by Judith Tarr
EIGHT
FATHER,” SAID HANI, “WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE FORBIDDEN Secrets?”
The regent’s consort was an older, somewhat smaller image of his son. He had never had Hani’s lightness of spirit, or else years of ruling at his lady’s side had cured him of it, yet Daros did not find him either dull or excessively stern. He had been visibly glad to receive Hani, that bright morning a handful of days after the first storm of the winter; he greeted his son’s companion with grave politeness, as if Daros’ reputation did not precede him wherever he happened to go.
When the courtesies had been observed, Hani came direct to the point. His father’s brows drew sharply together; the air chilled perceptibly. “Why do you wish to know of this?”
“My lord,” Daros said, “we’ve all been looking for something, anything, that might tell us of what we face. These books or whatever they may be—do you know where they are?”
“Only in legend and rumor,” the prince consort said. “The secrets and their keepers have an ill name in my country.”
“Are they in Shurakan?” asked Daros.
“No,” the prince consort said. “Such things would not be allowed there, even after the ban was lifted on mages and their workings. Rumor places them in the mountains that claw the face of heaven, far to the north of Shurakan.”
Daros had been a poor scholar, but he had a tenacious memory. His mind saw the globe of the world, with the empire of Sun and Lion gleaming golden on half of it, and to the east of it the blue ocean, and the other side of that, the land over sea, a broad plain rising up into mountains as lofty as stars. Deep in the midst of them, set like a jewel amid the snows, he saw the hidden kingdom of Shurakan beneath the mountain that was called the Spear of Heaven. North of Shurakan was a waste of ice and crag and stone. It was bleaker by far than Death’s Fells, and even more remote.
He did not know precisely when he passed from memory to living vision. He was aware of the small audience chamber in the palace, and of the men in it; he knew when a servant brought food and wine, and when a messenger came from the regent with a matter that was of too little importance to call the prince consort away from his guests. All that, Daros was aware of, but in the same moment he was flying on wings of air above the jagged teeth of mountains.
The others had fallen silent, watching him. They did not, as Merian might have done, attempt to interfere. He felt Hani’s presence like a warm handclasp, following him where he flew.
“Fascinating.” That was the prince consort’s voice, that deep burr with its accent of Shurakan. “She told us what he could do, but the reality is … fascinating.”
“One can see why they bind mages with oaths and orders,” Hani said.
“I don’t think most of them are as strong as this.”
“Not nearly,” Hani conceded.
And all the while, Hani followed Daros over the mountains. Daros was hunting; he took little notice of the two who watched and judged. There was a nest of shadow among these peaks. It was not precisely the same as the dark thing that had swallowed so many worlds, and yet Daros would have reckoned that they were kin.
Hani’s satisfaction warmed him. He did not give way to hope, not quite yet, but this was the closest to it that any of them had had.
His flight slowed. He hovered above a range of mountains. They were not as high as some about them, but still they rose halfway to heaven. On the side of a crag, built sheer into a cliff, he found what he had been seeking: a line of walls and the jut of a tower.
He might have descended to peer closer, but Hani held him back. “Not till we have reinforcements,” he said.
He was only being wise. Daros sighed and withdrew, leaving the mountains behind, returning to the clear pale light of late autumn in Starios.
Father and son regarded him with expressions that struck him as altogether strange. Respect; a little awe. No one had ever been in awe of him before.
Mercifully, they did not speak of it. Hani said, “Merian has to know of this. Mother—”
“I’ll see to that,” his father said.
Hani clasped his father’s hands and pressed them to his forehead. Daros bowed. The prince consort was already on his way out of the room.
Merian had been instructing young mages in the lesser arts. They, thank the gods, seemed barely shaken by the upheavals among their elders. As Daros paused by the door, he was nearly flattened by a swooping mageling, with a second in hot pursuit. He caught the first with his hands and the second with his magic, depositing the latter firmly on the nearest stool. He set the former beside her, smiled sunnily at both, and made his way through the swirl of airborne magelings.
Merian was in the midst of them, sitting at ease a man-height above the floor. She lifted a brow as Daros rose to join her, but did not pause in the flow of her instruction. He exercised himself to be patient, to listen; it was interesting, what she told them, and who knew? It might be useful.
It spoke well for the magelings that they barely blinked at the presence of a stranger. From the progression of whispers round the room, he would wager that any who had not known him when he came in would know him when the lesson ended.
Merian finished in leisurely fashion, admonished them to practice their lessons, and sent them out. Not all went willingly. Somewhat after the door had shut behind the last of them, Daros heard a squawk. One of the eavesdroppers had met the bite of Merian’s wards.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Surely you already know,” said Daros.
“Only what Hani knows,” she said. “He was with you, not in you. You think you’ve found some knowledge of the shadow?”
“Or something like it,” Daros said. “I wasn’t close enough to discover more.”
“Can you go there?”
“Yes,” he said with as much patience as he could muster.
She slanted a glance at him, but did not upbraid him for impudence. “Of course you can. Some of my masters of mages are tugging at the leash—they’re clamoring to examine you, to discover everything that you can do. They’ll wait till this is over, if there’s a world left for any of us.”
“I’m nothing remarkable,” he said. “I’m an untrained, undisciplined mage; it’s nothing more than that.”
“We think it is,” she said. “But there, we’ll have that quarrel later. You’ll lead an expedition of mages through your Gate. They will find what is to be found. You will guard the Gate.”
He bit his tongue. He was sworn to her service; it was not his place to protest what orders she might give. But he had not surrendered his spirit. He spoke carefully, with, he hoped, a suitable degree of submission. “Will we leave soon?”
“Tonight,” she said. “My mages are preparing themselves. If there is anything you would do—eat, rest—you should do it now. Your Gate will open at sunset.”
“It will be dawn in those mountains,” he said. “Do they want to invade the castle by day?”
“If the night’s children are within,” she said, “day is best.”
He had to grant the wisdom of that. “May I have your leave to go?”
Her glance was suspicious, but she did not tax him with it. “Go,” she said.
He ate; that was well thought of. He would rest when all was done. He found the mages in one of their halls, a room like the one in which Merian had instructed her pupils: wide, high, bright with light from its tall windows. There were six mages; they were all young, with the look of warriors rather than scholars. One, a woman of the Isles, was dancing in a shaft of sunlight, in a whirl of blades. No living hand wielded them; they hummed like a swarm of bees.
Daros walked carefully wide of those. The others prepared themselves in less dangerous ways, either sitting apart with eyes closed and mind focused inward, or conversing quietly by a window.
Those three looked up as he came toward them. No awe there, only a long, slow, measuring stare, and a slight curl of the lip from the yellowhaired Asanian with the well-worn weapons.
He was not wearing either the robes or the veils, but his cheek bore the thin parallel scars of an Olenyas, a bred warrior. There were five scars: he ranked high, though not as high as the master of his order.
Daros had training in the arts of war; no one of royal or noble lineage could escape it. But he was not the prince of fighters that this man must be. He bowed slightly and smiled, a salute of sorts, and said, “Good day to you all.”
They nodded or bowed in return, civil but no more. Even that was better than he had expected. “My name is Daros,” he said. “If we’re to fight and die together, should I know yours?”
They thought about it. At length the tall woman from the north named herself and each of her fellows. She was Irien; the Olenyas was Perel. The others were Kalyi of the Isles and Adin from the Hundred Realms and the twins Sharai and Lirai who had been born in Shurakan. They had the same face and accent as Hani and his father, or for that matter Daros’ own mother.
“It is said,” said Perel, “that you have no weight or substance whatsoever; that your spirit is a leaf blown on the wind.”
Daros smiled. “It’s also said that I’ve never left a woman unsatisfied or a tavernkeeper unpaid. Surely that counts for something?”
“We’re trusting our lives to you,” Kalyi said. “Tell us why we shouldn’t be afraid.”
“Of course you should,” he said. “Fear will keep you honest. We know nothing of this place to which we go—only that dark powers built it and live in it still. I’ll find what they keep, and learn what I may. May I trust you to protect me?”
“But you were not—” Irien began.
“Let him tell us,” said Perel. “What is this plan of yours? Is it better than ours?”
“I have one use in the world,” Daros said. “I’m a fine hunting hound. Whatever I seek, I find. Does any of you share that gift?”
They glanced at one another. All six were about him now, drawn together in a circle. It might be protection; it might be a threat. He chose not to be afraid.
“None of us is a hunter,” Perel said. “We are all warrior-mages.”
“Warriors to hunt a secret.” Daros sighed, shrugged, smiled. “Ah well. I’ll hunt, you’ll guard. Who leads you?”
Their eyes slid toward Kalyi. He bowed to her. “Madam general. I will find the book or whatever it is that holds the knowledge we need. The rest is yours. Only be sure that when my hunt is over, all your troops are within reach. When we go, we’ll go as fast as we can.”
Again they exchanged glances. “Better,” said Perel.
Irien lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Certainly not worse. Though if he’s our Gate, the last thing we want is to risk him in the fight.”
“I’m not going to fight,” Daros said. “I’m going to hunt. You will fight. Keep me safe, and bring us all out alive. That’s all I ask of you.”
“A simple thing,” said Perel. “Indeed.” Suddenly he grinned. “I like this plan.”
“She won’t,” Kalyi said.
“She told us to trust the Gate,” said Perel.
“So she did,” Irien said. “Though I don’t think she meant—”
“She meant that we should trust him,” Perel said. “I’ll risk it. After all, if he endangers us, it’s a simple matter to kill him.”
Daros laughed and applauded him. “A man after my own heart! Shall we two go, and leave the rest safe here?”
“You trust me as far as that?” Perel asked him with an arch of the brow.
Daros’ flick of the hand took in the scars on Perel’s cheek, and the number and quality of his weapons, both open and hidden. “I think I can trust you to keep me both safe and honest.”
“We will all do that,” Kalyi said grimly. “If you can rest, do it now. There’s not much time left.”
“Madam,” said Daros with a bow and a flourish. Her glance was sour, but he thought there might be a hint, a merest glimmer, of softening about the mouth.
He would rest, for a while. They would not go without him: they could not. He was their Gate.
He went back to his room in Merian’s house. It had been cleaned; the bed was fresh and scented with herbs. A bag waited by the door. He did not doubt that it was filled with whatever the servants had decided he would need.
He had been asleep on his feet, but once he lay down, he remained stubbornly awake. He was not afraid, not enough to trouble him. The Gate within had fixed on the place where he must go, but he was aware also, deep down, of the emperor’s presence, nearly lost in shadow. Part of him wanted to go, to find Estarion, to bring him back. The rest knew that he could not do both at once.
He must have dozed: he opened his eyes, and Merian was sitting on the bed beside him. For a moment before she could have been aware that he had roused, he saw a face that she had not shown him before: soft, reflective, a little sad. He wanted to kiss her, to make the sadness go away.
She came to herself with all her armor intact, and the hard bright edge that forbade anything so familiar as a kiss. Because he was born contrary, he took her hand and kissed it, and held it to his heart. She let it rest there for the whole of a breath before she snatched it away. “Are you a general?” she demanded. “Or a lord of mages?”
He raised his brows. “Why, no. But I am a hunter.”
“So I’ve been told.” She knotted her fingers in her lap, glaring at them as if they had been as intractable as he. “You have no gift for obedience. I could bind you, and so compel it, but like an idiot, I prefer to trust your sworn word. Will you be obedient to Kalyi and do as she bids?”
“If her bidding isn’t mad or suicidal, yes,” he said.
She looked ready to slap him. She breathed deep, straightened her shoulders and face, and said, “She has convinced me to let you lead the expedition. But if she sees the need for a change, you will do exactly as she tells you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said. Then: “Is she in a great deal of trouble?”
“Not as much as you,” she said. “Come back alive, with knowledge that we need, and I may—I may—forgive you both.”
“Forgiveness is worth fighting for,” he said. He kissed her hands again, quicker than she could elude him, and sprang to his feet. The shadows were growing long. He held out his hand. “Come with me,” he said.
She was taken aback by his presumption, so much so that she had yielded before her wits recovered. He offered no insolence past that of taking her hand in his. Hand in hand they went to find the rest of the hunt.
NINE
THEY WERE ALL EXPECTING A RITE OR A GREAT WORKING. DAROS hated to disappoint them, but he needed his strength for what might come. The six of them gathered about him, linking arms in a circle, strong as a shieldwall. Merian reluctantly retreated. He was sorry to let go her hand, but this was a deadly thing they did. The imperial heir could not risk herself so recklessly.
He kept his eyes on her as he opened the Gate within. The last he saw of that place was her slender figure in the fading sunlight, the gold of hair and eyes washed over with the color of flame, or of blood.
He brought them to a sheltered place just below the crag, a hollow in the stone that was not quite deep enough to be a cave. Merian had warned them, but they were greatly disconcerted to travel so quickly, without resort to the worldroad.
There was a little time for them to recover while he ventured up the track that led from the hollow. It was not quite dawn; the air was thin and cold. He was glad of the cloak that he had brought from the Fells, and the small working that let him breathe here on the roof of the world.
He peered up the steep slope. The castle loomed above. No light shone from it; no banner flew from its turret. Yet there was life within, a flicker of living presence.
He looked for wards, but found nothing that spoke to him of any such thing. Did they trust in the remoteness of this place, and in the terror of its name?
“It could be a trap,” Perel said, coming up beside him. He had recovered first of all the mages; he was s
till a little white about the lips, but his eyes were steady, staring upward. “They’ll lure us in, then strip us of flesh and souls.”
Daros shuddered in spite of himself. “You know something of them?”
“I’ve made a study of the dark arts,” Perel said.
“Darkmagery?”
“Nothing so innocuous,” said Perel. “Black sorcery, forbidden arts—we’ve banished them from the empire. But they’re still alive in the world beyond our borders.”
“So I see,” Daros said.
The Olenyas looked him up and down. “You do, don’t you? No wonder the mages are in such a taking. You’re not supposed to exist. We want all our mages neatly bound up in packets and arranged on a shelf. Not racketing about the world, being much too strong for anyone’s good.”
“I hope to be worth something here,” Daros said dryly. He cast his magic up like a line. Part of him was shuddering in instinctive horror; part was raising wards, forging armor of light. This was indeed kin to the thing beyond Gates. It drew its strength from the old dark powers, from blood and putrefying flesh, from sacrifice of the living soul, and from surrender of all light to the devouring dark.
One learned in the Hundred Realms to understand the dark as soul’s twin to the light, bound together with it, inextricable and inevitable. Without dark there could be no light; without light, the dark could not endure. This was nothing so beautiful or so balanced. It was to the Dark Goddess, and darkmagery, as diseased and rotting flesh to the cleanpicked bones of the vulture’s prey. It was a perversion, a sickness.
He had never understood the old zeal of the priests of the Sun against the powers of the dark. When he heard tales of the Sunborn, Merian’s firstfather, that told of his relentless hatred of all that was of the dark, he had been suitably censorious; for after all, as great a king and conqueror as the man had been, his beliefs had been sorely misguided. Now at last Daros saw what the Sunborn must have seen.