Even though the room was pleasantly warm—from the low fire in the hearth, the dozen or so candles, and a flow of warm air coming from those odd slots in the walls—a shiver passed through Lewan.
“Very well,” he said. “But I undress myself. You can stoke the fire. And avert your eyes. You promise?”
“I promise, Master Lewan. Thank you.”
She rushed to the fire, the wet silk of her dress rasping as she passed him.
A single towel lay by the washbasin Bataar had brought. Lewan used it to sop the worst of the rain from his hair, then peeled off his shirt.
“The Lady Talieth,” said Ulaan, her voice still fragile, “she said that your … order? Is order the right word?”
“Right word for what?” Lewan threw his sodden shirt next to the door. He looked to the girl to make sure she was keeping her word. She crouched in front of the fire, her back to him as she fed wood onto the flames. Standing between him and the light of the fire, Lewan noticed that her dress was very sheer, and the light shone right through it, outlining her every curve. His breath caught in his throat, and he quickly turned his back to her. He kicked off the slippers he’d been wearing and began working at the drawstring of his trousers.
“For your faith,” she said. “You and your teacher. Lady Talieth said that tonight was a very special night for you, and that you were saddened by not being able to celebrate it with others of your … order?”
“Tonight is the Jalesh Rudra,” said Lewan. He’d finally managed to loosen the knot, and he pushed his trousers and smallclothes off at the same time. Only then, as he stood naked and shivering, did he realize that he had no dry clothes.
“What is this Jalesh Rudra?” Ulaan pronounced it very carefully.
Lewan looked around. The damp towel was small. It wouldn’t even serve as a proper loincloth. With nothing to put on, he crawled into his bed, under the silk sheets and thick fur coverlet. He leaned against the wooden headboard and pulled one of the large pillows over his bare torso. The two trees at the foot of his bed stood between him and the fire, so Ulaan was no more than a bit of shadow and light beyond.
“A sacred celebration,” said Lewan. He added, in a quieter voice, “Especially for me.”
The room brightened. Lewan heard the fire roaring to life as the flames caught the wood.
“May I turn around now?” said Ulaan.
“Uh, yes,” said Lewan. “Sorry.”
She stood and turned, but with the fire behind her, Lewan could see no more than the dark profile of her head and shoulders between the branches of the oak.
“Why especially for you?” she asked.
“What?”
“You said this … Jalesh Rudra was a sacred celebration. ‘Especially for me,’ you said.”
Lewan hadn’t realized she’d heard him. He hadn’t meant for her to. “It’s … a sort of coming of age ceremony.”
“Coming of age?”
Lewan blushed and looked away. “Tonight was the night my master was to perform sacred rites in my honor. If my god found me worthy, tonight I was to become a man. To enter into full communion with the god.”
“Rites?” said Ulaan. “What kind of rites? What must you do to become a man?”
Even though he could see no more than her upper profile, he saw that she was trembling.
“Are you still frightened, Ulaan?”
“I am better now, Master,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Please stop that.”
“Stop what, Master?” Her voice seemed frightened again.
“Stop calling me ‘master.’ I am not your master.”
She was silent a moment, then said, “What shall I call you?”
“Lewan,” he said. “My name is Lewan. I have—uh, had a master. But I am no one’s master.”
“Very well … Lewan.” Though he could not see her face, he thought the sound of her voice held the warmth of a smile. A pleased smile. She gave him an odd shrug, but then he realized it was neither a shrug nor meant for him. She was undressing.
Lewan closed his eyes, but he could hear the sound of her silk dress peeling off her bare skin. His heartbeat and breath came faster.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“I am wearing a soaked dress in a room of stone,” said Ulaan. “I’m cold. I will dry better without the wet fabric.”
Lewan thought the room seemed a bit too warm, stone or no stone.
He gathered the fur coverlet into a bundle and tossed it over the holly bush at her. “Here. Wrap yourself in this.”
“But Lewan, what will you—?”
“I’m not cold,” said Lewan. It was true. Lewan had spent countless hundreds of nights sleeping under the stars with no more than a tent or just his cloak and a blanket between him and the elements. This room, with its huge hearth and warm air flowing in through the walls, felt hot to him. Too close. Had Ulaan not been so frightened and so desperate to close off the balcony, he would have kept the doors open for the fresh air, wind and wet be damned.
He heard her wet dress hit the wall near where he had tossed his own clothes, then listened as her bare feet approached. His heart beat so hard he could feel the blood pounding in his ears.
“Do you mind if I sit while we talk?” Her voice came from the stool beside his bedside table.
He opened his eyes the smallest slit and saw that she was sitting there, wrapped from shoulders to toes in the fur coverlet. Her hair was still sodden, but she had pulled it back over her shoulders. Her forehead and cheeks still held a moist sheen from the rain. He closed his eyes again and laid his head back against the headboard.
“Tell me more of your rites,” she said. “What happens in this Jalesh Rudra? Sauk, too, serves the god of the wild. During his holy rites, he goes onto the steppe to hunt. I have heard that he kills his prey and drinks their blood under the full moon—and his prey are not always animals. Your god … does he do these things?”
“No!” said Lewan, his face twisting in disgust. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Nothing like that.”
“I didn’t think so,” said Ulaan, and for the first time that night he saw her smile. His breath quickened again, and the blood pounding in his ears began pounding in other places. “What, then? Tell me, Lewan.”
Lewan swallowed and took a deep breath, praying that his voice would not shake. “My master and I seek out one of the sacred groves. We paint each other in symbols sacred to the Oak Father and make an offering of the leaves of Oak, Ash, and Thorn. Over running water, if it can be found. Then, when the Moonmaiden is at her height, the master of the ceremony plays the sacred pipes. If the Oak Father finds favor with the offering, he sends his messengers. They dance for us, and if I am found worthy, one of the messengers and I will, uh … c-commune.”
“Commune?” asked Ulaan, her brow creasing in confusion.
Lewan looked away and hoped that in the warm light of the fire and candles, Ulaan could not see his blush. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
“Lewan?”
“Yes?”
“These messengers from your god? They wouldn’t happen to be women, would they?”
Lewan’s heart skipped a beat and he said in a hoarse voice, “Uh, spirits. Tree spirits. Or water spirits, maybe.”
“You mean dryads?” said Ulaan.
Thunder rumbled in the sky outside, but the beating of Lewan’s pulse almost drowned out the sound. “Uh, y-yes.”
“Dryads take the form of women, don’t they, Lewan?” Ulaan’s voice seemed lower now. Husky and barely above a whisper. “Young women. Young, beautiful women. How do you commune with them?”
“Uh, I …” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a damned fool.
“Lewan?” Ulaan’s voice sounded closer. Lewan opened his eyes. She was standing beside his bed, but the coverlet lay in a pile on the floor.
“Ulaan … I—”
“Lewan, do you think I am beauti
ful?”
She crawled into bed beside him, and he answered her.
Chapter Twenty
20 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Sentinelspire
When Lewan woke the next morning, he lay in bed with his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of Ulaan nestled in his arms. She was very warm, and he could smell a flowery scent in her hair. He enjoyed a moment of sheer contentment, of wonder almost, and then the realization of what he had done hit him. All his life with Berun, learning from his master, he had prepared for last night, for the Jalesh Rudra, when he would become a man and fully enter into communion with the Oak Father. But last night …
No, not just last night. Four days ago, his master had died, consumed by the very earth that he had held so sacred. Lewan had been unable to celebrate the Jalesh Rudra through no fault of his own. That choice had been taken from him. But did that excuse what he had done? He had sworn his life to the Oak Father—his spirit, his mind, and his body. Those who walked this sacred path swore an oath of chastity, of complete faithfulness to the divine, pledging themselves for the servants of the Oak Father alone. Last night was to have been the final consummation of that oath. Instead, he had chosen a different consummation.
Ulaan moaned softly in her sleep. She snuggled closer, and he felt the soft smoothness of her skin rubbing against his own, touching him in places that no other person had ever touched.
He opened his eyes, and Talieth was standing at the foot of the bed between the oak and holly. Lewan gasped. Talieth stood with her back straight, arms crossed under her breasts, looking down on Lewan and Ulaan. The green of her dress was just a shade darker than the leaves of the miniature oak.
“Dress yourself,” she said. When Lewan showed no sign of obeying, her eyebrows rose slightly and her chin jutted out. “Now.”
Lewan scrambled out of bed, too frightened to even care about his nakedness. Ulaan moaned softly in her sleep, turned over, and lay still.
“I—” Lewan began, but Talieth cut him off.
“I said dress yourself.” She kept her voice low, though Lewan could not believe it was out of concern for the girl’s slumber. “We will speak on the way.”
Someone had brought fresh clothes for both him and Ulaan. Who could have—?
Talieth walked across the room, sparing him a sidelong glance, and placed one hand on the doorknob. Quick as he could, Lewan pulled on the fresh clothes—loose-fitting linen trousers, a shirt of black silk, soft fur-lined boots, and a robe with a deep hood. The robe was well crafted, but of plain soft wool and unadorned. It seemed entirely out of place over such finery. When he was finished, Talieth looked him over, gave a curt nod, then led him out of the room.
It was the first time he’d seen the hallway. The walls and ceiling were crafted of the same stone as his room, but black tiles so smooth that they reflected the lamplight covered the floor. The hall wound round the inside of the tower. Doors lined either side at regular intervals.
“Follow me,” said Talieth, and she started walking.
Lewan scrambled to keep up. “Lady, I, uh … that is—”
“Is this about the girl?”
“Y-yes.”
“Put it out of your mind,” said Talieth. “Ulaan was sent to serve your needs. Judging from what I saw, she is doing so. But if she displeased you, we’ll find you another.”
Lewan opened his mouth to reply, but then realized he had no idea what to say—and that Talieth was leaving him. So he simply followed her down the hallway.
Talieth led him down a long series of stairs winding around the inside of the tower. In a large hall at the base of the tower, she stopped before two massive doors and pulled a heavy cloak and hood of dark green velvet off a rack beside the door. She turned and faced Lewan as she put them on. “Pull up your hood,” she said.
Lewan obeyed her, but managed a hesitant, “Why, lady?”
“Remember our words yesterday, Lewan,” Talieth said, her voice low. “You walk in the midst of conspiracy. In this tower, you are safe enough. There are not many here, and those who are belong to me. But outside these doors, you speak to no one. I speak for you. You keep your hood up and your eyes down. Do you understand?”
“Yes, lady.” Lewan hunched inside the robe and pulled the hood down as far as it would go. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the hem of Talieth’s skirt as she opened the doors and proceeded outside.
The fury of last night’s storm had passed, but the air outside was still thick. Something heavier than a mist but lighter than a drizzle drifted in the air and made a faint sizzling sound as it hit the stone. Talieth led Lewan down wide stone steps and onto a gravel pathway. She turned left and proceeded down the path at a brisk walk.
Lewan risked a glance up. The storm had wreaked havoc on the fortress. Leaves, blossoms, and branches lay everywhere. Talieth and Lewan had to leave the path twice and walk through the grass in order to make their way around fallen trees. Servants were busy everywhere, cleaning up the mess and hauling it away. With the sun hidden behind the sodden sky, Lewan had no idea what time of day it was, but his stomach told him that he had probably slept through the morning. The platter of food Ulaan had brought with her last night still sat on his bedside table, untouched.
They passed a set of elegantly crafted buildings with brass pillars set before huge double doors, then walked through another garden, and Lewan saw that they were passing beneath one of the tall columns on which stood a statue. The statue was bigger than a cave bear. It had been carved in the form of a rearing stallion, its mane flowing back over the spread wings of an eagle. Holding his hood so it would not fall back, Lewan made sure no one was around, then looked up. Smaller statues—all of winged horses—lined the path or sat upon pedestals throughout the garden.
They passed a fountain whose outlet was choked with detritus from the storm. A massive oak grew beside the pool, its boughs spread over the fountain so that the lowest leaves were tickled by water spouting from the mouth of another winged horse. A half-dozen men were standing under the boughs of the oak near the water. Lewan saw that Sauk was among them.
Talieth led Lewan down a narrow side path toward the group of men. Coming under the eaves of the oak, they passed out of the drizzle. Still, remembering Talieth’s warning, Lewan kept his hood up and his head down. Sauk knew of his presence in the Fortress, but Lewan wasn’t sure about the others. He didn’t recognize any of them from the Shalhoond.
As they drew near, Lewan risked a glance up and was sorry he did. Sauk and the other men were standing around what Lewan first thought was a pile of muddy, torn rags. But then he saw that it was not mud at all. It was blood, and the rags were what remained of clothes upon bodies. How many, Lewan could not be sure, for the pieces were jumbled together. His gorge rose. He’d seen slaughter before, but animals—deer, bison, elk, cattle, sheep. Only twice before had he seen people slaughtered with such savagery.
“What happened here?” said Talieth. Lewan heard the rage and shock in her voice.
Sauk spared Lewan a glance, then fixed his gaze on Talieth. “We think it is Vasilik, Draalim, and perhaps Peluris. The others … well, we’re still looking for the rest. There aren’t enough pieces for whole bodies. We think some might be in the water.”
“Why were they outdoors last night? I gave orders!”
The men around Sauk looked away, blanching under the lady’s fury.
“They were keeping a vigil,” said Sauk.
“A vigil?”
“The Old Man told them that the faithful must be ready, ordered them to prepare and contemplate.” Sauk shrugged. “Looks like they weren’t prepared after all.”
Talieth stood a moment, looking at the carnage. “Get this cleaned up,” she said, “and have men search the pool. I don’t want pieces floating up once the weather warms.” She turned to Lewan. “Come.”
Raising her skirts over the blood-soaked leaves, she went round the men and led Lewan back along the path. As Lewan walked,
he kept his head low, and thus could not help but look right upon a bloody torso with everything but half an arm and the remains of a neck torn away. But through the blood and shredded clothing, Lewan saw one wound clearly. He might have thought nothing of the claw marks and their size—except that he and Berun had spent several days tracking those very prints. A steppe tiger.
Lewan’s eyes widened and he glanced toward Sauk. The half-orc caught his gaze and smiled.
Talieth and Lewan left the garden, passing under a stone arch covered in mistletoe. She said nothing, but her gait was stiffer than before. Whether from rage or shock, Lewan couldn’t be sure—he had been around no ladies of such social standing in his life and could not read her—but he was certain there was very little grief in her mood. She had ordered the men to clean up the torn corpses as if ordering a servant to sweep up a broken plate.
A great domed building stood at the end of the path before them. Pillars ringed it—Lewan counted four on the near side alone—and he was surprised to see smoke wafting out the top. Not pillars, then, but great chimneys, each one covered in the odd angle-patterns that seemed to dominate the fortress’s architecture.
Talieth glanced back and saw him gawking. “This is the Dome of Fire,” she said. “Get your head down.”
Lewan obeyed, and she led him down a brick path along one wall of the dome to a narrow stairway that began at ground level and descended into the earth. Ten steps down, the darkness was broken by lamps set in alcoves along the wall. The air felt cool but close, and water from the storm ran down into the earth through gutters on either side of the path. Twenty more steps and the stairway turned left and doubled back, their way lit by more lamps. Farther from the fresh air, Lewan could smell the lamp oil, scented with some kind of spice.
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