Turning his head to look at Riss, he stopped smiling; she lay sprawled on the sand, limp and unmoving. He scrambled over to her, but Cafad pulled him back.
“Leave her alone,” he said. “She's only tranced. She'll come out of it when she's ready. Being in the presence of a ha'rethe can be a bit overwhelming. She'll be fine. I have to get some proper clothes and attend to my guests; go get our packs from the library and bring them back here, sit with her until she wakes up. The doors are open, and in any case I think you could probably open any door in this fortress if you wanted to.” His speech rattled faster than usual.
About to shake his head in denial of Scratha's last comment, Idisio remembered what the ha'rethe had said: You are ha'ra'ha; you can go anywhere you like.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “I could.”
The vision of his mother had made it all real. He was a ha'ra'ha. He had status of his own, almost as though he'd been born of a royal line, and nobody could take that away from him. He didn't even have to be afraid of Cafad Scratha's moods any longer.
The ha'rethe by the Wall had been right. Cafad wasn't going to be able to teach him what he needed to know past a certain point. The idea of working with a ha'rethe or another ha'ra'ha didn't scare Idisio any longer; it seemed perfectly logical and right.
Nobody could hurt him anymore. Not the bullies of Bright Bay, not Cafad Scratha, not even the king or the desert lords gathered outside; and when he went back north, nobody was going to lay a hand on him. He found himself grinning as he turned towards the door, and broke into an easy jog as he went to fetch the packs.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I should have killed you,” Chac said without heat. “When Scratha handed over his lands to the king, I suggested your name.”
Aleya nodded, unsurprised.
“I thought you were inexperienced enough to let me set you aside. Before we were halfway down the Horn, I knew you were stronger than I'd expected. The night I decided to arrange an accident, you caught Deiq's eye. That made harming you too dangerous. Then he followed us; I couldn't lay hand on you until he was out of the way. I started to lay plans for Water's End, but again, before I could act Sela and Gria were dumped on us, with Deiq's name attached. I had to get you away from anywhere he had influence.”
Alyea glanced over her shoulder. Deiq and Micru sat several yards behind them, relaxed but intent; Deiq seemed amused. He nodded to Alyea, and she turned her attention back to Chac.
The old man had followed her glance. “Of course he can hear me. He's ha'ra'ha. He can probably hear a bird fart at half a mile.”
Alyea heard a faint answering chuckle behind her. “Go on.”
“Lord Evkit wanted you dead for interfering with his plans. I bought myself time to negotiate by sending you away with Juric. Lord Evkit agreed to meet me at Scratha Fortress and allow me to put you through the Sun-Lord's blood trial. I had a trial in mind that you wouldn't have had a chance with.”
“What was it?” Alyea asked.
“I planned to put you up against a teyanin in unarmed combat, not to the death, but until third blood was drawn,” Chac said. “It's a test someone properly trained would have had a reasonable chance with, and it's traditional to have some form of combat in the trial.” He glanced over his shoulder at Micru.
“The requirement,” Micru said, “is that blood must be shed in this trial. That will be filled.”
He obviously had hearing as sharp as Deiq's; Chac hadn't raised his voice.
Chac shrugged and turned back to Alyea. “True enough. A supplicant who fails a trial puts themselves under the control of their testing Callen. The tester can do anything they like with the supplicant at that point. Lifelong servitude, if desired.”
“Nobody told me that!” Alyea said involuntarily.
Chac grinned unpleasantly. “No, I imagine there's a lot nobody told you. But it's true, although traditionally the Callen simply kill the supplicant. We don't like keeping slaves. Too burdensome. But I could have given you over to Evkit as a slave, and as slaves can't own slaves, ownership of Gria and Sela would have passed to me. I could have legally given them to Evkit as well. Nothing illegal involved.” He paused and stared into the distance.
“Except that Deiq stepped in,” Alyea said.
Chac nodded without looking at her. “He threw everything out of order when he put you through the other two trials first. And when the desert lords started arriving for the Conclave and my status was challenged, I lost all control of what was happening.” He shook his head. “Darden should have trusted me. If Lord Irrio hadn't interfered at the last moment, I still could have pulled it off.”
“And what would you have gotten out of it?” Alyea asked.
“They would have found my wife, and brought her to me,” Chac said, but Alyea sensed no love in the words. “I would have regained my honor and cleared my name in full by killing her.”
That surprised her; she stared at the old man, shocked by how calmly he'd said such a horrible thing.
“I thought you loved her,” she said.
“I did, and I do,” Chac said. “If she had stayed with me, I would have fully renounced my status as Callen and stayed north of the Horn the rest of my life. But she found out I was dathedain and chose to abandon me, though I'd never harmed her.” He shot a glare over his shoulder at Deiq. “When she left, I decided my own life was more important than a faithless woman's. I've been searching for her ever since.”
Alyea shook her head, unable to grasp how a man she'd known as an occasionally irascible but mostly gentle person could harbor such coldblooded thoughts.
“Deiq wasn't the one who named you as dathedain to your wife,” Micru said quietly.
Chac half-turned, his eyes widening. “You?”
Micru's implacable stare said more than words could.
“Why?”
“You can't just walk away from being a Callen and start a new life where nobody knows who you are,” Micru said. His face tightened. “If it were that easy, I would have done it myself long ago.”
The old man glared, his breath hissing through his teeth, for a few moments, then returned his attention to Alyea.
“I'm done talking,” he said. “I won't answer anything else. Get this over with.”
“You're right. It's time.”
“Yes,” Chacerly said with no visible regret or fear. “It's time.”
“No,” Deiq said, “it's not. It's too late.”
Alyea turned and stared at him, bewildered by the odd statement. “What are you talking about?”
“When you're on the land of a fully named and bound desert lord,” Deiq said, “any blood shed must be approved by that lord. Even a blood trial killing must have his blessing.”
“But there's no—” Alyea stopped, seeing the humorless grin spread across Deiq's face.
“Someone has gotten into the fortress, called the ha'rethe's attention, and bound themselves to this place,” Deiq said. “We're right up against the wall; further out I might not have noticed, but it's like ice water in my face at the moment. Can't you feel the difference in the air?”
Alyea looked up at the great stone walls behind them, then sniffed the air; it held the dusty scent of sand, rancid smoke from cookfires, and something else. She didn't have a name for it, but a richness tinged the air that hadn't been there before.
“I feel it,” Micru said, forehead crinkling a little. “Chacerly, did you give the key to someone?”
“No,” Chac said. He reached into a pouch at his waist and produced a thick silver band. “Here it is.” He proffered it to Alyea.
Alyea took the heavy ring from the old man and weighed it dubiously in one hand, studying the family crest etched on the widest part of the band.
“Put it on,” Chac suggested. “Left thumb.”
She received a nod of agreement from both Deiq and Micru. The ring slid onto her thumb and hung loose.
“I'll have to bind it up,” she said.
“I wouldn't worry about that,” said a new voice. All four scrambled to their feet and turned to meet the newcomer, who had approached so silently that even Deiq seemed honestly taken by surprise.
A moment of shocked silence hung, still as the motionless air around them.
Chac broke first, with an incredulous: “Lord Scratha?”
The man grinned, showing very white teeth in a dark face and deadly cold eyes above an eagle's nose.
“I'll take that ring back now, if you don't mind,” he said, holding out his hand.
Once the ring had been settled safely back on Scratha's hand and brief introductions made, the man focused a sharp stare on Alyea. With little prompting, she found herself explaining about the blood trials, which led to an explanation of how she'd wound up being named king's proxy in the first place, the flight of Pieas Sessin, and, somehow, the incident with Wian.
Scratha's face grew still on hearing Wian's name. His hard stare returned, and he looked at the old man beside her.
“You claim blood trial right to kill this man?” he said.
“I do,” Alyea said.
“Do you think he deserves death?”
She didn't hesitate, although her anger at Chac had vanished. “Yes.”
Scratha seemed to consider for a moment, then said, “As you are on my bound land, the trial falls under my jurisdiction. I have the right to override even a blood trial choice. I believe Pieas Sessin, if present, would be a more suitable choice. Do you agree?”
Deiq said, “That right hasn't been invoked since before you were born, Lord Scratha. Yes, it's a valid point in desert law, but as you're putting her up against a skilled fighter with no scruples, who certainly isn't going to sit still for her, I have to ask: are you just trying to get her out of the way?”
“No,” Scratha said evenly. “I believe Pieas needs to be called out for his crimes.”
“Why not Chacerly?” Deiq demanded. “He tried to have you ousted! And Pieas has done nothing to harm you directly.”
“On my own land,” Scratha said, the words clipped and tight, “on my bound land, I don't have to answer to anyone, s'e Deiq. Not even to you.”
Deiq squinted sharply, studying the Scratha lord as though both annoyed and puzzled, then shook his head and made a dismissive gesture with one hand. Alyea had a sudden sense of words passing her by without sound; a chill shiver tickled her spine as she remembered a disembodied voice, speaking in the darkness of the ishell without pause for breath.
More than the hidden language of bead-patterns seemed to be passing her by of late.
She moved a step forward; the motion brought everyone's attention back to her as she said, “Lord Scratha, I will gladly allow Pieas Sessin to step into Chacerly's place, if Micru will allow the switch; and if Chac regains his honor as he would have by completing this trial as planned.”
Deiq made a displeased sound, but Micru nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he studied Scratha.
“I advise against it,” Micru said, “but I'll allow the switch.”
Chac let out a long sigh. He and Micru locked stares for a moment; then the old man nodded slightly and lowered his gaze submissively. Alyea's skin prickled, and she looked away, biting her lower lip and wondering if she had just made a dreadful mistake. Deiq's dark, sour stare did nothing to help her nerves.
“Let's go find out if Pieas is here,” Lord Scratha said.
“We will wait here,” Micru said, still staring at Chac. “Bring him to us when and if you find him. If you do not find him, Chacerly remains the chosen of this trial.”
Scratha nodded curtly and strode away, Alyea and Deiq trailing behind.
“Big damn mistake,” Deiq muttered as they walked.
“Why?” she said through her teeth.
He shook his head without answering.
“If all you're going to do is moan empty warnings, then shut up,” she said tartly, and increased her pace.
As they rounded the corner of the fortress and approached the camp, heads turned and people began to stand up. By the time the group reached the edge of the sun-tent, a wide path appeared through the crowd, as if nobody wanted to be in their way.
Alyea's whole body ached with the desire for food and sleep. Her stomach felt queasy and her hands shook; she didn't feel ready to face a child wielding a stick, let alone Pieas Sessin.
Scratha moved to the center of the sun tent and stopped, turning in place to scan the crowd with his dark, grim stare.
“I'm lord of this fortress and guardian of these lands,” he said, his voice carrying, without apparent effort, to the furthest listener. “I called this Conclave. Are there nine other full lords here?”
“No,” Lord Irrio said, stepping forward. “Myself, Lords Faer, Evkit, Salo, and Rest are present. Lords Halin and Obis of the eastern coast are within an hour's journey, and a bird just came in with word that Lords Azaniari and Rowe are on their way as well.”
Scratha let out a soft grunt, as though he'd just been kicked in the stomach. “Lord Azaniari?”
Lord Irrio smiled without humor. “She didn't tell you, Scratha? Goodness, imagine her keeping secrets from her darling. The sands may just swallow us all.”
“I certainly wouldn't grieve if it swallowed you,” Scratha said, recovering his composure. “You're as much an ass as you've ever been, Irrio.”
“And you're just as simple-minded,” Irrio shot back. “What brought you back? We thought you were safely out of the way.”
“I wonder how much of that was your doing,” Scratha said, and a smoldering danger flared in his eyes. “Take my fortress from me, would you? Not while I have breath to fight it with!“
”That wouldn't have been a problem,“ Irrio snapped, “if the boys hadn't lost their nerve.”
“The boys?” Scratha said, his eyes narrowing.
Lord Irrio pursed his lips and looked away loftily.
Lord Faer pushed his way to the front of the gathered crowd, his plump face damp with sweat and pale with excitement. “Lord Scratha!”
Scratha's stern expression softened for a moment. He looked at the stout lord almost affectionately.
“Lord Faer,” he said. “Greetings, and welcome to my home. I'm glad to see you finally took up my invitation to visit.”
Lord Faer beamed, then sobered and looked worried again. “There's a challenge to your status, Scratha,” he said. “You'll need to settle it with Lord Evkit of the teyanain.”
Scratha's expression changed with astonishing speed: from amiably welcoming to taut and murderous.
“Where is he?” Scratha said through his teeth. “I'll gladly give him an answer he's been owed for some years now.”
“Here,” a voice said, and the crowd parted again to let the small, dark teyanin lord through.
The two lords faced each other. Scratha's glare sent shivers up Alyea's back, but Evkit seemed unruffled.
“You challenge my status?” Scratha said.
“No,” Evkit said. “Not now. Before, yes. Now, you are bound. Challenge withdrawn.” He shrugged.
“Then I'll challenge you,” Scratha said, “on the matter of my family's death.”
Evkit shook his head. “No. We not kill.”
“You didn't have to, you three-headed, snake-mouthed son of a dasta whore!” Scratha roared. He emanated a terrifying rage; the crowd around them hastily moved back a few more steps, clearing a wider circle around the two men. “You led them to my family! You told them where to go and when to strike, and you gave them the means to do it! There's blood on your hands, Evkit, and by all the gods as witness, I'll bathe in your Family's blood before I'm done with the retribution for it!”
“Good gods,” someone muttered. “He's declaring blood feud with the teyanain? He is insane!”
“Not I,” Evkit insisted, seeming unaffected by the threatening words. “I say nothing.”
“Someone did,” Scratha said grimly, “and that person had to be teyanain. Your family were the firs
t guardians of the secret ways; your marks are all over the central eastern chamber. Three of the passages are freshly labeled in the common northern tongue, and all three have the slant-mark that only the teyanain use.” He paused, his gaze locked on the small man, then added, slowly, “They read as follows: 'Wall,' 'Bright Bay,' and 'Scratha.'”
As he spoke, more than one of the desert lords made distressed noises. Alyea didn't look to see who protested; her attention stayed riveted on the two men arguing.
Evkit's eyes widened.
“You could not have come through there!” he said, and his voice rose, distinctly high and shaken. “You do not have permission! You are lying!”
Secrets of the Sands Page 43
