The Golden Sword

by Janet Morris

  “Yours and Chayin’s,” I retorted. But I am your instrument, and must perform creditably.” Chayin laughed, raising his hands as if to defend himself.

  “Not me! The ebvrasea, upon the square of overriding purpose, uses the threx and man to his ends,” he informed me. I made a face and stuck my tongue out at him. “Hale is not here to keep us abreast,” he added. “You should read the Ors Yris-tera.” We took up bowls from the pile of them in one corner and got into the line waiting to be fed.

  “I do not need to—I have you for my daily dose of obscurity,” I answered him, as we all took three steps forward, then stopped with the line while another was served. Sereth’s eyes roamed his men, acknowledging individuals among them, speaking now with one, now with another as they drifted to him. I wondered how he kept them all straight, and their concerns matched with faces. It was a strong bond between him and these men, who had left so much behind upon principle.

  He excused himself from us, handing me his bowl, and crossed the room slowly, for everywhere men’s hands reached out to stay him. And he would wait patiently and answer each one, and smile or touch, and then move on. And I saw whom he sought, before he reached him. Lalen, sitting cross-legged with the room’s far corner at his back, hunched meditatively over his bowl, his large blond head bowed.

  Sereth threaded his way toward him—crouched down. I found I could get a good sense of what passed between them; Sereth’s direct questioning, Lalen’s level, thoughtful answers. When Sereth rose, the massive blond rose with him.

  “I believe,” said Chayin when they reached us, “that we have never really met,” and he held out his hand to Lalen, who took it in his larger, pale grasp almost shyly. He wore no longer the Parset clothes I had bought him, but had availed himself of Sereth’s fitters’ skill.

  “It is good to see you, Estri, where you wanted so desperately to be.” He turned his gaze upon Sereth. “In the shock of first bondage, she was most concerned with you and what had befallen you. I found such loyalty remarkable in a woman.” And I flushed, embarrassed, wishing I had never bent my hand to free him.

  “And you,” I rejoined, “in a position more suited to your skills.”

  “I did not mean to offend you,” he apologized, his pale brows raised.

  “Then in the future, be more careful with what might be offensive.” And I found I had learned that manner of Sereth’s of putting menace and chill in a lowered voice.

  “Stop it, you two,” Sereth enjoined us, terse. “Friendship, indeed!”

  I turned away, and found myself before the kettle master, who served me a portion. It saddened me to see the bitterness toward women Lalen carried. I doubted that I would ever understand a man’s sense of fitness. I resolved to be careful of him.

  While we ate, standing, Sereth questioned the larger blond man of Carth, who had been upon the same chain. Lalen knew little. But he knew other things, he said, from the crellpits, that might be of interest. Lalen then asked Chayin, point blank, if he should refrain from speaking lest the cahndor be offended. The cahndor bade him speak. It seemed that the romance between Hael and Liuma, built for the seas of adversity, foundered upon the shaols of triumph; their secrets had poured raging from Liuma’s mouth in a final effort to extort control upon Hael, suddenly uncontrollable. The amount of detail Lalen held within him of Hael’s actions gave them, then and there, their first plan. Chayin allowed that, since only a few men were needed, he would set Wiraal’s yra off by threx, this very day, to see to it. Celendra could not refuse to serve them, for as long as they paid well-price, they must be couched. If I had been Celendra, and so soon after the death of my father a whole yra of the conqueror’s jiasks appeared at my gate and made known their intention to stay, I would be nervous. And when those men made it clear that they awaited others, I think I should have, if I were Celendra, broken out trembling. And rightly so, for upon the second seventh of Amarsa, one set from this day, the two, of Wiraal’s men, who would have reserved and couched the Well-Keepress the night before, were to do three things. One of those things necessitated delaying Wiraal’s departure until I could draw up an appropriate map. We hastened to Sereth’s quarters, where I made a fast sketch, which Chayin took from me, that he might start Wiraal upon his way, and be back in time to greet Jaheil.

  “I still do not understand,” I complained to Sereth when Chayin had taken leave of us.

  “Nor I,” admitted Lalen, leaning against the color-swirl wall of Sereth’s keep.

  “Good. Then perhaps Celendra and Hael will not understand. One good plan is about all I can manage.” Sereth leaned over my shoulder, where I worked upon the floor at a larger, more detailed map.

  “Celendra has a number of Nemarsi in her Well, and she cannot get rid of them until they move against her. They let it be known that they are expecting reinforcements. Celendra demands Slayers’ aid, against what she will then be sure is a plot to fall upon her from within and without. To move against Parsets, the Slayers must have Day-Keeper authority. I wager they will get it, about the time Hael comes storming, battle-ready, across the plain, that he might catch Chayin upon his way out of a ravaged Well Astria with Celendra. All Parsets look alike to Slayers. Neither force is likely to wait to be introduced. The Slayers fall upon Hael’s men, thinking them to be us. We, meanwhile, have come up through the undertunnels. We free Wiraal’s men, if they need us. We overwhelm those within the Well. We go back into the undertunnels, with Celendra, and whatever else we are pleased to take. Hael cannot possibly survive.”

  Sereth fell silent. Lalen rubbed his chin with his hand. Then he whistled softly between his teeth.

  “What if Hael decides to hide in wait, or is late arriving?” I asked.

  “From the rear, certain of my men, who excel at such skills, will provide stimulus, if it is needed. We might even, if it is necessary, give Hael a few threx riders to chase.” Lalen was now nodding vigorous agreement.

  I finished my map of the Well and sat up as Sereth’s eyes caught mine.

  “It is, of course, only a plan,” he said.

  “I had the impression,” I remarked, “that Chayin wanted to confront Hael personally. Has he agreed to this?”

  “Yes, with certain contingency schemes.”

  “Then, though it does not match my sorting, I cannot gainsay it.” I handed him the finished drawing. Lalen cleared his throat, restless. Sereth’s eyes held me bound in ice.

  ‘You trust his judgment, where you will not trust mine?” He spoke barely above a whisper. I leaned over and touched his face, where the muscles jumped in his jaws.

  “No. That is not what I meant. I know too little to have a valid opinion, that is all. You have not even told me how Celendra came to rule in Astria.”

  “That is true,” he said. Lalen rose and wandered the keep’s expanse, stopping long over Sereth’s racked weapons, his unease evident in the set of his frame.

  “Was she this contrary, even as a crell?” Sereth asked him.

  Lalen turned to face us, the taste of a smile upon his lips.

  “Even as a crell,” he confirmed.

  “And how was she as a woman to you?” queried Sereth in a careful, even voice.

  Lalen laughed. “Contrary also. Stiff and contentious. I was to breed her, and she would have none of me. The crellkeep had to all but stand over us. I thought her just untalented, but that cannot be true. She kept Chayin’s interest. She has yours.” He bent his blond shaggy head and picked something off the floor. It was my Astrian chald.

  “I have always disliked blonds,” I said apologetically. Untalented, indeed.

  Sereth was amused. Lalen inspected my chald, and I saw that the weight of it was not lost upon him. With a twinge, I reminded myself that I no longer bore that weight.

  “She was your mistress for a time, was she not?” Sereth asked him.

  “Yes,” said Lalen, and threw the chald casually onto the rack against which he leaned. “But only nominally,” he added from under his pale
brows, the words a growl in his throat. I wished I were elsewhere. What had Sereth to gain from this?

  “How can one be ‘nominally’ enslaved?”

  “She was busy with Chayin. I ... she ... I do not know what you want me to say,” said Lalen, his head hunched between his shoulders. “I was hurt, convalescing. She neither used me nor abused me. She set no work upon me.”

  “Then she was a good mistress?” Sereth continued his inquisition.

  “Yes,” said Lalen, every muscle in his body taut. “But you do not feel indebted to her for that?”

  “No.”

  “Stop it!” I demanded.

  “Be silent!” Sereth instructed me. “You do not, in fact, bear any debt to her, though she freed you, though she directed you here, into a situation that suits you.”

  “She did what pleased her!” The words burst from Lalen’s tight lips.

  “If I asked you to take your sword and kill her now, would you do so?”

  “Gladly.” Lalen drew his blade, and the shifting wall colors played upon it.

  I froze where I knelt upon the floor. Lalen moved purposefully toward me. In three strides he would reach me. In two.

  “Wait!” snapped Sereth, rising. I looked up at them, at the blade poised in Lalen’s pale grip. “Sheath it!” Lalen did as he was bid, shaking his head back and forth as if to clear it.

  “Thank you,” said Sereth, and touched the blond man’s arm. Their eyes met. “No man,” said Sereth to me, “would behave any differently. A man whose life has been in a woman’s hands can feel no gratitude. He does, however, feel other things.” He turned to face Lalen.

  “Can I put you in the face of what you feel, to protect her?” he asked.

  Lalen stared at Sereth. “I seek your service,” he said finally. “In truth, I did not know the bitterness in me until you bade me kill her. How sweet the thought.” He laughed, without humor. “I will keep her alive for you.”

  “I have no doubt that you will,” said the Ebvrasea. “Make your gear ready. You will leave with us, mid-meal tomorrow. I will find you, if I need you before then.” And Sereth walked Lalen to the door.

  I still knelt where I had crouched under Lalen’s blade. My limbs shook and my mouth was tear-fouled.

  “I hope,” said Sereth, squatting upon the balls of his feet beside me, “that you took my meaning. He is a good man.”

  “I took it,” I said numbly.

  “Now,” he said, stretching himself out upon the resilient floor, “if you wish, I will tell you how Astria went from Jana’s hands to Celendra’s.”

  I lay against him as he talked to me of Astria. I hardly listened. My tremors and fears would not leave me. I learned that my name had been written upon the Day-Keepers’ Roll—that I was legally dead. Jana’s name appeared there also, for it had been more than the two years required since she had disappeared. Celandra had simply demanded the Well, as ranking keepress on the planet, directly after my uncle Rathad’s death. That death, Sereth said, could not be attributed to any violence, nor was there sign of any unfair play. He had not been ill, he had simply died, leaving none of our blood in Astria. Celendra appointed no adviser, but attempted to run both Port Astrin and Well Astria herself.

  “Astria,” he continued, “is much changed. Celendra has brought in every star trader’s device she could imagine. It is said they have pleasure baths there now, where one floats without getting wet upon innumerable founts of some special water. Port Astrin is surely the blackest hole upon Silistra.”

  “M’lennin must be thrilled,” I said, hate rising to temper the fear in me.

  “M’lennin is upon M’ksakka. Dellin is Liaison First, and has been since Celendra took up Astria.” I sat up, and he narrowed his eyes at me. “He has taken the Slayer’s chain,” he continued. “Are you upset?” he asked, and then sat up also. I scraped away my hair from my face, wondering when I would have a moment to tend to it.

  “No. I just thought of something. If you have him in your plan, as you intimated, and he resides in the Liaison First’s keep, I could be of help. There would have been no reason for them to have excised my print from the computer that sentried that place. I can walk in there whehever I want. The doors will still respond to my hand.”

  “You are upset,” he said, pulling my hands as they worried a snarl at my neck. I shook off his grasp.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I am upset. That demonstration of yours upset me. The past does not upset me. I do not care about Dellin. I am frightened by what you showed me.”

  “It was merely instruction into the nature of men,” he said gently, raising my face to his with a hand upon my throat.

  “And not a warning?” I asked.

  “We have been close upon such a situation before,” he admitted, and I knew he meant that time below Santha, when I had bargained with Raet for his life.

  “Do not bind me this way. I must use what little skills I have to defend myself.”

  “Someone must.” He answered only my first statement. I was totally at a loss. What I had done in his behalf, I could not undo. Nor could I forever keep from my skills, or keep him from knowing. I got up and roamed the room, telling myself that I had so little power yet, my worry was premature. I made one circle of Sereth’s keep; my right hand trailing upon the hilts of his racked weapons as I passed them. His eyes followed me as I made a second circuit. It is often my need to move when I think. I ran my fingers over the worn hilts that shone with the softness of metal in frequent use. They seemed ready to jump to my hand.

  “Where is the cloak I wore when I came here?” I asked evenly, at a great cost. I stopped still, my arms crossed around me, waiting.

  “In the chest.” His voice was frankly puzzled.

  I got it from where he had neatly folded it, and carried it near to him, spreading the plain-looking brown width of it upon the browner floor. Taking the stra-hilted knife he had given me from its sheath, I knelt upon the cape. Sereth rolled to his side and propped his head upon his arm. I glared at him. He grinned widely. I cut away the stitches that bound the brown cloth around my father’s cloak, working carefully around the starburst clasps, first one, then the other. When every stich was loose, I lifted the top layer of brown material, and the Shaper’s seal glittered like the stars in the keep’s shifting light.

  Sereth was up on his knees beside me. He leaned over the cloak, running his hand upon the cool-feeling scintillant spiral. He knew that sign. He sat back upon his heels, silently questioning.

  I took the edge of the cloak and with it wiped the dulling agent from the sunburst clasp. Then I backed off it and took the black cape in my hands and swirled it over my shoulders. I fastened the chain between the clasps.

  “This is my couch-gift to you,” I said solemnly. “But you must know what it is about. And you must accept, and not be angry. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” he replied.

  “Take up a blade you would not mind losing, and strike me anywhere the cloak covers me,” I directed him.

  “Estri—”

  “Do it. I will not be harmed.”

  “I will not.”

  But in the end, he did go and find an old, much-seasoned weapon, whose blade bore numerous nicks and chips.

  He stood before me with it, hefting the hilt meditatively in his hand.

  “You must strike with some little force,” I demanded, looking up at him with what I hoped was confidence.

  “You are sure?”

  “Doubtless.”

  “There is no other way?”

  “It might only work with a person inside.”

  He shrugged, and brought his arm back and down so fast I could not have dodged it if I tried. I felt it touch, and a sort of a mild shock. The blade, like the one I had tried upon Chayin, shattered into tiny fragments, and for a moment they hung in the air, motes of metal dust. Sereth’s hand, the hilt still in it, glanced my shoulder. What he held, when he recovered himself and looked down awestruck, was but the stub
of a hilt, only the amount enclosed in his fingers. He balanced it upon his palm a time, staring.

  When he looked up at me, it was with a boyish, excited expression I had never seen upon him. I had been afraid that he would be angry, that he would refuse it.

  “That kind of help,” he said, “I will gladly accept.”

  I took it from my shoulders and handed it to him. He would doubtless need it. I, surely, did not. The protection I sought was not from steel or gol. He took it from me, and put his arms around me. I was content, even happy. I pushed away all else, that I might remember what passed between us unshadowed. But the shadows of the future always cloak the past, and in doing so, change it.

  He looked well in the Shaper’s cloak, though he took it off almost immediately and replaced it in the wooden chest. It seemed to me, in my wishful thinking, that he looked almost born to wear it. But Estrazi had told me: Sereth was not for me. Yet I set my hest against him. I took those moments to reinforce—what I had done, to make a bastion against the chill winds that whined shrill songs in my ears.

  “You are sure,” asked Sereth, crossing the room to slide aside a hidden panel by the door, “that you do not need it?”

  “I am sure,” I said.

  “This,” he said, closing the panel, “is my couch-gift to you, and one for me as costly as that cloak to you. We have an enth, alone. None will disturb us. I would speak seriously with you.” And with that he came and sat opposite me, his back upon the dais that still bore my Parset gear.

  “First, briefly, about Lalen. He has been, a good number of years, a slave. Such can do strange things to a man’s mind. I had to see what he would do. I wanted you to realize, also, where such a man would put you. If he falls, in your service, you need not even blink. But I think he will not fall. He will protect himself. A man must do that, first. His hand will be stronger, his head clearer, then perhaps even mine, for it is his only task to see that you live.” He slid down upon his spine and looked up at me.