by Dave Duncan
I remembered it then, and every hair in my beard stood on end.
Thorian turned his head to look at the bell pull on the wall and then looked at me. His unease showed through the swellings and bruises.
"I feel strangely reluctant," he muttered. "Who might answer? What if no one does?"
"Why don't we just go back to sleep?" I suggested. "Perhaps when we wake up, we'll find that we aren't awake now." I could think of no earthly explanation at all for that eerie silence. Tired though we had been, if the Vorkans had crept in by night, we must surely have heard the massacre—and why would they have spared us?
"Mayhap Balor has marched out to give battle and the whole population went with him?" Thorian suggested, running his hands through his beard.
"Try again."
"You try."
"Fast-acting plague?"
He snorted. "Is this what your gods brought you here to witness?"
"I had best get to work if it is, because it may be already over."
Then a stair creaked, and I knew I had heard that sound many times in the night without really noticing. Another tread responded. Thorian moved to the washstand that was the only item of furniture other than the two beds. It bore a basin, a ewer, and fresh towels. He threw a towel to me, wrapped another around himself, and laid a hand on the ewer. It was, as I now realized, the only possible weapon in the room. There were several feet trooping up the stairs.
A bar clattered and the door was pushed open. Our host entered, bearing a tray. His beard was streaked with white dust. He did not speak. Keeping his eyes downcast, he tiptoed across to the table and laid his burden on it, taking care to make no unnecessary sound.
Jaxian Tharpit followed him in, ducking his hat under the lintel. His beard was filthy as an old broom. Even more astonishing, he had folded his swath in such a way that it reached down to his ankle on one side and yet left the whole of his other leg bare. As the innkeeper vanished out into the corridor, I saw that his cloth was arranged in the same lopsided fashion. I also noticed that there were at least two armed men outside.
Jaxian closed the door softly, then leaned his back against it, folding his arms under his white-and-gray beard.
"Please eat," he whispered. "And talk at the same time if you can."
Thorian frowned at me in perplexity and reached for the steaming jug on the tray. The absurdity of the one bare leg must be a local Zanadonian custom—it was certainly new to me. Most places favor lamentation, the louder the better, but I had heard of silence as an alternative. Ashes in the beard are recognized almost everywhere in the Spice Lands, and in many other lands, also.
"Milord?" I said softly. "You are in mourning?" He nodded.
"May we ask why?"
"All Zanadon mourns. You have not heard?"
"We just awakened, milord." I felt very foolish, conversing in whispers.
"Balor did not come."
Thorian and I exchanged startled glances. Had High Priest Nagiak changed his mind, or had we misunderstood the plot? I had become so convinced of our prediction that Jaxian's news blew all rational thought out of my head. Vague fragments of ideas swirled around in there in terrible confusion. So Shalial was still a priestess. Gramian Fotius was still cleaning armor, not being acclaimed as the avatar of Balor. Fat, slimy Nagiak, and Deputy High Priestess Belhjes … Sudden dismay caught my breath as I remembered the old woman being borne in triumph to the House of the Goddess. "And High Priestess Squicalm?"
Jaxian nodded sadly.
"Dead?"
A frown. "Of course."
Thorian said, "How?" but I had already guessed the answer.
How much of the mourning was for Balor, and how much for the old woman? Now I understood why Deputy High Priestess Belhjes had been so frightened.
Jaxian claimed that the temple was fifty-two spans high. I would have estimated more than that, but he may have been judging by his own reach. He had been present in the House of the Goddess when the high priestess was taken there. He had returned with the other dignitaries at dawn to greet the god, but they had found no miracle, no god. Squicalm had been discovered in much the position in which she had been left, as if she had not moved a finger in the night. Rejected by Balor, she had been ejected by the priests. She had screamed once and then rolled all the way to the bottom.
As we listened to the macabre story, Thorian passed me a steaming mug of broth and a couple of fat peaches, I was still sitting on the bed. He moved over to join me.
Jaxian remained leaning against the door. I thought he looked ridiculous with one long furry leg showing, but mourning customs are often ridiculous. In many places women are expected to cut off their hair. I hoped that Zanadon was not one of them.
"You came back to the house last night," he whispered. "I want to know what happened earlier—the first time."
I bit into a peach while I gathered my thoughts, and juice soaked into my beard.
"May I speak, milord?" Thorian said softly. "My companion is a ward of Foofang, and he does not always understand the distinction between fiction and truth."
Jaxian nodded. I stared resentfully at Thorian, but he ignored me.
"We had escaped from a chain gang, as you know, milord. We climbed over your wall and hid in your yard, under some steps. We emerged in the middle of the night, just as you came home."
"Ah!"
"I knocked you down. I admit it. Then we used your key to enter the house. If you will accept a defense, recall that Zanadon had committed unprovoked assault upon us. Morally we had a right to treat you as our enemy."
Jaxian had a wry smile. "I admire your nerve! I could have you impaled for that admission, of course." He tapped his belly pin thoughtfully—there was a fortune in gems there. "But you could have robbed me or killed me. We appear to be even now. Continue."
I raised my eyebrows, and also my estimation of the man. I noticed that his stutter was missing. He was more sure of himself, as he had been when he came to the slave camp to rescue me.
"We made free of your house, milord," Thorian continued. "And then … Then your father summoned your sister from her sleep."
"You saw this?"
"We saw her. In all my life, I have never set eyes on a more beautiful woman."
Jaxian flushed darkly.
"Forgive me!" Thorian said. "I was not always a slave, milord, and she is so very lovely!"
"Carry on!" The merchant had lost his smile, and Thorian was walking a sharper edge than he knew.
"We watched your father deceive her, milord. He tricked her."
Jaxian glared in silent disbelief, chewing his mustache.
"Nagiak was eavesdropping, also, and—"
"The high p-p-priest? In our house?"
"Yes, milord." Thorian described the scene in the garden, and the merchant began to look less skeptical. He became no more friendly, though, as he learned how we had spied on his father and Nagiak.
"Later we went to the temple—"
Jaxian stiffened. "You t-tried to speak with her?"
If Thorian continued to report in his detailed military fashion, he was going to blunder into disaster. It was time for me to intervene. "We overheard a conversation between High Priest Nagiak and War Lord Arksis," I said.
"That is totally impossible!"
"Sanjala!" I said softly. "How else could I have known that name?"
He stared at me menacingly. "I t-t-tried to see her yesterday and was refused, but I learned her new name easily enough. That p-proves nothing."
"We heard other things," Thorian murmured. "Have you ever met a young man named Gramian Fotius, milord?"
Jaxian absently scratched his beard, and a cloud of ash fell from it. "No, I … O Holy Mother! I have heard of him, I think. A g-g-grandson of the war lord?"
"Yes. An animal! He also is in the temple."
"What has he to d-d-do with my sister?" Jaxian cried shrilly.
"A great deal, I fear. Do you truly expect the god Balor to come to the aid of th
e city, milord?"
Pale to the lips now, Jaxian nodded again.
"Your faith does you credit," Thorian said cautiously. "But we heard enough that night to know that High Priest Nagiak does not share it. He has other plans. So the god has refused the first appeal. What happens next?"
"There is a new high p-priestess. This evening she … What are you implying?"
Thorian drained his beaker and laid it on the bed. "Your father is privy to this. A foul deception. Maiana and Balor—daughter of the senior merchant, grandson of the war lord."
Jaxian Tharpit was a weak man, but he was not a fool. He could follow Thorian's laconic military style of speaking. He caught all the implications at once. He covered his face with his hands.
I waited with some interest to hear his reaction. Would he believe, or would he accuse us of blasphemy and send us off to whatever horrible end that provoked? When he looked at us again, his eyes were wide with agony.
"Gramian Fotius? The one who … ?"
"The rapist," Thorian said. "The killer."
"His grandfather believes he can control him," I explained.
"I d-doubt it. And the Vorkans?"
I laid a hand on Thorian's meaty shoulder. "This, milord, is a warrior. Tell such a man that he is being led into baffle by a god! Tell him his cause is just and holy and cannot lose! Tell him that if he dies his soul is safe. If he believes half of that, milord, he will fight until there is no blood left in his veins and his limbs have been cleft from his body."
Thorian grunted. "He's right."
Jaxian nodded in horrified silence.
I shall always remember that conversation for the eerie contrast between the soft whispers in which we spoke and the stark evil of the topic. Once in a while I would hear a horse whinny in the distance, but that was all. Hooves could be muffled, of course, but wheeled traffic must have been banned altogether.
"You can believe this of your father?" Thorian asked.
"I might," Jaxian admitted.
"Tonight Priestess Belhjes? Tomorrow?"
Silence.
"Tomorrow is the night of the new moon," I murmured. "Holy to the Horned One."
Jaxian licked his lips. "There are hundreds of priestesses senior to her."
"Who decides?"
"The gods know! Nagiak, I expect. That may not be what the rules say, but that will be what happens. But how can this deception be worked? The high p-p-priestess keeps vigil alone."
"There will be a secret passage."
"Yes, I suppose so. I would put few things past that slimy eunuch." Jaxian shuddered and then stared hard at me.
"This was why you came b-back to the house?"
"It was. I wanted to speak with you, and warn you."
A gruesome smile twisted his beard. "Yes, I realized afterward why you had gone to that door. You had watched me earlier!"
I nodded.
For a moment, he seemed genuinely amused. "Serves you right, spy!" But only for a moment. He began scratching at his beard again. He would have it clean soon, I thought. "And why did you think I would oppose my father in this?"
"Because he had not invited you to be present when he summoned your sister." I can lie convincingly when I have to, and he believed me. The danger passed.
"I must d-d-discuss this …" he muttered. "This sacrilege! Talk with several p-p-people. G-G-Gramian Fotius! And yet, with the city in p-peril …"
I could see that Jaxian Tharpit had enough grist to keep his worry mill revolving for days. Whom could he possibly talk with? Certainly not his fearsome daddy, and to speak to anyone else would be betrayal. He would fret and worry and try to visit his sister and be refused and finally achieve nothing. What would he do with us in the meantime? I rose and went over to the breakfast tray. If I was going to be sent back to the chain gang, then I would rather it be on a full stomach.
"Who are you?" he demanded sharply. I turned around, but he was addressing Thorian.
"Just a warrior, milord. From Polrain, yes. The rest was moonbeams."
"Not a prince?"
Thorian shrugged. "Just a warrior."
"And him?"
"A wandering storyteller. He came to Zanadon because the gods ordered him to do so, in dreams."
Jaxian raised an eyebrow, Thorian nodded sadly. Had they tapped their temples and rolled their eyes they could not have expressed the thought more clearly. I am used to it and don't mind. It can even come in useful at times.
"I have seen your face b-before, though," Jaxian told me thoughtfully.
"People often think that, milord. It is a common enough sort of face."
He turned as if to leave. He even had his hand on the latch, and then he suffered another attack of indecision. Finally he turned to Thorian again. "I may need you both as witnesses. Will you continue to cooperate?"
"Aye, milord."
"Give me your warrior's p-parole, then. You will stay away from the t-t-temple and my father's house. You will d-discuss with no one what you have told me. And you will meet me b-back here tonight an hour after sunset." He did not state an alternative. He did not need to.
"I so swear," Thorian said.
"Can you c-control your friend?"
"No, he can't," I snapped, "but I also give my word. Do you think a trader of tales would run away from this one?"
The other two exchanged shrugs.
"We shall both be here this evening," Thorian said softly.
"Good. I'll send up some clothes for you." Jaxian reached into the folds of his swath. He pulled out a handful of gold and tossed it on the bed. "I said I would p-p-pay well."
The door eased shut behind him.
For a man without a backbone, he was surprisingly likable. I felt guilty at having told him so many lies.
"He really ought to keep us locked up," I whispered.
"He really ought to cut our heads off," Thorian said.
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20: The Tale of Jaxian
Once again, Jaxian was as good as his word. Soon Thorian and I emerged from the Bronze Beaker to a hot, sunny morning. For the first time we were at liberty to move around the city without fear, for we were respectably clad, from comfortable sandals all the way to pot-shaped hats. Now we were designated as employees of the powerful Tharpit family, and none could dispute our right to walk the streets. With the aid of the innkeeper, we had wrapped ourselves in the current style of mourning, right legs bare. We had smeared ashes in our beards, although they showed better in Thorian's black forest than on my brown turf.
The streets were relatively empty. There was a tense, worried feel in the air, and the silence was uncanny. Even the armored soldiers seemed to tiptoe. A few horsemen went slowly by on muffled hooves, but wheeled traffic was almost nonexistent. I was relieved to see that the women still had their hair. They wore it unbound, hanging loose, and some of them looked very good that way. Most wore brightly hued sarongs. Every man we saw had ashes in his beard and one leg uncovered.
A couple of times guards noticed Thorian's tattered back and challenged us in whispers, but once they had inspected our swaths, the way they were folded, and the pins that held them, we were permitted to go on our way.
With no discussion, we began by walking down the Great Way until we reached the gates. One huge flap was closed and the other ajar. Few people were being allowed in, and no one was departing.
Then we ascended to the top of the walls and met a real crowd for the first time. Worried citizens were coming in droves to stare out across the plain. News and rumors were being passed around in anxious whispers.
As yet there was no sign of the Vorkans, although the word was that they had reached the river. Someone had managed to impose some organization on the great chaos of refugees. I could see a military order to the sprawl of camps that stretched off into a purple haze where land met sky.
So the Vorkans' victims had turned at bay, prepared to give battle again—fight to the death or starve. The Vorkans themselves m
ight not be eating well now. Who was gathering harvest in the Spice Lands this year?
Thorian burned in silent anger. He felt that the Zanadonian army ought to be down there also, prepared to give battle, but we both knew what Nagiak had told Tharpit: War Lord Arksis would let those ragged, battered refugees bleed the Vorkans a little more for him before he committed his own forces. It was morally despicable, but perhaps it made military sense. I did not feel competent to judge.
Having given his word to Jaxian, Thorian intended to keep a close eye on me, but I needed to gather information. In that mob, I had little trouble losing him. I took off on my own to explore Zanadon. I could not stop Balor and Maiana watching me, of course, but again I thought Balor seemed slightly more approving than hitherto. Maiana was still distrustful.
The conventions of mourning decreed that no one should indulge in any unnecessary conversation. Such unwelcome behavior is impossible to impose on a whole population, especially when the people are afraid. Balor had not answered the summons, and the people were very much afraid. I do have certain skills in encouraging people to talk. I spent the day doing so.
The official mourning ended at noon. As the sun reached the zenith, sounds of life began to return to the city. Carts and wagons reappeared. Woman bound up their hair. Men vanished indoors to comb out their beards and rearrange their swaths in symmetrical fashion. To get mine right, I had to enlist the aid of a sarcastic young whore in an alley. Then I bought her lunch with some of Jaxian's gold. She knew a lot about Bedian Tharpit and confirmed most of what I already learned. By an astonishing coincidence, I had met her sister once, briefly.
That afternoon, Zanadon was a more cheerful place, and I traded tales to my heart's content.
As the sun dipped near the horizon, the whole population began drifting toward the temple. Latecomers lined the Great Way, but I had foreseen the problem, and I had no duties to detain me. I was in the Courtyard of a Thousand Gods when the procession came through.
There were many thousands of people there, but as the sounds of music and cheering drew closer, I was not at all surprised to see Thorian's head nearby, towering over the mob—I have told you that I do not believe in coincidence. I shoved and jostled my way to his elbow.