Under a Warrior's Moon

by C. L. Scheel

  Kazan glared at her, clenching and unclenching his hands as if using all his self-control not to beat her to death. He jerked his long tunic into place and ran his hands through his thinning hair.

  "If you do not sign," he said grimly, "I will have you tried for treason and publicly executed."

  This time, Kitarisa did not answer him, but could only stand silently, rigid like a block of wood, as she took in Kazan's final cruelty.

  "You are mad," she whispered to him.

  "No, Kitarisa, I am not mad, only determined. Sign it and be done with it," he said firmly, holding out the quill to her.

  Seeing her hesitate, he set the quill down on the table and folded his arms across his chest. "I will do it and there will be nothing your precious Talesians can do for you. It will be too late for the Ter-Rey to interfere. Besides, His Highness will understand. He, of all people, should know about traitors and how to treat them."

  Kitarisa was tempted to tell him about the weapons she had seen in the dark cavern of Sherehn, but held it back. If she confessed to that, he would certainly have her put to death.

  She glanced at the document on the table and saw her life end with a stroke of the quill. After a lifetime of isolation and torment she would be finishing it with cruelty and madness.

  There was no escape from the Catacombs--at least she had never heard of anyone escaping. Your life was devoted to Medruth and learning the Ways of the Affliction. And there were whispers, rumors, that if you were not obedient, or if you did not learn quickly enough, you were given to the Wrathmen.

  Kitarisa shuddered.

  Kazan held up the quill for her to take it and again, she hesitated. She caught the gleaming pearl in her fingers. Assur's honor gift. Its shining smoothness felt comforting in her hand.

  Kazan again gestured for her to accept the quill. Irritation still etched his coarse features and she knew if she did not do something soon, he would either strike her again or have her dragged off to one of the dank cells in the bowels of the keep.

  She reached out and took the quill from his hand and briefly wished it was a knife like the one Assur had used to cut his arm and bind him to an oath--the knife that lay on her dressing table, gleaming like cold death.

  A knife and an oath--a promise.

  Kitarisa took up the document in her other hand and before she could sign, Kazan bellowed for Mangerin. The frail little man entered the room, his hands folded primly against his chest. Trailing behind him were the five High Council members. Stripped of any real power, they fidgeted in their chairs, knowing there was nothing they could do to help her either. The rightful heir to both Gorendt and Riehl was being forced to abdicate before their very eyes and they could do nothing except sit as uncomfortable witnesses to Kitarisa's final humiliation.

  Kitarisa read the Renunciation in a clear quiet voice and when she finished, she strode to the long table and signed it. She avoided Mangerin's eager hands to take the paper, but instead turned to her father and shoved it into his.

  "There, you have what you wanted. You are free of me father. I hope this paper brings you much happiness," she said bitterly.

  Kazan took the paper and studied her over the top edge of it.

  "Leave us," he said to the others, who eagerly scurried from the room. "There will be an escort at first light. See that you are ready. You will need very little. And," he added pointing to the pearl around her neck, "you will not need that either. See that you leave it behind. It will be your wedding present for Alor's bride."

  She drew herself up, gathering the remaining fragments of her pride. "You will not take from me what is rightfully mine, even if I have renounced Riehl. This was given to me in all honor--I will not disgrace him." She leveled her gaze at Kazan, jaw set. "You will have to kill me for it."

  Kazan ground his teeth, his anger rising again.

  "Get out, Kitarisa, while I am still in possession of my temper. Take your baubles with you. They will be taken from you anyway. You will have no use for pearls in the Catacombs. They will see to that. Perhaps the Reverend `Fa can beat some obedience into you. Get out!"

  Kitarisa gathered up the shreds of her dignity and her skirts and strode out of the chamber, past the startled council members, embarrassed at having been caught eavesdropping.

  She had no more tears to shed, but only felt a desperate kind of emptiness. Once in her rooms, she sat before the hearth watching the flames slowly die out and felt her heart die with it, too.

  In a way, she almost wished Kazan had ordered her execution, at least she would be truly free of him and his torments.

  She even wondered if she had enough of the deadly rimwort in her apothecary. It meant a painful, slow death, but her misery would be over. Or perhaps a heavy dose of a sleeping tonic. Just go to sleep....

  Quite suddenly she thought of Lady Falla and the sleeping tonic she had promised her.

  Perhaps there was a way to escape the Catacombs.

  Chapter 9

  IT WAS FORTUNATE Kitarisa remained confined in her own quarters to take her meals and that Jesria did not linger too long with her supper tray. Kitarisa made it all too clear that the maid was not welcome.

  "Shall I brush your hair, my lady?" Jesria offered politely.

  Kitarisa's back stiffened. She did not even want her to help her undress and get ready for bed.

  "No, that won't be necessary." She took the brush from Jesria's hand and deliberately turned back to the dressing mirror. "You may leave now, Jesria."

  The maid curtsied and backed out of the room, carrying the tray. At the door, she stopped and looked at Kitarisa's reflection in the dressing mirror. Kitarisa met Jesria's prim, slightly reproachful expression and waved her hand in dismissal. She trusted her even less than she did Alea. Jesria was too secretive and Kitarisa had the uneasy feeling she was always watching her.

  The woman made another polite curtsey and left the room.

  At last Kitarisa was alone and could think. She turned back to the mirror and sighed. Unless there were amusements in the hall, Alea retired to her own rooms to play hare and stags with her tiring women, or to enjoy the melodies from a dalcet. Alor would not be seen till the next morning--sometimes not at all. The pleasures of the silk rooms where the prostitutes plied their trade kept Alor from his duties as well as from his father's temper.

  Kazan was never seen.

  Idly, she fingered Assur's saddle knife resting on the table next to her brushes--a beautiful, deadly thing. The warm light from the candles caught the burnished gleam of the mottled breok horn and the silver hammered into its grip. How many times had he used this to kill, or to make an oath, she wondered, as she ran a fingertip down its spine. And he had five of them. All of the Talesians had knives such as this, and they were kept deadly-sharp. She picked it up and studied the blade.

  Only the Siarsi tribe knew the secret of purifying steel. There were many warriors in her father's keep who had willingly traded valuable horses, armor, and other weapons for one Siarsi sword. One could always tell a Siarsi blade by the sign of the double breok horns stamped deeply into the steel. She found the mark and frowned.

  There was something familiar about the mark. It was obviously Assur's clan symbol, or the sign of his house--a rose and a sword encircled by a crown. The mark itself was something important. Something she ought to know, the memory of it just slipping from her grasp. But Assur would recognize his own blade.

  She dressed inconspicuously in one of her mother's old gowns of brown brocade, re-cut in the more simple, current style and then slipped the knife into her satchel. No one would question her visiting Lady Falla as long as she stayed in the west wing of the keep. Attending to some of the minor complaints of the ladies was something she often did and she was always welcome.

  Kitarisa did not dare write anything down. If her good opinion of Lady Falla was as she hoped, then there would be no need of it.

  Skimming down the dark hallway, she tried to look concerned as if on an important e
rrand. If any of the guards stopped her, she would appear greatly inconvenienced. At Lady Falla's door she stopped and rapped lightly.

  The door was opened, almost too quickly by the lady's tiring woman--a smooth-faced girl with sharp, gray eyes, who nodded to her and curtsied when she recognized Kitarisa.

  "Ah, you have come with the tonic. Do come in, Your Highness."

  Lady Falla rested contentedly before her fire, absorbed in a book. "Kitarisa! How good of you to come. I did not expect you till tomorrow. I thought the tonic took longer to prepare."

  "I knew you needed it, so I made myself hurry."

  "You are a dear child. Thank you and do sit down." She gestured to the chair near her and Kitarisa slipped into it, still tense with worry.

  Lady Falla smiled warmly at her. Kitarisa always liked being in her presence. For some reason she reminded her of her own mother. They both were small women with masses of chestnut-colored hair and soft blue eyes like summer skies and the little bluecrowns that hopped and pecked about her garden.

  "You know, I am happy to say, I may not need it now. I am finding I have been sleeping much better lately, but I will keep it just the same."

  "I am so glad to hear it Lady Falla. Perhaps your digestion is improving?" she suggested delicately.

  "No. Oh no. My digestion is fine. It is the exercise I am taking. Daily, I walk about the large garden and on occasion, take the air in the woods nearby. I do love a brisk horseback ride. You must try it, dear Kitarisa."

  Lady Falla was the only one who referred to her by her given name without the prefix of `my lady' unless for formal occasions, and Kitarisa privately enjoyed it.

  Readjusting one of the pillows, Falla settled herself more comfortably in her chair. "I have even seen our barbarians' camp, just north of the city, near the river." She grinned a bit mischievously. "You were right. I did not hear anyone howling or chanting."

  Falla studied Kitarisa intently, noticing she did not respond to their little joke. "My dear, are you quite all right?"

  "No, Lady Falla, not so well."

  "Are you ill? Shall I send for a physick?"

  "No. I...I am only worried about something--something I can hardly say."

  Lady Falla frowned, suddenly concerned. "Is it your father? Has he been abusive again?"

  "Yes...no, I mean, yes. Oh, Lady Falla, I do not know what to do. You are the only one I can dare trust."

  At once practical, Lady Falla made a quick gesture to her maid. "Please leave us, Meri. And keep a sharp watch at the door."

  The girl hesitated.

  "Are you certain, my lady? What if...?" Meri reluctantly backed to the door, her shrewd eyes darted from Lady Falla to Kitarisa.

  "Yes. Can't you see the princess wishes to speak to me alone? Please go now, Merisella."

  "Yes, mistress." The girl frowned, but obediently curtsied and slipped out of the room.

  Once the door had clicked shut, Lady Falla adjusted her chair so she was facing Kitarisa and took her hands in her own.

  "Now, what is it child?"

  Stumbling, haltingly, Kitarisa began to tell her everything: Assur's offer, his gift of the pearl and then she told her about the renunciation and her banishment to the Catacombs.

  "Monster," Lady Falla exclaimed. "He is contemptible! How can he do such a thing?" She stood and began pacing the room.

  "Kazan's plans must be moving along faster than he expected. It is no secret he wants Riehl and he knows he risks the prince's peace in getting it."

  "You mean war, don't you?" Kitarisa asked.

  "My dear Kitarisa, if he cannot have Riehl by the marriage bed, then swords will do just as well." Lady Falla sat down again to face her. "Alea's maids talk, Kitarisa. Only yesterday, I learned that in a few days, a delegation from Maretstan will arrive with their youngest princess, Dahsmahl. She has been intended for Alor for a long time and if all goes well, they will have Riehl as a wedding present. If not, then Maretstan will no doubt join forces with Kazan and attack Riehl."

  "But what of the Council Circle? Will the Riehlians have no say in this? Who will rule them?"

  "My dear, Riehl is no match for Gorendt and with you in the Catacombs, they will have little choice."

  Kitarisa's eyes widened as she suddenly recalled the deep chambers in Sherehn Keep and the rows upon rows of weapons--weapons to be used against Riehl.

  "Lady Falla, Kazan must not get to the old ruin at Sherehn! It is full of weapons. They will be used to crush the Riehlians."

  Quickly she told her of her rescue and how they had stumbled upon the enormous cache of weapons stored deep in Sherehn's hidden chambers.

  Lady Falla rose, alarmed.

  "Then we must see the Talesians, tonight. Maybe they can get to the Ter-Rey in time." She took Kitarisa's hands again. "I am glad you came to me, my dear. I know it must have been hard for you to trust anyone, but I am with you. Alor has no right to Riehl and Kazan must be stopped. I pray Verlian we are in time!"

  LADY FALLA HAD deliberately cultivated an image of the eccentric widow; it helped her acquire an array of valuable information and access to more places she normally would have never seen. It also afforded her enormous tolerance for her little whims. People gave her wide berth and bemused deference.

  It surprised no one when Lady Falla decided to go for an evening ride. She swept purposefully into the stable yard demanding her horse be saddled. The head groom, scratching and stupid from too much ale, grumbled, but readily obeyed her.

  She played the role well, imperious and aloof, making a great show of checking the bridle to see that everything had been buckled properly and that the bit was not too tight. She rebuffed the head groom's half-hearted warnings about marglims and roadwilds and stepped onto the mounting block to wait for her plain, little gelding to be brought alongside.

  With her skirts arranged just so and with a crisp snap of the long feathers on her hat, she trotted the horse out of the courtyard and through the massive gates of the keep, heading north.

  But Lady Falla's elegant act could not conceal the tremors in her hands or her heart once she left the last gate of the city. It was terrifyingly dark and for a short time she became afraid she would get lost, but her faithful Nika seemed to know the way.

  At the edge of the wood, near the river she spotted the black shapes of the Talesian tents and their fires still burning brightly even at this late hour.

  She too, knew all the stories about Talesians and in spite of Kitarisa's reassurances, she found herself wanting to turn back to the safety of the keep.

  Long before she got close to their camp, they knew someone was approaching. Three of the tallest men she had ever seen stood warily in front of the first tent. She immediately recognized the one with the black scars.

  "It is very late for a lady such as yourself to be out riding," Kuurus said softly. He did not touch his sword, but rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger, lightly tapping the pommel.

  "I know, but I am here on most urgent business. I am here to see your leader. The one they call Assur. I have a message for him, from Princess Kitarisa."

  At her words, Kuurus started. He ducked into the tent and almost immediately returned with Assur.

  Lady Falla had just barely approached her middle years and was not too old to notice a fine build on a man. She almost sucked in her breath at the sight of him and chastised herself for not remembering him at Kazan's festivities. In the dancing light of the fire she saw the shoulders, the flat belly--those eyes.

  "You have come from the Lady Kitarisa?" Assur asked bluntly.

  "Yes." She began to unwind herself from the horn on her sidesaddle and was surprised to see Kuurus instantly at her side, hands on her waist to ease her to the ground.

  "I am Lady Falla, a friend of hers." She noticed the skepticism flit across Assur's handsome features. "I truly am her friend, my lord. You must believe me."

  She turned and fumbled for the straps on the small saddle pack. From its depths she pulled out s
omething long and gleaming and handed it to him.

  "Kitarisa is in grave danger and she sent me to ask for your help. She said you would recognize this and would know I am telling the truth."

  Assur turned the object over in his hands. It was his own saddle knife, a part of his honor gift.

  As she explained Kazan's new plans for Kitarisa, Assur's black look almost sent her clambering into the saddle.

  "When does this occur?" he demanded.

  "At dawn and I presume she will be escorted by Wrathmen. Wrathmen are the only men permitted into the Catacombs, although to be honest my lord, I have not seen any Wrathmen near Gorendt."

  "We met with some while returning to Gorendt. Perhaps they are the same," Kuurus suggested.

  "It is possible," Assur agreed. The Talesian leader did not wait for any further discussion. He slipped off the heavy fur and tossed it to Courronus. "Break camp and bring my swords. Kuurus will ride with us, my lady, and you will help us locate Princess Kitarisa's rooms."

  In what seemed only moments, Assur had clad himself in his customary leathers and swords and swung onto the gray horse's back. He nodded to Lady Falla.

  "We are in your hands, my lady. Lead on."

  KITARISA HAD LONG given up praying to Verlian or to any of the other gods and deities Master Jemethet had told her about. She gave up when Nans died. The Goddess did not listen then and she was almost certain She was not listening now.

  The keep was quiet, its inhabitants silent and asleep. She had little to do but pace the confines of her rooms, wait for Lady Falla, and worry. If Lady Falla did not come back, or could not find Assur and his men, then Kitarisa would surely be sent to the Catacombs. The same sick feeling she had in her stillroom gripped at her belly. She ate none of the supper Jesria left for her, complaining she was too upset with the day's events to eat. Jesria only smiled and dipped a sly curtsey before removing her tray.