The Glass of Dyskornis

by Randall Garrett

  The strangest thing about it was that she was somehow familiar, but I couldn’t quite touch the right memory …

  Gharlas! it came to me. He was tall, too, and his facial structure was similar—flatter cheekbones and less prominent supraorbital ridges. But that’s not the real similarity.

  Markasset felt almost exactly this way when Gharlas stared at him with that peculiar intensity. Thymas said that Tarani has the same kind of power. I believe him now.

  Thymas and Tarani stopped about two yards from us. Before Dharak or I could say anything, Tarani spoke in a low and vibrant voice that set my spine tingling.

  “I am pleased to be here to help celebrate your accession, Captain,” she said, “and I give you my thanks for sending my good friend Thymas to meet me, deliver the news, and escort me to your gates. In return for this gracious courtesy, may I offer you a small gift?”

  Dharak was gritting his teeth, and I sympathized with him. Thymas knew very well we wouldn’t air dirty linen in front of these outsiders by calling him down for not being at the ceremony. But if we didn’t contradict Tarani’s statement, the rest of the Sharith (at least, those who didn’t know Thymas very well) would assume that I had issued the escort orders, and punishment at a later date would confuse the issue.

  Very neat, Thymas, I thought. You haven’t said a word, so you are technically innocent of lying. She has called me “Captain,” but you haven’t.

  You don’t know it, but you’ve done me a big favor. It would have been tricky, awarding punishment to the Lieutenant’s son without seeming to be overly harsh or lenient. Dharak will hate me for this, but I’m going to let you get away with it. At least for now.

  “I would welcome a gift from you, Tarani,” I said. I could hear Dharak’s teeth gritting again.

  Thymas dropped his arm, and didn’t try to hide his smile of triumph. Tarani’s fece registered no emotion at all. She put her right hand into a hidden pocket of the robe and lifted her left hand high over her head, palm opened flat to the sky. She brought her right hand up and dropped something into the open palm.

  “Lonna, please deliver our gift to … the Captain.”

  Was that little hesitation a subtle gibe? I wondered. To tell me she knows the score, and is on Thymas’s side?

  The bird had taken flight when she lifted her hands. Its wingspan was surprisingly large. What I had thought to be an odd-looking tail had actually been the tips of its wings, folded over its back and crossed at the base of its tail.

  This was a species of bird Markasset had never seen. As a raven of Ricardo’s world was so black as to be iridescent in direct light, this bird was that white, almost silver. As we watched it fly upward, the sky’s glow was visible through the delicate edges of the wing feathers. Against the gray-white of the clouds, it nearly disappeared.

  It flew upward for a few seconds, turned, folded its wings back, and dived straight for Tarani. As it got closer, we could all see its head stretched for the least wind resistance, its sharp, downward-curved beak aimed for the girl’s hand. At the last possible moment, the wings spread, the dive leveled out, and the bird breezed across us. Tarani lowered her hand to show that it was empty, and I started to breathe again.

  That’s quite a show, I conceded. But if you think I’m going to give that sharp-nosed torpedo a target …

  It wasn’t necessary. The bird had pulled up its high-speed flight and was coming back toward us, its wings beating the air with unbelievable slowness. It flew right up to me and hovered at my chest level, watching me with a one-eyed stare that reminded me of its mistress, carrying something shiny gold in its beak.

  I realized what it wanted, and held out my hand. It dropped the gold thing into it, then returned to Tarani. Shola came close and Dharak, for all his irritation with Thymas, looked over her shoulder curiously.

  “It’s a bracelet,” I said, and held it up for them to see. I did admire it. It was a soft chain made up of golden links so fine that, with five links abreast, the bracelet was only half an inch wide.

  I was surprised to hear a derisive sound from Dharak. “Why, it’s nothing but a chain of mud-beads!” he said. Then, in a lower voice: “Thymas, you are behind this. How dare you arrange a public insult to Rikardon? You’ll—”

  At his first words, the bracelet had changed in my hands. It was, indeed, a string of tiny, brownish beads. But as I stared at it, I saw the glint of gold beneath them. I blinked.

  “Dharak,” I interrupted the Lieutenant. “You are forgetting who gave this gift.”

  Tarani looked at me, and this time, I found her gaze easier to bear. Slowly, she smiled. I swear, she out-dazzled the gold bracelet.

  “You have found the trick quickly, Captain.” She waved her hand. “Now see it truly.”

  Shola and Dharak oohed and ahed over the golden chain, Dharak less enthusiastically because of his accusation against Thymas.

  “How does it open?” Shola asked.

  “The clasp is hidden,” Tarani said. “May I show you?”

  “Please,” I answered, holding it out toward her. She came to me. Over her shoulder, I saw Thymas scowling.

  Tarani took the bracelet in long, tapered fingers, twisted the chain inside-out, and showed me the clever clasp mechanism. She opened it, then hesitated. I extended my left wrist, and she put the bracelet on it. For a moment, both her hands pressed the gold chain into the flesh of my arm.

  “May this gift bring you only good fortune, Captain,” she said, with a return of that queer intensity.

  “Thank you, Tarani. I am looking forward to the performance tonight. Perhaps, after it is over, you will join our table for some refreshment?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said. But she didn’t smile.

  Thymas hadn’t missed any of that. He flashed a look of pure hatred at me as he and Tarani turned toward the barracks.

  The caravan, part of it already a good way inside the gate, began moving again, but nobody was much interested in watching a bunch of vleks plod along. I turned the bracelet around my wrist and stared in that direction, thinking. I did notice that the vlek handler in the first position of the caravan was the biggest man I had ever seen. Not just tall, but massively wide. He could have wrestled a vineh and won.

  The crowd was scattering, the Riders going back to their duties, the children, free for the day, running after the troupe. Since only the Riders and their wives (or guests) would be present at the performance that evening, there would be a special daylight matinee for everyone else.

  The women were on their way back to their cook-stoves. Preparations had been going on all day for the banquet that was scheduled for three hours ahead.

  As soon as Shola had excused herself, and there was no one within earshot, Dharak started to fume again.

  “Let it go,” I pleaded. “Dharak, I want you to ask yourself something. Are you angry on my behalf, because of the insult to me, or because it was your son who caused it?” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Thymas is an adult, my friend. You are no longer responsible for his actions. He pulled a smooth trick today. It’s irritating, yes, but most of your people don’t understand what happened. Unless he flaunts it—and we both know he’s too smart to do that—it will remain a private itch, and nothing more.

  “Tomorrow I’ll be gone, and things will be back the way they were, except that Thymas will have more trouble getting support for his crazy schemes.” I grinned. “At least, I hope so. That’s what today was for, wasn’t it?”

  “It worked, too,” Dharak said, clamping down on his angry mood. “You made a deep impression on us, Rikardon. Can you doubt, now, that it was right?”

  “No,” I said, then changed the subject. “Tell me about Tarani.”

  “I don’t know much about her,” he said. We started walking back toward his house. “She and her troupe showed up here one day—two years ago, now, and it was a smaller group—and she has been returning regularly since then.”

  “Do you pay her well?”
<
br />   “Very well,” he said, without hesitation. “And she earns it. You will see, tonight.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “You’re thinking of Thymas? Does she come here because of him?” He shrugged. “That’s a possibility. Thymas believes it.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Thymas thinks she’ll stay, one of these days.”

  “Marriage?” I suggested. Dharak only chuckled at my astonished reaction. “How did this get started between them?”

  We had reached the house, and we settled down in armchairs which overlooked the opposite bank of the river. It was peaceful, with the sound of rushing water nearby and the conversation of sha’um in the distance.

  I really will be sad to leave, I thought.

  “It began the first time Tarani came here,” Dharak said. “The troupe stayed for a few days. Our people so seldom see outsiders, and the members of the company were very … obliging, except for Tarani. Thymas had just been accepted into the Riders. The red sash made him eager for new challenges and, well …” The Lieutenant sighed. “Everyone else thought of the troupe’s visit as a pleasant diversion. Thymas, of course, began immediately to make wedding plans.”

  She may have been his first girl, I was thinking. It’s a cinch he’s scared everyone else away, and because she sees only him while she’s here, he thinks she wants it that way.

  No wonder Thymas looked daggers at me this afternoon. Is an invitation to table taken to be an invitation to bed?

  Did I mean it that way?

  Dharak and I chatted away the rest of the daylight, then dressed for dinner and went down to the barracks building that had been converted into a huge meeting room. Tonight there were several tables, each twelve feet by four feet, set up around a large, waist-high platform that must have been carried in pieces on the vleks. It was supported by lots of thin wood strips, bracing apart three layers of frames.

  Four tables stood parallel to one another along each short wall of the room, their ends toward the platform. Between the last pair, and directly in front of the platform, was another table. The best seats in the house.

  Dharak and I were the last men to arrive, and everyone stood up as we entered, waited until we sat down, then resumed their noisy conversations. There were four chairs at that head table. Thymas was occupying the one at the end nearer the door.

  He had stood up, too, but it was clear to everyone that the honor was meant for his father, only. I touched Dharak’s arm, hoping he wouldn’t make a scene. He didn’t speak a word, but walked right by his son. I took the chair at the other end of the table, and Dharak sat next to me.

  I guess Thymas means to make sure Tarani is well-chaperoned, I laughed to myself. Well, he needn’t worry. She’s beautiful, but … there’s something really disturbing about her. And I’m leaving tomorrow. I don’t need any one-night stands that might generate a murder.

  But I will enjoy having that drink with her. She’s a fascinating woman. Strange, but intriguing.

  In a few minutes, the women arrived. They had finished preparing the food, and had taken some time to prepare themselves. Shola came to our table, dressed in a full-skirted gown of pale orange, wearing a necklace and headband of copper. She made a gracious comment about my new gift—still on my wrist—being finer than her own jewelry, then seated herself silently, tactfully, between her husband and her son.

  The older girls served the meal, and it was a proper feast. Roast glith, hundreds of small birds served whole, large bowls brimming with fruit, fresh-baked bread, and plenty of faen.

  When the dishes had been cleared away, the lamps which had lit the tables were all moved to line the edges of the platform in a regular pattern. Three edges, that is. The fourth edge, farthest from the head table, was left open for the entrance of the players. The rearrangement left the stage brightly lit, and the rest of the room in shadow. The room grew quiet.

  The dancers came first, creating complex patterns with the location and positions of their bodies, moving with stylized grace to the music of the harps and flute. The jugglers appeared next, with a really remarkable display of skill and timing. Some of the stunts were done with swords and knives, and I applauded wildly with the rest of the crowd.

  It was a great show—well paced, with excitement balanced against beauty. I began to admire Tarani for her showmanship. She had assembled a talented group of people.

  The illusionist herself appeared once, early on in the show, still wearing her black robe. It was instantly clear that this was not her spot, but the bird’s. She asked it questions, which it answered in “yes” or “no” fashion, either spreading its wings or remaining still. There were math problems on the order of “Two plus two are five, right?” which the bird always answered correctly, catching every apparent trick. By the time that segment of the show was over, I was willing to grant that Lonna was a pretty smart bird, and I joined in the polite applause.

  That must be the hit of the show in other towns, I thought. But when you’ve lived with a sha’um inside your head, a clever bird isn’t much of a novelty.

  After a long time of sitting in those un-padded, armless, wood-and-tile chairs, the troupe gave us a break, and we stretched and laughed and discussed the show.

  After about ten minutes, I caught sight of Tarani, climbing the rear steps of the stage. There was a peculiar darkness hovering over center stage, and she walked into it without anyone taking notice of her.

  It’s one of her illusions. She’s diverting everyone’s attention until she gets into place.

  This confirms what I’ve been thinking, ever since this afternoon, I thought, touching the gold bracelet with the fingers of my right hand. I’m not susceptible to her power.

  I leaned forward eagerly, making the table creak. She looked, for a brief instant, in my direction.

  I’m going to enjoy this show.

  9

  Tarani threw her arms out wide. A yellowish powder fell from her hands, and the lamps flared up with a hissing noise. At that exact instant, the shroud of darkness vanished, and the crowd gasped, then applauded madly. I joined in, but I wasn’t applauding the trick so much as the lady herself.

  The long, shapeless black robe was gone. Tarani was wearing a shimmering blue gown she must have designed for herself. Certainly no other women I had ever seen could have worn it. Where most women’s garments draped and flowed, clinging only incidentally, this was tailored to cling to her upper body and display curves which were more impressive for having been hidden away in the black robe.

  A glittering band of blue circled her neck, supporting a tight bodice which left her arms bare. From her small waist, a full skirt flowed over her hips and nearly to the floor. The fabric was so soft that her legs were outlined at every step. A semi-circular white cape, fastened to her arms with jewelled bands at shoulders, elbows, and wrists, set off the blue of the gown. The cape also had a tall, stiff collar which stood up behind her head, creating a dramatic background for her black head fur.

  I blinked twice.

  None of that is illusion. That’s all Tarani. No wonder Thymas is crazy for her.

  Tarani stood perfectly still for a long moment. I became aware of a barely audible sound. It was her voice, humming a soft, deep-toned melody. The sound gave me the same thrill along my spine as I had felt when she first had spoken to us that afternoon.

  She began to sway to her own music. Soon she was moving around the stage in an irregular pattern, approaching each lighted edge, then veering back. Her arms were held out from her sides a little way to silhouette her gown against the white of the cape. She seemed to glide without moving her feet. Only by blinking frequently could I detect the quick, tiny steps with which she moved.

  That humming is hypnotic, I realized. Is that all her power is, a talent for hypnosis? Or is this a bonus that makes her real talent more effective?

  She glided to the front of the stage, opposite our table, and she broke from her rigid posture to kneel before us. The music of her voic
e rose in pitch and increased its pace. She lifted her right arm above her head. In her left hand, she held a thin strip of wood; she extended it toward a lamp. The end of the wood caught, and she carried the tiny fire upward …

  pressed it into her palm. Her right hand burst into flame. She clapped her hands together, and the left caught fire. She brought her hands down behind her head, and she wore a brilliant crown of flame.

  She began to dance. Beautifully, rhythmically, moving always in time with the eerie melody …

  … leaving streams of sparkling fire, lingering in the air behind her.

  It was fascinating. I could shift my perception from the gorgeous illusion to the reality beneath it, where she carried three long strips of burning wood, one in each hand, and one mounted in the stiff collar of her cape. They burned so slowly that they must have been specially treated and prepared for her act.

  And what an act. In either version, the dance was wonderful to watch. Tarani’s tall body, its outlines plain against the cape’s light background, moved continuously and with a grace that seemed effortless. When the illusion was in effect, she drew intricate and ever-changing patterns in the air with the trailing flames.

  If Gandalarans could perspire, she’d be all over sweat by now, I thought. Such energy! She doesn’t even need the illusion to make this a great show. But look at her face—eyes nearly closed, expression rapt. She loves it. The dance transports her. She’ll never give this up to stay in Thagorn. Poor Thymas.

  I did feel a real twinge of sympathy for the boy. And a surge of affection for Illia, who wanted a normal life and seemed to want me to be part of it. She might not be as glamorous, or as challenging a personality, as Tarani, but at that moment, I felt a warm appreciation for Illia’s more simple charms.