He had been desperately relieved -- though not showing it -- when Keridil had agreed to his request for access to the Marble Hall. As the focal point for the Castle's peculiar powers it was, Tarod believed, the one place where the magical working he planned to attempt stood any hope of succeeding. Yandros had appeared to him there once before... there was a good chance he might do so, or be compelled to do so, again. And with three minds instead of his one, the power they raised would be greatly enhanced. On one matter, however, Tarod had stood firm in the face of Keridil's objections.
"No," he had said in answer to the High Initiate's suggestion as to the nature of the ritual. "I want no accepted ceremonial structure, Keridil. No Prayer and Exhortation, no circle, no triangle."
"That's impossible! Even if we could raise the power without the right preparations, to do so could be suicidal! You're flying in the face of every tradition we've ever known!"
"Then grant me permission to enter the Marble Hall, and I'll work alone. I don't want to involve you or Themila in anything against your wills," Tarod said stubbornly.
"Don't be ridiculous -- neither Themila nor I would let you face something like this without our help. Besides," Keridil admitted, "I'm as anxious as you to get to the truth, Tarod. If Yandros is threatening you then he's threatening the Circle, and -- all considerations of friendship aside -- that makes it very much my concern. Very, well, then; if you feel so strongly we'll conduct the evocation as you wish it." He paused. "It won't be a popular move if news of it gets out."
"There's no reason why it should."
"No... all the same, I'd like to take the precaution of working at night. I may be High Initiate, Tarod, but I'm bound on oath not to go against the majority will of the Circle." He clasped his hands together, staring at them. "I think tonight at second moonset might be an appropriate time to begin."
Tarod sealed the letter, then doused the candles and made his way down to the deserted hall. A courier would be departing in the morning, riding through Han on his way to Wishet, and he left the letter at a collection place before crossing the hall to where the huge courtyard doors stood partly open. As he stepped out into the night a small figure detached itself from the deeper shadows.
"Tarod..." Themila took his arm. "Keridil will meet us in the library."
He nodded, looking down at her. "There's still time to change your mind. I wouldn't think the worse of you for it."
She didn't even answer him, just squeezed his arm and led him down the steps and towards the colonnaded walk. The courtyard was utterly deserted and silent; both Moons had set, and when he looked up Tarod could make out the towering Castle walls only as denser areas of blackness against a cloud-laden sky. They walked quickly but quietly, Themila shivering in the cold while Tarod contemplated the work ahead. He believed he had been right to tell his friends the truth about Yandros and the pledge he had made in exchange for his life -- though he had still been unable to bring himself to speak of the link with Jehrek's death. That, he felt, was a matter best left quiescent, whatever his conscience might say.
They had almost reached the pillared walkway, showing ahead as a faint pattern of barred shadow, when a stirring of an old instinct made Tarod look at the sky again. For a moment he saw nothing untoward; then suddenly he pulled the sorceress back.
"Themila -- "
She looked, frowned, and her voice was a whisper. "What is it?"
Tarod didn't reply immediately. His senses were attuned to something that seemed to be emanating from the ground under their feet -- something threatening, distant still but coming closer; a vibration that echoed in every nerve.
"The clouds..." he said at last. "They're breaking up -- look. There's light behind them..."
Themila followed his direction and drew in her breath sharply as she, too, recognized the weird amalgam of color that was beginning to tinge the sky beyond the rapidly disintegrating cloud-bank. The clouds themselves were being ripped apart like rags, and now Themila also felt the distant, underground vibration, heard the first faraway scream of the deadly voice out of the north.
"A Warp..." Her fingers tightened convulsively on Tarod's arm.
He continued to stare at the sky, unwilling to acknowledge the irrational excitement conjured by that terrifying sound. "Do you believe in omens, Themila?"
She looked quickly at him, her skin tinged now by a sickly reflection from the lights in the sky. "Let's join Keridil..." was all she said.
The library was unlit, but Tarod and Themila could see Keridil silhouetted against the dim, nacreous glow from the passage that led to the Marble Hall. He greeted them with a nod, and Themila said, before Tarod could speak, "Keridil, there's a Warp coming. And I feel -- somehow I feel in my bones that there's something not right about it..."
Even if Themila didn't see the abrupt flash of alarm and suspicion in the High Initiate's eyes, his reaction didn't escape Tarod. Easily -- too carelessly, Tarod thought -- Keridil smiled. "I'd expected something to occur, Themila. It may be no bad portent. Shall we go on?" He gestured for them to precede him, and they entered the narrow corridor.
Tarod experienced a strong and unpleasant flashback to the last time he had set foot physically in the Marble Hall, when he had unwittingly wrecked a Circle rite, and the feeling sapped his confidence. Since recovering from the poisoning his powers had been at an unprecedented low ebb. Tonight, when he needed them as never before, would they be found wanting...?
There was no time for speculation -- they had reached the end of the corridor and Keridil was unlocking the silver door while his companions averted their eyes from the almost intolerable brilliance that radiated from the metal.
A click, and the door swung noiselessly open. They moved slowly across the mosaic floor, the peculiar, pulsing haze of light folding round them like a sea-mist. Tarod saw Themila's eyes widen in awe, and realized that the sorceress, as a third-rank Initiate, had seen the Marble Hall no more than once or twice in her life, if at all. He said nothing, only moved across the floor, guided by an instinct that he didn't question.
Keridil stopped by the black circle and looked up enquiringly, but Tarod shook his head, walking on. Some subconscious empathy was at work between the three now, putting them under a mutual pact of silence until the moment when Tarod began the evocation.
Following the tall, black-haired figure through the deceptive mists of the Hall, Keridil forced down the qualms that threatened to upset his concentration. He would be the first to admit complete faith in his friend's prowess in sorcery, but at the same time a part of him wondered just what Tarod might be unleashing tonight. And beneath the calm which his will imposed, Keridil was afraid....
Tarod stopped suddenly, and looked up. Following suit, Keridil almost swore aloud in shock as he saw the seven colossal shapes of the ruined statues looming through the haze. He'd rarely stood in such proximity to them; had forgotten their sheer immensity at close quarters. Why, in the name of all the gods, had Tarod chosen this spot over all others for the work to be done?
His question had to remain unanswered, for now Tarod had moved to stand before the statues, his back turned to them. Silently Keridil and-Themila took up stations on either side of him, and as the echoes of their last footsteps faded an intense silence descended. They waited, minds calming and attuning to each other and to the atmosphere. Then, after what seemed a very long time. Tarod spoke.
"Yandros."
His tone was so alien to anything Keridil had ever heard that he felt his heart constrict with unease. The voice had sounded barely human....
"Yandros."
It was a summoning, an evocation that chilled Keridil to the core. Remembering his promise he struggled to link his consciousness with Tarod's, but there was a barrier, a wall which he couldn't penetrate. The Hall felt stiflingiy oppressive now, as though something lurked just beyond its borders, and Keridil had to force himself not to look uneasily back over his shoulder.
"Yandros."
It was
like listening to an elemental voice, something prehistoric, pre-human...
"Yandros."
He had to keep a hold. Keridil thought. For Tarod's sake, for all their sakes, he had to try. He closed his eyes, summoning all the will he could muster, trying to break through....
Tarod was unaware of his two companions. He seemed to be suspended between two levels of consciousness, neither fully on one plane nor the other. The voice that repeated Yandros's name over and over again wasn't his own; it came out of a time far, far in the past; another world, another life; and the ease with which his mind had slipped into that nothing-place had shocked the small vestige of self-awareness that he still retained. Somehow, he had known what he must do. No ceremony, no elaborate evocation -- simply a name, spoken again and again, cutting through the bounds of dimensions both temporal and spatial....
And yet he was afraid to cross the final barrier.
He could sense it, like a wall, before him. A pulsing band of indescribable darkness that called to some deep, awakening memory. So old... so very old... back through Time itself...
He couldn't do it. He was too human not to fear the chasm that lay between him and his goal. One slip, and he would be nothing -- he couldn't do it....
His hands had clenched unconsciously at his sides until the nails drew blood from the palms. The silver ring cut into his finger, almost startling him out of the trance-state. His right hand moved involuntarily, closing over the clear stone; and a shock like a bolt of pure energy shot through his hands and arms, filled his body until he felt his bones would shatter with the sheer force of it. He was on fire -- body, mind and soul -- the pressure was building, building; he couldn't fight it --
"YANDROS!"
Tarod shrieked the name like a creature possessed, and as he did so a curtain of blackness smashed down on the Hall. A single, titanic crack, so deafening that it went beyond the threshold of hearing, hammered out of nowhere and the blast of it hurled the three off balance and threw them with bone-jarring force to the floor. As the incredible noise roiled away Tarod tried to get to his feet, his head spinning and the trance shattered. He felt sick, his limbs wouldn't obey him -- a few paces away Keridil was shaking his head violently as he too tried to rise, and Themila, fragile-looking as a doll, was only just stirring. Tarod tried to speak, but knew the effort was useless. Neither would be able to hear him -- they would be deaf to ail sound until the effects of that colossal concussion had worn off.
Keridil called out something, his mouth seeming to move silently, and Tarod made a negative gesture to indicate that he couldn't hear. The High Initiate started to move painfully towards him -- then stopped, his eyes widening in disbelief as a voice from behind them spoke a single word that they all heard with terrible clarity.
"Tarod...""
The tone was like molten silver... Keridil turned, almost falling again, and Themila sat up.
He was dwarfed by the vast black statues that stood motionless behind him -- and yet something about him made them seem nothing by comparison. Gold hair flowed over his shoulders, and the narrow eyes, which constantly changed color in the stark face, flicked with amused disdain from one to another of the three humans before finally resting and lingering on Tarod. The expression changed then to one of affection, and the malevolent mouth smiled.
"Greetings, my brother," said Yandros. "It gladdens me to be reunited with you at last."
Chapter 12
He understood.
In the moment when Yandros spoke his name he had finally known the truth, and the knowledge was like a disease eating at his soul. He had walked into the trap set for him -- opened the door that should have remained locked forever, turned the key, and damned himself. He had used the power he possessed without once questioning its source. And all along, the ring had been the focus....
Tarod was aware of Keridil and Themila moving slowly forward to stand at his side, and he bitterly regretted his decision to involve them in what should have been a confrontation between himself and Yandros alone. He would have given anything to turn back time, change the now horribly inevitable pattern of events, but it was far too late.
Keridil was the first to speak. With a confidence which confirmed Tarod's belief that the High Initiate did not yet know what manner of entity he was dealing with, he demanded, "What are you?"
Yandros laughed. "You ask impertinent questions, my mortal friend. Perhaps you should look to Tarod for your answers."
Keridil glanced quickly at the black-haired man beside him. Tarod's face was dead-white; he didn't speak, and Keridil faced Yandros once more, adopting an almost ritualistic stance and regarding the entity with a cold, steady stare. It was an effective enough approach during Circle ceremony, but Tarod knew it would cut no ice with Yandros.
"We are not in the habit of summoning such as you in order to answer questions for ourselves," Keridil said sternly. Despite his outward composure he felt on unsafe ground -- Tarod's insistence that they abandon the strict procedures of evocation meant that he couldn't entirely trust the entity to obey his commands and strictures. And his doubts were growing with every moment...
Yandros smiled and raised his perfect eyebrows in amusement. "Such as me? But there's the rub, High Initiate. What am I? You do not recognize me... but Tarod does, now." Again affection showed in the many-colored eyes as he looked at Tarod, and he added quietly, "It has been a very long time."
"Damn you!" Tarod turned away, fists clenched. "Leave me in peace!"
"Peace, my brother? You've known little enough peace lately. You knew little enough before I offered you your life as part of our pact."
A hand closed over Tarod's fingers and he felt Themila close beside him.
"And who has been the architect of Tarod's torment?" she demanded. "But for you, he'd not have suffered at all!"
Yandros bowed slightly to her. "You make a fair point, lady, but I must correct you. Were it not for us, Tarod would have died in Wishet Province on the day he unwittingly killed his cousin." He smiled. "Such a soul in the body and mind of a child, Tarod. That early life must have been hard for you."
Keridil's eyes narrowed. "You? You were the instrument of his arrival at the Castle?"
"We were." Yandros turned his back. With an easy carelessness he walked to the first of the defaced statues and laid a hand almost lovingly on the black stone. "Not perfect likenesses, but acceptable to us in their time. A pity that so much dedicated effort had to be despoiled by ignorance... do you remember them when they were whole, Tarod? Do you remember how we guided the artisans, how we inspired their dreams?" He laughed, and the sound made Keridil's courage shrivel. Desperate, he looked to Tarod for help. Unutterable questions and hideous, half-formed fears and suspicions were clamoring in his mind, fuelled by Yandros's cryptic references, but Tarod refused to meet his gaze.
"Look at the statues, High Initiate," Yandros commanded, and Keridil was impelled, willing or not, to obey. "What do you see?"
Keridil swallowed. "Nothing but defaced figures of granite."
"Do you know what they represent?"
"... No."
"Then look again." The entity extended a graceful hand, and both Keridil and Themila gasped as for a single, fleeting moment the stone colossi took on another aspect. In that instant they were whole, as they had been centuries before -- and with a terrible, sick feeling Keridil recognized two of the proud yet frighteningly maleficent carved faces.
"Tarod -- " he turned again in desperation to his old friend. "Tarod, you must help us! If you know what this means, what it portends -- "
"He knows, mortal," Yandros interrupted. "How long is it, Tarod, since you and I made our bargain? How long since I took the old High Initiate's life in payment for yours?"
Themila gave a small, involuntary cry of distress, and Keridil went rigid. "What -- ?"
Tarod had known it must come. Yandros wouldn't miss such an opportunity, and he felt the sick bleakness of despair in the pit of his stomach. Keridil's fa
ce was grey with shock, and when Tarod looked for understanding in his friend's eyes he found only revulsion and a slowly dawning hostility. Bitterly, he turned on Yandros. "That was no true bargain! You duped me -- you exacted my oath before you named the price of your pact!"
"Nonetheless, the bargain was made." Yandros's eyes hardened. "And you know why. Now, you understand why I did what I needed to do -- whatever the price!"
Very slowly, Keridil raised a hand, pointing at Tarod like an accuser unsure of the crime. His whole body was shaking as though with a palsy, and Tarod hardly recognized his voice when he finally managed to speak.
"Are you saying -- damn you, are you saying that this -- this demon killed my father?"
Any attempt to deny the cold fact would be futile, and Keridil was appalled by Tarod's calmness as he raised his eyes and said, "Yes, Keridil; he killed Jehrek Banamen Toln."
"And you -- you knew -- "
"I knew."
"Gods! And now you stand there and admit to it, as though you were telling me the time of day -- in the name of Aeoris, Tarod, if you knew what this monstrosity was doing, why didn't you try to stop it?" Keridil couldn't believe the enormity of the betrayal; all his loyalties and assumptions had been turned about and smashed, and he was suddenly bereft.
Tarod, however, only said quietly, "If you knew Yandros's true nature, you'd not ask that question."
"Then tell me what his true nature is!" The High Initiate took hold of Tarod's shoulders and shook him so violently that for a moment Tarod was too surprised to react. "In the name of all that's sacred, tell me!"
Tarod shook him off with a sharp, angry movement that left the two facing each other like adversaries. Keridil's demand must inevitably lead, Tarod knew, to the final and most appalling revelation of all... but he couldn't evade it. If he didn't speak, Yandros would.
The Initiate Page 19
