The Initiate

by Louise Cooper

  "Tarod, don't!" Themila pleaded. She broke away from Keridil and ran towards Tarod's side, intercepting Rhiman's path. "Don't let him provoke you, don't give him justification!"

  Tarod turned as she approached. Whether Themila had intended to block Rhiman from his quarry or not he never knew; everything happened too quickly. Rhiman couldn't stop his own headlong rush, Themila was too intent on Tarod, who couldn't reach her in time to snatch her aside. Themila and Rhiman collided, and Rhiman's drawn sword pierced her, ramming to the hilt in her back before he could prevent it.

  "Themila!" With a bellow of disbelief and horror Rhiman attempted to catch the small woman as she fell, but he was too clumsy and she hit the floor with a sickening thud. Scrabbling on his knees, Rhiman tried to gather her into his arms. "Themila! Oh Gods, no, no! Themila!"

  He was still repeating her name when a hand took hold of his shoulder and pulled him violently away. Rhiman struggled and the hand twisted deftly and with incredible strength, almost breaking his collar bone. Tarod flung Rhiman across the floor as though he were a child's rag doll, and dropped to his knees at Themila's side.

  "Themila..."

  She was conscious and raised her head, gazing at him with unfocused eyes. "That was a stupid thing to do... I'm sorry, Tarod..." She managed to smile wanly.

  He held her, silently thanking Aeoris for the fact that she was alive. "Don't try to speak, Themila -- and don't argue with me. We'll get you to Grevard..."

  "I'm -- all right. Truly. I'm all right." Themila coughed, and blood bubbled between her lips, trickling down her chin.

  "Keridil!" Tarod yelled. "Get the physician!"

  Keridil and two of the older Councillors were already forming a makeshift hammock from their cloaks, in which Themila could be carried without disturbing the blade in her back. Tarod wouldn't let them touch her, but lifted her small body into the folds of the hammock and held her hand tightly as she was maneuvered towards the door. Rhiman meanwhile had picked himself up and stood brokenly alone at the far side of the hall. At the doorway, Tarod looked back.

  "If she dies -- " he began.

  "Tarod, don't." Keridil laid a hand half fearfully on his arm. "It was an accident -- you saw Rhiman's grief!" He paused. "Themila won't want you to jeopardize yourself for her."

  Tarod stared at him with eyes that glittered cruelly. "Am I not already jeopardized, High Initiate?" His tone was bitter. "Perhaps it would be better for all concerned if I put paid to any lingering doubts by showing you all what I'm really capable of!"

  "Tarod!"

  Keridil's plea fell on deaf ears. Tarod had already turned and was stalking down the corridor behind the two hurrying Councillors and their burden.

  Throughout the long night, Tarod sat in the empty corridor outside Grevard's rooms, waiting. To his relief the physician had wasted no time with questions, but in his usual abrupt manner had had Themila laid on a couch and called for his two senior assistants to be woken immediately. His cat -- a descendant of the original -- sat on the window-ledge, watching the proceedings with interest, and Tarod wanted to stay too, but the physician was adamant.

  "Out. I've enough to do without unqualified hands getting in the way." He saw Tarod's face, and smiled thinly. "Believe me, I share your concern, Tarod. We all love Themila. Wait outside if you can't sleep; I'll inform you as soon as there's any news of her progress. And I'll do everything in my power.''

  Tarod nodded painfully. "I know you will... thank you."

  With only the poor light of a slowly failing torch in its bracket on the wall for company, the vigil was long and bleak. Through a high window at the far end of the passage the first chill grey of dawn was beginning to creep in when at last the physician's door opened.

  Grevard himself came out. He looked haggard, and Tarod knew what he was going to say before he spoke. He rose unsteadily.

  "The Gods know I tried..." Grevard shook his head in distress. "I did everything, Tarod, but it wasn't enough -- youth wasn't on her side, and she hadn't the strength to rally. She died ten minutes ago."

  Tarod was silent. Grevard looked at him, wondering privately if he should insist that Tarod take a sedative. Then he decided that he wouldn't dare ask.

  "Would you like to see her?" he suggested gently.

  "No." Tarod shook his head, covered his left hand with his right and stroked the silver ring -- an odd gesture, Grevard thought. He seemed to be lost in some dark contemplation, which the physician was thankful he didn't share.

  "We'll all mourn her loss," he said uncomfortably.

  "She died needlessly, Grevard."

  "I did all I could."

  "I know. Thank you for trying to save her." And he turned and walked away.

  Tarod kept walking, in a daze, until he reached his own rooms. The outer door slammed behind him and he stood, hands pressed to the table, while his body shook with uncontrollable spasms. A blindness had come over him, a red mist that swam before his eyes as the numbness of grief was eclipsed by a terrible, ravening fury. It built up until he felt his head must burst, and through it came an insatiable lust for revenge.

  Today, he would be condemned. He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise. Keridil had betrayed him; Themila was dead -- he stood alone against the Circle.

  And so, he told himself, the fury glowing white-hot within him, if the Circle believed him to be evil, he could show them what true evil was. For Themila's sake. She would have understood.

  Tarod moved as softly as a cat back to his door. The lock clicked once as he turned the key, and he walked with the slow and careful deliberation of one who knew himself to be not quite sane through to his bedchamber to close the curtains.

  Chapter 14

  Gods, Keridil, you know it was an accident!" Rhiman rocked forward in his chair in the High Initiate's study, covering his face with one hand whilst reaching out for the cup at his side with the other. "May Aeoris strike me dead if Themila isn't the dearest, kindest -- "

  "Rhiman, try to get a grip on yourself." Keridil carefully slid the black bottle of Empty Province spirit out of the red-haired man's reach and put it safely away in his cupboard. He had proffered it as a dire necessity, but Rhiman was too dangerously close to hysteria to be allowed any more. "We all know what happened, and you can't be held to blame. Themila acted without thinking -- no one could have foreseen the consequences/"

  "But if she dies -- "

  "Grevard is doing everything possible! We must wait, and hope." He added, with more conviction in his voice than he felt, "She'll live, Rhiman. I'm sure of it. Now, listen to me -- you need sleep; it's the best known cure for shock.'"

  "I couldn't sleep if my life depended on it!"

  Keridil stared down at Rhiman's bowed head. All his arrogant self-confidence had vanished in the aftermath of this tragedy, leaving him drained and broken. Although he had good reason not to like the man -- and felt privately that but for his hot-headedness the accident would never have happened in the first place -- Keridil was moved by his genuine grief and remorse, and pitied him.

  "Nonetheless," he said firmly, "you should try. Grevard would advise it."

  "Grevard has more urgent matters on his mind now..." Rhiman grimaced. "Perhaps I should go to his rooms -- there might be news of her -- ''

  '"No, Rhiman." Keridil interrupted him quickly. "I think it would be best to wait."

  Something in his tone alerted the other man, and he frowned through his confusion. "Why?" he demanded. "Surely there can be nothing more to lose by asking!"

  "It would be best to wait," Keridil repeated, then, realizing that Rhiman wouldn't be satisfied with such an evasive answer, sighed. "Rhiman, Tarod is there. He's keeping a vigil until there's news of Themila."

  Rhiman's face twisted. "That filthy, devilish -- "

  "Rhiman!" In spite of his sympathy Keridil felt a resurgence of the anger he'd experienced in the Council Hall. Controlling his voice, he said, "There's been enough damage done tonight without adding more fue
l to the fire. Your quarrel with Tarod has no place in this!"

  "Hasn't it?" Rhiman retorted bitterly. "If it hadn't been for that piece of offal, Themila would have been safe!"

  "Don't be ridiculous!" Keridil felt suddenly that he couldn't hold back from censuring the other man -- remorse was one thing, but he wouldn't sanction any attempts by Rhiman to evade responsibility for his own actions. "Whatever your personal feelings may be, you can't turn your, back on the facts. And you can't hold Tarod to blame when -- "

  He didn't finish the sentence. With no warning the study door had been flung open, smashing back against the wall, and a blast of cold air from outside set all the lights in the room dancing and flaring. Keridil spun round -- and came face to face with Tarod.

  The High Initiate's breath stuck in his throat as he stared at his old friend. Tarod was almost unrecognizable -- every trace of the familiar, fallible man had been eclipsed by something alien and terrible; a black, arctic aura that made Keridil's flesh crawl. The light in his green eyes was unhuman, and the ring on his left hand blazed like a glaring and malevolent star. With a shock that struck to the pit of his stomach Keridil saw in him the incarnate image of Yandros....

  "Tarod -- " He spoke the name only to break the appalling silence, already knowing that he couldn't hope to reason with the creature that confronted him.

  Tarod stared at him and through him, then said softly, "Themila is dead."

  Behind Keridil, Rhiman made a choking, inarticulate noise, and Tarod's gaze snapped past the High Initiate. "You -- " The word was like a death sentence. Keridil heard a cup crash and rattle to the floor as Rhiman stumbled back, and he made one desperate attempt to avert what every instinct told him was about to happen.

  "Tarod, no!" He stepped into Tarod's path and clasped his shoulder, then recoiled at the ice-coldness of the skin he touched. Knowing he was all but helpless, he pleaded, "As you value our friendship, I beg you, don't harm him!"

  Very slowly Tarod turned his head. "Friendship?" he echoed, as if he had never heard the word before. "What is the price of your friendship. Keridil Toln?"

  "There's no price! For the sake of Aeoris, stop this!" Tarod's lips twitched slightly, contemptuously. He made a brief gesture, and a force like a hammer-blow hurled Keridil across the room. He crashed against a cabinet which fell with a tremendous racket, catching his skull and half stunning him, and before he could recover his wits Tarod had raised his left hand.

  Keridil could see what was coming, but was powerless to stop it -- and Rhiman didn't stand a chance. The High Initiate's last image of him was as a hunched, cowering figure caught in a grisly tableau, hands raised as though to protect himself, before a titanic flash of blood-red light blasted against his eyes. Rhiman jerked spasmodically, then seemed to leap into the air like a puppet out of control. A single shriek cut Keridil's nerves like a knife-Wade, and Rhiman was dead before the remains of his body hit the floor.

  The sudden quiet and calm that followed in the aftermath of what Tarod had done was so shocking that for a few moments Keridil thought he was going to be sick. He managed to quell the spasm as his head began to clear after the blow, and very slowly and unsteadily got to his feet.

  Tarod was standing in the middle of the room. The aura that had made Keridil recoil was gone, the madness with it -- he was wholly human again, and his eyes as he stared at Rhiman's corpse were blank.

  Keridil forced himself to look at the thing on the floor and his stomach rebelled. Only traces of red hair made Rhiman recognizable; the rest -- he looked away again quickly.

  "Keridil..." Tarod spoke in such a low whisper that at first the High Initiate thought he'd imagined the sound. "Keridil, that -- that was -- " He swayed and just managed to snatch reflexively at a chair-back, half falling onto the seat. "I didn't -- "

  Keridil crossed the room and ripped down one of the curtains from the window. He flung it over the corpse, averting his face as he did so, and Tarod spoke again, this time more coherently.

  "Did I kill him... ?"

  Keridil spun on his heel, incredulous. "You don't know?"

  The condemnation in his voice made Tarod's blood run cold. Somewhere in a dark recess of his mind was a half-memory of a fury he hadn't been able to control, further fired by grief and an unhuman vindictiveness against the man who now lay under the curtain; but nothing was clear or concrete. His left hand ached and he could barely flex the fingers; he tried to find words that would explain.

  "I -- can't remember. Only a rage, Keridil, and... the power..."

  Keridil took a deep breath, torn between conflicting pulls of revulsion, pity and fear. "You killed him," he said softly. "He didn't stand a chance. You burst in, and I couldn't reason with you." He turned away. "I pray I never have to witness anything like that again.''

  Gradually fragments of memory were beginning to piece themselves together in Tarod's mind, and with them came the stirrings of blind panic. The Chaotic force had taken a grip on him and he'd been powerless to prevent it -- he'd been carried on a tide of hatred and had revelled in the annihilation of Rhiman. There could be no justification for what he had done -- and if it had happened once, how could any living soul predict that it wouldn't happen again? He couldn't fight it alone -- he'd thought himself strong enough, but he was wrong. Yandros had used him. was using him still, to further his aims. Somewhere, he thought, the Chaos Lord must be laughing....

  "Keridil -- " He had one chance, he knew, to appeal to the High Initiate, and there was far more at stake than their old friendship. "Keridil, please -- for the sake of the Circle, you must help me!"

  "Help you... ?" Keridil's face was tightly immobile.

  "To fight this!" Tarod forced his still unwilling left hand into a clenched fist, displaying the ring which now glowed sullenly. "I'm not strong enough to combat it, not without aid; but if I fail then it isn't only my future at risk! You know what Yandros wants -- he means to use me as a vehicle to bring Chaos back to the world to challenge the rule of Order. I'll pit all the strength I have against him, but without the Circle to stand with me it's not enough. And if he wins, the gates that have kept Chaos at bay all these centuries will stand wide open!"

  Keridil still continued to watch Tarod without expression. At last he said, "You could renounce that ring, Tarod. You said as much to Yandros -- you could throw it into the sea..."

  "Oh, yes, I said it. But what would that achieve? If I reject the ring, I lose the power that it can give me; and the Gods know it's a burden I loathe. But while I possess it, we have a chance to defeat Chaos's ambitions. I can use the stone's power, Keridil, and with our Adepts I believe I can control it -- it's the only chance!"

  Keridil had stepped back a pace as though mistrusting and fearing Tarod's vehement plea. Tarod drew breath, then said very quietly, "Besides... I'd be rejecting something that isn't merely a source of power... it's my own soul, Keridil." He looked up, his eyes tortured. "Yandros didn't lie -- I know it, I can feel it, like something eating at me. But how can I separate myself from it? Even if you reviled your own soul, could you destroy it? What would I become once it was gone?"

  Keridil was silent, struggling inwardly with Tarod's desperate reasoning. What did a man become without his soul? He didn't know, and wouldn't care to find out. A husk, perhaps -- a living human shell without depth or motive. No, he thought; nothing could induce him to take such a step were his own future at stake. And yet he was at this moment probably more afraid than he had ever been in his life. Tarod's soul was no ordinary mortal spirit -- it had been born of Chaos, and the power in that ring was too great and too deadly -- too evil -- for the Circle to risk allowing it to rise again. Tarod argued that it could be turned, used against its creators -- but could such a promise be trusted? Tonight the power had taken hold, resulting in the gruesome death of a foolish and hotheaded but fundamentally innocent man. If Tarod chose -- or was driven -- to use it again, what chance would the Circle stand?

  Playing for time, he asked, "What do
you want me to do?"

  The words were like a lifeline to Tarod. "I need the Circle's help, to control the influence of Chaos and use it against Yandros," he said pleadingly. "You know I'm loyal to our gods -- and whatever anyone may think or fear, I'm human!" Savagely he chopped the edge of one hand against his arm. "I feel pain, as any man does! I love and hope and dream in the same way -- if you were to take a knife now and stab me through the heart, I'd bleed and I'd die! I'm no demon!"

  Keridil had to make a decision. It wasn't easy to cast aside the habits of a long-standing friendship, and there were stirrings of pity for Tarod within him. But as High Initiate he had a duty first and foremost to the Circle... and in the face of what he had seen tonight the gulf between himself and Tarod had widened beyond repair.

  And, too, the old resentment was rearing its head again....

  Trying to keep any censure or emotion out of his voice, he said, "Tarod -- does Sashka know anything of this?"

  "Sashka?" Tarod's face tightened with a swift look of pain. "No. How could she? I didn't learn the truth myself until she was safe at her father's house."

  "Of course... but will you tell her?"

  Tarod covered his face with his hands. Keridil had asked the one question he had been subconsciously avoiding -- it had been easy enough not to think of Sashka amid the chaos of recent events, but now he felt as though the one blunt query had stripped him to the bone.

  "Gods," he whispered, "I don't know what to do...I can't hide it from her... and yet..."

  "You don't trust her?" Keridil hadn't intended the comment to sound barbed, but it did.

  "Yes, I trust her! But when she knows the truth, will she trust me? How can I convince her that she has nothing to fear, Keridil?"

  "Has she nothing to fear?" Keridil demanded.

  Tarod's face whitened angrily. "Nothing from me!"

  They stared at each other. Slowly, inexorably, Keridil's mind was propelling him towards a choice -- and it was, he told himself, the only choice. There was simply no other path open to him...