Petrodor atobas-2

by Joel Shepherd

  Soon. Whatever was coming, it would come soon.

  They'd killed Yulia was her next thought. Grief and horror threatened to surge and overwhelm her. No, she thought desperately. No. Perhaps it was a lie to upset her. But how would they know where Yulia was if Yulia had remained hidden? And how would the archbishop have known Sasha's accomplice was a girl? There weren't many female Nasi-Keth. Yulia alone would not have been able to outmanoeuvre them. In all Sasha's plans, she'd assumed she would be there herself to help Yulia out of trouble. It had never occurred to her that she would be the first to fall and Yulia would be left all alone.

  She'd led Lenay men into battles in which hundreds had died. More recently, she'd come to know Rodery of the Nasi-Keth quite well, and he had been killed before her eyes. All was different to this, though. Those men had volunteered. They'd known exactly what they were getting into. But she'd gone to Yulia's home, and asked her to come, knowing that the girl half worshipped her, telling her she was not a bad warrior and assuring her that it would not be particularly dangerous, certainly far less dangerous than Riverside…

  Less dangerous for Sasha, perhaps. Priests and powerful families could ransom Sashandra Lenayin. She was worth something. But what use would such powerful people have for a raggedy Dockside girl with dreams of becoming a warrior? For those people the likes of Yulia were barely worth the cost of the crossbow bolt that killed her.

  Sasha knew that she was sometimes arrogant. She knew that she could be self-centred, and could at times fail to consider things from the perspectives of others. She'd thought she was getting better. More worldly and more mature. Wiser. She'd thought she was on her way to becoming the kind of uma that would raise Kessligh's prestige throughout Petrodor. The kind of uma who would make him proud. But now she'd got a nice Dockside girl killed for no better reason than she'd been too damn impressed with herself to consider how it wasn't all as easy for some people as it was for her. She'd been too damn certain that Marya would never betray her.

  People like Sofy told her. Oh dear spirits, Sofy. Sofy would have told her not to trust Marya, not now, not in this situation, where her own children's futures were at stake. Sofy would have told her that it wasn't fair on Yulia to pressure her to do something she didn't particularly want to. Sofy would have told her not to get the poor girl killed because Sasha was too damn selfish to stop for a moment and consider other people's problems.

  The ceiling began to swim in her tears. She stifled the sobs, as they hurt her bruises, but that felt like penance, and richly deserved. Tears ran down her temples and into her hair. “Oh, Yulia, I'm so sorry,” she sobbed. “Please forgive me.”

  But she didn't deserve forgiveness, and she knew it.

  When Alythia walked into the garden that night with Tashyna on a leash, the guards on the patio stared. The wolf heaved at the leash, straining toward the open grass.

  “Hey, steady!” Alythia scolded, pulling back with her entire body, hoping the wolf didn't wrench her arms off. “Steady, steady! Calm down, you crazy fool, you!”

  “M'Lady?” asked a guard, approaching uncertainly. “What are you…?” Tashyna growled, backing away as fast as she'd lunged forward, tail down, ears flat, neck bristling.

  “Stop!” Alythia commanded the guard, holding out a firm hand. He stopped, a wary hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes wide on the wolf. “Don't approach her, she's not used to it. Just stay back.” To her delight, the guard obeyed. At last-power! The guard looked a little scared, as did his companion further away. How wonderful. Alythia crouched, offering a hand to the wolf. “It's all right, Tashyna,” she said in Lenay. “It's all right, I'm here. I won't let him hurt you.” Tashyna let her stroke her neck and scratch her head. The ears rose and the growling stopped.

  “M'Lady,” said the guard cautiously, “is this wise? That's a wolf!”

  “It's a Lenay wolf,” said Alythia imperiously. “Her name's Tashyna. She listens to me.” The guard blinked at her. It had been six days since she'd given Tashyna her name. Since then she'd visited the wolf every day, sometimes twice a day, always with food. Alythia was astonished how little time it had taken for the wolf to come to trust her. Probably, she thought, Tashyna remembered a time when she'd been an adorable puppy and humans had been nice to her. Probably she'd only wanted some of that affection back again and had no idea why the exuberance that her human masters had once found so charming was now met with fearful exclamations and beatings. Alythia thought she knew how that felt.

  Now, Tashyna had one human in Halmady Mansion who was nice to her, and flung herself upon that protection with desperate hope. Wolves, Alythia recalled her brothers saying, were proof of the natural order of kings. They wanted to be commanded. They needed a dominant ruler to obey. Perhaps Tashyna now believed that dominant ruler was her. It gave Alythia a strange feeling of pride. Someone needed her. Someone enjoyed her company. That someone had four legs, smelled poorly at the best of times and had terrible eating habits, but it was better than no one at all.

  Alythia pulled Tashyna onto the grass, where the wolf quickly regained her enthusiasm and began hauling desperately on the leash. Alythia struggled to keep up, her sandalled feet slipping. She tried to keep left of a row of garden bushes, then slipped and fell on her rear, losing the leash from her hand. Tashyna shot off across the grass, rounded the central fountain, half tripping on her lead, then came bounding back, a sinister, lunging shape in the evening torchlight. For a brief moment, Alythia recalled her previous fear, to see that ferocious outline coming straight toward her. But Tashyna slowed, then jumped on her playfully and tried to lick her face.

  “Oh get off! You're too heavy!” Alythia struggled to her feet and tried to regain the leash, but Tashyna was off once more, with boundless energy. Alythia sighed and brushed the grass from her arms. This was most undignified, and irritating too. The guards were surely laughing at her. Her heart was thumping with exertion and half-fear, and the stupid animal would simply not do what it was told. But Tashyna had been her only friend for the past week, and deserved this brief freedom. And Tashyna was…well, really quite funny too, she thought, watching the wolf weaving between the flowerbeds, tongue lolling, a mad excitement in her eyes. She arrived at the far wall, skidded to a halt and came back the other way, nearly falling. Much to her own amazement, Alythia found herself laughing.

  Tashyna came back to Alythia and dodged around her, jumping and snapping at her skirts. Guards on the patio came to stare, and some house staff too. Some looked anxious, but others were laughing. “The Lenay wolf-girl!” someone exclaimed loudly in good humour. Alythia had the grace to turn and curtsey, and gained more laughs. It was more goodwill than she'd experienced at any time since her wedding, she thought, with a surge of happiness. The next time Tashyna returned to harass her, she managed to grab the wolf and give her a big hug. Tashyna whined, struggled and licked.

  And raced off once more. Alythia turned back to the onlookers and found that little Tristi Halmady had emerged from the house, escorted by a pair of maids, one of whom carried even littler Elra in her arms. The maids looked anxious, but Tristi was wide-eyed with amazement.

  “Alythia's friends with the wolf!” Elra said loudly. She was a pretty girl, her black hair done up at the back, rosy-cheeked and clutching Topo, her favourite ragdoll.

  “Alythia, Papa says the wolf is wild and dangerous!” exclaimed Tristi. “He told us we weren't to go near it!”

  “Well I assure you,” Alythia announced primly to them all, “he demanded no such thing from me!”

  “How did you make friends with the wolf?” Elra demanded.

  “She fed it,” said one of the cooks, who knew.

  “I spoke Lenay to it,” Alythia corrected. “Tashyna's a Lenay wolf, she only speaks Lenay.”

  “Her name's not Tashyna, it's Dessi!” Tristi insisted.

  “Ah, but that's where you're wrong!” Alythia said brightly. “You see, all Lenay animals have true names. They have old, pagan spirit names-Goeren-
yai names. But you need to speak Lenay, and you need to speak it to them nicely, or they won't tell you their true names.” It was utter horse manure, all of it, but the crowd on the patio all stared with a look somewhere between discomfort, amazement and respect. Alythia nearly laughed. Perhaps now, finally, she'd found a way in. A way toward respect. Through a wolf, of all things. A wolf that they were all scared of. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps the only way to gain respect amongst wealthy Petrodorians was through fear.

  “Can I pat her?” Tristi asked wistfully. “I've wanted to keep seeing her, but Papa wouldn't let me. I'm sure she'll remember me.”

  “Did you ever beat her?” Alythia asked doubtfully.

  “Oh no, I never did! I was always nice to her, honest!”

  “Master Tristi,” said a maid, “I really don't think that you should…”

  “Nonsense!” announced a guard. “The third son of Halmady isn't scared of some stupid wolf! If a girl can do it, so can Master Tristi!”

  Alythia turned to look back at the garden. She caught only a brief glimpse of Tashyna, a fast shadow against the far, downhill wall. “Come quickly,” she said to Tristi, who came running. Alythia put her hands on the boy's shoulders when he arrived and turned them both downslope. Tashyna seemed far more interested in racing from one side of the lower garden to the other as fast as her legs could take her.

  “Look how fast she is!” Tristi exclaimed. “I bet she'd make an excellent guard dog. Maybe we could let her loose in the garden more often. Maybe all night. She'd deal with any sneaking nightwraith!”

  “I think that's an excellent idea,” said Alythia. In truth, she wasn't sure at all-she knew from her brothers that wolves did not bark, so she wouldn't make much of a guard dog if she couldn't raise the alarm. And she was still so wild, probably even this huge garden would not be enough for her. But anything would be better than that little enclosure against the side wall. “Now just remember, move very slowly and be very careful. She's really very sweet, but she gets scared easily. And scared wolves are dangerous. Understand?”

  Tristi nodded. He was nearly nine now and curly-headed like her Gregan. Also like Gregan, he was a bit of a mummy's boy…or a daddy's boy, at least. Fancy not visiting the pet wolf just because daddy had forbidden it! It would never have stopped her brothers, not even Wylfred.

  Tashyna leapt through some bushes, tongue lolling, now slowing as she loped past the fountain. She looked tired and happy. Tristi stiffened anxiously and Alythia squeezed his shoulders. Tashyna saw him and pricked her ears. She ran about them in a circle, head poised, more curious than alarmed.

  “It's all right, Tashyna,” said Alythia, forcing confidence into her voice. “Come and say hello to your old friend. He's missed you.”

  Tashyna stopped circling and trotted closer. Stopped, ducking her head nervously, trying to go sideways. “Oh here, come on!” Alythia crouched beside Tristi, a hand out. “It's all right, it's only me!” It astonished her how easily she could read the wolf's thoughts. Fear battled yearning, self-preservation struggled against risk. She'd seen it in people, in the courts of Baen-Tar Palace. The young noble from the provinces, uncomfortable in his newly bought clothes, sighting a glamorous Lenay princess and torn in two directions-backward, toward safety; and forward, toward opportunity. And she'd seen it in the palace girls upon sighting some particularly handsome arrival. For herself, the instinct had always been forward. She'd never known what it was to retreat, until she'd come to Petrodor. Perhaps it was a common affliction for Lenays in Petrodor, walked they on four legs or two.

  Tashyna came close enough for Alythia to pat. “Let her sniff your hand,” she told Tristi. Tristi did so, breathlessly, and Tashyna sniffed. And licked, as if remembering a familiar taste. Tristi grinned. “Pat her. Scratch her neck, she likes that.”

  Tristi did that too, his smaller hand sinking into the wolf's thick fur. Tashyna whined, wriggled on her stomach, then rolled on her back.

  “That means she likes you,” Alythia laughed, rubbing Tashyna's chest.

  “She's very pretty,” said Tristi, matter-of-factly. “Sister, would you help me ask Papa to let me see her more often?”

  Alythia climbed the stairs with more energy and purpose in her legs than she recalled since her wedding day. Finally, she had a reason to go and see her father-in-law. Only a little thing, to be sure, but perhaps that was best… and, besides, the patachi doted on Tristi. If brave Tristi had befriended the wolf, then surely his father would find some pride in that.

  Perhaps Gregan would be in his father's chambers, she thought as she walked the polished boards of the ornate upper hallway. She'd barely seen Gregan for a week. For some of that time, he'd gone to pay respects to the various dukes gathered in their properties neighbouring Petrodor. The short while he'd been home, he'd slept in a separate room and spent his time at great luncheons for Halmady and Steiner allies, or plotting in his father's chambers. Alythia began straightening her hair as she walked…and considered the grass stains on the sleeves of her dress. She nearly turned for her room to change, but she dared not lose this opportunity. And besides, soon word would spread that the barbarian daughter-in-law had dangled dear Tristi's head in a wolf's jaws for sport, and she preferred to be the one breaking news of events, instead of always reacting to them. That lesson, she'd learned long ago.

  Arriving at the patachi's chambers she made a final adjustment to her hair and necklace, and knocked on the twin wooden doors. There was no reply. No footsteps either. Perhaps he was out…but there was typically a commotion when the patachi left the residence and there had been none tonight.

  It frustrated her, to have such an opportunity, only to turn back now. She knocked again. Come to think of it, there was usually a guard outside this door. Where was he? Concerned, she opened the door. At the far end, glass doors opened onto a balcony, and a broad desk faced the view. Candles and lamps were lit. How odd that it should be empty. Perhaps the patachi was in his adjoining bedchambers…but if he were preparing for an early night, where were the private servants?

  She walked forward past the table…and saw something odd on the floor beneath the desk. Only when she was nearly at the far windows did she recognise the shape in the shadow cast by the chandelier. It was a body. The body of Patachi Halmady, his face to one side, staring at her. Face down in a spreading pool of blood.

  A hand clamped over Alythia's mouth before she could scream, and a knife pricked at her throat. “Not a word!” hissed a voice in her ear. “The signal's been given. It will be over soon!”

  The man dragged her backward into the patachi's bedchambers. She was thrown onto the bed, and recovered to find herself staring at a man she recognised as a servant, in black tunic and lace collar, levelling a wicked looking knife. “Make a noise and you're dead,” he snarled. He was sweating, and seemed highly agitated. Through her terror, Alythia realised there was a weight on the bed to one side. She looked, and found Lady Halmady, her face pale and expressionless, eyes wide with shocked disbelief. Beneath her, the bedcovers were soaked red. On the floor beyond lay a maid, likewise unmoving.

  Another man entered the patachi's chambers, giving a small whistle for recognition. He talked with the first in low, hushed tones, giving quick glances in Alythia's direction. Alythia saw that they had both armed themselves with sword belts-most unservantlike. Assassins.

  Suddenly she could hear yells from beyond the balcony. Her heart leapt, hope and fright in equal measure. Someone had discovered the treachery. Any moment there would be armed men battering down the door and she'd be in the middle of the fighting. But, as hard as she listened, she could hear no running footsteps in the hallway. Instead, there came a faint metallic sound then a shriek of pain. The yells and clashes grew louder, seeming to come from all about the house. A battle, Alythia realised. Halmady was betrayed. The entire house was falling.

  Alythia lay on the bed, frozen with fear. Only a few times in her life had she been truly frightened for her safety, but those ha
d been nothing compared to this. She could not bring herself to move, barely even to breathe. Her left elbow was wet with Lady Halmady's blood. As much as she'd hated the old lady, she'd never wished upon her anything like this. Or if she had, she surely hadn't meant it. Nor imagined it so horribly, gut-wrenchingly awful a sight. Inexplicably, her frantic eyes fixed upon an ornate, golden sword in its sheath above the doorway. She'd seen such swords in her father's chambers in Baen-Tar and knew that, for all their decorative value, they were as sharp as any armoury weapon. But what could she do with a sword, even if she could retrieve it? Against two well-trained, professional murderers?

  Footsteps rushed along the hall outside. A hammering at the door to the patachi's chambers. “Patachi! We are attacked! You must get to safety!” Alythia heard the door open, followed by a scream of pain. Then yelling in the chambers and the clashing of weapons. More screams and yells of rage. Through the doorway, Alythia saw a man fall, crash and roll. He struggled to rise, but seemed to register a helpless horror, for the sight of all the blood that poured out of him. Then to panic, tears in his eyes, a young man sobbing at the prospect of his own death, slashed from breast to navel and soaking in blood. Alythia nearly vomited, and then the world went black.

  She awoke barely a moment later, for now the screams and howls of combat rang in her ears. Beyond the balcony windows, she could hear fighting in the garden. Vansy and Selyna! The thought of her maids thrust her from the bed and she leapt for the decorative sword above the door. It didn't come down the first time, so she knocked it upward instead, and it clattered to the floor. She picked it up and stared into the chambers beyond. There were bodies on the floor, Halmady soldiers, perhaps five. A bookshelf had collapsed, chairs overturned and the floor awash with blood. Beyond the central table, a struggle continued on the floor with desperate gasps and shouts. There was a final, horrifying scream, then a gurgle, as an arm thrust a knife repeatedly into a body.