Matze Chai opened the flap of his tent and stepped out into the open. 'What is the meaning of this noise?' he asked.
'We were attacked,' said Kysumu quietly. 'One man is dead and we lost two horses.'
'Attacked? The robbers came back?'
'No, not robbers,' Kysumu told him. 'I think we should move from here. And swiftly.'
'As you wish, Rajnee.' Matze Chai leaned forward and peered at Yu Yu Liang. 'And who is this - this person?'
'I am Yu Yu Liang. And I helped fight the demons.' Yu Yu raised his sword and puffed out his chest. 'When the demons came we leapt and cut—' he began excitedly.
'Stop!' said Matze Chai, raising a slender hand. Yu Yu fell silent. 'Stand still and say nothing.' Matze Chai turned his attention to Kysumu. 'You and I will continue this conversation in my palanquin once we are on our way.' Casting a malevolent glance at Yu Yu the merchant disappeared back inside his tent. Kysumu walked away.
Yu Yu ran after him. 'I didn't know these swords could shine like that.'
'Neither did I.'
'Oh. I thought you could explain it to me. We make a good team, though, hey?'
Kysumu wondered briefly if he had committed some great sin in a former life, and Yu Yu was a punishment for it. He glanced up into the taller man's bearded face, then walked away without a word.
'Good team,' he heard Yu Yu say.
Walking back across the camp Kysumu could find no trace of the severed arm, but on the edge of the woods he found many tracks of three-toed taloned feet. Liu, the young captain of the guard, approached him. The man's eyes were frightened and he cast nervous glances into the woods. 'I heard your pupil say they were demons.'
'He is not my pupil.'
'Ah, forgive me, sir. But you think they were demons?'
'I have never before seen a demon,' said Kysumu softly. 'But we can discuss it once we are on the road and away from these woods.'
'Yes, sir. Whatever they were it was fortunate that your - your friend was on hand to aid us with his shining sword.'
'He is not my friend,' said Kysumu. 'But, yes, it was fortunate.'
Matze Chai sat in his palanquin, the silk curtains drawn shut. 'You think they were demons?' he asked the little swordsman.
'I can think of no alternative. I cut the limb from one and it burned in the sunlight as if in a furnace.'
'I have not heard of demons in this part of the world but, then, my knowledge of Kydor is limited. My client said nothing of them when he invited me here.' Matze Chai fell silent. He had once used a sorcerer to summon a demon and kill a business rival. The rival had been found the following morning with his heart torn out. Matze Chai had never really known whether the supernatural was genuinely involved, or whether the sorcerer had merely hired a killer. The sorcerer himself had been impaled two years later, following an attempted coup against the Gothir emperor. It was said that a horned demon had appeared w
ithin the palace and killed several guards. Could it be, he wondered, that one of Matze's many enemies had hired a magicker to send the creatures in the mist to kill him? He dismissed the thought almost immediately. The murdered sentry had been at the far end of the camp, furthest from his tent, as had the butchered horses. Surely a spell aimed at Matze Chai himself would have focused upon the tent where he lay? A random incident, then, but a disquieting one. 'Liu tells me that your sword shone like the brightest moonlight. I have not heard of this before. Are the swords of the Rajnee magical?'
'I had not thought them to be,' said Kysumu.
'Can you think of an explanation?'
'The rituals of the Rajnee are ancient. Each sword is blessed with one hundred and forty-four incantations. The iron ore is blessed before smelting, the steel is blessed, the armourer-priest tempers it with his own blood after three days of fasting and prayer. Finally it is laid upon the temple altar at Riashon, and all the monks join together in that most holy of places to give the sword its name and its final blessing. The swords of the Rajnee are unique. No one knows the origins of many of the incantations, and some are spoken in a language no longer understood, even by the priests who utter them.'
Matze Chai sat silently as Kysumu spoke. It was the longest speech he had heard from the normally laconic swordsman. 'I am not an expert in military matters,' said Matze Chai, 'but it seems to me that the swords of the Rajnee must have been created originally for a purpose other than merely battling enemy swordsmen. Why else would they display such mystical properties when demons are close?'
'I agree,' said Kysumu. 'It is a matter I must ponder upon.'
'While you do so, might you explain the appearance of the loud oaf in the foul-smelling wolfskin?' asked Matze Chai.
'He is a ditch-digger,' answered the Rajnee, his face expressionless.
'We were aided by a ditch-digger?'
Kysumu nodded. 'With a stolen Rajnee sword.'
Matze Chai looked into the swordsman's face. 'How was it that you happened upon him?'
'He was one of the robbers who attacked us. I went to their camp. The rest ran away, but he stood his ground.'
'Why was it that you did not slay him?'
'Because of the sword."
'You feared it?' asked Matze Chai, his surprise making him momentarily forget his manners.
Kysumu seemed untroubled by the remark. 'No, I did not fear it. When a Rajnee dies his sword dies with him. It shivers and cracks, the blade shattering. The sword is linked to the soul of the bearer, and travels with him to the world beyond.'
'Then perhaps he stole it from a living Rajnee who still hunts for it.'
'No. Yu Yu did not lie when he said he took it from the body of a dead Rajnee. I would have known. I believe the sword chose him. It also led him to this land and, ultimately, to our campsite.'
'You believe the swords are sentient?'
'I cannot explain it to you, Matze Chai. I underwent five years of intensive study before I began to grasp the concept. So let me say this, by way of explanation. You have wondered since we met why I accepted this assignment. You came to me because you were told I was the best. But you did not expect me to agree to journey from the lands of the Chiatze. Not so?'
'Indeed,' agreed Matze Chai.
'I had many requests to consider. As I was taught, I went to the holy place and sat, with my sword in my lap, to meditate, to request the guidance of the Great One. And then, when my mind was purged of all selfish desire, I considered the many offers. When I came to yours I felt the sword grow warm in my hands. I knew then that I had to journey to Kydor.'
'Does the sword then yearn for peril?' asked Matze Chai.
'Perhaps. But I believe it merely shows the Rajnee a path towards the will of the Great One.'
'And these paths inevitably carry you towards evil?'
'Yes,' said Kysumu.
'Hardly a comforting thought,' said Matze Chai, deciding he had no wish to elicit further explanation. He disliked excitement, and this journey had already contained too many incidents. Now, it seemed, the mere presence of Kysumu guaranteed further adventure.
Pushing thoughts of demons and swords from his mind he closed his eyes, picturing his garden and the scented, flowering trees. The image calmed him.
From outside the palanquin came a raucous noise. The ditch-digger was singing in a loud, horrible discordant voice. Matze Chai's eyes snapped open. The song was in a broad northern Chiatze dialect, and concerned the physical endowments and unnatural body hair of a young pleasure-woman. A small pain began behind Matze Chai's left eye.
Kysumu rang the bell and the palanquin came to a smooth halt. The Rajnee opened the door and leapt lightly to the ground. The singing stopped.
Matze Chai heard the loud oaf say, 'But the next verse is really funny.'
Lalitia was a woman not easily surprised. She had learnt all there was to know about men by the time she was fourteen, and her capacity for surprise had been exhausted long before that. Orphaned and living on the streets of the capital at the age of eight, she had learnt to steal, to beg, to run and to hide. Sleeping on the sand beneath the wharf timbers, she had sometimes huddled in the dark and watched the cut-throats drag victims to the water's edge before knifing them viciously and hurling the bodies into the surf. She had listened as the cheap tavern whores plied their trade, rutting with their customers in the moon shadows. On many occasions she was close by when the officers of the watch came round to collect their bribes from the tavern women, before taking it in turns to enjoy free sport with them.
The red-headed child learnt swiftly. By the age of twelve she was leading a gang of juvenile cutpurses, operating throughout the market squares, paying out a tenth of their earnings to the watch, ensuring they were never caught.
For two years Lalitia - Sly Red, as she was known then - hoarded her own takings, hiding the coin where no one would find it. She spent her spare time crouched in alleyways watching the rich enjoying their meals in the finer taverns, noting the way the great ladies moved and spoke, the languid grace they displayed, the faint air of boredom they assumed when in the company of men. Their backs were always straight, their movements slow, smooth and assured. Their skin was creamy white, untanned - indeed, untouched - by the sun. In summer they wore wide-brimmed hats, with gossamer veils. Sly Red watched, absorbed their movements, carefully storing them in the vaults of memory.
At fourteen her luck had run out. While running from a merchant, whose money pouch strings she had neatly sliced, she slipped on a piece of rotten fruit and fell heavily to the cobbles. The merchant had held her until the watch soldiers arrived, and they had dragged her away.
'Can't help you this time, Red,' said one of them. 'You just robbed Vanis, and he's an important man.'
The magistrate had sentenced her to twelve years. She served three in a rat-infested dungeon before being summoned one day to the office of the gaol captain, a young officer named Aric. He was slim and cold-eyed, even handsome in a vaguely dissolute manner. 'I saw you walking by the far wall this morning,' he told the seventeen-year-old girl. 'You do not appear to be a peasant.'
Sly Red had been using her hour of daylight to practise the movements she had observed among the great ladies of the capital. She said nothing to the captain. 'Come closer, let me look at you,' he said. She stepped forward. He moved in - then recoiled. 'You have lice,' he said.
'Aye,' she said huskily, 'and fleas. I think the bath in my apartment is out of order. Perhaps you could assign a servant to repair it.'
He grinned at her. 'Of course, my lady. You should have brought it to my attention sooner.'
'I would have,' she said, adopting a languid pose, 'but there are so many calls upon my time.'
Aric summoned the guard and had her returned to her cell. An hour later two soldiers came to collect her. She was marched through the prison to a private wing, and brought to a bathroom. In it was a bronze hip tub, brimming with perfumed water. Two female prisoners were wait
ing beside it. The male guards ordered her to disrobe and she removed the filthy dress she wore and stepped into the tub. One of the women poured warm water over her greasy red hair, then massaged a sweet-smelling soap into it. The other woman began to scrub her skin. The feeling was exquisite and Sly Red closed her eyes. Tension seeped from her muscles.
When the bath was completed, her hair dried, combed and braided, she was dressed in a green gown of faded satin.
The larger of the two women leant in to her. 'Don't get too used to this, dearie,' she whispered. 'Not one of his girls lasts more than a week. He is easily bored.'
Sly Red lasted a year, and at eighteen was given a full pardon. Aric at first amused himself with her, then began teaching her the more esoteric secrets of noble behaviour. The pardon was hard-earned, for Aric's carnal desires were wide-ranging and sometimes painful. In return for the pardon Sly Red agreed to become a plaything for men Aric needed to impress, or rivals he desired to exploit, or enemies he was determined to destroy. In the years that followed Lalitia, as Sly Red became, found men only too eager to surrender their secrets. It seemed that arousal loosened tongues and brains in equal measure. Bright and brilliant men became like children, anxious to please. Secrets long hidden spilled out as they sought to impress her with their cleverness. Stupid men!
In his own way Aric had been good to her, allowing her to keep the gifts her lovers bestowed. Within a few years Lalitia was close to wealthy. Aric even gave his blessing when she married the old merchant Kendar. He died within a year. Lalitia was overjoyed. Now she could have the life she had always desired. Kendar's wealth should have been enough for two lifetimes. Except that Kendar's wealth had been bogus. He died massively in debt, and once more Lalitia found herself surviving on her wits and her physical charms.