The Hands of Lyr (Five Senses Series Book 1)

by Andre Norton

  The man’s head came up—he was looking higher. Nosh instantly pushed back from the window, went to sit again on her bed, to regard the zark with narrowed eyes.

  Poison! Had the fears of Danus’s household been correct? Yet it was plain that the creature had evaded her touch when it might have been dangerous for her. Nosh held out a finger. That spur had disappeared (withdrawn into the tail, perhaps) and the zark pushed forward, reared up, and caught her finger between its forepaws as if to reassure her.

  She scratched its head before she went to wash and dress. Had the changes of fate provided her with a weapon of sorts? Perhaps… Her need for a defense made her think of Markus. She was sure that the feeling of frustration she had sensed radiating from him had to do with the gems… which meant he would call upon her talent.

  Proof that she had guessed rightly came within a moment, as Sahsan opened the door and while still standing in the hall gestured her out.

  “Lord Markus wants you.”

  “I have had no food,” Nosh countered, determined to discover just how masterful this armswoman might be.

  “Lord Markus wants you.” Now she grasped Nosh’s shoulder and brought her out in the hall, shoving her forward.

  They retraced their way of the previous day—and that she had spied out by night—coming down to the room where she had first met the ruler of this household. But they did not enter there; instead she was shoved along, for Sahsan had not loosened her grip, to another doorway which seemed open but before which her guard brought them to a halt.

  A ward here. Was it as easily pierced as Danus’s had been? However, she must give no sign that wards were not as binding upon her as all others.

  “The girl…” Sahsan raised her harsh voice, appearing to address the empty doorway. There was a wavering as if something close to invisible drew aside and she was shoved in, her guard not following.

  Markus was there, sipping from a gem-set cup. However, there was something else beyond him that Nosh marked with a single quick glance not betraying herself with any longer look. There, across a side table, lay Bringhope, Kryn’s kin-sword.

  Quick as she had tried to be Markus had caught her out.

  “Yes, the sword—a kin-sword—belonging to an outlaw. Both man and sword are safely bound for now. Come, Talented One, we have some use for you.”

  He put out one booted foot and shoved forward a stool which faced a narrow board, too small to be named table but which was footed and shaped to fit just at the right height for one seated on the stool.

  Once Nosh was down he pulled out of the overlapping front of his robe a bag and tossed it to the top of that narrow board.

  “I have heard much of your talent; prove those statements true. Sort these…”

  He took another sip from the cup as she untied the bag and carefully shifted its contents unto the board. Nosh blinked but she did not gasp. Since she had discovered her talent, she had never been faced with such a rich hoard. Danus’s collection was as a beggar’s toll when compared to this.

  “This is no trial, Lord Markus,” she said. “Already you know well the value of what lies here—why ask me to appraise them?”

  He was smiling that unpleasant smile. “Stones may have a hidden value—did you not find such a one for Danus? Try these for what they may hold besides their color and cut.”

  Nosh had already made sure that there was none like that strange black gem which had proclaimed evil as loudly as if it shouted its worth aloud. But were there others like it masquerading under other colors?

  “Sun eyes,” she said, separating three good-sized and perfectly centered stones to one side. “Snow Gem”— the pale grey with its inner swirl of white was as harmless as the first three. “Sea breath…” She had but touched it with the tip of her finger and now jerked her hand away from the green-blue cabochon-cut stone.

  Lord Markus leaned forward in his seat. “So—now you have something to tell me, Talented One? What of this Sea breath?”

  “Blood,” she said starkly, “it is blood-tainted. Ill fortune for him who holds it.”

  “Continue.” He made no comment on what she had said but gestured to the remaining jewels.

  “Fire spark…” Two of them and nothing to be read by touch. “Tears of mist,” another three. Then came the last two. They were not matched—one was a bright clear yellow—faintly tinged with green, so unlike the Sun reds. It was such a stone as she had never seen before and could not name. That which lay beside it was a teardrop-shaped gem, opaque, shading in color from lavender to a peach-orange. It also she did not know.

  “These are new to me, lord,” she said. “I would say they come from other lands—far lands.”

  She touched the yellow. It was as if she had released some putrid odor. The thing held within it old danger, rottenness of spirit.

  “Evil.” Nosh was sure of that though the evil was not that of the stone Danus had shown her. Lord Markus nodded, his smile growing wider.

  “And the other?”

  It was beautiful to look upon, almost she hesitated to try it lest it be a bait for a trap. But what came from it was something she had never encountered before, a wave of pure sorrow. Tear-shaped it was and tears were locked within it—perhaps to darken the life of the wearer in a different fashion.

  “It—it is sorrow engrained. Not evil but such as brings tears with it.” She tried to make plain her own feelings.

  “Excellent.” Once more he leaned back in his chair. “You have proved your worth for my purposes. What you have sorted will become keys—keys to a number of things. Here.” He produced another and smaller bag and threw it to her. “Put those which are dangerous by your reckoning in this.”

  When she had rebagged all the stones he made no move to take back the bags. Instead he shifted in his chair and sat surveying her, so that the awareness of peril awoke within her.

  “Such a tool as you are is seldom given to any man,” he said. “But it is Markus’s luck which has brought you to my hand at the moment when it is most important. There is something strange in Kasgar, something stirring. And when there is a stirring it is a matter of power. He who holds the right weapon then wins his desires. I shall keep you very safe, my Talented One. It may be within a short time you will have an even greater treasure to sort.” His smile was now more of a grimace. “Yes—a treasure! You have not been long in Kasgar, have you, girl?”

  “No.” She had no idea what he was leading up to now.

  “The guild of jewel merchants is the strongest of our companies. And that guild is ruled by one I have good reason to wish brought down. For a long time Lathia D’Arcit has been threat to my plans. She has such guards and wards as have never been broken. But…” He stopped short and his eyes focused again on Nosh.

  Now he reached out and laid hand on the hilt of Bringhope.

  “They tell queer tales in the northeast about kinswords. It is said that no one but the right blood can use such a blade. Seldom do they fall into the hands of any who cannot claim kin—yet here is one. This Kryn, he came into Kasgar with you, he remained behind when his men left with the supplies he bargained for. Was it because of you?” He shot that question at her and she answered with the truth:

  “No. He was sent by his lord to bargain for weapons and found that such were forbidden to be sold to outlanders. But—”

  “He continued to hope, yes,” Markus interrupted her. “He went seeking those he thought were willing to provide what he needed secretly. In fact the very man he sought is under this roof. Unfortunately, we, too, have a need for weapons and have none to spare for rag-taggle armsmen who are outlawed in their own country. In fact,”—he rubbed his chin with his hand and once more it seemed to Nosh he was thinking aloud rather than addressing her—“in fact there is a price on this outlaw’s head. So—I have another tool to hand. But that is only a small advantage, what you have to offer is a greater one. And this outlaw Kryn can come to a sorry end—he can die by his own blade—a fitting concl
usion to his House.”

  Nosh found the words she needed. “He is nothing to me, lord. If you seek thus to use him…”

  “Oh, there are many uses as you will discover, Talented One. And now…” He raised his hand and Nosh saw he held a similar object to that with which Danus had dispersed his ward. “Sahsan is waiting for you and she will see you fed. Go now.”

  She slipped from the stool and went to that door where there was a ripple in the air. Passing through, she joined the armswoman without.

  At least Sahsan did not immediately escort her to her room, rather brought her into a side chamber in which there were three long tables, with benches on either side. At one of these were two guards spooning stew out of bowls and drinking thirstily from mugs.

  They glanced toward Nosh and her guardian and then away as if they wanted nothing to do with Sahsan, who pointed to one of the benches and, when the girl had seated herself, rapped loudly on the table with her massive fist. Her summons was answered by a spare-bodied, hunch-shouldered man who wore an apron stiff with many drippings and favored both women with a crosseyed leer.

  “Food.” Sahsan certainly was not going to serve her charge with the same kind of luxury meal Nosh had enjoyed the night before. However, when the server returned with two earthenware bowls, and mugs, slapping them down and then adding two wooden spoons from his tray, the girl thought that the odor which arose from this humble serving was appetizing.

  It appeared that Markus’s guards and underlings fared well and she ended up by scraping the bottom of the bowl with the spoon to get the last bite of the thick stew. That which had come in the mug was not to her taste. A sip told her it was a sourish brew, the like of which was misnamed ale in Kasgar, and she left most of it in the mug.

  The two at the other table pushed aside their empty bowls and one of them gave a hearty belch. Nosh measured both in quick glances. They were like any other guards she had seen in house service, save that they were certainly not as smartly turned out as those who served Danus. As they got up they came toward Nosh and Sahsan, the one grinning widely to show crooked teeth with gaps in the jaw to mark those missing.

  Coming closer to the two he made a rough sketch of a bow and spoke to Sahsan:

  “Easy duty, eh? You want to take an hour off, just give us the hint.” He turned a little and surveyed Nosh with a leer. She had no doubt as to what he suggested.

  “Lord’s hold—keep off!” Sahsan snapped tersely.

  However, Nosh’s gaze had struck what the fellow wore around his neck, sliding back and forth across his unkempt mail with every movement of his head. One of the red stones! The rathhawk stones!

  Was Markus issuing such to his men? But the other of this pair did not wear one, unless he kept it tucked within his shirt. The girl remembered the story about the seller of amulets in the marketplace. What power did these red discs have? Did they bind men as well as birds to the service of some overlord? If so—could Markus be that lord? Yet Kryn had seen one of the hawks so burdened over the mountains and Nosh believed that this ambitious lord of Kasgar certainly had not pushed his rule that far. So—if the red stones were from another source and being sold to such as this guard throughout Kasgar—she drew a quick breath. That opened wide another door—one she was not ready yet, if ever, to explore.

  She thought of his words concerning Lathia, whom he apparently held in dislike—that mutter of plans concerning her. What she had heard of the woman guild master had inclined Nosh to believe that she was not of the same stamp as Markus. And Lathia D’Arcit had influence, powers of her own. Danus had spoken most respectfully of her.

  If Nosh and Kryn could win free from Markus, they would still be within the range of that lord’s vengeance. But suppose one went to this Lathia with a warning, could enlist her to one’s aid? She seized upon that thought with vigor.

  “Get!” Sahsan raised her big spoon as if it were a weapon. The two guards laughed, one of them pretending to dodge a blow.

  “Hot-tempered little thing, ain’t she?” inquired one. “Gets all the good jobs an’ is bound to keep ’em. Rest easy while you can, Sahsan, time comin’ when you’ll have to turn to like the rest of us.”

  “When that day comes I will,” she grated back. As they turned their backs, she pursed her mouth as if to spit, and then drank off the rest of her mug, reaching out her hand for Nosh’s, which she also emptied.

  CHAPTER 21

  Nosh thought she would be returned to her chamber. She had left the zark there, concealed among the bed coverings since she suspected that the creature would once more be in danger if it were sighted. Had its victim on the roof died, or was it a matter of injury only? That the zark had attacked without provocation Nosh would not believe and she had no intention of endangering the small creature.

  However, outside that eating hall there was another of those house guards waiting. He jerked a thumb at Sahsan.

  “Lord says to give her a look-see in the judgment room,” he growled, and turned on his heel while Sahsan nodded to her charge to follow.

  What new work Markus had for her Nosh had no idea. But she schooled her expression to one of indifference and followed the heavy-footed guard. Another doorway, this one without wards but with an ordinary barrier of wood, which their guide jerked open and allowed them entrance into a large room.

  Nosh stifled a gasp. The hidden crystals were heating—was she about to confront something straight out of the dark power?

  When she saw what awaited them she had to hold on to her surface calm with all the strength she could. There was a framework like a doorway. Within that, hanging from his hands, wreckage which had certainly once been a man. She felt revulsion arising in her stomach, warring with the meal she had just eaten.

  The guard clumped on to the side of the dangling prisoner, whose head, covered with a mass of sweat-drenched grey-white hair, had fallen forward. Using the tip of his sword, he levered up that head so that the broken and nearly shapeless face could be seen. It was plain that the prisoner had died hard and that his passing was the work of those expert in causing mutilation and pain. Though as much as she could see of that battered face assured Nosh that the dead man was unknown to her.

  “Lord Markus,” intoned the guard, “says look well at this, girl. Here hangs the proof that he is not to be crossed. This garbage called himself a priest once upon a time, but he was not wise enough when he would not give the Lord what was asked of him. Look and remember, that is what Lord Markus says.”

  Nosh had taken a step backwards without realizing it, she was so sickened by what she saw. Then she was caught in the iron grip of Sahsan’s hold and held fast, unable to escape.

  “Lord Markus,” the guard was continuing, “says as how he has another prime one to be worked on, as you know. An’ he wants you to think about that.”

  Kryn! They could only mean Kryn. But what did they want to force her to do which would need such an object lesson? Though it made her feel unclean to handle those cursed stones, she did, and would do it to order. But what could be worth this hard dying for Kryn?

  “Lord Markus says as how you are supposed to be under some power. Well, this one claimed dealings with that same power an’ what has it brought him to?”

  “Lyr…” she gasped that, not realizing she spoke aloud.

  “Some such,” the guard laughed. “He pretended to power but when he was taken we catched him as easily as you net a nart at its burrow. No fighting back… A fool.”

  The guard shrugged, withdrew the sword to allow that battered head to fall forward once more.

  “Lord Markus said to show you—well, you’ve seen. Just keep thinkin’ about it if you want to get right with Lord Markus.”

  Sahsan’s grip upon Nosh’s shoulders swung the girl around and headed her out of the door. In her short life Nosh had seen much of the dark’s work. Even now she shuddered away from her farthest and deepest memories, against which she had built a barricade year by year.

  That the d
ead priest had been a priest of Lyr—yes, having seen the deserted shrine in the city she could believe that. And that Markus might well be opposed to all the Hands promised—yes, she could believe that also. But what game he could play with her she had yet to discover—and she might learn that knowledge too late.

  Sahsan now pulled her along that familiar route up to her sky-bordered quarters, saw her within and made fast the door behind her—having given Nosh such a shove as nearly sent her careening to the opposite wall.

  As that door closed the covers heaved on the bed and the zark was out. It rose to its hind feet and leaped to the floor, running toward that closed door, its tail raised high, and from the tip of that there issued the thornlike appendage she had seen before. It was very clear that the zark looked upon Sahsan as a presumptive enemy to be handled after its own fashion.

  For several moments it leaped up and down before the closed door, clearly in a rage. And then it withdrew, slowly, still facing the door, ready to go into action if the woman returned.

  Nosh dropped down on the bed and pressed both her hands over the crystals. It had been plain to her as time passed that with the discovery of every new Finger her own small powers expanded. Though it was not night, and she might be interrupted, she was greatly tempted to seek out by projection Kryn’s cell.

  That ravaged body—it broke in upon her memory no matter how hard she tried to seal that picture away. Now she suddenly recalled that that skeletal frame had lacked feet. Feet—was that what Markus would do to make sure that his prey did not escape?

  Kryn—a mixture of fear and rage stirred in her. She closed her eyes and fought for control, for the strength to subdue such emotions—to leave only need—reaching need.

  Relax—her body fought against her will. She wanted to be out and about, doing something—anything which would defeat Markus. Relax… Nosh fumbled with the bag of crystals, loosed its cord from about her neck, and slipped it up to touch her forehead right above her eyes. She had seen Dreen use her throat crystal so in the past, when the priestess had retreated into one of the trances which were so much a part of her life.