Guardians Of The Keep tbod-2

by Carol Berg

“Leaving an opponent undamaged will allow the opponent an opportunity to take revenge on the young Lord. His enemies are unmatched in their wiles and cannot be dealt with in such a fashion. You are implanting weakness, setting him up to be killed.”

  “Swordmaster, it was never my intent to-”

  “Tell me, slave, who is your master?”

  Sweat dripped down Xeno’s wide face. It was not from fighting with me. “Who but the Lords of Zhev’Na, Swordmaster?”

  Calador curled his lip and laid his hand on Xeno’s slave collar. Xeno suddenly looked pale and sick, and began shaking like he was horribly cold or afraid. Calador stuck his face right up to Xeno’s, still pressing on the collar. “I do not think you answer me, slave. Can we be a little more clear?”

  “No other answer is possible, Swordmaster.” Xeno was gasping and choking, his face almost purple, as if the collar were choking him.

  “Tell me again, slave, and this time we shall be precise. Speak the name of your master.”

  Xeno straightened his back, and even though he was still shaking, sweating, and purple, his voice was loud and clear. “I call no man my master save the true Lord of Avonar, the Heir of mighty D’Arnath, the Prince D’Natheil, may he reign in peace and glory until the Wastes are restored and the Darkness is forever banished from the worlds.”

  Xeno did not scream until the last word was out, even though Calador opened his belly so wide that the slave had to hold in his entrails with his huge hands. Then they all spilled out, and he toppled into the dirt. Dead.

  Calador put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back a few steps. “I knew it! This stinking dog was assuredly planning to kill you.”

  Though it was a bit frightening to know how close I had come to death, I had a difficult time thinking of Xeno as a servant of the evil Prince. He certainly didn’t look dangerous, all spread out in the pool of blood and entrails. Calador sent me in for an early supper while slaves were summoned to clean up the mess. But in truth, I couldn’t eat for the rest of that day.

  Harres, my new hand-combat master, was not a slave, but a warrior like Calador and Mum. He was very strict and came near twisting me in knots. One day I was slow to get up after he had pinned me to the sand for the twentieth time in an hour. My arm felt like it was half torn off. My face was scraped and raw from the hot sand. And my side had a cramp that kept me from getting a full breath, even if I could have done so in the afternoon heat.

  “I said, repeat the move,” screamed Harres. “You’ll never get it right if you don’t work at it.”

  “I can’t,” I said, barely able to get up on my hands and knees.

  “Do you want me to coddle you like the slave did?”

  “No, of course not.” But I didn’t understand why Harres couldn’t go just a little slower like Xeno had. Truly I was making progress.

  Harres grabbed my sore arm and yanked me to my feet. “Let me show you what your ‘easy’ master wanted to do to you, what your enemies want to do to you.”

  He marched me through the fortress, past the barracks, the servants’ courtyard, and the slave pens, to a long low building made of sand blocks. If I hadn’t already vomited up my breakfast that morning during sword practice, the stink in that building would have made me do so. Harres dragged me through the open doorway, past a line of empty wooden carts, each with a slave chained to the handles. The slaves were just sitting there, hot and dirty and scared-looking, waiting for something to be put in the carts. Beyond the carts were several wooden platforms and some big crates, with more slaves working busily around them. At first I thought other people were sleeping on the platforms, but when I saw one of the workers cutting the hair off of the body on the platform, I realized that the body was dead.

  At another platform, a slave was tugging a boot off of another dead person. He dropped the boot in one of the crates and pulled off the next boot. He was starting to pull off the dead man’s breeches, when Harres kicked him. “Here, slave,” said Harres, “look here.”

  The slave waved his arms around his head, as if Harres was hitting him in the head. Harres had to yell at him again and kick him several more times before the man dropped to his knees and spread his arms out as slaves were supposed to do. The slave was a young man who looked very fit and strong, but one look at his face told me that only his body was fit. His mouth hung open and strings of spit dribbled onto his filthy tunic. His tongue seemed too big for his mouth and kept sliding this way and that. And his eyes… they were terrible. Empty in a way much worse than the warriors. And wickedly scared. He wasn’t thinking about being scared like other slaves. He was scared as if he was going to be scared forever.

  Harres yanked at the slave’s short hair, slapped his cheek, and poked at his shoulder. The slave flinched and moaned, drooling and trying to shrink up into a ball. “This man was chosen to be your hand-combat trainer, young Lord. He was intelligent and obedient, his body superbly qualified as you can see. We thought him well suited to teaching-a good use of a slave. But we have discovered that this Xeno befriended him in secret, promising to help this fellow escape. When this young slave tried to report Xeno, as was proper, your kind tutor tortured him and left him hike this, leaving himself in the position to be appointed your tutor instead.” Harres pushed the slave with his foot until the man fell over in the sand at my feet. A big wave of stink made me step back; the slave had fouled himself. “Was this the fate Xeno had in mind for you? If you are like this, then his master, the Dar’Nethi prince, has nothing to fear from your revenge. Remember, young Lord. You can trust no one in the worlds. No one.”

  I shivered, even though it was blazing hot.

  “Back to work now.”

  After a few more kicks, the slave, covered in spit and sand and filth, crawled over to the dead body and started tugging at its breeches again.

  Even with the hard training and the ugly and unpleasant things, I liked living in Zhev’Na. My house was fine. I had my own things to use as I pleased and could eat only the food I wanted. The Lords and their warriors protected me from D’Natheil and the other Dar’Nethi who wished to make me like that awful drooling slave. And they treated me like a man and not a baby. I knew that the taunting was only to make me harder and better, and outside of my lessons, everyone left me alone. Best of all, I was too busy and too tired to think about sorcery.

  The slave Sefaro ran my house-they called it the “Gray House.” He laid out whatever clothes I needed and had my meals brought to my sitting room when I said I wanted it that way. The dining room downstairs seemed awfully big just for me. Every moment I was not training or eating, I slept. I dreamed a lot about Papa and Lucy. Xeno was in my dreams, too, holding his belly together so his entrails wouldn’t leak out, along with that drooling slave that could have been me. And I kept dreaming those things about Comigor that were more real than life. Every morning when I woke up, I wanted to go right back to training. I was determined to be as good as Papa-better-because then I could kill the prince that murdered him and caused all this trouble.

  Some things I missed about Comigor-though it got harder and harder to remember exactly what. Books mostly. Books were one of the few things I asked for that Sefaro could not get for me. He knelt in front of me and spread his arms wide, saying that I could kill him if I wanted, but no books could be had in Zhev’Na. I was really angry with Sefaro, because I thought it couldn’t be true that there was no book in the entire fortress. I even imagined what it might feel like to stick my knife in him. But I didn’t kill him. Even if he were lying about the books, it didn’t seem like a bad enough thing to kill him for. Later that night, when I thought about how scared he looked when he told me, and what I had considered doing to him, I felt really strange… freezing cold inside. No one had ever been scared of me before. Zhev’Na was different that way. Killing was a lot more common than in Leire. I would just have to get used to it.

  A few days after Xeno was executed, Darzid came to visit me. He stood at the side of the fencing yard an
d watched while Calador whacked me hard with his sword and then teased me while I tried to counter. Scratching or pricking me on my arms or cheeks or legs while I tried to get in a stroke was one of Calador’s favorite things to do. That day he kept on longer than ever and started mocking me with his empty-eyed laugh that wasn’t friendly at all. I knew Captain Darzid was watching, so I tried really hard to get in a good thrust, but Calador wouldn’t stop. My arms were stinging and bleeding. Calador whisked the tip of his sword across my forehead, and more blood dribbled down my face. I was so tired I could hardly lift my rapier. Then Captain Darzid started laughing, and the horrid sun beat down, making my head pound and my bruises hurt, and before I even could think, I clenched my left fist and pictured what I wanted.

  Calador’s sword flew out of his hand and stuck into the stone wall. I poked the point of my rapier up to his belly. I very much wanted to push it in and make him scream instead of laugh. But Calador was not laughing anymore. Nor was the captain. All of a sudden I realized what I had done. Sorcery.

  I backed away from the two of them until I was in a corner of the yard, holding my sword out in front of me and wishing it weren’t shaking so badly. They would either kill me right there or call for soldiers to take me to prison. But Calador dropped to his knees in front of me and bowed his head all the way to the ground. Darzid folded his arms across his chest. Without any laughing or sniggering, he said, “Bravo, my lord. A fine move. Skillfully done. You should kill the bastard. You can, you know. Go ahead. Do it if you wish.”

  I just stared at the captain while blood trickled down my face and my arms, and the sun hammered on my head.

  “Do you think that what you did should bother me or surprise me?”

  I nodded stupidly.

  The captain crouched down until his dark face and glittering eyes were close to mine. “I know what you are, Gerick. I know more about you than you know yourself. I’ve known about your ‘talent’ since the day you were born.”

  “You knew I was evil?”

  “You are what you are.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Papa, then? Why did you help me?”

  “Tomas wouldn’t have understood. He would have burned you alive, just as you suspected he would. What I’ve done is bring you to the one place in the universe where such things do not matter. I’ve brought you to a place where you belong. This is your land, Gerick. Not Leire, not Valleor, not anywhere in the Four Realms. Not anywhere green or soft or weak or common. You know what you are, and you know that this is exactly where you should be.” He waved his hands at the broken red cliffs and ugly plains. Then he grinned a very wide grin. “Now teach this insolent servant a lesson, and then we will go have something to drink and a talk.”

  I looked carefully at Darzid, but for once he wasn’t smirking or pretending. Calador was still kneeling with his forehead on the dirt. My blood boiled over like soup bubbling out of a pot. With the hilt of my sword I whacked Calador across the back of his head as hard as I could. He toppled over onto the ground.

  Captain Darzid laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “Well done. He’ll think twice before touching you again.”

  It felt very good to teach Calador a lesson. I hated him.

  We went up to my rooms, and while two slaves washed the blood and dirt off me and dressed me in clean clothes, Captain Darzid ordered Sefaro to bring food and wine. When I sat down at the table with him, he poured wine for both of us. “I’ve been waiting for you to demonstrate your power, Gerick. You control yourself very well.”

  “They don’t burn sorcerers here?” I didn’t want to, but I had to ask it.

  Darzid laughed and gulped down a great gobletful of wine. “Not as a rule-unless they’re our enemies-and in that case, any mode of death is fair. No, in Zhev’Na you are free to do as you please with your talents. In fact, there are those here who can teach you to use them to your advantage, just like your sword and your knife and your fists.”

  I thought about that while I ate. Darzid waited for me to speak, drinking another cup of wine. “Captain, are the Lords of Zhev’Na at war with Prince D’Natheil?”

  “You have assuredly inherited your mother’s renowned intelligence, young sir. Indeed, one could say that the war between the Lords of Zhev’Na and D’Natheil is a conflict beside which King Evard’s adventures are no more than a chess match. This is a war for the control of two worlds. And it has been going on for a thousand years.”

  “When do I get to meet the Lords?”

  “Quite soon, now you’ve shown your power and learned you are accepted here. They wanted to make sure you trusted them before revealing themselves to you. They wish to welcome you as a valuable ally.”

  Now he was making fun of me. I wasn’t stupid. “But I’m not a valuable ally. Someday I might be so, but for now I can only do silly things, baby things. You saw my sword fighting. And I’m not eleven for weeks yet.”

  “The Lords are aware of all this, but, as you will discover, they deem your loyalty valuable beyond your imagining. There is power to be gained that neither Tomas nor Evard could dream of. There are battles to be fought that only you can win, and the first engagement is fast approaching. All your courage will be required, and all your intelligence and determination. I can tell you this, young Gerick. Your life will be very different from what you might have expected, but if you keep to your purposes, anything you desire-anything at all-will be yours.” He tugged at my hair a little. “For now, I would advise you to continue your training. Grow strong and hard like your new home.” He left without eating any supper.

  No one cared if I was evil. I didn’t have to be scared any more. I felt like a slave must feel if his collar is taken away. I couldn’t change things and make myself good. I was what I was, no matter how much I might hate it, but there was really nobody left to care. Papa and Lucy were dead. Mama would close up Comigor, move back to Montevial, and be very happy. And I would stay in Ce Uroth, the place that looked like it was made for people like me, where no one would burn me for making the soldiers march or making a flower for Lucy…

  I sent Sefaro away after he put out the lamps, and then I took off my clothes and climbed into bed. I was very relieved, so it didn’t make any sense at all that I would pick that night to cry.

  CHAPTER 21

  One morning after I’d been in Zhev’Na for many weeks, Calador received a message in the middle of my lesson. I was sparring with a slave who was considered one of the best fighters of my age. The swordmaster immediately stuck a pole between us to halt the match and kicked my opponent out of my way. I was furious. Though I had cut the boy several times, he hadn’t yet touched me with his weapon. I was sure to defeat him at any moment. “I don’t want to stop,” I yelled.

  “When you are summoned to wait upon the Lords of Zhev’Na, you do not delay,” said Calador. He commanded my two slave shadows to bathe me and dress me to be presented to the Lords. A messenger would be sent when it was time.

  The hot water felt good. I liked a bath really hot, and, even though I was excited to meet the Lords, I had the slaves fill the pool three times. After so many weeks, I was at last getting accustomed to being undressed around the slaves and having them wash me. I was definitely growing taller, and I wasn’t so scrawny as I had been. I even had a few scars. And these slaves weren’t like the servants at Comigor who talked to you, or played games if you wanted, or were interested in you as ordinary people might be. I didn’t even know their names except for Sefaro. I thought perhaps they didn’t have any.

  I wanted to stay in the hot water for a fourth refill, but Sefaro hurried me out of the bathing pool and dressed me in a new outfit of black and silver. He strapped my weapons on and hung several silver chains about my neck. Mama would have liked to see me like that. She had always been more interested in what I was wearing than in anything I did or said. I thought it odd that Darzid had talked about her “renowned intelligence.” Mama was pretty, but everyone knew she was not at all clever.

 
Though I was ready by midday, nothing happened for hours. I was so anxious and excited, I felt like to explode. My summons finally came at sunset, brought by someone in a long gray robe with a drooping hood that hid his face. Sefaro fastened a black cloak around my shoulders with a silver clasp in the shape of a wolf. The wolf’s eye was a ruby.

  Sefaro touched the back of his hand to his mouth, which was a slave’s way of asking to speak. “You look quite fine, my young Lord,” he said, when I nodded my permission.

  I thanked him, and he bowed. Then the messenger led me away. I wanted to ask what the Lords of Zhev’Na were like. No one had told me anything about them. But it wasn’t something I could ask a slave, and the messenger didn’t speak as we crossed the wide courtyards that separated my house from the keep. The air was cold, something that had surprised me about night in the desert. As soon as the sun set, the wind picked up, and the heat disappeared like snow on a south slope. I was cold a lot in Zhev’Na, almost all the time except when I was out riding or running or fighting in the sun.

  The keep of Zhev’Na was far larger than Comigor’s, and very different. Where Comigor had thick walls and broad towers, everything at Zhev’Na seemed thin and lightweight. I wondered how the towers could stand up so tall or hold out against the wind, much less against an assault. On either side of the outer gates to the keep were the most amazing carvings of beasts and slaves and soldiers, all taller than life. I hadn’t ever had a chance to look at them so close, but the messenger beckoned me to hurry, and truly, the carvings were nothing to what waited inside.

  The messenger led me into a chamber that was round and huge, with great tall columns around the outside. You could have laid the tallest tower of Comigor across the floor and it wouldn’t have reached the other side. The walls and columns were black. The floor was black, too, and shiny as if it were made of black glass. At first it made me feel dizzy to look in it, as if I might fall through it. And the ceiling… Well, I wasn’t sure the room even had a ceiling, for above me was a moonless sky filled with stars. But I couldn’t see the Great Arch or the Wolf or the Warrior or any other familiar pattern in the stars, and the air around me felt like inside, rather than outside. So I couldn’t say whether there was a roof or not, even though I was sure I had seen one from outside.