Sharani series Box Set

by Kevin L. Nielsen

  “I have killed dozens of slaves over the course of my life.” Samsin’s thickly accented voice was barely more than a whisper, but it carried through the silence like an arrow flying from a bow. “And never noticed. It is the nature of Great Ones. It is how we are raised. It is how the Empire has existed since it was formed. I do not offer this as an apology, for I am offering none. This is simply an explanation. Who I am, what I’ve done, they’re simply a part of what our religion and my chosen Progression have done to me. Your place is thrust upon you as part of those same paths.”

  “You don’t deny what you’ve done then?” Brisson demanded.

  A faint hum of voices sounded from the crowd of watchers, the first noise they had made since the trial began. It wasn’t hard for Gavin to picture Samsin doing any of the things of which he’d been accused, but still, Gavin felt uncomfortable with the situation. Farah’s hand shifted in his grip and Gavin realized he was squeezing it far harder than he’d meant to. He relaxed his grip and turned his attention back to the platform.

  Samsin turned and looked Brisson in the eye. Even bound as he was, Samsin’s expression bore far more dignity than Brisson’s did. Gavin half-expected the man to start shouting out his superiority over them, like he did when Gavin had first met him, but Samsin simply shook his head.

  “I do not. I fulfilled my purpose, as did those I’ve killed.”

  Shouting erupted from the assembled crowd. Gavin didn’t understand half the words said, but he recognized the emotions erupting like flames in dry wood around him. Hatred, pain, and anger burst through the crowd like the wall of a sandstorm. The shouts grew to a united, powerful roar.

  Something small zipped through the air and struck Samsin in the side of the head. Rotten fruit dripped down Samsin’s face, which was contorted in a mixture of disgust and anger. Another small fruit shot out of the crowd, but before it could strike Brisson leapt in front of it. The fruit spattered across Brisson’s chest. The shouts broke into shards of sharp silence as the fruit’s reddish juices dripped down Brisson’s white tunic.

  “Hold your anger, brethren,” Brisson shouted. “There is no honor in attacking a man not yet condemned. Do not dishonor Nikanor’s memory by acting against his teachings and Progression.”

  Dishonor Nikanor? How involved had Nikanor been in all this? Gavin silently cursed his lack of understanding. What little he knew he’d gleaned while trying to attend to the needs of his people. He would fix that as soon as he was able.

  “Let the elders discuss what fate awaits this Great One. Hold your anger. There will be ample need of it later.”

  Brisson held his position in front of Samsin for a long moment, his hard, proud eyes meeting the gaze of everyone in the crowd in turn. The red stain on his tunic stood out like the reminder of a past wound. When Brisson’s eyes flickered over Gavin and his people, Gavin returned the gaze, not fully understanding the odd tingling at the back of his neck. Something was going on here that Gavin didn’t like, even if he couldn’t specify it amidst the chaos of the moment.

  After a moment, Brisson nodded once and turned to the other men at the back of the raised platform. They formed a small circle and began talking amongst themselves.

  “They’ll find him guilty, sure enough,” Cobb said as he walked forward. “Mark my word, boy, he’ll die.”

  “Who wouldn’t condemn him?” Farah asked.

  Gavin didn’t say anything. Something welled up in the pit of his stomach, like the feeling he got after eating too old meat. He glanced from Samsin back to Cobb and then over to Farah.

  “He did help save us, no matter what else he did,” Gavin said. “I won’t condemn him after what he’s done for us.”

  “What he did for us?” Cobb’s voice was almost a bark, though a subdued one. The old, grizzled man shot furtive looks to the assembled Orinai slaves around them before continuing. “What did he actually do for us, boy? It was the other one—what’s his name—Nikanor, who really helped. It was by his doing that we had a place to go and we got some warning at least.”

  “And Nikanor was the one who held back Beryl until we were able to get away,” Farah added.

  “Samsin killed Kaiden. He saved me.”

  Neither Farah nor Cobb had any response to that, though a small voice in Gavin’s mind had a suitable argument. Replaying the memory of that moment in his mind’s eye, Gavin remembered how close that bolt of energy came to hitting him too, not just Kaiden. He wondered if Samsin would have cared if Gavin had been killed along with Kaiden or if that crackling bolt of energy had missed him simply by chance. In Gavin’s experience, controlling those bolts was like trying to hold back a sandstorm by blowing against it.

  “He’s still going to die,” Cobb said after a moment. “When he has no defense at all, not even from his own lips, there really isn’t much question left to it, is there?”

  “Maybe someone should give him some, then,” Gavin said, softly.

  Farah and Cobb spoke at once, their objections overlapping with one another.

  Oddly, the voice that won out wasn’t from Farah or Cobb. It was Evrouin. “What are you doing, Gavin?”

  Farah and Cobb stilled their protests enough to fall in on either side of Gavin as he turned to face the tall man. Together, the four of them formed a small circle very similar to the one conversing atop the raised platform behind Samsin.

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” Gavin said.

  “You cannot be seen or heard to be in sympathy with Samsin,” Evrouin said, carefully, pointedly ignoring the look Farah leveled at him. “Not with this crowd. They are here for blood, nothing more.”

  “They’re putting him on trial, Evrouin. This is about justice.”

  Evrouin shook his head and furrowed his brow in concentration as his eyes narrowed. His eyes glinted as they locked onto Gavin’s. “I told you once that you were naive, and I meant it then. You still are, in some ways. These people don’t want justice. They don’t want guilt and innocence. This isn’t a trial, it’s justification for their vengeance.”

  Gavin noticed Farah’s sharp step forward out of the corner of his eye and reacted instinctively. He caught her hand before she could slap Evrouin. Though he knew Farah wouldn’t regret the act, he needed the man. Both he and Farah would have regretted letting that slap land.

  “You would know all about justification,” Farah said. “You and the others who followed Kaiden. And don’t you dare call him naive, Evrouin.” She didn’t struggle against Gavin’s grip, but at the same time, didn’t back down.

  “Peace, Farah, please. I know how you feel about him,” Gavin said in a voice meant only for her ears. He met her eyes and held them for a long moment before continuing in a louder tone. “Evrouin is free to speak his mind. What he says makes sense. I’ve—I’ve felt those emotions before. Once.” He eased his grip on her arm and rubbed a finger across the back of her wrist. “You will have your say as well. I promise.”

  Gavin looked up and met Evrouin’s gaze again and brief moment of understanding passed between them.

  Farah wrenched her arm free of Gavin’s grip and strode away, disappearing into the crowd of Rahuli still watching the others debate on the raised platform. Gavin sighed inwardly. He’d have to make it up to her later, but there wasn’t anything he would have done differently. Being the leader of this people required him to do things he would rather have avoided.

  “Fine, Evrouin. What would you have me do then? This isn’t right—this isn’t justice.”

  “I already acknowledged that,” Evrouin said, staring after Farah’s retreating form for a long moment before returning to look at Gavin. “But you have to stay out of it. You’ve got bigger battles to fight when it comes to this people. No one man is worth more than an entire people.”

  “Did Kaiden teach you that?” Cobb asked.

  Before Evrouin could answer a strange hush fell over the crowd. Gavin turned toward the platform. Samsin stared out over the crowd with unblinking eyes. Brisson
stood at the forefront of the small group of men, arms upraised for silence.

  “Samsin, thirteenth incarnation of Samsinorna, of the family Creager, First House of Estrelar,” Brisson yelled, “you have been judged. You are guilty by your own admission.”

  Gavin licked his lips, his mouth strangely dry.

  “The punishment for murder is death. You shall be stoned tomorrow at dawn.”

  Gavin blew out a long, silent breath. The crowd cheered.

  Chapter 5: Meetings in the Night

  “The Progression of Power is more about capacity than implementation. The other Paths can feed into it and create it. Power is the control of an intangible force which allows the holder to act and to do in any given situation. It is the knife in the hands of a murderer, the speed and agility of the thief in the night. Strength, Knowledge, Arts, Honor, Goodwill, and Conquest can all be sources of Power.”

  —From the Discourses on Knowledge, Volume 17, Year 1171

  Gavin bolted upright in his bed, sweat beading on his brow and dripping down into his eyes. His lungs heaved and his heart pounded a steady, loud, staccato beat inside his chest. His hands curled into fists at his side and got entangled in his thick wool blanket.

  Mind spinning between half-recalled memories and the shattered images of a nightmare, Gavin swung his legs out over the side of his bed and got to his feet. He barely registered the chill bite against the sweat that covered his bare torso.

  He strode over to the hearth where the embers of that night’s fire still smoldered a dull red. He absently pulled a heavy wooden chair over next to the coals and sat down, warming his hands over the coals. The remnants of their meal—a dish of meat, cheese, and dried vegetables which had all been so heavily doused in seasoning that Gavin didn’t know what the meat itself actually tasted like—still lay on the table.

  Gavin’s stomach growled, but he didn’t get up. Something nagged at the back of his mind like sand inside a dust devil, gnawing away at him and interrupting his sleep multiple times already that night. Though he couldn’t name it, the thought troubled him. Blowing out a long breath, Gavin stood up and ran both hands through his shaggy brown hair.

  The floor creaked as he walked and he glanced quickly at two of the three doors leading out of the room. Farah, Shallee, and her baby slept in one, Evrouin and his wife in the other. When houses had been assigned to them, they’d drawn stones out of a bag to see who would have to bunk with whom since there were not enough individual buildings for each family to have their own. Gavin had been delighted to draw the same as Farah, but that elation had quelled considerably when Evrouin had drawn his lot. Gavin had learned all sorts of new words from Farah when she’d heard the news.

  Gavin dressed quickly, donning thick clothing and pulling on his boots with practiced familiarity. He would have been a little embarrassed to admit to anyone else that he’d practiced putting on the unfamiliar clothes, but he was glad of it now. Dressed, he threw on his cloak and headed toward the door outside, only stopping to pick up a lantern and a taper with which to light it.

  He paused for only a brief moment to light the lamp near the door of his hut. The light flared as the wick caught and Gavin squinted against the sudden brightness. Once his eyes had adjusted, Gavin started walking. Small, squat huts loomed on either side of him, each one a near identical lump of shadow along the path. The Rahuli survivors took up about forty of the huts, though the wounded lived in the medical building near the other side of the valley. Some had lost fingers or toes from the bitter cold through which they’d slogged before finding the hidden valley. There were far too many of those, mostly women and children stricken with what Brisson’s people called “frostbite.” Gavin shuddered at the memories. White, pale skin didn’t look so innocent anymore when it turned into blisters and blackened, dead patches of flesh.

  The path he followed met up with another going the opposite direction, so he turned left and went that direction. He knew that path would lead him deeper into the valley, but he didn’t care if he got slightly lost. Finding his way back wouldn’t be too difficult in a valley after all. He wandered, his mind sifting through information without settling on any one particular bit. The wind picked up and tugged at his cloak, whipping it around his ankles. Gavin shivered and tugged it closer around his shoulders.

  “Who goes there?”

  Gavin jumped at the sudden sound and dropped his lamp, which immediately went out. A hand appeared out of the darkness, grabbing him roughly on one shoulder and spinning him around. Light flared, blinding Gavin before he could get a good look at who was attacking him. Instinctively, Gavin reached out with his mind.

  A moment passed in the instant between one breath and another. Gavin let that instinct flow within him, rushing toward his powers, then he seized upon it consciously and pulled at the strands of energy around him. The act was like trying to lift a sailfin corpse with his bare hands, as if he were blocked from his powers somehow or they simply weren’t there. For half an instant, a smattering of sparks appeared in Gavin’s hands, glistening in a minute cascade of white light. Then the sparks simply died away. Gavin looked down at his hands, feeling empty inside.

  What happened?

  Someone swore and the hand on Gavin’s shoulder fell away. Gavin only half heard the sound of men scrambling away from him, boots scraping against loose stone.

  “What are you about?” It was hard to tell through the voices and heavy accent, but the man sounded hesitant, almost afraid. Fear was recognizable in any language.

  Gavin blinked a few more times and raised a hand in front of his eyes. A few shadowy figures resolved out of the blinding light.

  “I’m just walking. Is there something wrong with that?” Gavin kept his voice neutral, but felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in frustrated annoyance. He wished he’d thought to bring his greatsword along with him.

  “You’re one of them Rahuli,” one of the shadowy figures said, voice a thin rasp. “Isn’t your lot housed back that way? Mayhap you should return there, I think.”

  The man may have made a gesture, but Gavin didn’t see it in the darkness.

  “I haven’t finished my walk just yet.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  Something moved in the shadows and Gavin took a quick step back, readying himself for a fight.

  “Let him go, Derric. He’s just walking. Brisson won’t want us stopping him.” This from a third voice.

  “You mind yourself now,” the first man, Derric, said.

  “Leave off it,” Rasping Voice said. “Let him go. He’s not doing anything but walking.”

  Derric grumbled something unintelligible. “Fine then,” he said. “Be off with you. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

  Gavin waited for a long moment, watching the small group of men walk away until they became a small pool of light in the distance. After running a pensive hand through his hair, Gavin bent down to retrieve his lamp, gaze lingering on the diminishing pool of light in the distance. The encounter had ended without violence, but it grated at Gavin. It didn’t bode well for their future relations if random patrols felt it within their power to stop him at their leisure.

  After a few tries he managed to light the lamp, thoughts troubled. Along with the simple political implications, Gavin’s worry danced back over what had happened when he’d attempted to use his powers. The energy that had flowed so easily in the Sharani Desert was now as elusive as a mote of dust on a breeze. Admittedly, the powers were still new to him, but it had become something he could access with barely a thought before. What leverage did he have here if the mystic abilities were no longer a factor in the coming maneuvers?

  Troubled, Gavin resumed his slow, meandering walk.

  He eventually found himself standing in front of the medical building. He didn’t remember the journey to get there, but by the position of the stars in the sky and the distance he knew he’d travelled he realized he must have been walking for well over two hours. His arm ached f
rom holding the lantern and the lingering pain from where the arrow had taken him in the shoulder when the “honor squad” of archers had attacked them before the volcano had erupted. Healing moved slowly while in sorrow’s icy grip.

  A light flickering in the distance caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Curiosity tugged at him and he turned in that direction. Samsin’s prison. At least that’s what Brisson’s people called it. Half a dozen armed guards stood in front of the squat, square building. Light glinted off metal shields and other bits of metal armor, which was what had drawn Gavin’s eye.

  “Hey you,” one of the guards called to him as Gavin approached. “What are you doing out and about at this thrice-cursed time of night?”

  Gavin rolled his eyes internally. He’d already had his fill of being questioned. He started to turn away, an excuse on his lips, but then found himself turning back instead.

  “I’d like to speak to the prisoner,” Gavin said.

  “And I’d like a nice haunch of roast venison smothered in herbs with a mug of fine honey mead,” one of the guards said. His companions laughed.

  “How about a nice, roaring fire to go wid it!” More voices joined in with the first.

  “And half a gatheriu turning on a spit.”

  “Tubers and fruit.”

  “Wine!”

  When Gavin didn’t say anything or move on, the laughter died off jaggedly, filling the air with a heavy, piercing silence.

  “Off with you, then,” the first speaker said at last, tugging at a strap on his metal armor.

  “I lead the Rahuli people,” Gavin said in a slow, deliberate voice. “Your prisoner was mine first. I captured him. If he is to die tomorrow, I have questions that need answering before he’s no longer able.”

  The man swallowed and glanced at his companions, obviously unnerved by Gavin’s calm tone. Gavin took a step forward. Two of the guards stepped back and reached for the swords at their belts. Another licked his lips nervously.

  “He’s one of the mystics,” the lip-licker whispered to the first guard. “I’d be doing what he says.”