Lady of Mercy

by Michelle Sagara

“She could have told me,” Erin continued, her voice uneven and rough. “Could have warned me. I would never have made that choice. Never.”

  “But you did.”

  She wheeled to face Belfas, hands outstretched, palms up. “But I believed him!” Silence again, then. Silence and an aura of waiting.

  “Sarillorn,” Kandor said, and his voice was very heavy. “Did you find aught else?”

  “I found Gallin’s sword.” She let the Lady go for the moment. “I have one country to liberate, if I can. I have one Enemy to fight.” She wheeled suddenly and lurched forward, hands reaching in reflex for pain to heal. No. Gritting her teeth, she continued.

  “Fight, then, and with our blessing,” Kandor said quietly. “But, child, perhaps the First Servant loved you as much as his nature allowed.”

  She laughed darkly. “Loved me? He was able to kill the Lady, the lines, and God alone knows how many innocent people—because of my choice. Because I believed that he loved me. Maybe”—she bowed her head briefly—“I believed it because I wanted so badly for it to be true. But I—I valued it above my vows to the line and my responsibilities. Now, I’m the last of my line, Darin’s the last of his-and the Gifting of God is in the Enemy’s land. He is my enemy now and will be until either the lands are free again or I am dead.”

  Her head shot up suddenly, to view the darkness ahead of her with a bitter fury. “Do you hear me?” she shouted.

  Kandor tried to interrupt her, but she shook him off.

  “I pledge blood-vow! I shall destroy all that you have built!”

  “Sarillorn, do not—blood-vow is binding in life. Do not lightly—”

  “Lightly? ” She gave him a wild, angry laugh, and he looked long and hard at her face before turning away.

  “Erin.” Belfas, and only Belfas, could have brought her back. “We’ve been here a long time, but now that you’ve come—now that we almost understand, we’ll wait. The Lady called you Lernan’s Hope.”

  “God’s hope?” Erin gave a dark laugh. “Do any of you know what it was? Perhaps the Lady did, but she left me no word.” She laughed again, and the five standing before her looked around uneasily. “Will you tell me what it is that I must do?”

  Kandor spoke. “You are to end the reign of the Enemy. How, I do not know. But I know that the Lady believed, with God, that your path was the only one that would lead to peace for your world. She saw correctly, I believe. The First of the Enemy—”

  “Don’t speak to me of him. I won’t listen.”

  “Erin.”

  She met Belfas’ gentle word with a rawness that caused him to flinch.

  “He betrayed you. I betrayed you. The Lady—” She swallowed convulsively. “Where’s your anger now that I’ve found mine? Where is it now?” She laughed again, and then brought her hands to her face.

  Memory colored the pale light of the hair that fell into his ghostly eyes; she could see it through the bars of her fingers. “I—Erin, if she had told us, we’d never have believed it; we’d have gone anyway. It wouldn’t have hurt less.” He looked young. “But it helps to know that we didn’t die for nothing. She knew it—and our deaths, they must serve the line.”

  “I can’t accept that we were given no choice.”

  “Sarillorn,” Kandor interrupted, in a soft voice that was not at all gentle, “you were given a choice.”

  “Yes,” she answered starkly, but she barely seemed to hear him. “Belf—my mother—she could have saved my mother ...”

  Belfas touched her; her power ebbed again.

  She stared at him for a moment before pulling away.

  The landscape was screaming. Pain, heavy and seductive, crawled through the air, a call to her blood. She felt, at that moment, that she would never answer the call of this blood again; it had been, after all, the Lady’s blood passed down through a generation. And then she forgot that; forgot all but the source of it: Stefanos.

  With stark determination, she fought her way into the light of the dawn, and lay exhausted and trembling beneath the folds of her bedroll. Only then did her fury recede enough to allow her the grace of self-contempt. She knew that her vow was binding—and made it again, to confirm in reality the determination of dream. She knew what the First Servant had done and understood some of his methods in the doing of it. She knew that thousands, hundreds of thousands, had been lost—either immediately or through the debilitation of slavery—at his dictate. She knew who he served and knew what the Enemy demanded. And she knew that she would keep, unswerving, to the course she had set for herself.

  But knowing it didn’t ease the ache that threatened to immobilize her.

  A part of her missed him.

  And she loathed it freely.

  She only prayed that now that she had made the only right choice, she would sleep a mercifully dreamless sleep, with no hint of light or dark to trouble her. She wasn’t surprised when the prayer went unanswered.

  “Master.”

  Second of my Servants.

  “The fortress of the Enemy has been destroyed.”

  The landscape slithered, all fluid, colorless darkness. It stilled slowly. Are you certain?

  “As certain as I can be where the workings of the Enemy are concerned. What we sensed and sought for these hundred human years we can no longer feel.”

  Then you were correct. This human half blood is the one you have watched for; the one my enemy called hope.

  “Yes, master.” Sargoth paused.

  The Heart of the Darkness waited, and time passed, moving so far beneath him that it did not even merit his notice.

  “I do not wish to question your decision, Lord.”

  Silence then, dark and intangible. It was the only silence that Sargoth hated; he could pry no answers from it to satisfy his endless curiosity, and stood waiting, just another victim of ignorance.

  “If she is the one that I and the others of your Servants have watched for, perhaps she is not one with whom we wish to toy. The First of the Enemy was of greater power than I, and if she saw a danger to us in this half blood, then there is a danger present.”

  The landscape rumbled with the thoughts of the Dark Heart and the accursed, incomprehensible silence. It pained Sargoth; he understood more than any single being, immortal or otherwise, yet he still could not pierce the wall that either of the Twin Hearts stood behind to comprehend them clearly.

  How much more, he thought bitterly to himself, must I learn before I truly know all? It was his one desire, and he was certain Malthan knew it.

  I cannot see a danger in the form of a half blood, no matter what power she claims. The Servants of my Enemy were tainted by his weakness; what destruction can they wreak? If there is a danger, it is small. I will not lose this chance to sweeten the sending of my First.

  “Yes, Lord. I shall not speak of it again.”

  Good. Fingers of darkness wreathed the ethereal shadow of the Second of Malthan. How do you proceed?

  “As can be expected.”

  This half blood is mortal.

  Sargoth smiled coldly. “Yes, Lord.” He did not explain the source of his mirth further, and the Dark Heart did not press him; it was not the amusement of the Second of his Servants that carried his interest now.

  “The human visited the fortress of the Enemy’s First. We do not know what she did there”—his voice fell a moment in irritation—“but we believe she received some message of succor from her dead ancestor. The binding that held the fortress was released; it is gone. We will never know the manner of its creation.”

  Sargoth, do not lose her.

  “No, Lord. Even as we speak, one of your followers is making ready to receive her.”

  chapter five

  Erliss of Mordechai had been left with three Swords and two slaves—hardly a fitting party for a lord of his station. At any other time, justifiable anger would have consumed his attention—but he did not have the leisure for it now. Later, in the comparative safety of Malakar, with a host of
house guards as a wall between his person and any physical threat, he would plan his revenge.

  Now, his retreat firmly under way, he planned his meeting with his elder cousin. Lord Vellen of Damion was every inch a Karnar; any whiff of failure, no matter how reasonable the excuse, was usually cause for someone’s death. Erliss had always taken great care, when operating under Lord Vellen’s directives, not to merit that death. Until now.

  Because of one woman and one useless slave.

  At least now, outside the boundaries of Mordantari, he was free to requisition the use of proper manors and inns. He could not completely take advantage of it at the moment—the speed of travel did not allow it—but at least he always had a large bed, a warm fire, and real food. Travel in the provinces was usually the best way to feel one’s power at an early age, and Erliss, as had most of the young nobles, had done so often.

  He did not enjoy it now.

  He had even been forced, by circumstance and a hazy understanding of all that was at stake, to speak with the provincial priests and warn them of the possible coming of two runaway slaves: one woman, dressed outlandishly as some sort of soldier, and one boy on the threshold of adulthood. He made them sound almost harmless, which fooled none of his listeners, but he made absolutely certain that they had no understanding of the issues and complexities of her presence. Because that, of course, was proprietary information for which, if spread, Vellen would certainly, and justifiably, kill.

  The capital was a ten-day away, and he had already ridden three different horses to ground. That would come out of Church coffers. If he survived his meeting with the head of the Greater Cabal.

  Darin had rarely traveled outside of the city before, but the one long trek he had made across the Empire made the strangeness of the forest quite serene. Sleep had come slowly and been fitful at best, and even before the sun had peaked the treetops, he was up and dressed. Sara was quietly about the business of breakfast, and he did what he could to help her.

  “Are the others awake?” she asked, as she poked at the fire. Orange light limned her arms and face, highlighting the shadows beneath her eyes. Something about her looked very, very different—and only after minutes of staring at her as she worked did Darin realize what it was. Her auburn hair, long and straight, had been pulled and plaited in the warrior’s braid. Not that the warrior’s braid had been common in Line Culverne at the time of its fall, but Darin had seen the statues and tapestries of a bygone age, and he knew the look well. She wore her armor, and her sword—her strange, runed sword, with its trail of light that burned the eye—hung at her side.

  He could no longer imagine her as the Lady of castle Darclan, with her long, simple dresses and her love of gardens and sunlight and outdoor lunches. Gone was any hint of the doctor in the infirmary who had tended to the complaints of slaves, minor or serious.

  And gone was any hint of the softness about her eyes when she looked up at her Lord.

  She had called herself Erin. He thought he understood why her name had suddenly changed. He opened his mouth to call her, and shut it again.

  Waking their new companions would be less strange.

  Trethar of the Brotherhood, as he had named himself, was awake before Darin reached his tent. Early mom was obviously no stranger to the man, and without the shadows and eerie hint of dying firelight echoing from his face, he seemed normal, older, and less mysterious. His brown robes blended in perfectly with the morning greens and golds.

  “Good morning, Darin,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “The Lady is already up?” The smell of breakfast cooking came on the air, and his eyes brightened considerably. “I see she is.”

  “I’ll wake Robert,” Darin replied, as he watched Trethar turn. The older man was obviously used to a life led away from the comfort of roads, inns, or manor houses. Darin would learn it as well.

  As he approached the one-man tent that Robert used, he discovered that Robert snored loudly.

  “Robert,” he said, as he lifted the tent’s flap a foot. “Robert.” Then, more loudly, “Robert!”

  “Mmrphle?”

  “Wake up. Breakfast’s ready.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  Darin poked his head into the tent; the disarrayed strands of jet-black hair were caught above the line of the bedroll. Robert, presumably beneath them, was a large, curled lump. “Robert—you’ve got to wake up. We want to leave as quickly as possible.”

  The pale face of the slight man peered out of the protection of covers. One eyelid pried itself open, and shut again, much more quickly. “Lower the flap!”

  Surprised, Darin did as ordered, and in a few moments, Robert peered cautiously out again. “Boy, do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “Six, I think.”

  “Then go away and come back again at a respectable hour.” Robert’s head disappeared into the tent again.

  Darin was silent for a moment, more in shock than anything else. He backed out of the tent and threw a helpless gaze in Erin’s direction. “He’s sleeping.”

  Her eyes went round, and for a moment she stopped moving. “Pardon?”

  Trethar rose. “We’ll wake him, then.”

  “He doesn’t—he says he’s not ready to wake up.”

  “Pardon?” There was an unsubtle difference between Trethar’s use of the word and Erin’s. Hers held Darin’s surprise. His held an obvious annoyance. He stalked over to the tent—the only one that had not yet been taken down and packed away. “Stand aside.” It was the voice of a man used to being obeyed, and Darin moved quickly to one side.

  Trethar knelt in the undergrowth and grass, steadied his hands, and then began to pull the tent pegs out of the ground. Robert’s head appeared again before the tent had completely collapsed.

  “Is this behavior necessary, my good sir? It’s really too early to—”

  “Get up!” the old man replied, his voice just shy of a shout. Gone was the near-serene austerity of an aged member of a secret order. “Now!”

  “Uh, sir?” Darin said quietly, as Robert’s head disappeared into the crumpling tent. “He did help to save our lives ... ”

  “That he did, ” Trethar replied, with steely amiability. “That’s why the tenting isn’t ash now. ” He turned neatly on heel and headed toward breakfast. “But you’ll note that he didn’t come up with much of an explanation as to why he was there at all. ”

  Everything about Robert was loud. From the moment he crawled out of the shapeless structure that had been a tent, that was obvious. Gone were the subdued, dark shades of the previous day; he wore a brilliant shirt—a lace shirt, of all things—and a jacket that was so deep a green, the forest paled beside it. His boots folded up in a heavy leather roll just short of his knees, and he wore the most garish hat that Darin had ever seen: a wide-brimmed monstrosity with three dyed feathers that hung wayward over the side. There was no way that a hat such as that would survive a trek through the forest.

  “Does anyone have a mirror?”

  Everyone stared at him. It was Trethar who answered the question. “A mirror? Young man, where exactly do you think we’re going?”

  “West, I’d imagine,” Robert answered. “I take it that’s a no, then. Well, I’ll make do.” He drew an exaggerated breath, sat down squarely between Darin and Erin, and reached for a bowl. “Twin Hearts, what is this?”

  Trethar’s brow darkened considerably. In the days and weeks to follow, it would become a common sight. “Breakfast.”

  “I see,” Robert said. He tried a smile that stretched his face poorly. “Well, Lady—I thank you for your ... efforts.”

  He never seemed to stop talking. Darin swung a branch out of the side of his face and sucked in breath when its needles scratched his cheek. The ground was damp and soft, but the forest floor held life where the sun managed to squeeze through the high treetops. Here and there, various mushrooms grew beneath low leaves where the earth was most damp. Sara—no, Erin—had shown him what to look for to discern edibili
ty.

  The fungus underfoot wasn’t edible. He briefly considered picking it anyway and sliding it into Robert’s food.

  “... and as I was saying, the Swords are much better trained in the capital, you know.”

  He longed to escape Robert’s endless tirade—he had long since ceased to listen to any of it—but he didn’t quite trust Trethar not to do something drastic. Trethar’s patience with Robert had worn so thin by their third day of travel that it was nonexistent.

  “Boy, are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, Robert,” Darin said, sighing heavily. It was midday, and they wouldn’t stop to rest for at least three hours, so he had no easy escape. But he wondered, as he walked, how Robert had managed to be at exactly the right place and right time. Listening to the man babble had worn away any belief that Darin had in his competence.

  If Erin hadn’t sworn that she’d seen him in useful action ... Never mind.

  They traveled through the morning rays of stiff, sweeping light; walked while the sun on high managed to catch their skin in its unfaltering light; and marched until the day finally began its retreat. All this they did under forest cover. Erin would not risk the roads.

  She foraged, and Trethar surprised them all by being quick and sure with his aid. He was able to set snares almost as well as she, and he had an uncanny knack for finding edible roots and mushrooms. Darin could find berries easily enough—he looked for birds clustered around a particular bush.

  To no one’s surprise, Robert did not prove useful in the forest. But he did guard their campsite against predators, and at least his eye, when he was on watch, was keen.

  On the fifth day, they found a small lake, and happily took turns washing and basking in the sun. Darin was troubled by blackflies and mosquitos—but Robert’s fair skin was the more delectable target. He gave up rather quickly, and as usual, rather volubly.

  On the sixth day, while Darin scrounged around the forest floor hunting for edible mushrooms, Trethar came to speak.