by Carol Berg
Before I could do anything so drastic, my clearing vision noted the gleaming white-and-gold badges on the horsemen's mail shirts—Ven'Dar's men. The leader of the party rode toward the trapped Zhid. In one hand he held a sword that shone brightly, casting a green glow on his silver mail and helm. The weapon was wreathed with enchantment that twisted my own bones though it was nowhere near me. "Release the princess, arrigh scheide ," said the warrior, "or you'll suffer such torments as even a flesh-eater cannot imagine."
"You do not know your peril, Dar'Nethi pig. Zhev'Na will rise, and we will have this one as we will have you all." One of the Zhid's arms was wrapped about D'Sanya's body, holding her on his shoulder. His other arm he held behind his back, fist clenched. Enchantment swelled from it. "She is poison."
I crept slowly toward the Zhid. All the villain's attention was on his growing enchantment and the Dar'Nethi rider. The Dar'Nethi nudged his mount a few steps closer, then slipped easily from the saddle. As he approached the Zhid, he twirled his blade in the air, leaving little green circles of light to tease the eye. "Zhid are the world's poison, flesh-eater. We've almost done with you. Think you to give me a fight? Put the Lady aside and use both hands, and even so, I'll stick this blade between your Zhid eyes."
When the Zhid shoved his clenched fist into the air, I knew we were out of time. Forced to choose between his fist and D'Sanya, I lunged forward and gripped his wrist, wrapping my body around his forearm. The Lady could better survive a fall to the pavement than whatever deviltry the Zhid had built. An explosion slammed into my gut. Fighting for breath, I held on and felt the Zhid's arm crack.
Though a violent tug threatened to pull the squirming Zhid from my grasp, I refused to release him. We staggered on the sloping pavement when the tension was released. A second explosion in my gut propelled me backward, smashing my back into the brick wall. Feeling my grip slacken and my senses waver as we slumped toward the ground, I flung one arm around the Zhid's throat, rolled forward, and trapped his writhing body under mine, squeezing. After a while, he lay still … as did I for some indeterminate time. . . .
Firm footsteps paused behind me. Moved around my head. Mail chinked and boots creaked, and a body's mass settled close to my face. A firm warm finger felt the vein in my neck.
My jaw was jammed into the hard, uneven pavement. I still couldn't move. Could see only blue-edged blurs. Every bone, muscle, and hair ached, and a small boulder or perhaps . . . someone's head . . . pressed into my breastbone. "The Lady," I mumbled awkwardly.
"She's safe."
The voice was familiar. Through a milky haze, I spied a green gleam from a sheathed sword. The swordsman. But more familiar than that . . .
"My men have escorted her to the palace. A few scrapes and bruises and a wrenched shoulder; I had to pull her away a bit forcefully. And she's already shaking off the fright. Prince Ven'Dar will see to her." He was cool. Polite. "I've sent for a Healer. Can I move you? Or perhaps I can help until she arrives."
I closed my eyes and considered the state of my health. Wriggled my hands and feet, stretched my neck a bit, and started drawing my knees up underneath me as well as I could with a body crumpled under me. "I think I'm all right. Bruised"—my belly felt as if one of the brick walls had been dropped on it—"but not bleeding."
He offered me his hand, the back of it the color of good earth, the palm lighter. Je'Reint.
I accepted his help, as I was tired of the paving stones digging into my face and Zhid bones poking everywhere else. And I wasn't sure I could get up on my own.
We stood alone in the center of the sloping lane. Two men hefted the bodies of dead Zhid onto horses. A man stood guard at either end of the lane, preventing anyone from happening across the scene. Je'Reint slung his helm on his saddle and watched as I confirmed to my amazement that the blasts of power from the Zhid had not even broken my skin.
"We'd ridden out to escort you into the city," he said, shoving his damp, matted hair out of his eyes. It hung almost to his shoulders. "After this week's raids, the prince was concerned about the Lady traveling with so little protection. But obviously we weren't watching the right roads. Who would have expected you to take back alleys?"
"Someone did." Someone had directed us to this very lane. "The Lady's consiliar . . . how is he?"
"A little rough—a stab wound to his back—but he'll live. Your horse seems to have trampled his assailant at a critical moment. The consiliar was fit enough to ride and chose to remain with the Lady."
Nothing conclusive about Na'Cyd, who once was Zhid. I clucked to summon Stormcloud, who stood fidgeting and blowing alongside Je'Reint's mount. "So how did you find us?"
"We were right on your heels. A young woman witnessed the initial attack and rode for help. Said she had followed the Lady here from Gaelie and insisted that Prince Ven'Dar be notified. Persistent enough to see it done. I didn't get her name." A good thing Je'Reint's eyes were not knives. His examination would have flayed me. "She said the Lady's 'lover' traveled with her."
Sefaro's daughter. That would take some thinking about when I had time and sense to do it.
Happy to have something to hold on to, I fondled Stormcloud's ears and stroked his neck. He was still quivering. So was I, but I didn't want Je'Reint to notice. Five years since I had killed a man with my bare hands. Such an elemental thing. Power for the taking.
"Well, if you ever introduce me to the young woman, I'll have to thank her. And I'll thank the prince for sending you to watch over—"
"Here, my lord. We've found something with one of the bodies." One of Je'Reint's men tossed him a small leather bag. As the soldier returned to his fellows, Je'Reint dumped the contents into one hand: four silver rings, a bracelet made of entwined strands of gold and silver, and a long silver neck-chain with a plain circle pendant.
"Those belong to the Lady," I said, as I moved slowly to Stormcloud's middle, my belly protesting at the thought of getting up on his back.
Je'Reint lifted a hand to stay me. "While we're here alone, I need to speak with you."
Needed to, perhaps, though he definitely did not want to. But I welcomed a longer time to recover. I laid my forehead on the saddle for a moment while a wave of dizziness passed. "Go ahead."
Piece by piece he dropped D'Sanya's jewelry into the leather bag. "Three days ago thirty to forty Zhid attacked a settlement and a supply caravan. Witnesses swear that the Zhid attacked in formation. Not a ragtag few after the same prize, not undisciplined warriors joined together for a raiding party only to kill each other over the spoils, but small marshaled bands that hit swiftly, took only adult male prisoners, and retreated. How is that possible?"
"Marshaled . . ." Organized Zhid acting under tactical command. But the Zhid had never devised their own tactics in Zhev'Na. Every direction, every initiative, every plan had come from the Lords.
I glanced up at Je'Reint, sure he must be mistaken. But his demeanor stated that he was not merely purveying rumor.
"In all the years we fought the Lords, we were never able to extract strategic or tactical information from captive Zhid," he said. "No mind-bending or thought-reading or arcane investigation revealed anything of how orders were passed. Ever. We couldn't even distinguish between commanders and the lowest warriors." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You were one of them. They trained you to command their warriors. How did you do it?"
I had trained as a commander for months, and yes, eventually the Zhid had obeyed my voice commands with the same ferocious, terror-laced loyalty they yielded to all their brutal leaders. But I had never learned the final piece—how the Lords deployed so many thousands so seamlessly. "I don't know. I never commanded in the field. Only in training."
"Has someone else learned how to do it? How could they? Do you believe—? Are the Lords truly dead? We must know what enemy we fight. We've heard rumors of thousands of Zhid. If you are what you claim, then you must tell what you know."
"I told you I don't know anything."
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A blatant lie. As I had told my father, I did know the information Je'Reint wanted. Or rather, I could know it, if I chose—as I could know everything the Lords had known, everything they had done, every depravity and despicable plot that three beings of corruption had been able to devise over a hundred lifetimes. Even the truth of the Lady. The sum of their memories lived inside of me like another organ, another stomach or heart, only rotted and loathsome.
I hated that it was so. Feared it, as I feared nothing else in my life. To touch their memories was to use that rotted heart to pump poison into my veins, weakening the barriers between the person I wanted to be and the vile creature of power I had once been. I could not afford to pity these Dar'Nethi blithely going about their summer-evening entertainments, or to regret the families who had moved out into the Wastes believing their prince and their small bands of warriors could root out these few Zhid stragglers, because I dared not uncover those memories. Certainly not with the smell of blood on me. Not with the feel of snapping necks still vibrating in my fingers. "I can't help you."
"Or is it that you won't?" He moved in close, where I could feel his breath on my cheek and smell his sweat and leather. ."What is your purpose here? To unmask the Lady? You've gone far beyond that. 'Her lover,' this woman said. Does the prince, your father, know how shamefully you use a kind and generous heart?"
Shoving past the big Dar'Nethi, I gripped the saddle rim and Stormcloud's mane and swung into the saddle, anger muting my body's complaints. "You chose to remain ignorant about this matter. Master Je'Reint, and have clearly been successful. I don't have to tell you anything."
"Does your father know that you kill to protect her . . . and how you kill? And is that more evidence of your suspicions or a sign of your good heart or is there some other method in your deeds? Tell me why these Zhid magics left you walking, young Lord, even though you put on this impressive show of killing. Did you not find that strange?"
I clucked to Stormcloud and rode down the lane and through the thinning crowds of the grand commard to the palace gates. The enjoyments of the evening had evidently continued unabated, only the late hour sending the people of Avonar home to their beds, unaware that five Zhid had attacked their princess a hundred paces from their city's heart.
My fury at Je'Reint's self-righteous accusations had not robbed me of simple reason. The dangers that concerned him were real, and his last point was well taken. The Zhid enchantments were not designed to kill. Why? Je'Reint believed the Zhid wanted to protect me . But evidence indicated that D'Sanya had slain two Zhid before wandering into the Gardeners' camp. She swore she could not remember how that had occurred. It seemed clear that these Zhid tonight wanted to take D'Sanya alive. Take her back.
"I've come to see the Lady D'Sanya," I said to the palace-gate guards. "Please tell her. Or, if she is asleep, please inform Prince Ven'Dar that the Lady's traveling companion begs entry." I swayed in the saddle.
I hadn't needed to send a message. She was at the gate and in my arms before the guards could choose which messenger to send. But as I buried my face in her hair and blessed every kindly spirit that she was unharmed, I could not help but wonder what use the Zhid had for her. I shivered, and the world still felt wrong.
Chapter 13
Though bone-weary from the night's events, I was unable to rest in Ven'Dar's palaee. Turbulent images of broken bodies, crowded commards, and D'Sanya swooping down on me with empty eyes and a knife in her hand plagued the dark hours. Yet the demands of the body will always win out. About the time daylight crept through the slot windows, I blinked, and suddenly it was hot mid-morning. A tense serving man stood over my head, offering to dispose of the filthy clothing heaped on the floor beside the bed and show me to the guests' bathing room. The Lady D'Sanya was asking after me . . . urgently.
Despite the welcome luxury of a full bathing pool of gloriously hot water, I expended little time before hurrying along the corridor to join D'Sanya. Na'Cyd was standing in the passage outside D'Sanya's door, one bandaged arm sashed to his chest.
"I need to speak with you for a moment, sir," he said. "It's very important."
"Later, Na'Cyd. The Lady is waiting." We had been too tired to talk the previous night. I needed to sort out this strange business: why they wanted her, why she hadn't struck them down with the devastating power she held in her fingertips.
"But sir …"
I pretended I hadn't heard him and pushed open the door.
She sat at a small table where cold roasted meat, hot bread, and an array of fruit had been laid out. "Stop," she said, as soon as I stepped through the door.
Mystified, I obeyed. She jumped to her feet and walked around me, eyeing the palace provision of dark green shirt and tan jacket and breeches.
"I approve," she said at last, tweaking the high neck of my shirt. "I think perhaps Prince Ven'Dar's stewards have a better eye for becoming fashion than you do. You should hire the one who selected these to be your manservant."
"You look lovely, Lady … as always." Breathtaking, in fact. A long tunic of deep, rusty red draped down below her knees over loose riding trousers, emphasizing her graceful height. The color set off her light hair and flushed complexion.
She laughed and drew me to the table. "Be quick about your eating. I breakfasted hours ago. I've already met with Prince Ven'Dar and assured him that I am nowhere near ready to relieve him of his office. He wanted to know everything about last night, of course." The flush in her cheeks faded at this last.
I sat in the chair next to her and drew it up close. "Lady, did they . . . your abductors . . . did they say anything that might tell us—?"
She laid a gold-ringed finger on my mouth. "No more of it. Speak of something else." Her voice wavered slightly. She shoved a bowl of plums in front of me.
"For now," I said. "But we must talk about it sometime."
And so we talked nonsense as she watched me eat, telling innocent stories . . . until with no warning she burst out, "Oh, holy Vasrin," jumped up from her chair, and ran out of the room.
I threw down my spoon and table knife and hurried after her down a long portrait gallery, trying to think what in the nonsensical conversation about childhood disobedience could have raised her temper. I'd told her of pouring ink on my tutors' papers and putting lamp oil in their tea to get rid of them, not mentioning that I'd hoped to prevent their learning of my "evil" talent for sorcery.
She stopped in a cloistered courtyard beside a bubbling fountain, one hand pressed over her mouth, the other over her heart. Slowing my steps, I clasped my hands behind my back. I could not breakfast in gloves. "What is it, D'Sanya? Did I say something wrong? Offend you? Please, tell me."
"How could my valiant rescuer offend me?" D'Sanya stifled a sob and hugged her arms, her attempt at a smile failing. "Je'Reint told me what you did. To think you could have been killed . . . blasted to bits . . . destroyed by Zhid magic. For me. As you were telling your story, I thought of how lonely you must have been as a child, yet you have brought me such joy. These past few weeks have been the happiest I've ever known, and I've seen you happy, too, and I could not bear to look at you and imagine …"
I drew her close and kissed away her tears, ignoring the serving woman who passed by us gawking. "Then don't imagine it. I'm quite undamaged. As are you. And you see, I feel so stupid … so careless . . . taking you on the road with no protection. Knowing that Zhid were raiding. Inexcusable . . ."
And everything I said was true. Gods, where had my head been lost? Even with this creeping sense of disorder warning me, I had been unforgivably careless.
"You are my protector, now and—" She pulled loose and whipped around, leaving me standing behind her.
But it was only Na'Cyd who had entered the courtyard and bowed. "Excuse my intrusion, my lady, but you left orders for me to find you as soon as the gentleman was finished with breakfast."
"Of course, Na'Cyd. How are you this morning?"
"Mending well, so the He
alers say. This"—he lifted the elbow of his bound arm—"is merely to support the repaired muscle for a day or two until nature strengthens it further."
"I'm delighted to hear it. Prince Ven'Dar has recommended, and I have agreed, that I will journey to Maroth through a portal. If you would arrange for our horses to get there with us . . ."
"Of course, my lady. Is there anything else?"
"The prince will summon you in an hour."
The consiliar did not leave, but bowed and watched as D'Sanya took my arm and drew me back the way we'd come. His expression, as always, was inscrutable. Perhaps a little darker than usual on this morning. Or perhaps that was my own mood.
D'Sanya pulled my arm closer as if to focus my attention. "Now you've soothed my silly megrims, I've not forgotten my promised adventure. Alas, our time is constrained by this portal business and Prince Ven'Dar insisting that he do the portal-working himself. So we won't have time to stay long. But what use to keep company with D'Arnath's daughter, if one reaps no wonder from it? Any Nimrolan maiden might do as well!"
"No other, Lady. No other."
Beaming, she led me quickly through the palace, distinguishing the new-built parts from the parts she remembered, and telling how the use or furnishing of one place had differed in the past, or what marvelous events had occurred there.
"Down that passage is the chamber with cracked walls from the time D'Alleyn sealed it, filled it with water and honey, and spent twenty days freezing it, sure he could make the largest sweet ice anyone could imagine." D'Sanya giggled as she pointed into a low, narrow passage where a single yellow lamp brightened as we stopped and peered inside, and then dimmed as we started down a steep staircase that led into the core of the fortress. "The three of us would roll ourselves in layers of rugs and slide down this stair … it's the longest in the palace. But D'Leon broke his arm on it one day, and Papa forbade it after. We've only a little farther to go. Can you guess where I'm taking you? So few have ever seen it."
