by Dave Duncan
"Vaslar, you saw Dreadlord Zorg that morning."
Vaslar nodded and brayed his irritating laugh, but she knew that was just nerves. "Horrible man!"
"Awailscaths aren't just random collections of parts. They represent real people. I want you to turn into Dreadlord Zorg."
Everyone else must have been waiting for this, or else was too shocked to comment, for no one spoke.
Vaslar himself shuddered. "I wouldn't make a very convincing dreadlord, no matter what I looked like."
"You may be surprised!"
"But the first thing they told me in the village was that I had to learn to live with my Curse. There's no way I can ever choose who I'll be, they said, so—"
She smiled: reassuringly, confidently, falsely. "That's true normally, but not when there's a Poulscath involved. Ogoalscath influence may be part of it, so I want Tigon to share a room with you tonight. A couple of weeks ago I told you you could turn into a man if you wanted, and you did." Not much of a man, perhaps...
He's exactly what you need—stupid and willing and gullible.
Gwin ignored that remark also. "Ordur got his wits back when I needed him. Now I need a replica of Dreadlord Zorg."
Bulion made a doubtful noise. "And just what are you planning to do with him when you've got him?"
"Invite Nurz and Mokth to send ambassadors here to sign a treaty. Have the fake Zorg swear a solemn oath that he will be loyal to the coalition and use their armies only against the Karpana. Then we'll send the treaty to Zorg and—"
"No," Bulion said, "no, no, no, no! Zorg wouldn't fall for that. You can't play tricks like that on a warrior! He'd probably bring half the Faceless against you for sullying his honor."
I told you that! Why don't you listen?
A moth vanished in a flash of flame above the candle. The owl moaned. There was another way a Zorg replica could be useful, but she must not even think about it.
"Tomorrow," Bulion said, "is going to be another brute of a day. I suggest we all turn in."
"Good idea." Gwin smiled at all the solemn faces. "I'm very grateful for all your help, truly!"
"Don't know what we did," Jukion muttered.
"You talked common sense," she said. "I need that to keep me sane."
58
Gwin Tharn lay awake in the first glimmer of dawn, Bulion snoring sonorously at her side. The only way to stop the Karpana was to set up a coalition, and she was convinced that that was why her destiny had given her the powers of the Academy, the secret organization built up by Labranza Lamith and her predecessors. The tree across the road was Hexzion Garab. The other kings would not trust him and he held a hammerlock on the loyalty of the man they needed, Frenzkion Zorg. Something must be done about the king of Wesnar. Yet the thought was nauseating. Once she had taken that terrible step, there would be no other too contemptible to contemplate.
"Voice? Who are you?"
I am you. Your destiny, I suppose. It sounded amused. Gwin Tharn as a historical necessity.
"Do I really make Bulion an emperor?"
This time there was a notable pause. You are a Poulscath, not a Shoolscath. I can't prophesy.
"What can you do?"
Warn, guide, encourage.
The guidance would not dwell much on ethics, obviously. How long would she have to put up with this?
The rest of your life. You heard what Wraxal Raddaith said.
At that price, was victory even worth it?
Of course it is! The alternative is to die without a struggle. This way the women and children may survive. Men will fight for hope.
"Hope? Where do they get hope?"
From you, of course.
"Why me? Go and predestine somebody else!"
She did not expect a reply, but she got one.
I have too much invested in you already. I gave you Ordur when you needed him. Remember Sojim? I gave you Mandasil to practice your mastery on; I turned Vaslar Nomith into a man to show you. I gave you Bulion Tharn.
"Why? Just to get me here to Raragash? Is that all he is, a coachman to deliver me to my destiny?"
Not at all. You are only human. The Voice sounded regretful about that. People need someone to love. One alone is much less than half of two. There is no point in suffering in order to find happiness for oneself. Only the happiness of loved ones will justify sacrifice. Your love for Bulion ties you to humanity. I chose him well, a man you can trust, the man you needed.
"Needed? You think I don't need him even more now?"
He serves still. They all serve. Everyone moves to your bidding, for you are a Poulscath. You will use them all. All of them will be of value. What more can they want?
"Tibal?" she thought. "What use is he? He knows, but he cannot act."
Tibal Frainith has a purpose too. He knows it and is content.
She wondered if the Voice ever lied to her. Without Bulion she would not be here and she loved him, but how was he going to behave when his wife was submerged in politics and the tides of war flowed closer to his beloved valley?
The Voice did not comment.
Sojim? Why had it mentioned Sojim?
Ah! Dreadlord Zorg was one key, but another was Wung Tan. If the king of Nurz died now, then so did all hope of a coalition. He was dying of something Labranza's Ivielscaths could not cure. That sounded very much like old Sojim. He needed a Poulscath to help.
The windows were almost light. Time to rise and fight another battle or two. The council meeting should be easy—she would merely announce her decision. Letters to all the kings, and other letters to the Raragashian advisors... The Zorg problem to solve, one way or the other. And after that?
"Today I planned to visit all the villages and talk to each group of Cursed."
Good idea, but it will take at least two days.
"And then I shall have to ride to Chan San and heal King Wung? How long will the journey take?"
At least three.
Perhaps she should send a fast messenger right away to say that help was on its way...
The Voice uttered a disembodied chuckle. That would guarantee his swift demise.
"Like that is it?"
Very much like that. A nest of scorpions. You will take Ching Chilith with you.
She puzzled for a moment. Why not leave him to run things in Raragash?
A baby scorpion, the Voice explained. Not to be trusted out of your sight and not much trusted in it. Labranza cannot oppose you, but he is not Cursed. Leave Labranza here to run the Academy and take Chilith with you to Chan San.
Why should Ching Chilith want to...
Somebody screamed and a door banged.
Gwin was out of bed and pulling on clothes even before Bulion had sat up. Voices were raised outside. She was at the door when he said, "Wait! If it's urgent, you may be the last person they need at the moment." He hauled his smock on over his head. His face emerged in a tangle of beard.
"True!" she admitted, and waited for him to dress. Then he took up his sword and she let him lead the way.
The voices were quieter now, coming from the commons. All the men seemed to be there, most in a state of undress, many holding swords. The view through the doorway was blocked by Jukion, who was a sizable tract of scenery in his own right.
Bulion poked him in the kidneys. "What's all the excitement? Who's screaming?"
"Tigon." Jukion glanced around, saw Gwin, and realized that he had no clothes on. He moved swiftly to the far side of Wosion. Others with the same problem sat down at tables. The movement revealed the cause of the commotion.
"I startled him," said a hard, tuneless voice. He had to be Vaslar Nomith, of course, but he was a head taller than he had been the previous night, and solid muscle. His nose had almost disappeared. The skin of his face was blotched with white patches, giving him a leprous appearance almost worse than that of a true Faceless. Quite unworried by his nudity, he stood fists-on-hips, returning his audience's stares with amused contempt and the studied arrogance of a
Zarda warrior. "You approve of the transformation?"
Bulion walked all around him, inspecting him as he might inspect a horse at a sale and showing no indication that there was anything unusual happening. "It's not quite complete yet. But impressive so far."
Vaslar drew back his lips in a gruesome smile of satisfaction. "Am I a convincing Frenzkion Zorg?"
Gwin flopped down on a bench. She knew the voice. She had heard it at Polion's funeral.
"No." Bulion tapped the warrior's chest. "You're Fearmaster Zilion. I remember that scar on your arm, and there's another coming here."
The warrior scowled. "I have failed you, Gwin Saj?"
"Go and put some clothes on," she said.
He bristled, but then he spun on his heel and strode back down the corridor.
Bulion walked back to Gwin. "Disappointed?" His eyes were full of hurt and suspicion.
"He may still be useful."
He waited. They all waited. They were decent men, all of them. She would not burden them with her guilt. Not meeting anyone's eye, she stood up.
"I feel I've wandered into the wrong bath house." She headed for the passage, following Vaslar.
Bulion said, "Gwin!"
"Can't have him terrorizing the whole crater."
"Gwin, wait!"
She kept going. "Won't be a minute. Must have a word with him."
Tying the thong on his breeches, the warrior was just emerging from a doorway. He backed into the room; she entered and closed the door. Three of the four beds had been slept in. They were very close together, leaving little room for standing. She wondered which bed Tigon had used. Waking up to find a Faceless there would be enough to make anyone scream. Just being near the man now was disconcerting enough.
"Are you Zilion or Vaslar Nomith?"
He chuckled throatily. "Vaslar."
He was not yesterday's Vaslar, a weedy, donkey-laughed mediocrity. Auras of danger flickered in his eyes.
"And where do your loyalties lie?"
"To you. I told you yesterday I was grateful. Did you turn me into this?"
Her destiny had. She ignored the question. "You lost two brothers at Tolamin."
He made a brutal growling sound and smiled eagerly. "Now I can avenge them?"
"It will be very dangerous, extremely—"
"Do not worry about that, Gwin Saj! I have Zilion's nerve now. Tell me how!"
"I don't know how."
"Kill Zorg?" He smiled again, and she glimpsed the youthful serrated teeth she had noticed in the genuine Zilion.
"No! I need Zorg. The problem is the king. Remember Wraxal telling you that Hexzion was the one to blame for Tolamin?"
The warrior shivered. "Then I will gladly kill Hexzion for you! Joyfully! How?"
"I told you, I don't know! But if you were to head over to his camp and take an Ogoalscath with you, then you might get an opportunity. Vaslar, this is incredibly dangerous..."
"Don't speak to me of danger—it makes me want to hit you. I will do the world a favor and bring you his heart, Saj!"
BOOK SEVEN,
the book of
POUL,
who is Destiny,
the Great One,
giver and taker of life,
the Mover,
Queen of Days
59
Contemplating the three letters laid out on his bed, Han a'Lith was deeply troubled. He had received them all at the same time, from more or less the same source, and they disagreed drastically. He was not accustomed to ambiguity. In the almost sixty years since he had been stricken with the star sickness, he had been able to read every human mind that ventured within a hundred paces of him. His life had been paved with certainty. Documents, unlike people, could lie.
The tent he shared with Nogin Saisith was stifling hot with the flaps closed, but there was a dust storm blowing outside. Han perched on one of two exceedingly uncomfortable chairs, Paing Non on the other, quaffing a well-earned beer. His presence was very noticeable, as he had ridden hard for four days. Young Nogin lay on his bedding with his hands behind his head, staring morosely at the ceiling and thinking torrents of lechery.
They were surrounded by an army of very bored men, whose thoughts buzzed like wasps in the Jaulscath's mind. The clang of sword practice overlay the obscene barkings of drill instructors in the distance. The army had been camped here at Wuvilth for two weeks now, and three weeks before that at Veriow, just waiting.
The chances that the Mokthians would invade Wesnar had dropped to zero, but King Hexzion dared not disband or even withdraw back to Udil. Indeed, he had summoned his reserves to join him. The Karpana were heading south, driving a wave of refugees before them. Mokth was already in chaos. Wesnar must hold the Cockpit all costs. If that border were ever breached, the invaders would drive the defenders into the sea. Pantholion had done exactly that, a hundred years ago.
Three letters...
Han turned his attention again to the courier who had brought them. He was a wiry man of around thirty, looking much more like a Zardon than his Nurzian name implied, but the last time Han had seen him, he had been a stocky Qolian. There was no doubt that he was who he said he was, though. He knew the passwords and his thoughts were the thoughts of Paing Non. People could not lie, only papers.
"Who delivered these into your hands?"
"Secretary Ching Chilith." Paing's expression did not change, but he thought, Why ask? What's bothering the fat old frump this time? He did not know what was in the correspondence, although he had guessed some of it. Raragash was in ferment over the deposition of Labranza and the accession of the new president, rumored to be a Poulscath. Every courier had been dispatched when he had, three days ago, and others had been enlisted. Paing was curious, but at present he was not an especially inquisitive man.
The first letter was the official proclamation of the change of executive, addressed to Han and Nogin, signed by the new president and countersigned by Labranza Lamith. It seemed to be genuine. It had been hurriedly written, in an unfamiliar, crabbed hand. That was understandable if many copies had been required.
"Have you met the new president?"
"Caught a glimpse of her. Good-looker." Paing's thoughts jangled briefly with desire, but he did not come close to Nogin's lascivious outpourings. "Rumor has it that she's a Poulscath!"
Down on the floor, Nogin's attention focussed on reality for a moment. "I never met a Poulscath. What can they do?"
"Nobody knows very much about them," Han said. "Pantholion may have been a Poulscath. The last confirmed case in this area was that woman who led the peasants' revolt in Rurk in the last days of the empire."
"What happened to her?"
"She trusted a safe conduct from the governor and then lost her head completely."
"Oh." The Ivielscath's mind wandered away from the topic, and Han blotted him out again. Nogin's problem was youth and lack of opportunity to exercise it. In a day or two, when he grew desperate enough, he would visit the regular army women again, but he was basically a decent youngster and those pathetic hags were strictly a last resort. The only alternatives out in this wilderness were the women of the Faceless; any man who meddled with one of them was likely to wish he had chosen an easier way to die—being roasted over a slow fire, for example.
"This new president," Han inquired. "Is she married?"
The courier was understandably astonished. Why does the old goat want to know that? She wouldn't give him the time of day and he couldn't use it if she did. "Yes, I think so." Vague images of a large, elderly man...
That was all. Han detected no hint that Bulion Tharn had attracted much attention in Raragash. The Renewer prophecies had not been reported, therefore, or else they had been forgotten in the greater excitement of having a Poulscath appear. There could be no doubt, of course, that the two Tharns were the people Han himself had detected in the thoughts of the boy Polion, the one who had ended up in the Faceless. Probably Han had been the first person in Kuolia to kno
w that the fates had sent a Poulscath, inferring it as soon as he learned of an Ivielscath being forced to remove an affliction he had imposed himself. His report on the affair was still sitting in his kit, waiting on a courier. Now it was useless. There was no need to warn the new president of her own impending arrival.
So the first letter was credible.
The second was anything but.
From Gwin Nien Tharn, president of the Academy, to Han a'Lith, advisor at the court of King Hexzion Garab:
Greetings.
I assume from the letter you sent to Councillor Ordur two weeks ago that the enclosed proclamation will not surprise you. I accept that you acted in good faith that night. I shall take no action against you for what happened to Polion Tharn. Report any news you have of him to me immediately. If possible, interview him and learn whether he wishes to return to his former life.
You may show the proclamation to the king, or withhold the information, whichever you deem advisable. Strange times require strange deeds and the Academy has decided to play an active role in assembling a coalition against the Karpana. We are all aware that this is a break with tradition.
It was also Poulscath thinking. Poulscaths were knotholes in the timbers of history.
You may best aid our efforts by remaining at your post and fulfilling your duty to guard the king against traitors. I urge you to follow the very letter of the contract in this regard. Remember that it was worded to ensure that the Academy's representatives would never become involved in external politics. What the Academy itself may undertake must not change your responsibilities.
Signed in Raragash, Muolday 31, 101
Gwin Nien Tharn,
President of the council
Tendrils of curiosity were starting to unwind from Paing's road-weary mind. He had noticed Han's worried response to the letters.