by Helen Lowe
Everyone else stopped talking. “An attack,” said Asantir. She indicated the severed head and the thick gray-black body that still twitched at her feet, then looked more closely at her sword blade. “Nine, this stuff must be caustic! It’s pitting my sword.” Carefully, she wiped the blade clean on the edge of her cloak.
“A vile thing!” Nhairin said, with some violence, while Malian leaned forward to peer at the body more closely.
“What sort of creature is it?” she asked, shaken.
“I believe,” the priestess in the chair said calmly, “that this is the darkspawn known as a siren worm. Their song ensorcels all who hear it and their bite is death.”
Malian shivered again, for although the details of her dream had begun to fade as soon as she woke, she was sure that she could remember a sweet, almost cloying song and finding it difficult to breathe. But Asantir was watching Nhairin. “What I want to know,” she said, “is how it got so close to Malian without your seeing it, when you were here in the room?”
Nhairin frowned. “I cannot explain it at all, unless Korriya is right and that thing ensorceled me.” She pressed her fingertips into the corners of her eyes as though they pained her. “All was quiet, all well, that is all I remember until the fire flared up and you burst through the door. But how did youknow there was something wrong, enough to bring these others here with you?” She glanced at the initiates by the door with distaste.
Asantir shrugged. “I didn’t know. It was just a feeling that kept gnawing away at me. Then Haimyr spoke of the same uneasiness and Sister Korriya, too, sent word that she was concerned. Reason enough, given recent events, to investigate further. Then when we got here …” She paused and looked hard at the tapestry on the wall. The others followed her gaze and Malian gave a little gasp. “What’s wrong?” the captain asked her.
“It’s changed,” Malian said slowly. “Again. It did the same thing before I went to sleep as well, which is why I asked Nhairin to stay and keep watch. I knew it had changed, but it seemed so strange that part of me didn’t really believe what my eyes had seen.”
“Understandably,” murmured Haimyr, to no one in particular, but Korriya remained grave, intent.
“How did it alter before?” she asked Malian. “And how is it different now?”
Malian glanced into the gray eyes and worn face and then as quickly away, because it was strange to think that this stranger was her only blood kin, aside from her father. “At first it always looked the same,” she explained. “The white deer fled from the hounds with the hunters following behind, carefree and laughing. But earlier this evening the scene definitely altered. The prey looked more like a small unicorn than a deer, and the hounds were bigger and a lot closer to it. The hunters’ faces had all turned aside, or were concealed in some way, and none of them were laughing—but now look. You can only just make out the unicorn, disappearing amongst the trees, but see how the hounds mill and swarm! Clearly they have run some other prey to ground—although there’s only the one black-cloaked huntsman present, with no other hunters to be seen.” She hesitated, puzzled. “The huntsman has never been in the tapestry at all, before this. But he was in my dream.”
“I don’t suppose,” Asantir said, with some asperity, “that either of you thought to tell anyone else about this?”
Nhairin sighed. “As Malian said, she half thought she was being foolish. And to be honest, I couldn’t see anything different about the tapestry. It looked very much as it always had.”
“I see,” said Asantir. She examined the weaving closely and then shook her head. “But Malian’s tale does fit what I saw as we came through the door—not just the worm and a ring of silver fire around the bed, but the tapestry opening to Nine knows where!” A ripple of uneasy murmurs indicated that others had seen the same, or something very similar.
“I don’t suppose,” Haimyr said, pointing to the severed head and still twitching body of the worm, “that we can dispose of thatbefore we go any further?”
Asantir regarded it indifferently. “I want to keep my eye on it for the moment,” she said. “I assume,” she added, speaking to Korriya, “that fire is the course you recommend for such vermin?”
The priestess nodded. “It is the only way to avoid contamination from any evil still clinging to their dead flesh. And we don’t want such shadows to linger here.”
“No,” said Asantir, “we’ve had more than enough shadows lately.” She turned back to Nhairin. “What more can you recall of what happened here? I want to hear everything you know or suspect.”
Nhairin’s tone was troubled. “I’m not sure how much more I can tell you.” She spoke slowly, as though trying to clarify her recollections. “As I said, the room seemed peaceful enough and Malian soon went to sleep while I drifted with the play of the flames, half awake and half dreaming. I could hear a sweet, wordless song, but thought that was just the dream. I felt tired, my body weighted down, yet I felt no threat, no danger until the moment you arrived.” She sighed. “The rest you saw for yourself.”
Asantir said nothing for a moment, then looked across at Korriya. “What more do you know of these siren worms? Or about this tapestry and its properties?”
“These matters have not been my study,” the priestess replied, “but I believe this may be the tapestry called the Web of Mayanne. It came into the possession of the Earls of Night shortly after we arrived on this world, but the records are ambivalent and its reputation uneasy, to say the least. We know that it is an object of power, but the how and why of that power are as mysterious as its origins.” She shrugged. “We don’t even know whether it is a Derai artifact or belonged to some other race.”
Asantir pursed her lips. “What connection could there be between the tapestry and the worm?”
Korriya shook her head. “I would have said none, except that we all saw the veil where only the tapestry should have been, an opening that closed with the worm’s death.”
“So the question,” Asantir said, frowning, “is whether they were in fact linked? And will the door in the web reopen?”
“Or perhaps,” said Haimyr, smoothing out a wrinkle in his golden cuff, “wherewill another such door open, and when?”
“And how,” finished Asantir softly, “can we possibly guard against it?”
Korriya shook her head. “We can’t, not with any certainty. We had the power and knowledge to withstand such magics once, but now …” Her voice trailed off.
Malian straightened as Asantir turned, the keen eyes meeting hers, but then the captain shrugged and deliberately sheathed her sword. “As you say: now—which is all we can deal with. And deal with it we will.” She nodded to the guards who had been stationed outside the door. “You may both resume your post, there’s nothing more for you to do in here. Garan, Nerys, take the initiates and wait with them outside until we have finished talking with their priestess. Korin, you go to the end of the corridor and keep watch for Sarus: Let him know what’s happened here. As for the worm—” She spurned it with her booted toe, her expression one of distaste and spoke to the remaining guards. “Tain, Ban, roll the head and carcass into a cloak and take them to the furnace. Make sure there is nothing left of either, lest the worm’s shade comes back to haunt us.” She did not smile as she said this and nor did anyone else. “And stay alert, all of you. This may not be over yet.”
Silence flowed into the room as the last of the guards filed out and the doors clicked shut. Malian watched Asantir closely, sure that something important was about to happen, and saw the same focus reflected in Nhairin’s face. Well, she knew Asantir, too, probably better than anyone; she should know the signs. Of them all, only Haimyr seemed unconcerned, still absorbed by the set of his cuff.
“The time has come,” Asantir said, “for hard decisions.” She nodded at Korriya. “After the attack, you told the Earl that we would pay a bitter price for the schism fostered within the Derai—and already we are forced to admit that we cannot protect Malian again
st another attack, or predict when it will come, or how, or where.” Her gaze challenged them all. “Can any of you deny it? Dare you?”
No one answered, although Nhairin’s expression grew dark. “It seems likely,” Asantir continued, “that the situation will be little different in any other keep along the Wall. Given this, I cannot see how the old, bitter answer to Lady Nerion’s power, twelve years ago, can be the right answer to Malian’s power now.”
“Any more than it was to Nerion’s then,” murmured Korriya, but Nhairin’s dark look sharpened.
“What are you proposing?” she demanded.
“The Earl,” said Asantir, “intends sending Malian to the Sea Keep. One of his reasons, amongst others, is that he, too, fears for her safety here.” The Honor Captain paused as Malian nodded, but it was Korriya who spoke.
“The Sea Keep has always been more tolerant of the old powers, which is one reason the Old Earl disliked Lady Nerith so much. But I doubt even they have sufficient strength, these days, to protect against concerted attacks of the kind we have experienced.”
“None of this,” Nhairin said pointedly, “will change Tasarion’s mind. You must know that!”
Asantir nodded, but when she spoke it was to Malian. “When the storm blows, one must either battle into its teeth or run before it, looking for safe harbor. I believe that you must run—must disappear into the realms of Haarth like a stone dropping into a pool.”
“Leave the Wall?” demanded Nhairin, before Malian could reply. “Send the Heir of Night amongst outsiders? You must be mad, Asantir, or bewitched by those heralds!”
Asantir shook her head, while Malian looked from one to the other, a little dazed by the unexpected turn of events. “Neither mad, nor bewitched,” the Honor Captain said calmly, “and certainly not by the heralds of the Guild. Think, Nhairin! How much longer can we hope to thwart attacks by Swarm powers such as the Raptor of Darkness and this siren worm? We have only prevailed through Ornorith’s own luck so far, but it has never paid to rely on the Two-Faced Goddess.” Asantir shrugged. “It seems clear that Malian is their main target. I believe her best hope is for us to send her somewhere they will never think to look—a place far from the Wall, where she can learn to use her powers in safety.” Malian caught her breath at the hard look Asantir bent on Nhairin. “We are talking survival. No other consideration must be allowed to weigh against that.”
“So long as the choice, whether to go or to stay, is Malian’s,” Haimyr put in quietly. He reached out and gave her hair a gentle tug. “You had best speak up, my dear, lest Asantir bear you away by main force.”
Malian nodded, but she spoke to Nhairin rather than the Honor Captain. “Asantir is right. We don’t have the strength to keep thwarting these attacks. And I don’t want to die, or to be sent away like a criminal or a traitor as my mother was, to live in captivity for the rest of my life. I think leaving the Wall may be the only way for me.”
Nhairin’s face twisted. “But where will you go? Who will befriend you and keep you safe?”
“Who will keep her safe here?” Asantir asked. “Or in the Sea Keep? Can you do it, Nhairin?”
The light caught the scar on Nhairin’s face as she shook her head. “You know I cannot. But you, Asantir—” Her face hardened as she met the Honor Captain’s eyes. “Tell me,” she said, her voice bitter, “how does this course sit with your honor and sworn oaths? I recall a guard, only twelve years ago, who thought me forsworn for even proposing such a flight!”
Asantir sighed. “People change, Nhairin. I have come to believe that you were right then, and I was wrong. As for my oaths as Honor Captain, one of them is to defend and preserve the Heir at all costs.”
“And what of the Earl and the Blood Oath?” Nhairin whispered. “How does defying Tasarion and aiding Malian’s flight sit with that?”
It was Korriya who answered, every plane and angle of her face sharp with conviction. “There isno conflict with the Oath, Nhairin. The law has been my study since I entered the Temple life and the words are plain. They state that no priestmay live outside the boundary of the Temple quarter. In the past five hundred years we have chosen to equate the word priestwith those who bear the old powers—but the two are not synonymous. To be a priest of the Derai one must take the seven-fold vows and Malian has not done so.” She relaxed suddenly, sitting back in the chair, and her voice grew softer. “Nor has any other novice or initiate priest in the Temple quarter for that matter.”
Nhairin frowned. “Surely,” she protested, “that is using the form of the words to defeat the intent of the Oath, which has seemed plain enough for five hundred years.”
Korriya’s answering look was grim. “And look where it has brought us all! Regardless of that, it is what the law actually says, not what we believe it was meant to say, that counts. Thus spake Thiandriath, the Lawgiver, in the first times, and the edict has proven sound throughout our long history.” She leaned forward again. “I thought you, for one, would be glad of this, Nhairin.”
The steward unfolded and then refolded her arms, her face grim and troubled. Malian, watching them, realized that Nhairin would have grown up with Korriya, as well as with her father, and must have known the priestess well, once. “Why,” Nhairin asked finally, “could you not have expounded all this twelve years ago?”
“She tried,” Asantir said quietly, “but the Old Earl wouldn’t even admit her into his presence, let alone listen to her. He said that if she were not of the First Kin he would have had her put to death for even trying. You were ill from your wounds when it all happened, and by the time you recovered it was already an old story.”
“I see,” said Nhairin, very bleak. Malian stretched out a hand to her.
“Don’t you want me to go, Nhairin?” she asked softly. “Because I really don’t think it’s safe for me to stay.”
Nhairin limped over and caught the hand in both hers. “I am being a fool, that is all, dwelling too much on old, bitter histories. I know that Asantir and Korriya are right: You must go, and quickly.” She looked at Asantir. “So what do we do now?”
“We cast what dice we hold,” the Honor Captain replied. “But we must be swift and secret, or the throw will be lost before it is even begun. That is why I sent the others away, even those who have sworn to protect Malian’s life with their own.”
“Ay,” murmured Haimyr, “for it is here that betrayal will come, not from the outside lands.”
“I agree,” said Asantir, checking Nhairin’s protest. “For what is one more girl amongst the millions of Haarth? One would do better to look for a single dust mote in a Wall storm. But what of Kalan? Shall we send him with you, my Malian?”
“Yes,” said Malian, then swallowed, for now that flight was real and imminent it seemed a great deal more daunting.
Korriya rose and shook out the folds of her robe. “Very well. Go he shall, if we can bring him safely back from his dream.” Her gaze, however, remained fixed on Asantir. “But perhaps Nhairin is right. Are you sure you want to take responsibility for this? It will sit more easily on my shoulders than on yours.”
Asantir smiled, a flash that was gone as quickly as it came. “Nothing sits easily on my shoulder at present. It aches damnably.” Haimyr laughed and both Korriya and Nhairin frowned at him, an identical reproving look. “As for the rest—” Asantir shrugged. “I will make my own throw in this game and live with what it brings. All I ask, Sister Korriya, is that you bring Kalan to me as agreed. But tell Garan and Nerys that I said to go with you, lest any challenge you between here and the Temple quarter.”
Korriya inclined her head. “So be it,” she said, and Malian shivered, thinking that the words had the formal ring of a doom. Even Haimyr seemed more serious than usual as the priestess left the room. When he spoke, however, his tone was light.
“And what of Nhairin and I? What part shall we play now, O Honor Captain?”
“If Malian’s departure is to remain a mystery,” Asantir replied, “then
she must not be seen leaving this room. And there must be only one set of facts for the keep to learn once her flight is discovered. These, then, are the bones of our story. Firstly, Nhairin and I will leave now to meet Sarus and reorganize the watch while you keep Malian company until I return. This I will do shortly, bringing another two guards, ostensibly to watch over the interior of the room. Both you and I, Haimyr, will then leave, and that is the last part you will play in our tale. There is no reason, after all, since matters have been settled here, for you to leave your quarters again before morning. Too much suspicion will fall on you anyway, as an outsider amongst us—and unlike Lady Rowan you will not have the Earl himself for your alibi.”
Haimyr looked sadly at Malian. “You see how it is. I am never allowed to be useful, or play a part in the adventure.”
Malian could not help smiling. “You have been useful already,” she said softly, “and you know it!” But she was frowning when she turned back to Asantir. “How will I escape unseen if there are guards in my room?”
The Honor Captain smiled. “You didn’t think we’d let you go alone, did you?” she asked, in unconscious echo of Yorindesarinen. “The guards who come to your room will leave with you tonight. As for how you leave—your old chambers were not the only ones with a secret passage behind them. I will return again by the secret way and we will all leave together by the same route.” She looked thoughtfully at Malian. “It would be best not to make it immediately obvious that you have fled the keep altogether, so don’t take anything from this room except the clothes you wear. Nhairin and I will organize everything else that you’ll need. If all goes well, the keep will be turned upside down before a wider search is ordered.”
“And what of you?” asked Nhairin, the edge back in her voice. “Surely, given the missing guards, you are the first person on whom suspicion will fall?”
“Perhaps,” Asantir said blandly, “people will believe that the door in the tapestry reopened. And there are these rumors of the Golden Fire as well …” She smiled faintly as Nhairin snorted. “You are right; it is inevitable that suspicion will fall on everyone associated with the Heir. I will have to take my chances, but I think it would be better if you did not. You, old friend, shall go with Malian and the others, which should help direct a good deal of suspicion away from me.”