Lord of Lies

by David Zindell

  My confusion grew only deeper and murkier, like a mining pit filled with sediments and sludge. 'But he has said that I cannot be the Maitreya!'

  'Yes, but this must be only another of his lies.'

  Master Juwain nodded his head as he sighed out: 'There's a certain logic to his letter. It indicates that he believes becoming the Maitreya is open to superior beings who wield the lightstone with power. Certainly he fears Val wielding it this way. It seems that he has written his whole letter toward the end of convincing Val that he cannot be the Maitreya.'

  I touched Master Juwain's arm and said, 'But what if I cannot?' 'No, Val, you mustn't believe this. I'm afraid that the Lord of Lies

  is only trying lo discourage you from your fate.'

  As the candles burned lower, we talked far into the night. Each of us had our own fears and dreams, and so we each felt drawn by different conclusions as lo what my fate might truly be. Asaru, I thought, was proud merely to see me become a lord at such a young age and would have been happy if my title remained only Guardian of the Lightstone. My father looked at me as if to ask whether I was one of those rare men who made their own fate. Nona, her voice reaching out like a gentle hand to shake me awake, asked me the most poignant of questions: 'If you weren't born to be the Maitreya, who were you born to be?'

  It was Maram who made the keenest commeni about Morjin and his Letter. Although not as deep as my father, he was perhaps more cunning. And it seemed that his two slow glasses of brandy had done little to cloud his wits.

  'Ah, Val, my friend,' he said lo me as he lay his arm around my shoulders. The heavy bouquet of brandy fell over my face. 'What if Morjin is playing a deep game? The "Lord of Lies", he's called - and so everyone expects him lo manipulate others with lies. But what if, this one time, he's telling you the truth?'

  'Do you think he is?'

  'Do I think he is? Does it matter what I think? Ah, well, we're best friends, so I suppose it does. All right, then, what I think is that Morjin could use the truth as readily as a lie to poison your mind. Do you see what I mean? The truth denied acts as a lie.'

  'Go on,' I said, looking at him.

  'All right - Morjin has said that you cannot be the Maitreya, Perhaps he knows that you could never accept such a truth, even if it is the truth, and so you'd think it must be a lie. And so you'd be tempted to believe just the opposite. Therefore, isn't it possible that Morjin is trying lo lead you into falsely believing that you're the Maitreya?'

  'But why would he do that?'

  'Ah, well, that is simple. If you believe yourself to be the Maitreya - never mind the prophecies - you would neglect to find and protect the true Maitreya. And then Morjin might more easily murder him.'

  What Maram had said disturbed me deeply. That he might have great insight into Morjin's twisted mind disturbed me even more. It came to then that I would never find the answers I sought in trying parse Morjin's words and motives - or anyone else's. And so, al last, I drew my sword from its sheath. I held it pointing upwards, and sat looking at its mirrored surface. The Sword of Truth, men called it. In Alkaladur's silver gelstei, I should have been able to perceive patterns and true purposes. But the light of the candles was too little, and I couldn't even see myself - only the shadowed face of a troubled man.

  'Valashu,' my grandmother called to me.

  I looked away from the sword to see her smiling al me. Her desire to ease my torment was itself a torment that I could hardly bear.

  'Valashu,' she said again, with great gentleness. 'You must remember that it is one thing to take on the mantle of the Maitreya. But it is quite another being, this man. You'll always be just who you are. And that will be as it should.'

  'Thank you, Nona,' I said, bowing my head to her.

  My father had always looked to her for her wisdom, without shame, as he was looking at her now. And then he turned to me and said, 'Nona is right. But soon enough, you will have to either claim this mantle or not. If you are the Maitreya and fail to take the Lightstone, then, as has been prophesied, as has happened before, a Bringer of Darkness will.'

  My hands were sweating as I squeezed the black jade hill of my sword. I felt trapped as if in a deep and lightlless crevasse, with immense black boulders rolling down upon me from either end.

  I looked al my father and said, 'Morjin spoke of great consequences if the Lightstone is not returned lo him. Do you think he could mount an invasion of Mesh?'

  'No, not in full force, not this month or even this summer. He would have to gather armies from one end of Ea to the other and then march them across the Wendrush, fighting five tribes of the Sarni along the way. We have time, Valashu. Not much, but we have time.'

  'Time to unite the Valari,' I said. 'Time even to journey to Tria and meet in conclave with the kings of the Free Kingdoms.'

  Asaru shook his head at this. 'Who but Aramesh ever united the Valari? Who ever could?'

  My father's bright eyes found mine as he said, 'The Mailreya could.'

  Because I could not bear to look at him just then, I stared at my two hands, right and left, wrapped around my sword. I said, 'No one really knows, sir, what the Maitreya is.'

  Chapter 5

  Maram and Master Juwain hastened to catch up to me as I made my way out into the quiet hallway. They had begun this long night's quest for knowledge with me, they said, and they would end it by my side as well. I was glad for their company, for the long hallway seemed too empty and too dark. Only a few oily torches remained burning. The sound of our hoots striking cold stone echoed off the walls. We passed between the servants' quarters and the kitchens, as we had come; when we reached the infirmary, we turned down another hallway. There, the pungent smell of medicines mingled with a deeper odor of sickness, sweat and blood. As we moved past the classroom and Nona's empty room, this odor grew only stronger. It seemed not to emanate from the sanctuary to the right, or the guest quarters to the left where King Kurshan and his daughter had taken up residence. I was afraid to discover its source, even as I pushed my way through a moat of fear and pain that chilled my limbs like icy water.

  At last, we came to the stairwell at the keep's southwest corner. We entered, one by one, this dark tube of stone that twisted up toward the higher floors. My father had told me that the scryers had been given rooms on the third floor. We climbed up and up into the dark silence, turning always toward the left as the narrow steps spiraled upward. It was cold and close in that dim space; the smell of Maram's sweat and brandy-sweetened breath fairly nauseated me. He was puffing and grunting behind me, moving as quickly as he could. But he was not quite quick enough, for the fear now pierced through to my heart and drove me up the stairs two and then three at a time.

  'Slow down!' he gasped out. 'You're killing me! Ah, have mercy, my friend!'

  I did not slow down. We passed by the exit to the second door, where the Alonians and the Ishkans had taken quarters. We climbed ever higher. We finally reached the arched doorway that gave out onto the third floor. As I pushed out into the quiet hallway, the mortared stones along the walls seemed to be screaming at me. A sharp pain, with the savagery of cold steel, ripped into my belly. I drew my sword and began running past the closed doors of my father's guests.

  'Come!' I gasped. Maram and Master Juwain were close behind me, and began running, too. 'It's this door - it must be!'

  At the end of the hallway, we came to a door darkened with torch-smoke and reinforced with bands of black iron. I rapped the diamond pommel of my sword against the dense wood and waited. My heart beat ten times, quick as a frightened bird's, before I knocked at the door again, this time louder. I waited another few moments, and then tried turning the doorknob, but it was locked.

  'Come!' I said to Maram. I rammed my shoulder against the door with such force that the hard wood drove the rings of my mail armor into my flesh almost down to the bone. 'Help me break this open!' 'But, Val - they're old women!' Maram said. 'They might have taken a draught to help them sleep,' Master Juwain ad
ded.

  'Come!' I said again. They're not sleeping! Help me!' Maram finally sighed his consent, and added his great bulk in battering at the door. On our second attempt, it burst inward in a scream of splinters and tormented iron. It was nothing against the scream in my eyes, in my belly and lungs. For the hall's dim torchlight showed a small, simple room filled with carnage. The iron-sick smell of blood drove like a hammer against my head. Sprays of blood moistened one wall; the red imprints of boots darkened the floor-stones. On one of the beds sprawled two of the scryers, whose names I had not learned. Their throats had been cut, and rivers of blood had flowed out over their white robes and white wool blankets. On the other bed was Kasandra. Someone had cut open her belly. She lay on her back with her eyes staring up at the ceiling, and it seemed that she was dead.

  Master Juwain hurried to her side and placed his rough old fingers against her throat to feel for a pulse.

  'Ah, too bad,' Maram gasped out. He held his hands over his own belly as if to protect this massive, food-filled outswelling - or to keep from vomiting. 'Ah, I'd thought we were through with this kind of thing, too bad, too bad.'

  My heart throbbed inside me as I gripped my sword and cast my eyes about the room's sparse furnishings, looking for any sign of the men who had worked such an evil deed.

  'These poor women!' Maram said. 'Ah, but what kind of scryers could they have been if they let themselves be murdered in their sleep?'

  They're not all murdered,' Master Juwain said, touching Kasandra's withered face. 'Not yet. This one is still alive.'

  I knew that she was. I could feel her faint breathing as a whisper deep inside my throat.

  'Can you help her, sir?' Master Juwain gently prodded the wound to her belly. Someone, like a ravening wolf, had ripped out most of its contents, which lay strewn upon the blankets beneath her like bloody white snakes. 'Help her live through this, Val?'

  'No, help her live ... a while longer. I must speak with her;

  Master Juwain nodded his head grimly and said, 'I'll try.'

  He wiped his hands on the hem of Kasandra's robes. From his pocket, he removed the green gelstei crystal that looked so much like a long and bright emerald. With its magic, he had once healed Atara of a mortal arrow wound to her lungs. But he had never been able mend such terrible mutilations as one that would soon kill Kasandra.

  While Master Juwain positioned the varistei over Kasandra's heart, I knelt by the other side of the bed and took Kasandra's hand in mine. Her skin was as soft as fine leather and still warm.

  'Maram!' I called out softly. 'Guard the door! Whoever did this might return.'

  With a grumble, Maram drew his sword and positioned himself by the door. But he turned his gaze toward the crystal in Master Juwain's skilled hands. So he must have perceived the clean light that streamed out of the crystal and fell upon Kasandra's chest like a shower of tiny, shimmering emeralds.

  'Ah,' Maram said. 'Ah, poor, poor woman.'

  A terrible shiver tore through Kasandra's body, and she coughed, once, as her breath rattled in her throat. A faint light filled her eyes. She had no strength to turn her head; nor even to cry out against the agony that I had called her back from the door of death to suffer. But I knew that she could see me, even so. She had been looking for me to come to her rooms, watching and waiting.

  'Valashu Elahad,' she gasped out.

  I leaned closer to her and asked, 'Who did this to you?'

  'The one ... called Salmelu.'

  'But why? You said that a ghul would undo my dreams. Who is this ghul? Did Salmelu kill you to keep you from telling me?'

  'Because ... he is ... he killed my sisters and. . .'

  Her voice died off into a burning exhalation as her frail old body shuddered with another wave of anguish. And Master Juwain said to me, 'Too much, Val, for mercy's sake, ask her one question at a time!'

  I swallowed hard against the anguish in my throat. I asked, 'Who is this ghul, then?'

  'His name ... I don't know,' Kasandra said. 'His face, though, is as noble as yours.'

  'But what about the last part of your prophecy? You said that a man with no face would show me my own. Who is this man?'

  'Who is anyone?'

  'Does he have a name?'

  'He is no man ... I know .. .'

  Although her voice died off into nothingness, it seemed that she was trying to scream something at me. I asked, 'Will this man show me the face of the Maitreya?'

  'No, the slave girl will show you the Maitreya.'

  'What slave girl? What is her name?'

  'Estrella.'

  This strange name seemed to hang in the air like a star in the midst of blackness. I gripped Kasandra's hand in mine as tightly as I dared. And then I asked her, 'But am I the Maitreya?'

  Kasandra's lips did not move, nor did breath warm her lips. I knew that she was ready to walk through the door to that lightless land even the bravest of warriors feared to tread. I gripped the hilt of my sword in my right hand. And then Kasandra drew in a long breath as if gathering the last of her strength. And she gasped out, 'You are ...'

  These words, too, seemed to hang in the air. You are, I thought. I am. I looked down at Kasandra to ask her to finish her sentence, if indeed she already hadn't. But the light in her tormented eyes suddenly died, and she would speak no more, ever again. Where, I wondered, did the light go when the light went out?

  Master Juwain shook his head at me, and put away his green crystal. He reached out and closed Kasandra's eyes.

  'Val,' he said, 'there's nothing -'

  'No,' I said softly. 'No, no, no.'

  Because Kasandra was pulling me down into death with her, I let go her hand. I retreated inside the walls of the castle of aloneness that had protected me for so long. I stood away from the bed, and held out my sword. Its dark silver flashed with a sudden light.

  He killed my sisters, Kasandra had said to me. His face is as noble as your own. He is no man . . .

  On the floor beneath me were the bloody bootprints of a man, or men. The pattern of these red defilements seemed burned into the stone.

  I know that you keep the Cup of Heaven locked and guarded in your castle as in ancient times, Morjin had written me. It is a beautiful thing, is it not? The most beautiful in all the world.

  My sword flared again, this time more brightly. I held it pointing down toward the east in the direction of the great hall where the Guardians stood protecting the Lightstone. Alkaladur blazed with a wild radiance that burned deep into my eyes.

  'Master Juwain!' I cried out. 'Go back to my father's room! Ask the King - Asaru, too, my brothers - to come to the great hall!'

  'Val, what is it?' Master Juwain asked me.

  But 1 was already running for the door. I paused there only a moment to call out to Maram, 'Go to the Guardians' barracks! Rouse Baltasar! Tell him that a ghul has been sent to steal the Lightstone!'

  I had no breath to say more. I sprinted out into the hallway. Our noise of broken doors and shouts must have roused this floor's guests. Two of them - old Lord Garvar's widow and a minstrel from Thalu -had opened their doors halfway to see if the castle might be under attack. I told them to lock themselves inside their rooms. And then, sword in hand, I ran past them toward the stairwell.

  I fairly bounced down the twisting stairs like a suddenly released stone. It was a miracle that I negotiated the worn granite slabs without stumbling and breaking my neck. Only seconds, it seemed, sufficed for me to reach the archway into the first floor's hallway. I ran down this deserted corridor as quickly as I could. At the kitchens, I turned right, and sprinted down the shorter corridor connecting the keep to the great hall. Its doors were open, and so I had no trouble passing inside.

  There, in this vast, dim space still smelling of beer and roasted meat, I saw an astonishing thing: the thirty Guardians lay in various positions about the dais at the front of the room. Their faces were peaceful, and they all appeared to be sleeping. The Lightstone remained on its sta
nd above them. Its shimmering presence seemed to call forth a new surge of radiance from my sword.

  The debt must be repaid, Morjin had written me. You will serve me -in life or in death.

  'Adamar! Viku! Skyshan!' I called out to three of the Guardians, to no effect I ran toward the dais and then bounded up its steps. I picked my way around the splayed arms and legs of the downed Guardians. The hand of the Guardian nearest the Lightstone seemed to beckon me - or someone - closer.

  'Skyshan!' I called out again as I knelt and tried to shake this large, young man awake. 'Skyshan!'

  After a few moments, I gave up and rose to my feet. I stood with my sword held ready as I steeled myself to guard the Lightstone - in life or in death.

  I waited for the faint sound of boots along the corridor or the creak of doors being opened. Hot sweat trickled down my sides beneath my armor. My breath came in quick bursts, and my heart beat like a war drum. I looked out into the hall at the rows of tables and empty chairs. I glanced up at the portraits of my ancestors along the walls; their grave faces looked down at me as if to take my measure. My grandfather, Elkasar Elahad and his father, Aradam, and his grandfather -all the kings of Mesh going back many generations seemed to be waiting with me in the hall. One of the oldest of the portraits was of Julamar Elahad, who had been King of Mesh when last the Lightstone had resided on this stand three thousand years before. His ancient eyes, brilliant as stars, seemed to fix upon me and to ask me if I would give the Lightstone into the Maitreya's hands, even as he had. He asked me if I would die trying to wrest the Lightstone back from Morjin and his murderous priests, even as he had, too.

  As my heart beat out the moments of my life in quick, hot surges that tore through my veins, the whole world seemed to wait with me there in the quiet hall. I felt someone watching me. It seemed that he was far away - or perhaps very near. In all that large space, with its smooth walls of stone, there were few places to hide: behind the pillars holding up the ceiling or in the darkened recesses of the south doors. I listened for the rustle of clothing or mail armor from these places; I felt for the beating of another's heart or the quiet steaming of his breath.