A Parliament of Owls

by Beth Hilgartner

  Carefully, Lynx opened the door into the lay sisters' chapel a crack and peered into the dim room. It was empty. They slipped out and Lynx took the time to lock the door behind them. Just as the lock snicked softly shut, they heard the cloister bell begin to toll. Lynx swore softly. "Hurry," she breathed, and together they glided up the side aisle to the open sanctuary door. As they slipped out into the gardens, they saw the lay sisters coming toward the chapel. Lynx and Marhysse left the paths and crouched, hardly breathing, in the shrubbery. When the last of the sisters had filed into the chapel and the bell had ceased tolling, they made their way cautiously to the gate. It was still ajar, but the Temple Watchmen no longer played khacce in the gatehouse. One of them stood in the open gateway, smoking a long-stemmed pipe. The other was not immediately in evidence.

  To Marhysse's surprise, Lynx stepped out of the shadows and faced the man. He evinced no surprise, but said—as though continuing an earlier conversation, "And were your fears justified?" His voice was accented with the same sibilant lilt as Lynx's.

  "Yes," she said. "They killed a child—a girl. Have you heard of any missing children?"

  The Temple Watchman shook his head. "Ask Mouse; she'll know. But go now, or they're like to try their hand with unwilling sacrifices."

  Lynx gestured to Marhysse and the two of them slipped through the gate. "My thanks, Dedemar," she whispered; and they were gone.

  Marhysse knew better than to ask questions where they might be overheard, but it took all her training to hold her peace until they were again within the walls of the Ghytteve complex. As Cezhar and Yrhazh closed the door behind them, she said, "Since when did the Dark Lady's sect practice human sacrifice and—gods and fish, Lynx!—how did you know?"

  Cezhar looked grim. "So you were right. And was Thyzhecci...herself?"

  "I think so. I also think it possible that the enemy the Lady Khycalle spoke of was present as well." She paused and added soberly, "We may have been...noticed."

  "Lynx," Marhysse said, her tone half pleading, half exasperated, "how did you know?"

  She shrugged. "I do not have a mage-gift as strong as Owl's, but I have learned to listen—to snoop, you might say; and this sacrifice caused considerable unease among the Dark Lady's inner circle of worshipers and lay sisters. Once I began to suspect, it wasn't difficult to enlist some quiet assistance from a few of the Temple Watch; human sacrifice is neither sanctioned nor condoned in Bharaghlaf."

  "But you think you may have been noticed?" Cezhar said. "Seen? Recognized?"

  Lynx shrugged. "I don't think Hassythe could have seen our faces, but that she was aware of observers, at least as the life-power was released, that I fear." Lynx smiled wryly. "We were careful, Cezhar, but no one gains this much information without risk."

  He shook his head. "I'm glad you're safely back. Stay out of the Temple District, and do be careful. In the morning, you'll report to Cithanekh—and to Thantor. The Emperor must be apprised of this. I can't imagine that even the Council Houses will tolerate the idea of human sacrifices in the Temple District."

  "Why not," Marhysse asked bitterly, "if they prey only on the children of the Slums?"

  Cezhar shook his head and the two women took their leave. As they padded away down the corridor, Yrhazh turned to his captain. "Cezh, how much did you know about Lynx's mission?"

  "What she told us—and that Cithanekh said we should let her plan her own campaign. Frankly, Yrhazh, I'm glad she's on our side."

  "Mmm," he agreed. "If she is."

  "That doesn't worry me," Cezhar said firmly. "Owl's no fool."

  ***

  In the hour before dawn, Arre woke with a jolt. She stared into the graying darkness above the bed and listened: nothing. Nothing except the Scholar King's even breathing, the faint stirrings of the birds in the garden, and the thudding—more felt than heard—of her own heart. She lay, tense and listening, for several moments before she closed her eyes again and cautiously sent her mind questing. She touched the edge of Khethyran's dreams, enough to tell that her alarm had not come from him. She felt the minds of the Imperial Guards on duty—just their presence and a hint of surface thoughts; she wasn't powerful enough to read a person deeply without physical contact. There was nothing to explain her fear, her bone-deep conviction that there was something seriously amiss. She put herself into a listening trance—not actively seeking, simply present and aware—and waited. Time stilled; somewhere beyond her awareness the world rolled on toward dawn and the darkness grew less thick. Then, she heard it: the indistinct whisper of her name. She sent her mind after it, cautiously.

  Arre? Arre!

  She recognized the mind voice. Kerigden? What is it? You sound like you're on the other side of the world.

  I'm trapped, he told her, his mental voice thready with strain. I can't make my body waken.

  Where are you? Do you know?

  I think I'm in my own bed; but my body won't waken. It feels like I'm spellbound in some way—but who...

  As he trailed off weakly, Arre finished the thought for him: Who would be strong enough to bind you?

  I don't know. Arre, please come. I'm afraid of what will happen when my priests can't rouse me. Make sure they know...The contact trailed off.

  I'm coming, she assured him—but she wasn't at all sure he heard her.

  Chapter Thirteen—Binding

  Over breakfast, Lynx made her report. As Cithanekh and Owl listened to her precise recitation of events, underscored in Owl's mind by the images she shared with him, trouble gathered in their expressions. When she had finished the facts, Cithanekh shook his head.

  "This is distressing, that Thyzhecci seems to be acting willingly in aid of this Hassythe—and the child! Have you spoken to Mouse?"

  Lynx shook her head. "Not yet. Might it not be better if one of you broke the news?"

  Owl nodded decisively. "I'll do it. You're right. It should be a friend who brings this news, and I haven't had the chance for a real talk with her since I returned. Lynx, how likely do you think it that Hassythe recognized you?"

  Lynx considered. "I am nearly certain Hassythe was aware of observers; I could not tell if we were seen—although I think that doubtful. Nonetheless, if this enemy is as skilled as the Lady Khycalle reports, it is only a matter of time before she manages to identify us. I suspect Hassythe considers you her most formidable opponent and will look first among your associates. I can guard my mind but Marhysse is not skilled in that way."

  "It was an impressive piece of hunting, Lynx," Cithanekh said. "Though the information is unwelcome, the knowledge is very valuable. Thank you."

  She inclined her head slightly, with a faint, bitter smile. "It is nothing; it is what I am trained to do. Cezhar told me that I should report to Thantor after I spoke with you."

  Cithanekh waved a dismissal. "Tell him Owl would like to speak to Mouse."

  As the door closed behind her, Cithanekh sighed explosively. "This frightens me: human sacrifice in the very capital."

  "Will the Emperor disband the Dark Lady's Temple?" Owl mused, then shook his head in answer to his own question. "No. The Temples are independent of Royal fiat, no?"

  "Yes. And Thyzhecci is no innocent. She will have had the child and her guardians sign a declaration of consent. There would be some legal recourse if it could be proven that the sect used unwilling sacrificial victims, but according to Lynx, the forms were observed. Khethyran can't interfere. It would only give the dissident nobles a specific cause to rally against."

  "As if they need an excuse," Owl said bitterly. "It's troubling, though; they must have raised a great deal of power. I wonder what they mean to use it for. It's not as though—" He broke off with a sharp intake of breath as his Gift seized him. Images spun through his mind: Arre, her lower lip caught in her teeth and her face etched with more than worry; Mouse, tears brimming in her eyes; the Queen with the Royal Heir at her breast; a knife with a black gem in its pommel and a pattern of brambles etched on its blade; Thantor,
still and watchful while Lynx spoke to him; a tiny cage of woven brambles enclosing something that glinted like copper wire in the light from a window. Owl exhaled slowly, then shook his head.

  "What?" Cithanekh pressed gently.

  He shook his head again. "I don't know: fragments." He pushed his plate away. "I wish I could make things come clearer. There's such a sense of menace." He gestured impatiently. "Never mind me. Are you off to Council?"

  "Yes." He sighed. "I don't imagine it will be a terribly productive meeting. The Emperor hasn't decided whom to appoint to the Admiralty, so he'll doubtless allow some other contentious issue to come up. Since Ymlakh Glakhyre and Master Dharhyan are still at each other's throats, we'll probably spend half the morning arguing about caravans."

  Owl managed a smile. "I haven't been much help, I'm afraid, with the Admiralty question. I don't know the men; my visions show me nothing. Morekheth makes me uneasy, but not for any discernable reason—other than that he's Anzhibhar and his motives are unclear."

  "And on the surface, he is so obviously the best choice that the whole situation screams 'trap!'"

  Before Owl could answer, his Gift seized him again. A dizzying welter of images inundated him: the Ghytteve bodyguards sparring on the training floor; Rhydev settling his Councilor's chain of office around his neck and admiring the effect in his mirror; a tiger padding purposefully through the undergrowth; the black signet ring on a chain; Arre, turning a worried face toward a priest in the Windbringer's gray; the tiny cage of brambles and its gleaming contents; robed priests before a stone altar where a child was bound; a small, golden harp; Sharkbait, his lips pressed together in anger as he watched something through narrowed eyes.

  "Owl?" Cithanekh asked, touching his wrist gently.

  The Seer pushed his hands through his hair and sighed. "Something's amiss. I can't tell what. Arre's worried."

  "Are you touching her mind?"

  "No; I've seen her in my visions. I could try, I suppose; she isn't really strong enough to catch my attention unless I'm listening for her—or she's really desperate." He stilled his thoughts for a moment, then called to her.

  Owl! Her response was immediate. Thank God. I wasn't sure how to attract your attention. Kerigden's been ensorcelled; he's trapped in himself. Can you come?

  To the Windbringer's Temple?

  Her assent was wordless and carried with it a full measure of her distress and anxiety.

  I'm on my way, he told her. Then, he reached for Cithanekh's hand. "I must go to the Temple District. Should I take Rhan or Cezhar?"

  "You can't wait for Lynx to return?" Cithanekh asked anxiously.

  "I dare not. I have a terrible feeling I know what they did with all the power they raised: Arre says Kerigden is ensorcelled. Have Lynx join me when she's finished with Donkey."

  "Can't you touch her mind? I would feel easier if she were with you."

  "I could; but I do not think I should interrupt her report—it feels wrong, somehow. She won't be long, Cithanekh. Just send her after me."

  Cithanekh rang the bell. "Send Cezhar in, will you please, Effryn. And when Lynx returns, tell her to join Owl and Cezhar at the Windbringer's Temple." He turned back to Owl, squeezed his hand gently. "I wish I could go with you. Be careful."

  "Yes." Owl got to his feet as Cezhar hurried in. "Let's go."

  ***

  Lynx watched the face of the Emperor's spymaster as she gave her report. Very little expression showed, but Lynx knew Thantor was absorbing every detail and nuance of her experience. When she finished there was a short silence.

  "Did you expect such discoveries, Lynx?" Thantor asked her.

  "Not at first. There was something, though—I told Cezhar. Though I do not have a gift as powerful as Owl's, I have no small skill at the mindwork, and there was a good deal of unease surrounding this moon-dark ritual. I began to fear something of the sort. It seemed to me that if the inner circle of the Dark Lady's worshipers was troubled, it might be that the Bone King's followers were using her Temple. I needed to see Thyzhecci, both for Owl, you understand—to pass her image mind to mind—and to see whether I could ascertain whether or not she had been replaced by one of the Bone King's Adepts. I thought, also, there might be other faces, other players we should know about."

  Thantor scrutinized her before he said quietly, "And you didn't see fit to tell me what you planned?"

  She shrugged. "If we had been caught, I thought it would be better if the Emperor had no knowledge of our activities. I thought that Cezhar agreed with my reasoning, but perhaps I misunderstood. Have I erred? Did you already know of the matter? Have I put us all at risk?"

  "I did not know," Thantor told her. "But I think you have indeed put yourself and Marhysse at no small risk."

  She hunched one shoulder. "Risk is a bodyguard's lot, surely."

  Thantor got to his feet and moved to the window. He rested his forearms on the stone sill as he looked down at the Imperial Guards sparring in the practice court. "I do not think you understand, Lynx, that the Emperor does not believe people are expendable. It is one of the reasons I serve him. I don't mean that he's naïve. Khethyran knows that some of us will die in his service; but he is not reconciled to that loss." He turned back to Lynx, his inscrutable eyes catching the troubled shadow in her expression. "It is incomprehensible to you?"

  She shrugged again. "I have never known power to be so lightly armored. How can he rule—the Emperor—if he is unwilling to risk his people?"

  "We risk ourselves," Thantor said very gently, "because we love him."

  "And he loves you enough to permit you to do what you must. Like Cithanekh and Owl." She shivered suddenly as Thantor nodded. "Bharaghlaf is a strange place. Do you really believe that love and loyalty can triumph over ruthlessness and power?"

  "I do not know," the spymaster told her frankly. "I think even the gods dare not guess at that answer."

  Silence fell between them. After a moment, Thantor sighed. "Mouse must be told."

  "Owl said he would tell her. Where will we find her?"

  "At the Free School, almost certainly. I can have her sent to Owl's rooms."

  "No. He will want to go to her. Where is the Free School?"

  He gave her directions but as she turned to go, he reached out and touched her shoulder. "Are there other faces you need, Lynx? Could you take them from my mind?"

  "There are and I could," she said softly. "But were I Hassythe's creature, do you realize how I could use such trust?"

  "I haven't any mind gifts. If you were one of Hassythe's allies, you could simply take what you want."

  "True enough. But with your consent…I could twist you up inside so thoroughly that you would no longer even recognize yourself."

  "Are you telling me not to trust you?"

  "I am warning you," she said fiercely, "not to trust too easily."

  He smiled, a curiously sweet expression that made him look suddenly much younger. "I don't trust easily, Lynx, but I trust you. Take what you need."

  She clasped his hand and touched his memories. Though Lynx had been prepared for an orderly mind, the structure and clarity of Thantor's memories were startling. Another anomaly struck her: there was no fear. Thantor was neither Mage- nor Sight-Gifted; there was no latent ability hidden in the nearly crystalline structure of his thoughts, but neither was he frightened by Lynx's presence in his mind. He was aware of her—she could tell—and he would know what memories she touched; but she could find not even the hint of unease. She wondered what had shaped his mind to such control, and such order. As though he sensed the direction of her musing, a memory presented itself: children, slightly familiar; a boy with quick, darting eyes and a ready smile—Effryn, she realized. He was looking back over his shoulder at Thantor. "I dinna understand, Donkey," he was saying, half-laughing, "why you pretend to be so slow. Ol' Arkhyd would send you on errands if you just looked more lively."

  "I like to watch," Donkey said placidly, " and remember."

>   Lynx set the memory aside as she sifted through the orderly collection of names and faces, finding what she needed: the candidates for the Admiralty; the principals and their subordinates in each of the three Temples; the entire Council of Advice; the Queen's attendants. She stopped there, realizing that without Thantor's formidable organization, she would not be able to keep everyone straight. She drew her mind away from his, to find his eyes fixed on her face.

  "Did you find what you needed?" he asked her.

  "For now," she replied. "I haven't your gift for remembering. I will get the faces and names confused if I am not careful."

  Thantor smiled faintly. "You can ask again, if you have need."

  "Thank you," she said as she bowed and took her leave.

  ***

  As Owl and Cezhar were shown into Kerigden's chamber, Arre looked up with relief. "Owl. Thank the God you’re here."

  Owl moved unerringly toward where she knelt beside the bed. "Hello Arre, Kerigden." He reached out and Arre guided his hand to one of Kerigden's, folded on the coverlet, and laid her own over both. Kerigden, he repeated soundlessly. He could feel Arre's mental presence, faint and familiar, with him.

  Owl. The Windbringer Priest's mind touch was far weaker than usual. Can you See what holds me prisoner?

  The question triggered his Gift. Images swirled through their linked minds like blown leaves: the child on the altar; Thyzhecci, robed for the sacrifice; a woman in gray—the goddess Talyene, he realized, from Kerigden's shock of recognition—dicing with a figure robed and hooded in crimson; Mouse, weeping; the cage of brambles with its gleaming contents; Lynx and Marhysse, back to back within a rough circle of opponents; a knife with a black gem in its pommel and a pattern of brambles etched on its blade; Rhydev Azhere pouring wine into a goblet, a faint smile on his lips; the black signet ring spinning on its chain; and the woman, Hassythe, half-hidden behind a heavy brocade curtain, watching with narrowed eyes.