by Greg Keyes
Fend’s single eye widened. “How could you know that? Can you pretend to hear my thoughts? You wouldn’t be relying entirely on Aspar’s opinion of me, would you?”
“No,” Stephen said. “I’ve Winna’s opinion, as well. She was your prisoner, you may remember. And I saw with my own eyes what happened in the grove near Cal Azroth. And I saw the bodies of the princesses you murdered there.”
Fend shrugged lightly. “I’ve done things that would seem regrettable, I agree. But I do not regret them because I understand why I did them. When you also understand, I believe you will think better of me.
“I hope so, because I am in your service.” He nodded to Adhrekh. “Thank, you, sir, for your hospitality and your help in finding this place.”
The other Sefry shrugged. “We are only its keepers,” he replied.
Stephen had been so focused on Fend’s evil face that he hadn’t noticed at first what he was wearing. It was armor of an exceedingly baroque and antique sort, plate and chain chased in a metal that resembled brass. It was the breastplate that really drew Stephen’s attention, depicting as it did a bearded human head adorned with horns. He’d seen a nearly identical engraving when he’d been at d’Ef, searching for clues to the nature of the Briar King. He’d thought at first that it was supposed to represent the king, who was usually depicted with horns. But the caption of the engraving had called it something quite different.
He realized with a chill that without really knowing it, he had taken several steps toward Fend. He stepped back quickly.
“Could you repeat that last bit?” Stephen asked. “About how you serve me now?”
“That’s how it is,” Fend said. “I’ve been trying to find you for months, to offer you my services.”
“You’ve been following me to find this mountain,” Stephen said. “Don’t let him fool you, Adhrekh. He hasn’t come here for any good purpose.”
“Only you could find the mountain,” Fend replied. “And it’s probably true that if I had managed to catch up with you earlier, I would have had a difficult time at best convincing you to come here. But this is where you were supposed to be, just as I was fated to accompany you and now to serve you. It really won’t be so confusing once you understand things.”
He stepped forward, drawing a nasty-looking dagger from his belt. Stephen flinched, but Fend offered it to him hilt first, then knelt at his feet.
“It was better this way,” he said. “I am here; I’ve found the secret mountain and the armor of my station. Now I offer you my life.”
Stephen took the blade, wrapped in a miasma of absolute disbelief. Fend was evil; there was no doubt about that. What was he playing at here?
Aspar wouldn’t hesitate, would he? He’d plunge the knife straight in and try to figure out what the Sefry was up to later. And he owed Aspar so much, owed him at least the death of this man…
But he wasn’t Aspar, and even Aspar might not be able to strike down someone kneeling in front of him. Stephen liked to think even Aspar couldn’t do that.
So he dropped the knife on the ground.
“Explain this to me,” he said, gesturing first at Fend, then at the rest of the party. “Any of you. Tell me what is happening.”
“You are Kauron’s heir,” Zemlé said.
Startled, he whirled on her. “Did you know, then? Were you part of this trap?”
Her eyes widened in hurt. “No. I mean, I didn’t know the particulars. I knew that you were Kauron’s heir. I don’t know this man, Stephen. I’ve never met any of these people.”
Studying the group more closely, Stephen noticed another figure, standing beyond Fend. To his surprise, he realized it was a human in the robes of a monk.
“You!” he shouted. “Who are you?”
The man stepped forward.
“My name is Brother Ashern,” he said, bowing. “I am also at your service.”
“Are you Hierovasi or Revesturi?”
“I am neither,” he said. “I am pledged to the saint of the mountain. That appears to be you, Stephen Darige.”
“You’re all mad, aren’t you?”
“No,” Fend replied, “not mad. Determined, yes. And unfortunately, there isn’t time enough for the sort of discussion that will clear things up entirely. Praifec Hespero and his men are nearly here. It would be a mistake to let them enter the mountain. Even on the slopes, Hespero might be able to draw on the power of the seven fanes. If he enters the mountain, even the woorm might not be able to stop him.”
“Yet if Brother Stephen had time to walk the faneway—” Brother Ashern began, but Fend shook his head.
“That would take days. Hespero is approaching. I’ve seen him. Isn’t that right, Stephen?”
“He’s been following us,” Stephen admitted. He looked sharply at Fend. “But you and he were allies.”
“I once worked with him,” Fend admitted. “It was necessary to reach this present point. But our interests no longer coincide. He wants what is yours by right. You wended the horn that woke the Briar King. You found this place.”
“But I don’t even know what this place is!”
“Don’t you?” Fend asked. “Don’t you know who your first predecessor was? The first of your kind to come here?”
“Choron?”
“Choron? No, he was merely returning something to its proper place. It was Virgenya Dare found this place, Stephen. This is where she walked the faneway. This is where she discovered the magicks that destroyed the Skasloi. Would you give that kind of power to Hespero?”
“No,” Stephen said, his head whirling, “but I wouldn’t give it to you, either.”
“I’m not asking for it, you half-wit,” Fend snarled. “I’m only asking you take it for yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the only way,” Fend replied. “The only way to save our world.”
“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do.”
“I am at your command,” Fend replied. “The woorm is at your command. These warriors are at your command. Simply tell us what to do.”
“You expect me to believe all this?” Stephen snapped, his frustration reaching a boil. “I was brought here against my will. Now you claim you’ll follow my orders? It doesn’t make sense!”
“We had to bring you here,” Adhrekh said. “I’m sorry we had to use coercion to get this far, but we cannot force you any farther. You are Choron’s heir. If you want to leave, leave. But if you do, this other one will take your place.”
“Are you saying you would obey Hespero?”
“It’s the geos of this place,” Fend said. “If you do not take up the scepter, someone else will. And when they do, we must follow them. You must decide.”
“If I agree, and if I tell you to destroy Hespero and his forces?”
“We will try,” Fend replied. “I think we will win. But as I said, his power waxes. Unlike you, he has dreamed of this place for decades.”
Stephen glanced at Zemlé, then turned his gaze to Adhrekh.
“I want to be alone with Sister Pale for a moment,” he said.
“Don’t take too long,” Fend warned. “A decision delayed may be a decision denied.”
“There’s something really wrong here,” he told Zemlé once they were alone.
“It’s certainly confusing,” she admitted.
“Confusing? No, it’s more than that. It’s madness. Do you know who Fend is? The things he’s done? Whatever else I know or don’t know about this situation, I know Fend can’t be trusted.”
“That may be so, but if they’re right about Hespero, maybe we should worry about the Sefry later.”
“You mean I should do what they’re asking? Order them to attack Hespero? I—No, this makes no sense. If Fend is eager for me to do something, that’s an excellent sign that I shouldn’t do it. Besides, Fend and Adhrekh seemed agreed on the matter of the praifec. Fend’s been riding the woorm, so I assume he has some control over it. Adhrekh and his
people have been acting pretty freely. So why do they need me to tell them to do what they already want to do?”
“They said something about a geos—”
“Yes,” Stephen said, “I know. Yet it sounds wrong.”
“Maybe…” Zemlé began, then shook her head.
“What?” he said.
“You’re already—”
“What?”
She let out a long breath.
“It’s what you were saying, days ago. About how you keep getting off your path. You’ve been living for other people, Stephen. Even the way you talk about Aspar—you were his companion, never his equal. Could you—just consider this—could you possibly be afraid of the power you’re being offered? Could it be you don’t trust it because you can’t, because if you’re in command, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself if things go wrong?”
“That’s not fair,” Stephen said.
“Maybe it isn’t,” Zemlé said. “I haven’t known you that long. But I think, ah, I think I know some things about you. I think maybe I see some things about you far more clearly than you see them yourself.”
She reached out and gripped his hands in hers.
“Think, Stephen. Even if Fend is lying, even if Virgenya Dare was never here, still, what secrets might this place hold? What might you learn? I can feel the power here, so I know you must, as well. This is what you came for, and all you have to do is submit to leading.”
He closed his eyes.
Zemlé was certainly right about the terror he felt at the idea of taking command. How could he send anyone to fight and die? And yet what if his other uncertainties were, as she said, merely his way of trying to justify inaction?
After all, Fend and Adhrekh weren’t saying anything terribly different from what Fratrex Pell had said. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was the one who was supposed to do this.
He just hadn’t ever believed it. He had supposed all along that he would find Virgenya Dare’s journal and translate it, and if he found something of use, he would do what he had always done: take it to someone else, someone who would know how to use the information.
And yet, how had that worked out? Desmond Spendlove had used his translations to commit abominable acts. He had given Praifec Hespero the benefits of his research, yet more people had died horribly as a result. Now Hespero was coming to get him.
Maybe it really was time he stopped being the source of someone else’s power. Maybe it was time he took charge.
Zemlé was right. When the threat posed by Hespero had passed, then he would have the leisure to come to a full understanding of his situation. Then he could consider how to deal with Fend.
He took Zemlé by the shoulders and kissed her. She stiffened, and at first he thought she would push him away, but then she loosened up, returning his gesture with enthusiasm.
“Thank you,” he said.
He found the others waiting for him, more or less as he’d left them.
“If you’re serious about this,” Stephen said, “then let it be done. Stop Praifec Hespero—no matter what, don’t let him enter the mountain. Take him captive if you can, but do what you must.”
“Now, that’s the way it’s done,” Fend said. He bowed. “As you command, pathikh, so it shall be accomplished.”
Stephen felt his teeth clench, and he waited, fearing that he had unlocked some secret curse, walked straight into a trap. But nothing happened except that all the other Sefry bowed, too, which was certainly strange enough in its own way.
“Where is the woorm?” Stephen asked.
Fend smiled and made a long, low whistle, and behind him the waters parted. Two great green lamps rose above them all. A faint, appreciative murmur went up among the Sefry, who were clearly collectively insane.
Stephen stumbled back, trying to shield Zemlé with his body.
“Th-the poison!” he stammered.
“Has no effect, here,” Adhrekh assured him. “The sedos power in the mountain creates it harmless. And we have proof against it once we are outside.”
Stephen couldn’t tear his gaze off the thing, but after a long moment he realized they were still waiting for him to say something.
“Fine,” he said. “There’s the woorm. Where are your warriors? How many do you have?”
”There are twelve,” Adhrekh said.
That, finally, was enough to make Stephen look away from the monster to see if the fellow was joking.
“Twelve? But there are more than twelve of you here now.”
“Yes. But most of the Aitivar are forbidden to fight. Twelve will have to be enough. And we have the khriim with us, as well as the khruvkhuryu.”
“The what?” Stephen began, but he was too late. They were already in motion. Fend sang out again, and the great head dipped down so he and Ashern could mount. Adhrekh and eleven other warriors set off at a jog toward the far end of the cavern.
Suddenly Stephen was full of doubt again. Someone was plucking at his sleeve, and he turned to see who it was. It was a Sefry he hadn’t noticed before, one so ancient that even in torchlight Stephen fancied he could see the bones through his skin.
“Pardon, pathikh,” the man wisped, “but do you wish to watch? There is a higher vantage.”
“Yes,” Stephen said. “I think I’d like that a great deal.”
He followed the Sefry, growing uneasier by the moment. He felt like the man in the old story about the Damned Saint who was trapped in a bottle. The man got one wish, and then the saint would kill him. There were only two things he could not wish for: to be spared—or for the saint to die.
“ANNE?”
She found Austra shaking her gently.
“I’m fine,” Anne told her friend.
“What happened? You were talking to—it—and then you went still as a statue.”
“Nothing,” she lied. “I’ll tell you later. For the moment, I need you all to stay here and stay still. I have to do something else and must not be disturbed.”
“Very well, Anne.”
“Anne?” Alis whispered weakly.
“Yes, Lady Berrye?”
“Do not trust him.”
“Oh, I don’t,” Anne replied.
Then she settled on the floor, cross-legged. She closed her eyes and imagined she was at the Coven Saint Cer, in the womb of Mefitis. She focused on an invented middle distance and tried to picture a light there, slowing her breathing until it was deep and steady, until she could feel the slow pulse of the tide beneath Ynis and the deeper, secret motions of the earth.
Until she was calm and quiet.
As the light flickered into being, she had a moment when she felt as if she were spreading out, as if the stone and water of Ynis and Newland were becoming her flesh and blood. The Kept ached like a pustule, as did the thing in Eslen-of-Shadows, but that rushed suddenly away as the darkness shattered and she found herself in a forest clearing. Although the sun stood at noon in a brilliant clear sky, she cast no shadow, and she knew that this time she had finally come to the right place.
“Faiths!” she called.
For a moment she thought they might not appear, but then they stepped into the clearing: four women, masked and gowned as if for a costume ball, as similar and as dissimilar as sisters.
The first, on Anne’s right, wore a dress of deepest green and a sneering golden mask. Her hair fell in amber braids almost to her feet. Next to her stood a brunette in a mask of bone and a rust-red dress. The third Faith was as pale as the moon, with silver locks. Her gown and disguise were black. The final woman wore a white mask and a white dress, and her hair was darker than coal.
“You’ve all changed,” Anne noticed.
“As have the seasons, the winds, and you, my dear,” the first Faith said.
“Where have you been?” Anne asked. “I’ve tried to find you before.”
“This sort of visiting has become more difficult,” the bone-masked Faith said. “The thrones are appearing.”
“Yes
, the thrones,” Anne said. “One of you once told me that you couldn’t see the future. You said that you were like chirgeons, that you could feel the sickness of the world and sense what was needed to make it well.”
“That’s true,” the black-gowned Faith replied.
“Very well,” Anne said. “What do you feel now? I’m asking for your advice.”
“This is a dangerous time for us to give you advice,” the green-gowned woman replied, spreading her hands. Her sleeves fell back, and Anne noticed something she hadn’t seen in any of her earlier encounters with the Faiths.
“What is that?” she asked.
The woman dropped her hands, but Anne stepped forward.
“It’s all right,” the white-clad sister said. “She had to know sometime.”
Anne caught at the Faith’s hand and felt an odd tingle of contact, as if she held something very slippery. But the arm came up obediently so she could see the mark tattooed there: a black crescent moon.
“I was attacked by a man wearing this mark,” she said. “A follower of yours, perhaps?”
The Faith turned to her sister. “You explain,” she said, “if you’re so certain she should know.”
A wry smile appeared below the black mask.
“Anne, I don’t think you appreciate how important it is for you to take the throne: the literal throne of Eslen and the eldritch one that is beginning to appear. We have tried to explain to you, but at every turn you have jeopardized yourself by giving in to selfish desires.”
“I wanted to save my friends from certain death. How is that selfish?”
“You know how, yet you refuse to admit it. Your friends do not matter, Anne. The fate of the world does not rest with them. After everything you’ve experienced, Anne, you are still spoiled, still the girl who fought to keep her saddle in a place where she had no use for it simply because it was hers. A little girl who will not share her toys, much less give them up.
“You almost ruined everything at Dunmrogh. For right or wrong, we decided you should be parsed from your friends so you could see things more clearly. Yes, we have followers—”
