The Third Scroll

by Dana Marton

  “My name is Tilia, my Lady. I am at your service,” she said with a bow as soon as she saw me come awake. She brought my morning meal and apologized for the lack of fresh mosan juice.

  “The mist is upon us. May the goddesses save us.” Her aged hands trembled. “It came on early before anyone could go to market. No market now and not anything else either,” she mumbled on as she served me.

  “A snowstorm?” I had hoped the season of snow was behind us. Escape would be easier in fair weather.

  “Nay, not snow. Not bad weather it is, but great evil, my Lady.”

  The honest fear in her voice sent a chill down my spine.

  “It will pass by tomorrow, but the streets will be empty until then. Not a soul would walk into the mist, not one. Thick it is like goat milk and foul. Many unwary fools have disappeared into it never to be seen again. They say invisible beasts live in the mist and feast on human flesh.”

  She held on to a clump of charms that hung from her belt, and I nearly missed mine.

  I ate the boiled eggs and cheese in silence as her words darted around in my mind like frightened mice. She took the tray when I finished my victuals, and other servants came to attend other chores. All had charm belts around their waists now, although I had not seen that custom followed at Karamur the previous night.

  By the time I washed and they combed and arranged my hair, the dressmaker stood in the door again and worked with me that entire day with but a few breaks. She did not leave until the servant women came for me in time for the evening meal. It seemed the High Lord’s household ate together every evening when the High Lord resided at Karamur, and not only on special feast days as did the House of Tahar.

  “I hope the evening finds you well. Have you yet recovered from our journey?” Batumar asked, once I took my seat, careful of the tiger.

  His plain white shirt stretched over wide shoulders, his dark hair spilling down his back. He wore no symbols of his station, yet he looked as regal as a king. Were he dressed as the last beggar, he would have still looked a warrior. His fearsome sword rested on the bench on his other side, ready in its scabbard.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  He watched me for a moment; then his gaze moved to the man on my other side. “Lord Karnagh, have you given more thought to our discussions?”

  I felt awkward for being in the way of their conversation, although neither seemed to mind.

  “An alliance will be easy enough to forge,” Lord Karnagh said after some time. “But bringing armies together would be almost impossible.”

  Batumar nodded. “No one will leave their homes undefended. Our armies stand scattered on a host of islands to be trampled one by one, while if we stood together with one force and met Woldrom’s hordes as such…”

  The men’s faces reflected their frustration.

  “If we could know for certain where Woldrom will attack next,” Lord Karnagh suggested.

  “A good spy would be useful. Rorin knows, Woldrom has spies everywhere. Best would be to stop him before he comes this far. Can any of his captains be turned against him? Has any the power to bring him down?”

  Lord Karnagh shook his head. “He lets no one close enough to harm him. Gives no one power enough to replace him. He does not even have a second in command.”

  “He is isolated, then. We will use that to our advantage.”

  The lizard-eyed old man next to Lord Gilrem watched me just as closely as he had the day before.

  When the High Lord turned to his brother, I dared ask Lord Karnagh, “My Lord, would you tell me who sits by Lord Gilrem?”

  “Shartor, Karamur’s soothsayer,” Lord Karnagh said without much enthusiasm.

  I spent the meal talking with him once again, my feet tucked carefully beneath my seat.

  Little laughter rang out over the Great Hall, unlike the night before. Dark tension thickened the air, the torches flickering as if preparing to fail at any moment. A chill touched me that I had not felt the previous night. More than one servant mentioned the mist in passing.

  Batumar rose to leave early, without bidding me to follow him, and as soon as he left, the Great Hall was fast deserted, all who had dined within eager to return to their chambers.

  I was just as eager to reach mine. Having escaped the High Lord for the second day, I grew hopeful that he only wanted me as a healer. Maybe he only housed me in Pleasure Hall because it stood empty, available. He had required nothing but healing of me all this time. I needed to start readying for more of that at once, before my services were called upon and he caught me unprepared.

  “I shall need an escort to the forest tomorrow,” I told Tilia, who was once again feeding the fire in my chamber.

  Alarm flooded her lined face. “Lady Tera, the High Lord’s concubines never left the palace except at his request and in his company.” She bowed deep.

  So he had concubines in the past. I filed that ominous thought away.

  “I am a healer. I will need a good supply of herbs. Perhaps if I told you what to look for, you could bring them to me.”

  True horror flooded her face then as she shook her head and threw herself to the floor, crying and protesting that I should not ask her to do such a terrible thing.

  As I could not understand her anguish and wished to cause no more, I sent her away.

  When Leena came, I sat patiently while she unlaced my dress. I had learned that a tight bodice was most uncomfortable for sleeping, and also I knew what hard work went into the servants restoring a dress from a wrinkled state. I would relent and wear the night rail, I decided.

  I feared that bringing up herb collecting might distress Leena as it had Tilia. I would find out why the servants had such an aversion to herbs before I brought up that subject again. Instead, I asked a question that had formed in my mind during the evening meal.

  “Lord Karnagh seems an esteemed guest. How is it that he is not offered a maiden? Does he not take offense?”

  “Such is not practiced at Karamur, my Lady. No Maiden Hall here. The High Lord does not keep with many of the old traditions. Lord Karnagh would have enough women ready to warm his bed would he only ask.”

  “He does not?”

  “A Selorm he is.”

  “A priest?” I heard about such practices in faraway countries, men dedicating themselves to their gods and forswearing all women.

  “Nay, my Lady. Selorm are his people. Different from us they are. But one woman for every man, and one man for every woman for as long as they live.”

  “It is such among my own,” I told her, beginning to like the man even more.

  “Gets stranger, the tale.” Her fingers never stopped moving as she talked. “It is said that sometime after Selorm males reach manhood, they are beset by a powerful urge to mate. They cannot until then, you see. And they do not choose their mates in the common way, either. They ‘call’ from deep within. Some strange vibration it is. And only their one true mate can hear it, and she will hurry to her man’s side. They can call across endless distances.”

  I thought of Lord Karnagh and wondered whether he had yet called himself a mate.

  “Their sacred tradition it is and taken most seriously. I heard say the worth of a man is measured by how fast his mate responds to the call, and from how far he was able to call her. The wait, if long, can be most painful for them.”

  I could scarcely imagine such, and would have asked more questions, but a young woman at the door interrupted us.

  “The High Lord sends his summons, my Lady.”

  ~~~***~~~

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  (Leena)

  I had to press my palm against my chest to calm my clamoring heart as Leena brought a white, fur-trimmed cape. Not as thick as a traveling cape, the chamois had been delicately worked and fell in soft folds around me. I slipped my feet into matching fur-trimmed slippers, too nervous to appreciate all the finery.

  I followed the young woman down twisting hallways with increasing dread. She left m
e at a simple wooden door, and for a moment I thought of bolting. Then I straightened my spine and held my head high. “My Lord?”

  No response came. Yet I knew I was meant to go in, so I pushed the door open.

  A spacious antechamber spread before me, lit by a multitude of oil lamps. The two men inside looked up at my entrance. I could not puzzle out the High Lord’s thoughts from his gaze, but the other man, whom I had not seen before, watched me with open suspicion.

  He wore odd garments, a tunic too long, woven with a jumble of colors most unpleasing to the eye. Slightly built and shorter than Batumar, he stood with his chest puffed out and chin held high, as if trying to give the appearance of a strong presence. But the lines on his face betrayed his worries. He grew more restless as he watched me, while Batumar grew more relaxed.

  “We have an emissary from the Kingdom of Orh,” the High Lord said. “One of the Palace Guards could translate most of his message, but I would know all of it.”

  I could have flown to the ceiling, I felt so light with relief.

  “How many warriors does your king need?” Batumar asked, and I translated.

  “As many as the High Lord can spare, for the enemy is fierce.” The emissary shifted on his feet.

  “Has your king sent emissaries to others?”

  “To all that are famous for fight.” The man’s gaze darted between Batumar and me.

  “Tell me what you know of the Kerghi,” Batumar ordered.

  “They take no prisoners for slaves. The number of their warriors has grown a hundredfold, so they fight to settle new lands. They need the ore of the mountains for armor and the wheat of the fields to feed their armies. When they take a kingdom, they kill all the women past childbearing age and all the males over the age of six. The younger women they use for labor and to breed future warriors; the boys they carry off for military training.”

  The spirits save us from the Kerghi hordes, I thought as I translated.

  “The enemy has already taken the palace,” the man said in a grim tone. “My king is even now hiding in the mountains. He pledges to you all the crystals of his treasure chamber if you come to his aid.”

  “I do not like leaving my own people unprotected,” said Batumar, and the man’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

  “But Woldrom must be stopped,” Batumar went on. “I will take as many warriors as I can spare and help your king.”

  The man fell on his knees in front of him. “You shall be known as the savior of our people.”

  “He might be lying,” Batumar said to me in Kadar, and I knew he had noticed the man’s odd gestures as I had. “It could be a trap.”

  I could feel the fear and desperation in the emissary’s heart. They did need the help. I did not doubt their survival depended on it. “Perhaps he fears you will say no, and his king will punish him for bringing an unfavorable answer.”

  The man spoke again, listing the treasures his king promised, reaching up several times to rub his chin. I translated all to Batumar.

  “It is as if the lies he speaks drip down his chin and burn his skin,” I added, still in Kadar, at the end. “But only when he speaks of payment.”

  Batumar nodded, and I went on, emboldened. “If the enemy already has the palace, they probably have the king’s treasure.” They might have even taken it out of the kingdom already.

  Batumar questioned the emissary on this at once and did not rest until the man finally admitted the truth.

  I translated back and forth for near half the night.

  When the High Lord finished with his inquiry, he sent me away, but from then on, instead of spending my days at Pleasure Hall, I was assigned to his personal service.

  He spoke many languages but asked me to translate when needed, and from time to time, he would ask my opinion on the worth of the man before him. I served him like that until the day he marched off with his warriors to help the King of Orh. Not for the treasure, which he had little hope of seeing, but because he wanted to stop the enemy before they reached our island.

  Lord Karnagh joined him with the small troop of warriors he had in Karamur. They added quite a splash of the exotic to Batumar’s army.

  Offerings were heaped high on Rorin’s altar at the feast the night before the army’s departure, and all the appropriate foods served to ensure a favorable outcome for the battle.

  When a servant summoned me to Batumar’s chambers after the feast, I expected to be once again required only to translate. But when I walked through the outer door, the High Lord’s antechamber stood empty, the door to his bedchamber ajar.

  “Tera.” He spoke the single word softly.

  I had no choice but to go to him.

  His bedchamber was smaller than I had expected, nothing more inside but a giant bed covered in black pelts that shone like silk in the light of the fire of a giant hearth. A small table and a single trunk stood to the side. Batumar sat on the bed’s edge, his elbows resting on his knees. He wore a plain linen shirt and worn leather leggings, scuffed black boots on his feet, same as any ordinary warrior. Yet something about him, even when worn out by work, always remained regal. Awareness shimmered under the surface even when he was resting. He could and would take charge at a moment’s notice if the occasion called for it.

  He had been everywhere at once since he had returned to the city, training with his warriors, meeting with dignitaries, guiding the work to strengthen the fortress. He seemed tired, yet not any less powerful than before.

  “We leave for battle tomorrow,” he said, his large frame illuminated by the flames.

  I feared I understood too well for what purpose he had summoned me. “I did not think you kept with the old customs. Your army is strong, my Lord. You do not need the luck,” I rushed to say.

  His lips twisted into a rueful smile. “I might not follow the old ways, but all men need luck. And even the strongest need some comfort now and again.”

  I reached for my phial, but it no longer hung from my neck these days, so I ended up clenching my hands together in front of me.

  He noticed. “Do you not feel honored to serve your High Lord and your people?”

  I pulled forth all my courage. “My people, the Shahala,” I emphasized the last word, “would find distasteful such sacrifice. As for honor—what honor could be found in forcing a slave?”

  Even as I spoke, I knew my brazen words had rushed forth far too recklessly.

  “You are not a slave.” His face darkened. “You are no longer a slave,” he repeated, as if for some reason he found that important.

  I challenged him, knowing I risked my life. “May I then return to my people?”

  “Do you despise me?”

  In truth, I despised all Kadar.

  Nothing but the crackling fire broke the silence.

  “Come, then, and serve me the way you are willing.” He pulled his shirt over his head and twisted his bare back toward me. “See what you can do to silence my old injuries before I add new ones to the list.”

  He caught me with that. I could not abide to see anyone suffer. I moved forward, part of me wary of a trap, but he sat still.

  As soon as I laid my hands on his warm skin, a river of pain coursed through me as if my own. I could always feel the pain of others, but never this strongly before, never this deep inside me. That he would suffer this without asking me sooner troubled me greatly.

  The pain in his shoulder, and now suddenly in mine, proved to be a bone that had been broken and badly healed. He lived in constant pain, yet for as long as I had known him, he had never shown sign of it.

  “If you would lie down, my Lord,” I said, and he did so, facing his pillow, the High Lord obeying the slave.

  I slid my palm over his scarred skin until I found the spot where the pain pulsed the strongest. I nearly wept with the hurt of it. One hand on his shoulder, with the other I grabbed my own, which felt just as ill-broken. As pain threatened to swallow me, I fought against the waves of agony. I nearly forgot the
man and my hand upon him as I called on my mother’s spirit to heal me, to take away my pain.

  In my mind’s eye, the bones under both hands were as one and the same. And as the healing spirit rose up within me to ease the pain, I felt the muscles in Batumar’s back relax, and at the same time my own breath came easier. I felt the bone in his shoulder soften as if melting, then harden back again, following the pattern of my own good bones resting under my other hand.

  I had never been able to do healing such as this before. I did not know how I had deserved such a sudden gift from the spirits, but as my limbs trembled, I knew they did exact some price for it.

  When Batumar reached out to draw me to the bed with him, I was too drained to resist. I could only pray that he would not take advantage of my weakness. I looked up and found his gaze intent on my face, his expression unreadable.

  With what little strength I had left, I moved to leave.

  He held me in place. “Rest now, Tera of the Shahala.” He said my name as a free woman’s. “You will not come to harm at my hands this day.”

  * * *

  I woke alone. The light of day illuminated the thick glass window that looked to a courtyard. Someone had already fed the fire. I stretched under the silky soft pelts, enjoying the warmth of the hearth. A master must have carved the white stone of the fireplace, decorated with what else but battle scenes. In the middle, smoke and flames had turned the white gray, giving those battles a more sinister feel.

  I enjoyed my cozy nest for another moment, then slipped from the bed and straightened my dress, regretting the wrinkled mess I had made of it. I smoothed out the material with my palms as best I could, and nearly ran into Leena as I stepped from the High Lord’s outer chamber.

  She bowed immediately. “Does the morn find my Lady well?”

  She had been most kind to me since my arrival, showing not only the deference and respect that was expected of servants, but also a genuine caring for my wellbeing.