The Third Scroll

by Dana Marton

  I reached for the scroll and found my precious charge unharmed, but still my heart did not stop clamoring until I was halfway to Pleasure Hall, hurrying down a deserted hallway. Then I pushed the door open, and my heart lurched into a mad race again. I nearly fell over two servant women who lay on the floor inside, both asleep. The slight forest scent of the sleeping stick permeated the air. I held my breath and left the door wide open behind me.

  More people slept farther in, servants stretched out on the floor. I picked my way across the hall, careful not to step on anyone. The sight that greeted me in my chamber paralyzed my limbs. Leena slept curled in a ball in the corner, and on my bed snored gently Batumar, his sword hanging from his side.

  Quickly I extinguished the sleeping stick and fanned the door to remove its drug from the air. I could not hold my breath through all this. My eyes grew heavy as I breathed some of the perfumed air. With movements too slow, I hid the scroll in the trunk at the foot of the bed, then stripped out of my thudi and donned the nearest dress as best I could. I had to twist like a water willow to lace it up in the back and only managed halfway before Batumar opened his eyes.

  My arms at my sides, I made sure not to present my back to the High Lord. I plastered a smile on my face.

  Leena woke with a gasp. Voices filtered in, others awakening.

  Batumar’s gaze darkened as he glanced around, his brows drawing tight with anger. He stood and strode to the door on unsteady feet, his heavy boots scraping the stone. He roared at the servants as loud as any manyinga beast. “Be gone!”

  I stared. I had never known him to abuse anyone under his command. Leena cast me a worried look, ready to defy the High Lord’s order for my sake, but I nodded to her to leave. Whatever trouble I had earned, I did not want her harmed.

  Batumar spun to me as the last of the servants scuttled out of Pleasure Hall.

  “I will not have sorcery practiced upon me, upon my people, in my very palace. If that is where your healing comes from, I want to see no more of it.” He tempered his voice to a low tone, but it scared me no less than his shouting.

  His face looked like the night sky erupting in thunder, flashes of anger thrown from his obsidian eyes. Like an enraged beast was he, defending his own from an unexpected enemy.

  “I—”

  He advanced toward me. “The war is upon us. And the mist comes more often than ever. People lock themselves in their houses in fear. And now this—” He stopped. “I sent a servant for you. She did not return. I sent another. Then another. And when I came looking, I found them asleep on the floor and you gone.”

  His anger filled the room and vibrated in the air. I had thought of him as fearsome when I had first seen him at the House of Tahar, but during the time I had spent at Karamur, I had grown more and more comfortable in his presence. All that left me in a heartbeat. A fearsome warrior he was indeed, confronting his enemy.

  “Where have you been?” His sharp words flew at me like daggers.

  “In the kitchen—”

  “Do not lie to me!” he roared then and stalked closer. “Did you talk to the enemy? To the spy you healed at the House of Joreb? He escaped later, but you must already know this. Is he in Karamur?” He grabbed me by the shoulders, his merciless gaze searching to read my soul. I trembled under his hands.

  When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with disappointment. “Have I been a fool, then, and Shartor right? Should I have put you to death the day I found you?”

  I could not utter a single word.

  “Are you Noona the dark sorceress come to find us through time and endless distance to destroy our people once and for all?”

  I recoiled from his words and sank to my knees at his feet. I bowed deeply. “I would bring you and your people no harm. I swear upon my life.”

  A cold silence followed; then he lifted me up to look into my face. “I know you wished this union not. But I thought with time… Do you seek to disgrace my House by lying with another man?” His voice was measured, hard enough to be broken against.

  He had seen the back of my dress unfastened.

  I shook my head, unable to speak.

  “I will know the truth of it, Tera, if you are no longer a maiden, if you freely give to another what you withhold in fear from me.” He reached out and tore the dress from neck to hem, then tossed me onto the bed without effort.

  And for an instant, behind the rage I saw a fierce hunger flood his eyes.

  I had never thought anything could feel worse than Kumra’s flogging, but Batumar’s accusations cut through my skin more effectively than the whip. They cut deep, all the way to my heart. What could any pain of the body be compared to that? I would not beg and scamper. I would be brave, as Onra had been. So I fought him not but lay still on the silk pillows and closed my eyes.

  “Do with me then as you wish, my Lord.” My voice might not have been as strong as I wanted, but it rang clear and did not betray my fears.

  I heard his labored breathing.

  Time passed enough for at least two moon crossings.

  Then his boots scuffed the floor as he stepped away from the bed.

  When I opened my eyes, I found his gaze burning into mine.

  “You belong to me, Tera of the Shahala. To me and no other.”

  He turned away to stare into the fire. Suddenly, it seemed as if a great weight sat upon his shoulders. Something inside me pushed to comfort him, yet I dared not. I pulled my gown together in front.

  “Has something happened, my Lord?”

  He did not answer for some time, and when he did, he did so without turning. “The Kingdom of Orh fell. Their king is slain. The Kerghi retreat was a ploy. They returned as soon as we left.”

  He watched the flames for a while more before he looked back at me. “Tell me where you went.”

  There had been a tenuous connection between us of late, some sort of a truce, the beginnings of trust, maybe some understanding. All that had disappeared. We were once again as strangers.

  “I cannot.” I sat up.

  “You can. You will.”

  “There are many things still that even I do not fully understand, my Lord. My tale, if told, would be impossible to believe.”

  He looked at me with much doubt on his face.

  “I beg you to allow me more time, my Lord. There is a place—” I bit my lip.

  He waited. Then his eyes widened as he stared. Long moments passed as he watched me, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. “You found the Forgotten City.”

  My stunned expression must have been all the answer he needed, for he went on. “Impossible. It could not be anywhere near. For hundreds of years, Kadar warriors searched for it.”

  My mind was a jumbled mess of half-coherent thoughts. “You know of the prophecy?”

  “I make certain to know everything that has a bearing on my people. I am the High Lord.” He shook his head. “When the enemy cometh, a Kadar slave, a Shahala healer who crossed the waves, shall rise up to fight the great darkness. She will find the Forgotten City and help the Kadar to victory.” He sank onto the end of the bed, his expression stunned. “I know the myth, but I never believed it.”

  So many things made sense all at once. My face flooded with heat. “But you believed it enough so that you would ask for me when you came to the House of Tahar?”

  He scowled. “Swords win wars, not obscure legends. But some of my people are superstitious. I could not let some healer cause a distraction while I am conducting a war effort. I had word of a slave ship that had delivered a Shahala healer to the House of Tahar. At first, I was content to leave you there, but as the war nears, it seemed wise to keep you closer. I expected a young girl dazed by her calling,” he mused. “And easily controlled.”

  I felt my ire rising.

  “Slaves are not often taken from the Shahala. They are our allies. A warlord might receive one as spoils of war from a faraway place now and then.” He shrugged. “Then there were the stories of miraculous
healings at the House of Tahar. Servants tend to gossip in the marketplace; caravans carry such news.”

  “You knew a Shahala healer had been taken as a slave, and you did nothing to right that wrong?” I was too angry to consider that to address the High Lord as such was probably an offense punishable by death. Truthfully, I had lived with such a threat for so long, I no longer cared.

  “The matter of a single slave is hardly concern enough for the High Lord of the Kadar.”

  “A true leader cares about the smallest of his people. Every one of the Shahala Elders would have given his life to save mine had they had the opportunity.”

  His shoulders grew rigid. “I’m protecting you now,” he said. “Tell me the way to the Forgotten City.”

  ~~~***~~~

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  (Escape from Karamur)

  “I cannot.”

  “You shall not leave your chamber until you do.” Batumar began to say more, but Leena appeared at the door, begging his forgiveness for the interruption. One of his stewards waited in the Great Hall, wanting to report a matter that needed immediate attention.

  “We will settle this when I return,” he said before he left me, his tone carrying ample warning.

  Leena rushed to me, bringing another dress at once. She looked pale-faced at the one Batumar had ruined. “Did he harm you, my Lady?”

  I hesitated a moment, for he had known I had been stolen from my people and he had done nothing, and in that he had harmed me greatly. But in the end, he brought me to Karamur and to my destiny. Could I blame him for walking the path the spirits had set out before him? Perhaps he had a choice, and perhaps he had one not. And perhaps the same stood true for me.

  At my silence, Leena began to weep, and I rose to comfort her. “Truly, it is no crying matter. He is much angered, for I refuse to tell him all he wants to know.”

  Leena wiped her eyes and nodded. “Forgive me, my Lady.”

  “You ask because you care. I never looked at you as a servant. I wish we could be friends.”

  She looked so horrified at my words, I had to laugh. “Oh, fine well, then. Even if you will not accept my friendship, you are a comfort to me and a treasure.”

  Tears flooded her eyes. “And you, my Lady, are like the daughter I never—” She caught herself and bowed deeply. “Forgive me if I offended you. I am but a foolish old servant.”

  “Have you no children?” I felt selfish and guilty for never having asked before. Had I grown so accustomed to the ways of the Kadar that I had treated her like a servant and did not even know it?

  She waited a long time before she answered and spoke each word with great reluctance and visible pain. “I had a son once.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “When he was born, the soothsayer said on the day my son called me Mother, he would die.”

  My heart lurched at such a cruel prediction. “Did he?”

  Leena shook her head. “I left him before he learned to talk.”

  Tears rolled down her face, and I moved to hug her. And this once, she did not draw away. “Every heart has a sorrow,” as the Shahala said.

  She was the same height as I, although I had not realized it until I embraced her. I had always thought her smaller, probably because she was forever bowing before me. But now, the realization led to an idea, then to another, even as she pulled away, glancing at the floor as if embarrassed for having shown weakness and behaving so familiarly toward me.

  “I would like to borrow your dress,” I said.

  Her gaze snapped to me at once. “My Lady—”

  “I must leave the palace without anyone knowing.” I could not wait for Batumar’s return. I could not let him force me to reveal the Forgotten City and the Guardians, which he would surely do. And if I stood strong and refused… He had looked as if he would be quite content to lock me in my chamber forever and throw away the key.

  “You must stay, Lady Tera. The High Lord will not harm you. You are safe in the palace. You do not know the dangers of being alone, a woman as beautiful as you.”

  True horror filled her voice, and I wondered what had happened to her once she had left her child and run away to start another life. I thought of Shartor and his mob. If I ran away into the city and Batumar washed his hands of me, I would not fare well, for certain. But I meant to go to the Guardians, and there I knew I would be safe.

  “I will leave with or without your help. If you care for me, do not try to stop me now.”

  At that, she sobbed aloud but pulled her simple brown dress over her head. She helped me disrobe from the gown she had assisted me into just a little while before. I thanked her and donned her servant clothes quickly.

  I offered her my thudi and Shahala tunic in exchange, for I knew she would not take anything finer.

  “You must stay here as long as you can,” I said, and she nodded. “I do not wish you to come to harm. When they find out that I left, tell them I ordered you. Tell them I gave you herbs.”

  I drew a deep breath. As long as I had known him, I had never seen Batumar misuse anyone under his command.

  I slipped the scroll from its hiding place and tucked it under my clothes, then picked up an armload of dresses, hoping to use them to cover my face.

  “Your hair, my Lady,” Leena called after me as I hurried for the door.

  I dropped the dresses and reached up to yank down the elaborate coils that marked me as a concubine. If she had not called me back— “Have you something sharp?”

  Lena paled. “My Lady…”

  I remembered the emerald brooch suddenly and dug through the trunk at the foot of my bed until I found the heavy jewel.

  So Lord Gilrem, after all this time, would aid my escape yet from the Kadar. I sharpened the edge of the brooch on the rough stone of the wall, my hand cradling the jewel as I turned it into a weapon. I set it to destruction then against my own self and chopped my hair as short as I could. An uneven cut for certain, as this once, Leena refused to help me and would only wring her hands and watch me tearfully.

  I tossed the fallen locks into the fire, then picked up my bundle again and lifted it high in front of my face. I stooped my shoulders and shuffled out the door. Pleasure Hall stood empty, but two guards guarded the door outside. I shuffled right past them.

  When I passed out of sight, I hurried toward the servants’ quarters and blended in without trouble among the men and women who bustled about, too busy to pay attention to anything else but the task at their hands. I kept my head down and made no eye contact but hurried on like the rest.

  I left the clothes by the washroom, grabbed a pinch of cold wood ash, and rubbed it into my face, then watched my complexion turn pallid in the reflective surface of a giant copper pot. I glanced around, and when no one watched, I rubbed another pinch of ash into my hair until it turned dull and streaked with gray.

  I shuffled from the washroom to the kitchen, more careful here since the kitchen servants knew me best. Keeping my head bent and my gaze down, I joined a group of women carrying baskets for the market.

  In but a few steps, we were outside, and I looked around. A few hand wagons stood abandoned nearby, a small flock of hens picking at the ground. Three empty milk pails sat outside the kitchen door. I sucked in my breath. A little farther down the street stood several guards talking. We would have to pass by them.

  Their jesting and laughter carried to my ear, their carefree mood in stark contrast to my own. I worked my way into the middle of the group as we neared them, praying to the spirits to shield me from their eyes. To my horror, instead of passing by them quickly, one of the younger women tarried to talk to a warrior. The rest stopped to wait for her.

  I stood cringing in the middle, the guards but a few steps away. They joked with some of the servant women, many of whom were young and pretty. I kept my head down and my back bent.

  I hefted the large basket from one hip to the other—it weighed a fair load even empty. Would an aged servant so eas
ily carry such a thing? I slid the basket to the ground at my feet.

  “Old woman,” a guard called out, and my heart lurched. “You should leave this heavy work to others. Have you no daughters to go to the market for you?” He strode toward me.

  I shook my head but would not look up. I had met many of Batumar’s guards as I walked through the palace every day and had even healed some of them in the back of the kitchen. The warrior, very young to be already in the Palace Guard, stepped in front of me.

  I sucked in my breath as he bent over me. I thought he had grown suspicious and meant to look at my face, and I nearly panicked, looking for a way to run, but he picked up my basket instead and started down the street.

  “I will carry this for you,” he called back. “And when the market is over, I will find you and carry your purchases back to the palace.”

  The spirits be praised, the group of women followed him.

  The fortress city of Karamur always bustled with people, but their numbers grew twofold on market days, according to the servants. I had no trouble blending in and disappearing among them once the guard left me. I set my basket next to a merchant’s busy table and walked away.

  A cacophony of noises surrounded me, loud bargaining, laughter, mothers calling for their children. I pushed through the shoppers, careful not to draw attention to myself, not daring to linger and marvel at the colorful crowd or their exotic wares.

  Without the mist, I could not hope to scale the cliff, for I would have been seen, so I waited in an alley until the market ended; then I slipped among the traders and farmers streaming out the city gates. The walls had been reinforced since I had last seen them, and more guards stood on duty everywhere I looked.

  With every step, I expected the call to ring out to seal the gate. I remembered well the strange contraption of giant bars that hung from iron chains. I scarcely dared breathe until we walked through the tunnel-like passageway into the open.

  In front of me spread peasant huts too numerous to count, interspersed with fields and small groves. The great forest stretched like a dark green wall on the horizon.