The Initiate

by Louise Cooper

  He made an abrupt gesture that might have contained a hint of contrition. "I'm sorry. Perhaps that's a subject best left alone." He hesitated. "I'll aid you, Tarod -- if I can." Tarod stared at him and for an alarming moment the High Initiate wondered if he might be looking beyond the surface to the thoughts that lay beneath. But the doubt was dispelled as the black-haired man nodded.

  "I can't express my gratitude... by standing with me you could be jeopardizing so much."

  Tarod's gratitude was the last thing Keridil wanted at that moment, and he dismissed the thanks with an awkward wave of one hand. Never mind that. We must think about what's to be done from here." He glanced, briefly, at the curtain and what it concealed. "I'll need time to talk to the Council and persuade them to a different point of view than they hold now... and as for Rhiman -- "

  "What happened can't be hidden," Tarod said unhappily. "And I couldn't deny the truth... I couldn't lie..."

  "I know that, and I share your feeling. But with a little time, I believe I can plead mitigating circumstances and make the Council see reason." He rose. "Tarod; you must go now. Go back to your rooms, try to sleep for a while, and above all don't be seen about the Castle until I've had a chance to reconvene the meeting and explain." Doubt filled Tarod's eyes and Keridil added, "Trust me."

  "I do. But..." His gaze shifted to the curtain. "I'll enlist Gyneth's help to move Rhiman. Gyneth's the one man I can rely on to do my bidding without asking questions or spreading rumors. Please -- go, now."

  For a moment he thought that Tarod was going to argue; but instead he bowed his head, acquiescent. He stood, and clasped Keridil's shoulders briefly, unable to express what he felt in words. Keridil managed to quell an overwhelming urge to shudder and pull away at the touch, and closed the door quickly behind Tarod as he left the study. Then he took two deep breaths to regain his composure, picked up a small handbell that stood on his table, and rang for Gyneth. When the old servant appeared Keridil was standing in front of the fireplace, hands braced on the mantel as he stared into the ashes.

  "Sir?" Gyneth half bowed as the High Initiate turned his head, then saw the draped and unidentifiable bulk on the floor and frowned. "What -- "

  Keridil cut the question off before Gyneth could formulate it. "Gyneth, this is an emergency. I want you to go discreetly to all the elder members of the Council of Adepts in turn, and ask them to wait on me here immediately. That -- " he pointed with a suddenly unsteady hand at the curtain, "conceals the remains of a Council member who was murdered in my presence only minutes ago."

  Gyneth's eyes widened, but before he could speak Keridil continued, "You understand now why I stress the urgency of this matter. Remember -- each Council Elder, and no one else."

  The old man nodded, valiantly controlling his incredulity. In a careful tone he said, "Very good, sir. Should I -- explain the nature of the emergency to the respected Elders?"

  Keridil bit his lip. This was the final turning point -- his decision now would map out the future path once and for all, and once committed he couldn't turn back. An image of Tarod as he had looked when he burst into the study seared his inner vision and the fear came back like a cold, clutching hand. Fear, and disgust, and -- almost -- a kind of hatred...

  "No, Gyneth," he said. "Rumor spreads too easily and too fast in the Castle for that to be wise. You may just tell them..."He clasped his hands together. "Tell them that I need the Council's sanction to order an execution."

  Trust me, Keridil had said. I do, he had replied. But now, sitting behind the closed curtains of his window, Tarod was haunted by a doubt that refused to give way to reasoning. Even the twin torments of his grief for Themila and memory of the horrific retribution he had taken couldn't eclipse it; it ate away at his consciousness, nagging, immovable, an instinct that gave him no rest.

  Keridil had promised the Circle's aid; and throughout all the years of their friendship -- even from childhood -- Tarod had never known him to break his word. But yesterday in the Council Hall there had been a chasm between them; and it was only now that Tarod realized that chasm had appeared and been slowly growing since Keridil's inauguration as High Initiate. Events of the past few days had caused it to widen immeasurably, until it had seemed to him last night that he was facing judgment by a stranger... and a stranger who bore him no goodwill.

  He could hardly hold Keridil to blame if their old friendship had perished in the light of all that had happened. To support one whom most right-minded men would look on as a demon -- for Rhiman's accusation had left its mark -- and who had been indirectly responsible for the death of his own father, was more than Tarod had the tight to ask of him. Nonetheless, Keridil had pledged his support and his help... and yet something in his manner, in his voice, had stiffed an unpleasant intuition.

  Tarod couldn't believe that the High Initiate would betray him. It wasn't Keridil's way; he might have condemned outright, but to resort to deception and subterfuge was unthinkable, unless Tarod had gravely misjudged him. He rose and moved to the window, drawing back the curtain to look down into the courtyard. Guilt, remorse and a terrible fear for the future lodged like a lead weight in him. If Keridil had spoken the truth then he believed he could, with the Circle to give strength to his endeavors, fight the influence of the soul stone and the corruption of Yandros, and have something to hope for. But without that help, he was lost.

  His attention was caught suddenly by a figure in the courtyard, a man moving as fast as his advanced age would allow and drawing considerable surprise from onlookers. He had emerged from a direction of the High Initiate's chambers, and Tarod tensed as he recognized Gyneth Linto. The old man was in a great hurry and even from this distance his agitation was obvious. An urgent errand for his master... Abruptly the agonizing doubts crystallized into a cold certainty. Tarod felt the old, dark anger rising again and had to exert all his self-control to crush it. He told himself that he couldn't be sure -- one small incident wasn't proof in itself.

  But if his suspicions were right, a small inner voice warned....

  He let the curtain drop, shivering as he turned back into the gloomy room. He had to find out -- instinct told him that, if he valued his life, he couldn't give Keridil the benefit of the doubt now. He was shaking as he lowered himself into a chair, unable to believe that the High Initiate was perfidious, but no longer daring to trust that belief. Slowly, he raised his left hand.

  He hated the stone of the ring as it glowed back at him, yet knew that he depended on it, needed it. its aura seemed to increase, flowing out into a sudden starburst of light as Tarod focused his powerful mind on the High Initiate's rooms....

  "We're agreed, sirs." Keridil stood, indicating that the discussion was at an end. His face was devoid of color or expression, and he wouldn't meet the gaze of any of the ten Elders also present in the study. "Thank you for your time and attention -- I believe we've come to the only conclusion possible."

  The eldest of the Councillors nodded gravely. "I must confess to a certain relief, High Initiate. This has been the hardest decision any of us has ever had to make -- and we realize that your own long-standing friendship with Tarod has put you in an unenviable position. But I believe I speak for all here when I say that we commend your wisdom, and give our fullest approval to the decision."

  A murmur of agreement went round the table, but Keridil knew that Tarod hadn't been the only one on trial at this meeting. His own credibility as head of both Circle and Council had been at stake, and any attempt to plead on Tarod's behalf would have been disastrous. He had known it an hour ago during the terrible moment when he had been too frightened to refuse Tarod's plea for help, and it was doubly confirmed now. He had made the only right decision; could have done nothing more. And, with the memory of Rhiman's grisly death still sharp in his mind, he knew also that he had wanted it no other way.

  "Thank you for your faith in me, gentlemen," he said. "I hope that above all else I know my duty to the Circle -- and that duty extends far beyond t
he calls of any friendship." He hesitated. "But I'll also confess that pure duty wasn't my only motive. Like you, I'm frightened of what Tarod could do -- and unlike you, I've been an unwilling witness to those powers at first hand. I fully concur that we can't take the risk of allowing him to live among us."

  Another general assent followed, then someone said: "There is, of course, still the question of the -- ah -- means, High Initiate. Although we are, strictly speaking, morally bound to follow the proper procedures, it occurs to me that under the circumstances a full trial might not be advisable."

  "Yes..." another agreed. "After all, no man goes to his death willingly. And once Tarod learned of the Council's decision, he'd become a deadly adversary. From what we've learned in this room, it's clear he could destroy any or all of us as easily as we might swat an insect."

  Several Councillors glanced involuntarily towards the floor. Rhiman's body had been removed, still wrapped in the curtain, but before it was taken they had all seen for themselves the results of Tarod's power. Someone coughed nervously.

  Keridil stared down at the table, where his own hands were spread palms down, the knuckles white. "We have good swordsmen," he said quietly. "If two were to arrive at Tarod's door with no forewarning... it would be over before anything could be done to stop it. And a merciful end."

  The Councillors looked at each other silently. At last the youngest cleared his throat. "There'll be willing volunteers in plenty, Keridil. After yesterday's revelation..."

  Keridil shut his eyes momentarily, as if taking a grip on himself. Then he nodded and said sharply, almost angrily, "Very well -- then send for them. Give them their instructions, and tell them to act before Tarod has a chance to retaliate."

  "Now sir?"

  "Yes, now! You've reminded me that we can't afford to waste time, and you're right." Suddenly, the knowledge that he was betraying friendship, betraying principles, didn't seem to matter any more. Chaos in the Circle's midst was a greater betrayal still, and with the sanction of the Council to support him Keridil's conscience felt just a little clearer. "Send for them," he said. "Let's get this ugly business over and done with!"

  Thanks to some careful manipulation on Keridil's part, the Castle corridor that led towards Tarod's rooms was deserted as the two fourth-rank Initiates made their way along it from the direction of the main staircase. They walked quickly and quietly, neither speaking, both with a hand resting uneasily on the hilts of the short-bladed but businesslike swords at their belts.

  It had come as no surprise to Keridil to find that there were indeed willing volunteers for the unpleasant task at hand. No one relished the prospect, but feeling among the Adepts was running high in the wake of the previous night's two deaths. Rhiman's, they all agreed, was indisputable cold-blooded murder; and, although he hadn't personally harmed her, Tarod had been entirely to blame for the events that led to Themila's stabbing. With him alive and free in their midst none could feel safe. Without him, the Circle would be rid of an evil and fast-spreading plague.

  The two fourth-rankers had been selected for this mission on the combined merits of their skill with weapons and their vehement sympathy with the Council's decision. Both had been students of Themila's in childhood and had felt a special affection for her; one was related, through a married sister, to Rhiman's clan. Before leaving Keridil's chambers they had knelt with the High Initiate in a prayer to Aeoris for the triumph of justice and, awed, had been allowed to partake of the Wine of the White Isle -- the flask containing an age-old recipe used only in the gravest sacraments. The ceremony had fortified their determination, but both had to admit privately to a growing sense of apprehension as they neared Tarod's door.

  The door was closed, and no light glimmered beneath it. The younger of the Initiates reached out to grasp the latch, but the other forestalled him, shaking his head.

  "The High Initiate said not to arouse his suspicions in any way," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Knock."

  His companion nodded. His lips were tightly compressed as he rapped with a bunched fist on the door, and both listened to the silence that followed.

  "He's not there," the younger whispered. "Either that, or -- "

  "Wait! Listen..."

  Neither could tell whether the faint sounds they now heard beyond the door were footsteps or imagination -- but seconds later came the unmistakable grate of a bolt being drawn. At a rapid nod from the elder, both men drew their swords, keeping them hidden under the folds of their short cloaks.

  The latch clicked, the door creaked open... and the Initiates found themselves staring into an unlit and apparently empty room.

  They stood on the threshold, taken by surprise as their confidence waned. The elder pushed tentatively at the door, which swung fully back against the wall, allowing no room for anyone to conceal himself behind it. It had unlocked and opened with no hand to touch it, and the younger man felt the bile of sick fear rise into his throat.

  "He knows..." he hissed.

  "Quiet! There may be another explanation... don't lose your nerve now!" His companion took a deep breath, then moved carefully, soundlessly, into the room. Now that his eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom he could make out the hunched shadows of furniture and saw that the curtains at the window in the inner chamber were drawn... yet still the lack of light seemed unnatural. Reminding himself that Tarod couldn't possibly know anything of the Council's intentions he took another step forward, and the other, encouraged, followed. Something loomed to his right; he started violently then chided himself as he realized that it was nothing more than a tall cupboard which, by a trick of the uneven glow from the torchlit corridor, had momentarily taken on an illusion of life. He half turned towards the inner chamber, signalling his companion to stay close --

  And the door at their backs slammed with a noise that jarred them both to the bone.

  The two men spun round even as the light from outside was cut off, and the younger swore aloud with shock, making the sign of Aeoris before his own face.

  Tarod stood between them and the door. Even in the darkness they could see him clearly; a peculiar, colorless light emanating from the ring on his left hand highlighted his sharp-etched features, the tangle of black hair, the unhumanly green eyes. He smiled with neither humor nor rancor.

  "You were looking for me, gentlemen?"

  The younger Initiate tried to form the words which they had carefully memorized, intended to dupe him into believing that he was summoned to an urgent meeting of the Council. They had planned to win his confidence -- or at least dispel most of his doubts -- and then strike with a swift and effective blade from behind, despatching him before he could retaliate. Now, it seemed a ludicrously futile exercise. "The High Initiate..." he began, then his tongue dried in his mouth and the words with it.

  Tarod looked from one to the other and his smile widened, suddenly predatory. "The High Initiate... ?" he prompted with a mildness that didn't deceive his listeners. When neither answered he took a step towards them and they, in unison, backed away.

  "The High Initiate," Tarod continued, in a voice now soft with malevolence, "sends his compliments and his regrets. The High Initiate decrees that I am no longer fit to live as an Adept of the Circle -- indeed, that I am no longer fit to live at all. The High Initiate is afraid of me, and therefore sends you to do his work for him, stealthily, like brigands slitting throats in the night. Or do I misjudge the High Initiate?"

  He knew the answer without needing to look at their stricken faces. Slowly he closed his right hand over his left, touching his ring lightly, almost contemplatively.

  "So Keridil has made his choice at last." He looked up again, and the Initiates blanched. "He believes I am a liar, and he believes I am evil. Perhaps now he'll discover what true evil is..."

  The younger of the would-be assassins panicked. Goaded by Tarod's words, blind terror overcame all reason and with no warning he leaped at the black-haired sorcerer, sword swinging up and striking to kill. For an
instant Tarod was startled; then, so fast that neither man saw it coming until too late, he whipped his knife from its sheath and swept it up to deflect the blow. Metal clashed discordantly, sparks spat as the two blades met, and Tarod's knife sheared through his adversary's chest and shoulder, biting to the bone.

  The Initiate swayed, dropping his sword and staggering back against the wall. His face had turned grey with shock and pain, and blood pumped brilliantly from the long, crescent-shaped gash in his torso. As he sagged to his knees, Tarod turned his attention to his companion.

  The elder Initiate had assumed a half-aggressive, half-defensive posture, sword held poised in both hands. Tarod stared at him briefly -- then with his left hand made a careless gesture. The ring flared into momentary life, and the man reeled back with a yell as a colossal force struck him full on and agony seared across his eyes. Blinded, he fell and Tarod stood over him. His voice when he spoke was barely under control.

  "Tell your treacherous High Initiate that if he wants a reckoning with me, he'd be well advised to do the deed himself, instead of sending children in his place!"

  The blinded Initiate was too frightened and in too much pain to answer him. He opened his mouth, but no words would come, and his hand, groping, found nothing. He felt the air around him agitate as though someone or something moved; and the last sound he heard before he slid into oblivion was the savage slam of the outer door.

  If the Seven Gods and all their legions had stood against him and barred his way at that moment, Tarod would have blasted them aside without a second thought. He strode towards the main stairs and took them three at a time, emerging into the main hall and crossing it, careless of the bloodied knife now back in his belt and staining his clothes and his left hand. Every sense was numb; all he felt was a towering, choking bitterness at the magnitude of Keridil's betrayal. To pretend to friendship -- to play on the bond they had shared since childhood -- only to resort to a cold and cynical assassination attempt... he couldn't yet believe it. But the two men with their drawn swords had been no figment of his imagination.