by Carol Berg
All of the Preceptors looked startled when they saw me. But two of the astonished faces registered another emotion as well-distress, quickly suppressed. One of the two-Gar‘Dena’s-I expected, and the other… the other I most assuredly did not. I did not trust myself even to think the name, for if what I glimpsed was truth, then the implications were profound and dangerous.
“Oh, my lady-” began Gar’Dena.
“Master Gar-”
“Be silent in my presence, traitors!” spat Gerick. He whirled from me to the giant Dar’Nethi. “How dare you speak when you have so violated my trust? My first act as Heir of D’Arnath will be to remove you from this Preceptorate. I cannot trust anyone.” And then he glared at me in accusation. “No one… no one is who they seem. Everyone lies.”
Ustele, so bent and weathered that he looked like the ancient trees that clung to the windswept ridges of the Dorian Wall, glanced about the room anxiously. “Are you saying this woman has tried to harm you, Your Grace? With Gar’Dena’s connivance?”
“We know nothing of this,” said Ce’Aret, frowning. “We understood that your mother was caring for you all these months.”
Y’Dan nodded, puzzled.
“Once we’re done here today, you may take Preceptor Gar’Dena and his spy with you back to Avonar,” said Gerick. “I charge you particularly, Master Exeget. Question them and dispose of them as you wish.”
“But my lord, she is your mother,” said Ce’Aret. “What harm-?”
“She is nothing to me! If she wanted honorable concourse, she would have presented herself to me in an honorable manner… told me the truth…”
Exeget bowed. “This is shocking news, Your Grace. Was the woman acting alone?”
Gerick turned his back to them. “Her conspirators are dead. I had them killed. All discovered. All dead.”
Take me back to Avonar… conspirators… I didn’t know what to say. In an instant, everything was uncertain. But my eye was on the Preceptor I had noted before. There it was again. Sorrow… so brief. Devastation. He had waited for over a year and had brought with him whatever glimmer of hope he and Gar’Dena had been able to maintain. But they didn’t need to see the gold mask to know we had failed.
“My lord,” said Madyalar, soothing. “Let us proceed with our business so we may return to Avonar and give your people the glorious news of their new hope. We have been without an Heir for too long.” She urged her colleagues forward. “Come, you old fossils. The young Prince has come of age. He has been proved.”
Why didn’t they see? Why didn’t they stop? I needed to warn them, yet something-enchantment, uncertainty, caution?-kept me silent. Something else was happening here. I watched and waited.
Exeget motioned to the others to form a half-circle, and in his pale, manicured hand he held a small round box made of gold. He removed its lid and stared at its contents. “Silestia,” he said. “It grows in only one spot on the highest slopes of the Mountains of Light. The white flowers bloom only on Midsummer’s Day, and it is said their fragrance fills the air for a league in any direction. From each flower we can extract only a single drop of oil. So rare and precious is it that this tiny portion I carry is the product of twelve years of gathering, since the last was used for young D’Natheil. To think-”
“We agreed we would perform no elaborate ritual,” snapped Madyalar. “Since this is a private ceremony, there is no need.”
Exeget looked up. “Is that your wish, my lord?”
Gerick nodded, but seemed scarcely to be paying attention. He stood staring at me, his arms wrapped tight about his stomach as if he were going to be sick.
“So be it,” said Exeget. “The heart of the rite is, of course, quite brief. In the mundane world, the head of the ruler is anointed, and as the head rules the body, so does the king rule his subjects. But it is the hands of D’Arnath’s Heir that are anointed, for the hands serve the body, supply its sustenance, defend it, build up the works of beauty that its soul creates. So does the Heir serve his people, sustain them, defend them, and exemplify and encourage the beauty they create. We do not know you, young Prince, yet we must entrust you with this responsibility. Some among us say we should wait and judge your worthiness, to learn of your protectors and your schooling to be sure you are the Prince we believe. But I am the head of the Preceptorate, and I say we know enough.”
Exeget dipped his finger into the gold case. Madyalar, Ce’Aret, Ustele, and Y’Dan knelt before Gerick. Gar’Dena had turned his broad back, sheathed in red satin, to all of us, his shoulders quivering. I believed he was weeping. But tears would do no good. Gar’Dena should be crying out a warning. Madyalar and the others didn’t understand the truth. Why was he silent?
Exeget reached for Gerick’s extended hand. “Great Vasrin, Creator and Shaper of the universe, stand witness…”
I couldn’t believe he was going to go through with it. Exeget surely knew the identity of Gerick’s “protectors,” but I no longer believed he was a traitor. Exeget’s face had blanched along with Gar’Dena’s when he saw me revealed, and Exeget’s expression had shown defeat when he heard my allies were dead. He could not allow Gerick to become the anointed Heir. Madness and frustration boiled in my heart… until Exeget glanced at me… and I knew… Earth and sky! They were going to kill him.
“Exeget, do not!” As if my own voice had burst forth in an unaccustomed timbre, a shout rang out, echoing on stone walls and dark columns and glass floor hidden behind this seeming of a room. Deep and commanding, that voice pierced my cold heart like a lance of fire. “Neither anointing him nor assassinating him accomplishes any purpose whatsoever-not while I live free.”
A man appeared at one end of the room as if he had parted the plastered walls and stepped through. Tall and lean, his sun-darkened skin ridged with scars, he wore the collar, gray tunic, and cropped hair of a slave and the face of D’Natheil. One glance told me everything necessary. Recognition, completion, understanding… he was Karon my beloved. He was whole. I clasped his unspoken greeting as a starving child holds her bread.
Exeget lowered his hand and bowed to his prince, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile, transforming… illuminating his proud face. “Never have I been so happy to see a failed pupil, my lord.”
Gar’Dena whirled about with speed and agility unexpected for one of his girth. “My good lord!”
“V’Saro,” whispered Gerick, staring at Karon. “They said my servants were dead. I commanded it… before I listened to you… before I knew…”
The remaining Preceptors looked from Exeget to Karon to Gerick, bewildered… except for Madyalar who stepped protectively toward Gerick. Now I saw the puzzle solving itself.
“What treachery is this?” boomed the voice of Ziddari from every direction at once, echoing through the light and shadows, causing the floor to shudder, the homely room to seem fragile and false, and joy, relief, and hope of no more durance than dew in the desert. “How comes this slave here?”
“The anointing must proceed,” said the voice of the woman, Notole. “Why do you pause in this most important duty? Continue.”
“Did you not hear, mighty Lords?” said Exeget, closing the lid of the gold case with a snap. “Anointing this boy accomplishes nothing. You may bathe him in the oil of silestia, but it will gain him no power. The anointed Heir of D’Arnath yet lives in Gondai, in full possession of his power, and before you can make an Heir of your own, you must deal with him.”
“D’Natheil is decaying in his grave,” shouted Parven. “No impostor will delay our triumph.” The air grew heavy with anger… with danger… The lamplight dimmed.
“I would recommend that you get back through the portal, good Preceptors,” said Karon, waving Y’Dan and the two old ones toward Gar’Dena and Exeget. He approached Gerick slowly, locking our son’s empty face in his gaze while he called over his shoulder. “Can you hold the way long enough to get all of us out, Master Exeget?”
“You will have t
o hurry, my lord. A moment’s earlier arrival and I would have been able to serve you better.” Exeget’s puffy face had crumpled into a gray ruin, as if time had leaped forward fifty years. But the Preceptor raised his clenched fists and closed his eyes. The rectangular doorway appeared in the shivering air. “Ce’Aret, Ustele, hurry,” he said, gasping. “Y’Dan, Gar’Dena my brother…”
Gar’Dena shoved the Preceptors through the portal one by one. “My lady!” he called, gesturing for me to come. But I could not go. Not yet.
Karon gazed down at Gerick. “You must come with us.”
“Why? So you can execute me?”
“To set you free. You don’t belong here.”
“You’re wrong.” And Gerick let his false image dissolve and with it the walls and the hearth and the trappings of ordinary life. He stood in the stark, black hall of the Lords, his truth revealed, his diamond eyes glittering in the darkness. “There is no going back, even if I wanted. This is exactly where I belong.”
Karon did not flinch or falter. “It doesn’t matter. Not even this. Nothing… nothing… is irrevocable. I, of all men, can bear witness to that. Come with us who care for you.”
“I’ve freed the woman,” said Gerick, folding his arms across his breast. “Take her away quickly or I’ll end up killing you both.” Then he turned his back on us and walked slowly toward the dais where the black thrones sat vacant.
From the opposite end of the hall where a tall, wide doorway broke the line of the colonnade, running footsteps entered the vast chamber. “My lord,” cried a familiar voice, echoing in the empty vastness. “Three Zhid warriors right behind me!” A youth wearing Drudge’s garb burst through the gaping door, his arms laden with belts and scabbards bristling with swords and knives. He sped across the black, mirrored floor into the light, shooting me a cheerful grin. “We’ve come to rescue you.”
Paulo dumped his bundle of armaments on the floor beside Karon. “I come by these from the guards’ stores. Thought you might have need.”
Karon wrenched his gaze from Gerick’s back and smiled at Paulo. “You are irreplaceable, my friend.” Dragging a sword and a knife from the tangle, he took up a position between the door Paulo had just entered and the portal where Gar’Dena was disappearing into the council chamber.
“Does the young master have a sword on him-or might he want this one?” Paulo called after Karon, pulling a blade from the pile and gesturing at Gerick’s back.
“I don’t think he needs one. You and Seri, get through the portal. I’ll wait for Gerick.” His gaze embraced me, and he waved his sword toward the enchanted doorway. “Go. I’ll bring him. I promise.”
But before I could convince myself to leave, a nauseating wave of dark power pulsed through the vast chamber. With a thunderous boom, the portal vanished. Exeget cried out and slumped to the floor. The little gold case of silestia fell out of his hand, clattering across the dark surface. At the same time, three Zhid warriors burst from the far end of the room, swords drawn and Karon stepped forward to meet them.
While Paulo, hands on his waist, looked uncertainly from Karon to Gerick and back again, I ran to the fallen sorcerer. “Can I help you, Preceptor?” I asked, searching for some wound or hurt to ease. Sitting with his head drooped between his knees, he was bleeding from his mouth and nose, and wheezing like unoiled bellows.
“Too late.” After carefully wiping his fingers on his robe, he held up his right hand. One of his fingers was black. “Unfortunate timing… for me, but fortunate for the Prince and the boy. At least the Lords will have nothing left of me to examine should they triumph in the end.”
“You were the one who told me to be silent and not to be afraid.”
Even in his mortal distress, the sorcerer managed a sly half-smile. “Dassine said you were the key to everything. May you find strength to finish it. We owe you”-he coughed and fought for breath, flailing his hand until he caught my own in an iron grip-“trust you… if all fails… you must finish… for the worlds…”
“Master, what do you want me to do?” I said. From behind me came shouts and the clash of steel.
Exeget’s head dropped again as he fought for every painful breath. He looked to be beyond hearing. When his cold hand slipped from mine, a small gold canister lay in my palm, identical to the canister that had fallen out of his hand when the portal collapsed-the one that still lay beside my foot.
Exeget began choking. I slipped the gold case he’d given me into my pocket and rolled him to his side. A stream of bloody spittle dribbled from his mouth… his lips black… and his fingernails… the one finger wholly black… The silestia had been poisoned, designed to slay Gerick before he could become the Destroyer. The case on the floor was the one he had used. Therefore the case in my pocket must contain the uncontaminated oil of silestia.
A shadow fell over me, and I looked up to see Madyalar staring down at the Exeget. The Preceptor vomited up blood and lay still.
“He needs help,” I said.
“I would as soon nurse a snake. The fool looks dead already. All I want from him is the silestia-” She wandered away, scuffing her foot on the floor, seeking the gold case.
“Plotting until the end,” I whispered to the pale, still face. “If you can hear me, know that I understand your sacrifice. Gods have mercy… I will see it done.” Quickly, carefully, making sure that Madyalar could not see, I switched the two, placing the case with the poisoned ointment in Exeget’s pocket and the case with the real oil on the floor as if it had rolled out of his hand. Then I backed away from him, not checking to see if he yet lived, not daring to think of what I had just done. Gerick could not be anointed. If we could not save him… if Karon died and Gerick chose to be a Lord and the anointed Heir…
Only moments later, Madyalar crowed in triumph as she found the two cases. The one that she found on the floor, she named as the poison that had killed Exeget and threw it, spinning and clattering, across the floor. The one that she found hidden in Exeget’s pocket-the poison-she dropped into her own. I had given little consideration to gods since the day Karon burned, but on this day I needed every aid the universe could provide. Good Vasrin, holy Annadis, mighty Jerrat, if you can hear the cries of an unbeliever, let Karon prevail…
One of the Zhid lay dead on the floor, but Karon’s battle with the other two was growing desperate. As one engaged him, the other circled and attacked from a different direction. Relentlessly. Their swords rang and blazed with sparks when they struck the floor or one of the black pillars as Karon dodged in and out of them seeking a bit of shelter. And, of course, the battle was being fought with more than swords. Karon’s every stroke split the advancing darkness, every parry pushed back the night as if it was yet a third enemy that pursued him. The air was so filled with enchantments that it crackled. My hair floated outward from my head, and my skin was flushed and tingling. Then, in an explosion of green fire, Karon’s blade snapped.
“We’ve got to help him, Paulo.” I had felt him come up behind me.
“There is no help for him.”
I jumped up and whirled about. Gerick, not Paulo, stood behind me, fists clenched at his side, watching the battle with his diamond eyes. Paulo had dragged another sword from the pile of weapons and was running toward Karon. “My lord!” he shouted, as Karon staggered backward, fending off two long blades with only a dagger and the broken sword hilt. “Here, my lord!”
Karon ducked, ran, and flattened his back to a pillar, dropping the broken weapon and snatching the new sword Paulo tossed him. Even from my distance I could see him bleeding… from his shoulder, his arms, from one leg. “Get away, boy!” he cried harshly, as another bolt of fire split the air beside him. Paulo threw himself flat to the floor, skidding twenty paces. When the two Zhid were engaged with Karon again, Paulo scrambled to his feet.
“It is Parven and Ziddari he fights,” said Gerick, softly, walking slowly toward the battle, mesmerized, as if he were walking in his sleep.
I follow
ed him. “These are just images, then? They’ve chosen to appear in this form?”
“No. These are real warriors, but the Lords have possessed them, using the warriors’ bodies but their own skills. If these two fall, they will bring two more and fight again. Notole seeks another host even now. They won’t stop. They won’t die.”
“You were willing to help me, to let us go free. Can you help him now?”
“Even if I chose to do so, I cannot. You heard me swear never to raise a hand against the Lords. They have called on me to fulfill my oath. I’ve told them that I won’t fight him. But I cannot aid him either.” Gerick paused and looked down at Exeget who lay in the pool of blood. He bent down and touched the Preceptor’s neck for a moment, then straightened up and nudged the body with his foot. Stepping over Exeget, he moved yet closer to the battle. With silent apologies to Exeget, I stepped over the fallen Preceptor and followed Gerick.
Oppressive, soul-chilling dread filled the chamber, cold horror that rolled in like a black tide, shredding the spirit, proclaiming that all was hopeless, that the end was upon us.
There is no escape…
Do you feel it, vermin prince? Make a portal to Avonar and its passage will incinerate your flesh…
Prepare for your anointing, young Lord. In moments there will be no living Heir.
I believed they were right. “Gerick, he is your father. In the name of all that lives-”
Before I could finish my plea, Paulo barreled out of nowhere, grabbed my arm, and pressed a short sword into my hand. His own blade was much too long for him. “We’ve got to help- Blazing shit!” He stared at Gerick’s face. “You damned fool! You donkey’s ass! You went and did it! Jerrat’s balls, I thought you had a brain in you.”
