Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1)

by Karen Hancock

  She listened halfheartedly, wishing he wasn’t so wretchedly enthusiastic. Sometimes it rubbed her so raw she could hardly bear to be in his presence, and it took all her willpower not to snarl at him to shut up. `And why do you think that?” she asked.

  “Because it’s Terstan power. It has to be. Do you realize every time they’ve put out the flames in that Temple of Khrell, they’ve left behind the symbol of a Terstan shield?”

  “The shield is a Dorsaddi symbol, too,” Cooper said.

  “Yes. I think there must be a connection.”

  Carissa felt a sudden rush of pity for him. He was so excited, so full of hope and confidence. How long before the curd started to fill his eyes and twist his bones? How long before the evil his parents had inflicted upon him moved into his mind and turned him mad? Life was not fair. No more for him than her. He just didn’t know it yet.

  She sighed.

  “Milady, I have something for you.” He had turned to her and was thrusting a small leather pouch into her hands, looking suddenly nervous and half embarrassed.

  She fingered it open and dumped a pale gray pebble set on a gold chain into her palm. The setting was no more than a delicate gold claw holding the stone, which looked like an ordinary round river rock. Why would anyone want to put it into a setting and wear it around her neck? Worse, why would Philip think she might appreciate it?

  He was watching her eagerly. “Do you like it?”

  She stared at it in chagrin, glad again for the veil that hid her face. “Oh, well, yes, it’s um-“

  “Where did you get that?” Cooper demanded of the boy, as if he were unaware she had been speaking. “Did you steal it?”

  “Of course not!”

  “I thought you didn’t have any money.” The retainer’s expression had gone stern and dark.

  “I had some.”

  “Enough for a stone like that?” For some reason Cooper sounded incredulous.

  Carissa looked at the stone again but could see no reason for Cooper to be so suspicious. It still looked like a common pebble, and she wondered now if the boy might have found it and merely had it set onto the necklace because he wanted to do something for her and it was all he could afford.

  “I didn’t steal it, Master Cooper,” Philip said quietly.

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Philip,” Carissa said before Cooper could reply. `And it was very sweet of you to think of me.”

  Philip turned to her in renewed eagerness. “It’s to help ward the staffid. You were having so much trouble with them-“

  “It wards staffid?” She picked up the chain and let the stone dangle before her, eyeing it with considerably more interest.

  “So they say. And not just staffid, but other things, too. Evil spells and the like.”

  “Well, then, let me put it on at once!” she cried. “I wouldn’t want to fall sway to any evil spells!” At least it’s not an onion!

  The staffid bites seemed to itch even more than usual as she fastened it around her neck, but it was worth it for the pleasure her actions clearly gave the boy. For a moment he looked ready to speak, but then he glanced again at Cooper and closed his mouth, the ghost of a frown creasing his brow.

  `Ah,” said Cooper. “Here comes Danarin. It’s about time.”

  Carissa glanced toward the tents in the wadi below and saw the familiar form of their companion weaving his way among them, his dusky red tunic making subtle contrast with the military grays surrounding him.

  Danarin had spent the afternoon in the south sector, visiting the gambling houses, hoping to resupply Carissa’s depleted funds. She did not approve, but the trip here had cost so much in tolls and bribes, she’d had nothing left to pay the outrageous room fees demanded by local hostelers. If she didn’t want to sleep in the wadi with the soldiers tonight, she had no choice but to rely upon Danarin’s skills with the Bones and Dice and accept his charity.

  His willingness to give it did not make acceptance easier. She trusted him no more now than in Qarkeshan, though her attraction to him continued unabated. He had, if anything, grown more handsome with their renewed association.

  They had reached Jarnek solely because of him. At each checkpoint he’d contrived to get them through uninspected, playing the part of the young, wealthy Brogai lord. Though travelers all around were being forced to disrobe, the women escorted off to visit the commanding officers, no one ever lifted Carissa’s veil or even contested his claims to immunity. She thought he looked far too pale of skin to pass for true Brogai, but no one else seemed able to see past the rings on his fingers and the gold round his neck.

  She owed much to the Thilosian. It would be nice if she could feel unreservedly grateful.

  Danarin bounded up the stairs and slid into the seat across from her, the gold threads woven throughout the fabric of his tunic gleaming and glimmering with his movement.

  “Did you have a successful afternoon, Master Danarin?” Cooper asked dryly.

  Danarin grinned and patted the bulging coin purse at his waist. “Indeed I did, Master Cooper.” He flashed the grin at Carissa. `All soldiers’ gold, my lady, have no fear.”

  She frowned at him, but as usual, her signs of disapproval had no impact. He merely smiled wider and dropped her a courtly nod. “I have also solved the problem of our night’s lodging. My gaming partner was so pleased with our play that he has invited us to stay with him.”

  “I am not staying in another brothel,” Carissa declared.

  The Thilosian shook his head. “My lady, please. You know we had no choice.”

  “I’d rather sleep in the wadi with the soldiers.”

  “Well, fortunately, you’ll not have to make that choice.” He turned and pointed to one of the structures sprawling across the steep, terraced slopes overlooking the main wadi from the south. “That is his villa there, at the top of the face. He says you can see the amphitheater from his garden.”

  Her gaze went from the villa to the man. “You’re serious?”

  His grin widened. “I made him a lot of money today, and he’s grateful. He all but insisted we come.”

  `All of us? Even Eber and Peri and the dog?” She glanced toward the two servants sitting with the baggage on a bench outside the restaurant’s railed patio.

  “It’s one of the largest villas in Jarnek, my lady. The man has plenty of room. He’s expecting us as we speak.”

  “Well, I suppose we mustn’t disappoint him, then.”

  The villa’s servants were indeed waiting to take their bags and wash their feet when they arrived, and the odor of roasting fowl ignited Carissa’s hunger all at once. As they slipped into soft leather house slippers and their servants-plus Newbold-were ushered away to the appropriate area, their host strode in to welcome them. One of the wealthiest merchants in Jarnek, Ormah Fah’lon was middle-aged and balding, with a slight paunch and a dark goatee. Jewels glittered on his fingers and in his ears-ruby studs alongside the gold rings that betrayed a fighting past-and contrasted elegantly with his black knee-length tunic of fine wool.

  He greeted Danarin warmly as Lord Than, then turned to Carissa and seemed to start. His dark eyes flicked back to Danarin. “Your wife is kaziym?”

  The servants had taken the outer mantle and full face-veil she was required to wear in public, leaving only the sheer half veil, which did little to hide her pale skin and blue eyes.

  “Yes,” Danarin said smoothly. “I bought her in Qarkeshan last year.”

  For a moment Fah’lon seemed inexplicably dismayed. Then the expression vanished, and once more he was warm and cordial. “Quite a prize it would seem, too.”

  It dawned on Carissa what they were talking about, and though Fah’lon went on to say something about his own wife unfortunately being absent, she hardly heard him past the outrage that rang in her ears. Wife? Danarin had told this man she was his wife? She glared at the Thilosian in a fury, not caring that her expression would be clear to their host as well. Wife? How dare he?

  He i
gnored her, as usual, and said something about her beauty being balanced by a temperamental nature-which only raked her ire hotter. Then the men were turning away, moving down the tile-floored hall together, expecting Carissa to follow, as was the custom.

  And just what is my role in this little charade, I wonder?” Cooper murmured from just behind her.

  She glanced back at him. “Chief retainer, it would seem, seeing as you didn’t even warrant an introduction.” She glared after the men as they disappeared through the doorway at the hall’s end. “He will hear of this, mark me on it.”

  “I’m sure he will. Shall I stay here, then?” Cooper gestured around the spacious anteroom.

  “That would probably be best.”

  Angry enough to spit, Carissa followed her “husband,” promising herself that once they were out of Esurh, the relationship with Danarin would be severed, no matter how little money they had. Unless he irked her further. Then it would be severed tonight.

  The spacious dining room, one long wall of which was an arcade of arched openings overlooking the city, held a low rectangular table flanked by the usual pillows. To Carissa’s surprise, it was set for three-the men’s places at one end, her own apparently at the other. Usually women ate separately, if not in different rooms, at least at different tables. This was a pleasing development, even if she was still a little too angry to appreciate it.

  “I had not heard of the plague in Vedel,” Fah’lon was remarking to Danarin as they settled onto the pillows. “This is of concern.”

  “I’m just grateful it has not reached Jarnek yet.”

  “Pray it never does? And that it does not reach Ybal, where my wife has gone. May the rains come quickly?”

  As Carissa settled unremarked and apparently unnoticed, a gaggle of serving girls trooped in bearing platters of chicken, bowls of curried quail with rice, steamed onions and garlic, pickled baby beets, olive oil, flatbread, and grapes.

  Carissa was served last and was feeling quite defiant when she refused to accept any of the onions. As she contemplated how she might eat without getting food all over her veil, Danarin came to her rescue.

  “I noticed, Serr Fah’lon, that none of your women cover their faces.”

  Fah’lon shook his head. “We do not follow the Way of the Veil in this house. Nor any of the other dictates of Khrell. I hope this does not offend you.”

  “Not at all. We, too, serve other gods.” Danarin paused. “I presume it will not offend you, then, if my wife-“

  “Certainly not.”

  Danarin nodded at her, and she nearly forgave him the wife blunder, so pleased was she to dispense with the half veil. But as she dropped it from her face, Fah’lon’s smiling interest gave way to a sharp, startled look, and he drew back in obvious surprise.

  “Something troubles you, sir?” Danarin asked.

  The man recovered his poise swiftly, the easy practiced smile returning to reassure. “Not at all. It is just …” He chuckled softly. “I guess all northerners tend to look alike to me. It’s the blue eyes and the golden hair. They are so startling, it is all I see at first.”

  `Ah. Yes.” Danarin’s voice sounded strangely flat to her, odd somehow, like a courtier keeping his tone carefully neutral so as not to give himself away. But what could there be to give away here?

  “You are wise to keep her covered. She is a prize indeed. And Kiriathan women are especially coveted these days, what with these cat-and-mouse games the Pretender is playing. The soldiers would love to take their frustration out on her.”

  “The Pretender?” Danarin drew back on his pillows, brows arched, a slight smile on his lips. “But he’s dead, sir. I saw the body myself, impaled at the entry gate of Xorofin.”

  Ormah Fah’lon laughed. “How do you know for sure it was his body?”

  “The man was obviously Kiriathan.”

  “So is your wife. We have no shortage of pale-haired slaves in the southland.” He leaned forward to scoop rice and quail into his mouth. “The Pretender and his infidel always performed painted and wigged,” he said around the mouthful. “Few knew their real faces. The man you saw could have been anyone.”

  “Philip’s insisted all along he got away,” Carissa put in. “Remember?”

  Both men turned to gape at her. Evidently the laxity with respect to the veil did not extend to conversation. With a frown of annoyance she returned her attention to her grapes, cursing anew this horrid land and its repressive culture.

  “She is forward, this wife of yours,” Fah’lon commented mildly, eyeing her with amusement.

  “The northern blood,” Danarin growled, frowning. “Sometimes she cannot help herself”

  `And who is this Philip?” Fah’lon asked.

  “One of our servants,” Danarin said.

  “Well, he is right.” The Esurhite spooned onions into his mouth. “In truth both the Pretender and the Infidel escaped to the SaHal and re-ignited the Dorsaddi’s sacred Heart. They say it has burned a hole six leagues wide in the mist over Hur and that the rains have come early there-gentle rains, not our usual deluges. It is rumored that the Dorsaddi have experienced some mighty religious revival and have even found their Deliverer.” He paused, wine cup halfway to his lips. “Surely you’ve heard the stories.”

  “Wild tales, I thought. People laughed at them.”

  “The men in Jarnek are not laughing, friend. Nor is the great Beltha’adi.” Fah’lon took a long draught from the cup, then set it down and wiped his mouth. “He was supposed to be sitting in Hur by now, counting his victories. Instead he’s scrambling to replace the men he’s already lost. Official count is less than a quarter of the two Hundreds he sent in, but the truth is closer to half. Another Hundred arrived two days ago-camped out there in the wadi-and he’s working his priests near to death bringing in new men through the etherworld corridor in Khrell’s temple. He is frantic to beat the rains.” He chuckled softly. `And all the while the Pretender heckles him.”

  Danarin looked up from the chicken leg he was gnawing. “You really believe the Pretender is here in Jarnek?”

  “Who do you think is orchestrating all these little raids, the wasp stinging the elephant? The Dorsaddi have brought the fight to Beltha’adi. Taunting him. Taunting his men. They appear, and the soldiers rush to meet them, only to have them vanish back into the canyons. Snipers pick off members of the patrols, so that many of the men are afraid of even leaving Jarnek. And despite the picket lines and the sentries-double the normal number-they still sneak into the city, burn the weapons stockpiles, steal the food, vandalize the temple itself, all right under the soldiers’ noses without being seen, much less caught.”

  He laughed. “The best one was two nights ago when they diverted water from the fortress cistern into the main camp down there. Washed away half their gear and drenched everything. To say nothing of scaring the wits out of them. They thought the rains had come?” He shook his head, still chuckling. “It was a grand sight, let me tell you?”

  Danarin was watching him intently now. “I can’t imagine Beltha’adi would agree.”

  Fah’lon burst into a new round of chuckling. “No, I can’t imagine he would.”

  Danarin returned to his chicken with studied casualness. “I had heard your sympathies did not lie with the ruling power, sir, but I did not expect you to be so blatant about it.”

  “My sympathies are well-known. I have expressed them to the Supreme Commander’s face, in fact. Why do you think those soldiers are skulking in the street outside my house?” He leaned closer and spoke conspiratorially. “He believes I am in league with the Pretender himself and has my house watched in hopes of capturing him one day.”

  Danarin put down the bone he had gnawed clean and rinsed his fingers in the bowl provided. `And are you? In league with him?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps I just enjoy the baiting.” Fah’lon smiled. “If Beltha’adi’s soldiers invade my home and turn up nothing, he’ll have much to answer for among the local Broga
i. And he has enough to worry about right now, without having to contend with them.”

  Danarin had nothing to say to this, and conversation took a new turn. Outside, the twilight deepened toward night, the lights of the soldiers’ campfires burning like orange stars along the lines of the converging drainages. Crickets sang from the garden foliage and nighthawks called. Every now and then loud bursts of laughter arose from the camp out of sight immediately below them.

  They had almost finished the final course-a jellied fruit mold with sweetened yogurt-when the laughter turned to a chorus of angry shouting, even as a yellow flickering danced across the facing cliffs. Fah’lon was on his feet and out on the terrace in an instant, Danarin on his heels. Carissa followed more slowly.

  It was true they could see the amphitheater from Fah’lon’s terrace, though it was some distance up the wadi. Its bench seats were carved into the curved wall of the canyon to form a half bowl that faced them almost directly, the wadi floor widening at that point to form the arena. Smooth, sandy, and bare, the expanse would have made a great place for the soldiers to set up their tents, though none had. At its midst someone had planted a heavy pole on which was impaled a huge black bird, headless, but still obviously a veren. Flames already burned its lower body, licking up around its chest, wherein was plunged a heavy stake topped with the large, stylized white diamond that had become the Pretender’s insignia.

  “See?” Fah’lon said with great amusement. “He lives. And while they’re dealing with this, he’ll probably steal into the temple and put out the flames again. Or loose the livestock and frighten them into a stampede. They did that last week, and I don’t think the handlers have gotten them all back yet.”

  “Clever, perhaps,” Danarin said, “but I don’t see how you can ascribe it to one man, let alone identify him as the Pretender.”

  “I know King Shemm, and this is not his style.”

  “Still-“

  “You would like to know … have I seen him? Have I talked to him?”