Today they had been riding in silence for a long while, which was far easier for Falc than for his companion. Jinnery was tired of it.
“I understand your wanting to talk with the Master, Falc — how tired he must be, that old man! — but is it necessary? I mean — haven’t you made up your mind?”
“No.”
“I’d have thought... well. Holder Daviloran offered you Contract, and so did his nephew, right?”
“Yes. I could not of course accept with the younger when the older had offered, and so I discounted Davilo’s.”
“Umm. And our friend Daviloran turned out to be nowhere near as soft as he looks, didn’t he! Anyhow, Holder Faradox of Lango also offered you Contract.”
“Yes.”
“And Holder Chazar, also of Lango, offered you Contract, too.”
“Yes.”
“And Holder Stavishen of Lock. He too offered Contract.”
“Yes.”
She gestured and white cloth rustled; she chose to wear Falc’s derlin rather than the gift-cloak of the late Kinneven. “Since it’s right in the same city where you have dwelt so long — when you’re at, uh, home I mean — I should think that one would be the most attractive.”
Falc rode gazing straight ahead. “That one is out of the question.”
She said “oh,” and they rode for a kilometer or so in silence. Then: “Falc? Why is Stavishen out of the question?”
“Because he is in the same city where I have dwelt so long, Contracted with Kinneven. I... liked Kinneven.”
She sighed as she nodded. “I know. Liking him was easy.” Suddenly she erupted a short burst of laughter. “A lot easier than liking either of us.”
“Yes,” he said, looking straight ahead.
She shot him a look.
After a time, she said, “Cousin? Why don’t you try thinking aloud, tell someone what you think for a change. Tell your cousin, Falc.”
He looked over at her, blinking in surprise. She saw the light come into his eyes and knew that he was smiling, for she had learned to recognise that sign, even while the rest of his face showed nothing.
“What’s funny?”
“I didn’t laugh, Jinn. You said ‘for a change.’ I have spent most of my life bearing messages and giving advice. That means telling people what I think, precisely what I think. I think now that I should much like to Contract with Daviloran, whom I respect. I wronged him once, laid hands on him and forced him to take vow, and he is so mature, so much man, that he set it aside and offered Contract anyhow. Yet I feel that I can best serve by joining Chazar of Lango, who is painfully young and needs aid and guidance.”
“I like the sound of that.” She waved a hand, with a flash of the bracelet that was hers as spoils of combat won. “Perhap he could use a housekeeper or something. I am also painfully young and could use some aid and guidance.”
She smiled. Not until they reached the Mon-Ashah-re and she had cornered that old, old man called Master would she broach her real goal, and she was prepared to be just as persuasive and insistent as his reluctance might require. Yet Jinnery knew that she would gain her dream: the formation of an Order called the Daughters of Ashah.
Each of them was quiet amid separate thoughts as they wended a slow way around a gigantic outcrop of rock that was no smaller than Cragview manse. At last their mounts paced out of its shadow.
“Ah! Falc, look!” She pointed at the long slope of a mountain ahead, and the tumbled rocks and rocky debris lying at its feet like broken offerings. “We’re almost there. The Mountain of God!”
“Yes,” Falc said. “Almost there.”
EPILOGUE
In the innermost chamber of the Mon-Ashah-re, the Master of the Order Most Old was on his knees, praying for guidance. Perhap it should be for forgiveness. He was weary and very, very glad that this crisis was over, and yet he felt that he owed his god apology and prayer for forgiveness. He had spent many hours, mostly at night, appearing as the Messenger to many men not of the Order, and even to a woman as well; and he had iterated and reiterated the awful lie that he was Ashah. Yet that way he had not revealed to anyone the secret of Secrets of the Mon-Ashah-re: the “Magic” of the Mechanists’ monitoring and communications devices of the First Civilization that allowed him to send his voice and his image (however mottled and ghostly) anywhere his omos had been or were; and more importantly, to hear them.
The Master prayed also for guidance. He was old and he was tired, and he had not yet chosen his successor.
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Deathknight Page 25
