Command me, man of the Naar. Affirm the two are one.
I hesitated—so close, so very close to saying it—then shouted out loud, startling the nearest Miisheli into dropping his sword on his own foot, "No! I will not command! I will not affirm! The prophecy remains unfulfilled!"
There was a long silence, while the Miishelu looked at me and then at each other, and snickered and tapped their helmets knowingly at my obvious madness, except for the one who was cursing me for his sore foot.
Then: you will command me when the time comes. The two are one, Scion.
And the Lady was silent again.
* * *
36
THE TROOPERS TIED my hands and Shree's behind our backs, but left Verolef in Calla's arms. We were led back through the kitchen, past a pale and frightened Vianna, and out to the courtyard, which was no longer empty. Han-Frath Zimin was there with another half-dozen of the Frath's Guard, the rest of those who had been allowed to remain in the Sacellum. The windows of the Daughters' and servants' dormitories were lined with curious faces. Zimin took custody of the four of us and marched us smartly upstairs to the Frath Major's quarters, the door of which was opened by the Frath Major himself.
He did not look angry; on the contrary, he looked vastly pleased. He was fully dressed despite the hour, including light ceremonial armour and a courtcap, and he greeted me with the kind of fervour usually reserved for a long-lost debtor. As I came through the door, he reached up and sprinkled a handful of green powder on my head, then stood back with a gloating expression on his face.
His was a proper chamber rather than a cell, with carpets on the floor and enough room at one end for a circle of velvet-seated chairs around a polished wooden table. The table held an ornate rock-crystal wine service which I recognized as the very cream of Crosthic artistry; the amphora in the corner bore the mark of the best of the Calloonic vineyards, and an exceptionally fine year.
"Come and sit down, Tigrallef, and you also, Lady Carrinay—that is your name, is it not? Perhaps you would like to lay the child down?" He ignored Shree, while all three of us ignored him. Calla tightened her arms around Verolef and stared coldly into the middle distance. The Frath Major sighed.
"I hope you will not be difficult, Tigrallef. I think you must know why you're here. Do not play at ignorance, or you will anger me."
"You know," I remarked to Calla and Shree, "this is really interesting. It's not the first time I've met someone who wants the world under his heel, and I'm starting to notice consistencies in the behaviour."
"Scion, Scion," the Frath chided me. He put on a friendly smile. "Perhaps you do not understand your position."
I decided to notice him. "Perhaps you don't." There was a minor ripple from the Lady at that point, and I had to bite my lip to control it, which the Frath Major saw with satisfaction and probably misinterpreted.
"Do not fear me, Tigrallef," he said gently. "You will come to no harm—you will come to share with me in the exercise of unbounded power. Can you not see how it will be?"
"Actually," I said, "I was thinking how generous of you to want to share."
His face darkened, but before he could answer, the door crashed wide open and Rinn swept in. She looked like she'd come directly from her bed—that is, she was gloriously dishevelled and stark naked under a thin linen robe. She stomped over to the Frath Major, livid with fury, and shrieked at him in Miisheli. She paid no attention to the rest of us.
"How dare you! How dare you! At this time of night—to have me rousted from my bed like a serving slut, to have me sent for—how dare you! Even you! How dare you summon me?"
The Frath Major dug his fingers into the multicoloured mass of curls on top of her head and shook her until she shut up. This process took some time and was not unlively. Finally, when she'd passed from fury through hysteria and into a less noisy state of shock, he pulled her head towards him until they were nose to nose.
He said, "Thank you for coming to see me, my dear cousin. I thought you would like to know that your bridegroom tried to flee Vassashinay tonight, without you."
Rinn's jaw dropped. Then it snapped shut again. I thought for a moment she was going to lunge forwards and bite the Frath on the nose but instead she swung her whole head, Frath's hand and all, to glare at me. Her cat's-eyes were enormous with rage. They shifted to Calla for a cold few seconds, dismissed her as unworthy even of contempt, in her unglamorous tunic with Verolef dribbling down her shoulder, and returned to me.
"You would have left me? Me?" Her voice started as a sort of animal screech, and rose rapidly from there. "I am Rinn of Miishel—no man leaves me. No man! How dare you? How—"
The Frath started shaking her again, which had the welcome effect of absorbing her attention. Then he marched her over to one of the chairs and set her firmly down into it. She glared up at him.
"You failed me, lovely cousin," he murmured. "That has displeased me. Now you must close your mouth and be very good and quiet, and I may decide not to have you killed. For a little while, anyway. I want you here to see what is going to happen, so that you may be the first to learn to fear me." He paused. "Do you think I did not know what you were plotting?"
She opened her mouth, then seemed to be thinking deeply and shut it again. Improbably, I felt sorry for her. It occurred to me that she had not chosen to be a monster.
The Frath Major hung over her for a few moments, perhaps savouring this foretaste of power. Then he turned back to me, and his eyes were very cold and bright. "Now, Tigrallef, good friend and cousin," he began—which was the moment when the next visitor chose to arrive. An imperious knocking sounded on the door. The Frath Major gritted his teeth and motioned to Zimin to answer it. The look he gave me was almost apologetic: so sorry, cousin, such tiresome interruptions, but fear not, we shall come to our business soon enough.
Valsoria entered, followed by the two red surplices and an elderly serving woman. The Divinatrix looked no happier than Rinn had, but her presence was much more dignified and impressive. She marched directly to confront the Frath Major, and despite the difference in their sizes, the confrontation looked fairly well balanced.
She spoke in clipped, angry Miisheli. "The Daughter Carrinay and the Kalkissann, her son, were not part of our bargain."
"Madam—"
"You will surrender them to me, now. The Gilman is no business of mine, but the woman and child belong to the service of the blessed fire-gods, may they be exalted. Give them to me."
She was a stern and resolute little figure, but I wouldn't have thought this had much bearing on the Frath's decision. I don't believe he knew anything about Calla and Verolef in the first place, hadn't reckoned on bagging them, and didn't quite know what to do with them now that he had them. He hesitated, then looked to me with a kindly smile.
"Tigrallef, what is this Carrinay to you?"
"A compatriot," I said without hesitation, not looking at Calla. "A Gilwoman by birth, who had a yearning to see her native shores again. I told her she could travel with us."
"And the child?"
"Her son. Surely you wouldn't expect her to leave her son behind, great Frath."
He broadened his smile and reached over to pat Verolef's sleeping head. "Quite so, quite so." Calla glared at him. I knew the Frath did not believe me, but for some reason he was very sure of himself—it seemed to me that whatever he had in mind could be done without resorting to Calla. Uneasily, I wondered what he knew, or had, that made him so damnably confident.
With a gesture of great respect, so great that it became a form of mockery, he bowed to the Divinatrix. "I recognize your claim to the woman and child, priestess; take them. Believe me, I had no intention of overstepping the bargain we made." He motioned to the troopers standing almost on Calla's heels, and they moved away from her at once.
Calla stood for a few moments as if unsure whether she were free to go, smoothing the sleeping child's hair with trembling fingers. Talking fingers. Tig? I can't leave you.
I can't leave you.
My hands were tied, but I tried to make my eyes speak for me, and repeated the words inside my head. Yes you can. Think of Verolef. Go quickly, before the Frath changes his mind.
Calla's face went grey; her fingers moved. I'll go.
That was all the time we were allowed before Valsoria took Calla protectively by the elbow and impelled her towards the door. "Go with Lorosa, Carrinay, my poor child. There is blood—are you injured? Praise to the blessed fire-gods, may they feed for ever, that the precious Kalkissann is unhurt! Oh, Carrinay, what madness possessed you? Lorosa, make sure you send for the poultices and enough hot water for Carrinay to bathe, and a fresh set of robes for her as well. Go now."
And so, apparently in the hands of friends, Calla was led away. I prayed she'd have the good sense not to look back at me, and she walked out without turning her head. When she was gone, I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever was going to happen inside this room, she would not be part of it, and neither would Verolef, and for that I could have swept the little Divinatrix up in my arms and covered her with grateful kisses, except for two things. One, my hands were still tied behind me. Two, the small space in the back of my mind that was inhabited by the Lady in Gil, and yet was still a part of me, was throbbing with cold mistrust.
And with fear.
The mistrust may have been habitual, but I could not understand the fear. What could the Lady in Gil, all-knowing and all-too-powerful, possibly have to fear from Valsoria, that short milcher, Valsoria who had only just removed my woman and child from a position of terrible menace? I did not have time to ponder this, and anyway the next few minutes wiped my gratitude away.
As soon as the door closed behind Calla, the Divinatrix turned back to the Frath Major. Her face had gone cold again. "There is another matter."
The Frath was having trouble restraining his impatience. "What is it, priestess?"
She swung her icy gaze to Shree, tilting her head back to survey his face. Then she looked around for the elderly servant who had entered with her, finding the old woman cowering behind the remaining red surplice. "Come forward, Hava—quickly, my dear, nobody is going to harm you. Is this the man?" She pointed to Shree.
Hava ducked her head. Yes.
"Are you sure, Hava?"
Yes again.
Valsoria crossed her arms on her narrow chest. "Very good. You have done well, and I will not forget that. And now you may go back to your bed."
I traded puzzled glances with Shree while the old servant virtually galloped out of the room. Hava was the charring-woman we had talked to in the corridor the previous afternoon, the one who had answered our questions about the staircase and the tower, and I suddenly remembered the strange way her eyes had followed Shree as we were leaving her. But, I thought, Shree had done nothing to her! He had spoken a few words in her hearing, and that was all. With a sick feeling in my heart, I wondered if that was too much.
"Frath Major," the Divinatrix said firmly, "you must give me that man as well."
"Why?" The Frath had moved over to the table and was pouring out generous beakers of the Calloonic wine, one of which he held out to Valsoria.
She waved it away. "He is not a Gilman, Frath Major. He is a Sherkin warlord. Give him to me."
"A Sherkin warlord, indeed? And what makes you think that?" The Frath sipped from his beaker.
"I know it to be so. Hava was serving-woman to a Daughter who was carried across the sea to Sher some years ago, to go whoring in the warcourt. The Daughter never came home, alas, but Hava did, a year before the warcourt became a playground for the fishes, and she is ready to swear—indeed, she has already sworn in the presence of the blessed fire-gods, exalt and feed them—that she recognized this man Selki as one who was a highly placed warlord in the Upper Peerage of Iklankish. Give him to me."
Shree was standing stiffly at attention, watching me. He was obviously learning to recognize the change that came over my face when the golden mist began to form inside my eyes. He had seen it often enough, and he was seeing it now.
"No, Tigrallef," he said quietly. "Don't do it. Keep hold, Tig, keep hold."
At the Frath Major's sign, one of the troopers stationed near Shree stepped forwards and drove his mailed fist into Shree's midsection with sickening force. Shree managed to remain on his feet, though a fine sheen of sweat broke out of his upper lip. A stream of fresh blood welled out of the wound on his chest. The Frath Major moved his hand again and the trooper behind Shree shoved him hard enough to push him off balance. He fell on to one knee, then staggered stubbornly to his feet again. The trooper took him roughly by the crook of his elbow and pulled him forwards.
"He is yours, priestess," said the Frath Major graciously, "and also I abase myself with apologies. Believe me, did I have even the faintest idea that this man was a Sherkin, he would not have set his cursed and filthy foot upon my ship."
"Then it is just as well you did not know." Valsoria viewed Shree with a half-smile on her face. "The blessed fire-gods, praise them, will be glad of the fresh meat. They thank you and I thank you, and now I will leave you to your own business."
She turned to the door. The trooper followed, pushing Shree along ahead of him. I was choked with fear for him. The golden motes gathered; the floor, almost imperceptibly at first, began to vibrate. Valsoria paused with a dreamy look on her face as if savouring the tremor. On the table, the Crosthic crystal wine service crumbled into glittering dust. The air was suddenly heavy with the sharp fragrance of wine. Shree dug his heels in, slewed around and broke from his guard and managed to topple against me.
"No, Tig! Keep hold! Keep hold!"
He was still shouting as they dragged him through the door. As for me, my lip was bleeding where I had bitten it through.
No matter—I knew that it would be whole again in a few minutes.
Valsoria nodded curtly to the Frath Major and followed Shree out, trailed by her retainer. At a sign from the Frath, the remaining troopers also went out. This left only Rinn, Han-Frath Zimin, the Frath Major and myself in the room. Of the four of us, only the Frath Major looked happy.
"At last, Scion! I thought the old trollop would never leave. Now where were we?"
* * *
37
THE FRATH MAJOR walked all the way around me and surveyed me from every angle. He produced a little vial from his pocket and shook some more of that pungent green powder on to my head. He looked intolerably smug. I sneezed.
"You must know," said the Frath, "that you can still save the miserable life of that Sherkin fliis if you follow the rules I set down for you. And get back that Gilwoman if you prefer her to my charming cousin. Or you can have them both, and a thousand others, ten thousand—all the world will be slave to you."
"Except yourself, I imagine. You know, I went through something like this with the Sherank. And I won."
He dipped his finger in the vial and used it to draw something on my forehead. When he stepped back to admire the effect, I felt a cold watchful stirring in the Lady's nest. Han-Frath Zimin, possibly seeing a reflection of this in my eyes, came a pace closer and kept one hand on his sword. The Frath Major waved him back.
"No need, Zimin. Tigrallef, this dust is a small something that your colleague the Bequiin prepared for my use. Wake up, Ardin! The moment is at hand. You must pay attention."
From the corner of my eye, I saw motion in the corner where the Frath's pallet was placed and turned my head to look. At first I saw only a rumpled heap of bedlinen, as if the Frath had already used the pallet that night and had been roused from his sleep. Then there was a groan and the heap turned over; a scrawny arm came into view and was pulled back out of sight under the bedcover. The Frath Major strode to the pallet and jerked the blanket away.
"Wake up, my old friend. Think of posterity. Think of the scholars of the Great Nameless Last who will read the annals of this time and bless your name. Surely your fingers are itching for a pen."
Slowly, painfull
y, the old man on the pallet raised himself to a sitting position and swung his legs to the floor. It was indeed the Bequiin Ardin, and somebody had used him cruelly since I last saw him. The purple bruise over his eye had been spread all across his face, his nose was broken and bloodied, the grey robe was stiff with dried blood. He cried out weakly when the Frath Major grabbed his robe and hauled him to his feet.
"This moment . . . in history . . ." Ardin gasped, "would be better left . . . unrecorded."
The Frath grimaced and slammed him hard against the wall, then took hold of him again and dragged him to the table and threw him into the chair beside Rinn's. Rinn recoiled from the Bequiin's smell, which reached me a second later—a stink compounded of sweat, blood, vomit and fear. I watched him with pity and horror, but he refused to meet my gaze until the Frath Major took him by the chin and forced him to do so. I have never, neither before nor since, seen such sadness and defeat in a pair of human eyes.
"He has too much shame to look at you, Tigrallef. And he has too much fear to look at me. Ardin, you should not have tried to cross me—you know how I hate it when my creatures forget their master. Remember what became of Han-Frath Mollis? Transh of Siimin? Remember the Tower Fraternity last year, and the Ring-of-Blood Conspiracy the year before that? Do you remember what happened to them?"
Ardin nodded with difficulty, because the Frath was still gripping his chin. I waited, almost with resignation, for the Lady to react to my twin bursts of loathing for the Frath and compassion for the Bequiin—nothing happened but the whisper of a small, sullen voice trailing away into silence: command me. The Frath leaned menacingly over Ardin for a few seconds longer, then spat in his face and released him.
Gil Trilogy 2: Scion's Lady Page 28