He meant, in himself, in his nature. I nodded to show I understood this. I hoped it was true. I believed it was true. Probably it was true. Nearly true.
That was not a doubt I wanted him to see in my mind. I set it aside almost before it came into my thoughts. There were many other vivid things to think of, so that was easier than it might have been.
He was going on. “I must admit, I’m even more surprised I woke up this time. After I was so utterly, incalculably stupid as to defend myself by sorcery rather than rhetoric, I thought Koro would almost certainly decide to put me to death.” He rubbed his hands across his face, then paused, looking at me. His eyebrows rose. “Koro did decide to put me to death? Wait: Geras fought Royova? And won? How? Yes, please tell me everything.”
I stood up, offered him a hand to rise, and said, “My king commanded me to bring you to him when you woke. We will walk as I tell you, because I do not think it would be wise to disobey Koro now in anything.”
“No,” he said fervently, taking my hand and letting me lift him to his feet. “No, indeed. The gods have already been kinder than I deserve ... I gather that’s perhaps literally true?”
I told him everything. We did not walk quickly, and the story took less time to tell than seemed possible, so there was no need to hurry the tale. After I had finished, he walked with his head a little bowed, thinking. After a little while, he said, “Ryo, before I speak to him ... tell me if you can: will Koro's position be weakened now because of my act? Or because he permitted himself to be guided to spare my life?”
These were very good questions. I had not thought of this possible problem, but I was not surprised Aras had thought of it. This was the kind of question a king's nephew would learn to consider. I considered it now. Finally I answered, “This may be so, but I think it is not likely. Everyone must agree that the gods set their hands between your life and our king's anger. No one can doubt this. Also, everyone knows a sorcerer's influence fades with time, so even those who would like to set themselves against our king would have difficulty arguing that he has been irretrievably compromised by your act.” I added, “He may order you to go back to the summer lands and forbid you to return to the winter country.”
The corner of his mouth crooked up. “Yes, that does seem quite possible. I would certainly accept that pronouncement.”
“I have no doubt you would be pleased to accept it,” I agreed drily.
We had come into the midst of the inKarano camp by this time. No one came close or even looked directly at Aras, or at me. Everyone knew exactly what had happened, even those who had been too far away to see everything.
When we came to Koro’s tent, I halted, because our king had not commanded me to come there, only Aras. All the sides of the tent were down, but the entrance was pegged open. Plainly Koro was waiting. I suspected that everyone else had gone. The lords of the tribes would not want to come near a sorcerer. Few of them would want that. Perhaps my father was still there, or Soro inKera.
The clouds had mostly passed away, and the Sun, high above, poured his light upon us. His strength here was nothing compared to his strength in his own country, but anyone could feel the change in the air that meant the season was turning.
Aras looked up at the Sun, not blinking and squinting as an Ugaro must before that brilliance. Moving a step away from me, he held out his hands, palm up, his narrow, elegant face still tilted upward toward the sky. He stood that way for a breath and another breath. Then he sighed, and lowered his hands and his gaze.
“Go,” I said softly. “Try to remember to show a humble manner.”
His smile was brief. “I know that’s good advice. That should be easier today than it generally seems to be.” He walked away from me, came to the entry of the tent, and ducked low to enter.
I looked around for a place to go aside and wait. But I already knew where I would go.
Darra inKarano sat outside her wagon, not far from her father’s tent. She sat relaxed, cross-legged, on a close-woven rug of red and gold and blue. A fire burned before her, but she was paying little attention to that. She had laid a smooth sheet of wood aside, with a scroll upon it, and a stylus, and ink. She was studying another scroll, frowning.
When I came there, she held out a hand without looking at me, and I sat down beside her, a position from which I could watch Koro’s tent.
“This was all remarkable,” Darra said. “All these events have been remarkable.” She handed me the scroll.
Taking it, I saw that she had been writing out an account of everything that had happened.
“To whom will you send this?” I asked.
“To Manasig inGesoka. Few inGesoka came to this Convocation, and their lands are so far distant that they left again some-some days ago. They know only that some kind of great sorcery came upon the Tarashana and then came through the pass and upon the inGara. They know that Ryo inGara and Iro inGeiro went with a Lau sorcerer and a Tarashana sorcerer through the high tomb into the land of the shades to address this problem. They do not know anything else. After Manasig reads this to her uncle and to her husband, I think the inGesoka will probably regret that they did not stay to see what else might happen.” She picked up the stylus, but laid it down again. “The Tarashana people disappeared from the lands north of the inGesoka six years ago, a little time before the trouble came this far west. I think it best to know what is happening now in those lands so far to the east. I wish to know whether the Tarashana have returned to those lands.”
“You will probably also write a different letter, much briefer, from your father to the lord of the inGesoka.”
Darra inclined her head. “I have already written that one.”
I nodded.
“Ryo ...” She was not looking at me. “Do you trust him still?”
“Yes,” I said at once. And then, as I would not have said to very many other people, I added, “I think so. I hope so.”
“You are still his. He has not released you. No one has decided yet whether a tuyo taken in the way he took you will ever be released.”
“This is so,” I acknowledged.
“I hoped for your sake that the Lau soldier might win, though I thought it impossible. But for myself, I hoped he would lose, because if Aras died, you would be free. Yet at the same time, I hoped again Aras might be spared, because if you were free, then plainly I should marry you and tell Elaro to look elsewhere. I did not want to do that either. If you wanted Aras to die, then I would know what prayer to direct to the gods, but you do not want that. So then I did not know what to hope for. I was completely confused. So finally I prayed to the gods to give the victory to your Lau, because I knew you wanted that, and I thought if I did not know what I wanted, then I should set everything else aside and ask for what you wanted.”
I nodded. Then I put my arm around her, pulling her against me. She leaned against my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my waist, not exactly in the manner of my sisters or cousins. I said, “When I thought Yaro inTasiyo would kill me, I was so angry. Beyond angry. I have seen the land of the shades, and I do not fear to die, or I think I do not fear that. But it seemed to me, in that moment, that I saw all the life that should have been mine torn away from me. You were a part of that life I have not lived. The thought was extraordinarily bitter to me.” I paused.
Then I said, “You are forceful and clever, and you are accustomed to getting your own way, and that is why you thought of suggesting to two men that you might marry them both. I thought first that I could not accept that, and then, after speaking with Elaro, I thought perhaps the idea was not entirely impossible. Then, when I left you, I thought again that I could not endure it. So you see, I have been completely confused as well. But when I thought I would die, I realized that I had been stupid not to give over temper and agree to what you asked.”
“I was stupid to ask for something so hard. I ask your forgiveness. I knew it was too hard a thing to ask of you.”
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“Elaro does not have your temper.”
“You have great regard for him.”
“In a different way than I have for you, Ryo.”
I stroked her hair, which was loose. I let the black strands fall through my fingers and ran my hand across the curve of her cheek. I stroked her back, feeling her muscles first tense and relax. This was not like touching a Lau woman. I said, “I dislike him. But I know this is not a fault in him. I do not say you are wrong to want him. You should have a husband who comes to your tent often rather than very seldom. I will tolerate him for your sake.”
She nodded. Then, straightening, she looked at me seriously. “I do not like your Aras. This is not because he is a sorcerer or because he is a Lau. It is not for any fault in him. I dislike him because he holds so much of your heart. When you are near him, your attention goes first to him, not to anyone else. I do not say this is wrong. As you were given to him and belong to him now, it is good that he is a man who holds your loyalty. I know he must deserve your loyalty, or you would not have given it to him. I set aside all my bitterness toward him for your sake.”
I was silent for some time. Finally I said, “We are going to have a complicated marriage.”
She smiled, with sudden, genuine humor. “Perhaps this may be so.”
I could not help but return her smile. But I asked, “Will you travel with us when we go south? I would like that, but does Aras disturb you too much now? Or will your father not permit it?”
“My father and I have already discussed this. Elaro and I will ride south with you. All the way. I would like that. I would like to ride that far with you before I ride north again with Elaro.”
I nodded. But I said, “Koro permits this not to please his daughter, but because so long a journey in his company, and so long a journey to return, will let a singer see for certain whether she still trusts Aras. If you decide otherwise, you will ...” I paused, because I was not certain what she would do.
“I will pray to the gods for guidance,” she said. “And, if I think it necessary, I will pray for the gods to strike him down.”
“Ah.” The prayers of a singer can be more dangerous than any sword.
“I think that will not be necessary,” Darra added. “I think the gods have already made their decision. No Lau could have beaten Royova otherwise.”
“Geras meant to do as he did. He meant it from the first.”
“So,” she said. She might have known that already, but if not, she was unsurprised to hear my words. “He is a worthy opponent. But that does not matter. If the gods had favored Royova, then clouds would have crossed the face of the Sun, not slipped out of his way so that that he could fling down his light.”
I nodded. This was true. She leaned against me again, and I put my arm around her, and we sat together for some time, not moving. The wind came and ruffled the papers Darra had laid by, but she did not trouble herself to correct the disorder. I laid her stylus over the papers and then, more practically, a clean stone set there for the purpose.
At last Aras put back the entry of the tent and came out, straightening. He paused, but I noticed that he did not blink in the afternoon sunlight. I had never noticed before that the Lau did not pause to let their eyes adjust as they stepped from a dim place into bright light. I thought I would not fail to notice that again.
When he saw Darra sitting with me, he hesitated. I thought that he need not, or not on my account, and she straightened away from me—I let her go only reluctantly—and nodded to him to show he was welcome to approach. So he crossed the small distance, dropping to sit on the other side of the fire. “That was uncomfortable,” he said in darau. “Though I suppose no more so than I deserved.”
Darra looked up at him. “Probably you took yet another oath,” she said in the same language. “But will it bind you?”
His expression had been hard to read, but his mouth crooked up at that, not so much amused as wry. “We shall have to see. I have not taken it yet. I will do so at dawn. That is the right time for Lau to swear oaths. Or midday. But for this one, dawn.” He added to me, “Your people frame your oaths a little differently, but this is the sort of oath you’d imagine your king would request. Not as strict as the one I swore to Soretes, actually, and regarding only the use of sorcery on Ugaro. Or rather, the definite non-use of sorcery on Ugaro.”
“So,” I said noncommittally.
“I know; it’s a bit like shutting the gate when you’re already standing in the dust of the departing herd. But in his place, I would probably require something very like it from a man like me, even though I’m already an oathbreaker.” He paused.
I did not want to think of oathbreaking right now. I said, “So,” again, in an even flatter tone.
“Every oath taken is a barrier to wrong action,” Darra said. “I think, so far, it is not wrong to ask the gods to be merciful to you and judge you kindly. Perhaps they may, if everyone earnestly asks for that on your behalf. If you break the new oath, that will be different. Should that happen, no Ugaro singer will pray for mercy.”
Aras nodded. “That seems fair enough. I would certainly be particularly glad to know Ugaro singers might petition the gods for mercy for my sake.”
“Yes,” Darra said. “You should be.” She rose, and stood for a moment looking at him. Finally she walked away, and went into her father’s tent.
Aras, looking after her, sighed. He said to me, “Ryo, I honestly don’t believe anything has changed.”
“I am pleased to know this.”
“Yes, I’m aware it may take some time to be certain. Regardless of the oath or any oath, once I cross the river, I am forbidden to return to the winter country without Koro's explicit permission, as well as the permission and invitation of the lord of the territory I enter.”
I nodded. That was not at all surprising.
“Yes, I thought so too. To be perfectly honest, I doubt I shall ever find it advisable to impose upon your king's ... let's say, his tolerance. I think that has probably extended about as far as I would care to test it.”
That also seemed a wise decision.
Aras smiled. “Just so. Well. Now that that's behind me, as I'm still alive, I need to speak to Geras.”
“You do,” I acknowledged. Standing, I offered him my hand. He took it, and I lifted him to his feet. Then we walked together back toward the inGara camp. “I must go to my father,” I added. “I am very certain he will wish to speak to me regarding my disrespectful behavior today.”
“Will he beat you?”
I glanced at him sidelong. “He may. Probably he will. I should not have spoken in that way at all, but certainly not to Koro inKarano, nor before a gathering of many tribes. You know I am afraid of the whip, even now, after this long.”
“Anyone would be.”
“I think this is so. I have accepted this fear. It is not important. Do not protest on my behalf, if you have thought of that.”
He smiled. “You know me well, Ryo. Very well, if it would embarrass you for me to speak to your father, I won’t, but I’m grateful for your temper on my behalf.” He paused, touching my arm to make me pause as well. Facing me, he said, “Here’s something you may not have realized. I’m going to have to go to my king for judgment—I promised Koro, but I would have to do that anyway, after all this. We Lau handle oaths differently than your people, but I’ve now broken a very serious oath I swore directly to Soretes. He certainly won’t take that lightly.”
I had, of course, realized that. “Yes?” I said.
“Well, under the circumstances, I don’t think it will matter very much if I severely bend one or two other, lesser, oaths. I’m not going to put those people to death. I'll extend clemency and declare a different punishment. Something harsh, there’s no help for that, but not as harsh as the law technically requires. So that’s one good thing that will come out of all this.”
So many days had passed, and so many important things had happened, that I had act
ually forgotten that problem entirely. I remembered it now. “Aras,” I said, smiling. “Good. You uncle will permit this?”
“If I make an official proclamation of clemency, probably. Almost certainly. Doing so will be a serious enough failure of my duty that he might break my scepter for it. But he'll have several other more important reasons to do that, so it hardly seems to signify.”
I was very, very pleased. His nature had not changed at all. He was still very much himself: generous even where that might be a fault; deeply revolted by any kind of cruelty; willing to take a difficult burden on himself to spare other people.
I made no effort to put this thought aside. I did not mind at all if he saw it.
“I hope that’s true,” he told me. “I think it is. I’m sure it is.” We began to walk again, not fast.
I asked, realizing what else he had said, “Do you truly believe your uncle will break your scepter?”
“I don't know. It's not unlikely. If he does, I'll accept that.” He added, firmly turning the subject, “It would probably be best if I left soon. It's a long way south to the river, and I don't think it would be wise for me to impose on your king's tolerance any longer than necessary. It’s still cold, but there’s not much snow, at least. I hope my poor horses will manage.”
I was still thinking about what might happen if the summer king withdrew the authority he had granted Aras, but I made myself set those thoughts aside and smiled. “Do not be concerned. The season has turned. We will ride from winter into spring. By the time we come to the lower steppe, the snow will be less, so I think the horses will do well enough. By the time we cross the Little Knife, all the snow will be gone. Long before we come to the river, we will ride all the way from winter into summer.”
“I look forward to that very much,” he said softly. “I’m very glad to think I’ll live to see another summer ... and glad that you’ll be making that ride with me. We’ll go at once to Avaras, and I swear to you, I’ll see about asking Tesmeket-an to removing the tie from your mind even before dealing with this other business.”
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