“Yes, yes,” said Shobar irascibly. “But what of Greghar and the wench?”
“Sire, we are still searching for them,” said Nestar, not meeting the gaze of his liege. “If they were in the castle, we will find them.”
“Make sure that you do,” said Shobar, clearly not happy. Jerking his thumb, he said, “Deal with those down there and take me to the Hall of Tiles.”
“Take care of them!” Nestar called down to Guttanar, who was in charge of the men-at-arms in the main courtyard. He drew his finger across his throat. Then he bowed again to Shobar and said, “I will attend you to the Hall of Tiles, Sire.”
They entered the Hall, its high walls covered with finely inlaid tiles. Shobar felt good to be back in the familiar environs of the castle in which he had grown up. Bradar and Esgrin had been allowed to change out of their nightclothes and were dressed formally. Bradar was unarmed, but not restrained. Several dozen Skull Watchmen surrounded them. They all bowed low as Shobar entered. He noted, however, that Bradar remained erect.
Shobar went straight up to Bradar, drew his sword, and without saying a word, struck him hard on the side of the head with the flat of his blade. Bradar staggered under the weight of the blow, lost his balance, and fell. Shobar followed him and kicked him several times as he lay on the floor. Then he sheathed the sword, turned on Esgrin, and backhanded her across the face, drawing a scream of pain.
“You will give me the respect I am due,” he said, breathing heavily. “I am King of Utrea as well as Lord of the Northeast. You have dared to usurp my ancestral fief and sit in my High Seat! Well, now your family will begin to pay for its treasonous crimes. Today I have taken back Estrans Castle, the first step on my road of conquest.”
Bradar slowly got up, but swayed on his feet. Esgrin remained on the floor, cowering.
“Put Bradar in manacles and leg-irons,” Shobar told Nestar. “Then clear the Skull Watchmen out of the Hall.”
A few minutes later, with only five of them in the Hall, Shobar stamped up to the High Chair. The men had lashed a crude masthead fashioned from a wooden pole to the back of the High Chair. He eased himself into its familiar seat, and Katog took up his station on the floor at his right hand. Nestar roughly pulled Esgrin to her feet and pushed the couple to the front of the High Chair.
“Where are Greghar and the Yengar wench, Nitya?” Shobar asked, looking down on them from the High Chair.
Bradar looked at him stupefied, too confused from the blow to his head to answer. Esgrin nursed the bruise that was beginning to form on the side of her face.
“My husband saw fit to have the witch in the Maiden’s Suite,” she spat out. “And the bastard in the Blue Room.”
Shobar looked at Nestar questioningly.
“We have searched both those places, Sire,” he said woodenly. “They are empty.”
“Search them again, thoroughly this time. Look for signs of escape out the windows. Bring any effects you find.”
Nestar bowed and departed. Bradar’s dizziness got the better of him, and he made for a chair to sit down.
“If you get off your feet, I will take them off for you,” threatened Shobar, rising and drawing his sword partway out of its scabbard.
Esgrin hurried over and took Bradar’s arm, holding him up. He looked at her in confusion, and she patted his face.
“Sire,” Esgrin said in a cloyingly sweet tone, “my husband and I have no designs on your fief. We came here on the express orders of my father-in-law. He is your enemy, not us. We are very happy to return to our estates in the Draigynys Islands and live there quietly, never troubling Your Majesty.”
“I see,” said Shobar, thoughtfully. “Well, we will see what my advisers tell me.”
Katog almost spoke up, but Shobar did not look his way, and he kept his silence. It was a long silence, finally broken by Nestar’s return with four Skull Watchmen. They carried a large trunk festooned with pink, girlish ribbons and a plain pair of leather saddlebags.
“Empty them out,” commanded Shobar.
The Skull Watchmen first unbuckled the saddlebags and emptied them as commanded. They contained some of Greghar’s clothing and a spare pair of ankle boots. Then they did the same for the larger trunk. Unlike Greghar’s saddlebags, Nitya’s trunk was neatly packed, so when it was upended, her things cascaded out in reverse order of the layers she had put them in. First came her makeup bag, then several fine gowns, and a few bags containing slippers and shoes. Finally, secreted at the bottom were sheer stockings and filmy lace and lamé lingerie, which now floated out and lay on top, glittering in the lamplight.
“You can see from her clothes that she is a temptress,” said Esgrin sourly and hypocritically, being partial to naughty lingerie herself.
“No potions, no witches’ paraphernalia,” muttered Shobar, half to himself. “Yet I was assured…”
“Sire, there is no doubt that she is a witch,” said Esgrin forcefully. “I have had it from Animus the White Khalif himself.”
Nestar cleared his throat.
“We searched the chambers thoroughly, Sire,” he said. “The windows are firmly latched. We opened them, and I sent men on to the ledges—there are no signs of exit or escape.”
“There is only one way to find where they are,” said Shobar. He addressed the four Skull Watchmen. “Put together a rough fire pit on the flagstones here. Get some wood and start up a small fire. Bring me some butter.”
They leaped to do his bidding. In short order a small fire was kindled and Shobar dismissed the Skull Watchmen from the Hall. Then he took the pot of butter, went down on his knees, and fed the flames, muttering, “Na-dwara, na-dwara, na-dwara…” over and over again. Esgrin and Bradar, who was now coming around, looked on curiously, but both Nestar and Katog’s expressions were apprehensive.
Suddenly, all the lamps and candles in the Hall of Tiles guttered and went out. Esgrin gasped and her hold on Bradar’s hand tightened. Nestar’s gripped the hilt of his sword and Katog’s lips moved soundlessly. There was a hum, low at first and then again, louder. A thin trail of smoke arose from the small fire and gradually began to gain form and substance. But each time it seemed to coalesce, there was a crackling sound and it dispersed again. This happened several times until finally there were small blue sparks in the smoke. The sparks continued sizzling and hissing, even as the smoke settled into a shadowy trail that rose out of the popping flames. None of them dared speak.
Shobar’s eyes were closed and he swayed from side to side in a trance. Then he began to nod and his expression showed fear.
“Lord Malitha! I beg your forgiveness! I had my men follow your instructions to the letter. The Yengar wench and Greghar were our first objects, just as you ordered. I know what the wench means for us. Every one of my men was looking for her.”
There were a few loud pops, adding to the steady crackling.
“She must have sensed our presence,” continued Shobar, his voice growing more plaintive. “She must have grown stronger and broken the bonds you placed on her. She communes with Vasitha to obstruct us. Now she has fled with the bastard Greghar to protect her. But tell us where to find them, Lord. We will do your bidding—we will place them at your feet. For your cause is our cause.”
Again there was a series of pops from the smoke, like fire eating at wet wood. Shobar cringed and his head snapped sideways. Then he nodded again vigorously. There was a low hum and the flames in the rough fire pit died down. In just a few moments, the fire went out and the smoky outline faded away. Shobar’s eyes slowly opened and he leaned forward to rest on his hands and knees. He shook his head to clear it and stood up shakily. Nestar came up to stand beside him, prepared to steady him if he stumbled or fell. Shobar looked around the room, regaining his surly expression.
“We will ransom Bradar and his daughters to his father in exchange for my old fief of Swarborg. But we will keep the Baroness Esgrin—I have plans for her.” He paused. “Then we must be patient. Malitha will guide our
swords to our next conquest. Remain faithful to me and you will all share in coming victories! On the battlefield and in the bedchamber.”
FOUR
THE CRUELTY OF LOVE
CAITLIN HAD THOUGHT that her feeling of loss would diminish with time, but paradoxically it seemed to get worse. As the years passed, she missed her daughter more rather than less. She often dreamed of Asgara and sobbed in her sleep. Binne was a light sleeper and heard her. She tried to ignore it at first, but it happened so frequently that finally she woke Caitlin and demanded to know what was wrong. Caitlin was evasive, but Binne was insistent.
“You are now my adoptive daughter, it is only right that I share your sorrows,” she said.
“It is not sorrow…” Caitlin began.
“You sob so deeply, night after night, as though your very heart is breaking!” exclaimed Binne. “This is not some passing nightmare.”
Caitlin looked up at her with an expression that was so unhappy that Binne sat on her bed and put her arms around her. Caitlin slowly relaxed as Binne held her and stroked her hair.
“I have a daughter,” she said. “I committed the mortal sin of lusting for a man. And I broke the laws of my people. Under this cloud, I had her anyway. That girl I brought into the world—she is the light of my life! But it became clear that she would inherit the burdens of my misdeeds, so I gave her up to another. Now she appears to me in my dreams, asking to be cuddled, begging for my love! I am a monster! A mother who abandoned her own daughter!”
“No, no,” said Binne, holding her tighter. “You wanted the best for your daughter. A child born in sin often pays a heavy price, especially a girl. You have sacrificed your happiness for her future. You are not a monster. I said it when we first met and I will say it again—you are an angel.”
Binne’s words comforted her and she felt her tension slowly melting away.
YANDHARAN FOUND HIMSELF making more and more excuses for trips to the Hareskot area. It was a small village in an impoverished region of his jurisdiction and his wife Zaibene eventually began to question the need for so many trips. In response, he started lying about where he was going. Once in Hareskot, he inevitably paid a few “courtesy calls” on the Avedus ranch.
Binne and Seamus were initially suspicious and worried that he was still looking for Dhanraj. So they hid the boy when they saw him approach. But after the third or fourth visit they discerned what attracted him to their remote homestead. Their deductions were confirmed when he saw Dhanraj and made no comment.
So now when he drew up in their yard, Binne came out of the ranch house with a smile on her face.
“You look like you have had a hard ride, Collector Yandharan,” she said. “Did you not stop to take refreshment in the village?”
“No,” he replied, swinging down from the saddle and doffing his wide-brimmed leather hat to her. “It was getting late, I thought I better pay my calls before sundown.”
It was still early in the afternoon and Binne smiled inwardly.
But she said, “Of course, of course, that makes good sense. Will you come in and take some tea?”
Tea was brought up from the Nilong Highlands in Daksin, toward the southern tip of the One Land. While it was a very popular beverage, it was difficult to procure outside of Daksin, and consequently very expensive. The Aveduses were not rich and drank a very weak brew, using only the tiniest of pinches in each cup.
“I will be delighted,” he said, heartily. “And I will not tax your hospitality.” He grinned at his joke. “I have brought you a bag of tea from Serat.”
“Why, Collector Yandharan!” Binne said coquettishly. “I am a married woman. You should have brought me such presents forty years ago when I was a maiden entertaining suitors.”
“Would that I could have done so,” said Yandharan gallantly, with a slight bow. “I blame my parents, for I was not yet born.”
“Such flimsy excuses!” cried Binne, leading the way into the kitchen.
Yandharan followed her, taking off his hat and hanging it on a peg. She put the kettle on, and he presented her with a sizeable gunnysack. The delightful aroma of the tea emanated from it.
“What a wonderful fragrance,” she said sniffing it. “It smells like Kaylan tea.”
“You have a good nose, ma’am,” said Yandharan.
With her newly acquired riches, she made two fairly strong cups. Then she joined him at the kitchen table, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She sipped the tea and sighed with pleasure.
“Such a fine leaf,” she said appreciatively. “We are much in your debt.”
“No, no, it is I who owe you thanks,” he countered. “For your hospitality has made my many official trips to the area pleasant beyond measure.”
Binne smiled and watched him sipping his tea.
“I take it Seamus and Dhanraj are on the range?” he said, after what he thought was a decent interval.
“Aye, and Cat is out there as well,” said Binne playfully. She paused to observe him and was gratified to see the spark of interest that leaped into his eyes. “As a daughter and then as a wife, I have lived on ranches my whole life. But I swear to you that girl teaches me new things about horses every day.”
“You are fortunate in your adoptive daughter,” agreed Yandharan. He opened his mouth to continue, but then shut it and looked out the window. Binne did not help him fill the silence, but sipped her tea, waiting for him. Finally, he squared his shoulders and went on. “I am a man of means, Binne Avedus. I am not wellborn, but I have worked hard, and I have been frugal. I have properties and landed estates in Serat and in Tirut. I have a comfortable income quite aside from my tax commissions from the cheval.”
Binne looked at him primly, over the rim of her cup. Her intuition told her where he was going, but she did not want to make it easy for him.
“I have known your daughter Cat for several years now. I have reason to believe that she does not despise me. So I now beg you for information. Does she speak of me? If so, does she express warmth?”
“She sometimes speaks of you,” replied Binne guardedly. “She does not view you as an enemy.”
Yandharan made a fist, but stopped himself from pounding the table. He took some time to calm his eagerness.
“I am not a rash or foolhardy man,” he said. “I know that a mysterious woman like Cat, with no connections or family and an unstable disposition is a very risky proposition. But I cannot help myself.”
“My dear Collector Yandharan!” exclaimed Binne. “I believe I see color attempting to show itself on your leathery face!”
Yandharan looked sheepish, but he plunged on.
“If I were to press my suit with Cat, would you and your husband smile on it?”
Now that she had got him to come out in the open, she sat back.
“It is our dearest wish to see Cat settled,” she said. “But with the right man, a man who appreciates her and can make her happy.” She paused and looked at him sternly before continuing. “She is one of a kind, our Cat. She is something of a dreamer, a bit naïve, intensely righteous and loyal to the point of self-sacrifice. She is smart as a whip, and more athletic than any boy. Her heart has already been broken once. We would not see her hurt again.”
“Are you saying that I am not sincere?” asked Yandharan, in a carefully emotionless voice.
“No,” replied Binne gently. “I am saying that you are married.”
CAITLIN WAS LYING in the shallows where the stream took a sharp bend, forming a tranquil pool in the inner side of the elbow. Her head was on the grassy bank and her thick red mane cascaded loose on the grass. Her clothes were piled up on the bank behind her head and her eyes were closed.
She was not asleep, but thinking of Asgara. She was imagining what she must look like, and at what stage of development. She must be a young girl now, she thought. Riding horses, taking ballet, and going to school. She must be a curious child, asking questions about everything. And Megara is incredibly patient; they must be so
happy together.
Her bittersweet thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a low hum that grew in volume. Her eyes snapped open and she looked around, but there was nothing to be seen and the sound ceased. She cautiously closed her eyes again and it came again. When it stopped, she saw a tall man with white hair and beard, dressed in brown robes. His dark brown eyes were so warm that they melted away her fears. Her eyes were tightly shut, but his form was clear and sharp and his expression was kindly.
“Princess Caitlin d’Orr,” he said. “I am Vasitha, lover of your ancestor Simran d’Orr, the first Zon queen on New Eartha. In her time the battle lines were clearly drawn, but now there is evil everywhere in this world. The Dark rises and soon all the established powers in the One Land will be co-opted by it. You are one of the Companions, the last hope for the powers of Light.”
She blinked several times to try and excise the vision, but each time she closed her eyes, he was there, waiting patiently with a kind expression.
Her lips did not move, but she heard her voice.
“I am a weak sinner, exiled by my people. I cannot be the one you seek.”
“Caitlin, you are no more a sinner than your ancestor Simran. It is the Dark that has cast you down, for your righteousness is abhorrent to it.”
“What must I do?”
“You must seek out the others. In Tirut.”
“How…?”
But before she could finish her question, there was a crackle as his image became distorted. There was a low hum again and her mind’s eye went blank. He was gone.
YANDHARAN MEANT TO ride back to Hareskot and settle himself in the inn. On a whim, he rode down to the stream that flowed toward the village instead of taking the high road. The stream was one of the few sources of moisture in the parched, semi-arid landscape and it was cooler under the shade of the string of juniper trees that grew along its banks.
He was about half way to Hareskot when he came upon the sharp bend in the stream. Some dense privet bushes screened him off from the pool itself, but what caused him to pull up sharply was the big red that was placidly munching grass by the bushes. He recognized Caitlin’s horse, Rufus. He dismounted, hobbled his own horse, and walked around the bushes, not sneaking up, but not making a great deal of noise either.
The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2) Page 9
