by Janet Morris
Down the torch-lit corridor, I heard voices, echo-loud bootfalls.
I set off up the stairs, running. It would be Lalen. If he gave me cause, I would kill him.
All of it, I reminded myself, upon the first landing. And I did use all I had that day, and I used it as I saw fit.
None challenged me at the stra door. The threx-men seemed nowhere about. I took narrow turnings, gained the back stairs of taernite. My sensing was out, always. I saw what occurred in the seven-cornered hall. I saw Lalen, with the unconscious guard in the under-tunnels.
I smiled to myself upon the second-floor landing. I heard Jaheil before my mind knew him. I did not approach him, where he raged at his jiaskcahns. We would meet, soon enough.
I was challenged, as I had expected, at the third-floor landing. Three lake-born held the entryway. Their minds touched me, drew back.
Show cause, they demanded. By that time they could see me. They asked no more, but parted. I hardly marked them.
I half-ran that hall to the dharen’s chambers, through the resting and the wounded that were strewn like yristera pieces along its length. All lake-born here. I saw few forereaders. There were, I noticed as I called Carth’s name in the enquieted corridor, no light-chalded men. What resided here was the resistance I had not seen upon the walkways. No whorls of fire, no hovering swords of light had barred Chayin’s tiasks and jiasks from the Lake of Horns. Some of them, it seemed, had fought, after all.
Some, I saw as Carth opened the double doors to admit me, had not. And then he pulled me roughly within. I made no objection. I, as he, had heard the rumble of Parsets like a rockfall upon the back stairs. I, as he, had seen those scattered in the hall rise and prepare.
Carth turned from the doors, pressing back against them, his hands still clutching the bronze handles. His dark face was care-clouded, his black curls light with dirt. His robe was ripped and stiff with blood at the left shoulder.
“Have you word from him? What am I supposed to do?”
“Cede the Lake of Horns. Khys attends the teachings of the fathers. A new time, and a new dharen to attend it, will preside over the next sun’s rising.” Looking around the dharen’s quarters, I made them thirty-three, not counting Sereth and the cahndor. These had not met steel, or had met it so well as to be unscathed. I recognized Khys’s council members. I saw the blond arrar Ase, among what must have been near all of his brothers. They were silently, separately engaged. Unmoving, they were desperately busy. They sat or leaned or stood like statues, each upon his hesting, removed from flesh. Intently absent they were. The air pulsed and stung like hail-lightning.
I liked it not, this fighting in which they engaged. A man cannot forsake body for mind. In my sight, those men had a responsibility they were not discharging.
“Are the arrars too precious to fight Parsets? What do you here, when the lakeside falls about us?” I demanded, forgetting Sereth and Chayin, manacled together upon Khys’s couch.
Most failed to even acknowledge me. Ase laughed. Carth forsook the doors and grabbed me by the arm.
“What say you, Carth?” pressed the blond arrar, approaching. “Shall we cede them the Lake of Horns? Or those two?” He thrust his sneering face toward Sereth and Chayin, helpless upon their bellies. I then knew what they did here, the elite of the Lake of Horns. In Ase’s glare and Carth’s taciturnity I read an argument ongoing.
Carth’s answer was drowned out by the first shudder of the thala doors. From without, louder and louder, came the pounding. The great doors shuddered. A slit appeared momentarily, and the flash of stra. Splinters flew. In iths the thala would be kindling as the jiasks hacked their way to their imprisoned cahndor.
I looked about me, at the lake-born.
The councilmen rose and came to Carth. Their faces glowed with their blood and their sweat. And yet the heat of a man embattled I saw not, only a coldness. “No, Carth,” I disbelieved, when his mind gave me trace of the council’s intent. “Bargain with Jaheil! You cannot—”
“Ase,” Carth said sharply. I backed from Ase toward the couch. The council joined hands. No word was spoken. All about the room the arrars rose, ringing the council, swords drawn but loosely held. The sword-battered doors rattled and shook.
Ase reached out. “Do not,” I advised. He grinned. I felt the couch at the back of my knees. I met Carth’s eyes just before he closed them, where he stood in the council circle.
As Ase grabbed for my wrists, the screaming began, and a high crackling whine. I smelled the pungency of burning flesh. And it was time. I let it come; the hallway, and Jaheil’s men screaming their retreat before the great fire the council set there. From all sides the council’s whorls stalked the entrapped Parsets.
At Ase’s touch, I was ready.
I sprawled back upon the coach, letting myself fall. Off balance he was. I heard him grunt as I hit the couch and the captives, while with all my need and desperation I threw him into the midst of the council-spawned flames in the hallway. I saw him flicker. Then I smelled the hair and leather and flesh, acrid, cloyingly strong, and shielded my own eyes from the light. But I was not there; it was the arrar Ase who screamed his death denial amid the council’s work. With all his skill he fought them, and they, before their own, were of a sudden unsure. The flame thinned, and I took my chance. With Ase, I reached for life. He sought return to the council ring. I aided him, that he might bring his dying rage back upon them all. Their flames accompanied him into the dharen’s keep, while they wavered, undecided. Only that I did: guide their force back upon them. Ase’s departing spirit and their own agony did the rest.
In that instant, as the whorls homed in upon their makers, I let go of them. And dived for Carth, stock-still in the first licking flames.
Carth I attacked with mind and body both, horrified in realization. I ran to him, uncaring of the holocaust raging, throwing myself at his tranced form. And dragged him back as the conflagration, fueled by the will of those who birthed it, grew; smoking, crackling, bright. Then dimmer, as the dying sought relief. Slowly the great whorl died. Around it lay arrars: singed, burned, two missing limbs. The doors shook, dissolving. It rained black splinters and sawdust and a torrent of jiasks.
I hardly noticed. Through pain-dulled eyes I peered at him. Faintly, faintly resided spirit in the arrar Carth. Jerking and dragging him across the mat, I recall, and the steady stream of sobbing curses that were mine; and the terrible afterimage of the cleansing fire in my eyes. Closed or open, I saw it the same. And little else. Fighting a glittered mist, I bent close over him, deadweight in my grasp. I thrust my face close to his, and I knew I had not done well enough.
I looked up dully and saw the arrars still able setting their swords against the multitude. Stra clashed steel. I bent over Carth, begging life forth. I had little to give, little to spare. I sought him. In repayment I received a phantasmic breath, a sporadic wander of eyes under closed lids.
I lay a moment, gaining strength, despondent, my face against his and my hands upon his throat. “Carth,” I demanded, sobbing, of his flaccid features, “do not die. I beseech you. Not yet.” I heard it, and the succedent mutterings, but did not recognize the words as mine. I knew only that I dragged Carth barely before the tide of combatants.
I sought the couch. I sought Sereth and Chayin, who yet wore bands of restraint. “Carth,” I pleaded as I crawled with him, holding him by the arms across my back, “Carth, live for me just this little while longer.”
Ith-years it took to reach the couchside. He slid thrice from my debilitated grasp as I pulled him up. The arrars fought jiasks to my rear, their curses dream-growls in distended time. Sereth’s eyes met mine above his gag. I prayed and tried once more to raise Carth. His hands seemed too cool as I dragged his torso up on the couch.
I scrambled atop Sereth’s back, that I might have more leverage, tears streaming down my face. Some senseless stream of demands flowed forth from me while I formed Carth’s fingers into the proper pattern. As I almos
t achieved it, he slipped out of reach. I put my arms around his hips and pulled his inert form half over Sereth. I had, with that second try, success. Carth’s fingers, by my manipulation, freed Sereth’s throat of restraint. The band, loosened, parted. I took a gulping breath. My knees around the cahndor’s hips, I pulled Carth toward Chayin, across Sereth’s helpless back. Dread opposed me as I fumbled with Carth’s hands. The thumbs must be together at a certain angle. I heard man sound. A shadow fell over us.
At that moment, Chayin’s band relaxed. I tried to shake off the hand that came down hard upon my shoulder.
“Estri,” said Jaheil, seeking to lift me from them, “it is over.”
“The bands!” I protested, sobbing, as he tried to drag me away. “You must let me finish!”
Jaheil released me. “I know nothing of bands,” he rasped, uncertain.
I threw myself upon Chayin, grabbing the loosened band from his throat. With trembling fingers I closed it back on itself and threw it down. Then Sereth’s was in my hand, and it too I closed, harmless, that it might encircle only air.
They took Carth. I knew it only as his limp thigh was dragged from under me. I raged at Jaheil, but he would not hear me. I crouched there, half-crazed, threatening curses upon them if Carth did not survive.
Jaheil, huger even than I had recalled him, loomed above. It was only as he helped me down from where I huddled by Sereth and Chayin that I realized the enormity of what I had done. He tried valiantly, as befitted the cahndor of Dordassa and co-cahndor of the Taken Lands, to keep his eyes from Khys’s device upon my breast. He could not do so.
“Keys,” he snapped to the jiasks not occupied with corpse or prisoner. I took thought for Khys’s rusty mat, and its ruin. Then I laughed, and got Khys’s own master keys from his library, where they were hidden with his charts and precious writings.
“Get water,” I heard Jaheil bark, as I turned from the library, sliding the panel across until it locked.
“Where is Carth?” I demanded, handing the keys to him. “Do not lose them. They and they alone are the full set. There is only the set the dharen has, and these, which are complete.” I saw Lalen, who had paused to extract information from a wounded arrar, rise up.
Jaheil bent over the cahndor, fitting the keys until he found one which worked upon the lock’s fetters. Lalen gave his prisoner over to two jiasks and strode to the couch.
I took up a gol-knife that lay upon the mat. With it I freed them each in turn of the gags, slitting the thongs and then pulling the soured packing out of their mouths.
A jiask handed me a southern water bladder. Under his watchful eye, I gave first drink to Chayin.
The cahndor growled and spat. “Get away from me!” he ordered Jaheil. “Attend Sereth!” The manacles that had bound him clattered to the mat. I saw his stiffness. His hands had been long bound behind. He raised himself slowly, every muscle of his dark frame straining. He reached toward me, wordless, for the bladder. His hands, taking it, shook. His face was forbidding as he strove for command of his flesh. His dark eyes would not relinquish their membranes’ protection. Unblinking, he stared at me. I dared not look away. He drank, and the water spilled out, sloshed by his muscles’ tetanus, and ran down his arms.
The silence of the keep, as thick as befitted such a day when so many took up the chaldra of the soil, pressed in on my ears. Even Sereth’s low whispers, and Jaheil’s demands that he stay still, seemed importunate.
I huddled there, only watching, tremors as heavy along my limbs as if I had been flesh-locked. Chayin’s eyes fastened upon me and held.
Sereth, grunting, ordered Jaheil and Lalen away from him. He would not lie there and let them knead life back into his limbs. He hissed them away, rising to his hands and knees, his head hanging low. Men do not heal quickly in bands of restraint.
At Chayin’s behest, I edged toward him, offering the bladder. Without looking up, he shook his head.
I dared not force him. I implored the cahndor silently.
Chayin turned upon the couch, wincing. “Drink, man,” Chayin urged, his long-fingered hands clenching up the silk.
“In a moment. Give me grace.” Sereth’s voice was loud as a wind-borne leaf dashed upon the grass. He raised his head cautiously, then sat back, steadying himself with straight arms.
Once more I sought to aid him, silent, the bladder in hand. His eyes would allow no approach. With a gesture he indicated the couch’s head. I went and sat there, upon my heels, the bladder resting on my thighs.
“Jaheil ...” I heard Chayin’s voice, stronger. “Get you out of here. Surely there must be more to securing the Lake of Horns. Attend it. When I can walk upright as befits a man, I will join you.”
“As you wish it, Chayin,” grumbled Jaheil. He and Lalen exchanged glances. “I will leave you Lalen.” He waved his men toward the doors, which were no longer. Those few jiasks still in the keep hoisted up their wounded and left.
“No,” said Chayin wearily to Jaheil. “There will be none here but us.”
Jaheil pulled upon his beard. His eyepatch wriggled with his brows. Then he shrugged, and took from his belt a small pouch. He threw it to the silk near Chayin’s knee. “You heard him,” he said to Lalen, who yet hovered there. Lalen took his leave.
“And you, too, brother,” said Chayin, implacable.
The cahndor of Dordassa walked slowly to the gaping hole that had been the doors.
“I am pleased to see that you live,” rumbled Jaheil. “Godhead is a burden in which few share fraternity.”
And he lumbered away. I heard him setting guards in the corridor.
Sereth tossed his head and crossed his legs under him cautiously.
Chayin tipped the uris pouch back, his eyes closed. By it he was greatly improved. His membranes began to flicker, where before they had been full extended. They snapped a time across his eyes. He grinned and handed the uris pouch to me. His fingers sought his throat. I recalled all too well what it had been like.
“I told you to wear white upon you,” he disapproved, as I partook of the pouch.
“Upon the day of Sereth’s execution,” I said, my tongue at the pouch’s rim. I wondered how I had lived without it. Then I handed it back.
“This is that day,” said Chayin. “It is Brinar third fourth. Where were you, that you know not the date?” His hand reached out, took hold of the short lock that hung upon my cheek.
“Where I was, I cannot tell you. A place where five enths equal five Silistran days. But I wore white, and one of Menetph ripped it from me. And that lock of hair I am missing was shorn by a Nemarsi. Lalen of Stra, who did not aid me, I would see disciplined.”
Chayin laughed. “You would discipline a man for that? Little crell, I wanted you in white so that none would claim you. It seemed safe enough to me in the undertunnels. You should have stayed there. We would have triumphed without your aid.”
I pulled my hair from his grasp, flushed, furious. I said nothing. I had adjudged the signs upon them. They prepared for battle. Chayin was acerbic, distant. Sereth had upon him the look of a man who will not be touched. I shook my head, uncomprehending. It was Brinar third fourth. Estrazi’s humor, perhaps? The uris sang within me.
Sereth drew up one leg, rubbed his calf. He looked at me from under the mass of his blooded, filthy hair. Long did he assess me. I did not mistake him. He considered my worth. I longed to touch him, give of my strength, tend his wounds.
“Get what weapons there are here,” he said. “Bring them to me.”
“Chayin, give me that.” And he held his hand out to the cahndor.
That hand, as he held it there, trembled. Yet I knew him stronger. No longer was he banded. It seemed to me I saw the bruises on his skin fading as he worked within. But his hand shook, as he received the uris from Chayin. And in touching that pouch to his lips, Sereth amended his longstanding custom. Never had he used it, in all the time I had known him.
I got them the weapons; all that I had procure
d from the fitter, and two blades of Khys’s. While I fetched them, I worried the implications of their manner. Chayin would not miss it if I sought within him. Sereth was inaccessible behind his shield.
When I brought the arms before them, Chayin had his hands upon Sereth’s back. With each other, they shared strength.
I spread the tas, exposing what blades I had chosen, and added to them what I had taken of Khys’s.
Sereth, after a momentary hesitation, took that blade I had blooded, that one I had worn into his cell.
“That is the one I had meant for you,” I said softly.
A tiny humor came over him as he reappraised it. “It is near the weight I favor. Let us hope it is near enough.” Still did he have that isolate bearing. I had seen it before on him—upon the kill. From it I sat back.
“Chayin, what rises?” I demanded in a whisper as Sereth got up from couch to try the blade and his limbs.
But Chayin did not answer. Then he, too, was standing. I found myself, in my turn, shocked to my feet.
Khys weaved, legs spread wide, upon the rust-toned mat. The spiral Estrazi had put upon his chest glittered malevolently. He had lost all but chald. Upon the left side of his face, and in a strip down his chest, great chunks of the flame glow that once lurked ever about him had been torn away. The dull and darkened skin, exposed, seemed to shrink from the air. His eyes were gleaming slits. From out of that countenance blazed such anguish and fury that I moaned and shrank back. Chayin took me in his arms and from behind. He put his hand over my mouth, even as the dharen’s name escaped my lips.
“Sereth.”
“Khys.”
“Thought you I would quit the Lake of Horns?”
“Never for a moment.”
“Do you hold stra by reason of choice?”