Peril's Gate

by Janny Wurts

  ‘How fast you are to belittle yourself.’ Davien’s accusation was not made without kindness. His dark eyes stayed candid as he continued to measure the wary survivor sharply drawn against the flame hues of the tapestry before him. ‘Everything you experienced was real. All of the miracles were wrought by your merit. When you have privacy, check for yourself. Your access to talent is not spun from a dream. Can you stand in my presence and not trust that?’

  ‘I could sit, fully clothed, with my weapons returned,’ Arithon remarked, too spent to shepherd his temper. ‘Is this awkward? Unlike Kamridian, I refused the convenience of death?’

  Davien’s spare features showed evil delight. ‘Do you know you are the only man, ever, to master the first trial of the maze who had the harebrained audacity to challenge me? You ask, is this awkward? For the Fellowship and the Koriani Order, the issue’s beyond any doubt. For myself, I would sit entranced at your feet, sword or not. I have full respect for your outrage, Teir’s’Ffalenn. It’s your talent that’s frankly unsettling.’

  Arithon lost his breath, taken aback.

  The Sorcerer’s laughter rang out, fluid as springwater tumbling through sudden sunlight. ‘Oh, my wild falcon! Can you fly, and not know? You are probably the most gifted individual ever to try the influence of the Fellowship of Seven.’ Perversely confounding that blistering sarcasm, Davien raised a congenial foot and slid the felt hassock toward Arithon.

  ‘How does that signify?’ Far from relaxed, Rathain’s prince conceded and sat.

  ‘To the Fellowship? Endowed as you are, they would never dare to approach you. Dakar’s no liability. Despite his excesses, his idiot vices, and his ungovernable passions, he will achieve the stability of diamond, though a thousand years may be needful to mold him.’ At once gauntly brooding against rich autumn hangings and the shine of bronze fittings on the clothes chests, Davien propped his chin on his thumb. ‘Ah, but you! Yours, the one quality no teaching can bridle. Men call it arrogance. Koriathain see pride. But a Sorcerer looks deeper. What you have is an unequivocal self-honesty rooted in a poet’s perception.’

  Arithon tightened his death grip on the blanket, flushed to find himself under dissecting discussion.

  ‘My revenge. You delivered your satire, first,’ Davien stated, artfully bland. ‘Since you can’t fight me naked, I’ll say what I think.’ His regard seemed to savor his victim’s red face as he resumed his prodding discourse. ‘Given certain conditions, such developed sensitivity could subject you to pressures no human being should be asked to endure. You would react exactly as you did today, and bid Dharkaron Avenger’s Five Horses take the hindmost. No power on Athera could sway your course. In violation of the Law of the Major Balance, you could only be killed, which sets the stinging thorn in the rose. To marry you with wisdom, you would have to be inflamed until you mastered your rebellion. The Fellowship would never cozen such risk. They can’t. The brute conflict might shatter the compact.’

  Arithon cut through the diversionary rhetoric. ‘Then as Teir’s’Ffalenn pressured to accept the high kingship, surely the explosion would be contained. I can’t smash the world’s order while burdened under crown duties. Your impressive list of my threatening tendencies ought to be kept neatly hobbled.’

  Davien’s assault remained bluntly direct. ‘My colleagues would say you owe a debt to Rathain.’

  Arithon dropped the pretense of light sarcasm. ‘And you think otherwise?’

  ‘Well, you are the issue of generations bred to rule.’ Amid the unrippled fall of the tapestry, the tiny songbirds seemed trapped, unable to break from their vulnerable, perched stillness and explode into lifesaving flight. The Sorcerer seated before them seemed more like the wolf than the fox. ‘Deny that you bear the stamp of Torbrand’s lineage, or that the gifts of s’Ahelas were not passed on at birth, through the errant grace of your mother.’

  Arithon swore, the fire that spiked his glance a dire warning. ‘Is this why you lured me? To settle the unfinished work of the rebellion, here and now? Then try. I’d fight you naked. I’ve never liked being the target for other people’s principles. You could have predicted I’d resist to the end.’

  Pillows went flying as the Sorcerer drove back to his feet in nettled amazement. ‘Has the whole world gone mad? What do you and Luhaine believe? That I would bloody my hands as your self-appointed executioner?’

  Perhaps not the wolf; Arithon shivered, touched by a frisson of unwonted empathy through the lens of his Masterbard’s gift. Sensitivity tossed him the sharp revelation, that small birds were caged for their inventive singing. A Sorcerer of peerless genius and vivid creativity had passed hundreds of years, sealed into a self-imposed isolation under the roots of the mountains. His motives would not be simplistic.

  The silence extended, a drawn wire of distress that could not endure without snapping. Arithon resisted the impulse to speak. Moved to tentative sympathy, he listened.

  ‘The rebellion was my personal version of the Havens,’ Davien revealed, point-blank. He flexed restored fingers, as though the assurance of quickened flesh smoothed an uprush of unpleasant thoughts. ‘No more successful a tactic, I might add.’ Irritation broke through, emphatic denial that his plight had arisen from injustice or misunderstanding. ‘You’re not here to salve my unrequited past.’

  ‘Or your colleagues’ unrequited future?’ Arithon snapped, lashed into bristled, rash temper. The trials of the maze were too recent, too raw. Weaponless, naked, he rejected the role of the pawn.

  ‘Listen well,’ Davien said, pacing again. ‘The Seven are ancient. Their beginning lies so far distant, mortal thought cannot conceive of their origin! For a cast of mind that has seen whole worlds reduced to a dust smear against dying stars, five hundred years is a passing trifle.’ Citrine and silver, the odd ring on the Sorcerer’s left hand flashed through a warning gesture. ‘Take superb care, if you would resist. My colleagues think in the language of epochs. Their plans won’t drift astray for one man’s recalcitrance. When the Fellowship stirs to intervene, you cannot imagine you’ll stay the course of their collective displeasure.’

  ‘Their resources are otherwise occupied, just now,’ Arithon returned, restored to consummate blandness.

  A spasm of quelled startlement crossed Davien’s face, the wry twist to closed lips recognizable as suppressed laughter. ‘The Mistwraith!’ A chuckle escaped despite his best effort. ‘Your salvation and your bane. A murderous paradox, mark my words, Teir’s’Ffalenn. Savor that sorry advantage at your peril. Some paths to victory are not worth the cost, or did the maze of your conscience teach you nothing?’

  Arithon shrugged to arrest the slow slide of the coverlet, the silk lining of which had a maddening tendency to slip. ‘I’ll have to return to my half brother’s game of live chess soon enough. Or am I now your captured player?’

  ‘You are a weapon,’ Davien avowed. Equanimity returned, he bent and unfastened the latch on the nearest clothes chest. ‘But in my keeping, one with free will.’

  The Sorcerer raised the lid, sorted the contents, then pulled out a plain shirt and dark tunic, both cut for his taller frame. His fleeting grimace admitted the embarrassment: the hem was going to trail below Arithon’s knees. He piled a fawn pair of trunk hose on top, the garments extended as a peace offering. ‘Your own clothes were too ragged and soiled to save. Mine must serve until we can find you replacements. Your sword is stored in my armory. The door has no lock. Go armed if you wish, but no enemy can reach you in Kewar.’

  Arithon let the Sorcerer stack the clothes on the couch. He made no move to accept them.

  Set on notice he was being challenged again, Davien crossed the rug and shut the trunk. Disarmingly informal, he perched on the lid, apparently content to curb his combative inquisitiveness.

  ‘The Wheel turns. All princes born to a high king’s lineage are not equal, this you have proved. You’ll not find me sheltering talented foundlings to further my political preferences, like the Koriathain. But I can of
fer you this.’ A fast move, and he hooked something tucked in his cuff and tossed the small, shiny object through the air.

  Arithon fielded the catch, but did not open his fist. ‘Is this another trial?’ When Davien gave no immediate reply, he plunged on. ‘If it is, I want no part of it. Your sorceries are like marsh grass, soft and lush to the eye. But they have a cutting edge. I’m done with bleeding for your private amusement, to try my royal mettle or otherwise.’

  Davien presented his hands, the upturned palms guilelessly open. ‘You vanquished the maze, and found your strength to master Desh-thiere’s curse. What other challenge could be left? Unless you’re burning to live in the wilds of Deshir until the ice breaks on Instrell Bay. Your ship won’t put in to the eastshore for months. How do you plan to sustain yourself in the meantime? My wards here may not be as exotic as the ones guarding Althain Tower, but they’re sufficient to discourage your enemies. At least you won’t bleed as the quarry set after by Etarra’s frustrated field troops.’

  ‘What are you offering?’ Arithon asked, tacitly listening, intrigued by the implied suggestion of sanctuary, but afraid to trust that the Sorcerer’s generosity might in fact be an overture toward lasting friendship.

  ‘Guest welcome and the key to my library, which is kept locked.’ Davien’s biting humor resurged, as though he also hedged to stave off the sting of rejection. ‘Doubtless I’m moonstruck to extend such a gift. Knowledge in your hands is quite apt to breed peril. Accept and have done, lest I reconsider. Where you’re concerned, I’ve already had Luhaine expounding at length on my folly. Sethvir will be next, and then Asandir will feel bound to carve into my hide with rough language. Your Grace of Rathain, if you stay, on demand for the trouble you’ll cause, I would ask you to match my sincerity.’

  ‘My satire already gave you the truth,’ Arithon insisted, bemused. ‘You’ve a mind to wind Sithaer’s fiends into knots. If your hellish round of trials hasn’t demolished my worst flaws, the tradition of guest oath demands plainspoken honesty. A meal would be nice, with hot mead for the ritual. Since you’re eager to sharpen your wits in my company, I accept. Just don’t ask me to stand through the final embarrassment. I’ve fasted too long. The goblet we empty to swear mutual brotherhood is damnably certain to overset my light head.’

  Spring 5670

  Closures

  At Sethvir’s bedside, glad tidings affirm the Teir’s’Ffalenn’s survival, and his wayward choice to remain with Davien for the duration of his recovery; pale as a wisp against piled pillows, the Warden of Althain whispers, ‘You still don’t approve?’ and Luhaine replies, ‘I’d hazard the incursion of wraiths out of Marak will pose us less grief than that pair, bound into alliance …’

  Put in at the quay to reprovision her galley, the Koriani Matriarch’s entourage meets stark rebuff by Jaelot’s armed guard, until she presents the order’s formal apology for the blunder that permitted three fugitives to escape: Lirenda is led forward, helplessly raging, and the evident severity of her punishment wins Prime Selidie the reprieve of a cordial audience with the mayor and his inner counsel …

  The dirge of the bells resounds from Etarra and Darkling for days; but the echoes that roll off the Mathorn ranges fail to reach Narms on the Instrell coast; late word of the losses in Daon Ramon Barrens comes by sunwheel messenger, followed by Lysaer himself; the bereaved meet his arrival, softened by gold, and braced by consoling speech: ‘No man died in vain. The demon’s been dispatched through Kewar Tunnel. Unless the fell powers of sorcery can bring an unnatural resurrection, no one expects the Spinner of Darkness will survive …’

  GLOSSARY

  AFFI’ENIA––the name given to Elaira by an adept, meaning dancer in the ancient Sanpashir desert dialect, but carrying the mystical connotation of the ‘water dancer’, the wisewoman who presided over the ritual for rebirth, celebrated on the spring equinox.

  pronounced: affee-yen-yah

  root meaning: affi’enia––dancer

  AIYENNE––river located in Daon Ramon, Rathain, rising from an underground spring in the Mathorn Mountains, and coming above ground south of the Mathorn Road.

  pronounced: eye-an

  root meaning: ai’an––hidden one

  ALESTRON––city located in Midhalla, Melhalla. Ruled by the Duke Bransian, Teir’s’Brydion, and his three brothers. This city did not fall to merchant townsmen in the Third Age uprising that threw down the high kings, but is still ruled by its clanblood heirs.

  pronounced: ah-less-tron

  root meaning: alesstair––stubborn; an––one

  ALITHIEL––one of twelve Blades of Isaer, forged by centaur Ffereton s’Darian in the First Age from metal taken from a meteorite. Passed through Paravian possession, acquired the secondary name Dael-Farenn, or Kingmaker, since its owners tended to succeed the end of a royal line. Eventually was awarded to Kamridian s’Ffalenn for his valor in defense of the princess Taliennse, early Third Age. Currently in the possession of Arithon.

  pronounced: ah-lith-ee-el

  root meaning: alith––star; iel––light/ray

  ALLAND––principality located in southeastern Shand. Ruled by the High Earl Teir’s’Taleyn, caithdein of Shand by appointment. Current heir to the title is Erlien.

  pronounced: all-and

  root meaning: a’lind––pine glen

  ALQWERIK––dragon whose haunt is contained by the grimward at Athir in the Kingdom of Rathain.

  pronounced: al-quer-ick

  root meaning: alkwerach––sky bolt, from Drakish

  ALTHAIN TOWER––spire built at the edge of the Bittern Desert, beginning of the Second Age, to house records of Paravian histories. Third Age, became repository for the archives of all five royal houses of men after rebellion, overseen by Sethvir, Warden of Althain and Fellowship Sorcerer.

  pronounced: al––like ‘all’, thain––to rhyme with ‘main’

  root meaning: alt––last; thein––tower, sanctuary

  original Paravian pronunciation: alt-thein (thein as in ‘the end’)

  AMROTH––kingdom on West Gate splinter world, Dascen Elur, ruled by s’Ilessid descendants of the prince exiled through the Worldsend Gate at the time of the rebellion, Third Age, just after the Mistwraith’s conquest.

  pronounced: amroth––to rhyme with ‘sloth’

  root meaning: am––state of being; roth––brother ‘brotherhood’

  ANIENT––Paravian invocation for unity.

  pronounced: an-ee-ent

  root meaning: an––one; ient––suffix for ‘most’ ARAETHURA––grass plains in southwest Rathain; principality of the same name in that location. Largely inhabited by Riathan Paravians in the Second Age. Third Age, used as pastureland by widely scattered nomadic shepherds. Fionn Areth’s birthplace.

  pronounced: ar-eye-thoo-rah

  root meaning: araeth––grass; era––place, land

  ARAITHE––plain to the north of the trade city of Etarra, principality of Fallowmere, Rathain. First Age, among those sites used by Paravians to renew the mysteries and channel fifth lane energies. The standing stones erected are linked to the power focus at Ithamon and Methisle keep.

  pronounced: like ‘a wraith’

  root meaning: araithe––to disperse, to send

  ARITHON––son of Avar, Prince of Rathain, 1,504th Teir’s’Ffalenn after founder of the line, Torbrand in Third Age Year One. Also Master of Shadow, the Bane of Desh-thiere, and Halliron Masterbard’s successor.

  pronounced: ar-i-thon––almost rhymes with ‘marathon’

  root meaning: arithon––fate-forger; one who is visionary

  ASANDIR––Fellowship Sorcerer. Secondary name, Kingmaker, since his hand crowned every High King of Men to rule in the Age of Men (Third Age). After the Mistwraith’s conquest, he acted as field agent for the Fellowship’s doings across the continent. Also called Fiend-quencher, for his reputation for quelling iyats; Storm-breaker and Change-bringer for past actions in late Secon
d Age, when Men first arrived upon Athera.

  pronounced: ah-san-deer

  root meaning: asan––heart; dir––stone ‘heartrock’

  ASYA––Koriani Senior from the Highscarp sisterhouse.

  pronounced: as-yah

  root meaning: ahs-yah––a purple wildflower

  ATAINIA––northeastern principality of Tysan.

  pronounced: ah-tay-nee-ah

  root meaning: itain––the third; ia––suffix for ‘third domain’

  original Paravian, itainia

  ATH CREATOR––prime vibration, force behind all life.

  pronounced: ath––to rhyme with ‘math’

  root meaning: ath––prime, first (as opposed to an, one)

  ATHERA––name for the world which holds the Five High Kingdoms; four Worldsend Gates; original home of the Paravian races.

  pronounced: ath-air-ah

  root meaning: ath––prime force; era––place ‘Ath’s world’

  ATHIR––Second Age ruin of a Paravian stronghold, located in Ithilt, Rathain. Site of a seventh lane power focus. Site where Arithon Teir’s’Ffalenn swore his blood oath to survive to the Fellowship Sorcerer, Asandir.

  pronounced: ath-ear

  root meaning: ath––prime; i’er––the line/edge

  ATHLIEN PARAVIANS––sunchildren. Small race of semimortals, pixielike, but possessed of great wisdom, keepers of the grand mystery.

  pronounced: ath-lee-en

  root meaning: ath––prime force; lien––to love ‘Ath-beloved’

  ATHLIERA––equivalent of heaven/actually a dimension removed from physical life, inhabited by spirit after death.

  pronounced: ath-lee-air-ee-ah