‘Have you ever visited the lands of Kydor?’ asked the merchant.
‘No.’
‘They are an uncivilized people, and their language is hard on both the ear and the mind. It is guttural and coarse. Not musical in any way. Do you speak any foreign tongues?’
‘A few,’ said Kysumu.
‘The people here are offshoots from two empires, the Drenai and the Angostin. Both languages have the same base.’ Matze Chai was just beginning to outline the history of the land, when the palanquin came to a sudden stop. Kysumu opened the panelled door and leapt lightly to the ground. Matze Chai rang the small bell and the palanquin was lowered to the rocks. Not smoothly, which irritated him. He climbed out to berate the bearers, then saw the group of armed men barring the way. He scanned them. There were eleven warriors, all armed with swords and clubs, though two carried longbows.
Matze Chai flicked a glance back to his six guards, who had all edged their horses forward. They were looking nervous, and this added to Matze’s irritation. They were supposed to be fighters. They were paid to be fighters.
Lifting his yellow robes to keep the dust from the hem, Matze Chai moved towards the armed men. ‘Good day to you,’ he said. ‘Why have you stopped my palanquin?’
A bearded man stepped forward. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a longsword in his hand, two long, curved knives sheathed in his thick belt. ‘This is a toll road, Slant-eye. No one passes here without payment.’
‘And what is the payment?’ asked Matze Chai.
‘For a rich foreigner like you? Twenty in gold.’ Movement came from left and right as a dozen more men emerged from behind rocks and boulders.
‘The toll seems excessive,’ said Matze Chai. He turned to Kysumu and spoke in Chiatze. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘They are robbers and they outnumber us.’
‘Do you wish to pay them?’
‘Do you believe they will merely take twenty in gold?’
‘No. Once we accede to their demands they will demand more.’
‘Then I do not wish to pay them.’
‘Return to your palanquin,’ said Kysumu softly, ‘and I will clear the path.’
Matze Chai returned his gaze to the bearded leader. ‘I suggest,’ he said, ‘that you step aside. This man is Kysumu, the most feared Rajnee among the Chiatze. And you are, at this moment, only heartbeats from death.’
The tall leader laughed. ‘He may be all you say, Slant-eye, but to me he’s just another vomit-coloured dwarf ripe for the taking.’
‘I fear you are making a mistake,’ said Matze Chai, ‘but, then, all actions have consequences and a man must have the courage to face them.’ He gave an abrupt bow, which in Chiatze would have been insulting, and turned away, walking slowly back to his palanquin. He glanced back, and saw Kysumu walk forward to stand before the leader. Two robbers advanced from the group to stand alongside the bearded man. For a moment only Matze Chai doubted the wisdom of this course of action. Kysumu seemed suddenly tiny and innocuous against the brute power of the round-eye robber and his men.
The leader’s sword came up. Kysumu’s blade flashed into the air.
Moments later, with four men dead, the rest of the robbers scattering and running away into the rocks, Kysumu wiped clean his sword and returned to the palanquin. He was not out of breath, neither was his face flushed. He looked, as always, serene and at peace. Matze Chai’s heart was beating wildly, but he fought to keep his face expressionless. Kysumu had moved with almost inhuman speed, cutting, slashing, spinning like a dancer into the midst of the robbers. At the same moment his six guards had charged their horses into the second group, and they, too, had run for cover. All in all, a most satisfactory outcome, and one that justified the expense of hiring guards.
‘Do you believe they will come back?’ asked Matze Chai.
‘Perhaps,’ said Kysumu, with a shrug. Then he stood quietly waiting for orders. Matze Chai summoned a servant and asked Kysumu if he wished to partake of some watered wine. The swordsman refused. Matze Chai accepted a goblet, intending to take a sip. Instead he half drained it.