The gods looked upon the world they had re-formed and on the creatures they had placed within it and were concerned their work would be destroyed by the barbaric, unknowing ways of their creations. So they sent the god Insu.

"I know you’re cheating," Insu-ha Zomo accused Waulo, throwing down his cards. They slid across the polished table to rest against Waulo’s folded hands.

This late at night, the nu parlor was quiet with only a scattering of players occupying the gaming tables. Zomo's accusation stopped all play; curious faces turned. Dar tensed, glancing from Zomo to Waulo, ready to interfere.

"I don’t cheat," Waulo said, her gravelly voice low with a threat to which Zomo was oblivious.

Anticipation charged the air, waiting, hoping for a fight. Dar leaned closer to the table.

Waulo looked down at her winning hand, the cards lay face up in the middle of the table. Her cold dark eyes blinked once, then twice. The decision made, she smiled, which did nothing to gentle her broad, homely face. "Great sir, I’m as surprised as you that I won. When I bet, I was almost certain I would lose, for you are a strong player. The god Tazar must have walked across my path tonight."

Dar relaxed a bit. Waulo took accusations of cheating seriously. Men had died for making them.

She had spoken the truth. She never cheated at nu. She didn’t have to; she was that good.

Waulo continued, "I’m sure that next time you will win."

"It’s getting late," Dar said, throwing down his own cards on the table. "Why don’t we quit?"

Zomo looked at Dar. "I still think she was cheating. What do you think?"

"She wasn’t cheating," Dar said calmly, hating to get dragged into it. He had warned Waulo against playing with the Insu-has. They were too used to winning. "The Eyes of Insu tell me she is speaking the truth. Don’t the Eyes tell you?"

Zomo glared at Dar. The colorful tattoo that proclaimed Dar an Insu-ha ran across the width of Dar's forehead and possessed five eyes among the swirls and curlicues. Zomo’s didn't reach across his forehead and only had three eyes. He didn’t like Dar's insinuation that he might lack the Eyes to perceive the truth of Waulo’s words. He turned to the other player of the foursome, Insu-ha Emmir.

"What do you think?"

"Tazar didn’t just walk across her path, he stomped on it. I’ve never seen such luck."

Zomo grinned, sure that Emmir was agreeing with him.

"Surely, as Insu-ha Emmir says, it was only luck," said Waulo. "For I have rarely played against such challenging players. You’re both very skilled."

Zomo looked for a moment as though he was going to challenge her statement, then he subsided back on his cushion, believing her. Dar smiled.

Waulo didn’t cheat, but she could certainly lie. Not that the Eyes of Insu told him she was lying. No, he couldn’t tell. But then, neither could the others.

"Come on, old woman," Dar said, "let’s go."

"No," Zomo said. "Another round. My luck is bound to change."

Waulo hesitated for a moment, obviously weighing her purse against future winnings.

"Waulo," Dar warned.

"The Insu-ha is right, it's late, and I am an old woman. I need my rest. I’m not young like you."

Waulo was approaching fifty, her black hair liberally streaked with grey, but her squat body was muscular and strong, well honed compared to the pampered softness of Zomo and Emmir. Dar was twenty-four, Zomo and Emmir maybe five or six years older. But Dar would match Waulo against either of them for stamina and strength.

And she was more than a match for them in deadliness for, though long retired, as a young woman Waulo had followed her father’s trade as an assassin. She still possessed the instinct and the skills.

"Dar," Emmir called after them as they were leaving, "what we talked about before. My winter wife really wants you to paint her portrait."

"I’ll think about it. Now that I’m the head of the family, I don’t have as much time to pursue my other interests."

"I would consider it a great favor."

Dar and Waulo emerged from the nu parlor into the predawn darkness of the quiet street.

"I appreciate that you didn’t kill the fool," Dar said.

"I didn’t think your brother would approve."

Dar laughed. The Dyamu Coiji, Dar's brother, most certainly would not approve.

They walked home in companionable silence. Around them, Dar sensed the great city of Suterama begin to stir, as the servants rose to prepare for another busy day.

The gatekeeper, watching for his master, had the gate open when Dar and Waulo reached it. He bowed low as Dar entered.

The grand house had been his father’s until he died two moons ago, naming Dar his heir and therefore head of the family. There had been many, including Dar, who were surprised. They had expected his father to choose his younger son, the Dyamu, rather than the disgraced elder son.

Dar wondered if his father had known that Dar had cheated during the Trials of Truth and let his brother win, so that Coiji was named Dyamu instead of Dar.

Had his father understood the uncontrollable rage that had driven Dar to take retribution on Insu-ha Nito for beating and mutilating the beautiful So-ree, Maku? Had he seen it as justice when Dar beat Nito and cut his face as Nito had cut the woman Dar loved? Had his father forgiven him the shame brought to the whole family by the scandal when Nito died from his wounds?

Was naming Dar heir his father’s way of making amends? Or a way of forcing Dar to do what his father considered his duty as an Insu-ha? Dar had never asked; never talked to his father about it. Now that his father was dead, he never could. Still, he was curious. And at times, he heartily resented the burden of responsibility that had been shoved upon him, especially Ravra.

He glanced toward her pavilion. It was his duty to honor and care for his father’s winter wife, along with his father’s other three wives, but Ravra had once been Dar's spring wife, until she betrayed him. In his anger and disappointment he had fled, afraid of himself and what he might do. Abandoned, Ravra had convinced his father that marrying her was the only way to preserve the honor of the family. Had his father understood what had made Dar forsake his position, his family, and flee Suterama?

A warbling cry from the throats of the watch dragons bugled through the stillness. Then the ground began to shake. Dar, thrown off balance, grabbed Waulo. As quickly as it came, the earth tremor was gone. Stillness returned. Dar stood poised, expectant, but after a moment, relaxed. Just another earthquake.

"Something bad is going to happen," Waulo proclaimed solemnly.

"That’s just superstition," Dar said. "It was an earthquake. They happen all the time. It doesn’t mean that something bad is about to occur."

"Little do you know, boy."

Dar sighed. He knew better than to try to argue Waulo out of her superstitions.

* * *

In distant Funara Province, in the town of Dak-moon, a cook, Po, hurried across the courtyard as fast as his fat body would allow. The sun rested on the horizon, a round golden ball far too bright for him to look at. For the first time in as far as he could remember, he had overslept. Already the cookfire should have burnt down to glowing coals, the daeshi boiling in the big kettle. He knew he would be beaten if breakfast was late, yet he stopped to bow in front of the garden shrine, sending a prayer to the house elementals that the slumber that had held him in its spell would also hold the master. Perhaps the gods would smile upon Po. Had he not brought a garland of orange and yellow leaves from the nazo tree to decorate the shrine of Ata, mother of all gods and just last moon given a large koy-sen cooked in sauce to the priests of Nosawee for their feast day? Did he not always remembered the house elementals with gifts of cakes?

He placed his palms together, fingertips touching his forehead, and bowed three times to the elementals, then hurried on. Perhaps the elementals had heard his prayer. Usually Oen, the gardener, rose with the sun to work in the garden, but he was not to be seen. The garden lay quiet and still, with only the trilling of birds as they greeted the sun.

Po rushed to the stone-built okomi, which stood behind the kitchen area, to grab a fresh bag of daeshi and a haunch of xylo that had been curing.

The only light was from the door and the small windows placed high up under the eaves, but he went unerringly into the dimness, not bothering to light the lamp. He grabbed the small bag of grain and turned toward the back corner for the haunch of meat, when the smell hit him. He knew it for what it was, after all he had slaughtered enough animals to recognize the smell of blood.

He saw the shape of an animal carcass hanging from one of the ceiling hooks, but in the darkness he couldn't tell what it was. He fumbled for the lantern, lighting the wick, before turning back to see.

It was as naked and bloody as an animal carcass, but it wasn't an animal. It had been human.

A rope tied about the waist looped over the ceiling hook; arms, head, and legs dangling. Long slashes scored the calves and forearms, and the hands and feet were red with blood.

The body swung slowly, and Po saw that it was Oen.

Beneath the body sat the large kettle Po used for rendering. Po watched as a drop of blood slipped from a fingertip and fell. It seemed to take forever until it splashed into the pot. The sound rang so loud as to deafen Po. Then he heard his own voice screaming. He could not stop.

* * *

Raku reached for the ten-day report from the Master of the Guard in Dak-moon and read of the murder in distant Funara Province. When he finished, he picked up his stylus and carefully inscribed his mark and the date upon the page. His brow furrowed and he bit his lip in concentration as he worked to get the symbol just right.

Raku sat on pillows at a low desk in a room in Suterama’s great Hall of Records. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held boxes, each marked with the name of a town or place in Funara Province. Raku knew everything that happened in Funara Province. It all came here to be read, marked, and filed. This document belonged in the Dak-moon box. He had lived near Dak-moon, and on market and feast days, his whole family traveled there. He didn't like Dak-moon now because its box was on the top shelf and beyond his eleven-year-old arm’s reach. He would be forced to call one of the adult servants to reach it.

With his perfect recall, he reviewed in his memory the contents of the Dak-moon box. There wasn't much, for the previous clerk had retired only four moons before. All that remained in the box were deeds, records of honors and grants, and a few unresolved matters like the reports of a mysterious illness. To that, was now added a murder, a particularly gruesome murder. The young boy, which in truth he still was, thrilled to the detailed description of the death of Oen, the gardener. Shivers ran up and down his spine at the thought of a deranged killer stalking his prey, then bleeding it dry.

Then Raku realized something was missing from the box, something important. He was almost afraid to tell, for he should have noticed its absence sooner, but he was more afraid not to tell.

He hurried down the corridor to where the master clerk sat ensconced on pillows behind another low desk. Raku trembled as he bowed. "Great sir, I beg to report something of concern about Dak-moon."

The master clerk frowned. "Where is Dak-moon?"

Raku blushed, realizing that though they had met, the master clerk didn't realize that he was now the clerk for Funara Province. He mumbled the words.

"Speak up." The master clerk waved his stylus at him.

"Funara Province." The words echoed about the room, sounding way too loud to Raku’s ears. He blushed in embarrassment.

"Tell me, child," the master clerk said, his tone softening. "What have you found?"

Raku looked down at his feet, afraid to look at the master clerk. "I have no excuse for my laxness."

"Don’t worry. It takes time to learn to be a good clerk. Mistakes are made, but you have come to tell me, and that is how it should be. We can rectify whatever has happened."

Encouraged, Raku told him what he had just realized. "For the last four moons we haven’t received a report from the Insu-ha Shoki, High Magistrate of Dak-moon. I didn’t notice, not at first, because there weren’t any, not since I became clerk." He knew he was babbling.

"There’s no mention of any problem in the Guard Master’s ten day reports?"

Raku shook his head.

"It’s strange," the master clerk said, then he smiled. "But not all that uncommon. Insu-has are not known for being report writers."

Relief flooded through Raku.

"Still, it is important. Is there anything else?"

"Today, the Master of Dak-moon’s Guard reported a body was discovered, murdered, hung above a pot, and drained of all blood."

"A sad business, but why have you brought this to my attention? Was there a request for assistance?"

"No, great sir."

"Well, then, why?"

Raku was surprised that the master clerk didn’t find the matter of a murder important. Of course, the master clerk must hear of murders all the time. Raku felt foolish and struggled to regain what he had lost.

"One moon ago, a local healer, Torren, begged assistance from the medical college to discover the cure for a mysterious illness that has killed many."

"You have communicated the request to the medical college?"

"Yes. Along with a note of censure from physician Chismu, in which he claimed that healer Torren exaggerated the problem and didn't follow the proper protocols."

The master clerk looked at him expectantly. Raku continued, "It’s just that the man who died was a member of physician Chismu’s household. In his request, healer Torren accused physician Chismu." Raku closed his eyes and brought the document into his mind’s eye, quoting exactly from it. "Physician Chismu’s continued refusal to recognize the seriousness of the problem threatens all of Dak-moon and possibly all of Naj. All cures fail. People are dying."

"I see. You were right to report it."

Inwardly, Raku gave a sigh of relief. He had been right to report it.

The master clerk continued, "I doubt that the murder and what appears to be a rivalry between physician Chismu and this healer are connected. Still, this Torren has made a serious charge. I believe the problems in Dak-moon should be reported to the Dyamu."

Raku swelled with pride as he bowed. An event in his province would have the attention of the Dyamu, ruler of all Naj.

* * *

Insu-ha Coiji, the High Judge and Arbitrator, the Dyamu of Naj, tried not to look bored as the master clerk droned on. He longed for the daily report to be over. He leaned back against the carving of the high-backed audience chair and tried, unobtrusively, to shift back and forth, hoping to scratch an annoying itch. His secretary, Hakoni, saw the slight movement and frowned, the corners of his mouth matching his long drooping mustache. Coiji found himself responding to that frown like a small boy caught daydreaming by a stern teacher. He straightened. Then he stopped himself. He was the Dyamu and had been for six years. He was no longer a frightened fourteen-year-old, unsure of himself. Still, he returned his attention to what the master clerk was saying.

"In Dak-moon of Funara Province, there are troubling circumstances. A murder, a gardener was killed and drained of all blood. The city is also plagued by a mysterious illness." At least it wasn't floods or food shortages. "And we haven't received a report from the High Magistrate in four moons."

Coiji was disappointed. He didn't care that a magistrate hadn't bothered to write a silly report. Hakoni continued to take notes. Coiji saw the tip of the man's tongue at the corner of his mouth, as though he was concentrating hard, but it was an old signal from the time he had first become Dyamu. It told him to pay attention to this matter.

"Who is the Magistrate?"

"The Insu-ha Shoki," the master clerk responded.

Now Coiji understood Hakoni’s interest. "There’s no indication of a problem?"

The master clerk shook his head.

"And what does the Guard report?"

"Nothing regarding the Insu-ha, Dyamu. If his Greatness has no more questions that concludes my report."

Coiji glanced at his secretary, wondering if there were more questions he should ask. Hakoni put his brush down and folded his hands across his stomach. Coiji took that as a sign and gave a wave of dismissal. The master clerk bowed his way out of the small audience chamber. Once the doors were closed, Coiji gave up all pretense and vigorously scratched his itching shoulder blade, ignoring the fact that his nails snagged the delicate embroidery of his ceremonial robe.

With a sigh of relief, he turned to his secretary. Hakoni had served his father and now Coiji. In the last six years, Hakoni had grown an elder’s beard. The wispy, grey-streaked chin whiskers were long enough to reach his folded hands, a respectable length. His drooping mustache, which Hakoni kept trimmed to half the length of his whiskers, was still coal black. Coiji wondered if Hakoni judiciously helped it to remain so dark. "So, old man, what are you thinking? Should we do something about this murder?"

"It’s more disturbing that Insu-ha Shoki hasn’t sent his reports. He may be planning something."

"If Shoki was, as you say, planning something, he’d be sure to send his reports so we wouldn't suspect. Is this one of your little feelings or do you have other information that makes Shoki suspect?"

"Nothing new, but as you say, perhaps a hunch. When the master clerk spoke of Dak-moon, I felt a sense, well, of heaviness, darkness. I can’t recall ever having such a feeling. It is most puzzling."

Hakoni was famous for his hunches. His little feelings he called them. Coiji’s father had learned to listen to them, after encountering several disasters when he ignored Hakoni’s warnings. Coiji always listened.

"I will send a Hand," said Coiji.

Hakoni grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and poised the stylus above the blankness.

"Send for my brother, Dar."

"My Dyamu!" Surprise and doubt filled Hakoni’s voice. "Is he a wise choice?"

"A perfect choice."

Hakoni frowned, Coiji grinned back playfully. He held up his hand, counting his reasons on his fingers.

"First, I can’t send anyone but another Insu-ha to investigate Shoki." Another finger joined the first. "Name another Insu-ha who would be willing to travel so far without complaint on such minor matters as a few missing reports and the murder of an unimportant gardener." He put up the third finger. "Dar will care passionately about justice for this gardener and will search for the truth, no matter where it leads."

Hakoni’s dark eyes acknowledged the truth of Coiji’s statements.

"A wise choice, my Dyamu."

"Stop lying to me. I can always tell."

Hakoni sighed. "It’s just that sometimes your brother cares too much about the wrong things and too little for the consequences."

Now Coiji frowned; anger tinged his voice. "Insu-ha Nito deserved what Dar did! Must that scandal haunt Dar for the rest of his life?"

"It’s not easy to forget that Insu-ha Nito died."

"But Dar didn’t kill him," Coiji objected. He rose and stalked the length of the room and back. "Not four moons ago, Dar and Waulo saved my life. If not for them, the assassin would have killed me. Surely, if people knew, it would change their opinion."

"No," Hakoni said firmly. "It's better that the matter remains a secret. Your brother agrees."

Coiji frowned. He had wanted to award his brother a medal so that the whole court would know his brother’s bravery, but both Hakoni and Dar had told him no. "If I can’t reward him in public, at least I can make him my Hand."

"There are those who would use Dar's reputation against you. If he makes a mistake, it's you who will suffer."

"He won’t make a mistake. I know my brother. He will find the murderer. If Shoki is up to something, as you suspect, you must agree that Dar and Waulo are the ones to uncover it."

"You can’t be thinking of sending Waulo!" Hakoni protested in alarm.

"Waulo will make an excellent legal assistant. She’s well versed in the law."

"Well versed in criminal pursuits."

"Her husband was an advocate, and so was she."

"I would hardly call her an advocate. She helped him on occasion. Surely, someone more experienced. Someone who has previously assisted a Hand. Someone who understands the difficulties of being a Hand and can advise your brother."

"Waulo is very qualified; besides, she has other skills." Hakoni paled. Coiji grinned impishly. "Not that she’ll need them."

"I should hope not!"

"Moreover if I send Waulo with Dar, I may avert a financial crisis within my court. Far too many of my subjects have lost to her at nu, including, I believe, you."

Hakoni looked guilty. His eyes no longer met Coiji’s. "The god Tazar favors her too often. I’m sure she’s cheating, but I can’t figure out how."

* * *

Open screens framed the sunlit garden, but the sunlight was weak, without strength or warmth. The garden still wore its winter starkness. The nazo tree’s black, bare branches spread a crazy lacework against a pale blue sky, but if Coiji looked carefully he could see the hard, swollen buds on the branches. It was no longer so hard to imagine the tree clothed in a cloud of pink blooms or the petals drifting slowly down like pink snow. It wouldn't be long now; winter was almost over, but it was still cold. Coiji shivered and pulled his plain under-robe closer about his body, attempting to cut off a stray draft that blew down his neck. He was glad to be free of the heavy ceremonial garb, but the under-robe wasn't as warm. He moved a little closer to the meager warmth of the brazier positioned between him and his brother Dar, who sat cross-legged on a pillow, carefully arranged to place him lower than his brother.

There was no doubt that they were brothers. Their broad faces were too similar, but Dar's face looked older than the four years that separated them in age. The colorful tattoo across his forehead, seemed to have faded on the sun-darkened skin, while Coiji’s tattoo stood out bright and clear against pale skin that had seen little sun or weather. Coiji tried to imagine what it would be like to leave the palace and travel, to meet people, ordinary people. The farthest he had been was a pilgrimage to Hunano and the great temple of Ata, and two hundred servants, courtiers, and guards had accompanied him. Dar, after his disgrace, had set out alone, and it had been almost four years before he returned. To Coiji, his older brother was the bravest man he knew.

"This is for you," Coiji said, handing Dar a box. It had been carved from the wood of the sacred tree and was pale, almost white, with dark whorls. Dar ran his hand over the smooth surface and looked up at his brother, eyes puzzled. Coiji nodded, urging Dar to open the box. Inside, on a scarlet cloth, lay a gauntlet, decorated with the golden emblem of the Dyamu. "I want you to be my Hand," Coiji told him.

"You can’t be serious!" Coiji watched his brother’s face change as Dar realized Coiji wasn’t joking. He was sure he saw a tear in the corner of Dar's eye, but his brother blinked it away. "You would trust me?" Dar asked. Coiji didn’t have to answer. Dar swallowed hard. "There are many who won’t approve."

"What happened was a long time ago."

"But not forgotten."

"You should have been Dyamu. The gods have blessed you with the Eyes of Insu greater than mine. If you hadn’t cheated on the Trials of Truth, you would be."

Dar shook his head. "No, not me." They both fell silent. Six years ago, Dar had been the favored candidate to win the Trials of Truth, but the scandal that rose from the beating and mutilation of Insu-ha Nito by Dar and Nito's subsequent death from his wounds had made Dar unacceptable to many. Even if Dar had won at the Trials of Truth, he probably would have been assassinated before he could accept the rod and sphere. Dar won every trial but the last. He deliberately lost to his brother. Coiji knew it, but none of the judges had realized, or if they did, they had been so relieved that they did not challenge the decision.

Dar finally broke the silence. "It doesn’t matter. You’re a much better Dyamu than I ever would have been."

Coiji sighed. "Sometimes I wish that wasn’t true." He tried to imagine his brother listening to hours of reports or soothing bruised egos of some member of one of the families or figuring out ways to keep the balance between the Komedara and the Hoonie, but the image wouldn’t come clear. "But, my brother, if I am the better Dyamu, then you can at least be my Hand."

"‘I’m not qualified."

"You are qualified. If not for your loyalty and your skill, I would be dead and a Komedara puppet ruling in my place. Besides, this problem is, I think, especially suited to you. The body of a gardener was found drained of every drop of blood. It’s murder, and particularly depraved."

Dar couldn't help but be interested. "The Guard has no clues?"

"Such a heinous crime is beyond the Guard of Dak-moon. You see why it must be you?"

Dar shook his head.

"The victim was a mere gardener, the servant of the chief physician of Dak-moon." Coiji knew he had hit the right chord. If Dar didn't go, the incident would probably be forgotten. "He deserves justice, doesn’t he?"

Dar nodded. "And just where is Dak-moon?"

"Funara Province." Coiji tried to make it sound as though it was just next door.

"Funara Province! No wonder you asked me. You couldn’t get another Insu-ha to travel that far."

"You’re right, of course." Coiji popped a sugared fruit into his mouth and motioned to Dar to help himself. "Any other Insu-ha would protest at being dragged out of the city on such an unimportant matter as the murder of a peasant. What if I put a ship at your disposal, a fast ship?"

"Well," Dar said, still unsure.

"Take Waulo with you. Get her out of my capital. Too many of my subjects have lost golden kiven to her. They complain that she cheats at nu."

"But they can’t figure out how. I know. I warned her she shouldn’t play with the Insu-ha."

"Actually it was Hakoni who can’t figure out how she’s cheating."

"Waulo never cheats. She doesn’t have to."

Coiji's spring wife entered. She was almost twelve years his senior, beautiful, intelligent, and had been considered the perfect choice to initiate a young thirteen-year-old into the pleasures of lovemaking and his responsibilities as an Insu-ha.

Seeing Dar, she frowned. "It’s time to prepare for the procession, Divine One." She hurried forward, closer to Coiji, as though to protect him from Dar's contamination.

"What is it this time?" Coiji asked.

"You must make an offering at the temple of the goddess Yatmoa."

"I remember now. I’ll come in a while."

"Divine One." She bowed gracefully, but remained.

"Stop fussing, my wife, and leave us." Reluctantly she bowed her way from the room. Her dark eyes glared belligerently at Dar, but she said nothing.

Watched his departing wife, Coiji heaved a sigh. "Do you regret no longer having wives?"

"Sometimes, at night, when I am lonely, I miss my summer wife, Daudi. She was beautiful and as young as I. But no, I don’t miss my spring wife."

Consternation filled Coiji. How could he have reminded Dar of Ravra’s treachery? "I’m sorry, brother."

Dar looked at him and laughed. "I’m not. She was--is--a very demanding woman."

Coiji looked toward the doorway where his spring wife had disappeared. "Aren’t they all?"

"It seems so."

"I’ve missed you, brother. You still treat me like your younger brother and not the Dyamu."

"The man who must judge all men should remember that he is just a man as well."

"A man, as other men? You know, brother, there are times when I heartily resent your freedom. It would be so exciting to have wandered the world and to have seen what you have seen."

"I wouldn’t quite put it that way. In the first three days, I was robbed and left for dead. I almost starved and probably would have, if Toko hadn’t indentured me. That was my choice--servitude or begging in the street. I was lucky that Toko was a good man. It wasn’t pleasant. He worked me hard and I felt the whip more than once. I had no usable skills except a small ability at drawing and the Eyes of Insu. If Toko hadn't seen that I could give him an edge in negotiations with clients, he would have left me and I would be dead. There were many times I regretted my choice and thought of you, warm and safe in this palace."

"From the minute an Insu-ha is born, we are cosseted and spoiled. Treated like gods. They tell us that the god Insu gave us a gift, the Eyes. They call it a great gift, this ability to see when a man lies. Because we have this gift, we’re asked to sit in judgment of men, to rule them, but how can we? What do we truly know of the world?" Coiji rose and walked across the room to stare out at the garden. It was peaceful, but artificial, everything so perfect, stylized. It symbolized his world--structured and limited.

Dar joined him and put his arm around Coiji’s shoulder. "You know more than you think, brother. Within the walls of Suterama are all the strife and interests of the outer world. People love, they hate, just the same, whether farmer or courtier. Jealousy, greed, and anger motivate little wars as well as big ones. You have only to look around you to see."

Coiji sighed. "So tell me what is going on in this little world of ours?"

"Insu-ha Emmir’s winter wife asked me to paint her portrait."

"You wouldn’t, would you?" Coiji turned to look at his brother.

"Paint her portrait? Yes, I think I might. Her features are unusually strong."

"She’s ugly, but Emmir thinks her enchanting. So would you paint her as she truly is or how he perceives her to be?"

"That is a question I have been pondering."

"Ah, but there is more to it. Emmir hasn’t been able to get her with child."

"I’m just a painter," Dar said, with a shrug.

Coiji laughed. "We, my brother, are all hunted animals. Even you are a tempting prize in the elaborate game of seduction. Emmir’s winter wife is from the Hoonie. They haven’t had the honor of claiming an Insu-ha in two generations."

"And you think I would have better luck than Emmir?"

"Do you ever wonder why the god Insu made us as we are? He gave us the Eyes, but is it all a blessing or a curse? Though I have done my duty by all four of my wives, I still only have one son. I can expect to live only but half a life, not much more than forty years to the sixty to eighty most can claim."

"Ask the priests; they’ve probably figured out an answer."

"No doubt they have. They seem to have an answer for everything. So, brother, will you be my Hand?"

Dar nodded.

"Good. Do you want to come with me to the temple?"

Dar shook his head again, this time no. "If I am going to be your Hand, I’d better tell Waulo."

Coiji was a bit relieved. Now he wouldn’t have to listen to his spring wife’s lecture about the foolishness of appearing in public with his brother. Not that that would have stopped him.

Dar picked up the box with its glove.

"Oh Dar, while you’re in Dak-moon, find out why Shoki isn't sending his reports."

Dar raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Shoki?"

"You remember him? You went to temple school together."

Dar gritted his teeth. "Of course I remember him. How could I forget the bully who made my years at temple school miserable?"

"He’s the High Magistrate of Funara Province. Hakoni’s concerned because he forgot to send a couple of reports. Ask him why, won’t you?"

Coiji’s spring wife appeared again at the doorway.

"I’m coming, my wife." Coiji turned to Dar. "See Hakoni about the ship."

"I will." Dar bowed low, as Coiji left the room.

* * *

How had Shoki come to be the magistrate of Funara Province? Dar wondered, as he went in search of Hakoni. A magistrate of a provincial city in a far province was hardly the position of power Shoki boasted he would have.

Dar found Hakoni at his desk, surrounded by a jumble of boxes and scrolls. In the outer chamber, five scribes labored, heads bowed.

Hakoni rose and bowed low and respectfully. "Insu-ha Dar."

"How are you, Hakoni?"

"I’m well. May I be of service?" He showed Dar to a low seat.

Dar raised the box with its ceremonial glove. "My brother has made me his Hand. I won’t take the position if you think it would cause harm to my brother. My past--"

"There are a few with long memories, especially among Insu-ha Nito’s family. But coming into your inheritance--"

"Has made me respectable."

"I wouldn’t go that far," Hakoni said, with a slight smile.

Dar nodded his agreement. He might be the head of the family, now that his father was dead, as well as the brother of the Dyamu, but there were still those who blamed him for Insu-ha Nito’s death.

"It is what the Dyamu wishes," Hakoni said.

"But you don’t approve?"

Hakoni looked directly into Dar's eyes. "It’s not that I disapprove."

"Hakoni, I value your opinion as much as my father and brother have."

"At first I didn’t approve." Dar could tell he spoke the truth. "But your brother can be very convincing."

"I know," Dar said, with a grin that matched his brother’s.

"Still, I have some concerns. Your future actions will reflect not only on you but on the Dyamu. As his Hand, you are the Dyamu in action."

Dar laid the box down on the desk and gave it a little shove toward Hakoni. "Perhaps it would be better if I declined. I wouldn’t wish to bring harm to my brother."

"No. The Dyamu has decided rightly." Hakoni pushed the box back toward Dar. "Put it on."

Dar picked the gauntlet out of the box. It was heavier than he expected, a fingerless glove crafted out of fine silver wires woven and linked together to form a supple metal cloth, with the emblem of the Dyamu worked in gold upon the back. He slid it onto his left hand, the metal cold against his skin. Flexing his hand, he found no restriction of movement.

He looked into Hakoni’s eyes. "Now, about Shoki? How did he become the magistrate of Funara? I had thought he would have a more important post."

"Funara is not such a minor province."

Dar nodded slowly. Funara was of strategic importance as it bordered the lands of Naj’s ancient enemy, the Ratri, but it was also a poor province, mountainous and sparsely populated.

Hakoni continued, "As for how, he asked for the posting. After the way his father humiliated him for his failure to become Dyamu at the Trials of Truth, Insu-ha Shoki wanted to be as far from him as possible."

Dar remembered the scene, how outraged Shoki’s father had been. At first he had accused Coiji of cheating, then the priests, and finally when Shoki stepped in to tell his father that he was wrong, his father had berated his son as though he were a small child, rather than a grown man.

"At the time, we weren’t sure what his father would do and we were afraid certain factions would use Insu-ha Shoki as a rallying point."

"Was Shoki part of this latest Komedara plot against my brother?"

"Not that we could discover." The tone spoke of Hakoni’s uncertainty. "Since going to Funara Province, Insu-ha Shoki has shown little overt interest in capital politics. It’s possible that his spring wife, who is Komedara, knew about it. That isn’t what worries me."

"But something has you worried about Shoki not sending his reports?"

Hakoni smoothed his long mustache several times. "I’ve been troubled ever since the master clerk spoke of Funara Province."

"One of your little feelings."

Hakoni nodded. "Two years ago, Insu-ha Shoki took a winter wife, a member of the Namon family, a small but prominent family in Funara Province. Even more important she has Ratri blood."

"I didn’t know that the Ratri intermarried."

"Rarely. From what I can gather, the woman’s mother was a Ratri priestess taken in a raid years ago. Insu-ha Shoki’s marriage established his power in the province."

"You think Shoki might sell out to the Ratri?"

"Before the winter snows, Insu-ha Shoki toured the province with his winter wife, traveling through the mountains and along the border. There are almost ten days where his whereabouts are unknown."

"That doesn’t sound like you, Hakoni. You know everything."

"The man I had watching the Insu-ha died on the trip. Supposedly an avalanche. Only the Insu-ha, his wife, and the master of his personal guard returned. I haven't been able to place another man inside the household."

"As the Dyamu’s Hand, I will have access to Shoki and you want me to find out what happened."

"Discretely and carefully."

"Aren’t I always?" Dar laughed at Hakoni’s frown.

"Insu-ah Shoki isn't a man to trust."

"I know that well." Dar's voice turned serious.

"And watch out for the Insu-ha’s spring wife. She’s a woman of great cunning and ambition."

"A good match for Shoki."

"A very good match."

"What about the murder?"

"I know only what was reported by the clerk."

"I won’t keep you. My brother mentioned a ship."

"There’s a courier leaving on the morning tide."

"We’ll be on it." Dar rose to leave.

Hakoni rose as well, joining Dar as he left the office. "There is something I wanted to ask."

"Yes?"

"Waulo--"

"You want to know if she cheats? I can assure you she doesn’t."

Hakoni frowned, clearly not believing him.

Dar grinned. "She doesn’t cheat, but she does lie. She can tell the boldest of lies to an Insu-ha and not be detected, even by me. I don’t know how she does it. I thought it might have something to do with being raised to be an assassin, but she says no."

They walked together down the long palace corridor, past evenly spaced guards.

Dar continued, "She is also very good at the game of Truth and Lies, as good as any Insu-ha I have ever met."

"As good as you?"

"I never was good at playing the game. Back in temple school, I always lost, especially to Shoki. He was much more subtle and clever than I."

Hakoni looked at him, puzzled.

"If you remember, the Eyes opened late for me, but strongly. I had hoped to face Shoki during the Trials to see which one of us was actually better, but it didn’t happen."

Hakoni frowned, his long mustache drooping further. "Don't think this is a game."

"I know it isn’t a game. Your dead man proves it."

They entered the grand audience hall crowded with richly costumed couturiers waiting the appearance of the Dyamu to begin the procession to the temple.

Hakoni stopped and bowed. "Have a safe journey, Hand." Hakoni spoke loudly into the ripples of silence that spread outward across the hall.

Dar returned the bow. "Thank you, Hakoni. And thank my brother for the honor."

"The Dyamu has chosen wisely." Hakoni gave a small grin before leaving Dar standing in the doorway. Dar became aware of the whispers that spread in front of him as he walked across the hall. Hakoni had done it on purpose. He wanted people to know. There was a warm glow inside Dar. Hakoni’s approval meant a lot.

Dar was taken by surprise when Ravra stepped in front of him, blocking his way. She was dressed in an elaborately embroidered robe, pale green. Her shiny black hair was carefully twisted into knots and loops, decorated with ropes of pale green and gold cord. Her face was heavily made up, with lips of cherry red and eyes outlined in black.

He forced himself to greet her. "Good day to you, my father’s winter wife." He kept his voice level.

She stared at his gloved hand. "I see that the rumors are true. Your brother has made you a Hand."

"I leave for Funara Province in the morning. I am sent to look into the matter of the murder of a gardener."

She gave a harsh laugh. "How like you to be interested in the murder of a gardener. Your brother is a fool. You will only make trouble for him."

He stared at Ravra, hating her. Abruptly, he turned and walked away. Running away, his mind whispered, just like you did six years ago. It had been run away or kill her, coldly and deliberately, for what she had done.

Her voice followed him. "All he has ever done is brought shame. Shame to his wives, shame to his father, and now he will bring shame to the Dyamu. He should have been born a commoner! Those are the only people he cares about."