I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked up at the man leaning over the edge of the wall. He was wearing a round-topped uniform hat. Its wide brim cast a shadow over all of his face except his mouth and jaw. His angry grimace displayed one snaggled tusk that looked awfully familiar.
“Don’t you think, Bareff,” I asked mildly, “that you ought to let me join up before you start giving me penalty duty?”
“What?” He leaned over so far that I thought he might fall. Then: “I’ll be a vlek’s daddy. Rikardon?”
I copied the gesture he had used to introduce his sha’um to me, nearly two weeks ago. I leaned forward, and drew my right hand along the side of Keeshah’s jaw.
“And Keeshah,” I said. “Will you tell the Lieutenant that we’re here?”
“Why, I’d be pleased right out of my senses to do that little thing for you, Rikardon,” he said. “The Lieutenant won’t be surprised, will he?”
I hid a smile. “No.”
“Nobody tells me nothing,” he grumbled. Before he turned away he grinned down at me. “But I’ll swear to Zanek it’s good to see you again. It’s been downright dull around here since you left.”
Keeshah moved restlessly as we waited in front of the gate. I had sensed a growing ambivalence in him as we had approached Thagorn. He was both eager and apprehensive about meeting the sha’um of the Riders.
We had made the trip from Raithskar in a week, without rushing. We had stayed overnight at the Refreshment House of Yafnaar, where Balgokh, the eldest of the family of desert-dwellers, had invited me to dine with the entire clan in an inner courtyard. Such invitations were rare, and I had accepted gladly.
In return for a wonderful meal, I had answered the questions that they were too polite to ask: about the theft of the Ra’ira, now common knowledge in broad terms, but full of rumor concerning the details; about my adventures in regaining my memory (I gave them an altered version of the truth, omitting the fact that it wasn’t my memory that I had found); and about all I knew of the history of Serkajon, his sword, and the Sharith.
Balgokh had announced that Keddan, one of the three men who were with me when I woke up at Yafnaar, had settled a marriage contract, and his bride had already set out from Kanlyr, near Eddarta. I had presented Balgokh with a gift to express my appreciation for his help, and asked that it be earmarked for the new couple, to which he had agreed with pleasure. The gift had been one of Milda’s embroidered hangings, depicting the sha’um which Thanasset had once ridden, and it had delighted Keddan.
From Yafnaar, I had gone to Omergol and hoisted a few with Grallen, the proprietor of the bar where I had unknowingly offended two Sharith, and found myself with a fight on my hands. Much later, those two men had brought me into Thagorn. Just now, one of them had gone to fetch Dharak, the Lieutenant.
During the few minutes that Keeshah and I stood there, I tried to ignore the heads bobbing up above the edge of the wall, and the whispers that ran along overhead.
They’re figuring out who I am and wondering why I walked into Thagorn last time, I speculated. I wonder if everybody here knows about the Ra’ira, or if Dharak has managed to keep it quiet. Well, I guess I’ll find out pretty soon, now …
The massive gate was swinging inward slowly. It opened to reveal Dharak, standing beside a rangy gray sha’um. He put his hand on the cat’s neck and they started toward me.
He’s walking out to meet me! I thought. Uh-oh, I don’t like the look of that. Dharak, please don’t …
“Markasset, son of the sons of Serkajon,” he began, in his rich and resonant voice, “be welcome in Thagorn as the new Captain of the Sharith.”
You did it! I groaned to myself, and closed my eyes for a moment. Now what do I do?
I knew what I couldn’t do. I couldn’t embarrass the old man by stamping my foot and shouting “no” out here in front of God and everybody. There had been a giant communal gasp from the Sharith who had gathered curiously around the gate. Dharak had pulled off the surprise of the century, and I could see, from the way his mouth was twitching at one corner, that he was enjoying the effect he had created. I couldn’t spoil it. I had to go along, at least for now.
It seemed eminently unfair to have this man, who had led the Sharith for most of his life, standing down out of respect for a newcomer, so I said: “Ride with me, Dharak.”
He smiled broadly. “It will be my pleasure, Captain.” He mounted his sha’um, brought him alongside Keeshah, and touched his cat’s jaw. “This is Doran,” he said.
I returned the introduction. Then, side by side, Dharak and I rode through the gates of Thagorn. We followed the main avenue of the city, which ran straight out from the gate between a long line of barracks buildings on the right and, atop a rise some distance away, the Hall on the left. The way led directly to the widest bridge across the river. Before we reached that bridge, we turned left toward the only family residence on this side of the river: a big, rambling house, traditionally the home of the Lieutenant and his family.
I had to struggle to keep my eyes forward in good military fashion. The exhilaration of riding with someone made me lightheaded, but full of strength. I was intensely aware of the motion of Keeshah’s body under me, of the rippling muscles of the sha’um beside me, of Dharak on his back. It was a fresh-air feeling, a sense of freedom and power. And of belonging.
I had known I wanted this, but I hadn’t suspected the depth of the need.
To belong, I reminded myself, as I dropped to the ground in front of Dharak’s house. I was trembling with reaction to the swelling pride my entry into Thagorn had stirred in me.
But not to lead. I’ll tell Dharak the truth, first chance I get.
Keeshah had been nervous, so close to a strange sha’um, but he had held his place at my request. As soon as he and Doran were free of their riders, they separated and faced each other, their nostrils distended, their tails fluffing slightly.
*Will you be all right?* I asked Keeshah.
He didn’t answer specifically, but he was radiating a don’t-bother-me-right-now attitude. I knew I couldn’t help him, so I resolved to mind my own business and let him do things his own way. After all, unless I was in danger, Keeshah never mixed into my relations with other people.
“Welcome back, my friend,” Dharak said to me. “You couldn’t have arrived at a better time. Come in the house. We have a lot to talk about.”
We certainly do, I agreed grimly as I followed him through the door. His wife, Shola, gave me a warm greeting and led us into a small room, where two places were set and a rich stew was steaming in the bowls. She excused herself from joining us, on the grounds of having eaten earlier. I caught a meaningful glance between her and Dharak before she left, and I figured that he had asked for privacy.
“I have heard, of course, that Thanasset was cleared,” Dharak said, after we had finished eating. He had explained to me, before I left last time, that the Sharith had a network of friends who provided Dharak with information about the “outside world”—via maufa, the fast-flying Gandalaran message birds, I presumed. “I’m glad of it. What are your plans now?”
“All I want, for the moment, is to rest here awhile and get to know you and your men better,” I said. Get it over with, I told myself. “Dharak, I’m not your Captain. I don’t want to be your Captain.”
“I saw as much in the look on your face today,” he admitted. “But I had good reasons for greeting you in that fashion, Markasset. The Sharith need a Captain right now. I managed to keep your identity to myself, but news of the Ra’ira’s loss has created a serious problem here. A faction of young men—led, I’m sorry to say, by my son, Thymas—is very close to breaking discipline and riding out after Gharlas.
“That would be a terrible mistake for three reasons. First, outsiders have an unflattering opinion of the Sharith already. I doubt that a group of headstrong yougsters—and their sha’um—would improve it any. Second, I would have no choice but to forbid their return.” His voice wave
red a little.
And one of those in exile would be your son, I thought.
“It would cost us a third of our Riders,” he said. He looked out of the window and sighed. “There were a thousand Riders when we settled here. Now there are less than a hundred.
“Last and most important,” he continued more briskly, “they have little chance of success, and every opportunity to cloud the trail you’ll be following.”
“I—I’m not going after Gharlas, either. Partly for the same reason you’ve just given. Zaddorn is working on it through his Peace and Security contacts. I figure that, if I go tramping into the middle of things, it will make finding Gharlas that much harder for him.”
The Lieutenant got up from his chair and walked over to a small window which overlooked the river. He stood there for a few seconds, then turned back to me.
I was struck, again, by the similarity between him and Thanasset. It wasn’t physical; Dharak had a thicker, stronger body and a startling shock of snow-white head fur. But the window gesture, and now the look of uncertainty …
“I wish I knew more about the customs of Serkajon’s house,” he said. “Has Thanasset—”
The door burst open at that moment, and Thymas stomped in. He had his father’s build, on a shorter and slimmer scale. He had pushed his sand-colored hat off his head to hang by its neckstring, and I could have sworn that his head fur, a little more yellow in tone than his father’s, was bristling.
“I just got back from my patrol,” he said to his father. “I heard what happened. How could you—” He caught sight of me, and whirled in my direction, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“You filth,” he spat at me. “You lied to us. You betrayed your own sha’um by riding others. And you betrayed a sacred vow by letting Gharlas get away!
“You’re a coward and a liar, Markasset! I do not accept you as my Captain!” He drew his sword. “Agree to leave Thagorn today, and never return, and I will spare your life.”
Ah, the perversity of human nature. Here I had just been ducking the Captaincy for all I was worth. Yet Thymas’s accusation that I was unfit for it made me madder than hell.
Before Dharak could move a muscle, I was on my feet and around the table. Thymas crouched back, ready for a fight, but I had enough control to know that I didn’t want that. The boy would be no real trouble for Markasset’s swordsmanship, but Thymas was so angry that I might have to hurt him to put him out of action.
“You will be lucky to get out of this room with your head still attached, if you don’t put that sword away right now!” I yelled. I took a step toward him; he backed up, still holding his sword at the ready. I had the offensive. He knew it, and didn’t like it.
“How dare you dishonor your father by baring your sword in his home?” I challenged him. “You are threatening your father’s guest.”
I pointed my finger at him for emphasis, and stepped forward again. He backed another step, and touched the wall with his heel. Dharak, who had been behind Thymas, had moved aside, and was watching us with concern.
“If you had come in here and asked for explanations, I’d have given them,” I growled. “I’d have told you that I had to go back to Raithskar to save my father’s life—would you have made a different choice? I’d have told you that Gharlas is going to Eddarta, and Zaddorn has people watching for him. I’d have told you that I had Keeshah’s permission to ride with Bareff and Liden.”
I saw his face register disbelief as I loomed over him. He placed the point of his sword against my chest, and I leaned into it until I could feel it pricking skin, and I knew he could feel my weight against his wrist.
“But since you have violated all the rules of common courtesy, I’m only going to give you one answer, plus a small warning, out of respect for Dharak.
“My name wasn’t Rikardon then,” I said, jabbing my finger at him, “but it is now. If you insist on fighting me, you’ll be facing Rika, the steel sword of Serkajon!”
I backed off. Thymas was angry, humiliated, undecided.
“I’m just about out of patience,” I said. “Do yourself a favor and get out of here.”
The boy looked from me to Dharak, who wasn’t offering him any support. Then he sheathed his sword. “If this weren’t my father’s house—” he muttered. Then he stormed out the door, and Dharak and I both sighed with relief.
“Do you see?” Dharak asked. “He is nearly uncontrollable.”
“I hope you see that I wouldn’t be much help in that department,” I told him. “It was sheer luck that he wasn’t just a little bit more angry. He had a perfect opportunity to kill me just now.”
“Thymas may, very well, be past saving,” Dharak said sadly. “But the others are not. They are restless and idealistic. They are concerned for the Ra’ira and want action.
“Well, the acquisition of a new Captain is action of a sort. Where they would defy me, they will accept your authority and remain here, content under your orders, at least for a while. By the time they get restless again, perhaps Zaddorn will have found the Ra’ira and there will be no more problem.”
I sat down at the table and drained the last of the glass of faen.
“Then you agree that Zaddorn can do it without my help?” I asked. “Before Thymas burst in, I thought you were unsure. Weren’t you going to ask me something?”
He smiled. “You have answered that question for me. If Thanasset gave you Serkajon’s sword—well, I accept your judgment of how best to return the Ra’ira to Raithskar.
“We have had word that Tarani will arrive in a seven-day. Let me arrange for a formal ceremony that day, presenting the Riders to you. We’ll have a banquet that evening, and Tarani will perform for us. It will be an occasion to remember, a respite from tension and disagreement. We could all use it.
“In the meantime, you can get to know us better, and have the relaxation you need. Afterward, you can go back to Raithskar, or anywhere you wish, and we will leave the recovery of the Ra’ira in your hands—and, through your choice, in Zaddorn’s.”
I thought about it while Dharak poured more faen from the ceramic pitcher that had been left on the table. The Lieutenant hadn’t brought up how silly he would look, if I turned him down after he had acknowledged me as the Captain in public.
He seems to want me only for a figurehead, I thought. I did lie to him that first time. He knew it, and he covered for me. I owe him for that. But this … something doesn’t feel right.
“What would happen at the ceremony?” I asked.
“I’d just say a few words to the assembled Sharith—everyone will be there, not just the Riders—and introduce you. From there, you can do what you wish.” He lifted his glass to me. “Health.”
“And wisdom,” I answered the toast automatically. “There won’t be an oath of allegiance, or anything?”
Dharak laughed, nearly choking on his drink. “Certainly there will be, Mar—I mean, Rikardon. Our allegiance to you. As to your reply, I’ve said that it’s up to you. This is, after all, the first time such a ceremony has been necessary—or possible. Write the rest of it yourself.”
Something was still bothering me. “Isn’t this deceptive, Dharak? I mean, letting your people believe I’ll get the Ra’ira back, when you know I have no plans in that direction at all? And binding them to me, but asking nothing from me?”
“My conscience is clear about this, my friend. Shall I tell you why?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
He leaned on the table and reached across it to put his hand on my wrist.
“We need no oath from you, Rikardon. You’re already part of us. It’s why you came back here. You felt it, yourself, as you rode in.”
I sure felt something, I admitted to myself. I’m feeling it now, a sense of … completeness. It scares me a little.
“I felt it about you, the first time we met,” Dharak continued. “Do you realize that it has been hundreds and hundreds of years since any man of Serkajon’s descent
set foot in Thagorn? And now it has happened in the wake of the Ra’ira falling into the possession of a madman. It is difficult not to see meaning in all of it. I believe that it is important, for you as well as for us, that we establish your position here.
“I know you think it’s a waste of time, and that you will never have occasion to exercise the rights of command you’ll be given. I even hope that you’re right, for all our sakes.”
“But you don’t think so, do you?” I asked him.
“No, I don’t.” He sighed. “I’m getting old, Rikardon. These changes in the world I’ve always known frighten me. I’ll admit that I want you formally named Captain as a precaution against a troubled future.”
Why, all he’s doing is buying insurance, I realized with a deep sense of relief. If all hell breaks loose because of this Ra’ira thing, he doesn’t want to be the only one holding the bag. Thymas won’t be any help. In fact, Thymas might be the one to set it off, if he goes through with his screwy plan about chasing down Gharlas.
If I agree to this, the harm Thymas can do will be reduced, because fewer men will follow him—according to Dharak’s line of thinking. If Gharlas does slip through Zaddorn’s net, reach Eddarta, and begin a war to re-establish the Kingdom with him at the head of it …
Sure, it would be a mess, and the Sharith would be the strongest weapon of opposition. Yet they’ve been sitting here in Thagorn, playing military games and living off “tribute” for so many generations, that attrition has cut them way down. They aren’t the weapon they were once. I can see why Dharak wouldn’t want the duty of leading them into battle.
So he’s setting me up, and I’m damned if I can get mad about it. Especially since he has admitted it, openly. And for one other reason—nothing of this scenario is ever going to happen. Zaddorn will find Gharlas, get the Ra’ira back, and I can help Dharak by just minding my own business.
Where’s the risk?
The Glass of Dyskornis Page 5
