The Initiate

by Louise Cooper

  He remembered the slightly husky voice -- and an image of a girl recklessly climbing the sheer cliffs of West High Land came to his mind. That, and the eerie song of the fanaani... and other things, best forgotten...

  "Cyllan..." Slowly his face broke into a smile, and the fact that he even recalled her name astounded her. She returned the smile threefold, and he said, "I didn't think to see you here."

  "Even my irascible uncle wouldn't miss such an opportunity to do business. And I -- nothing in the world would have kept me away from such a great occasion."

  He looked faintly surprised, then asked, "What's that brew you're drinking?"

  "Oh... I'm not sure. Something the stallholder offered me... I wouldn't recommend it."

  "May I?" he took the cup, tasted its contents, then spat and upended the rest onto the grass. "That isn't fit for an animal!" Turning, he snapped his fingers at the stall-owner, who was staring at them both with open curiosity. "You -- you're here to sell wine, not poison! Find two cups of something that merits the name!"

  The Initiate's badge on his shoulder was clearly visible, and the stallholder blanched. Mumbling apologies he produced a jug from under his table and filled two fresh cups, all the while wondering what in the name of all the gods an Adept was doing in the company of a drover-girl. He couldn't summon the courage to ask payment for the wine, but retired resentfully to the back of his stall as Tarod led Cyllan away.

  Discomfited by the display of authority, she didn't speak for a minute or two -- until she saw that Tarod was trying not to laugh.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "But there are times when a small display of ill-temper raises the spirits... besides, I've no patience with dishonesty."

  She nodded gravely over the rim of her cup. "Thank you."

  "It's nothing. So; how are the drove-roads these days?"

  "Little changed. The summer has been kinder than usual; though when winter comes we'll likely move South." Her voice tailed off as she realized that he could hardly be interested in such trivialities. "And what of you?" she asked. "The Spindrift -- did it serve your purpose?"

  Cyllan didn't quite know what had goaded her to ask such a bold question and was shocked at herself. The wine, on an empty stomach, was making her careless. But Tarod didn't seem offended. Instead, he replied quietly, "Oh, yes. It served. But not quite as I'd intended."

  She didn't like to enquire further, but couldn't stop herself from saying, "After that day at West High Land, I -- thought about it a great deal. I wondered if -- if you might come to harm."

  "Harm? Well..." Tarod's green eyes flickered with an odd emotion, then his lips twitched ironically. "Not harm, no. Not in any usual sense."

  Cyllan had the terrible feeling that either she was making a complete fool of herself, or there was far more behind Tarod's expression than she could ever guess at. Either way she was wading in waters that were too deep for her, and following that thought came a surge of embarrassed misery. Frantically she looked about her, trying to find something in the colorful scene that would provide a welcome change of subject -- and saw a thin, ratlike little man with a straggling moustache muscling through the gathering in her direction. He had already seen her, and hastily she drained her cup.

  "I must go," she said, glancing apprehensively at the thin man again. "One of our men is approaching -- my uncle must be looking for me . .

  Tarod assessed and dismissed the drover with a single glance. "Will you be staying for the celebrations?" he asked.

  Briefly her amber eyes met his. "I -- think so. For a while, at least."

  "Then perhaps we'll meet again."

  "I hope so..." She didn't wait for him to answer, but turned and began to walk quickly away.

  "Where have you been?" the scrawny drover's voice barked at her the moment he was in earshot.

  Cyllan looked over her shoulder and saw Tarod heading back towards the Castle. "Just looking at the stalls," she said.

  "Oh, I see. Lady of leisure now, are you?" His hand snaked out in a cuff that Cyllan, with an old expertise, dodged. "Get back to the tents! There's food to be cooked, and if you think anyone else is doing a woman's work, you can think again!" Suddenly he leered at her as he realized that she was still gazing after the tall, retreating figure of the Initiate. "And you'd better set your sights lower than that, girl," he added scathingly. "They've better whores than you to choose from at the Castle!"

  Cyllan flushed and bit back a furious retort. With one final backward glance she turned and followed the drover towards the causeway.

  Someone else was watching Tarod with speculative interest as he re-entered the Castle courtyard and walked towards the main door. Thanks to her father's influence Sashka had had a perfect view of the day's proceedings; she had noticed the black-haired man among the procession, and her interest was aroused. When the ceremonies were over she had seen him with the High Initiate, and it was clear that the two men were the best of friends. A few discreet enquiries had revealed his name and the fact that he was a seventh-rank Adept, and Sashka was intrigued. Not only did she find his aura of cool arrogance attractive, but it also seemed that he was influential in the Castle hierarchy.

  She would like to meet him, and at the banquet tonight she believed that an introduction would not be difficult to arrange. Furthermore, he might even provide the means to an encounter with the High Initiate himself....

  She turned to her father and her slim fingers played fondly on his arm. "Father..."

  He smiled indulgently, proudly at her. "What is it, my love?"

  "Father, will you do something for me? As a great favor? Tonight, at the feast... ?"

  Chapter 9

  "And so my friends, fellow Adepts, good sisters and sirs -- " Keridil paused to allow his gaze to roam across the assembly, and smiled with faintly diffident hesitation. "It only remains for me to thank you, in all humility, for the kindness and good wishes that have been showered on me today. My gratitude for the honor that you do me is something I cannot express in words, but I solemnly pledge that I will do all within my power to justify your faith in me. I hope and pray that I will prove worthy of you. Thank you, my friends -- and may Aeoris bless you one and all."

  The applause as the High Initiate concluded his speech was as properly sober as the occasion demanded, yet the warmth of his reception was unmistakable. With youth and an ingenuous charm on his side, reinforced by Jehrek's rigorous schooling, Keridil was finding -- much to his own surprise -- that his popularity was assured from the beginning. He had misgivings still, but the day's events had done much to boost his flagging confidence.

  As he moved from his seat at the high table in the Castle's dining hall and the applause died away, a group of musicians positioned in the gallery at the far end of the hall struck up the first notes of a formal set dance. Keridil looked about him for a moment, then held out a hand to Themila Gan Lin and led her onto the floor. They moved with stately grace between the twin ranks of watchers, then when they had completed one circuit of the room others began gradually to join in, until the hall was filled with a motley of dancing couples, gowns swirling, jewels glinting in the light of the great banks of candles and torches.

  From his own place at the high table Tarod watched the dancing, a slight smile on his face. It had been his suggestion that the High Initiate should choose Themila as his partner for the all-important first set; a diplomatic move designed to ensure that no noble family with an eye to the future could claim their own eligible daughter had been slighted in favor of another. He had also thus far succeeded in fending off the advances of Simik Jair Sangen, Inista's father, contenting the landowner with the assurance that there would be time in plenty to speak with the High Initiate at a later stage. And there had been others, anxious to secure an audience and viewing Tarod, who was known to be Keridil's close companion, as their surest potential ally.

  Tarod found the flattery, machination and occasional outright bribery intensely irritating. So far he had kept his quick temper
under control, aware that he would do nothing to help Keridil by losing it, but his patience was running out. Not for the first time he gave silent thanks that he had resisted the temptation ever to embroil himself in the politics of the Circle; whatever status a high office might have brought him, the sacrifices would have been more than he could stand.

  Suddenly he became aware of a presence at his side. He turned reluctantly, steeling himself for yet another encounter with an importuning father -- and was surprised to find himself looking into the candid brown eyes of a woman younger than himself.

  She smiled, and tossed back the fine, translucent veil she wore so that he could see her face clearly. A Novice-Sister -- and she was beautiful. Despite his tendency to asceticism Tarod was as susceptible as any man to feminine beauty, and this girl appealed to him in a way that could never be matched by the lovely but somehow insipid females with whom he had had passing -- and usually very brief -- affairs. There was something challenging in her expression, a pleasingly willful tilt to her chin; she carried her tall, graceful frame with a confidence that suggested she was accustomed to commanding and seeing her wishes carried out. He smiled back, and inclined his head courteously.

  "May I be of service to you?"

  At close quarters, Sashka thought, he was more formidable than he had seemed from a distance; the easy grace made faintly intimidating by his unusual height and by the unremitting steadiness of his green eyes. Nonetheless, something about him -- an aura, her Sister-Tutor would have termed it -- quickened her pulse in a way that intrigued and excited her. He was very attractive; and there were depths to his nature, she surmised, that would warrant exploration by a woman who had the necessary courage. Sashka believed that courage was a quality which she was far from lacking, and her initial goal of persuading Tarod to grant her an introduction to the High Initiate began to seem less urgent.

  She decided to match Tarod's cool confidence rather than pretend to demureness, and indicated the solemnly dancing couples. "I saw that you had no dancing partner, my lord. I, too, find myself in the same predicament, and so I wondered if you might do me the honor of escorting me."

  Her voice was a warm contralto, and Tarod found himself disarmed by her bluntness. Her invitation -- in itself a flagrant breach of protocol -- was so charmingly and unashamedly put that he could only hold out his arm for her to take.

  "A great pleasure, lady."

  They moved onto the floor, and the formation parted fractionally to allow them to take their place. The girl was an accomplished dancer, reinforcing Tarod's initial impression that her clan could afford to indulge the social graces, and although normally he had little interest in such forms of leisure he was surprised to find after a few minutes that he was enjoying the dance.

  Keridil, still partnering Themila, passed them twice and on both occasions caught Tarod's eye with an enquiring look which Tarod returned impassively. At last the music ended, the dancers politely applauded, and Tarod and Sashka crossed to an empty table at one side of the hall, under a tall window. Huge torches had been lit in the courtyard outside and the light, diffused by the half-opaque glass, cast a glow over the girl's hair and added a soft sheen to her skin as she took the chair he pulled out for her.

  "Thank you, my lord," she said, still using the formal mode of address but giving him a challenging, promising look as she did so. "I was beginning to fear that I'd spend the evening as a neglected stranger at my father's side!"

  He smiled, amused. "This is your first visit to the Castle?"

  "Yes... I've heard a great deal of it, of course. But nothing that could compare with the reality." She glanced about her at the lights, the colors, the movement, then cast her eyes down self-deprecatingly. "I'll confess I feel more than a little out of my depth."

  Tarod signalled to a passing servant and took a flagon and two cups. "I've always found wine to be a good remedy for uncertainty. May I?"

  "Thank you." She waited while he poured, then they raised their cups and touched the rims lightly together. The girl sipped, and nodded with approval. "A good vintage. Southern Chaun -- is it the last but one season?"

  "It is. I congratulate you on your knowledge."

  She laughed, showing perfectly even teeth. "Oh, it's something instilled in me since childhood! My father owns a number of vineyards in Han Province, and we have always envied the climate and land conditions of Southern Chaun."

  "But you've shown no wish to follow your father's inclination?" He reached out, and one finger lightly brushed the veil she wore.

  She smiled. "It's hardly a woman's place -- not in Han, anyway. My clan deemed it more fitting that I should join the Sisterhood."

  He found it hard to imagine this girl bending the knee to the wishes of anyone, unless they coincided with her own.... "And you?" he asked.

  "Oh, I'm more than content with that. To be a Sister is a highly-prized accomplishment -- especially at the West High Land Cot."

  "West High Land? Then you're under the tutelage of Kael Amion -- "

  Sashka was surprised and impressed to hear her companion speaking so casually of the woman who was, to the Novices under her wing, only one stage removed from a deity. "I don't know the Lady personally, of course; not to speak to -- but yes, she is our highest Senior." Suddenly anxious not to allow herself to look small in his eyes, she straightened her back. "I am Sister-Novice Sashka Veyyil, daughter of Frayn Veyyil Saravin."

  Tarod raised an eyebrow. He was aware of the influence of the clan Saravin -- little wonder that a Saravin daughter had gained a place with Kael Amion. Yet although Lady Kael's standards were known to be high, he could detect little if any of the latent talent of a Sister in Sashka; and with faint irony remembered the almost painful feyness of the drover-girl, Cyllan, whose lowly background had effectively barred her from putting her natural talents to any good use....

  The train of thought was interrupted by Sashka's well-modulated voice. "Well, sir, now you have the advantage of me. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

  He met her eyes. "I am Tarod." And when she waited for him to say more, he added, "seventh-rank Initiate of the Circle."

  "Just Tarod'? What of your clan name?"

  Tarod smiled thinly. "I have no clan name."

  A highest echelon Adept, who chose not to reveal his clan... Sashka was doubly intrigued, her imagination stirred by all manner of pleasant speculations. She was about to ask a carefully formulated question that might persuade him to reveal more about his background when they were interrupted.

  "Sashka -- so there you are; I've been searching for you." Frayn Veyyil Saravin took his daughter's arm and looked speculatively and not approvingly at Tarod, recognizing the Initiate's badge but uncertain of the tall man's rank. "Good evening to you, sir."

  Sashka, freeing herself, made frantic surreptitious gestures designed to drive her father away, but he ignored them. Tarod regarded the portly man until the eyes under their beetling brows looked aside uncertainly, then replied coolly, "Sir."

  Frayn cleared his throat noisily and spoke up to make himself heard above the music that was just beginning again. "You weren't dancing earlier, Sashka -- thought you might like to partner me -- "

  "I was dancing, Father," Sashka said, trying to keep her voice even through furiously clenched teeth. "The Initiate saw that I had no partner, and kindly offered to escort me."

  "Hm, yes. Considerate of him. Considerate of you, sir; I thank you. But now, Sashka, you'll indulge an old man...."

  She had to acquiesce if she was to avoid an embarrassing scene. Composing her face she turned to Tarod once more and bowed in the manner of the Sisters. "Thank you, Tarod. I hope I may see you again before the evening is out."

  She was determined to have the last word despite her father's obvious chagrin, and Tarod met her gaze with an answering flash of amused approval. He took her hand briefly. "I have no doubt of it."

  Frayn Veyyil Saravin led his daughter onto the floor with almost undignified haste, and
as they took their position in the dance formation he hissed apoplectically, "Not dancing indeed! I've never seen such cavalier disregard for common decorum in all my life! I'm ashamed of you!"

  "Ohh, Father..."

  "Don't 'Oh Father' me, girl! To walk boldly up to a stranger without introduction, to accept his invitation without so much as a by-your-leave, and then to sit indulging in an idle flirtation in full view of the entire assembly -- ''

  "He is the High Initiate's closest friend!" Sashka retorted in a harsh whisper. "And if you hadn't been so tardy in keeping your promise to introduce me to him -- "

  "Aeoris preserve us, d'you think I'm a miracle-worker? These things take time, Sashka! Besides -- " Frayn fumbled for the right words; he had no wish to upset his daughter, but what he had observed had sounded warning bells in his mind. "Besides, I thought it was Keridil Toln himself you wished to meet?"

  She glanced obliquely at him, and smiled sweetly. He had seen that look before, and knew all too well what it meant. "The High Initiate has many other would-be claimants, Father," she said softly. "I'm not sure that I like the thought of jostling for position in a long queue. It's undignified."

  So that was where the land lay... he had feared as much. "If that's your feeling, then you could take your pick from a thousand or more, Sashka! But not that one -- he has a dangerous look that I don't like."

  "He is also a seventh-rank Adept." She waited for the information to take effect and was gratified to see her father's stern disapproval waver. "Seventh... ?"

  "Yes. And he's only a few years older than I am -- which means he has a great future before him. The clan could fare a good deal worse."

  "Gods, girl, you're not thinking -- "

  "I'm thinking nothing, Father, not yet. But I would like to meet with him again."

  Frayn knew he was defeated. Since she was a tiny child Sashka had been able to manipulate him as though he were clay in her hands; if she wanted to investigate the possibilities of an alliance with the tall, black-haired Adept then he would be powerless to stop her. And if the man was seventh rank, he had to admit that there could be potential in the liaison....