After that point, ignorance limited Colbey. He did not know whether he could master the staff and the balance. Nor did he understand how much the staff could do without his communication or support. Still, new situations intrigued rather than paralyzed Colbey. When the time came, he would understand the cosmic purpose. In the meantime, he would champion balance, at least in his own mind. Even amid the agony of his wounds, he trusted himself to meet any challenge the gods or Wizards threw at him.
The hatch swung open. Though it made no sound, the movement drew Colbey’s attention immediately. He watched as the captain descended the stairs to the cabin.
“How may I serve the Western Wizard?” Though friendly, the captain had a reserve in his manner that did not suit him. His gaze roved to the claw strike on Colbey’s cheek, and his face knotted in sympathy.
“Where are my swords?” Colbey then added, mostly to test the elf’s honesty and knowledge, “And where’s the staff I carried?” The effort of speech ached through Colbey’s head.
Captain twisted one of the four chairs from around the table. He placed it at Colbey’s bedside and sat. Withdrawing a pipe and a pouch from his tunic pocket, he packed the bowl. “Your swords and staff are under the bed.” Colbey struggled to sit up, but Captain pressed his shoulders to the cot. “Be still. There’s no danger here. You’ll have them all back.”
Colbey trusted the captain. “How did you find me?”
The elf tightened the pouch string and returned it to his pocket. He squinted, as if in pain himself, then lit the pipe. “I hear all that happens on the beach of the Meeting Isle, and it was fighting that got my attention.” He took a long draw on his pipe and released the smoke through his nose. “I went to have a look and found you on the dunes all battered and bruised like a torn sheet in a gale.”
Colbey opened his mouth to explain, but the captain waved him silent.
“I don’t want to know how you came to lie there.” He continued, as if to convince himself, “No, better I didn’t know.”
The Sea Seraph lurched, and Colbey instinctively braced against the abrupt motion. His body flinched taut, jarring agony through every sinew. “I have to get back to the mainland.”
Smoke curled from the elf’s thin lips. “You said that when I found you. Didn’t even open your eyes. Didn’t even move. That seemed urgent enough for me.” He waved in a direction that looked random in the closed quarters. “We’re already through the gate. I’ll have you back to Asci by morning.” Like direction, Colbey had no way to judge time now. The captain fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. “While you slept, you talked about the others and about destruction. Little made sense to me, but I feel obligated to remind you that you can’t harm the other Wizards. What about the Wizards’ vow?”
Colbey realized that the gods had never subjected him to the laws and rules that governed the Cardinal Wizards. He supposed this related to his completion of the Eighth Task and the paired staves he had carried when he left the testing ground. “I’ve never taken the Wizard’s vow, though I have obeyed it. You’re scolding the wrong Wizard, Captain. The type of creature I fought on the beach doesn’t just appear. The Wizards summoned it to kill me.” As Colbey recalled the demon writhing with Harval wedged in its brain, he smiled. “Ah, such a fight.”
Concern lined Captain’s brow, and he shivered. “That makes no sense. There has to be another explanation, and you owe your colleagues a chance to discuss it with you. Don’t destroy the world for the adventure.”
Colbey sat up carefully, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. Pain seared every muscle and tendon in his body. The claw marks tore at his cheek, and agony stabbed his lungs so that it took him a long moment to breathe. “I did listen, and they heard me, too. We just didn’t agree. But I can tell you this. I’m not causing the rampant destruction that the Wizards, and now you, seem to believe. Had I wanted to kill Wizards, I could have done so already. Harval could have cut down all three in the Meeting Room.”
Captain rose stiffly. He turned toward the steep steps that led to the deck. “Enough! You’ve spoken much of chaos, but your words hold a spark of truth. I have to clear my head.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll deliver you to shore. Don’t worry for that. It’s my duty and my vow. I’ve enough fear in myself for both of us.”
The captain pushed open the hatch, and afternoon sunlight streamed through the crack.
Colbey groped beneath the bed, withdrawing the swords and the staff. He strapped on his sword belt, the weapons a heavy comfort against his sore hips. He staggered up the stairs after the elf.
Captain whirled and stared, aghast. “Stay below. Are you mad?”
Fighting nausea, Colbey stumbled to the gunwale and caught the rail. “You’re not the only one who needs to clear his head.” He mimicked Captain’s fine, high voice.
The captain managed a chuckle as he manned the tiller, and Colbey wondered if he would ever hear the elf’s full-throated laughter again.
* * *
The odors of hogs and illness assailed Khitajrah’s nostrils. Though locked in Ahktar’s prison through the afternoon and into the night, she seemed incapable of dismissing the smell as familiar or tolerable. Fresh straw covered the stone floor of her cell, and the constabulary had obviously tried to make her stay comfortable. But the so-called prison more resembled a barn; and the mingled reek of animal excrement, urine, and disease made it clear that these barred cells held sick animals more often than human offenders of the law. Aside from the straw, the cell held only a chamber pot. Thus far, she had managed to ward off the call of nature, if only because she had a male neighbor, the only other occupant of the prison. As the sun set and darkness descended over her cell, the urge to urinate had grown stronger. Still, she waited, as the last sun’s rays faded through the window.
I can’t believe this! Unable to escape the smell, Khitajrah sat. The straw seemed clean enough. The odor wafted from the floor deep beneath it and from the walls. From one death sentence in the East to another in the West. The thought had cycled through Khitajrah’s mind so many times, she had long ago given up on receiving an answer or explanation.
But this time, chaos replied. *Ironic, isn’t it?*
Having finally found something on which to safely vent her frustration, Khitajrah turned it inward. *This whole thing amuses you. Doesn’t it?*
Chaos responded with a smug matter-of-factness. *There’s a certain humorous lack of pattern to it.*
*Humorous! I’m about to die for speaking a word—a word, by the way, that you coached me to say—and you find that humorous?* Khitajrah shook with incredulous rage.
Chaos maintained all the calm Khitajrah lost. *First, I never coached you to say anything. Second, you’re not going to die.*
*You heard the guard. I’m sentenced to death. Again.*
*So?*
*So, I’m going to die.*
*You’re not going to die.*
*I’m going to die.*
*You’re not going to die. I’ll see to that.*
Hope rose, guardedly. *How?*
*Same as last time. Guile. In that, I’ll coach you.*
The guilt of her last violation still shuddered through Khitajrah. *No. I’m not going to break world law again for you. You’ve driven me to enough destruction.*
*You won’t seduce the guard?*
The idea of coupling with a man other than her husband, especially a stranger, repulsed Khitajrah.
Chaos ran with the emotion, rather than waiting for a specific thought. *You don’t have to sleep with him. You only have to promise to do so.*
Deceit had never occurred to Khitajrah. She wanted to have the thought purged from her head, though she had not initiated it. *I won’t lie. Besides, no guard would let a prisoner free in exchange for . . . for favors.*
Chaos’ amusement spread. *We’re in your head, Khita. There’s no need for euphemisms. We both know exactly what you mean. Besides, he doesn’t have to agree to do it. He only has to come close
enough for you to kill him. I’ll tell you how—*
*No!* Khitajrah covered her ears, as if that might shut out the voice within her head.
Chaos chose to abandon the description anyway. *So you won’t trick the guard?*
*No.*
*And you won’t kill him?*
*Absolutely not!* Khitajrah released her head, taking a more natural position.
*Then I guess I was wrong. You ARE going to die.*
*And you’ll die with me.*
Khitajrah could feel chaos considering. *I don’t think so. I’m not an entity, remember? I’m part of the Primordial Chaos. I’m pretty sure I’d just get pinched off the whole and dispersed. Or I’d find someone else whose ideas give me access. To leave this world, I think I have to get banished.*
Khitajrah lowered her head. The conversation had done little to settle her annoyance and anger. *Maybe I didn’t like all the laws in the East, but at least they made sense. Why didn’t you warn me I could get sentenced to die for a word?*
*Why didn’t I warn you?* The ludicrousness of the question touched Khitajrah with the reply. *I’m chaos. Law and its matters aren’t exactly my strong point.* Its laughter roiled through her head, then died to a nothingness that made her feel even more wholly alone.
Khitajrah sighed deeply, uncertain which she hated more, chaos’ taunts or the penetrating quiet that followed them. Although her formless companion had done little to place her at ease, at least it gave her a familiar object to turn to in this strange land. She sighed again.
“Are you well, lady?”
The voice came from Khitajrah’s right. Startled, she sprang to her feet and whirled to face the speaker.
Her neighbor regarded her through squinty, blue eyes. Greasy curls fell around his face. Though dark, the color seemed more from dirt than any effect of nature, as if the hair itself bore no pigment of its own. He knelt near the bars that separated their cells, his expression curious. “I asked if you’re well,” he repeated, using the common trading tongue again.
“I’m fine,” Khitajrah gave the standard answer instinctively. Then it seemed stupid, so she amended. “At least as fine as someone condemned to death can feel.” The feeble attempt at humor fell flat, and even Khitajrah did not smile.
“Condemned to death?” Sympathy tinged the other’s tone, but there was a falseness to it that made it seem more curious than concerned. “Without a trial? You must have done something horrible indeed.”
Khitajrah forgave the man’s inquisitiveness. Under the circumstances, it only made sense for a stranger to place interest before pity. At least she had found someone with whom she could talk. Once the initial amenities regarding crimes and charges had been completed, she hoped the conversation could proceed to more soothing topics. “Actually, I do get a trial, but I don’t see as it’ll do me much good. All I did was ask a question. I said a word. One word. And here I am.”
The stranger in the next cell switched to the Eastern tongue. “One word?” His bland Western accent mangled the pronunciation, but he spoke with an easy fluency. “Which of the Golden-Haired Devils did you inquire about?”
Khitajrah could not guess which stunned her more: the man’s ability to speak and understand Eastern or his guessing her crime immediately. “The Golden-Haired Devils? That’s the same as Renshai, I presume.” She whispered the offending term.
The man nodded. “It’s the only word I know that can get you in that kind of trouble. In fact, it’s the only thing you could say, short of treason, that could get you in any kind of trouble at all. Before the . . .” He squirmed, obviously uncomfortable. “. . . well . . . before the Great War . . .” He watched her closely for a reaction to mention of the battle between his people and her own.
Khitajrah could not help stiffening a little, but the ensuing decade had deadened much of the bitterness. She also switched to Eastern. “Before the Great War, what?”
Encouraged, he continued. “About every town and city in the West, except Béarn and Erythane, considered mentioning the Golden-Haired Devils from the North, even with euphemism, ugly and insulting, at the very least. Once nearly all of the smaller villages held it a capital offense to say the word. Now, only a few still do. But you happened to find one.”
“That’s my luck again.” Even as Khitajrah spoke the words, her conscience told her she had earned her own bad fortune by following the way of chaos. She dismissed the self-deprecation that had occupied her thoughts for too long already, instead returning to her current crime. “What’s so bad about these Renshai people? They fought on your side in the Great War, after all; and they killed lots of Easterners.”
“The one or two Devils still alive at the time,” the man agreed. “But it’s not common knowledge that they were . . .” He lowered his voice to a scarcely audible hiss, apparently not wanting to stand trial for the same crime as Khitajrah, “. . . Renshai.”
“It is in the East. And I’d thought more than one or two. A dozen, at least.”
“That’s because the East apparently hadn’t heard about how the other Northern tribes massacred the Devils, supposedly every one, twenty-six years earlier. King Siderin probably figured every Northman in the War was one.”
Khitajrah considered the truth of the man’s words. Geography and attitude severed nearly all communication between the ancient enemies of East and West.
The other prisoner finished his explanation. “Half a hundred years ago, the Golden-Haired Devils ravaged the Westlands nearly end to end just for the joy of war and slaughter. That’s how the laws against them got started. The one Northman rumored to be Renshai at the Great War was a soldier of unmatched war exuberance, a general who inspired men to wild battle frenzy. More than a few Western widows blame him for their husband’s deaths.”
Now, the law seemed understandable, if not wholly sensible. “So because of a fifty-year-old prejudice against a dead tribe of Northmen, they would kill an innocent stranger for speaking one word in ignorance?”
The man shrugged. “We’re still rebuilding from the War. King Sterrane’s had more serious matters to tend to than an archaic law that never existed in the royal city. Including a reshuffling of the monarchy, a traitor, and a plague.”
Discovering that she would die for a law that, in a year or so, might no longer exist only enhanced Khitajrah’s irritability and desperation. More interested in her own lot than in politics, she veered off on another tangent. “So, do many Westerners speak the Eastern tongue?”
The man grasped the bars between them, peering at Khitajrah through a gap. “Very few. I’m the only one I know.”
Khitajrah crouched to the same height as her kneeling neighbor. “How do you know it?”
“Business.”
“What business are you in?”
“Sales. I’m also a Pudarian town guard.”
Khitajrah had heard of all three of the Western cities her neighbor had mentioned. She knew Béarn as the home of the high king, Erythane as the town of knights, and Pudar as the largest trading city in the world. “What do you sell?”
“Everything. Tangibles and intangibles.” A slight smile framed his lips, so fleeting Khitajrah felt uncertain whether she had actually seen it.
“Oh,” Khitajrah said, though she felt as if she had missed something subtle. Chaos stirred, and she sensed its instinctive liking for the man. She felt rather drawn by his manner as well, if not by his physical appearance, and the duality of purpose between her and chaos unnerved her. “And you’re a guard, too?”
The man nodded.
“Then how’d you wind up here? Imprisoned, I mean.”
“Ahck.” The man made a noise and a gesture of calm dismissal. “Happens all the time. I try to acquire something difficult to find, and someone misinterprets my methods. Ahktar has a grudge against me, for no good reason, but they’ve never managed to find a charge that sticks.” This time, he smiled obviously. “I’m also a lawyer.”
“A lawyer,” Khitajrah repeated. Sh
e lowered her head. “I could use one of those right now.”
The man’s smile seemed frozen in place. “What an interesting coincidence. What’s your name, frilka?” He used the most formal title for women in the East, one that brought them nearly to the level of men.
“Khitajrah Harrsha’s-widow. I’m called Khita.”
“In the West, we’d say Kayt. Do you mind?”
A new land. A new life. Why not fit in? Without a family, Khitajrah had few attachments to her name any longer. “Why not? Kayt is fine. And your name?”
“Lirtensa. Lir for short.” Again, he smiled. “There’s an Eastern merchant who calls me Leertah. I’m not sure how that’d be spelled.”
Hope trickled to life within Khitajrah, and chaos amplified the feeling. “You would represent me at the trial?”
“I would.”
“But I did say . . .” Again, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “. . . Renshai.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“And I can’t pay you.”
Lirtensa sat back on his heels. “Yes, you can. I saw when they took your things. You had a sword of Eastern design. Nothing special in the East, and not many Westerners would be interested in it. But I’ve got connections and buyers for just about anything.”
Khitajrah considered only a moment. If the Ahktarian court put her to death, she had little use for a sword. “It’s yours. I presume that’s one of your tangibles. What’s an example of an intangible?”
Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy) Page 20