by Paul Collins
‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ Jelindel began. ‘Ever since that night in the tavern.’
‘I’ve been very busy,’ said Daretor. ‘It wasn’t my intention.’
‘I think it was.’
Thunk. A knife plunged into the heart of the target dummy.
‘Daretor, stop it! Was it the tavern episode or are you jealous of Zimak. I mean, really, Zimak?’
‘Jealous of him, no. Disappointed with you, yes.’
‘Disappointed with me? How dare you! I made the prince appoint you!’
Daretor calmly took the chain and crest from around his neck and held it out to her. Jelindel turned away, walked over to a window bay, then sat down with her back to the city. Daretor dropped the chain and crest to the floor and continued with his knife practice.
‘I desire you greatly,’ ventured Jelindel.
‘Especially when it’s not me,’ replied Daretor.
‘I don’t have to sit here and take this!’ Jelindel retorted.
‘Then stand up,’ said Daretor. He whirled and flung a knife. Again it thudded into the heart mark of his target figure.
‘Look, I admit it, I flirted with Zimak,’ said Jelindel. ‘There, are you satisfied? I’ve said it!’
‘Why?’
‘Why? To make you jealous. And why not? He has his good points, along with the bad. He’s sharp, witty, challenging; it’s fun to match wits with him.’
‘But not me?’
‘You are always so serious. Can’t I seek out merry companions sometimes?’
‘Jelli, you can seek out all the companions you will. You are a clever, powerful, and rich archmage of great renown. You can do what you will with whoever you will. Go down to a tavern, choose the most wicked and exciting rogue who takes your fancy. Take him back to your bedchamber. Track him down the next morning after he escapes through the window with your purse while you lie asleep. Turn him into a steaming hot turd with your invincible magic. If you find the likes of Zimak wickedly exciting, then you need to get really close to them and experience them in all their scabby glory. Meantime, I shall get through this war, then pack a sword, a leg of ham, and a jar of wine, and get down to Honest Hurok’s Healthy Horses and buy a mount. Life in the mountains as a free and independent mercenary is calling, and I am rather anxious to answer.’
Jelindel raised both hands as if in surrender. ‘Daretor, do you seriously think I don’t get fed up with being a learned archmage at my age? I’ve lost my childhood!’
‘Then go and find it.’
‘I will!’ Jelindel shouted. Neither said a word for a moment. ‘Is it so hard to talk to me?’ she asked.
Daretor stopped throwing knives. He softened the moment he faced her. ‘Talking to you is easy. Knowing what to say, knowing what’s going on, is nigh on impossible.’
Jelindel went to him. She put her arms around him and leaned her head on his chest. ‘I’m not sure I know what’s going on,’ she said. ‘I’m – confused.’
‘About us?’
‘About everything. Ever since the assault began on magic, I have felt – lost, as if my inner compass has stopped working.’ She hesitated, then blurted, ‘I feel as if I am drowning, as if there’s an anvil around my neck, making everything heavier than it should be.’
Daretor stiffened. ‘Am I that great weight?’
Jelindel shook her head, though not convincingly. ‘It’s me, not you. I’m – changing.’
Daretor felt a flutter of fear. ‘Into what?’
She smiled at his alarm. ‘I’m just – I don’t know. Maybe I’m finally growing up.’
Daretor looked relieved. ‘Is that all?’
Jelindel’s smile dropped. ‘I fear it’s not that simple. We met and fell in love as teenagers, Daretor, and we have led the lives of adults since that time, and long before. Now time has caught up with us, and this war that comes is like the war inside us, and between us, and the outcome is as uncertain and unknowable as that other battle.’ She gulped. ‘That’s what I fear. The unknowable. And the nightmares I keep having.’
‘Your family?’
She nodded. ‘In my dream I have all this magical power, the forces of life and death at my command, and yet I cannot lift a finger to save them. Nothing I do comes out right. All my choices fail, as if I’ve been turned to lead.’
‘Maybe you have to – forgive yourself.’
Jelindel looked startled, both at what was said and who was saying it. She peered at him, as if he had suddenly become someone new to her. ‘What do you mean, forgive myself?’
‘I lost my family too, when I was little. And for many years I blamed myself. Maybe if I’d done this or that, maybe if I’d not been born, maybe-maybe-maybe … I nearly went mad with maybes. But my master was a wise man and one day, when I was fifteen, and had made myself into a great muscle-bound warrior, whom none could hurt, he bade me look across the street. “What do you see, Daretor?” he asked me.’
When he didn’t go on immediately, Jelindel prompted him. ‘What did you see?’
‘What? Oh.’ He came out of some inner reverie. ‘I saw a boy. About six years old. A tiny thing with a mischievous expression. “What of him?” I asked my master. And he said, “That boy is you, Daretor. That is how old you were when your family was killed. Look at how big and strong he is, how mighty, look at his prodigious muscles”. I looked, and I am not ashamed to say that tears came to my eyes. My master went on, though part of me wanted him to stop: “What could he have done to save anyone? How could he have stopped powerful, bloodthirsty pirates with swords and cudgels and murder in their hearts? How could he even save himself, except by hiding in a well, trying all night to stop his ears to the awful screams?” My master went silent for a time, then, “It wasn’t your fault, Daretor. You could have done nothing, because that boy – in all his weakness and youth – is as you were. Tiny, defenceless, and vulnerable. Moreover, it was not your job to save your family. You are not responsible for the madness of men. So be at peace, lad. Be at peace”. That night, more tears and pain came than ever before, but afterwards, I knew a measure of peace, because I understood truly for the first time that it wasn’t my fault.’
Jelindel blinked back tears. Silently, she took him by the hand and led him into a random room and they made love for the first time since that fateful day Jelindel had met Taggar. And afterwards they lay in each other’s arms.
‘This doesn’t change anything, does it? I thought it would, but it doesn’t,’ said Daretor.
‘You’ve taught me something,’ she said. ‘What will be, will be. We are on some course that must be carried to its natural conclusion. Only then will we get to choose.’
‘When that happens,’ said Daretor, ‘I choose you.’
‘Would it make any sense if I said we might not get to choose our own choices?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so.’
Chapter 18
An Assassin’s Dart
Daretor woke to find Jelindel gone. He heard the door close somewhere nearby and dressed hurriedly. He had had a dream, or some realisation, and he wanted to share it with her. He raced out of the palace and spotted Jelindel across the square, speaking to some youth with curly hair and large, dark eyes. He wore a sword at his belt, and had the surcoat of a member of the city militia. Jelindel saw Daretor but turned and gave the youth her undivided attention.
Daretor stopped and waited. He saw Jelindel reach out and place her hand affectionately against the youth’s cheek. The youth coloured, turned on his heel, and hurried away. Daretor, his anger mounting, stalked over to Jelindel. ‘So, important information?’ he asked.
‘No, I just wanted to see whether I could have him propose a lewd assignation with me.’
‘What?’ bellowed Daretor.
‘It was hard, for he was a bit shy, but I did succeed. Satisfied?’
Daretor reached for his sword and began to draw it, only to find that the handle had become red hot. He dropped the sw
ord to the dust with a cry of surprise.
‘Touch that boy and you will not live to see nightfall,’ Jelindel warned.
‘What? But why? What has come over you?’
‘Daretor, every gesture that I make, every word that I speak is carefully tailored to be what you want to hear. Being your perfect and constant partner weighs heavily upon me. Now do you understand?’
‘You – you mean that you want to leave me? But last night you –’
‘No, but I do want to be able to be free of fear of offending or antagonising you. You trust me only because I’m always perfectly behaved. Very well, just now I said that I might meet that boy tonight, should I be free. He said that he has little money, so that we would have to do that which costs nothing. I replied that wealth doesn’t impress me.’
‘I cannot believe this!’ shouted Daretor. ‘Why say that to him, why defile our … our understanding of one another, even if for a joke.’
‘“Understanding”, is it?’ Jelindel whispered.
Daretor pulled his head back, for Jelindel had come terribly close. ‘Well, you know what I mean. Last night …’
‘How many women have you bedded?’
‘What? I, er …’
‘One?’
‘You know very well –’
‘Dozens?’
‘This conversation is not –’
‘Hundreds?’
‘No! Not hundreds. As many as fingers and toes, with a small measure more besides.’
‘I have known but one man in that way.’
‘Well, I …’
‘Your love is a burden, Daretor. I do everything that you want, all the honour, all the honesty, all the unswerving devotion, but do you know what I want?’
‘Yes! You want … me. That is …’
‘I’m a young woman. Apart from some lightweight lecherous talk from Zimak, I have never had a man flirt with me. They are all too frightened of you. I even discourage them, so as not to cause trouble. I now know that someone else, in all of the world, fancies me just for being a girl, someone who doesn’t really know me – or you. Somehow, that gives me strength to face the nightmares to come.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘I am telling you that I am carrying too much. If everyone is lucky, I will not fall before all my work is done.’
Before Daretor could respond, Jelindel jerked stiffly, then toppled forward. She had barely hit the ground by the time Daretor had flung three knives. A distant figure preparing to leap down from a gargoyle tumbled from it instead, a knife in his arm, thigh and chest. With a dwindling scream, the body plunged to the courtyard.
Daretor plucked a dart from Jelindel’s neck, then dashed across the street, shouting for a physician. He found the black-robed deadmoon warrior surrounded by a circle of guards, gasping his life away through crushed lungs. As Daretor arrived the assassin moved a hand to his mouth. Daretor stopped him.
‘I can make sure you take a very long time dying,’ said Daretor, firmly holding the hand with the poison ring. ‘Now then, who sent you, and who were you supposed to kill?’
‘Mel’brre tellit askin ete, Jelindel, atar,’ the man replied. ‘Silend takkur, ale, tes tikket.’
Daretor released the man’s wrist. He immediately put the ring to his mouth. Daretor found several spare darts and a spring-tube launcher within the man’s robes.
Heart hammering, Daretor dashed back to Jelindel, where a crowd was gathering around her. He swept Jelindel up in his arms even while the physicians and mages worked. Moments later he lay her down on her bed and stepped back.
‘You won’t die,’ Daretor murmured over and over like a litany. ‘I know it, I know it for certain.’
The door burst open and Zimak rushed in, coming to a stop when he saw Jelindel on the bed, limp and pale. ‘It’s true then,’ he whispered, almost to himself.
Daretor looked up and nodded.
Zimak knelt down. ‘Is she –?’
Daretor shrugged helplessly, bewildered and stricken.
Zimak placed a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sure she’ll be all right,’ said Zimak. ‘This is Jelindel. If anybody can beat an assassin’s poison, she can.’
‘She lived a thousand lives in one,’ Daretor said softly. He touched her now cooling skin. ‘She kept telling me, and I wouldn’t listen. If I had –’
They moved Jelindel back to their own house a short time later, where she was attended by the physician and, after he left, by the head healer of the Magicians’ Guild – an old woman named Kranth. She boiled water, not because it was needed but because people expected it of her, and muttered complex charms. A blue flickering light leapt from her lips and coruscated like electricity across Jelindel’s body. Her limbs jerked spasmodically, and for a split second her eyes opened. Daretor shot a look of hope at Kranth. The old woman shook her head.
‘Means nothing,’ she said. ‘Life forces power through the muscles, so they react thus.’
Kranth conferred with the other healers and for the next five hours they worked tirelessly on Jelindel. In the end, however, they gave up.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Kranth, whose manner, unlike her craggy appearance, was quite gentle. ‘She’s passed on. I can detect no life in her, not a breath, not a murmur of her mage-being. I’m very sorry.’
She packed her bag, gave Daretor’s arm a consolatory squeeze, and left.
The house felt cold when everyone had gone. Daretor and Zimak sat near the body. Davit built up the fire and fetched food and ale without being asked, but Daretor ate nothing. He sat like stone, neither thinking nor dozing, and would take no comfort. Zimak draped a blanket around him from time to time, but he shrugged it off.
Meanwhile, there was work to do. Still grieving, Zimak took on Daretor’s job, issuing orders for the continued defence and fortification of the city, but these were largely what Daretor would have intended; Zimak knew his plans well. Davit, for his part, took his leave and explored the bustling streets of D’loom, reporting back to Zimak from time to time, with interesting titbits of information.
Daretor woke that evening with a start and for a moment his mind was completely blank; he did not know who he was or where. Then reality and truth crept painfully back and he wanted to return to the void again. He was desolate because of what had happened to Jelindel, yet he was also aware that there had been a chance he might lose her anyway, to something more implacable than a poison dart: time.
He also became aware of hunger.
‘Eat,’ insisted a voice.
Jelindel hadn’t moved, hadn’t returned from whatever place she was in, yet it had sounded just like her. He managed a ghost of a smile and reached dutifully for some bread and cheese left out by Zimak. Chewing it mechanically, he had no idea what it tasted like.
Ulla-ulla-ulla-ulla-ulla-ulla-ulla-ulla-ulla-ullaulla …
A groan escaped his lips. Professional howlers had gathered outside, their wails spreading word of Jelindel’s death. It meant that soon others would come for the body. The law on such things was ancient and immutable. Two days and the rituals must be read, the pyre lit, the spirit freed from the flesh for its journey to the next incarnation. Timing was crucial.
‘Jelindel,’ he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. ‘If you can hear me, if you are still in there somewhere, you must do something. The death rites will commence soon, there isn’t much time left.’
He watched her carefully, searching for any response, no matter how minute. There was not a flicker of an eyelid, nor tremble of lips, nothing. Just that cold mask of an impish face which once had been so alive. His fingers grasped her wrist as he felt for a pulse, but her flesh was cool.
Zimak entered, carrying a tray. On it was a leg of ham, and a carving knife. Daretor waved him away. Zimak sat down and said nothing for a while. He saw how broken Daretor was, and how obsessed. He thought to distract him, and cleared his throat.
‘There’s something I don’t understand. When our bodies were switch
ed back … how did you –? You still managed to carry out the mission … my mission …’
Daretor looked up. He felt the presence of Jelindel in Zimak’s query. ‘You mean, how did I manage to act like a thief, a liar and a deceiver?’
Zimak shifted uncomfortably. ‘Something like that.’
‘You first,’ he said. ‘How did you deal with the Sacred One?’
‘With great difficulty.’
Daretor forced Zimak to meet his eyes. ‘How?’
‘I – have a talent for persuasion. You know that …’ His voice trailed off.
‘Uh-huh.’
Zimak tried to look annoyed, hoping it would deflect Daretor. It didn’t. ‘You’ve changed,’ he said at last. ‘I think you’re a tad smarter than you were before – as if some of me has stayed with you.’
‘That’s some kind of compliment, is it?’
‘The highest kind.’
Daretor almost smiled, but would not be put off his question.
Zimak sighed. He had only asked about the mission in the hope that it would give Daretor some relief from his misery. Now it had backfired.
‘Oh, all right. I told the truth to that scabby old worm. Happy now?’
‘You told the truth? You?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Perhaps some of me has stayed with you.’
‘That’s very funny. Now it’s your turn.’ He was pleased to see Daretor flinch. ‘I left you hanging on the side of a tower with a locked window, and a cold science burglar alarm. Yet you – Daretor the Great Stick-in-the-Mud – managed to get through it, and more besides. How?’
‘The fact is –’
‘No, no, none of that. Whenever you start a sentence with “the fact is” it usually means you’re going to spend a large amount of time telling me absolutely nothing. The truth. Remember?’
