Swan's Braid and Other Tales of Terizan

by Tanya Huff

  The top of his head came into the lantern light and Terizan sucked air through her teeth. In this part of the world, hair a brilliant red-gold meant only one thing. Kerber. But Kerbers tended not to wear jewelry. So, like Swan, he hadn't been raised in the tribes.

  For Swan's sake, or maybe just for Swan's resemblance, she couldn't send him back into the pit so, keeping her dagger ready, she moved out of his way.

  Concentrating on the climb, he didn't look up or speak until he was lying face down on the floor. He turned his head toward her, life-braid sliding across his bare back, and wiped the sweat from his eyes with one shaking hand. "Who in the Netherhells are you?"

  "You're welcome." Terizan shoved his leg aside and began to pull up her rope.

  After a startled moment, he grinned and propped himself up on an elbow. "I do beg your pardon. Being down in a pit for two days does tend to wear at a man's manners. I am, indeed, most grateful for your rescue. And," he added, as a small bundle appeared wrapped in the last twenty-five feet or so of rope, "for retrieving my pitiful possessions. I left the robes down in the pit; after two days I'm sure you can understand why."

  The bundle consisted of a flaccid water-skin and a pair of expensive sandals wrapped in a vest. Although plain, the vest's fabric had the heavy, fluid feel of high resale value. She tossed it to him and, while he dressed, used the time to refill her lamp. When half the oil she carried had been burned, she was leaving whether she'd found the treasure room or not.

  "I don't suppose you're carrying food and water?" he asked at last.

  "I might be." Although he sounded hopeful, not dangerous, she kept her gaze locked on his face, repacking rope and oilskin by touch. "But there's both waiting at the entrance."

  "For you, perhaps, but not for me. If I show myself..."

  "...your brother will kill you?"

  One red-gold eyebrow rose and he smiled charmingly at her. "Have we met?"

  Terizan ignored the charm and answered the question. "No, but there's only two people who want the regalia. I know you're not Essien so you have to be Jameel. Besides, you sound much the same when you talk. I expect that's why you didn't say anything until you were out of the pit."

  "And you'd be right," Jameel admitted. "Although you must grant that I have the better singing voice."

  "I wouldn't know," Terizan told him dryly. "I haven't heard your brother sing." He wore two long daggers in his belt. Probably Kerber steel although the bad light made it difficult to tell for certain.

  Jameel tracked her gaze and spread both hands. "I'm not going to fight you for your supplies. That would be boorish in the extreme, considering you just saved my life."

  "True."

  "But as I'm not giving up my search for the treasure room nor going back down into that pit, it might be best if we work together."

  He sounded so reasonable, she almost agreed. Then she remembered. "I'm working for your brother."

  "It's a funny old world isn't it? So am I."

  Terizan snorted and stood.

  "I tell you no lie, little thief." Jameel mirrored her action. "My brother has an army in the city, has secured the palace, and has hired the best mercenary troupe in the region. My army is scattered, I doubt I could even get my mother's family to fight for me again, and it's only a matter of time until I'm found and executed. It seemed to me that my only chance of survival is to be the one who presents the regalia to Essien."

  "A peace offering?"

  "Exactly."

  It made sense. Terizan didn't care about the regalia, it was the treasure room's other contents she had plans for. "You'll swear you couldn't have done it without me? So I get paid?"

  Jameel bowed, his life-braid falling forward and lying like a line of fire along the crease of his neck. "I'll swear that I'd have died without you."

  "Just remember that when we get out," Terizan muttered. She didn't trust him, but it was hard not to like him although, besides the superficial resemblance he bore to Swan, she wasn't quite sure why. As he straightened, she threw him one of her waterskins. It made no sense to have saved him from the pit only to have him die of thirst. "The name's Terizan. And that's all the water you get," she warned him. "Ration yourself."

  "My thanks, Terizan, for your generosity." He drank thirstily and, with an effort, recorked the skin. Slinging it over his shoulder, he used the gesture to jauntily flick his life-braid back. "Now what?"

  A good question. Considering where she'd found him, it was a good bet the prince knew as little about the true path through the maze as she did. "It – or rather they – can't be classical mazes," she murmured, "too many thieves know the patterns. And yet it can't be too complex or no one would be able to remember the key."

  "Only my father, may he rot in the Netherhells, and the grand vizier knew the key."

  "Exactly..." Thinking of how long it had taken her to come this far, Terizan suddenly smiled. "We're going back."

  "Back?"

  "To the corridor leading to the maze entrances." She waved a hand toward the dead end. "Do you honestly think your father would put up with this sort of shit in order to get to something that belonged to him? The mazes are a distraction. There's another way."

  "Brilliant."

  "Thank you." Holding the lamp up to shoulder height at the first corner, she peered at the stone. "I've marked the..."

  "Wall?" Jameel asked. His tone suggested this wasn't unexpected. "My father, may he rot in the Netherhells, had a wizard spell the maze," he explained as she whirled around to face him. "You can make as many marks as you want but the moment you stop looking at them, they disappear."

  "So if I don't remember the way out?"

  "Well, let's just say we're both going to get a lot thinner. And speaking of thinner," he added, gesturing at her pack. "You wouldn't have anything to eat in there would you?"

  He looked so hopeful, she sighed and tossed him a bag of dates as they started down the corridor. "I don't suppose you know what the other two spells were?" she asked taking the first right.

  "How do you know there's two more?"

  "Essien told me there were three but he didn't know what they were."

  "I know of one other besides the wall thing. My father, may he rot in the Netherhells, had a tapestry that had been magically woven to represent the catacombs. If a thief managed to get in, he could watch their progress. Watch them die."

  "Lovely man."

  "None lovelier." He licked his fingers clean and the red-gold brow rose again. "Are you sure this is the right way?"

  Terizan turned left. "Yes. Where's the tapestry now?"

  "The grand vizier used it as his shroud. It was wrapped around him when they lit the pyre."

  "And the third spell?"

  "I have no idea. I don't like to argue with a professional, Terizan, but I really think we need to go right here."

  Terizan turned left again. "Why didn't your brother tell me about the walls and the tapestry?"

  "I doubt he knew. He was always off learning to be a statesman or a swordsman, hoping our father, may he rot in the Netherhells, would approve of him."

  "While you did what?

  "I hung around and sucked up, big time. Are you sure we're..."

  "Yes." She turned right. "What about the lions of al'Kalamir?"

  "Lions?" He had a pleasant laugh – or would have had, Terizan decided, had he not been laughing at her. "How could there be lions down here? It's too dark and there's nothing for them to eat. Present company excepted, of course."

  "Of cour... shit on a stick!" They'd reached another dead end.

  "You know, I did think that we should have turned right back there."

  Spinning around, Terizan found her flat, unfriendly stare swamped by a well-I-did-mention-it-before sort of a smile. "Do you remember this part of the pattern from the tapestry?" she sighed.

  Jameel spread his hands, rings winking in the lamplight. "I might."

  Two rights, a left, and another dead end later, he added,
as though no time had passed, "Or it might have been a lucky guess."

  Terizan took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then she frowned and did it again, head lifted and turned back the way they'd come. "Here." She thrust the lamp into his hands. "Take this and stay here."

  "Why?"

  "Because I need to smell something other than lamp oil and you." She was out of the light by the time she reached the last corner. Eyes closed, she pivoted first to her left and then to her right. Now that she was taking the time to notice, she could smell, very faintly, the not entirely unpleasant aroma of rot.

  ***

  "How fortunate for us my brother didn't decide to hire you immediately."

  "Not very fortunate for those soldiers," Terizan pointed out as they stepped out into the corridor connecting the two mazes.

  "I expect they were mine, not his." He paused as they reached the t-junction and stared up toward the entrance to the catacombs. The angle hid the last body from view but all five were making their presence felt on the slight breeze. "I'll have to see what I can do about getting them out of here and burying them with full rights."

  Bring a bucket, was Terizan's initial reaction but Jameel sounded so distressed she kept it, and other pertinent comments, to herself.

  Now she knew what she was searching for, it took her no time at all to find the outline of the door in the stone wall. A few moments more and she uncovered the keyhole.

  "I imagine you don't need the key?"

  "That's right." Rummaging around in her pack, she brought out a package of dried figs. A strangled noise from Jameel made her look up.

  "You're going to pick the lock with dried figs?"

  "No." She handed him half. "We're going to eat while I refill the lamp."

  He really did have a pleasant laugh.

  ***

  Behind the door, a flight of stairs lead down into a darkness too thick for Terizan's small light to make much of an impression. A dozen steps and the door closed behind them with a small, snick.

  For a prince, Jameel knew a number of very creative profanities.

  "Don't worry." Not even bothering to turn, Terizan took another two steps, wishing she could see just a little further than her own feet. "There's a latch on this side, I noticed it when we came through."

  "You're sure?"

  "Trust me. Neither your father nor the Grand Vizier had any more intention than I do of being trapped down here."

  The stairs broadened as they descended. Level ground was a six foot wide corridor, tile not stone and judging from the small section they could see, probably beautiful.

  "No turns," Terizan murmured.

  "How can you tell?"

  "The way the sound travels. Stay close." She'd counted forty-nine paces when something up ahead reflected back a glimmer of light. "Gold."

  "That's it then." As Jameel surged past her, she heard a tiny click.

  Sweeping his feet out from under him, she got him flat on the floor just in time.

  They laid there for a few moments longer, staring up into the darkness. They could see neither the huge metal spike nor the mechanism that had swung it down out of the ceiling, but it was a dominating presence never-the-less.

  "Well." Jameel's voice bounced back off the ceiling. "It seems I owe you my life a second time."

  Taking what seemed like her first breath in hours, Terizan turned her head toward him. "A third time. I also got us out of the maze."

  Smiling, he shrugged as well as he was able given his position. "Sorry, you know what they say about the memories of princes."

  Terizan snorted and rolled over onto her stomach. "Actually I do." Inching forward, pushing the lamp ahead, she pointed toward a slightly raised floor tile. "Look here. If you survived the way in, that one'll get you on the way back. Swan's right, your father was a very paranoid man."

  "You have no idea."

  "I'm beginning to."

  A pair of shims jammed the trigger mechanisms although thief and prince both carefully stepped over the actual tile. It took them longer to cover the next eleven paces than it had to cover the first forty-nine but there were no more traps.

  The double doors to the treasure room had been covered in beaten gold and the handles hung from the mouths of two beautifully crafted golden lions' heads.

  "The lions of al'Kalamir."

  "Don't touch them," Terizan warned. "They're probably the trigger to the third spell."

  His fingertips a hair's breadth from the left lion, Jameel froze and slowly let his hand drop back to his side. "So what do we do?"

  "You stand back while I pick the lock then we stuff something in the hole and use it to open the door."

  "Very clever."

  "Thank you." Pulling her two largest lockpicks from her trouser seams, she knelt, stared into the keyhole and shook her head. "The key must've been huge. I wonder where it is."

  "I expect it went to the pyre with my father, may he rot in the Netherhells."

  "Don't take this personally or anything, but the vizier didn't seem to want either you or your brother to get hold of the regalia.

  "Well, he didn't like us much." When pacing took him too quickly out of the light, he rocked back and forth, heel to toe. "You're an incredible person, you know that?"

  "Why?" Terizan asked absently, most of her attention on the lock.

  "Look what you've done. You've defeated my father, may he rot in the Netherhells, walked through his traps as though they weren't there, solved the puzzle of his maze, and saved me two – no, three – times."

  Feeling slightly embarrassed by his enthusiasm, she pulled the last fig from her pocket, took a bite and chewed while she worked. "That doesn't make me an incredible person," she said at last and, using the larger of her two lockpicks, pulled the door open a few inches. "It merely makes me an incredible thief." Before she stood, she took a quick look at the mechanism. "Be careful, there's no latch on the inside of this, if the door closes while we're inside, we're stuck ."

  "So we'll be careful." He waited until she was standing beside him then flashed her a quick smile. "Shall we?"

  The door was so perfectly balanced, it took almost no effort to swing it wide. From where they stood, the lamplight barely spilled over the threshold but that little bit refracted into a hundred sparkling stars. As they moved closer, the hundred stars became one until, blinking away afterimages, they stared down at the regalia of al'Kalamir. The crown rested in the circle of the pectoral, the two rings within the circle of the crown. Each section of the pectoral and both of the rings bore a piece of quartz the size of Terizan's thumbnail. Another piece over an inch across was centered in the front of the crown. Only the settings, a heavy red-gold almost the color of a Kerber life-braid, had any intrinsic value.

  There was nothing else in the treasure room.

  Taking a deep breath, Terizan set the lamp on the pedestal by the regalia. "Your brother is a pile of leprous baboon shit," she snarled.

  "Granted," Jameel agreed, reaching out to touch the crown with a single finger. "Any particular reason you bring it up now?"

  "I was to take my payment from the other items in the treasure room."

  "And you think he knew there was nothing else in here?"

  Mouth open to say just exactly what she thought, Terizan paused. It hadn't even occurred to her that he wouldn't have known.

  "And you'd be right," Jameel continued. "We both knew. Father, may he rot in the Netherhells, made no secret of it."

  "I didn't know," Terizan growled, "and he knew I didn't... What are you doing?"

  Sapphire thumb ring tossed onto the pedestal, Jameel slid one of the regalia rings into its place. "Just trying things on. After all, this is my heritage as much as Essien's and this'll be my only chance." The second ring slid onto his other thumb. He laid the pectoral on around his neck without fastening the catch and settled the crown on his head. "Well, what do you think? Does it suit me?"

  Even through her anger, she had to admit that i
t did. The gold of the crown almost disappeared in his hair so that the large piece of quartz seemed to float above his brow refracting far more light than it should have – more light, she suspected than was actually in the room. Had she not seen the regalia off Jameel, she'd have thought he was wearing a king's ransom in diamonds.

  "It's the whole god-touched thing," he told her when she said as much, "but it only works when all the pieces are together and on a prince of Kalamir."

  "You look better than Essien will," she muttered.

  He laughed then suddenly sobered. "I'm sorry, Terizan."

  "Why, because your brother is such a shit?"

  "For that too."

  It wasn't so much a blow as a hard shove into the back wall of the treasure room. Her head hit stone and, seeing stars, she slid to the floor. Jameel grabbed the lamp and stepped out into the corridor.

  "I'm sorry," he said again, and closed the door.

  All at once more tired than angry, Terizan got slowly to her feet, careful not to leave the definition of the wall. The darkness was so complete, touch would be her only useable sense and she had no time to get lost, even in such small room. One hand against the back wall, she moved into a corner and halfway along the side. Jamming her left foot into the angle of floor and wall, she leaned out as far as she could and scooped Jameel's forgotten ring off the pedestal.

  At least the trip isn't a total loss...

  Straightening, she finished the side wall and reached the doors, pushing gently on the nearest. It swung silently open a handspan and she lightly touched the piece of dried fig she'd jammed into the mechanism. Getting in was only part of the problem; a good thief always made sure there was a way out.

  She could see the lamp and realized Jameel had almost reached the stairs. There was a latch on the inside of that door but it wouldn't be easy to find. Still, it wouldn't hurt to slow him just a little bit more.

  Not long before, she had stolen the Eye of Keydi-azda and ended up ensuring the continuing existence of eight small gods. Six of them still owed her for it. One of them had been Yallamaya, the Zephyr That Blows Trouble From the World. An emphatic prayer reminding Blessed Yallmaya of the debt – gods having much the same memory as princes – drew a gentle breeze past her cheek that grew to a gust wind by the time it reached the other end of the corridor.