"She knew. Her death?"
"It was… clean. In the end, it was clean."
"And how did she die?"
"Bard—"
"You gave your word that you would do what was necessary to protect her."
"I gave my word that I would do what was within my power. But when the time came—" The man with the sword looked away.
So did Jewel. The bodies of the demons were finally, slowly, dissolving.
Neither the bard nor the man dressed in what was left of a blue surcoat seemed to notice. Men.
She wanted to ask Kallandras what in the Hells was going on— but she bit her tongue and swallowed the words. It wasn't particularly enjoyable, and as an experience it was one she'd decided against repeating, but Yollana had pronounced her unfit to be a boy, which was particularly mortifying given that the graceful and elegant Serra Teresa strode the streets like a man. Some things made no sense.
"When the time came," the Radann said quietly, "she knew what had to be done."
Kallandras said, "Man of the Lord, she did not give her oath. You did."
Marakas par el'Sol fell to one knee in the empty street. Jewel heard the windows flap open at her back. "Kallandras," she whispered. "These streets aren't going to be empty for long."
"No." His pale eyes stayed on the face of the wounded man. "You did not know who she was, Radann, but you understood that you fought the same enemy. In her position, you would have died the same death. But you have broken faith."
"Faith is often broken," the man replied, "in dark times. She knew."
"Yes. She knew. But she depended upon you to remember your oath, for in a fashion you will be called upon to fulfill it."
"Fulfill it? Nothing of her remains, Bard. There is nothing to escort to safety."
"You are wrong."
"I saw her body. Had I been able to call her back from the edge, I would have done it."
Kallandras smiled; it was a cool expression. "And then, Radann par el'Sol, you would have died. There are things that it is not safe for such a woman to share, and attached to you after the healing, or no, she would know it. She was the Mother of her family."
He looked up as if struck.
"Yes," Kallandras said quietly.
The Radann stood, and it seemed to Jewel that he stood taller. "Very well. The time?"
"I believe, if I am not mistaken, you will know. I believe, if I am not mistaken, that you already have a greater understanding of the situation than we do. You know what must be done, or you do not—I am forbidden to speak of it. But if you know, discharge your oath; the Lady is watching, and the Lord remembers what was promised."
The man bowed. "It will be as I have vowed." He looked, only then, at the empty streets. "For I fear it is our fate to perish here, in defense of the Lord in the Tor Leonne itself, and if we are gone—the Voyani and the servants of the Lady are our best hope. The Radann will never willingly or knowingly serve the Lord of Night again."
"Indeed," Kallandras said softly. "But what is done in ignorance is still done, and someone still pays the price for it."
He turned. "Come, Jewel."
"What was all that about?"
Kallandras said nothing.
"Kallandras?"
"If I am not mistaken, you will come to understand the exchange quite well."
"Great. Is everyone playing the cryptic game?"
He caught her arm, moving so swiftly she actually let out a squeal of shock. "It is time that we return to meet Avandar," he said quietly, "and it is therefore time that you remember your place. The streets will not remain empty, and our presence here has almost certainly been noted. We have very little time, Jewel ATerafin. When we are almost upon the Southern Fount, I will create a diversion. Take advantage of it, and flee."
"What?"
He did not repeat himself; he knew that he had been heard.
Lord Ishavriel felt the deaths of the three.
They had been his for centuries, perhaps longer; they had chosen to bind themselves, by blood and oath, to his will rather than face destruction. He had taken them as a matter of course after the death of his liege, and the taking had nearly killed him, for they masked their power and their intelligence well. He had succeeded in the binding, however, and over time he had learned to value their existence. They were mindless in their obedience— but they were obedient. They did not have the strength of will or mind to plot against him or to politic in the fashion of the greater lieutenants.
And in areas where obedience was of importance, he brought them.
They were gone. He was not certain of the manner of their death, although he could guess; he had seen—in the brief moments he spared them—the Radann. The blades, the old blades, had lost none of their power; they had wakened early. He had not expected that.
A day as unfortunate as this had not occurred in his entire existence in the service of the Lord's justice, in the Hells. Anya was nowhere in sight; she evaded him and she had become crafty; she no longer burned stone, no longer boiled water; no one was foolish enough—apparently—to touch her, for she had left no trail of bodies in her wake; none, certainly, as she had in the disaster that had drawn their attention to her absence.
Anya, he called.
"Yes, Anya, the child will be… well."
Anya looked at the little girl who, swathed in soft bandages, lay sleeping on the pallet. "You're sure?" she demanded, her eyes narrowed as she glared at the Lord Isladar. She had to work hard to remember that he was a demon. He wasn't very ugly—like Etridian or Nugratz—and he almost always spoke in Weston— real Weston, not the demon-speak that made their awful words sound normal.
"Yes, Anya, I am certain. The physician has been very careful. Please—it would be a pity for you to kill him. He has helped you save her life, and when we leave, he has promised to protect the child."
"You can't trust them." She told him this as she looked at the doctor's face. He was an old man, not as old as her father—and she didn't want to think of her father here.
So she melted a small section of the wall. Just a small section. Not enough to make it all shatter or fall down. "I promised her," she told the doctor, who was sitting with his back to the wall. "I promised that she would be safe.
"But I promised, and she doesn't look well."
The doctor swallowed.
"Why is she sleeping so much?"
He glanced at Isladar out of the corner of his eyes. "Look at me when I talk to you," she told him. She made a mistake, and the wall cracked. She hated making mistakes.
"Isladar?"
"Yes, Anya?"
"Go and get me the other one."
There was a momentary silence. Then, he bowed; she heard the rustle of his very boring, very plain clothing. "What?"
"I'm sorry, Anya, but when you collapsed the big archway, the other one died. You can kill this one if you like, but then there will be no one to take care of the little girl."
"But where is everybody? There's hardly anyone out in the streets. Where have all the people gone? It was crowded yesterday."
"Yes. And the day before."
She turned to the doctor. "Tell me where everyone is."
"Serra," he began.
"I'm not Sara, I'm Anya."
Rock trickled down the wall in a lovely orange stream. She wanted something bigger, but she had to be careful not to hit the pallet the girl was sleeping on.
The physician closed his eyes. He was afraid. She knew he was afraid. It made her angry. Did he think that she was a monster? That she would just kill him?
Well, she might, if that's the way he felt about it. If that was the kind of person he was, people would be better off without him. She could kill him and—and then he wouldn't answer her question.
"You," she said.
"Y-yes."
"Where has everyone gone?"
He dipped his head, staring at the ground a moment. "To the Lake," he said at last. "To the Lady's Lake."
"T
o the what?"
"Anya," Isladar said quietly, "the man is clearly tired from his exertions. It is very difficult to save the life of an injured child, especially when the injury is caused by fire. I believe that he is telling you all that he knows; you cannot expect more."
"I can't?"
"Well, you can if you'd like, but I don't think that more will be forthcoming. I have been in the Tor Leonne several times, and perhaps I can answer your question. If that is acceptable to you."
She thought about it for a minute. Looked at the child whose breathing was still not quite right. "All right. You can answer my questions.
"But I'm hungry. Should we go home and eat?"
"As you like, Anya," Isladar said softly. "Perhaps that would be best. I believe that Lord Ishavriel is looking for you."
"Oh, that's right."
"Anya," Lord Isladar said, in a tone of voice that would have bothered her had it come from anyone else, "He is your Lord."
"I know that. But… he doesn't want me here in this city, and I promised the girl I would take care of her. She isn't well, but I keep my promises. I said I would protect her, you know. We'll stay here. I'm sure there's food here. Tell me," she added, as she started to look for doors, "about this Lake."
She very casually made a door in the wall, protecting herself from falling rubble as she walked beneath a shaky, unnatural arch.
They met at the Southern Fount. Avandar was standing just inside the open gates which framed the Fount as Jewel approached it from the North. The Serra Teresa was sitting on the edge of the wide, simple basin into which water trickled. The statue, here as in the Northern Fount, was of a human figure, worked in stone, but where the Northern statue had been stark and simple, this was an artist's rendition of a very beautiful, older woman. Her chin was neither too wide nor too narrow, but Her cheekbones were high and Her nose was patrician; Her eyes, wide, stared out at the city that would soon celebrate her mysteries.
Or be killed by them.
"Well?" Avandar said quietly as they approached.
Jewel shrugged. "I'm not sure."
"You're not sure?"
"Well, there was a demon. Three actually."
"And?"
"There was also a man—one of the priests of the local god— who had actually managed to fend them off."
"Three? " Avandar raised a brow. "Impressive."
"Kallandras stepped in to help." Jewel glanced around, looking for the bard. "But…"
"But?" Avandar frowned. "Where is Kallandras?"
In the distance, as if in answer to his question, a cry was raised in rapid Torra.
Jewel cringed. "We've finished, right?"
"We had finished what we set out to accomplish, yes."
"Good."
"Good?"
"We have to get out of here."
"Wonderful. What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything. Kallandras killed a demon—but he thinks we may have been noticed. He—" Her curls fell into her eyes as she swiveled her neck to look over her shoulder. "I think we need to find a set of masks."
"Jewel—"
"I don't know about anyone else, but I'd like to take a look at that Lake."
Avandar glanced up at a sky that was deepening in color. "It will wait," he said quietly.
"It won't wait," she replied. "Because, like it or not, I think the gates are going to be guarded against us. We can leave—but not without a big display of fireworks."
"Our work here is finished," Avandar said. He didn't add, because he didn't have to, that it no longer mattered whether they drew attention to themselves or not.
"It's not." She drew a deep breath, keeping pace with the flow of words that were taking her someplace she couldn't quite see. "But we're going to need time and money."
"Oh?"
"We can't go up the hill without a mask. I don't know about you, but the last time I checked I wasn't much of a craftsman, and I have a hunch that we don't want to cross the gates carrying something obviously magical. I could be wrong."
He frowned. "I would tell you that sarcasm doesn't suit you—"
"But you've done it so often you know better than to waste your breath."
To her great surprise, the Serra Teresa said, "There is a place we may retire to."
Avandar was less than pleased, but he was also surprised. "Serra?" he asked, speaking with a measure of respect that he seldom afforded his chosen master.
"I believe that I, too, would like to see the Lady's Lake." She looked back at the Fount; they could no longer see her expression. "I doubt I will have the opportunity to see it again, and I would like to… say my farewells."
Avandar offered no argument against her words, and because they suited Jewel so well, neither did she. But she heard what Avandar could not hear, and what, she suspected, no one else except Kallandras would either: The Serra Teresa was lying.
She led them to a large building that housed, from the look of it, many a poor family. The building itself was unlike the large structures in which Jewel ATerafin's den had made their home; it was open in several places to the sky and the sun, and a huge courtyard—in which children were running and screaming under the watchful eyes of a set of adults who may, or may not have been, their parents—seemed to dominate the landscape. Doors faced inward, to the courtyard, but they were Southern doors; arches with hangings. No fancy screens, not here.
The Serra Teresa did not alter her stride, and the children scattered, maintaining a watchful distance as she passed them. That distance increased dramatically when Avandar followed in her steps, and decreased almost as dramatically when Jewel, bringing up the rear, closed the feeble gate behind them.
She was not tall, and Avandar's stride was long; she had to scurry along like a small child after an angry parent. This annoyed her. So her steps were heavier than they might otherwise have been. But her obvious anger meant nothing to the children; they closed again at her back, as if they were a curtain.
They made their way to a small room, beyond which another room lay, and in that second room was a table. There was food on it.
The Serra Teresa entered the room and stared at the table. Then she lifted her face and began to loosen the severe knot that held her hair so tightly.
Jewel, hungry in spite of herself, stepped into the room and saw, beside the door, the Serra Teresa's seraf, Ramdan.
"How did you know?" Jewel asked.
"Know? That we would stay here? I did not. This… place… has been mine for some time now. My nature is such that there was always the risk of necessary and unplanned flight, and I thought it wise, many years ago, to purchase a home in the less well-traveled section of the Tor for my personal use.
"Thank you, Ramdan."
The tall man bowed very slowly. "Serra."
"Eat; Ramdan and I will leave shortly to find the masks we require for entrance into the Tor. But if we are not back by the evening, sleep; there are silks and mats in the room beyond Ramdan's back. This is a poor area, but it is not known to be dangerous."
"But—"
She readjusted her hair, and confined it again with a small smile. "No buts. We know the city; you do not. Allow us our small display of hospitality."
Jewel was hungry, and she found it very difficult to argue with the Serra Teresa. She nodded, and together, the Serra and the seraf left them in a room full of food.
"Jewel," Avandar said.
"What? It'll just go bad if we leave it."
But by moon's full height, they had not returned.
He heard the singing in the Tor, and in the procession that led to the Lake. It was a thinner procession than the Tyr'agar would have liked, but a vastly larger one than would have appeared had it not been for the intervention of the Radann. Already, the tales of their prowess had spread, enlarged and made almost ridiculous, through the city streets. It worked to Alesso's advantage.
There were six dead demons.
The Radann Samadar par el'Sol had sustained a seve
re injury, but it did not seem to slow him; the Radann Marakas par el'Sol had sustained only minor damage, although he had destroyed, by day's end, two of the expensive surcoats that the Radann had been gifted with. The Radann Samiel par el'Sol was bemoaning—in a stately and elegant fashion that still made him sound like a man twenty years younger than his apparent age—the unfairness of his lot, for he had seen none of the kin in his patrols along the crowded route.
"It is because," Marakas par el'Sol said, "your reputation precedes you, as ours does us. They are simply afraid to approach."
Samiel snorted. It was also uncharacteristic; the Radann, as a whole were very changed men. Even the politically shrewd and astute kai el'Sol seemed momentarily pained at the loss of opportunity his role in the Tor had necessitated. Alesso could feel it; this brotherhood that had been cemented by fire and death, by demon, by an enemy so large that politics could be cast aside.
He wondered—if they survived—how they would fall back into their old roles. Because when the battle ended, if they were left standing, that is all that would be left them. He had discovered that, with some bitterness, many years ago. But so, he thought, had these men.
Not for the first time, but for very different reasons, Alesso regretted his inability to wield the Sun Sword in the battle for which it had been forged.
"Gentlemen," he said, rising. "The moon is full. The night has come, and the clansmen are waiting. Let us take our positions again in the darkness."
They drank from the Lady's Lake; they finished the meal— sparse and perfect—that had been prepared for them. Then they rose. "It will be a long night," Alesso said quietly, his hand upon his own sword hilt. "But not as long, I think, as the night of the Festival Moon." He bowed to the Radann; it was both dismissal and thanks, for it was a very deep bow.
21st of Scaral, 427 AA
Shining Palace, Northern Wastes
Cortano di'Alexes watched from the windswept balcony that rested between the narrow spread of diving dragon's wings. The air was very cold; the night as clear a night as any the South could hope to see. Beneath the Shining Palace's height, the city, such as it was, was slowly coming to life. He could see the scuttling movement of creatures who carried long, rough poles with carefully made cressets into which a burning substance had been placed. Not wood, he thought, judging by the light—but what it was, at this distance, was not clear. He wondered if the demons needed the light to see by; there had been no evidence from past behavior to suggest it.
Michelle West - The Sun Sword 03 - The Shining Court Page 77