by Ian Irvine
Rulke showed his teeth again. Perhaps it was meant to be a smile; perhaps a threat. “An intimate friend, and the telling only the minor part of his performance. Why do you think I put you together in that cell?”
Her heart leapt out of her chest and lay on the icy floor with Rulke’s boot on it.
“He’s gone, but I have him still.” He touched his forehead. “You will do what I say. Embrace the task willingly, else I tear the mind from his body before you. I will, if I have to!”
“Then you will never get what you want!”
“Don’t dally with me!” he cried. “I can torment him for a week, a month, a year!”
“He’s gone!” she said furiously. “You’ve already sent him away.”
He pulled a device out of a pouch in his cloak, two short tubes of metal joined side by side, with glass in either end. “Put these to your eyes, and look over there!”
Karan looked through the glasses and at once Llian sprang into view, stumbling through the snow. Illuminated by some abnormal light, he was quite clear to her, yet his companions were mere shadows against the darker dark.
“Where is he? That’s… that’s the amphitheater!”
“So it is. My construct didn’t work as well as I expected. It needs tuning. When I get him back I’ll test it properly.” He gripped Karan’s shoulders and pulled her face up to his. “You can’t bear to be parted from him, can you?”
She had to force herself to look him in the eye, not to shrink away. “It’s tolerable, to keep him out of your reach.”
“Remember Gothryme, remember Tullin!”
“How do I know that what you show me is real?”
Rulke grew impatient. “It’s real—see this!”
He wrung his hands right in her face. Through the glasses, Llian convulsed, his mouth wide open in a silent scream, and fell down in the snow tearing at his head. She had seen that before. It was far too horrible. She put the glasses down but the image stayed in her mind. Llian’s silent cries wracked her.
“Is that the reality that it takes to convince you?” he shouted in her face, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath.
“You boast about honor but you’re just a sadist.”
That struck him in his core. “I’m not!” he cried. “The very future of my species is at stake.”
“I’ve heard that before!”
“Have you?” He thrust his face against hers, staring into her eyes. She did not look away. “Would you not do the same if the life of your child was at stake?”
“I don’t have a child,” she gasped, trying to get away.
“But you want one, more than anything you have ever wanted?”
“Yes!” she whispered.
“What would you not do to save its life?”
“Very little,” she admitted.
“As with me! Do you need any further demonstration?”
She shook her head. “I know your work,” she said. “I’ve seen enough of it.”
“Then what is your decision?”
“I cannot make it.”
“I have no time for this,” he snapped, wringing his hands again.
Llian’s agony surged back across the link. Karan almost fainted with the pressure of it.
“Leave me!” she screamed.
Rulke made to wring his hands a third time, and in a fury she swung her fist up at his chin. He was caught by surprise, but ducked out of the way. He laughed, genuinely amused, ruffled her hair as if she was a child, then went down the stairs, leaving her cold and alone in the big room. She was caught and they both knew it.
Karan sat on the cold bench. Llian would be better off dead. What point her resisting any longer? Perhaps Rulke was right anyway; perhaps Santhenar would be the better for his rule. How could she tell? Even the wisest, the most learned, could not foretell the way the future would go. Why should the choice come down to her? She didn’t want any of this—only Llian.
How much Llian had brought to her life. How much he had done for her. What she most thought of was his tenderness, his gentleness, and the clumsy, laughable, idiosyncratic way that he did most things, save his art. She did not have the will to hold out any longer. Once she would have thought of the greater good, but no longer. Why should she not consider her own little world and her own happiness?
But something still nagged at her. Why was Rulke in such haste? He insisted that he had plenty of time yet he pressed her very hard. And it had been the same in his dealings with Llian.
Ghâshâd came and went, cleaning the table, packing unidentifiable items inside the construct, removing others.
She went back to the embrasure. The snow had stopped but the wind still howled in the roof. The clouds that had previously covered all the sky were now torn into rags through which the moon could be seen, high above. On the other side the sun was rising. She mentally reckoned up the days until hythe, mid-winter’s day. A week. What a winter it had been; what a year. Would the next be a better one? It could hardly be worse. Yes, it could be very much worse, and that depended on what she did in the next few days.
The clouds thinned and she saw that the moon was past the three quarters. It was a long time since she’d seen it, with the continual overcast; not since she’d returned to Gothryme. A full moon in hythe—that would be a good omen for the new year. But that set her to thinking. What omen was that connected to? She leaned far out, the cold wind biting her cheeks.
The moon in hythe reminded her of a rhyme she’d heard somewhere. The dark face of the moon was waxing. Bad luck! Whatever the phase of the moon, whenever it showed the dark side was an ill-omen. But when the full moon showed only the dark face—which only occurred a few times in a lifetime—it was an evil omen. Though Karan did not set much store by omens, she shivered at the thought.
Then it all fell into place. There had been something about the full dark moon after she and Llian fell through the gate into the Nightland. Yggur and Mendark had talked about it once. Suddenly she understood why Rulke was in such a hurry. The moon would be full in about a week. Hythe was a week away too. She squinted against the wind. By the look of the moon, it would be fully dark in a week too. A full dark moon on hythe, mid-winter’s day, might only occur once in a thousand years for all she knew. And that was the prophecy—the day that Rulke would come out.
Rulke must be ready in a week. No wonder he pressed her. Until now he had played with her, but time had run out. When he came back up the stairs it would be to force her, savagely if he must. Little time for her, either.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She turned slowly, knowing already what she would find there. Rulke! He stood close behind. Huge. Magnificent. Terrible. How could she even think to oppose him? Surely he knew everything, even what she was thinking. What did it matter anyway?
He said nothing but clasped his hands, and the tormented image of Llian was back in her mind though she had put the glasses down a long time ago.
“Look at him, tearing his hair out. Why do you let him suffer?”
No one should ever be made to suffer so, she thought. You have taken away my last restraint. He is mine and I will have him.
“There is a price,” she said fiercely.
Rulke frowned. “Another game? What is the price, shade of Elienor?”
“No game. Give me what I want or you get nothing.”
He looked tormented. “I haven’t got time for this, Karan!”
There, it was out in the open.
“My Ghâshâd have taken him back; he will soon be here.” He raised his hands.
Karan was on the edge of panic. At all costs she didn’t want Llian to see her dealings with Rulke. He would never forgive her. She spoke quickly. “Do that again and you get nothing. I can hold out against you for long enough. The dark moon will be in hythe in a week. All your preparations must be made in seven days. You cannot teach me to work with the construct in a few hours. Pay my price.”
He looked surprised. “You’re
smart too! Perhaps I’ll make do with what I can compel from you.”
“You can compel nothing useful from me. I, too, have been forged in intense fires. I can turn off my gift in an instant. I did it before, after Name, and couldn’t find it again for months.”
“What is your price?”
“All compulsion must be taken from Llian.”
“Never, else how will I get you to do my will?”
“You can torment me, threaten my lands, my people. But until he is free you get nothing.”
She could see his impatience now. “Very well,” he said. “What does it matter? I have no further need for him, and much else to occupy the part of my mind dedicated to his control.” He waved his hand. “It is done.”
“We are linked. I say it is not done.”
“You bluff. I sense no link.”
“You cannot,” she guessed, “now that you are out of the Nightland. Do it.”
Rulke wrestled with himself. How he hated anyone to get the better of him. Yet he must not let pride stand in the way of the ultimate goal. What did anything matter but that? He nodded. His eyes went blank, his lips moved, he looked deep into her eyes. For a moment everything swam before her but she wrenched her mind back to the task.
“It is done.”
“I am not satisfied. Do it again.”
He smiled. “I’ve a price too, since we’ve come down to the final negotiations. Tell me who you really are.”
He’d hit on the only thing that she did not want to give up, even for Llian. If he knew who she was, he’d use that too. Was Llian worth that sacrifice? She looked away, clenching and unclenching her fists.
“Well?” he asked softly. “I won’t harm you.”
Karan bit her lip. Was anyone worth that much? Was Llian? “I am triune,” she whispered. “I have a Faellem ancestor. My third name is Melluselde.”
His reaction was not at all what she’d expected. Taking her in his arms he hugged her to his vast chest. She struggled helplessly. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I truly am.” He let her go.
She fell down, gasping, not game to ask what he meant. Rulke performed the operation of release a third time, and this time it seemed better to Karan, more complete. She could not see into Llian’s mind, but over the link she felt the great relief, the lifting of pressure that he had been under for half a year.
“Well?”
“I am satisfied,” she said from the floor.
He smiled and there was relief in the smile.
“Are you still going to bring Llian back?” she said.
“Do you want me to? Will it help you do my work?”
“It will make it ten times harder.”
“So I thought. He’ll lose his good opinion of you if he sees what you do here! In that case, I have no use for him anymore.”
“Good.” She closed down the link between her and Llian, just in case. And in case one of her stray thoughts got through. Rulke was right. She was mortally ashamed of what she was going to do. Then, thinking about the prophecy Rulke had spoken in Katazza, she was reminded of Shand’s reply.
“There was a foretelling about the triune and you, was there not? Shand said it:
“Break down the golden horn,
Wish the glass unmade,
Fear the thrice born,
But beware the thrice betrayed.”
Rulke laughed. “An old Charon fable, but he’s got it mixed up. He should have spoken it to Faelamor, not me. I’m not afraid of you, Karan. Now, do your part.” He gestured to the construct.
She had almost forgotten it. But now she was struck by the incongruity. “Why do you dwell in this frigid ruin when the whole of Shazmak is available to you?”
“Before the Forbidding we traveled by gates,” he explained, “in those few places where such devices would function. Gates can only be made in certain places, and only lead to certain places, and since the Forbidding it is many times harder to make them. The Aachim set up defenses against the use of gates, in Shazmak and all their cities. We have not yet broken the defenses of Shazmak and until we do I cannot take the construct there. Besides, Carcharon is a superb place to use my construct, perhaps the best in Santhenar. In that, at least, your mad ancestor was right.
“So here, piece by slow piece, I attached the reality to the pattern that I brought from the Nightland. There the reality could not exist, so the construct had to be made here. And you are the sensitive who will seek out the Way between the Worlds and tune it to the destination.”
“You would go between the worlds?”
“I would, and you will find the Way for me. I will make you great. No one has ever accused me of betraying those who served me faithfully, no matter what my reputation with my enemies. Cast aside your petty dreams, your petty alliances, and follow me.”
No point in further delay. “What would you have me do? Why me?”
“Because you are triune. But rare and precious as triunes are, you are not just any triune. You can link! And most of all, because you are a sensitive. Only you can sense out the Way. And, I have to say it, the irony drives me powerfully.”
“The irony?”
“That you, who are the very image of my nemesis, the beautiful Elienor, shall be the one who opens our way into the universe.”
His eyes glowed; for a moment Karan was caught up in his majestic dream. And it had to be said, she wanted to find out about her triune talent, whatever it was. She had yearned for it ever since Tensor revealed the truth to her. She looked up at him. The magnificent, terrible eyes caught her. She shivered again.
“I will do it,” she said. “Show me to the machine, and the working of it.”
51
* * *
THE DARK
OF THE MOON
Halfway up the knotted ridge below the amphitheater, Llian’s captor slipped on black ice and fell heavily. Llian was hurled off his shoulder, slid off the path and jammed between two boulders. The man came to his knees, gasping for breath. Not even the iron-hard Ghâshâd could run up this slope under such a load. Blood poured from a wound on his scalp. In the ghostly light of the darkening moon it looked black.
Groaning, Llian tried to get up, to find nothing underneath his legs. He was wedged by the shoulders between two rocks, without the strength to pull himself up that half a span to safety. The Ghâshâd started toward him then staggered back as from a blow in the chest. The clouds parted. The dark moon brought all his bones to the surface, dancing like an animated skeleton. The dance was a struggle with someone who could not be seen.
The Ghâshâd roared his pain to the skies. From not far away he was answered, and answered again. The falling snow was lit by a series of flashes. Llian hoped it was Men-dark. The Ghâshâd fell to one knee, went over on his back, rolled over and his arms rose and fell. He seemed to be banging something against the ground. There came a dreadful groan and Tallia appeared beneath him, unable to hold her illusion under the weight of his blows. He was cracking her head up and down against the ice.
She was failing. The Ghâshâd was going to kill her. Dragging himself onto the track, Llian heaved a rock at her assailant’s head. The reaction sent him slipping backwards, he wedged between the boulders again, then ever so slowly his weight began to pull him through.
The rock struck the Ghâshâd hard on the ear. He yelped and let go of Tallia’s head momentarily. Straightening her legs, she shot him backwards off her.
He landed on his back and went skidding head first down the slope. He glanced off a boulder, clawed at the ice and slid gently over the side. Llian heard a thud, then the rattle of stones. The wind soon blotted out his ever more feeble cries.
Tallia lay groaning on the icy step.
“Help!” said Llian faintly.
“Give me a hand,” said Tallia at the same time.
“I can’t; I’m slipping.” He moved an arm and slipped a bit more. “Help! I’m going to fall!”
With an almighty groan she crawled across and ext
ended her hand. Llian moved his other arm, slipped again and his weight pulled her with him.
She cursed, twisted on the ice and thudded into the boulders that Llian had been jammed between. The gentle shock was almost enough to tear his hand out of her grip, she was so weak. “I can’t hold you, Llian.”
Llian’s legs thrashed, dislodged a clump of snow and found purchase against rock.
“I’ve got my foot on something,” he said.
“Then push with all your heart, because I’m done.”
He strained, found another hold with his knee and thrust himself up between the rocks to safety. Tallia released his hand and lay down in the snow.
Llian lifted her head. Her face was covered in blood.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you!” He wiped the worst of the blood away with his fingertips. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not. Give me a minute.”
“It’d better be a quick minute; there are more of them. Take my hand.”
Leaning on each other they lurched down the ridge. They were off the steep part when another spasm gripped Llian’s heart like a squeezing fist. He sank down on the ground, holding his chest. The pain was short-lived; soon they were able to continue as before. Shortly after that there was a wrenching, disorienting feeling in his head, and again he had to sit down with an attack of vertigo. Then it was gone.
“It’s gone! He’s gone. He’s gone!” It was beyond comprehension, but it had happened. Tallia slammed her hand across his mouth.
“Quiet, you fool,” she hissed in his ear.
Llian calmed down. “Rulke’s completely gone!” Karan must have succeeded after all.
“Then he’s got what he wants! What’s he going to do next? If you can walk, let’s get down into the forest as quickly as possible.”
“Walk!” cried Llian, barely able to restrain himself. “I can run. I can skip all the way, turning cartwheels.”
In spite of her misgivings Tallia smiled. She had recovered enough to walk unaided. However, when Llian began to dwell on Karan’s probable fate, he began to cry silently beside her. She took his arm.
