Only once before had such misgivings seeped into Gebrem’s mind. That time had been in the beginning, when he first saw the Seer teetering with steely determination in front of the mast of the White Gull after the Fidis’ vessel had crashed into the docks of Khambawe’s harbor.
The tale that the kabbar was telling throughout the city had, at first, startled Gebrem. As the implications of the story became clear, a sense of unease had crept into him, like a persistent ache or a chronic illness.
He did, however, have the satisfaction of knowing that Kyroun shared his sense of unease. As it was, relations between the two men had become somewhat strained since the departure of the Tokoloshe, though they had not disagreed over the decision to allow the Tokoloshe and the Fidi Dwarven to depart without hindrance. However, they had shared a dismay over the fact that for all the power and position they now possessed, there was nothing they could have done do to forestall the Tokoloshes’ resolve.
That was the first setback the Emperor and Leba had experienced since the defeat of the Uloans.
And now, this ...
“We will learn the truth,” Kyroun said mildly.
This time, the Emperor held Kyroun’s gaze. If the Seer was troubled, nothing of it showed in his gray eyes.
“I hope so,” Gebrem said.
A discreet knock sounded at the door of the small chamber Gebrem and Kyroun had chosen for their meeting with Eshetu. The chamber was unadorned, furnished only with chairs and a low table. Servants had left cups of kef on the table. Intricate designs were incised in the wood of the table and chairs.
Both the Emperor and the Seer wore plain blue chammas over their senafil. They had eschewed the other accouterments of their status. Kyroun had suggested doing so to put the kabbar at ease, and Gebrem had agreed.
“Enter,” the Emperor said.
The door swung open, and the guardsman ushered a blinking, disoriented Eshetu into the presence of the two most powerful men in the Matile Mara Empire. The soldier, who would remain in the room, closed the door behind him. No one expected any trouble from the kabbar, but caution still prevailed, and the soldier’s hand did not stray far from the hilt of his sword.
Recalling stories told over several generations about the proper behavior in the presence of the Emperor, the kabbar dropped to his knees. Then he prostrated himself on the plain stone floor.
“Get up, man, get up,” Gebrem said impatiently. “It is not necessary for you to do that. No one has done that for years.”
Abashed and astonished, Eshetu rose awkwardly to his feet. He almost fell, but caught himself in time.
“My apologies, Mesfin,” he stammered.
“No apologies are necessary,” the Emperor said. “Sit. Relax. Drink your kef. And tell us this news you bring from afar.”
The kabbar sat, reached gingerly for the cup of kef in front of him, and took a swallow of the dark brew.
“I am told your name is Eshetu,” the Emperor said. “And you come from ...?
“Imbesh,” Eshetu replied, putting the cup back on the table. “It is a village in Kembana.”
Gebrem nodded.
“Jass Shebeshi’s country,” he said. “Your Jass did not attend First Calling. Before the Uloans invaded, Alemeyu spoke of correcting Shebeshi’s defiance. But now, if we understand the news you bring correctly, that may no longer be a concern. He is facing other, more pressing, concerns.”
“Yes,” Eshetu agreed, showing spirit for the first time since he came into the presence of the Emperor and the Leba. “Shebeshi is a fool. And we will all pay for the idiocy of pushing the Thabas too far. My family is no more. Imbesh is no more. And if the Thabas attack again, Jass Shebeshi will be no more.”
After a short silence, the Emperor spoke again.
“You have all our sympathy,” he said. “And your family will be avenged.”
Eshetu bowed his head in acknowledgement of the Emperor’s promise. It was the Leba who spoke next.
“The tragedy that struck your people is not the only news you bring to us,” he said.
“No,” Eshetu said, shifting his gaze to Kyroun.
“You have seen people who look like me,” Kyroun said.
Eshetu nodded.
Kyroun reached out and took one of Eshetu’s hands in his own. Gebrem took the other. Eshetu’s first impulse was to pull his hands away. Who was he, a mere kabbar, to be actually touching an Emperor and a Leba? But the grip of the other two men was too strong; he could not pull away.
“Tell us your story, Eshetu,” Kyroun said. “As you speak, we will join you in your memories. And we will know the truth.”
The Seer’s last words were directed as much to Gebrem as they were to Eshetu. The Emperor inclined his head in acknowledgment of Kyroun’s thrust.
Eshetu never knew whether he had begun to speak of his own volition, or if the sorcery wielded by the Emperor and the Leba pulled the words from his mind and his mouth. But speak he did, and at great length, until long after the time the sun sank in the sky and the Moon-Stars rose, while Kyroun and Gebrem shared his experiences in the Oneness ...
3
Eshetu lay beneath a mound of corpses. Their weight pressed heavily upon him, and he could barely draw breath. His only hope that he would be able to continue breathing at all was that the pile above him would prove deep enough to absorb the thrusts of the Thabas’ assegais, the broad-bladed stabbing-spears that were the chief weapons of the warriors of the south.
The bodies were not enough of a barrier to drown out the sounds of Imbesh’s demise. Eshetu could hear the crackle of the flames that were devouring the tukuls, the round, conical-roofed dwellings typical of the kabbars of the Matile countryside.
