by Carol Berg
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.
Even more amazing than the room itself was what occupied it. Mostly nothing at all for a place so big. But straight across the room from the doors stood three giant statues, two of men and one of a woman, all carved of dull black stone. I thought they must be images of kings or gods, for they were seated on thrones with their hands in their laps. The smallest finger on any one of them was far bigger than me. Even seated, each was as tall as the walls of Comigor.
They were the most fearful things I had ever seen.
The woman’s face was old and stern, and her carved hair was drawn up in a knot on top of her head. The only color on the statue was her eyes, which were dark green like emeralds, though I had never heard that emeralds could be so large. The middle statue was of a man with a long arched nose, a wide mouth, and a forehead so broad that the rest of his face seemed small. His hair hung down to his shoulders, and his eyes were deep purple, like amethyst. The third statue was even more fearsome than the others, for it had no face at all, only blood-red rubies for eyes.
I wished that my boots didn’t echo so loudly on the dark floor. This didn’t look like a place where one ought to make noise. The messenger glided across the floor without making a sound.
From deep in the black floor at the very center of the room came a faint blue glow. The messenger motioned to me to stand over it. When I did so, a low hum came right through my boots and into my very bones. I didn’t like it, but I stayed put. The Lords of Zhev’Na were sure to be watching me, and I didn’t want them to think me a coward.
When I turned to the messenger to find out what to do next, he had gone. I waited for a while. Nothing else happened. I decided that if the statues were the gods of the Lords, or their ancestors or heroes, then the thing to do would be to show respect, so I gave a very formal bow, like I would to the king of Leire. When I straightened up again, I almost yelled, for I could have sworn that the middle statue had moved.
The floor was still thrumming through my boots, and the pools of darkness and strange blue light kept tricking my eyes. I tried to watch without blinking, to see if the statue moved again, but I couldn’t hold my eyes open long enough. When I finally had to blink, the three statues had vanished. Or, well . . . actually they were there . . . the three . . . but they were normal size, not giant. They were three people dressed in black and sitting on black stone thrones of more ordinary size.
The woman sat on the left. She looked almost exactly the same as the statue, only the knot of hair on her head was gray, and her hands and face were very pale. Over her eyes she wore a gold mask that covered half her face, each eyehole filled with an emerald.
Like his image, the man in the center had long hair, a big arched nose, and the broad forehead that made the rest of his face look small. His hair was brown, and he, too, wore a gold mask; his had amethyst eyes.
I almost didn’t look at the third person, because I was afraid he would have no face, like the statue. But I swallowed and turned to the third throne. Again, I almost cried out, I was so surprised. He wore black robes like the others, and as I watched, his face shifted in the strange light. He wore a gold mask, too, with rubies where the eyes should be. Even though the mask covered the middle of his face, from his eyebrows halfway down his cheeks, I recognized him. It was Darzid.
“Welcome, Gerick. Welcome to Zhev’Na on behalf of the three of us.” He smiled in his private, sneaking way. His voice sounded different—larger than a normal voice, as if he were speaking into a deep well.
“He gapes like a fish,” said the woman. “Perhaps you should have warned him.”
“He is only a child,” said the man with the amethyst eyes. “Yet he does not flee from us in terror. I read curiosity in him more than anything. And amazement. A good start, I think.”
“He is exceptional, as I’ve told you,” said Darzid. “Blood will tell.”
I didn’t like them talking about me while I stood in front of them. Mama always did that.
“Gerick, Duke of Comigor, come to wait upon the Lords of Zhev’Na,” I said, remembering how important visitors would greet Papa. “Is it the Lords of Zhev’Na that I address?”
The man with the amethyst eyes raised his eyebrows above his mask. “Why, yes. You must forgive us our rudeness, my lord. We are old and forget our manners. I am Parven the Warmaster. To my right sits Notole the Lore-master, and to my left . . . I believe you are acquainted with Ziddari the Exile, who has so recently returned to us after an immensely long time . . . abroad.”
I bowed at each introduction, though it felt awkward to bow to Darzid who had been my father’s hired lieutenant. “I wish to thank you all, my lords, for the hospitality you’ve shown me. I owe you a debt of honor, for I’m certain you’ve saved me from brutal murder. I hope to redeem my debt as soon as I’m able.”
“Prettily spoken, my lord duke,” said Parven. “It is our pleasure to grant you sanctuary. Consider Zhev’Na your home, and Ce Uroth as your own country. We think it is very likely that you will be able . . . “
“. . . to redeem your debt of honor quite easily.” Now it was Notole speaking. “We are old and selfish, and we do not step out of our way to aid young noblemen—even those so worthy as yourself—with no hope of return. Our enemies are the same as yours, and we hope to join together . . .”
“. . . to make common cause against them.” Darzid was speaking now. The three of them took up each other’s thoughts and speech without even pausing for breath, like one person speaking out of three mouths. “You’ve begun your training in the skills necessary to accomplish your purposes—to fulfill the blood oath you’ve sworn to avenge the deaths of the man you called father and the woman you called friend. Perhaps that will be enough for you, and you will choose to return to the soft lands where your mundane king wants to burn you. But if you truly mean what you say about your life debt, then we will give you full opportunity to repay it. If you choose to make a new life here as our ally, then we will train you in other arts, and tell you truths of yourself and of the world that will change everything you know.”
“It will be dangerous and exciting and difficult.” Parven was speaking again. “You’ll have to hear things you’ll not like, and do things that are unpleasant. There will be no going back to what you’ve left behind. But it will be the life you deserve and your own choice. How does this strike you?”
The Lords seemed very stern, but kind, too, and respectful. My weapons felt good at my side, and I liked how strong I was becoming and how much faster I could run now. And, too, I thought of the sun-baked ugliness and the jagged red cliffs, and how the only place I felt really warm was out in that desert sun, sweating and fighting. In Leire they burned sorcerers and killed those who had anything to do with them. “I think this is the place I belong,” I said. “I’d like to hear whatever you have to tell me and learn whatever you have to teach.”
“Such a wise young man!” said Notole. “Let us seal our alliance, my young Lord. We are old and mistrustful and must be convinced that you take this as seriously as you seem to do. Come to me.”
I climbed up the wide black step to stand in front of her. I was amazed to see that her gold mask was a part of her face, grown right into the pale, dry flesh. Each eye was a single, huge emerald. What could she see through them?
“Everything, my young Lord. Everything.”
I looked away quickly. It was rude to stare, even at something so strange. Notole must be used to it, since she had guessed what I was thinking.
“We’ve found something that belongs to you, young duke, and have been waiting for a proper time to return it.” Her hands were very dry, and the flesh hung on her long bony fingers as if it weren’t connected to the bones at all. She held out a small green silk bag and dropped its contents into her hand. It was the Comigor signet ring, the one Seri had brought to me when she came to tell me lies about Papa’s death. The Lords must have found it in my clothes when I first came to Zhev’Na. I had forgotten all about it.
“Thank you,” I said, and reached for it.
But Notole yanked it back out of reach. “Wait one moment. As I said, we must be convinced that your heart lies here in Zhev’Na, that you will not desert us when times get hard . . . or when your pillow is wet with a child’s tears.”
My face got hot . . . and my blood, too. If Sefaro had seen my weakness and told the Lords of it, I would kill him. Then the Lords would know for certain that I was not a child. “I’ve sworn
on my family’s honor to avenge my father and my nurse,” I said, trying to stand tall. “I consider my debt to you of equal weight. I do not swear lightly, even though I’m young.” I pulled out my sword and laid it at Notole’s feet. “I will serve you until you consider my life debt satisfied. Your enemies are my enemies, and I will do whatever is in my power to sustain you against them.”
Notole laughed gently, her breath ruffling my hair. “We do not want your sword, young Lord. Not yet . . . though that may come when you are older. What we want is your loyalty, your allegiance . . . your soul. We want you to exchange this signet ring, a symbol of a life you have forsworn, for this”—she opened her other hand to reveal a small gold triangle, embedded with an emerald, an amethyst, and a ruby—“the token of our alliance. Else how can we trust that you will consider our common interests in preference to those about which we care nothing? A life debt cannot be half repaid or served only when there is nothing better to do.”
She held out both hands then, the signet ring in one and the Lords’ token in the other. “You must choose.” The palms of her hands were horribly scarred, as if they’d been burned long ago.
Though none of the three moved from their thrones, I felt as if they were all hovering about me—waiting, suspending breath until I would choose. Maybe they thought it would be difficult. But my dreams had already revealed enough of the truth. There was nothing for me at Comigor, and I wanted revenge more than anything in the world. I touched the signet ring for a moment and tried to think what to say about it. I’m sorry, Papa. If I weren’t evil, I could be like you. But I am what I am, and if those who are wicked can have any honor, mine will have to be what I make it. And then I moved my hand to the Lords’ token, picked it up, and felt such a sigh in the room that it made me think of a thunderstorm that breaks a summer’s drought.