The stairs doubled back twice more, then ended before a yawning blackness. Lewan hesitated, but Talieth stepped toward the right wall. Just at the border between light and shadow was a stone column about waist high. The odd angular patterns and strange runes covered it, and atop it, set within the stone itself, was the top third of a crystal sphere. In the murky light cast by the last of the lamps, the crystal seemed black as dreamless sleep. Talieth placed her open hand on the crystal and stroked it.
Lewan gasped and jumped back as fire flared to life in the darkness beyond—leaping from a ledge that ran along the wall a few feet off the floor. It ran down the length of the hall, disappearing around a bend not far ahead.
Talieth turned around and gave him a gracious nod of her head. “Welcome to the Dome of Fire,” she said, “although as I’m sure you’ve guessed, we’re actually well below the dome itself.”
“How—?” Lewan stared, open mouthed, at the long stream of flame running along the wall.
“The Imaskari were masters of the elements,” said Talieth. “They are long gone, but their works endure, only waiting for the proper hand to bring them to life.” A sharpness entered her eyes, not unlike the careful watchfulness Lewan had seen in the eyes of Sauk’s tiger when she’d been set to watch him. “Much as we are hoping you will do with your sacred relic, yes?”
Lewan drew a breath, intending to point out that he had never agreed to aid their conspiracy. At least not yet. But that tigerlike gaze made him think better of it. Still, frightened as he was—and he didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that he wasn’t frightened—he could not bring himself to give in so easily. He simply looked to the flames and kept his tone light as he said, “What would you have me do, lady?”
Talieth smiled, though the predator’s eyes remained. “Follow me,” she said, and turned down the hallway.
Lewan followed. The hall was wide enough for several to walk abreast. Talieth glided down the middle, Lewan behind her and slightly to the right. He drifted to one side and looked down into the channel. He could not smell or see oil or fuel of any sort—only a tiny crack along the bottom of the stone. It seemed no thicker than his thumbnail, and the flames leaped to life just above the crack.
He was near the wall, his eyes following the track of flame, when the channel ended at a doorway. Although the entrance had a thick wooden door on four stout iron hinges, the door was open. Inside, the room was dark, and the light from the channels of flame in the hall only penetrated a few feet inside the room. As they passed, Lewan could see no more than a bare stone floor, covered in dust and grit. But the smell emanating from the room was unmistakable. Blood and charnel. A hunter for most of his life, Lewan had seen countless animals butchered. In the villages and settlements in the Amber Steppes, he’d seen entire pens devoted to slaughter, the blood and offal drenching the grass and forming a putrid mud. This smell was worse. Lewan recoiled, almost trampling the hem of Talieth’s skirt in front of him, and his gorge rose. For the first time since waking, he was glad of his empty stomach. This was the stench of slow death and rot.
Grimacing, Lewan swallowed bile and looked to Talieth for explanation. She kept walking, not even turning, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“What … was that?” Lewan’s voice was hoarse and raw. His throat burned from the bile.
“Put it out of your mind,” said Talieth, not turning or slowing her pace. “You have other concerns now.”
They passed three more doors—two on the left and one on the right. Thankfully, these were shut tight, but as they passed the second, Lewan thought he heard a faint sniffling from behind the door, like the ragged end of weeping or someone breathing during the final stages of a long sickness. But the steady hiss of the flames drowned it out after they passed.
The hallway curved again, always to the right. They passed a large passageway with more stairs leading down, and not far beyond, they reached another door. Talieth lifted the black iron latch, the door swung forward on noiseless hinges, and she entered.
Lewan hesitated in the doorway, but the room before him was nothing like the one he’d passed earlier. It was opulent. The room was bigger than most houses he’d seen in his lifetime, though the ceiling was low. Heavy drapes covered the walls, alternating with several bookshelves, each of which was filled with scrolls and thick tomes. Soft couches rested upon thick rugs. Thick white candles burned in sconces on the wall and on pedestals throughout the room. In the middle of the far wall, a fire burned in a hearth so large that Lewan could have stood inside it. A brass brazier hung from a chain over the flames, and something inside bubbled, filling the room with a spicy scent. In the middle of the room, sitting upon a thick rug that looked as if it had been taken from a sultan’s palace, was a plain table, four plain chairs set around it.
“This is my private study.” Talieth stood just inside the room. “Enter and be welcome.”
Lewan stepped inside, his footsteps soundless on the deep rug. Talieth shut the door behind him and walked to the table, where she turned and leaned against it to regard him with that predator’s gaze.
“Please, sit wherever you like.”
Lewan looked around, eyeing the plain wooden chairs and the soft, cushioned couches. Time to test this predator’s mettle, he thought. He sat on the rug with his back firmly against the door.
Talieth’s left eyebrow shot up, and one corner of her mouth followed it in an amused smile. “Comfortable?”
“Yes, my lady.”
With both hands Talieth reached behind her neck and pulled a necklace of braided leather over her head. Erael’len emerged from the front of her dress.
“You remember of what we spoke yesterday?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Talieth looked at him, her eyebrows rising a little more with each moment that he didn’t speak. Finally, she said, “Lewan?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Are you going to be difficult?”
“Difficult, my lady?”
“ ‘Difficult, my lady,’ ” she repeated in a flat tone. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, Erael’len dangling from one hand. “It’s been so long since I’ve had to deal with a man your age, I’d forgotten how difficult you can be.”
“My lady?”
“Lewan, I commend your manners, but I sense a lack of sincerity in them.”
Lewan said nothing. He tried to hold her gaze but found that he could not, so he glanced away and pretended a sudden profound interest in the nearest bookshelf.
“I ask you, Lewan,” she said, “have I shown you anything but kindness since you came to my home?”
“As I remember it,” said Lewan, still studiously watching the bookcase, “you sent a band of killers to capture my master. He was killed trying to escape, and I was poisoned and brought here.”
Silence. Soon it became uncomfortable, and Lewan decided to risk looking at Talieth. She stood in the same pose as before, but her eyes had gone cold.
“I loved Kheil more than my own life,” she said, her voice low and carefully controlled. “Whether you believe me or not … damn it all, I honestly don’t care. I care not if he took a different name and fled my father. Gods know I’ve considered it many times over the years.”
She turned her back on him and bowed her head. A small part of him—the part that remembered his master’s lessons of treating women, especially nobles, with deference, if not genuine respect—felt a pang of guilt. But only a small pang. Although the memory of watching his master disappear beneath that shambling manlike mound of earth was dull and unfocused in his mind’s eye, he could still see it, like a fading dream, and he held on to that last fleeting image. He would not apologize.
Talieth turned to him. “We must make things clear between us, you and I,” she said.
“Clear, my lady?”
Her jaw clenched for a moment. “Yes, clear,” she said. “We are a proud people here at Sentinelspire, and whether you know or respect our code of con
duct and honor, I assure you we do have one. This fortress is the pride and envy of the East and West—among those few fortunate enough to have seen it and lived. But we are not like the societies of the pampered sultans or simpering kings. Every person here must contribute something. We have no layabouts. Your task is to unlock the secrets of this relic.” She held Erael’len up in her fist and shook it at him. “As long as you agree, as long as you contribute—and I do expect results—you will be our most honored guest in the fortress. You will be clothed in the finest clothes, fed the finest foods, bathed and oiled, you will sleep in a soft bed with the company of Ulaan or as many women as you choose. But you will help us.”
“Or what?” said Lewan, and he was proud that his voice didn’t tremble, for his heart was beating double-time under Talieth’s imperious gaze. He expected her to say, Or you’ll find out what we do in that charnel room up the hall, or Sauk will let that tiger hunt you in the grounds, or I’ll have you dragged to the top of the tallest tower and thrown off, or any number of threats.
But she said none of those things. Instead she looked at him and said, “Or I’ll see that you’re given the best traveling clothes we have, as many supplies as you can carry, weapons of your choosing, and I’ll have you taken out the gates and down the mountain. You can go wherever you like. And in a few days’ time, or a tenday, or perhaps even a month if the gods smile upon us, when Sentinelspire explodes and shatters the land for a hundred miles, when a cloud of dust and ash and fire covers half the known world, choking babes in their sleep, killing wild beasts and livestock, and strangling sunlight from this season’s crops—and very likely next season’s as well—if you’re far enough away to escape that … well, then, I guess you can live the rest of your life knowing that you could have helped prevent it. Once the fires have died, the earth cooled, and the ash blown away, you can even come to the great hole in the ground where once we lived, and you can dance on the place where we died. Where Ulaan died. Is that what you want, Lewan?”
Chapter Twenty-One
25 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Sentinelspire
Lewan sat on the edge of the bed to put on the soft doeskin boots. As he did so, he enjoyed the sight of Ulaan, standing before the open balcony doors in the morning breeze, the light curtains fluttering about her. She had her arms over her head as she put the last of the … things in her hair. Lewan couldn’t remember what she’d called them—pointed rods of flexible wood encased in black lacquer. She’d done her hair up in some sort of topknot of intricate braids, all bound in gold ribbon.
“Gaasur,” she said.
“What?”
“The pins for my hair. They are called gaasur.”
“How … did you …?”
She smiled a very happy smile and said, “I saw you watching me, and you had that look you get when you are thinking your deep thoughts.”
“Deep thoughts?” Lewan chuckled.
Finished with her hair, she lowered her arms, considered a moment, then said, “I like it when you watch me, Lewan. I …”
He waited for her to finish. When she didn’t, he said, “What?”
“I am glad I was told to serve you.”
Serve me? Lewan scowled, the moment ruined, for it reminded him exactly what Ulaan was.
“Ulaan, how long have you lived here? In the Fortress?”
“Ten years,” she said. Her smile melted. “Since I was sold to the Lady Talieth in Almorel.”
Ten years. Twice as long as Lewan had been with Berun.
“Your parents …?”
“My mother was a servant of a wealthy merchant who trades along the Golden Way. My father might have been the merchant. Or he might have been any number of guests whom my mother … served.”
Lewan could see the wariness in her eyes, but he had to know. “How many … others—other men—have you … served?”
He saw her instant of shock, then she turned her back to him. When she spoke, anger as well as hurt were in her voice. “I am a servant here, Master. I do as I am told. If that displeases you, you may send for another.”
“Stop saying that!”
“What, Master?”
“Stop calling me master!” said Lewan, anger rising in his voice. “And stop telling me that I can have another …”
“Another what? Another whore?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking it.”
Lewan growled and looked away, staring at the wall but not seeing it.
“Lewan?” The anger had gone from her voice. The hurt was still there, but there was something else as well—hope?
He looked to her again and saw that she had turned halfway round. Her back was straight, her head held high, her jaw out, the very picture of a woman in control of her emotions. But she balled her hands into tight fists, and he could see them trembling.
“What?” he said.
“You … you are not like … the others.” She stopped, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. “When you look at me, when you touch me, when we …” She opened her eyes and looked right at him. He could see the sparkle of unshed tears. “Do you love me, Lewan?”
Lewan blinked. “I—”
A knock at the door—three sharp raps—then it opened and into the room stepped Talieth, dressed in a long, loose skirt and a sleeveless bodice that seemed to have been crafted from thousands of tiny links of red copper and laid over sheer red silk. A circlet made of the same material crowned her head, and dozens of rings and jewels bound her hair in a score of braids. Thick gold bracelets ringed her arms at each wrist and elbow. From head to toe she seemed the perfect image of a warrior queen.
Ulaan turned toward the Lady Talieth and dropped to a bow from which she did not rise.
Talieth spared both Ulaan and Lewan a quick glance, then looked at Lewan with a raised eyebrow and an upward curl of the corner of her mouth. “So nice to see you both dressed this time.”
Lewan stood and faced her. “So nice of you to knock this time.”
Talieth speared Lewan with her gaze. “Get into your robe and get the hood up,” she said. “Time for today’s studies.”
Beneath the Dome of Fire in the private study, Talieth shut the door behind her and looked at Lewan.
“It’s been five days, and you have unlocked none of the relic’s secrets. Its power still sleeps. Explain yourself.”
Lewan glanced over his shoulder to where Erael’len lay atop a linen cloth on the table, then focused his gaze on Talieth’s chin. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze. “I am trying, my lady.”
“You felt the tremor last night? Or was your attention elsewhere?”
“I felt it.”
The metal lattice of her bodice and circlet made a soft tinkling sound as she approached Lewan. She stopped an arm’s length away. He could smell a scent of cinnamon and some other spice wafting from her. “Sentinelspire is stirring, Lewan. And the Old Man is doing his best to wake her. Time is precious.”
Lewan swallowed and took a deep breath. “I know, lady. I am trying. Erael’len sleeps as well, and so far, I can do nothing to wake it. However …”
“I have no time to for your dissimulations, Lewan. Speak.”
Lewan’s brow wrinkled. He had no idea what dissimulations meant.
“Erael’len is sacred to the Oak Father, a relic of the forest and the life in root, branch, and leaf. Yet I have sat here for days in the bowels of the earth, surrounded by ancient stone, cut off from the life of the wood.”
Talieth turned and paced the length of the room while she thought. “You’re saying that you need … greenery in hopes of tapping the relic’s power? I’m afraid that’s not possible, Lewan. Here, in my domain, my wards can protect you. Out in the gardens a hundred prying eyes could see you—and the Old Man has ways of seeing things without spies. The grounds around the Tower of the Sun are the wildest area of the fortress, but taking you there … that is well within his d
omain. I might as well blow trumpets and present you and the relic to the Old Man as a gift.”
“That isn’t what I meant, Lady. I don’t need to be outside this room. I need to be outside the fortress altogether. In the wild.”
Talieth still had her back to him, but she looked over her shoulder, a sly look in her eye. “Is this some plot to escape, Lewan?”
“Lady, you told me that you would shower me with gifts and show me on my way. I am here because I choose to be. Or am I now a prisoner? Have you reconsidered your offer?”
She turned to face him then, and gave him the last thing he’d ever expected from her: a gracious bow. “Forgive me, Lewan. You are right. Other than my own people here, most of my dealings are with nobles and the wealthy who desire my services. Every gesture and tone with them holds hidden meanings. Perhaps I have been a plotter for so long that I now cannot help but see plots where there are none. I meant no insult. You are, of course, still our honored guest. And yes, my offer stands.”
Lewan was so stunned by her apology that for several moments he could do nothing but stare.
“Do close your mouth, Lewan,” said Talieth, a smile taking the sting out of her words. “Standing there with it hanging open makes you look stupid.”
Lewan snapped his jaw shut and forced his attention back to the matter at hand. “I must ask you something, my lady.”
“What is it?”
“You said that here, in your private study, I am free from … prying eyes,” said Lewan. “Why do you bring me here every day? Why not keep me in my room? I could just as easily study Erael’len there.”
“Two reasons,” said Talieth. “First, with Ulaan in the tower, your room offers too many … distractions. Secondly, the tower is not warded against those ‘other ways of seeing without spies’ that I spoke of.”
“Then why keep me there?”
“Because if the Old Man should have reason to spy on you there,” she said, “and I can’t imagine why he would, he would simply see my latest acquisition to our blades. The Old Man is many things, Lewan, but he is the Old Man, and he has precious little interest in watching how you and Ulaan spend your nights. He has not called for a woman of his own since my mother died.”
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