Path of Honor

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Reisil barely heard the almost nonsensical introductions as she watched the sorcerers float up the steps and through the wide doorway of the Great Hall, two feet above the floor. There was an audible gasp, and then Reisil felt a wave of magic wash over her, filling her mouth and ears, squeezing her lungs and pressing her flat. She coughed, struggling for breath. All about her, the entire assembly wilted beneath the onslaught, clinging together, coughing and gasping.

  The sorcerers floated along indifferently, approaching the royal dais. Those waiting for them remained unaffected by the Scallacians’ spell.

  Reisil’s vision dimmed, and her chest ached. Beside her, Juhrnus gagged, grabbing at the draperies as he sagged to the floor. Esper made a hissing sound, and Saljane shrieked. Fury flamed inside Reisil. She snatched at her power.

  It was gone, leaving her as barren as if it had never been.

  Not now! She tried again, but nothing. Her fingers curled into claws, and black smudges dimmed her vision.

  Wrath. Frenzy. Brutality. Blood-hunger.

  The presence from the bluffs. Reisil recoiled, feeling her bones shifting against one another as if she were being twisted and pulled like a rag doll. Suddenly her power roared up in answer to the ferocious assault. Raw and hot, it burst from her like a thunderclap, shattering the sorcerers’ net. She ripped at it with invisible hands, driven by fury and pain.

  Reisil’s wild magic crashed against the sorcerers’ shields. The Scallacians dropped to the floor, staggering. With practiced calm, they gathered themselves, looking neither to the left or the right as they marched toward the dais as if nothing had happened.

  Reisil sobbed for air, the pressure on her lungs easing. Her magic crackled in her hair and along her skin. She reined it back, but dared not let go of it. What if it failed to come again? She felt the pressure of it beginning to build inside her, pressing against her eyes, making her teeth and bones ache. Reisil clenched her shaking hands.

  “What—?” The rest of the sentence was lost as Juhrnus began to cough. He caught his breath. “What was that?”

  “That was the sorcerers telling us they are not our friends. Inviting them here was a mistake.”

  She pushed past Juhrnus, her attention caught by a knot of people forming near the far end of the room, far from the royal dais. Reisil strode through the nobles, brushing them aside. A woman had collapsed. Reisil could sense the old woman’s heart stuttering, her life fleeing away. Reisil knelt down beside the stricken woman. Juhrnus settled beside her. Her blood roared in her ears, and her hands trembled as she set them on the woman’s chest. Her power flared. With it came the presence. It crashed into Reisil’s mind with all the force of a stampeding herd of horses.

  For a moment she was helpless. Then she felt Saljane’s mind surge up like a spear. The presence faltered in its onslaught, and it was enough for Reisil to slam shut her mental barriers.

  ~What was that? Saljane sounded strained.

  ~I don’t know. Nor did she have time to consider. The woman was dying.

  Before she could lose her nerve and with it her magic, Reisil settled her hands back down on the woman’s chest. Magic flowed steadily, contained by their shared minds. Soon the woman’s breathing deepened, her blood flowing more quickly as her damaged heart grew whole.

  When Reisil stood up, the people around her parted, their faces suspicious and accusing. As she walked away, a cloud of mutterings rose in her wake.

  “You can do that for her, but what about my Deintra?”

  “Thought your power was all dried up. Picking and choosing, are you?”

  “. . . demonspawn . . .”

  Reisil’s steps stuttered, and then she continued, arm tensing as Juhrnus grasped her elbow with a steadying hand. Even if she knew who had spoken, nothing she could say would change their minds. Sodur had seen to that.

  “Having a look at your handiwork?” she asked Sodur, who had come to meet them.

  “What was that about?”

  Juhrnus spoke first, his voice hard. “Your sorcerers tried to kill us all. Part of your plan?”

  Sodur looked sharply at Reisil. She stared back, uncowed.

  “This is necessary,” he said. “They can help us.”

  “Funny sort of help,” Juhrnus retorted acidly.

  “They don’t respect weakness. They were testing us. You put them in their place easily enough. Now let’s go. I want you to meet them.”

  Reisil put a hand on Sodur’s arm as he would have walked away. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t easy at all. I nearly couldn’t do it. If—” She broke off. “You cannot depend on me to keep Kodu Riik safe from your sorcerers.”

  Something in her voice made the color bleed from Sodur’s cheeks. He gripped her elbow. “You can’t go. Not now, not yet. You’re right. They aren’t our friends, which makes your presence more vital than before. And you did break their spell. They’ll be cautious now. Go away, and they’ll certainly try again. If you stay—they aren’t our friends, but they can be bought. They still might be the answer to the plague. But not if you leave.” His grasp tightened, his voice dropping. “You can’t go find the wizards yet. Not while the sorcerers are in Kodu Riik. You’ll doom us all if you do.”

  Reisil yanked her arm away. How dare he invite them here and make her responsible for them! It was his fault, his choices and his secrets. Not hers.

  ~But we must protect Kodu Riik.

  Saljane sounded as angry as Reisil felt, her voice sere and cold.

  ~Is this the way? We can’t make them help. We can’t make them find a cure. All they have to do is drag their heels, and the plague does their work for them. I should find the wizards, now, while there’s still time.

  ~But what if Sodur is right?

  Reisil’s lips pinched together. It was an argument she couldn’t gainsay. Not yet. But it wouldn’t be long before the whole city was under siege by the plague, and if the Scallacians didn’t help soon, she would go hunting for the wizards on her own.

  She nodded and then followed after Sodur to the royal dais, Juhrnus at her side. Sodur guided them around to the back of the dais to stand behind the Lord Marshal, the Verit, the Vertina. The Castelain was introducing the sorcerers to the nobility in a stately, sonorous voice. The two male sorcerers nodded disdainfully at each introduction. The woman hardly noticed the presentations.

  Reisil waited, shifting from foot to foot. The introductions concluded, and the Castelain bowed and retreated. The Verit drew a breath and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Sodur stepped forward, bowing low.

  “My apologies, Daz. But I would plead two more introductions.” The Verit’s eyes narrowed, but he smiled graciously.

  “Of course. We would not wish to slight anyone.”

  Sodur waved Reisil and Juhrnus forward. They complied, though Reisil could not erase the stony expression from her face.

  “These are two of our finest young ahalad-kaaslane, Reisiltark and Juhrnus. Juhrnus will be serving as your aide and liaison, to help you with whatever you need during your sojourn in Kodu Riik. We have given him quarters near yours for your convenience. Reisiltark will be able to assist you in understanding the plague.”

  As he made this introduction, Reisil studied the sorcerers. They were of a height and only an inch or so taller than she. Their dark eyes were lined with thick kohl, and their lips gleamed scarlet, giving them a sensual, exotic appearance, though Reisil felt only repugnance. Their robes were sleeveless, and their arms were bare, showing darkly tanned skin swathed in a delicate net of finely wrought chains, flashing with tiny charms in all sorts of shapes and sizes. These finely-netted chain sleeves draped across their hands and attached to carved rings circling the first knuckle on each of their fingers. Beneath their robes, the chain undergarments stretched down to the ground, visible beneath the slightly shorter length of the colorful fabric. Their feet were shod in thin-soled, strappy sandals, also decorated with a jingling array of charms. A snood matching the undergarments draped each o
f their pale heads, ending just above their pale eyebrows and sweeping down over their shoulders to fasten across the chest. As on the undergarment and sandals, charms flashed and gleamed along the crisscrossing lengths and jingled along its edges.

  Sodur announced their names and titles, the alien words rolling off his tongue as if he’d known them all his life, as if he knew what they meant.

  “May I present Menegal-Hakar, Jebak of the Berjudi, honored Pewaris of His Supreme Greatness, Tengkorak-Gadai, Suzaerain of Scallas.”

  The first sorcerer tipped his head. He was a lean man with bony features and hard muscles roping his thin arms. Reisil returned the bow in equal depth, taking satisfaction in the slight flare of his nostrils.

  “At his side stands Waiyhu-Waris, Oljebak of the Berjudi, honored Musnah of His Supreme Greatness, Tengkorak-Gadai, Suzaerain of Scallas.”

  His bow was even more shallow than the first, and Reisil mirrored it exactly. This sorcerer was slightly younger than the first, though his face was wider, his features more coarse. A ring of silver pierced his left nostril and from it dangled more charms. The muscles of his arms were thick and meaty, reminding Reisil of a stevedore. She wouldn’t like to encounter him in a dark alley. Not that he needed a dark alley. Not that any of them did.

  “And finally, this is Kedisan-Mutira, Emak of the Endul, favored penabidan of Jebak Menegal-Hakar and Oljebak Waiyhu-Waris.”

  “Abi,” Menegal-Hakar added in a slow, scornful tone.

  Reisil turned at last to the sorceress. As their eyes met, Reisil’s skin prickled. Whatever menace the men represented from Scallas, this woman radiated a threat that licked Reisil’s skin with a hungry tongue, standing every hair of her body on end. Like a wolf among the sheep.

  “It is my honor to meet you,” the sorceress said in a husky voice, bowing from the waist, never taking her eyes from Reisil.

  Reisil took Saljane onto her fist to return the bow, drawing Saljane into her mind as she summoned her magic. She straightened slowly, examining the other woman closely.

  The sorceress was dressed in similar garments to the men, though the colors were variations on scarlet and purple. Blood and bruises, Reisil’s mind suggested, and her mouth went dry even as sweat sprang up all over her body. The sorceress wore a similar chain undergarment, and in addition, she wore delicate silver cuffs around her wrists and neck: narrow flat bands engraved with lovely, filligree patterns.

  Before Reisil’s heartbeat slowed again, the dinner gong sounded, and everyone around her began lining up for the processional into the Dining Hall. Watching the Scallacians, Reisil remembered with stark vividness seeing them together on the deck of their ship. The division between the sorceress and her companions, a crevice like an inverted mountain. As she watched them now, she could see it again. And more. The two men had no sense of what hid within their companion.

  ~I don’t like this.

  ~She is the great lizard that hides itself in shallows and snatches its prey as it comes to drink, Saljane replied ominously.

  ~They brought their own war, and I fear Kodu Riik is going to be their battlefield. What has Sodur invited into Kodu Riik?

  Turning, she found Juhrnus waiting beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  Reisil shook her head. “I wish I knew. But heed what Sodur said—get close to them and soon. Especially her. There’s something brewing between them. Something very dangerous. We have to know what it is. We have to know now.”

  Chapter 23

  The ivy on Reisil’s face had begun to glow, and a wash of red filled her eyes. The Lady’s beacon.

  Without a word, Juhrnus plunged away into the crowd. He reached the place where the lines had begun to take shape, the Verit at the head of one, escorting his sister, the Lord Marshal at the head of the other, escorting a dowager crusted in jewels. Behind each came one of the sorcerers accompanied by high-ranking noblewomen, and third in the Verit’s line came the sorceress accompanied by Kijal Deviik. Juhrnus paused, scowling.

  “Something wrong?”

  Juhrnus started, finding Metyein cas Vare beside him. “I need to sit with the sorceress,” he said without explanation. Metyein didn’t ask for one.

  “All right. Follow me. Be ready.” He strode away, and Juhrnus hurried after.

  ~Be ready for what? What’s he up to?

  ~What he does well.

  Juhrnus slowed, turning his head to meet Esper’s yellow eyes. The sisalik sometimes seemed to have a grasp of the court that Juhrnus could hardly begin to fathom.

  ~Watch him, Esper warned.

  Metyein had approached Kijal Deviik. He spoke quietly against the older man’s ear. His expression was bland, but something in what he said made the Kijal’s face darken. He turned and spoke a moment to the sorceress, then hurried away with Metyein.

  Juhrnus wasted no time wondering what Metyein had said to draw the Kijal off. Instead he slid casually into the Kijal’s vacated place, ignoring Sodur, who stood in the opposite line beside another ahalad-kaaslane.

  “Your pardon, Dajam. You seem to have been abandoned. Would you allow me to escort you instead?”

  The sorceress cast him a hooded glance. “If you wish.” Juhrnus bowed as he lifted his elbow for her hand. He fidgeted in the silence that descended between them. It was rude to say nothing, but he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot.

  “How do you find Kodu Riik so far?” Jurhnus asked at last, wincing at the inanity of the question. “It is not always this cold or stormy,” he went on as a thundering wind rattled the windows. “We’ve had a delayed spring.”

  “I see.”

  “I know it’s much colder here than Scallas. The palace rooms can be drafty. I hope you are not uncomfortable.”

  “No. It is . . . fine. Very fine.”

  “Good.” His ears felt hot, and he was glad the procession had begun to move. “Anyway, the spring will be here soon. It should warm up then.”

  “Pity.”>

  They soon arrived at their seats beneath the baldaquin on the raised dais at the head of the room. The tables were swathed with fine white silks sparkling with gem beads and decorated with ethereal carvings of ice. Spun-sugar fairies in rainbow colors cavorted on the ice, while inside sparkled delicately wrought ornaments of silver and gold.

  As everyone sat, the Surveyor of Ceremonies rose and made the traditional welcome, and then presented the salt to the Verit in an elaborate stone crock carved in the shape of a gryphon. Then the Laverer was summoned with a ringing gong to wash each guest’s hands. Watching the sorceress wash her hands, Juhrnus noticed for the first time that beneath the chains and rings, her fingers were callused and scarred as if from heavy work. She caught him looking. She flexed her fingers, turning her hands over and examining them meticulously.

  “One, two, three, four, five,” she counted, ticking off each finger. “None extra that I can see. No warts, no growths. What do you see that puts that look on your face?” she said, fixing Juhrnus with the full force of her stare.

  He felt it like a blow to his midsection, and the breath whooshed out of him in a gust. Seconds ticked past. Finally he drew a thin breath into his flattened lungs. “I see—”

  “What?” She sounded curious rather than angry.

  “Danger,” he answered, and then instantly wished the word back.

  But she only nodded. “Is that all?”

  Juhrnus shook his head.

  “What else?” Her voice had turned gentle, cajoling. It slid up his spine like red-polished fingernails. He felt himself harden, his loins aching with sudden lust. Is this a spell? He didn’t know. Didn’t care.

  He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, confess his lust, he remembered Reisil’s face, the flare of gold on her face, the crimson filling her eyes. His body went cold, and his hunger for the sorceress evaporated.

  “Danger and mystery,” he said finally. The sorceress eyed him, one eyebrow arching up. Then she turned away to speak
to the Basham sitting on her other side.

  ~What did she do to me?

  ~Nothing. I would have felt it. But a haze of worry accompanied Esper’s thoughts.

  ~What is it?

  Esper hesitated.

  ~Tell me. There was more impatience in Juhrnus’s mindvoice than he intended.

  ~She touched you. Deeply.

  Juhrnus frowned. ~I don’t understand.

  ~It was—I don’t know how to say it. The haze of apprehension thickened, and Esper squeezed his claws tight.

  Juhrnus winced and stroked Esper’s head with his free hand. ~Try. It’s all right.

  ~She—

  Juhrnus had a sense of Esper drawing a deep mental breath, trying to find words for something he had no words for.

  ~There is something—a thread—between you, connecting you. Esper sounded frightened and forlorn.

  ~A thread? But you said she didn’t use magic.

  ~She did not. This is . . . This is something else.

  Juhrnus fell silent, his brows furrowed. Absently he rubbed at his chest, as if to find a fisherman’s line hooking into his flesh. If not a spell, then what? His jaw hardened. If she thought to use him, to control him somehow, she would be severely disappointed. Whatever was going on, he was warned. She would not take him unawares.

  “Did you hear me? Or are you unwell?”

  Juhrnus stared uncomprehendingly at the sorceress.

  “Are you unwell?” she repeated.

  “What do you mean?” Juhrnus asked thickly.

  She looked away without answering, and Juhrnus straightened in his chair. He needed to get ahold of himself. But before he could find a way to again engage her in conversation, the Surveyor of Ceremonies struck the gong again, summoning the Cupbearer to test the wine. He approached the long serving table. He drank a glass from each barrel, after which, the moonfaced young man paused for a full minute as if waiting for the fatal clench of poison around his innards. When he’d completed the wine, he moved on to the ale and cider. Next came the liqueurs, and before long, he’d begun to weave and stagger. The watching crowd laughed as he bumbled and lurched and was eventually led away. Next came the Verit’s blessing and welcome, and then began the food and entertainment.