by Mark E Lacy
“Very well. Now, leave me to my shattered peace.”
“Wait.”
“What is it?”
“My freedom.”
“You presume to bargain with me, Benshaer? You really are a fool.”
The resara's breath was sucked into the bag. His lungs fought back, and he gasped, almost dropping the bag before sweet night air rushed into his lungs.
“Do you understand?” said Raethir Del.
“Yes,” he rasped.
With that, the pouch contracted, and Benshaer tied it shut. The conversation now ended, the resara caught his breath and retraced his steps through the forest.
Swordbearer? Who — what — is the Swordbearer? But one thing was clear to Raethir Del. The Swordbearer must be dealt with.
But how?
I don't need this distraction.
First things first. I need to talk to the resari. All of them. Yes, let's talk. He smiled to himself.
The sorcerer set about constructing careful plans, but one thought kept distracting him.
The Ban of Irsisri.
The Gauntletbearer was a dangerous man, but Raethir Del wanted the Gauntlets. Sooner or later, he would find a way to get them, Ban or no Ban.
The following morning, Ardemis crouched by the fire with a mug in his hand. Benshaer stood guard down by the stream, watching for trouble. The elder resara set his mug down, stood and looked around, realized Ki'rana was standing where they had said their farewells to the irrilai. She was staring in the direction of Kophid.
He went over to her, deliberately making some noise as he walked so he wouldn't startle her. Coming up from behind, Ardemis wrapped his arms around her.
“Aren't you cold?” he said.
“What? Oh. No.”
“I know what you're thinking,” Ardemis said to his daughter, pressing his cheek against hers.
Ki'rana's voice was little more than a whisper. “It was five years ago today.”
“Fifteen years old,” Ardemis said, shaking his head. “You lost the most important woman in your life. And I took you away from what few comforts you had. I brought you on a quest that has given you nothing but a hard life on the road.”
Ki'rana wiped a tear from her cheek.
Ardemis half-expected a denial from her, selfishly half-hoped for a denial.
“Do you remember when I first showed you the Weave?” he said. “Were you scared?”
“A little. I remember asking you if I was old enough. You said some people would say no, but I was special, so you were going to start teaching me anyway.”
“Yes, your mother told me she could sense your abilities. And with her passing, there would be so few resari left. She made me promise to train you.”
Ki'rana turned to face her father and put her arms around him. “Do you remember, Father, one of those first times in the cana, I noticed part of the Weave was very hazy, and I asked you why?”
“Yes. I said you were looking at part of the future. That nothing is predetermined in life. A glimpse of the future is only as clear as present circumstances can predict. The further into the future we look, the dimmer the picture.”
“And I asked if you and Ma saw she was going to die. You said a resara is not permitted to see his or her death. The Weave will not reveal it, but you were able to see it, and you could do nothing about it. It was the law of the resari, you said.” Ki’rana stepped back and continued, “You never told me how much that must've hurt. To see Ma's death coming and say nothing, to not be allowed to prevent it.”
Ardemis took his daughter's face in his hands and kissed her forehead. He pulled her close so she wouldn't see his eyes well up. “It was the hardest thing I've ever done.”
“I don't know if I could've been that strong, Father.”
Ardemis swallowed. “Being one of the resari comes at a price. It is not a gift.”
Ki'rana stepped back and looked around.
“What is it, Ki'rana?”
She hesitated. “I don't like to talk about someone behind their back.”
“You mean, Benshaer?”
She bit her lip and looked at her feet. “Ever since we came to Kophid, he's seemed like another person. Something's bothering him. And last night, when Longhorn was here ... I've never heard Benshaer speak that way.”
“Yes, I've sensed something as well. I just couldn't put my finger on it. I don't think he slept well last night.”
“Have you tried to talk to him?”
“No. In case you haven't noticed, he hasn't exactly been very approachable lately. I'm hoping he'll eventually come to us, and we can talk it out.”
Ki'rana shook her head. “Even when we did that last Reading, when we found the Swordbearer, it didn't feel right.”
“I know.” Ardemis sighed. “If whatever troubles Benshaer continues to hound him, we'll have trouble using him in the Readings.”
Ki'rana said nothing for the next few minutes. Ardemis took her chin and made her look at him.
“There's something else, isn't there?”
Hands rubbing her temples, Ki'rana asked, “A qaraq is forming, isn't it? A snarl in the Weave.”
“Yes.” Hands on his hips, Ardemis looked up, watching the tops of the trees sway in the wind. “I only noticed it a day or two ago. Perhaps it escaped our notice for so long because it lies so close to us in the Weave.”
Several moments of silence passed before Ki'rana spoke again. “You mean we overlooked it. We're in danger, aren't we?”
It was more a statement than a question.
Ardemis said nothing.
She stared at him, surprised. “Why didn't you tell us?”
Ardemis still did not face his daughter.
“I don't know. Perhaps because I fear Benshaer is involved somehow.” The elder resara shook his head. “We're quickly approaching an ajar.”
“A tear in the Weave? That's a lot more serious than a qaraq.”
Ardemis looked at her, feeling terribly weary. “What would you suggest we do?”
Ki'rana thought for a minute. “Read the Weave,” she answered. “Without Benshaer.”
Ardemis started to protest but Ki'rana cut him off. “Our only chance to prevent an ajar is to do a Reading ourselves. Now. Just the two of us. Whatever Benshaer is struggling with might keep us from Seeing it all.”
Her father turned and began to pace. “The two of us alone may not have enough strength to enter the cana and survive it,” he said.
“Father, we must do this.”
Ardemis stopped pacing and looked at her.
“I have never deliberately excluded a resara from a Reading,” he said. “What have we come to? What will we tell him when he finds out?”
Ki'rana argued with her father for some time before he finally acquiesced. They returned to their camp and entered the tent. Sitting, hand in hand, they slowly entered the trance-like state of the musaresari.
She knew he was right beside her even though she couldn't see him. There was nothing to see but darkness, and the cana, the embodiment of the Weave, a shaft of light whose ends disappeared into the darkness to their left and right.
Ki'rana and Ardemis moved toward the cana. A moment's hesitation outside of the shaft and then they were in it, swept along by its unseen current. Ki'rana knew from experience not to fight the flow. She didn't have to swim it. She couldn't drown in it. It had no real physical substance. Resisting it would only wear her out.
The walls curved around them like a warmly lit tunnel. There were patterns of lines in the walls, colors of every hue and tint, and small objects like beads. The Weave here was beautiful, but Ki'rana had also seen its ugly parts. Yet, as she had ever since the day her father first taught her to enter the cana, Ki'rana wished she could stay longer. Much sooner than she would like, it would be time to leave.
They flowed by an area that seemed to be draped with lace. The pattern was distinct and clear, but the fabric of the Weave was weak here.
Watch carefully, Ardemis said. What we
're looking for can't be far from here.
The current seemed markedly stronger with only the two of them to face it. It would take all their skill to find the right threads in the Weave before they were swept on by.
Wait, said Ardemis, only a minute downstream. He felt the slightest tickle of an eddy before he was swept on.
What is it, Father?
Ardemis was turning, trying to move upstream, trying to get back. I thought I saw something.
It was too late for Ki'rana to stop. She swept by him before finding a large eddy a short distance ahead. She turned and waited, out of the current.
There, said Ardemis. He fought his way against the current until he could slip into a tiny eddy he had missed.
What is it?
Ardemis didn't answer. He moved in deeper, finding a tight little space at the back of the eddy.
Father? Where are you?
There is a hidden place right off the main current. I almost missed it. The elder resara studied the pattern in front of him. It's almost like someone's working to conceal part of the Weave.
Why would anyone do that? What's going on?
I don't know. Give me a few minutes. It's not easy to see where this leads.
Ardemis followed a particular strand that appeared and disappeared along the inside of the cana wall, a strand so faint it seemed to be fading even as he looked at it. Another strand followed and danced around it, joined it and moved on.
A chill swept over him. Ardemis knew these strands. He could Read them, and he despaired over what he saw.
Ki'rana?
Yes?
It's Benshaer. Can you come back this way?
I'm too far downstream. What do you see?
His thread. It's tangled with Raethir Del. The two of them run close together everywhere else. Damn him. What has he done?
What do you mean?
Wait. I have to trace some of this back.
Ardemis studied the tapestry in the eddy, following the strands in the reverse direction, where they were more visible. Damn. Good Eloeth, he's betrayed us.
How do you know?
Their threads tangle soon after we arrived in Kophid. Not long after that, the threads of Raethir Del and the Gauntletbearer converge. A new tangle just formed in the last day or two, and now, the threads of Raethir Del and the Swordbearer are approaching each other.
Benshaer's giving the sorcerer information, said Ki'rana.
Ardemis was beside himself. He yelled with rage and betrayal. Because of him, all may be lost, he thought
He studied the strands again, not wanting to believe what he saw. He traced the lines again and sighed as he came to the same conclusion. He moved back into the stream.
Come, let's go back. There's nothing more to see.
When Ki'rana came out of the Reading trance, she was sitting alone. Her father was already standing and pacing, worry and frustration on his face. She stood but did not go over to him.
“You know what must be done, don't you?” Ardemis said.
Ki'rana bit her lip, afraid to say.
“We can do nothing till Benshaer is dealt with,” said her father.
Ki'rana closed her eyes. While Benshaer was not one of her favorite people, her father was their leader, his word their law.
“Remember what I've taught you, Ki'rana. There are severe penalties for betraying the trust and privileges given to a musaresara.”
Ki'rana opened her eyes and looked at her father. “Optisa,” she whispered, shaken. “But ...”
Her father nodded. “Yes. I will have to bind him first.”
“How?”
Ardemis clasped his hands together, and closing his eyes, said, “There is a vradu word.”
“A word for what? And what do we know of vradu? That's sorcery. We're resari, not abramusari.”
“It's a minor spell, part of our lore. It's used only at times like this.” He paused. “You don't really think we could confront him with his treachery and expect him to submit, do you?”
“Of course not. But ... I can't believe this is part of who we are.”
“Using this one minor spell, under these circumstances, is just as much a part of who we are as the ritual we must perform, now that we know what he has done.”
“But, Father, you might as well kill him as use the optisa rite!”
“No. That won’t be necessary. We do not kill people. Benshaer will have little to offer Raethir Del, blind and no longer part of the resari.”
Ki’rana said no more, for she trusted her father.
The fire burned low as Benshaer stepped into the clearing. Ardemis was alone. The elder resara stood and waited for Benshaer to approach.
“Shouldn't we be on our way?” asked Benshaer.
“Tura Mezar can wait just a little longer.” Ardemis fought the impulse to grab a blade and run the traitor through. “I'm sure Longhorn will find us when the time comes.”
“Where's Ki'rana?”
“I asked her to remain some distance away. She will witness what I am about to do, but she will be safe from harm.”
Benshaer looked puzzled. “What you are ‘about to do’? Safe from harm? What are you talking about?”
Ardemis placed his hands on the other man's shoulders and closed his eyes in concentration. “Benshaer, luraespon.”
A wild look appeared in the dark man's eyes. His mouth worked in a futile attempt to speak. Ardemis stepped back out of reach. For several long moments, the muscles in Benshaer's body shook with spasms. When at last he was able to cry out, the resara slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Ki'rana ran up as Ardemis knelt to disarm the man. He threw Benshaer's weapons aside and stood.
“Damn you,” he said, kicking the unconscious man in the ribs. “Damn you! What have you done?” Ardemis kicked him again.
“Father, no!” Ki'rana pulled him away.
Ardemis stifled a cry of anguish, his face in his hands, and stood speechless while his daughter embraced him.
Chapter 16
His heart hammered as if he'd just woken from a nightmare.
Am I back in the Dreamtunnel?
But he was standing, not floating in space. He could feel a hard floor beneath his feet. He could see the dim outlines of furniture.
Enkinor turned around.
A small window cast a single ray of sanguine light on a dusty, crumbling floor. A chilling gust tousled his hair. He looked up in apprehension, trying to make sense of the dim outlines around him. There were chipped columns supporting a cracked ceiling, a faded fresco crawling along the wall. He could feel something drawing near, something to fear, something to hide from.
He panicked and ran for the doorway, stumbling into a littered and deserted hall. What is happening? Enkinor picked his way around piles of abandoned clothing and rusting weapons, dirty dishes and broken furniture. How did I get here? The end of the hallway opened upon another in similar disarray.
An odor of decay drifted past him, the odor of a three-day-old battleground.
The Saerani tribesman froze. A low growl made him turn around. At the opposite end of the hallway stood a monstrous hound, red eyes with tears of blood, fangs dripping with saliva, its black coat flecked with foam. Another hound emerged from the shadows to stand beside the first. One by one, several more joined the pack, pacing back and forth, watching the Saerani. The hellhound growled again and sprang down the hall, the pack at its heels.
Enkinor ran ahead of death.
He turned into the next hall, fell over a stained divan, got up, and kept running. He shouldered his way past a wardrobe that had spilled its contents across the floor. He could hear nothing behind him but growls and the clattering scratch of claws on the flagstones. Enkinor struggled to catch his breath, but it felt like something was sitting on his chest. His feet seemed to be weighted with shackles. He guessed he had only moments before the hounds would catch him.
The hounds jumped the piles of debris and kept coming.
; Enkinor frantically glanced at each room he passed, hoping for a door to shut and slow the beasts. He needed to rest. But there were no doors to be found, and he could not stop. He ran with pack and blade bouncing against his back, stumbled and changed direction, wasted a second he didn’t have by looking back over his shoulder. It was like trying to run through waist-deep water.
He stopped. Before him was the same littered hallway where he had begun. He had come full-circle.
As the pants and growls of the hellhounds drew closer, Enkinor drew his sword over his head. He took the hilt in a two-handed grasp and turned to face the beasts, feet planted wide.
“Come, dogs of hell.”
The hounds stopped as if to listen.
“How many want to join me in death?”
Enkinor cried out as his sword seemed to melt and bend. The tip of the blade spun around and fastened fangs into his wrist. He gasped and flung the steel serpent away from him, only to watch it resume its original form and strike the floor with a clang.
Venom started creeping up the veins of his arm.
He had one last recourse. He ran into a nearby room with a large, open window. A deserted street lay not far below. As he stood on the windowsill, gauging his jump, one of the hounds leapt at him and knocked them both sprawling into the air. Enkinor hit the ground on his side and bounced a foot into the air. He stood with difficulty, the pain from the fall adding to the pain from the venom climbing his arm. He stared with fear as the hellhound struggled to its feet. The hound turned and, finally finding its voice, called to the rest of the pack staring out the window above. Another hound sprang out the window and floated down to the street. Before the first of the pack could join their leader, Enkinor was on the run. Moments later, the hounds again took up the chase.
Enkinor turned a corner and found himself on a barren, dusty boulevard with strange objects hanging by ropes from the windows of ruined houses. At first, they reminded him of the cocoons when he had entered the Dreamtunnel, but as he neared them and recognized what he saw, nausea began to rise. They were human bodies wrapped in burial clothes, hung by their feet, each with their throats slit from ear to ear. Large puddles had formed beneath each corpse. The splatter marks reached far out into the dust.
