by Helen Lowe
Teron sprang forward. “My lord, no! The raiders must have had inside help to traverse the Old Keep—and I say that aid came from the priest kind! Now she seeks to slay by treachery where the sword has failed.”
“Peace!” the Earl commanded. “Be silent! Only the Blood may hear matters of Blood, Teron.”
“My lord,” the chamberlain objected, “this is not wise. I implore you—” Once again, he broke off. “Is there no other way? Must you hear her alone?”
“There may be another way,” said Asantir unexpectedly. “While only the Blood may hear a Matter of Blood, my predecessor told me that the Honor Captain may be counted, de facto, as one of the Blood if no one else is available.”
The Earl looked surprised. “I had forgotten that,” he said, and looked at Korriya. “You don’t dispute this claim?”
“No,” said Korriya. “The captain is right. It is indeed the law, although an obscure point.”
“Very well,” said the Earl, “Asantir shall remain.” He turned to the others. “I apologize for the discourtesy, but our law gives me no more freedom than you in a Matter of Blood. We shall resume our councils as soon as possible.”
Nhairin caught the Earl’s eye and thought better of protesting further, but she noticed several resentful glances toward the priestess as the councilors filed out. Only Haimyr and Rowan Birchmoon seemed unconcerned, the minstrel departing with a deep flourish divided evenly between Earl and priestess. The Earl, however, rose to his feet as Rowan Birchmoon passed. “I thank you,” he said, gravely formal, “for your forbearance, particularly given your losses in our cause last night.”
She smiled faintly. “How can I be offended,” she replied, “when I am neither Derai, nor of your Blood?” Her fingers touched his, lightly, and she bowed to Korriya as she left. Nhairin limped out after her and Teron, scowling furiously, brought up the rear, closing the door behind him with a vicious click.
6
Matters of Blood
Asantir spared a raised brow for this muted rebellion, but otherwise her attention was on the two faces studying each other across the table. They were almost mirrors of each other: They had the same lines, the same sculpted bones and shadowed eyes. The only difference lay in coloring and that one face was cast in a male mold, the other female. They reminded her of the old depictions of Ornorith of the Two Faces, each carved mask a reflection of the other except that they faced in different directions.
The two faces of Luck, thought Asantir, the dark and the light, which reflect the two faces—dark and light—of the Derai.
The Earl’s fingers beat another tattoo on the scarred tabletop, breaking their silence, and Korriya moved to a chair opposite his. The Earl’s expression, regarding her, was as hard as his voice. “Well?” he said. “Time and events are both pressing. Speak to me of this Matter of Blood!”
“Matters,” she replied calmly. “There is more than one.” She studied her hands, as though reading some detailed story there, before raising her gray eyes to meet his darker gaze. “As you know from our childhood together, I have always loved puzzles and riddles.” She smiled faintly when he nodded. “The answers to last night’s riddles are my Matters of Blood, Earl of Night.”
He leaned forward, the winged horse device on his breastplate catching fire. “Unfold me these riddles, then.”
Korriya spoke slowly, every word precise. “Who attacked us and why? Who woke the alarms and roused the keep? Who drove off the Swarm demon that hunted in the Temple quarter last night? And how did the attackers breach the Old Keep?”
The Earl leaned back. “Do you claim to have answers to these questions?”
“I have some certainties,” the priestess replied, “and some surmises. But if I am right—” She broke off, looking at him intently. “You should be aware of what I suspect, at least.”
“Very well,” he said grimly. “I’m listening.”
“Firstly,” she said, “I have already heard speculation that the attackers must have been our Derai enemies pursuing blood feud and vendetta. Yet even if the foul sorceries they used did not point to the Swarm, a Raptor of Darkness must remove all doubt.”
“I have heard the rumors,” the Earl said carefully, “but what exactly is a Raptor of Darkness?”
“It is a psychic vampire,” Korriya told him, “a powerful and terrible manifestation of the Swarm that sucks out the mind and soul of anyone insufficiently powerful to withstand it. Those with the old powers are its particular prey, for the Raptor increases its own strength by feeding on ours.” She closed her eyes briefly. “It feasted well last night, before it was finally driven off.”
“And how was it driven off?” the Earl asked quietly.
Korriya’s smile was bitter. “Not by us. It entered the Temple quarter with the first wave of intruders, and the souls of the weak and the unwary were sucked into it like a vortex. None of us would have survived if we had not managed to barricade ourselves into the temple of Mhaelanar, the Defender, where the psychic barriers are strong and kept it at bay. But even they would not have held forever, since we no longer have the strength within ourselves to defend against such an attack. We knew it was only a matter of time before the Raptor prevailed.” She paused briefly. “And so I come to the second and third riddles.”
“Who woke the alarms and roused the keep?” Asantir spoke from her post by the door. “And who drove off the demon that hunted in the Temple quarter? They are good questions, Priestess.”
“Ay,” Korriya replied. “The one who raised the alarm was a mindspeaker of very great power, far stronger than anyone in our temples. She woke the keep alarms to life, but her power drew the Raptor of Darkness like blood to a kill. Even she was no match for its malignancy. She would have fallen, if she had not had aid.”
Korriya closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them again, looking intently at the Earl. “At one moment, all I could perceive was a roiling darkness with the mindspeaker trapped in its heart, but I was powerless to help. The next moment the world was ablaze with golden fire. My whole mind was flooded with it; it called to me. Nay, it commanded my aid against the Raptor. Everyone barricaded into the temple of Mhaelanar was caught up in it, mind and spirit, from the greatest amongst us to the weakest. I sensed other powers there as well, powers that I did not recognize—but all that mattered was that together, bound into that golden conflagration, we were strong enough to cast out the Raptor of Darkness.”
The Earl was on his feet. “The Golden Fire!” he exclaimed, sheer wonder in his voice. “Can it be possible?” He checked, frowning at Korriya. “Do you know what you are saying? Are you sure of this?”
“I am sure,” Korriya answered steadily. “As sure as anyone can be when we have not encountered its like in five hundred years. The Golden Fire woke in this keep last night, my Kinsman and my Earl. It fought with us against the Swarm.”
The Earl shook his head as though unable to credit what he heard. “This is news indeed,” he said at last. “News to set the entire Derai Alliance alight! But if it is true, where is the Golden Fire now? Why is the keep not infused with its light, as it used to be? And why does it not speak directly to me, who am Earl and therefore first of our Blood, rather than to you?” There was sudden, sharp suspicion in his voice.
Korriya shook her head. “It did not speak to me as such. I saw it and heard its voice, I was caught up in it, but there was no direct speech as reported in the histories. I do not know why, for we understand so little about the Golden Fire now, after so long. I only know that it was real and it was here, if only for a very short time.”
“When the need was greatest,” Asantir observed thoughtfully. “That is not entirely unprecedented, I believe.”
“But only when it aided Derai outside the keep itself,” the Earl replied. “Within the keeps, the Fire was always a constant and visible presence.”
Korriya nodded. “I have read those same records but even so, the more I think about it, the more I believe that last nigh
t’s need was the key. First there was our own great need in the Temple, as we fell before the Raptor’s onslaught. I also assume that the Raptor’s presence itself would be anathema to the Golden Fire. Finally, there was the Raptor’s attack on the unknown mindspeaker, which is when the Fire counterattacked.” She paused, watching the Earl carefully, but he said nothing.
“I heard that mindcall, Tasarion,” the priestess continued quietly, “and it spoke three specific names: the Earl of Night, Nhairin, and Asantir, which implies that the speaker was either of this keep or knew those who dwell here.” She leaned toward the Earl. “As you know, the bond between the Golden Fire and the Derai was always strongest with those of the Blood. Now the Fire appears to have roused itself to protect the same unknown mindspeaker who called the keep to arms—and there is only one other in the House of Night, besides ourselves, who is of the Blood.”
The Earl had gone white. “Malian,” he whispered, and then his face contorted and he struck the table hard with his clenched fist. The blow was loud in the silent room, but the Earl did not seem to hear it, or feel any pain in his hand. “No!” he said, his voice so full of rage and revulsion that Korriya flinched. The Earl caught himself, exerting control with an obvious effort, and stood for a moment, his fist still clenched and his head bent. “No,” he said again, his voice very quiet but with a deliberation that was more terrible than his rage. “I will not have it. Not again.”
Korriya looked at him with compassion. “Tasarion, it is only surmise, but still—”
“I must prepare myself for the worst,” he finished harshly, “given your impeccable reasoning. And do not remind me that no reasoning, however impeccable, is infallible and that we can be certain of nothing until the Heir is found. Not,” he added bleakly, “that she will be able to remain Heir if your suspicion is correct.” The face he turned toward her was bleak as his voice. “Is there more, Kinswoman? You had one more riddle, I believe?”
“How did the attackers breach the Old Keep?” murmured Asantir, and the priestess nodded. The lines of exhaustion and strain on her face were very marked now.
“I think,” she said, “that you will find my suspicions in this case the least palatable of all.”
The Earl seated himself again, his face grim. “Another Matter of Blood?” he asked. She nodded and he made a brief, impatient gesture. “Speak, then. You need not spare me.”
“Indeed,” she replied quietly, “I do not think I can. Your squire spoke of treachery and I believe that he is right. I do not believe that we are so weak, even now, that the Swarm could penetrate the Old Keep unaided. Only one of the Blood, or a very great power indeed, could set aside its inbuilt wards. When the attackers first poured into the Temple quarter there was a hint of something, a signature or seal on the spells they were using, that I recognized. It was elusive but familiar, although I could not name it. Then, of course, the Raptor came and there was no time left for naming things.” She paused, almost visibly gathering her strength. “Since then, however, I have returned again and again to that elusive familiarity and finally a name has come to me. Yet it seems unthinkable.”
“Except,” the Earl said sharply, “that you are thinking it. No more riddles, Korriya. Name me this name!”
She raised her eyes to his. “Nerion,” she said.
He recoiled as if she had struck him. “How can that be?” he cried. “They told us she was dead!”
“They said!” Korriya returned, with fine scorn. “She was exiled amongst those who have no cause to love this House—yet who, here, asked after the manner of her death, or sought her body for burial when they said that she was gone? We were all too ready to accept their word that she was dead. But if she was still alive, if she had not died but fled, then she might well seek revenge.”
“And so,” said Asantir, “by way of the fourth riddle, we come back to the first, at least in part. They did seem to be seeking something, or someone, even to the extent of leaving it too late for retreat.”
“What are you suggesting?” the Earl asked her. “That the mother seeks the daughter?”
“It fits a part of the picture,” Asantir replied, “although the attackers may well have had several objectives.” She frowned. “It does not tell us why they attacked now, however.”
“But Nerion,” said the Earl, shaking his head, “alive and gone over to the Darkswarm? How can that even begin to be possible?”
Wearily, the priestess leaned back in her chair. “You are thinking of the Nerion we both knew. Now think of her fate: cast out, exiled, abandoned. And the fact remains that someone led our attackers through the Old Keep, someone who knew it very well.”
“And Nerion, more than any other, ran wild there when we were young.” The Earl thrust to his feet again, stalking back and forward between table and fire. “Now Malian is believed missing in the same place. If Nerion is in there—” He shook his head. “If only I could place more confidence in your report of the Golden Fire, but a five-hundred-year-old memory is a slender thread on which to pin Malian’s life and the future of Night.”
“We cannot afford to wait for the worst to happen,” Korriya said urgently. “We must act.”
“What can we do,” the Earl returned, “except what we already intend, to regroup and then search the Old Keep, room by room, floor by floor? But we must have wyr hounds, for by the Nine, that place is an absolute warren and Asantir is right—we no longer have the numbers to take it on.”
“Or the powers,” said the priestess, under her breath. She straightened, speaking carefully. “If it is simply a matter of numbers, then despite last night’s losses there are still those in the Temple quarter who can aid the search…. If you will allow it.”
“But is it simply numbers?” asked Asantir, before the Earl could reply. “What of the Raptor of Darkness? Is it dead, or simply fled? And if it has fled, then where is it? We also know that at least some of the invaders retreated into the Old Keep. What we don’t know is how many others remained there as rearguard, or what Darkswarm sorceries they may still unleash against us. We do not know who leads them, or what their objective is. As for those from your Temple quarter, do you have any idea how they will react under pressure, let alone under fire?”
Korriya held up one hand, color tingeing her tired face. “I did say if it was only numbers, Captain,” she said. “As for the rest, I do not think that the Raptor is dead. It fled and it was badly weakened by the Golden Fire, but I cannot swear that it is incapable of troubling us again. Nor can I be certain that we would fare better against it wounded than we did against its full strength. It is likely, however, that we could at least detect its presence—and that of any other darkspawn in the Old Keep.”
“But not,” said Asantir, “protect us against them, I think?”
The priestess shook her head. “Our powers of protection are limited, as we discovered last night when we were so direly overmatched.” Grief and shame flicked for a moment, raw in her expression.
“We were all overmatched last night,” the Earl told her. “Our wards failed, we were taken by surprise, both by the attack and its execution, and the cost in beating it back was very high. And it will be higher yet. The morale of Night will suffer, our prestige in the Derai Alliance will be affected, and we will not be able to say that we have finally defeated our enemy until we can secure the Old Keep as well as the New, which may take years.”
Korriya looked from his grim, weary face to Asantir’s impassive one. “I see,” she said. “Then it is even more important that I offer help, however limited our powers.”
The Earl shook his head. “The offer is meaningless, given the Oath that binds us all and cannot be undone. The gates between the Temple quarter and the main keep may be broken, but it will take a far greater power to bridge the schism that sealed them fast, separating Temple from keep and warrior from priest.”
“To our bitter cost,” she replied, “as last night proved.”
“Perhaps,” he said, but
he was looking at the fire rather than at her. “Nonetheless, my duty now is to rebuild the strength and confidence of Night, not undermine it further.”
“There is no greater threat to Night, in this moment, than not finding and securing the Heir.” Korriya’s voice was low but edged. “You are a fool, Tasarion, if you will not see it!”
The Earl did look at her then. “Do not presume too far, Priestess,” he said, bleak as the day. “The Blood Oath binds us all, exactly like the Right of Kin and Blood that brought you here today. Given your news, I am not ungrateful that you invoked that right and I am aware that your advice has merit. But make no mistake, you are still here on sufferance. It is I, together with my councilors, who weigh threats to Night and decide on them, no one else.”
There was stark silence while their eyes held, the one cold and dark, the other gray and measuring. Then Korriya sighed and rose to her feet. “You are right,” she said quietly. “Given the Oath, my only claim on you is that of Blood. But we are very nearly the last of that Blood. Perhaps, in my anxiety to preserve it, I spoke intemperately. Yet I was born to the House of Night as well as to its Blood, and I am not the only one behind the Temple quarter gate who still cares deeply for both.” She paused, her eyes still locked on his. When she spoke again, her voice rang in the quiet room. “But I, my First Kinsman and my Earl, care at least enough to make you this pledge: my blood for the Earl of Night, my blood for his Blood, my life for his life, my heart only for this House and the Derai cause.”
She did not wait to see the effect of her words, but simply bowed, turned on her heel and stalked out past Asantir, who saluted her and held open the door. The priestess met her eyes briefly, before nodding a curt acknowledgment and walking through. The Earl remained silent, frowning into the fire’s heart, while Asantir stared straight ahead. Eventually, the Earl looked up. “I never thought that you were a priest lover, Asantir.”
