He must return to the wilds, he knew, to cold and hunger and always glancing behind. For the moment, his sons were safe, but how long would that last? Though the very thought sent a shiver of fear through his marrow, he must take them with him.
“Do not ask me to leave you again,” Orain said in a private moment. “Every day, I feared the worst.”
Carolin laid one hand on his foster-brother’s shoulder. “I shall almost certainly need you as emissary, for I cannot be in more than one place at the same time. I cannot imagine anyone I would trust more to speak for me.” Then, when he saw Orain would protest further, “I am no longer a private person, I am Hastur of Hastur. We both of us serve a greater cause.”
Orain bowed his head in mute agreement and offered no more objections.
Over the time he spent at Highgarth, Carolin’s small band of followers had grown. Sons of neighboring estates, afire with idealism, begged to join him, as did a number of Castamir’s own men. Carolin divided his forces, for he must travel quickly and with as little notice as possible. To the guards who had accompanied him on that desperate flight from Nevarsin, he offered a choice.
“You served me as a Hastur Prince and heir to the throne,” he told them. “I am grateful for your loyalty. But I cannot ask any of you to go further. Some of you have families, or oaths of loyalty which bind you elsewhere. Any man who wishes to return to Hali may do so with my thanks.”
Some of the men fell to their knees and vowed they would follow Carolin to the Wall Around the World, but the captain, with tears in his eyes, begged leave, for his wife was sewing woman to Lyondri’s own lady, and he feared for her life should he be named deserter and traitor.
Carolin embraced the man. “Go with the blessings of all the gods, for I greatly fear the war which sets kinsmen against each other, and men forced to choose between the lives of their loved ones and their own honor.”
At Orain’s urging, Carolin determined to disguise himself as one of his own men under the name of Dom Carlo of Blue Lake.
“That will help to spread the word that you are free, even if in exile,” Orain said. “That knowledge alone will help to keep hope alive in men’s hearts.”
On a morning when the air held the first soft promise of spring to come, Carolin, his sons, and a small band of loyal men rode forth from Highgarth for the perilous journey back to the Kadarin wild lands.
33
It was a good thing, Eduin reflected, that he had learned patience, for it was the better part of a year before he arrived at Hestral Tower. He had been ready to leave as soon as word came from Loryn Ardais, Keeper of Hestral, that a laranzu of his skill and training was most warmly welcome. Before he could make arrangements, however, all Hali erupted with news of the old King’s death. That in itself would have meant only a short delay for the funeral, but word that Rakhal and not Carolin had taken the throne rocked the city.
News came daily of this lord or that declaring for either of the cousins. Lyondri Hastur and his men stormed through the streets, struggling to restore order. Not a day passed without some other man, lordling or trader or disaffected soldier, being named outlaw. Carolin himself had fled beyond the Kadarin River, living among bandits, with a bounty set upon his head. For an entire season, the Keepers at Hali forbade any travel outside the Tower. The roads were not safe in these perilous times.
So Eduin remained, doing the work assigned to him. He’d lost all interest in the archives, but he had learned how to present a good appearance, and he wanted no cause for rumor or complaint on his account.
In moments of refuge behind the telepathic damper at his door, he both grieved and exulted in Carolin’s exile. With Rakhal firmly upon the throne and growing more ruthless every day, Carolin’s chances of survival diminished. Eventually, Lyondri’s assassins, the cruel weather of the Kadarin bad-lands, or some fool desperate for the bounty would put an end to him.
Sometimes when Eduin thought of Carolin lying in a pool of his own blood or starved and frozen, battered by the elements, a shiver of almost physical pain would pass through him. Then his stomach would clench around a knot of ice. In its spreading chill, all anguished thoughts, all memories of friendship would fall away. Was this the price of the Deslucido Gift, or something deeper and more sinister?
In the name of Aldones and all the gods, what had been done to him?
On Midwinter Festival Night, Eduin allowed Dyannis to lure him into her bed once more. At first, he had every intention of maintaining his distance from her. She knew entirely too many people, and never gave a thought to what she said. He could not afford to raise any suspicions. He told himself it was over between them, and at the time, he meant it. His life was not his own, nor had it ever been. He’d been a fool to hope otherwise.
He stood at the threshold of her chamber and felt the kireseth singing like poison in his veins. Dyannis stepped past him to throw back the curtains. It was a clear night, and the multihued radiance of three moons suffused the room. He felt as if he stood on the edge of some enchanted world, a place of pearly light and magic. Not even the faint orange glow from the banked fire dispelled the illusion.
Dyannis turned to face him, her eyes gleaming silver. With a slow, liquid movement, she reached up to free the clasp that held her hair coiled at the nape of her neck. It came loose in a cascade of red-gold silk. She looked so beautiful, he wondered if she had cast a glamour over him. His heart beat like a wild thing as she came toward him. Her lips parted in a smile and her fingers on his face were warm.
“My love,” she whispered. Something in the night, the singing and the ritual, or perhaps it was only the effect of the drug, gave her words a curious echo. Each syllable rippled through his body. Spheres of color and heat sprang into life. An intoxicating fragrance arose from her skin.
She covered his face in kisses. “My first love. How I’ve missed you.”
Hearing those words, something gave way inside him. It was as if she had opened up a secret door to his heart. She pressed herself against him, so that the boundaries of their separate bodies began to dissolve, even as their minds joined. The curves and sweet warm valleys of her body welcomed him like the home he’d never known.
Eduin woke near dawn with nausea trembling through him. He crawled to his own rooms, where he lay on top of his solitary bed, retching. He’d always had a sensitive stomach for kireseth and its distillations. This reaction went beyond the merely physical. He was disgusted with himself for having given in to the temptations of the moment. He should never have allowed himself—he should have made her go away forever. He had not been able to bring himself to do it. Now, no matter where he went, no matter what he did, she would be part of him. It was crazy, he knew, but he could feel the lingering warmth of her loving like a snake coiled around his heart.
She is the sister of Varzil Ridenow, he who is the bosom friend of Carolin Hastur and lover of Felicia Hastur-Acosta!
He sat up, raking his hair back from his forehead. Emotions roiled and clashed within him like storm clouds above the Hellers. Surely his very soul would tear apart under the strain. He could not go on.
Aldones, help me! Over and over, he prayed for a way through the tangle.
There was no hope for it. If the Lord of Light would not take this love from his heart, then Zandru, Lord of the frozen hells, must be his master.
Turn my heart to ice, so that I may never feel again!
As if in response, a chill rippled through his body, seeping into his core. His heartbeat steadied.
My heart to ice ...
He repeated the words in his mind like a sacred chant. Already, the sensation of cold was fading. He thought of the monks at Nevarsin and how they took no heed of weather or temperature, looking only to their inner life.
And so, too, must he hold fast to his purpose.
Winter dug its claws into Hali. There were fewer executions, as if no one had the heart to fight both cold and Lyondri’s men. Daily living was difficult enough. For a tenday a
t a time, snow so blanketed the city that trade slowed to a bare minimum. The Tower drew into itself.
The bad weather was not without its blessings, for Eduin rarely saw Dyannis. They were both working long shifts in the circles, charging the great laran batteries that supplied heat as well as light to the castle. Rakhal had increased his demands and now frequently traveled by aircar over his new kingdom. When Eduin encountered Dyannis, whether passing in a corridor or across the dining area, they spoke only a few words. Intense matrix work depleted sexual energies for both men and women.
Spring crept into Hali like a thief, its presence barely noticed. Dyannis was called back home on some family business or other; Eduin didn’t inquire. He was both dismayed and elated when she sought him out on the eve of her departure.
“When you first came to Hali, I wondered if we would be as we were,” she said, with a shy lilt to her words that meant, when we were first in love. “I did not know if I hoped or feared it more. Not all the smiths in Zandru’s forge can put that chick back into its egg, so they say. Not even for you,” she spoke the word with a tenderness that sent a familiar fluttering through his breast, “could I return to the young girl I was then. But when I was with you, I wished it were possible.”
And so you avoided me, when I thought I was avoiding you.
“Exactly,” she said.
“But—Midwinter Festival Night—”
Dyannis tossed her head, and in his memory, Eduin heard the little tinkling bells she had worn at the Hastur court ball when he had first held her in his arms. “One last perfect evening. For remembrance, if you will. Before we each go on to the lives the gods have chosen for us.” She drew so near that he inhaled the fragrance of her hair, washed with some herbs that left it smelling of sunlight. Rising on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips, butterfly-soft, against his.
“I believe you will do great things. When I hear men sing of them, I will remember that night.”
She left him then without a backward glance. The moment he had waited for had come, she was gone, and instead of relief, he writhed inside with longing to call her back. If she had begged and pleaded for a pledge of everlasting love, then he would have had little difficulty pushing her from his mind. Against this dignity, this simple faith, he had no defense.
Summer settled like a golden haze over the city of Hali. The cloud-lake glimmered in the sunshine, its waters in constant motion. On the long twilit evenings, Eduin walked in solitude along the sandy banks. He found a curious comfort in the restlessness of the mists.
I am like the lake, he thought. Always changing on the outside to hide what lies beneath.
On one such outing, when his thoughts were particularly somber, he returned to be summoned to the chambers of the Keeper, Dougal DiAsturian. A number of the circle’s leronyn already sat, waiting.
“Ah, Eduin, thank you for coming,” Dougal said, gesturing for Eduin to take his place.
Eduin sat, feeling the shift of emotional currents in the room. Had something happened beyond Rakhal’s astonishing overthrow?
“Dark times are upon us all,” Dougal said aloud. “Although it is our wish to remain at peace with all men, we may not have that choice. We here at Hali and our colleagues at Tramontana are bound to allegiance to the Hastur King.”
“That is true,” Marelie, the middle-aged woman who often worked the relays, pointed out. “But which one? Rakhal sits upon the throne, right enough, yet many loyal men believe it should be Carolin.”
“That was what everyone thought, before this terrible business,” one of the leronyn said, shaking his head. “Rakhal had the blessings of the Regents. They claimed to have evidence of Carolin’s perfidy and unfitness for office, but it was never made public.”
“The issue of succession is not ours to decide,” Dougal brought the discussion to a halt in a voice ringing with authority. “If-Rakhal or any other crowned King commands us, then we must obey. It goes without saying that one use he has for our talents is the pursuit and capture of the exiled King CarOlin.”
Several of the workers shifted uneasily in their seats.
“Exactly,” Dougal said, responding to the flare of emotion. “Several of the leronyn at Tramontana, who are kin to both Rakhal and Carolin, have asked that they not be ordered to make war upon their families. King Rakhal has agreed to release them, provided they also swear that they will not participate in any attack against him. I am empowered to offer all at Hali the same agreement.”
Eduin remembered that Maura Elhalyn, who had known both Rakhal and Carolin from childhood, now served at Tramontana Tower, as well as Liriel Hastur.
“Why should Rakhal agree to such a thing?” Marelie asked.
“Because he is not an utter fool,” Eduin burst out heatedly. “He knows that to compel any of us to act against blood ties and conscience is to court rebellion. That he cannot risk, or he will find himself without a single Tower to call upon.”
Several of the others looked at him with shocked expressions, but the Keeper nodded. They both knew that only within the confines of the Tower was such speech safe.
One of the women said, “I cannot claim any such allegiance to Prince Carolin, but I despise being drawn into a feud of brother against brother.”
“Aye, for is it not said that when kinsmen quarrel, enemies will quickly step in?” another commented.
Eduin nodded, remembering the discussion he had had with Varzil about the rulership of the Towers. How long ago that seemed, when they were all at Hastur Castle for Midwinter Festival! He had been so young, so naive. All the passion he’d felt had drained from the memory. What did it matter who gave the orders, whether the Towers governed themselves or followed the commands of some ignorant lordling?
Ice shivered through his belly. Let king and Tower go their ways, let them all destroy one another. Only one thing mattered, and if remaining loyal to Rakhal would help him achieve that goal, he would do whatever was necessary.
“Is it sure that we will be asked to make clingfire and lung-rot plague spores for Rakhal?” Marelie asked. “I would much rather use my skills for healing than killing.”
“I will do what I can to assign you to those tasks,” Dougal said, “though I fear we may have no choice. And you, Eduin, what is your position? I know that Carolin Hastur studied at Arilinn during your time there, and I believed you to be close friends.”
The knot of ice tightened. “Yes, I was acquainted with Carolin,” Eduin said, “and I spent a Midwinter Festival with him at Hali as his guest. It is not my place to judge who shall rule, any more than it is mine to tell a farmer when to plant his wheat or a shepherd when to cull the flock. My allegiance is to my Tower. I will do whatever work is given to me.”
Dougal bent his head in acknowledgment. “Would that there were more with your clear loyalties, Eduin. It would make the world a much simpler place.”
The world, Eduin thought as he returned to his own chambers, was not a simple place. It was complex, often puzzling, and always dangerous. And loyalty had nothing to do with it.
Dyannis had not yet returned and summer was just turning into autumn when Eduin set off for Hestral Tower. To his surprise, a royal steward arranged for a horse and escort for him. The two swordsmen wore Hastur colors with an insignia that marked them as members of Lyondri’s special cadre.
Several times along the road, the guards called a stop to visit a local manor house or question an innkeeper. Eduin quickly realized that they were searching for information about the whereabouts of Carolin and his sons, or word of any man who had helped them on their flight. As long as they treated him with reasonable civility and got him to Hestral Tower, it was no business of his what else they did.
They reached Hestral late in the afternoon, when the harvest sun poured down golden across the rolling hills. Here two traders’ routes crossed the Hestral River, forming a natural crossroads. The town sprawled down to the river wharves, a collection of rambling, one- and two-story buildings, many of them i
n antiquated half-timbered style, half-buried under sword ivy, their roofs sagging with age.
On a rise sat a heavily walled fortress. In contrast to the liveliness of the town, with its bright pennants and throng of people and their animals, the fort presented an insular, brooding aspect. It must have been built originally as a guard post.
They made their way through the town market square where farmers sold hard gourds and turnips, rounds of chervine cheese and bushels of grain. This late in the day, only a few women with baskets over their arms remained to haggle with the vendors over the day’s leftovers. Their voices rose like the shrill cries of birds. A pack of half-grown boys with sticks raced between the carts, chasing a ball and raising clouds of dust.
The bustle of the marketplace battered at Eduin’s mental senses. He slammed his barriers into place.
A man hawking baked goods stepped backward into the path of Eduin’s horse, which threw up its head. The man stumbled and the few misshapen buns left on his tray tumbled to the dust.
Though he wore the apron of his trade, the baker spoke boldly. “Now, there, yer lordship, you must buy my fine buns!” He held out a hand, palm up.
“Show proper respect to your betters!” one of the guards snarled. “In Thendara, you’d be whipped for such insolence.”
The baker’s man scowled. “But this is Hestral, not Thendara. And here a man must pay for what he’s ruined, whether it’s buns or pots.”
The guard lashed out with one booted foot, but the baker’s man twisted so the blow missed his face by a hair’s breadth. He darted away. The second guard held up a cautionary hand. “If not him, then we’ll find some other. There’ll be a right time and place to teach such rabble their manners.”
“Aye, and a healthy respect for His Majesty’s colors.”
Tentatively, Eduin lowered his mental barriers. The hum of so many people within a confined space swept over him, but it was not as bad as he’d expected. Most of the mental impressions were quiet, everyday pleasures. A cascade of images brushed his mind, like jewels strung one after another: the brightness of sunlight on running water; a child’s laughter; water curling around bare toes; a fish quick and slippery darting through the shadows; the smell of rivergrass—
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