“A life-drinker? Impossible!”
“As you will,” was the cool reply. It was clear that the dark-haired mage, younger and less odd, knew enough not to argue with the older one—but it was also clear that, as the narrative progressed, he liked it less and less. “She killed Zoraban, and would have taken Stephen of Elseth, but she did not.”
“She could not?”
“I’m not certain.” Zareth Kahn’s brow was creased with displeasure; now that he had entered the Order proper, he was once again impatient with any questions that he did not possess the answer to. “She called him, and he came—but when she attempted take him, she was repulsed by a power not her own. She called him oathbound.”
“Oathbound?”
“Yes.”
Meralonne stood and began to pace the room, trailing a cloud of smoke past his shoulder.
“What do you know of this, member APhaniel? I have come across the term once or twice in my studies, but only in a religious context—and at that, a religion long dead.”
But Meralonne was clearly in no mood to answer another’s questions. “Continue,” he said, quite curtly. “I will make my observations on the full story, or not at all.”
Zareth Kahn was not completely unused to this behavior from mages of the first circle, but he was not amused by it. His lips became a thin line, and it was Stephen of Elseth who adroitly stepped in to take up the tale.
He spoke of the blade-demon, and the fight with it; spoke of Gilliam’s fall, the loss of the communication between them, and the sudden transformation of the wild girl into a creature out of legend.
And then, last, he spoke of Evayne.
Meralonne APhaniel’s eyes grew very dark as he listened. “She told you to come to the city, and she left you?”
“Not exactly, no. She came to us five weeks ago, when the moon was at nadir; she called it Scarran. We’d been on the road for several days, and were in an inn along the eastern border of Breodanir. She said that the demons were gathering their shadows, and that it was not safe for us to remain as we were; she intended to lead us to safety.”
He said nothing.
“And she—she led us along the Winter road instead. But—but she brought us back to the townships.”
“All of you?” The pipe froze; a thin stream of smoke, trailing air, rose unheeded to the ceiling.
The eyes that Stephen met asked a question that he could not understand, and did not want to. He looked away, but nodded, shivering at a cold that was still too easily remembered.
It seemed that the mage might ask more; his lips were open as he stared at Stephen’s fair face—and then at all of them, even the dogs. But he shook himself and lifted the pipe to his open lips instead. “I see. And then she led you to Averalaan, and told you to come to me?”
Stephen nodded.
“Did she bother to tell you that we did not part on the best of terms?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
It was Zareth Kahn who replied. “When we arrived in the city—when we were only a few yards from the demiwalls—we were stopped by a truthseeker and four magisterial guards.”
“And?”
“Evayne believed the truthseeker in question to be a demon. She cast a spell that I believe to be an old Summer spell, and the truthseeker was indeed affected. We fled, using illusion to mask the direction and the speed of our flight.”
“Who did the truthseeker want? The girl?”
“Not apparently, no. He was interested in the Lord Elseth and his huntbrother.”
“I see.” Meralonne pulled a worn leather pouch from his robes. He set about emptying his pipe with care and caution—it was a delicate, long-stemmed object of obvious antiquity—and then, with just as much care, set about lining the bowl with new leaves.
“There is one other thing you might want to know,” Zareth Kahn continued, although the words were edged. “I was summoned by Lady Elseth when a number of assassins, led by a member of the Order, were apprehended and destroyed. They wore the pendants of the Dark Lord.”
Meralonne did not seem remotely surprised, but he seemed suddenly very weary. “Ah. Priests.” He lifted the pipe to his lips.
Stephen started; memory made the words of Teos suddenly sharp again. “Yes, Priests,” he said. “Member APhaniel—the Lord of Knowledge said something that I did not understand.”
“Yes?”
“That the Dark God is not on his throne in the Hells.”
“Not on his—” Smoke swirled around his face as if at a sudden breeze. The slender, pale mage turned to Stephen, his expression suddenly changed. He looked not man but ghost or guardian as he spoke next. “What else did the Lord of Knowledge say?”
“He spoke of the Covenant of the Lord of Man.”
Pale lids closed over gray eyes; the mage lifted a hand to the wall as if he needed the support. “I see. This is . . . of import to us.” He shook himself and his face slowly folded into its regular unfriendly expression. “Go, member Kahn. Eat, drink, and then await me in the Kallavar room.”
“And my companions?”
“Turn them out in the street,” was the sharp, sarcastic reply. “What do you think I intend? You brought them, they’re your responsibility. Feed them and keep them out of trouble until the appointed hour of our interview.”
“And that hour?”
“Get out.”
• • •
Gilliam had only one argument with a man in the dining hall, but it was loud enough to attract the attention of a cluster of mages, who then began complaints of their own when they saw the six dogs that were sitting restlessly beside the wall. Zareth Kahn, still angry at his interview with Meralonne, was in no mood to handle the offended men, which meant that Stephen, stretched between an irritable Gilliam, an annoyed Zareth Kahn, and a bustle of mages, had to soothe any ruffled feathers. Only Espere seemed at ease, and that held until she decided that she had had enough of the restrictive clothing that she was wearing.
It was a disastrous meal, but at least the dogs got fed, although they ate food that they were not normally given; they were of the finest of the Breodani hunters, and as such, were quite restricted in diet. Gilliam was furious that so-called members of the Order of Knowledge didn’t know how to feed a dog—but the dogs, to Stephen’s eyes, were gleefully smug at the giblets and gravy that were finally laid out—in the thinnest and most perfect bowls that he had ever seen—on the floor in front of them.
It was when Espere began an angry keening and tried to knock Salas from his bowl, rather than eat the normal human food provided her, that things got rather messy. She snarled at Salas; Salas, of course, defended his food, and Gilliam, angry enough with the setting, nearly threw up his hands in disgust and let them fight it out. He didn’t, but that was probably as much due to the fact that the dining hall mysteriously emptied, and that Zareth Kahn was sitting, food untouched, elbows on the table, face in his hands.
Eventually the man in charge of the hall came to speak with Zareth Kahn. His words were measured and slow, his voice calm and reasonable. But Stephen caught enough of the tone to know that if words were weapons, Zareth Kahn would have been slowly and evenly skewered.
They spent the next three hours waiting in the Kallavar room.
• • •
When Meralonne came to them, he was attired in clothing, and not in the casual emerald green robes that most of the mages of the Order were familiar with. The clothing was of an old style, although just what that style was would have been hard for Stephen to say; the fashions of Essalieyan were not the fashions of Breodanir among any but the most daring of ladies, and even then, only when the clothing was practical and everyday.
Cloth fell in a direct drape from shoulder to just below the knee; it was a shimmering darkness with hints of gold and platinum throughout—but no more than hint
s; to study the cloth too intently was to lose them as if they were the faintest of stars tickling the corner of the eye. He had sleeves, and they, too, were draped but gathered six inches above the wrist. The collar was high at back and squared in front; it was, in all, an unusual effect.
And Meralonne APhaniel carried it well, which was a surprise.
“I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting. I have been at some pains to conduct research in these pathetic libraries, and have come up with scant information. If you had a few months—if either of us did—I would have left you here. However,” he added, raising a pipeless hand, “we do not have the time.” He walked over to an unoccupied chair by the fire—there were several—and sat with his back to it. Shadowed thus, he looked almost like a ghost from an ancient past.
“I am involved in my own investigation under the command of The Terafin. It is connected to your case, although I am not completely certain of how. The facts, as I know them, are simple. Let me relate them to you.
“First: There are demon-kin in the city of Averalaan. There is no question of this fact; I was called in to an encounter with one, and while I do not personally recognize its type, I know it for what it was.
“Second: The kin seem to be operating in the holdings of the city itself. We are conducting investigations into which areas are possibly infested.
“The third fact is in dispute: that a mage, possibly a rogue, but unfortunately, probably not, dabbling in dark arts, has been hired to use these creatures to kill The Terafin—and quite probably to take possession of her form, and with it, her power.” He saw Zareth Kahn pale immediately, and held up a hand before the younger mage could speak. “Krysanthos is a possibility, from what you’ve said. Let me finish.”
“Fourth: The kin that I dealt with—and therefore, possibly others of its phylum—was able to wear the semblance and take on many, but not all, of the memories of the person it killed.” Zareth Kahn ceased his attempt to interrupt. “Because of this, we cannot know who is, and who is not, an enemy. Not without the use of magics that most of the mages here have forgotten. Yes, Zareth Kahn. The Summer magics.”
“You know them,” the mage said, his eyes wide.
“Yes.”
“And her—you taught her.”
“I taught her some of them; she has obviously grown adept through teachers other than myself.”
“Did you teach her the Winter magics as well?”
“Not I,” was the soft reply. “But Winter and Summer are reflections; where there is one, the other is coming. There is balance,” he continued, turning suddenly to pin Stephen of Elseth with his slate eyes. “Even if you do not see that balance addressed in a single mortal life, it is there, and it will be addressed. It is the law of the living Gods, and those that they left behind.”
Zareth Kahn snorted. “Those who practiced the Summer magics did not learn the Winter.”
“No?” A platinum brow rose. Then he smiled, but the smile was not warm. “But the use of Summer magics requires an intimate understanding of the strengths of the Winter. And more to the point, the only mage that has learned those arts in your lifetime has learned both.”
It was Stephen who replied. “She may have learned both—but she learned them for a higher purpose.”
“Oh?” He lifted a hand as Stephen began to speak again, waving him into angry silence. “Then think on this, young Stephen of Elseth, for I will not argue purpose with you. Many, many acts are committed in the name of a higher purpose, and a higher purpose has often claimed the lives of innocents as it rolls outward, so secure in the grandeur of its mission that it will no longer look at the cost to others.”
“Maybe,” Stephen countered, stung, “it’s because there is no better choice. Grandeur has nothing to do with it—the course that saves the most life is the only one open.”
Meralonne sank back in his chair and studied Stephen’s face. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “As you say,” he said, and the annoyance was gone from his voice. “But in all things, there are costs.
“Let me continue briefly. We have on our hands a young street urchin and her den. They claim to know something of tunnels that exist beneath the city streets—tunnels that Ararath Handernesse, the victim of the demon I fought, led them to. It is clear that the victim believed these tunnels to be of significance in the disappearance of a variety of people from the holdings in the central city. I have spent the last four weeks searching the city extensively for the whereabouts of just such tunnels. I have found nothing, no matter where these urchins have led me.
“Were it not for the death of Ararath, or rather, the manner of his death, I would have the lot of them turned out on their ears. But his death is his death, and we continue to search. And when I say that there is nothing, I mean exactly that; there is no trace of magic or magical concealment; there is no trace of newness or the newly hidden; there is nothing whatever to indicate that the so-called maze ever existed.” He relaxed, placing his arms against the armrests and then lifting his hands in a steeple before his lips. “And now another mystery. The girl that you travel with—I have seen her before. Were the demons to be chasing her, I would not be surprised. But they turn to you, and to you, Lord Elseth, two hunters from the realm of Breodanir. Two lords who happen to be led to Averalaan by the ever-so-mysterious Evayne.
“If she led you here, you must have a purpose; that much I’ve been able to glean from her activity. And if she led you on the Winter road . . . that is not without its risks. Yet even so, I sense that you do not know her purpose, or your place in this larger game.”
Stephen nodded warily. “She looked ahead for us.”
“Ah. You know she is seer-born. What was her vision?”
“No vision.”
“Did she speak?”
“Not so we could understand it,” Gilliam broke in.
“I see. And what did she say?”
Stephen did not want to tell the mage of the prophecy that Evayne had granted them. But he knew that that had been her intent—else why send them here, to this Order and this cold, angry man? He took a breath, made it deeper, as if it could hollow out his lungs. Then he spoke in a steady, clear tenor.
“The Covenant has been broken in spirit.
“The portals are open; the gods are bound.
“Go forth to the Light of the World and find the Darkness.
“Keep your oath; fulfill your promise.
“The road must be taken or the Shining City will rise anew.” As the last words faded, he opened his eyes, and only then realized that he had closed them. Slate gray met brown.
“She told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And anything else?”
“That if we chose not to travel to Averalaan to help the wild girl—it was to help her that we wanted to come—she thought Breodanir might fall, and the empire as well.” Stephen’s glance, skittish and hesitant, only touched Espere briefly. “And if she is the daughter of the Hunter God, then I don’t see that there’s anything we can do to help her.” But he remembered her very human voice, and he remembered the plea in eyes that were already becoming bestial. Something was trapped beneath the Espere of Gilliam’s pack.
Meralonne rose swiftly and silent, and crossed the room to where the wild girl, impatient, sat at Gilliam’s feet. Gilliam tensed, and Stephen sent his caution along their bond. But the mage made no sudden moves; indeed, the moment he was at the girl’s side he ceased to move at all. “What do you know of this, daughter of the Hunter God that men have called no true God? If we return the gift of speech to you, will you answer my questions? Can you?” She met his eyes and did not blink or look away. He reached out slowly, and touched her chin with forefinger and thumb, lifting her face. She suffered it quietly. “You met her while she was being pursued.”
“Yes.”
“Did she bring anything with
her?”
“No,” Gilliam said. Stephen said nothing at all.
“Ah, mystery. It makes life interesting.” He rose quickly. “Come, then. You have been delivered to the right man, whether or not you understand it. Zareth Kahn, if you wish to continue in your other duties, you may; the choice is your own. But I believe that the gentlemen and the lady that they travel with are best served by my companionship and guidance.”
Zareth Kahn nodded almost blandly; he said nothing.
It was Stephen who asked. “What did it mean?”
“What?”
“Her prophecy.”
“I am not certain what it meant. But the Light of the World is Averalaan, and the Darkness that you speak of is without question the power of Allasakar and the demons who serve him.”
“And the Covenant? The Shining City?”
“About the first, little is known—but I will know more; about the second, I will not speak, except to say this: The Dark Lord himself ruled there in times lost, with magics most foul and most forgotten.” He started to walk away, and then stopped, wheeling abruptly mere inches away from Zareth Kahn. “And those arts will remain forgotten.” The younger mage met his glare as if he were fencing with his eyes, but although he had the strength not to look away, he took two steps back.
“Good,” Meralonne said. “If we are to work together, it is important that we understand each other.” He swept out of the room, then stopped, swung around again, and looked in. “I mean for you to follow,” he said, as patiently as possible.
Gilliam urged his dogs out, and held on to Espere by the hand. Zareth Kahn made haste to walk beside, rather than behind, his fellow member of the Order. Stephen, as always, brought up the rear. As he closed the fine, solid door, taking care with the delicate brass handles, he looked down. At his feet was a small book, with a dark, blue cover and writing so faded that it was impossible to read. He lifted it.
“Sir APhaniel?” he said, holding the book above his head. “Is this yours?”
The Sacred Hunt Duology Page 65