God Stalk

by P. C. Hodgell

  The boy took a deep breath. "Harr sen Tenko is bringing the Archiem to the Skyrrman tonight, as though by accident," he said with great care in a brittle voice. "If the service is good—and the gods know it will be—according to custom, the Archiem will ask Marplet what payment he will take for it. Marplet means to ask for a judgment against the Res aB'tyrr. He'll accuse us of spoiling his wine, terrorizing his servants, starting that fire in his stable—in short, of waging an illegal trade war against him. His cellar is full of oiled bales of straw, ready to stack around us and set ablaze. The Archiem needn't hesitate for the city's sake, now that there's been rain. We'll be burned to the ground.

  "Please, Jame," he burst out, all control vanishing. "Stop gaping at me like that and come. We need you!"

  * * *

  JAME PAUSED in the courtyard of the Res aB'tyrr, drew a bucket of water from the well, and dumped it over her head. Somewhat clearer in mind, she entered the kitchen. Cleppetty turned to stare at her.

  "Why is it," she demanded, "that every time we have a crisis, you turn up dripping wet?"

  "Force of habit, I suppose. What's to be done?"

  "Damned if I know," said the widow in disgust, to the others' horror. "The way that devil Marplet has arranged things, we might as well all be bound and gagged. Even if we could force our way into that mock court he's setting up over there, who would believe us? It's his game this time, and no mistake . . . if he can really pull it off."

  "Can he?"

  "How should I know?" said Cleppetty again, violently. "Do I look like an oracle? No, no, I haven't given up hope. It's just that I don't know what to hope for. Ghillie has already gone to fetch Marc, and Tubain is up with Abernia. If the worst happens, Jame, you're responsible for getting the two of them out; Rothan, for clearing the stables; Kithra, for seeing that no one is left upstairs. Save whatever else you can, but be sure that you get out yourselves. That's all we can do. Now, out into the hall, all of you, and see that it's in order. Whatever happens, I'll not have this inn go to glory with a dirty face."

  They went. Word of the impending conflagration had apparently spread throughout the neighborhood, for few of the regular customers had come in that night, despite the prevailing carnival mood in the streets. Jame helped with the table wiping, floor sweeping, and tankard polishing, painfully aware, as the effects of the afternoon's debauch wore off, of her throbbing knee. Then she joined the others at the front door. The Res aB'tyrr waited.

  "Does this situation seem at all familiar to any of you?" Kithra asked suddenly.

  "Hmmm. Too bad it isn't Marplet's thugs this time. Even given the chance, we couldn't drug two royal courts—or could we?"

  "Hush," said the maid sharply. "Listen."

  The sounds of the outside world were coming nearer. They heard voices—some laughing, some singing—and saw shadows begin to leap on the house fronts of the square. Torch-bearers were coming down the main avenue from the north. A brilliant crowd followed them. At its center walked three men, one decked out grandly in scarlet velvet, one wearing the insignia of the Five, one clad in patched jerkin and leather britches.

  "Why," said Jame, "it's my ragged hill lord."

  Kithra boggled. "Your what? You fool, that's Arribek sen Tenzi himself, the Archiem of Skyrr!"

  "Look," said Rothan, "They're arguing about something. Harr pointed at the Skyrrman, and the Archiem shook his head. Now what. . . gods preserve us, they're coming here!"

  There was a precipitous general retreat from the front door. When the first guest entered, they were all at their posts except Jame, who had been sent tearing across the courtyard and up the stairs to fetch Tubain. Explaining the situation to Abernia through the keyhole took longer than it did for the innkeeper to emerge more or less in his proper attire once he understood what had happened. Jame followed him down the steps, ripping off the random bits of feminine apparel that he had not had time to remove. Luckily, he had on most of his own clothes beneath them, and, due to a wrangle between King Sellik and sen Tenzi over who should enter first, managed to beat both of them into the great hall.

  Great confusion followed as the liegemen of both rulers trooped in and settled themselves, shouting orders for everything from honey wine to buttered eggs. Most of them were already in the exhilarated stages of drunkenness, including the monarch of Metalondar, who turned out, at close range, to be a foolish-faced young man with a stammer. Of them all, only the Archiem and Harr, Thane sen Tenko, seemed fairly sober, although each kept urging the other to drink deep. Through their veil of courteous conversation, it was clear that sen Tenko was extremely annoyed about something, and that Arribek enjoyed his rival's discomfort.

  Tubain rather timidly entered this poisoned atmosphere to inquire if all was to their satisfaction.

  The Archiem's answer, delivered in his clear, sharp voice, easily reached Jame as she stood beside Cleppetty at the kitchen door: "We have been informed that an exceptional dancer, the B'tyrr by name, is attached to this inn, and I have persuaded my colleagues to enter in hopes that she might be induced to perform for us. Can this be arranged?"

  Tubain looked across at Jame, and Jame, in despair, at the widow.

  "I know, I know," the latter said, more gently than usual. "You're exhausted, your leg is about to buckle under you, and, to tell the truth, you aren't quite sober. Still, will you try? Everything may depend on it."

  Miserably, Jame agreed, and Tubain passed on the good news.

  Up in the loft, she combed out her long black hair, now nearly dry, and put on her costume. Then she tentatively tried a few dance steps, stumbled, and banged her sore knee against a stool. Almost in tears with pain and vexation, she sat on the floor hugging it. She would never get drunk again, never, never, never; but remorse wouldn't help her now. She was about to let them all down—Cleppetty, Tubain, Ghillie, all of them—after everything that they had done for her.

  The memory of all the times she had danced successfully rose up to haunt her. That first night here at the inn, in Edor Thulig, in the temple of her own god; but that last time it had been different. She hadn't just manipulated a score of half-drunken patrons then but, in some obscure way, the power of the godhead itself. Jamethiel, her namesake, had also danced before their god and before men the night two-thirds of the Kencyrath had fallen. Clearly, hers was a dangerous, easily perverted talent, but it also had surprising potentials. If she could only tap the right one now, darkness damn the consequences.

  "Oh, brave, brave thoughts," she said out loud with a sudden, bitter laugh. "You fool, you can't even stand up."

  But while she had stood that last time in the temple, she hadn't moved. The Senetha pattern that had channeled the power had been performed only in her mind. Exactly how that could aid her now, she didn't know, but it seemed marginally possible that more of the same mental exercise might help her prepare for the work that she knew she must at least attempt in the hall below. Consequently, she eased herself into the formal kneeling position, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

  It was remarkably difficult. Not only to visualize the kantirs but to sense them—the tension of balance, the play of muscle on bone, the rhythm of movement. . . try to encompass them all, and they blurred; focus on one, and awareness of the others began to slip away. For an endless time she struggled with them in the dark, then music came. Behind closed eyes, she seemed to see the spiral stairs, the third floor landing, each step of the way down to the hall just as she had each time in the past, descending to the call of Ghillie's flute. Confidence seeped back as concentration became easier. Now she simply danced, beyond pain, beyond reflection, weaving the ancient tapestry of motion and dream. Then, when the sequence was complete, she bowed, opened her eyes, and found herself on the center table under the chandelier, with King Sellik, the Archiem, and Harr sen Tenko all staring at her.

  There was a moment's silence, then a burst of noise so loud that even when she spun about and saw for herself, she could hardly believe that it was only applau
se. The performance was over. Her knee felt as if someone had put a live coal under the cap.

  "Well!" said the Archiem, his sharp brown eyes regaining their customary glitter. "I was told to expect something unusual, but this! Thana B'tyrr, I had intended to ask this of your master, but in view of the honor shown us tonight, with my colleague's permission"—he glanced at the king, who was still sitting open-mouthed, oblivious to all but memory —"I'll ask you instead. What pay will you accept for this most exceptional service?"

  Jame stared at him. She was still trying to figure out how she had gotten from the loft to the hall.

  "Well?" repeated the Archiem sharply. "Speak up, girl. What shall I—we give you?"

  "Justice," she said in a whisper.

  Harr sen Tenko glared at her. "What impudence!" he exclaimed angrily. "My lords, this is an insult to us all. Such a request should be made through the Five. To address it to you personally is to imply that the normal channels of government—your government, administered by your representatives—are not capable of handling it properly."

  "And yet I believe your kinsman wished to ask for something similar," said Arribek softly. "Think of the opportunity this gives you to demonstrate your skills as a judge before the most important men of two nations. Come, set up the court. Let the trial begin."

  Harr had been getting steadily redder in the face during this short speech, but now visibly took himself in hand and did as he was ordered. Salt and a fresh loaf of bread were hastily procured from the kitchen and a cockerel from a neighbor's coop. With these, he perfunctorily mimicked a sacrifice to the nameless gods of hill and mountain.

  "We are met to determine the culpability in an undeclared trade war," he announced, holding up the indignant fowl by its feet, not deigning in his own anger to pretend that he knew nothing of the matter at hand. "Let the accuser speak first."

  Marplet had come quietly into the hall, forewarned, it seemed, of what to expect. Before anyone from the Res aB'tyrr could react, he stepped up to the notables' table, swore by bread and salt to speak the truth, and began to lie most convincingly. After all, he had had weeks to prepare his story. This was not the setting he had envisioned, but what of that? He had the judge of his choice and all his witnesses primed and waiting, including the two stolid guards he had called in when Niggen had been thrashed. One by one he presented them, heard their evidence, and dismissed them with growing satisfaction. He loved a thing well done.

  The staff of the Res aB'tyrr listened, dismayed. They had no experience with this sort of smooth mendacity and felt themselves increasingly helpless before such a citadel of lies.

  Jame also listened, with a sense of nightmare. In order to give her the justice she had demanded, the Archiem must convince both his followers and Hart's that Marplet, their countryman, was a perjured liar. They would neither like that nor accept it without proof. Arribek was sharp enough to know in what general direction the truth lay, but how could even he find his way through Marplet's wilderness of falsehoods without a guide?

  With a jolt, she suddenly realized that all this time, out of the corner of his eye, the Archiem had been watching her. "Therefore, having established your veracity . . ." My God, he was taking his cues from her reactions. Once again, as in the hills, her Kencyr honor had become the guarantee of her truthfulness. Gulping, she began to pay closer attention to the proceedings.

  Soon after that, Marplet finished and stepped back, a slight, self-satisfied smile on his face.

  "Let the accused speak," intoned Harr sen Tenko.

  There were sounds of confusion in the kitchen. The drunken nobles craned, curious to know what was amiss, but Jame could guess easily enough. Tubain had bolted again. Hosting dignitaries was part of his profession, but the crisis he had been asked to face now was so alien to him that it probably had not registered at all. Hence, the inn had lost its rightful spokesman.

  "Let the accused speak," repeated Marplet's brother-in-law impatiently.

  Marc came up behind Jame and gave her a light, reassuring rap with his knuckles on the back of her head. The big guardsman took up a position flanking her just as Kithra, unbidden, stepped forward to speak for her adopted home.

  It was obvious from the start that the girl had a strong personal grievance against Marplet. Her spitefulness compared unfavorably with his smooth air of injured innocence, and many Skyrr noblemen began to hiss at her. But the Archiem, and now Marplet himself, covertly watched Jame as she winnowed the grains of truth from Kithra's malicious chaff with slight gestures of assent or denial. Despite everything, she found herself trying very hard to be fair to the rival innkeeper.

  At last Kithra ended her diatribe and stepped down to drunken catcalls from the audience.

  "Well!" said the Archiem lightly. "There you have it: two totally contradictory sets of facts. Which to believe?"

  "Why, surely that's obvious," said Harr sen Tenko with surprise, real or feigned. "One believes and supports one's own loyal servants, in this case, the two guards who have testified for our countryman."

  "And what penalty shall the offender pay?"

  "Let the victim name it, according to our oldest traditions."

  The Archiem looked at Marplet with raised eyebrows.

  "I can ask for the vengeance of fire," said the innkeeper tranquilly. "Let this house be burned to the ground."

  Oh God, thought Jame. Was I wrong? Is sen Tenzi going to let them get away with this? She had never supposed that the current dispute mattered to him one jot beyond the chance it gave him to embarrass his political rival, but now realized that whatever his ambitions might be in this respect, he had committed himself—at her request—to achieve them legally. The room was full of supporters with whom he would lose face if he did not.

  The Archiem was speaking again. One by one, he listed the major incidents in the conflict between the inns as Kithra had described them, omitting only those with which Jame had disagreed. "Now," he said at last, turning suddenly to her, "do you swear to the truth of these facts?"

  "I so swear."

  "So do I," said Marc unexpectedly, startling everyone.

  "Ah, good," said the Archiem with a thin smile. "You are a Kencyr too, aren't you? You know, it's an odd thing about these people: they never lie. And they will fight to the death to uphold their word. You there by the door, you guards, can you say the same? Will you do battle for your honor?"

  The guards looked at Jame and Marc, then at each other. "No, sir," said the bigger of the two flatly. "We weren't paid enough for that." And they turned and tramped out of the inn.

  "Where is your case now?" said the Archiem to Harr sen Tenko, purring. " 'According to our oldest traditions,' the judge is responsible for the trustworthiness of the witnesses whose word he decides to accept. You are a false magistrate and a corrupt one as well for letting this situation ever develop. Your position here is forfeit. Now, get out. All honest men are sick of your sight."

  Harr, Thane sen Tenko, did not deign to reply. His group gathered about him as he stalked out into the night, passing his kinsman without a word or glance. There would be war in the hills again over this; but whatever its outcome, his part in the affairs of Tai-tastigon had ended.

  "And as for you," the Archiem said to Marplet, "let your fate be from your own lips. Someone, bring me fire."

  A torch-bearer stepped forward, offering his still-blazing brand while the retainers drunkenly shouted their approval. Arribek accepted it, beckoned Jame forward, and put it in her hand.

  "The hunt is yours—again," he said in a low voice. "Now go and draw the blood."

  She walked out into the square, dazed by the uproar, hardly believing the rapid turn of events. The mixed courts of Metalondar and Skyrr followed her. There stood the doomed inn, bright, open, and empty. Hearth and candlelight shone on crystal goblets set out on the tables, the rich gloss of the new paneling, the beautiful proportions of the great hall. The wind came, pushing at her back. Overhead, flames leaped hungrily about the
brand, a halo of fire. Surely it was all a dream. No sound came from behind now, nor from Marplet who had stepped forward and stood quietly some dozen feet from her. Their eyes met. She could read nothing in his, nor he, perhaps, in hers. The fragile bond of understanding they had shared was gone.

  They were still staring at each other when the brand was snatched from Jame's grasp. Kithra darted forward and thrust it between the bars of a cellar window. Orange light glowed behind the grate, then the flames themselves appeared, growing brighter as oiled bale after bale of straw, prepared for the Res aB'tyrr's immolation, caught fire. The dry underpinnings kindled eagerly while steam began to roll off the damp outer walls. For a long moment, all was as it had been in the great hall: then a wilder light than any shed by candle or hearth began to grow there. The tapestry-hung end walls were in flames.

  Marplet watched it all, with a strange little smile. When the upper stories began to burn, he turned to Jame, gave her a slight, mocking salute and walked into the blazing tavern. The hall beams came down behind him.