by Janet Morris
I was still struggling through milling, close-packed Parsets when the gong rang for second section. In my haste I jostled a man queued up to collect his bet, and coins went flying. He cursed me as I ran. I laughed.
Into the yellow pavilion I stumbled, just as a roar behind me signaled the brief presentation of golden knives finished. I would not have time to congratulate the first-section winners.
Down the rows of restless threx I hurried, until I reached the line of second-section threx in order before track entry.
I smiled at the man who held him. Guanden snapped at me nervously. He was already damp and trembling. He had done this before, and the crowds were nothing new to him. He was ready and anxious for what he knew awaited us. I checked my saddle girth, every strap and buckle, and his feet one at a time, though I knew it had already been done. I made a mental note to shave his bristles, which flopped bead-heavy around him. I took off my cloak and handed it to my threxman, and donned the tiask’s mask of plain leather, that I might have some protection for my face against flying dirt and stones.
The gong chimed, and I took the leg up the threxman offered me. Then it was just Guanden and I, and what we would do this day. I took up the braided circle of rein and stood once in the saddle, then settled myself, my knees tight against his ribs, prominent through the padded web of the racing pad. The rana-brown rear of the second-place threx, ridden by the Dordassar tiask, moved before me, and I took Guanden out onto the track.
When his feet touched it, he stopped, his nose raised up to the sky, turning his head to and fro, questing. He shivered, and in answer to the pressure of my knees danced to his place between the brown and the golden mount of the Menetpher who was fourth.
Not one moment could I keep his four feet upon the ground. He walked upon his hind legs, he screamed his high-pitched challenge to the others, kicking and snapping. The golden Menetpher threx answered him, and for a moment the two of them stood together upon the air, teeth flashing. I wrapped length after length of rein round my fists, until his head was pressed to his chest. I saw the Menetpher strike his beast viciously between the ears, and the golden threx came down heavily upon his four feet, head between his knees. The Menetpher grinned at me, where I still struggled with Guanden. I might have struck such a blow myself, if I had had a free hand. At last I got him, for one instant, upon four legs and facing straight ahead, and the attentive threx master’s huija cracked out loud in the stillness.
Guanden’s first leap near to pulled my arms from my sockets. I loosed two loops of rein and let him go. I could do little else. He was oblivious of me. I crouched down, my head upon his neck. The ground sped by my tearing eyes. The golden Menetpher threx was the only one I could see before me. His rider headed him into the tyla-break at an alarming speed. I fought with Guanden for control, that I might aid him at the leap, but he would have none of me. He soared over the five-palm break with such a mighty thrust of his hindquarters that we landed a length beyond it, and almost upon the Menetpher’s tail. Guanden screamed his challenge, and the gold threx’s answer came to us on the wind. I saw the Menetpher’s hand rise and fall on the beast’ flanks, and he leaped away from us once more. I risked a look around and saw the Dordassar tiask and three others close behind. The ditch past the half was beneath us, and still I did my best to hold Guanden, and the harder I tried, the more he screamed and twisted, that I might release him, and he catch the beast who dared run before him. But I did not. Not until we twisted right, left, and right again in bone-jarring leaps and came out of those fiendish stone chutes did I free him. The threx knew what he was about. Not once had he broken stride in the chutes. I gave him more rein and closed my eyes, my cheek pressed to his hot, slippery neck. I barely opened them in time to see the ta-nera pole flash by. The golden threx loomed ever closer. Over the tyla-break we gained a stride, and at the ditch another. It was a two-threx race. I could no longer see the others through our dust. I gave Gttanden the final two loops I held as we came again into the chutes, and threw my weight to the right as the threx changed strike-foot. Then left, and right, and as we hit open track, I smacked him with the flat of my hand upon his rump.
In vain did the golden threx’s rider ask him for speed, in vain did he urge his mount to keep his lead. Guanden’s shrill high voice rang once again upon the track, to be swallowed up in the stamping crowd’s roar as we came abreast of the Menetpher. Nostril-to-nostril for three leaps, and in that time the Menetpher’s hand flashed out, and a leather whip struck Guanden in the chest. Guanden bellowed, leaping ahead. As we passed the ta-nera pole, he was a threx length in front of the Menetpher.
It took me almost a quarter-nera to turn him. I would not call foul upon the Menetpher. He had won us the race with his unseemly gesture. I could feel Guanden’s rage, as we came abreast of the Menetpher and his golden threx awaiting their reward before the threx master’s yellow apprei. The brown Dordassar threx had placed third, a tan with black legs from Itophe was fourth, and another golden Menetpher beast, had the fifth position.
I rode Guanden to the place of honor before the threx master, putting his tail in the face of the Menetpher threx who had been second. I stroked his neck. He was not too tired to trumpet his disdain for his rival in ear-shattering tones, nor to attempt to take a chunk of the threx master’s arm as the man handed me the gold-hiked knife we had won. I accepted his congratulations, feeling cold and undeserving and alone among them. I had only done what the time demanded. I felt no triumph or joy until I saw Chayin, his face alight, with Jaheil behind him, making their way toward me through the crowd.
The threxman assigned to Guanden was at his head, stroking it, and amazingly enough, the ill-tempered beast stretched out his crested neck and closed his eyes, that the threxman might scratch the wet hide under his jowls. I dismounted, that the threxman might cool him and care for him until the final race at mid-meal, and the man handed over to me the Shaper’s cloak encased in brown web-cloth that I had entrusted to him. He touched my arm and showed me the place upon Guanden’s chest where blood dripped from a flesh wound. I leaned closer to examine it, and our heads met.
“I would not mention to the cahndor how this cut came to be here,” he said.
“I had not intended to,” I whispered back.
“Good.” And his glance was conspiratorial. “Rest assured, we will take care of this matter, when the time is right.” He straightened up and led Guanden into the yellow pavilion. I latched the cloak at my throat and threaded the golden knife upon my weapons belt. When I looked up, Chayin stood less than a threx length away, engaged in discreet conversation with Hael and the Menetpher dharener, while Jaheil made exaggerated faces and impolite signs behind the Day-Keepers’ backs.
I threaded my way toward them through the crowd, only understanding Jaheil’s gestures when a hand clapped me heavily upon the back. It was Pijaes, the tiaskchan with whom I had conversed at my enchalding, and beside her Nineth, she to whom I had given Besha’s clothing. They were both maskless.
I accepted their effusive and slightly drunken congratulations, and begged my leave of them. Over Nineth’s massive shoulder I saw Chayin and the dhareners fall silent, staring apprehensively in my direction.
“You are going with Chayin to Mount Opir?” Pijaes demanded, her hand upon my arm. I admitted that I was.
“Surely with your great influence upon him, you could persuade our cahndor that a yra of tiasks would not be out of place upon this journey. It would do you much good among your sisters.” And Nineth leaned her bulk toward me suggestively.
“Could you fill me a yra of volunteers who would go maskless and take up the customs of the north? What is normal practice among northern men might be cause for a death match in Nemar. It would take tiasks of great restraint and understanding to spend time among such as the Ebvrasea’s renegade Slayers.”
“I could do that easier than preserve peace in Nemar if such an honor is denied us,” Nineth sniffed.
“I will volunteer, and eve
n more, guarantee ten others,” said Pijaes.
“And I will find the other ten, though I cannot go myself,” said Nineth. Chayin beckoned me urgently from behind their backs. “Many will be anxious to follow her who was victorious at Frullo jer.”
“I have not won it yet,” I reminded her. “But if Pijaes will truly go, and be responsible for the tiasks’ conduct, and promise me that no blood will be shed other than at the cahndor’s order, I will arrange it.” And at this they were satisfied, and let me by them to Chayin, who took me into his arms and swung, me off, the ground.
“What passed with them?” he whispered urgently as he held me close.
“We will have a yra of tiasks with us upon Mount Opir, with Pijaes at their head,” I answered him as he put me on my feet once more. “I could do no different.”
He stepped back from me. “I think you have overstepped your authority.” His face was stern and his tone far from loving.
“They are your tiasks.” I would have said more, but Jaheil stepped between us and crushed me against him. When I thought I would die of his congratulations, he released me. I felt gingerly of my ribs, lest some might be broken from his ferocity. Hael and Dyis stood by Chayin, and each wore the other’s chald.
“Why the drawn face?” Hael asked me. “If you are so conditioned to struggle that you cannot experience victory when it manifests, in time it will cease to visit you.”
“Are you now dharener of Menetph?”
“Your eyes do not deceive you,” he said, fingering the strange chald of Menetph at his waist.
“Then save your counsel for Menetphers,” I advised him. I turned to Dyis.
“What is the time, dharener?” I asked him.
He raised his hands, palm upward toward me.
“Put me not in the middle between you, tiask.”
“I asked you what you see.”
“I have studied the yris-tera throw for this time,” he admitted. “I am not objective.”
“Talking to one is talking to any. They are interchangeable,” Chayin growled.
The Menetpher-now-Nemarsi dharener grinned, and the green-and-blue lightning bolts tattooed upon his cheeks wriggled.
“What has you in such a foul mood, Chayin?” I asked him.
He stared at me coldly, then took my arm and led me away from the others to the corner of the threx masters’ yellow pavilion. There he let go of me, and his hands toyed in the doubled chald he wore. I heard the gong for the third section chime.
“I must spend some time with Liuma,” he said to me. “There is much to do before this evening. We leave for Mount Opir at sun’s rising. The jiasks ... and tiasks”—and he shook his head—“will stay an extra day here. The Ebvrasea’s emissaries are among us. You and I will go ahead with them. Wiraal knows the way and will be in overall charge.” He leaned back against a stanchion and rubbed that place where his neck met his shoulder. “Make sure your tiasks understand this.”
“You would be advised,” he continued, “to keep your mask upon you until you stand before Sereth, and to conduct yourself as much like a tiask as you can manage until that time.”
“What would you have me do while you are busy with Liuma?” I asked softly.
“Whatever you choose.” A great roar signaled the end of the third-section race.
“I choose to do your will.” I wondered who had won.
“Why did you have that crell brought here?”
“Aje? I had thought to take him north with us and free him.”
“Free him now, then. A tiask couching the cahndor of Nemar and Menetph should have no need of a male crell.” The membrane flicking across his eyes belied his calm. “I have arranged for you to spend the night in Jaheil’s apprei. I want you safe under his protection.”
“And who will protect me from Jaheil?”
He shrugged. “Do as I bid you. And another thing. Speak to no one you do not know!”
“I will have to speak a number of times to those I do not know in order to get Aje suitably prepared to take up his freedom. I would not turn him out threxless, weaponless, or without proper provisions.”
“Jaheil will accompany you.” And he started back toward the others.
“Have you no special strategy for the race?” I asked him, hurrying to keep up.
“None that involves you.” And he knew that I knew what he and Hael had done. “I would not discuss such matters, were I you,” he warned me as we came upon Jaheil and Dyis, Nemar’s new dharener.
So it came to be that Jaheil was with me when I went and bought, upon the credit that the uritheria medallion gave me, a good young red threx for Aje, and an assemblage of plain but well-crafted weapons, such functional trail clothing as one can get for another without knowing size, and enough provisions for the trail to Stra.
We went then, loaded threx in hand, to the pit where all the Parset crells were kept together.
The crellkeep was a long time finding him, and Jaheil gloated nonstop about his triumph and pulled intermittently upon a kifra bladder he had with him. He was giving me the history in great detail of the Tycel son, Tycet, the golden threx who had been second to Guanden, when the crellkeep returned with Aje.
“Take those chains from him! I left instructions that he not be bound.” Aje’s confusion was mirrored in the crellkeep’s face as he freed the crell’s wrists.
“It is your business what you do with him in your apprei, tiask,” the crellkeep muttered, “but I cannot have unbound crells in the pits.”
“I will not be bringing him back,” I said. The crellkeep looked at me askance.
“Come here, Lalen of Stra,” I said gently, and he came and stood beside me, eyes upon his feet in good crell fashion. I touched his shoulder, where the huija had left great toothmark upon him. Even the brown salve of the south had not been sufficient to repair, scarless, Besha’s work.
“Look at me,” I suggested. He did so, pale eyes devoid of understanding. “You are free. This threx is for you, and what is upon her also, and this.” I held out in my hand a pouch. He did not move to take it. I shook it so the coins jangled. I took his hand and put the pouch in it. He looked from his open palm to me.
“You will have to buy your own boots.” I grinned at him.
And slowly his face lit up, and he too smiled uncertainly, as if remembering some skill long forgotten. I went to him then and put my arms around him, for I knew he would not dare such a thing. Jaheil snorted and muttered, and I saw the lingering crellkeep’s scandalized face.
Then I stepped back from him. “I could not get your chald.”
“It does not matter,” he said. His eyes were upon the red threx.
“Do you like her?” I asked, and I pulled from my belt the red sash I had purchased. I was sure that Chayin would not mind if I stretched his permission into protection.
“Lalen of Stra”—I laughed—“do you like her?”
“I love her,” he said wonderingly, running his hands down the threx’s legs.
“Wear this,” I suggested, handing him the sash. “It is good as a chald here, though why I should worry about the son of Satemit is beyond me.”
“You knew, then?” he asked, incredulous.
“I have been much among Slayers. The exploits of the Third of Stra, your father, are not unfamiliar to me, nor did those hands ever play instrument other than steel and gol.”
“I would not want him to know what ignominy I have brought upon his name,” said Lalen gaesh Satemit.
“I know,” I said. And I did know. “What will you do?” I asked him.
“I have no idea.” Jaheil glowered at us, arms crossed over his mighty chest, from where he stood a threx length away from the crellkeep.
“You will not return to Stra?”
“I cannot, chaldless.” He sorted through the weapons in the saddlepack.
“There are two here, who wear the red sash, with whom you might wish to strike up an acquaintance. They are from the camp of the Ebvrasea. I hav
e heard that one of the primary requirements for entry into that camp is a chaldless waist, and the other is a skill level the like of which is possessed by only one in a hundred Slayers,” I said thoughtfully to him while he dressed and armed himself from the things Jaheil and I had bought. When he stood up at last, dressed Parset except for his bare legs, his stance was very straight and his eyes met mine unwavering.
“Perhaps I shall search them out,” he allowed, and mounted the red threx, who danced beneath him.
“Tasa,” he said to me, stroking her neck.
“Tasa,” I replied, and turned away to Jaheil, lest he see the unaccountable tears that filled my eyes.
Jaheil left the crellkeep, and his face was twisted as if he had eaten something sour as he looked at me.
“Let us get some food before it is too late.” He squinted into the yellow-tinged sky and pushed me ungently toward the food vendors.
“If you were my tiask, I would beat you until you were blue from head to foot for such behavior. And before a crellkeep yet.” His voice was gruff. “Have you no shame? Or even if you do not, how can you so demean Chayin’s attentions?” he demanded.
And instead of answering him, I pressed myself against him there in the middle of the aisle, and with my masked face against his great chest, let the tears I could not stay flow until I could cry no more. And Jaheil stood there helpless and stroked my back in the way of men before a woman’s despair, muttering senseless words of comfort about the safety of Lalen of Stra, though it was Chayin who had brought the tears upon me.
When I was relieved of tension, and the pain was no more than a dull ache within me, I stood back from him, glad for the mask that hid my face from view, and we walked slowly through the aisles to the food vendors, where Jaheil saw to it that I ate and drank. Though he queried me about my pain, I had no answer for him, nor for Chayin and what lay between us. And though I closed my mind as best I could to it, the helsar twisted and turned within Chayin’s apprei as Liuma worked her wiles upon him.